White
runs from her prison of a past and enters into a sexual deal with seven
men that alters the course of her life for eternity. Caught between her
need to take control of her life, and her desire to make up for a
serious lack of good sex, she enters a wonderland of kinky possibilities
with men who show her that Prince Charmings come in all shapes and
sizes. For White and her men, once upon a time doesn’t cut it—three or
four times sound just about right.
With each partner—not always one at a time—White beats back her trust issues. But the shadow of her past comes back to haunt them all. Now she must introduce them to her personal battle, hoping they’ll fight beside her as their sinful nights turn into hellish days. Happily ever after isn’t by the book anymore.
And without further ado, here's my excerpt:
Okay, so this confirmed it.
White couldn’t deny what had been staring her in the face since she had turned eleven and had been confined to house arrest—her stepmother was a world-class bitch. These papers proved it. No way was this little legal oversight fair by a court of law. This discovery would have changed everything.
Forget the fact that she could overlook negligent homeschooling, the constant drugged-out parties and never a kind word from the woman. That was just life as usual since White’s father’s death. But when her hands skimmed over his last will and testament—a document hidden away for over a decade—her past all made sense.
So much of a normal life had been denied her—not just in the tender love and care department. These papers had been kept hidden. Now her past replayed inside her mind like a cruel mirror displaying what could have formed her life. But there was only now. Stark black and white with no room for gray. It would have been so much easier if her stepmother had kicked her out of the house with nothing on her back rather than setting up bodyguards at every exit point.
This wasn’t about money—it was about power.
If these stacks of pages ever saw the light of day, everything would change. For a brief moment she allowed her gaze to sweep across her father’s inner sanctum. She breathed in the scent of old paper and a certain mustiness that reminded her of him. Scattered books from the shelves lined every inch of available surface space as well as the wall-to-wall bookcases. So many stories that had gotten her through another day of this hell.
Either she found a way out of this house or her stepmother would find her a more permanent residency—in a pine box six feet underground. A sense of dread worked its way down her spine. She rolled her shoulders and shrugged off an odd sense that she was being watched. Sooner or later she would run out of chances to escape here—her stepmother would see to it. Even if it meant her stepmother had to dirty her hands with murder.
Several rapid blinks and she breathed through the eerie chill that seeped from head to toe. Someone would find her soon. That was for certain. Her gaze quickly darted around the office. No one lingered in the warped shadows that she made with the bright beam of her flashlight. Nonetheless, the towering Chippendale furniture was menacing, haunted by her father’s dead presence.
Luckily, this wasn’t a children’s movie. No animated tables and chairs were coming to life to attack her anytime soon. Though if her stepmother could have used living furniture as a security measure, she would have in a heartbeat. White shuffled through the paperwork and took three quick snaps with her digital camera. Because that was what late night television reruns had taught her to do with evidence. And this needed to be documented.
Every misconception of safety she held onto had been ripped from her in the last twenty-four hours. Though her stepmother claimed the security measures were all for White’s protection, there was no safety in this house. She now knew there was more to fear than disobeying long followed rules. Nothing could keep her safe. This was evident by the icy chill that swept across her nicked, stinging, patchy scalp.
They’d held her down. Two hulking bodyguards she’d grown up with, towering above her bed while her stepmother had gotten too close with the scissors. In the back of her mind she could see the sharp glint of moonlight off the silver blades as she whimpered and pleaded. Until there was nothing left to hack. Her wrists and upper arms smarted from the bruises as she slid the papers into order again.
She’d never been abusively touched before, normally just ignored. Now her pride was gone. Her body was a foreign, uncomfortable shell. But the act was done. She quickly shook her head to get rid of the memory. Another incident to give her courage to leave this place couldn’t hurt.
All she would leave behind were crazy, late-night conversations with her mother’s younger—much younger—partygoers and clientele, which at least gave her an excuse to keep her sanity. They were the root of her knowledge in the world. Through them she’d learned to adapt and keep herself up to date with pop culture, language, and fads. But she wouldn’t consider them friends. They wouldn’t be missed.
Screw ignoring the steady ache against her rib cage. It would always be there and would never go away. Where had her forced ignorance gotten her now? At the end of a noose and ready to jump—if only to be free. She had gone past desperation into a darkness that clouded every minute of every day—and there was no escaping it until she left her past behind.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she shouldn’t be in her father’s study. Fuck it. She’d followed the rules for too long. What else could they do? There was barely anything left to take away.
A heavy backbeat from a large speaker outside the door shuddered inside her chest. No one would hear her retreat to her tiny bedroom. Maybe no one would catch her tonight either, as they were all preoccupied with the party. But that was always her vain hope. She’d thought of escaping so many times, but the threat of physical muscle always stopped her from setting anything into motion. Now there was no excuse.
