Toxic

  Toxic

  HJ Bellus

  Kathy Coopmans

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Alex

  2. Maria

  3. Alex

  4. Maria

  5. Alex

  6. Maria

  7. Alex

  8. Maria

  9. Alex

  10. Maria

  11. Alex

  12. Maria

  13. Alex

  14. Maria

  15. Alex

  16. Maria

  17. Alex

  18. Maria

  19. Alex

  20. Maria

  21. Alex

  22. Maria

  23. Alex

  24. Maria

  25. Alex

  26. Maria

  27. Alex

  28. Maria

  About the Authors

  Epilogue

  Dedication-

  The My Way Girls & Coopmans Cougars-

  To our girls. The women who fuel us and make us smile every damn day. It’s your love, support, and friendship that develop each book. We love you from the bottom of our hearts. Hell, we’d even share our dessert with you! This one is for you.

  Love,

  HJB & Kathy Coopmans

  TOXIC

  © 2018 Torrid Timbre Press

  HJ Bellus & Kathy Coopmans

  Cover Design- JM Walker of Justwrite Creations.

  Editing done by Julia Goda of Diamond in the Rough Editing.

  Proofreader- Cat Parisi.

  Formatting- HJ Bellus

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission by the author. All rights are reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to eStore and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  Maria

  “Everything is fine, Mom.” I shift from foot to foot while holding the phone to my ear with a smile on my face.

  “Make sure to check the water heater,” Dad chimes in.

  I swear these two are always on speakerphone. It’s a guarantee buy-one-get-one-free deal. My smile stretches as I think about the love my parents have for each other. Hart and Vannie Richards are the perfect portrayals of true love. The best role models for my brother, Cooper, and me.

  “I have, Dad; it’s just fine. Go enjoy your vacation with Uncle Guy and Cub. Have a beer and give Mom your wallet.” I laugh knowing damn well he will.

  “She and your aunts have already been blowing through the money.”

  I hear a loud thud in the background. Guarantee Mom is slapping Dad’s chest while a dazzling smile dances on her face.

  They bicker for a bit in a playful manner before we exchange our good-byes. I end the call wishing I were in Cancun with them enjoying our family’s timeshare. Fair is fair, I suppose. My family let me use it a few years back after high school graduation. What I wouldn’t give to dip my toes in the sand while holding a Corona in my hand instead of being here. Especially now.

  The front door flying open grabs my attention, and in strolls the man who stars in my nightmares. Why me? In all the years of working at the Fallen Brothers Bed and Breakfast, I’ve never met such a foul human. I strum my nails on the countertop, reminding myself how much this place means to my dad and uncles. It’s the place that saved them when they returned from the war broken, beaten, and shattered, and if they didn’t love the high ratings and reputation they have, I would kick this man’s ass right out of here.

  Alex Diamond, tall, good-looking, and a total arrogant asshole. He stumbles in tripping over his own feet, falling to the floor. His car keys clatter on the hardwood right next to him. I watch him cautiously, realizing he doesn’t even know it. He mumbles a few curse words, then staggers to a standing position. He makes eye contact and does his best to smile wide. A tiny part of me empathizes with the man who is clearly fighting some vicious demons. But when his not so sunny disposition suddenly shows, that feeling vanishes.

  “Maria,” he slurs out, staggering toward the check-in desk. “Soooo sexy.”

  “What do you need, Alex?” I step back and cross my arms over my chest.

  “You.” He falls into the counter. “Pacifically your tits in my face.”

  Jesus, he can’t even speak clearly. The man is toasted, not that it surprises me in the least. I haven’t seen him one hundred percent sober since he arrived.

  My hometown in Montana is on the smaller side, making it easy for Alex to walk, or in his case stumble, to the liquor store or bar. My guess is, he’s been frequenting the local bar picking up the women who enter his room at night.

  He’s only been here four days, and I’ve had over fifteen complaints from other customers about the racket streaming from his room. When I knocked on the door, the sounds of ravage sex assaulted me. He never answered the door and ignored the reprimanding letter I slipped under the door the next morning.

  “Alex, you can’t talk to me like that. Do yourself a favor and go sober up a bit.” I turn and pour him a cup of coffee, then hand it to him.

  “Got Baileys or any kind of whiskey to go with this?” He rushes the words out as if he needs it in a bad way before bringing the cup to his lips.

  A glimpse of a sexy smirk peeks out from behind the cup. The man is gorgeous from the stubble on his jawline to his rich honey-colored eyes. His features are dominant.

  “No. The point is to sober up.” I turn to walk back into the office. “Oh, and Alex, keep it down tonight.”

  “Join me, and I will.”

  I square my shoulders and turn to face him. “I’m a lesbian and not into drunk assholes.”

  “Invite a friend. I’ll take care of both of you and change your sexuality.” He shrugs.

  As sexy as he is, the man is a pig. A complete, selfish manwhore and a drunk. Before I have the chance to fire back, the door opens again.

  “Alex,” Molly, the town tramp, purrs. “You ready for me, baby?”

