Hellbent the hellbound b.., p.1
Hellbent: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Three, page 1
He fought for her. He bled for her. Now he’ll make her his own.
Famous bad boy DJ Anton Trask stays out of other people’s business. He learned that lesson long ago and paid for it in blood. But when the stunning Fiona Garrett shows up at one of his nightclubs asking for his help, his world is thrown into chaos. He and Fiona grew up together at GodsAcre, a remote doomsday cult in the mountains. She was fifteen years old when he busted her out of that hellhole, but she’s all grown up now. Anton hates losing control, but Fiona’s sultry eyes, soft red lips and gorgeous body make his heart thud and his temperature rise...
Pursued by a ghost…
Fiona Garrett is on the run from a brutal killer that the whole world believes to be dead. She hates asking Anton for help once again—she owes him her life already—but no one else could possibly believe her. Still, Fiona is unprepared for the effect Anton has on her…his hard body, the hypnotic glitter of his dark eyes, the raw male power he exudes. He sparks a desire inside her that she’d never imagined—and she can’t control the flames.
Anton wants to leave GodsAcre and all its demons in the past, but he and Fiona have no choice but to face them head-on as danger ignites all around them. All he can do is keep her close to him.
And the closer she gets, the less he ever wants to let her go…
* * *
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Hellbent
The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Three
Shannon McKenna
Contents
Praise for Shannon McKenna
Also by Shannon McKenna
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Heedless
Heedless - Chapter 1
Havoc
Hellion
Headlong
Right Through Me
Right Through Me - Chapter 1
About the Author
Praise for Shannon McKenna
“Blends an intensely terrifying psychic thriller with a mind-blowing erotic romance.”
—Library Journal, on Fade To Midnight
“Blasts readers with a highly charged, action-adventure romance . . . extra steamy.”
—Booklist
“Pulse-pounding . . . with searing sex and raw emotions.”
—Romantic Times, 4 ½ stars
“Shannon McKenna makes the pulse pound.”
—Bookpage
“Shannon McKenna introduces us to fleshed-out characters in a tailspin plot that culminates in an explosive ending.”
—Fresh Fiction
"An erotic romance in a suspense vehicle on overdrive. . . sizzles!"
—RT Book Reviews
"McKenna expertly stokes the fires of romantic tension."
—Publishers Weekly
"McKenna strikes gold again."
—Publishers Weekly
"Her books will take readers on a nonstop thrill ride and leave them begging for more when the last pages are devoured."
—Maya Banks, New York Times bestselling author
"Full of turbocharged sex scenes, this action-packed novel is sure to be a crowd pleaser."
—Publishers Weekly on Edge Of Midnight
"Highly creative. . . erotic sex and constant danger."
—Romantic Times on Hot Night (4 ½-star review and a Top Pick)
"Aims for the heart with scorching precision."
—Publishers Weekly on Ultimate Weapon
Also by Shannon McKenna
The Hellbound Brotherhood
Hellion
Headlong
Hellbent
Heedless (Coming Fall 2020)
Havoc (Coming Spring 2021)
The Obsidian Files Series
Right Through Me
My Next Breath
In My Skin
Light Me Up
The McClouds & Friends Series
Behind Closed Doors
Standing In The Shadows
Out Of Control
Edge Of Midnight
Extreme Danger
Ultimate Weapon
Fade To Midnight
Blood And Fire
One Wrong Move
Fatal Strike
In For The Kill
Stand-alone Titles
Return To Me
Hot Night
Tasting Fear
Anthologies
All Through The Night
(with Suzanne Forster, Thea Devine and Lori Foster)
I Brake For Bad Boys
(with Lori Foster and Janelle Denison)
Bad Boys Next Exit
(with Donna Kauffman and E.C. Sheedy)
Baddest Bad Boys
(with E.C. Sheedy and Cate Noble)
All About Men
(a single author anthology)
Copyright © May 2020 Shannon McKenna
http://shannonmckenna.com
Print ISBN: 978-1-7344317-2-8
Digital ISBN:978-1-7344317-3-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishment, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
1
Hellbound Nightclub
Seattle, WA
The lightshow that accompanied the first set in the nightclub downstairs sliced like a razor straight into Anton’s aching head, but he didn’t allow himself to close his eyes or turn away.