No, just thinking about her plans would get her into a bind. Karma was a bitch like that. Just going up the stairs—what was the harm in that?
Well, unless her stepmother had dipped into her newest shipment of drugs again. Only one way to find out.
White shuddered and padded out of the office. While she pushed the heavy wooden door back into place, a sudden rush of heat beat against her shoulders. She sensed his stare boring into the back of her skull. She stilled, taking in the towering shadow marring the mahogany door.
“That’s hardly the place for you to be tonight,” He was matter-of-fact—cold.
In the end, it would be better to turn around and face his bone-chilling monotone with an ounce of bravery. It was harder now that she knew the truth. With a quick inhale, she spun on her heel to face the man of her nightmares. Huntsman—her stepmother’s personal bodyguard and sometimes lover.
“Did you need me for something? Shouldn’t you be out there taking care of our privileged guests?”
When she met his flat, amber gaze, her stomach twisted. Half of his unkempt face was swathed in shadow. The way she liked it. She tensed, unwilling to retreat toward the solid wood at her back. What did she have to lose anymore?
Not only would her cowardice give him perverse glee, but she would later replay the scene with sinking shame. She tried to slow down her quick breaths, knowing he would notice. Underneath his wood smoke scent, an undertone of liquor stink assaulted her nose. Why didn’t it surprise her that he’d been celebrating with the rest of them?
He moved fully into the shadows. An action that should have held menace, but made most of the tension leave her body. Maybe he would go away? If he stayed in the dark she could dismiss him as nothing but an illusion—until he snatched her wrist.
She hissed at the contact, but didn’t pull back right away. There was no point. She thought his hard fingers would snap her bones, but she fought a whimper that pushed past her tight lips.
“Get. Off. Me.”
“I want to help you, princess. It would be better if you treated me nicely. Otherwise I don’t think you’ll be getting anything from me.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
She refused to yank her arm away—show no fear. His grin made her flinch and she cursed under her breath. What was the worst thing that could happen? She silently counted her uneven breaths. In the past he’d had a lot of opportunities to toy with her mind or shove her against a wall for a little pleasure. But he’d never done anything too horrible. He’d made enough trouble to skip under her stepmother’s radar and leave White with a sense of dread.
Mostly suggestive notes under her pillow and loud chats with the bodyguards about her curves. But this was the first time he’d flat-out touched her and his grip got his point across fine. He’d leave bruises. But if he moved any closer, she would aim for his balls and she wouldn’t stop kicking until he was infertile.
“Did you ever consider that I’m the only one who can get you out of this house undetected?”
Okay, that was valid. But she wouldn’t relax for that tidbit—not until he let go.
“What are you getting at?”
She briefly let his words stick until she blinked a few times. She glanced beyond his bulky frame down the narrow hallway. No one. If she screamed, the music would muffle it. So—what—this made him a good guy now?
The idea of him helping her didn’t seem all that feasible. What was in it for him? He couldn’t convince her that there was no motive. There was always a motive. Any sense of naiveté had been ripped out of her mind at around the age of twelve. He’d had years to help her—why now? She narrowed her eyes, tilted up her chin and waited for a good answer to her last question.
Besides, none of the possible escape routes that had made it to the master list throughout her years in this house had ever included someone’s help. Mostly because people couldn’t be trusted. Period.
“I suppose you know about the documents now. If that’s the case, it’s quicker for me to get you out of this house so you can play dead than actually going through the motions of killing you. I can split the earnings with the mistress. I’m a greedy, impatient bastard. Make sense?”
“No, that contradicts everything I know about you and yours.”
“Well, trust in this, little princess,” A sharp point traced down her cheekbone and the knife’s steel caught the light. “I could have killed you already and saved us this whole conversation. Have I killed you yet? No. But if you keep up this stupid charade, I will gut you quicker than a dying doe, do you understand me?”
Well, what was “understanding” anyway? White swallowed and tried to ignore the bitterness in the back of her throat. Her wrist twitched in his grasp. This was becoming a no-brainer pretty damn quick. Either she went with him and hopefully got the hell out of here or he would kill her where she stood—in her footy pajamas, no less. Not exactly a dignified dying outfit.
If there was a chance to break free from this prison, she’d take it. Trust be damned. All of his explanations made logical sense. He could have killed her—hell, right now, if he wanted to. But she was still kicking. If luck was on her side, she’d never have to see him again. But she’d stopped wishing on stars a long time ago.
“I’m changing before we leave.”
He chuckled and she knew she had him when he let go of her wrist.
“Sure. I’ll be close behind, though, so no funny business.”