  I watch as Alex turns slightly and grabs his crotch, squeezing it for good measure. “Do ducks quack?”

  Molly falls into his chest giggling like a giddy child. I wonder if she would think he was funny if she had to clean up his vomit from the bathroom floor of his room every morning or knew about the rest of the women who spend time in a bed I’ll be sure to burn. The sound of their sloppy kiss makes me physically ill. This day cannot be over soon enough.

  1

  Alex

  Even though it’s cold as fuck out, I can feel the sweat drench my skin. The throbbing behind my eyes from inhaling smoke shooting out of the vehicle I just stumbled out of burns, the ringing screams from a moment ago vibrate in my ears, and the thumping of my heart against my chest pushes me forward as I sprint after this fucker who rammed into us.

  My fingers are curled around my gun. A gun I’ve never aimed at anyone. I was born into a family who will shed their blood to save someone they love, and even though every part of me is against it, I won’t let him get away.

  I’ve spent my life vowing not to be like them even
though my love for them is powerful. The thing is, the collision was brutal, and when I came to and saw that man reaching inside of the cab, struggling to pull my cousin Justice from the mangled metal, I lost my fucking shit.

  His face was familiar. One I’ve seen around the stadium several dozen times, and through all the chaos I put the pieces together.

  Her stalker.

  We were hit on purpose, and now he’s going down.

  Cain is pinned in the crushed car, so killing this motherfucker is on my shoulders, and with each stride I take I vow to end the son of a bitch who dared to cross the line.

  I reach into my coat pocket, snag my phone, hit my cousin Jonathan Bexley’s number, and rattle off where I am. I’ve been around my family long enough to know that we do not want, nor will we have, the cops involved. This person will disappear from the face of the earth. A piece of fucking shit that won’t be missed.

  Tucking my phone back in, I dart down the dark alley he went down. I have no clue who this fucker is; the only thing I know is, he’s about to be a dead man.

  All I hear now as I search in the dark is a flashback to the man pointing a gun at Justice’s banged-up face and Calla pleading and begging me to go after him.

  “All you’re doing is delaying your death, motherfucker. You messed with the wrong family. You should consider yourself lucky I’m the one you’re in this alley with. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t die as quickly,” I growl, feeling the toxic poison flow through my veins. My hands are shaking on the trigger.

  My head is thrown back by a fist.

  “The only person dying today is you,” a deep voice shoots out in the dark.

  “Wrong.” I step to the side, squint to make out his features, then stare him dead in the eye.

  “You don’t have the balls to pull the trigger, pretty boy. Otherwise, you would have already done it.”

  “Wrong again.” I pull the motherfucking trigger. I’m my father's son. The killing should come naturally. It doesn’t. I just got my first taste of it, and now I feel as if I want to die.

  The gun falls to the ground; it echoes throughout the damp alley, ringing in my ears. I sink to my knees, my hands trembling, my mind looping in a violent, stormy circle. I just killed a man point blank. His blood is splattered all around me.

  “No!” I yell as I hear the man wheeze and gasp for air. I scramble on my hands and knees, fingers on fire and coated with blood as I feel the gaping hole in his chest.

  “Fuck me.” I press my hand hard into the hole, but my efforts are hopeless.

  Mere seconds is all it takes for him to rasp out his last breath.

  “Get him the hell out of here; he’s trembling,” I hear Jonathan holler.

  The man has killed more people at his young age than I’ve fucked women.

  “Fucking Christ, Alex, man. You should have waited for us.” This comes from my younger brother, Aaron. The one who can kill without losing sleep at night.

  “It’s over. Dispose of his body. Did you think I would stand in some dark alley and wait for you to kill the bastard who’s been threatening our blood? Fuck no. His death is mine,” I lie through my teeth pretending my entire body is shaking with overwhelming adrenaline from taking his life. It’s shaking from something else, too. Something dark and deadly. Fear.

  “Fuck, brother. Come on. I got you; John has him.”

  I jolt awake. My head pounds, and I swear to God, it’s been ticking down slowly for the past several months just waiting for the final split second to explode. Goddamn nightmare won’t leave me alone. Why can’t I dream of a stunning woman sucking me off, or better yet, not fucking dream at all?

  “Shit,” I grumble and slide back up from my slouched position in the front seat of my car. I grab the half-empty bottle of Jameson resting between my legs, take a long swig, and let the burn hit my throat and coat my stomach, and beg for more.

  It burns so good. Christ Almighty, do I welcome the sensation. It’s the only time I feel a Goddamn thing.

  “I can’t breathe,” I rasp, wheezing as the memories from that night fall like dominos through my thoughts. I’m drunk on my ass, and still, the long list of discomfort urges me to follow it back to that night. The pieces begin tumbling together. My mind reels.

  I had to kill him, or he would have killed me. That’s what I’ve continued to tell myself over the months since I snuffed out someone’s life. One second, he’s there. The next he’s gone. Just like that.

  And what did I do? I took off with my brother while a few of my dad’s men cleaned up my mess.