She pushed past him into the sensory assault of a full-blown house party. Despite the distractions, she kept her gaze trained on the elaborate staircase that led to her small sanctuary. Against her back, Huntsman’s close warmth never wavered. She promised she wouldn’t look back over her shoulder. They were already going back to her room for her to change and there was no need to encourage him.
Especially since she planned to throw the closest thing in her closet onto her body and get the hell out of there. Why would she want to pack anything from a room that held such horrible memories? It would be better to start from scratch. If there was nothing left to define her, then there would be nothing holding her back. Nothing screamed “burden” like the past.
“Wait here.”
She slipped inside her bedroom and threw the deadbolt.
The lock was last year’s Christmas present. It had taken her two weeks to bribe a bodyguard to go out and buy it. Now, with her whole body trembling, she was pleased with the choice. She changed into an outfit without looking and took a deep breath. When she opened the door, she half expected him to be gone.
Nope. Not a chance.
He idly leaned against the wall. With a soft grunt of male satisfaction, he ran his large hand over the black stubble on his cheeks. Most women would find him ruggedly handsome. A delicious bad boy in need of some love to tame the savage beast.
Until they had a swollen black eye—a sign of his deep affection.
Clearly, these women had let their fantasies run away with them. Huntsman was danger—pure and simple. The only deep-seated need she had with her stepmother’s right-hand man was the need to make him go “poof” into thin air.
She wasn’t shocked when he put his bone-crushing hold back on her wrist and started weaving her through the tight, sweaty crowd of house guests. Maybe no one would notice them? A man slipped his steroid-laced arms around her waist from behind and she cringed. Too late. That not so subtle come-on was something she wouldn’t ignore—especially on a time constraint. She went to give the stranger a piece of her mind—
Huntsman pulled her away.
Before she breathed a sigh of relief that they could continue toward the doors, he possessively yanked her tight against his damp, solid chest. The party’s surroundings faded as her vision blurred and her chest tightened from the uncomfortable implications. Against her ear, his heartbeat raged as his fingers pinched into her shoulder in a silent warning. What the hell was he doing?
“This one’s mine,” he growled.
This wasn’t the time for him to call attention to them. How was Huntsman jumping to her “rescue”—or whatever his male ego wanted to call it—helping matters? It was a confusing delay. They were so close to the doors. Her gaze was fixed over his shoulder on the entryway, which held all the promise of her future choices. And Huntsman pretending they were together definitely wasn’t one of her choices.
“I’m sorry, Huntsman, I didn’t know. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it that you’re compensated.”
The man ducked his head as a sign of respect. It was stupid not to fear her stepmother’s right-hand man—which is why willingly leaving with him made her officially certifiable. But she had made peace with desperation. Now if only she could keep her body snuggled tight against Huntsman’s long enough for the other man to get the picture. His hand never went any lower or any higher than her waist. Beneath her
ear his heart throttled his rib cage and she sneaked a glance up at his snide, fixed expression.
How had she gotten to this place? Too close for comfort with a man she loathed—and loathe was a nicer word than others she could have picked for Huntsman. It was hard to ignore the hard-on that pressed up against her stomach and he didn’t smell any better up close and personal. God, this better be worth it. Huntsman had mercifully gotten his point across because he continued to move them toward their escape route guarded by two burly bodyguards dressed in all black.
Up ahead towered the wide, glass double doors that had been her single fixation since her stepmother wrecked everything in her cozy, cushy little life. Freedom. Even the word was like vapor in her mind. She couldn’t quite hold onto its true meaning before it was gone. She blinked back into the conversation and noticed that money changed hands between Huntsman and one of the bodyguards.
So that’s all it took? With short, stilted breaths, she tried to come to an explanation that wouldn’t make her feel like she hadn’t tried hard enough. But nothing worked. She should have tried harder. All it took was the word of a powerful drug goddess and a shifty protector and she was homeward gone. If she had only known that twelve years ago.
“Have a nice trip.”
The bigger of the two bodyguards winked and trained a sleazy smile on her cleavage.
“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late getting you to the ball.”
Huntsman growled low and pulled her through the doors.
A whoosh of air made a quick pop in her inner ear and the doors shut at her back. The riotous noise was gone. And she stood on the concrete front step looking out over a world she hadn’t seen in over twelve years. It should have been different. Euphoric with a dash of life-changing. Instead, there was only fear, her constant chaperone.
This wasn’t the end of the story. It couldn’t be.
* * * * *
They’d been driving through a path in the woods. No destination in sight. She’d thought maybe he’d stop at a faraway town or a bus station. Nothing looked familiar through the dark glass of the truck window and uncomfortable tremors shot up from her lower back along her spine. It wasn’t right. Everything was silent until the overworked screech of tires.His help had been too much to hope for, hadn’t it? Shit. Now he was going to leave her in the middle of the woods to fend for herself until her stepmother found her in a day or so. Her hands trembled and she scrambled for a plan. He pulled off the road into the grass and pressed hard on the gas.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He laughed.
Why wasn’t he slowing down? Her whole body went numb. He wasn’t dropping her off—he wasn’t stopping—the glaring yellow headlights framed the shadow of a large oak tree. She launched into action and colorful swear words. He careened toward the tree while he blindly groped to keep her in the truck cab. Each hit was swift as she scrambled for the door handle.
She had to get him backed away so he was the only one who would go crunch against a thousand-year-old tree. This had been his plan all along. He would do what her stepmother commanded—kill the girl.
Stupid. So damn stupid!
Didn’t they have a deal? Clearly, it was off now that Huntsman had his foot glued to the gas pedal. They bounced across ingrown roots with the scent of moist earth filling the truck cab. Anger was easier to deal with than terror as she evaded his hands as he frantically grasped for her torso. Hit, hit, claw, dodge. When had his arms gotten so long?
Her chest was tight with swallowed screams; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her terror. Sick freak probably got off on it. Thank god, she ripped open the door, tumbling out before they hit the tree trunk head-on. She’d never been so happy she hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt as she tucked into a duck and roll on the ground.
Thick leaves and grass clogged her mouth as she landed, and she scrambled to spit them out and crawl away from the colliding car. A quick glance back and she registered the heavy glint of sharp metal in his hands before the front end of the truck cab made friends with the tree trunk and smoke billowed. Was it her imagination? When he had hit the tree—had he been grinning?
“Jesus,” she whispered in disbelief.
To think she had lived with that threat under her roof for how many years?
But then there was no more time for thinking because he lumbered out of the wreck, hand hovering over a gash on his forehead. How he could even move was beyond reason. There was only one way to get out of this—she tamped down the fear tingling through her limbs and ignored the pulsing ache in her chest. A quick look back and she shimmied out of her skirt and threw off her long, baggy shirt, knowing they would get caught in the sharp brambles. There’d been no time for a bra, all she wore was her blue boy short underwear.
She ran.
A whipping of wind over her bald head made her shiver as she angled her body, sharp and fast, through the trees. When she gasped in air, it tasted clean and sweet and rain drops hit her cheeks as a roll of thunder boomed in her ears.
Footsteps glided behind her in a whisper against the forest floor. Not even a rasp of his breath to tell how far away he was in the darkness. Without glancing back, she pushed her body onward despite the constant ache from her lack of physical exercise and she never took her eyes off the ground. If she tripped—it would be over. Instead, she unknowingly cleared a path for him as he pursued her in the pitch black.
The jingling of her long earrings added to a headache that flared in her skull from the relentless pounding of her pulse. The earrings’ noise would give her position away like a tracking device. Though night swallowed the forest, she wasn’t taking chances. Footsteps grew louder in her ears as she became nauseous and dizzy with terror.
Without breaking stride, she cast the earrings into the underbrush and shut her mouth so he couldn’t hear her small whimpers of pain as fatigue set into her muscles. If she could only get through this and find a place to hide! He would stop his pursuit soon. Maybe consider her lost, which still got him his money. He knew she wouldn’t go back to that house.
Plus, it must have been awhile since his last hit of drugs. A junkie always needed more junk.
Only need to outlast him a little longer.
A long thicket grew in the path, illuminated by a quick flash of lightning. She shot under it, crawling on her torn, bloodied knees as she let the blind adrenaline drive her further than she thought possible. There was a small measure of safety here. Everything about him was too big to fit inside the thicket. But that only brought so much comfort—he was still out there.
Mud seeped through her shoes, above her wrists and she pawed through the muck, knowing there was no other option but to hide. If he had a weapon, it was stupid to do anything else. But logic didn’t stop her from curling her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms and they burned with an anchoring pain.
The earth beneath her nails smelled like raw clay and mildew. Soon there was merciful silence and the rain plunked against the branches. The harsh twigs thwacked all over her body except where blue boy-shorts curved around her hips, offering scant protection. Goose bumps pimpled her body. Illumination came by bolts of lightning that paled in comparison to her small plea for dawn.
She self-consciously rubbed the stubble on her head, closing her eyes to keep hot tears from rolling down her cheeks. Every part of her body burned. Though she had made it back into the world, she was as lost and alone as she had ever been trapped in that house. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.
Somewhere in the middle of the scratched-out path, she curled up, huddled—waiting.
Not So Pure is available for purchase through Amazon, ARe, Nook, and Ellora's Cave.
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