  I can’t handle this. Killing someone isn’t in my blood. Not like my dad’s, my brother’s, or every male’s on my mother’s side of the family.

  They kill and don’t give it a second thought, then move right on to the next dirty scoundrel who dares cross our family’s loyal line.

  “Fuck, I’m a drunk because I killed a man who would hurt my family, and I can’t get past it.” I slam my steering wheel with an open palm, welcoming the pain. “I just want it all to end.”

  I panic as I try to catch my breath when I pat down my jeans and feel along the ignition for my keys, only to come up empty-handed. I should have never gotten behind the wheel and driven. Even my fucked-up brain knows this.

  The weight of my brain, the constant reminder, and the never-ending nightmare of killing a man have me frantically reaching for the door handle. I cannot breathe. I stumble out of my car, fall to my hands and knees, and take in a lungful of the humid air.

  “Damn it.” It feels like I’m drawing it in through a thick wool blanket. I need more alcohol to numb me. Knock me out in so I won’t remember. If I thought I was in a bad situation before, it’s nothing compared to the turbulence of emotions I’m piloting now.

  I killed a man, and regardless of what he did to Justice, I can’t seem to stop the guilt from crawling around on my insides. It squirms, pinches, and gains control of my entire being. It cages me in, sucks me dry, and fucks me all up.

  This is not the man I was raised to be. Not the man I am.

  I would never leave my family or the job they have given me, but for fuck’s sake, do I resent my beating heart. It would filet them wide open if they knew this shit was tearing away at my flesh a little bit at a time.

  I lied to my family over and over that horrible night when they asked me if I was alright. I’m not alright. I’m fucking far from it and spiraling out of control. The thing is, I really don’t care anymore.

  “You should care. Maybe you’re caring about the wrong damn thing,” I mumble to myself. Seems to be all I do lately is talk to myself.

  My dad gave me this job out here instead of me staying in New York. He sent me on my way with a blessing because he knew taking over our empire wasn’t the way I wanted to live.

  I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, nor do I give a fuck whether the people who dare cross us live or die. It’s a whole new ball game when pulling the trigger your damn self.

  “Fuck you, man. You ruined my life by trying to hurt her. I had to pull the trigger!” I yell into the blackened sky, my finger poking into my chest. “Why can’t you leave me alone and rot like you should? Dirty ghost. Get gone!”

  All I want is to be pleasantly numb, but the pain hones my focus. It doesn’t matter how much alcohol I consume; his strangled voice is there. A haunting reminder that I’m a pussy for caring.

  Lately, though, the man I killed has been talkative. More than he was when it first happened, so I took off to Montana for a month. I needed to get away, clear my head, but all I did was drink myself into oblivion. That and fucked every willing woman who spread her thighs.

  All but the woman I wanted. The sweet little thing from the bed and breakfast I stayed at while trying to recover from the nightmare that’s become my life.

  The woman got on my nerves, embedded herself under my skin with her sweetness, her tight little body, and the singing voice of an angel. Christ, I wanted to bury myself in all that sweet just t
o see if she was real. The fucked-up thing is, I was obliterated out of my head half the time. Puking all over the place, leaving my room a rotten mess for her to clean up.

  “Hopefully, she stopped complaining when I left an envelope with twenty grand, along with a note apologizing to her before I left.” I laugh. “It’s just you, me, and I, you sorry dead piece of shit.”

  I grab my bottle, grip the door handle, and heave myself up, my eyes blinking in order to drown out the brightness of the streetlight and the signs lining the street.

  Tossing the bottle in the garbage, I stagger on the sidewalk, push open the doors to the first bar I see, and take a seat in the one empty table nestled right by the old wooden stage.

  “Top shelf whiskey. Any brand will do. Make it a double,” I mutter to the waitress when she saunters to my table. I’m not that far gone to start slurring yet.

  “Will that be all?” She bends over enough for me to see the way her cleavage is enhanced above the lacy trim of the tight little corset hugging her skin. My dick stirs. If that little move wasn’t her open invitation that she’d be willing, then the message is loud and clear when she whispers my name.

  “Ah, you remember me,” I carry on, leaning a little closer. Pretending to know her when my vacant mind hasn’t a clue.

  “I do. It’s been a few months since you’ve been in here.” She winks, leaving me wondering if I fucked her. I’m not sure if I did, but I’m an idiot for forgetting a sexy woman with a tight ass like that.

  She is beautiful, and it’s obvious by the way she swings her hips that a commitment isn’t what she’s looking for. No lying, empty promises of sunrises and sunsets together. Just a night of dirty fucking. Just the kind of thing I need right now. Pussy and whiskey. It’s what I’ve been drowning in to get by day to day.

  I hand her a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill when she returns. Slide my hand up her leg right underneath her tiny skirt. My fingers skim the lace trim of her panties until they’re in their happy place. She’s wet and ready to fuck. I pause when a woman who looks just like the sweet little thing from the bed and breakfast brushes past her. My hand flies out of the waitress’ skirt.