Don’t flinch. Only pussies flinch from pain. Jeremiah’s harsh, drill sergeant voice echoed in his mind.
Get the fuck out of my head, old man. You’re dead and gone.
The past had no hold on him. He repeated that to himself often. Most of the time, it was true.
It didn’t feel true today. Not after going back to Shaw’s Crossing for his foster father Otis’s funeral. That trip last week had stirred up a shitload of toxic memories.
He stood by the viewing window that covered the entire wall of his private office and stared down at the gyrating crowd below. He focused upon the young DJ on stage doing the opening set. The kid had talent. He was young and green, but he instinctively knew how to manipulate a crowd. It was still early, but the dance floor was packed.
The spectacle didn’t soothe his jagged nerves the way it usually did. The whip scars on his back itched and throbbed, and his hand was burning like a hornet had stung it. He wore a big pendant on a heavy chain around his neck, and when he looked down, he saw that he’d been squeezing it in his fist so hard, the sharp studs and gems on the white gold cylinder had left purplish-red marks in his palms.
Anton leaned his hot forehead against the glass to watch the dancers below. Years back, when he’d worked as a bouncer in the Vegas dance clubs, he’d discovered that he liked the club scene. That anything-goes vibe chilled him out. GodsAcre, the remote mountain enclave where Anton and his brothers grew up, had been a ruthlessly controlled environment, and their leader Jeremiah’s extreme, fucked-up, rigid moral and religious code had been rammed down their throats every damn day.
Being the contrary bastard that Anton was, he’d become a DJ. He’d built up a following, gotten famous, and then more famous. He had toured the world, produced his own music. He eventually opened his own nightclub. It was a success, so he expanded the enterprise. Now he had a chain of notorious dance clubs all over the West Coast. The perfect antidote to all the hellfire and brimstone he’d spent his childhood listening to.
He’d also gotten rich in the process. Which did not suck.
Down on the dance floor, the writhing masses were cutting loose, letting go of their inhibitions. Jeremiah would have said they were piling onto a train that was headed straight to hell. That Anton was selling them express tickets.
So be it. Everyone could go to hell in his own special way. Yay, freedom.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting his rattled nerves. He pulled it out to check. A text message from Eric.
When are you getting your ass back here? Bristol wants to tell FBI, CDC and the press about the death pen. We don’t have much time. Researching the latest in biological weapons. Nothing yet, but my s
Damn. Biological weapons? Seriously?
Anton had blasted out of Shaw’s Crossing at the first opportunity, right after Otis’s funeral. So had his youngest brother, Mace. But not Eric, his middle brother. Eric had insisted on lingering there, to wrap up loose ends, he said. To take care of business.
His brothers knew perfectly well that was bullshit. Eric was all hung up on a woman who lived there. The same one he’d been wildly in love with seven years before. Things had ended very badly for him back then. A massive clusterfuck, in fact. Eric had barely survived it.
But had his little brother learned his lesson? Oh, no. Not him. That stubborn idiot was drawn to Demi Vaughan like a moth to a flame. He just couldn’t wait to self-immolate.
And once Eric had gotten himself wound up with Demi again, the two of them had then proceeded to almost get themselves killed by a band of murderous thugs up at the moldering ruins of GodsAcre, the long-defunct doomsday cult in the mountains where they had been raised. It was miraculous that they’d survived at all, the way they told it.
None of it made sense, but according to Eric, the Trask brothers were now honor bound to go back to that godawful place and figure out what the fuck had happened before more people died. They had to figure out what those people digging holes up at GodsAcre could possibly be looking for, and stop them from finding it. According to Eric, GodsAcre was their responsibility. Their property. Their fucking sacred charge.
Eric had always been afflicted with a pain-in-the-ass hero complex, but Anton himself was not so afflicted. Why should saving Shaw’s Crossing be their job? What had the people in that place ever done but kick their asses and make them miserable? Let the town implode, if that was to be its fate. Fuck that place.
The Trask brothers owed those people nothing.
But no. At Otis’s funeral, all it took was one look at Demi Vaughan, and Eric’s goose was cooked.
And now his brother had evidently convinced himself that the device he’d seen the thugs use in the GodsAcre attack, this ‘death-pen,’ was a weapon made for mass murder.
The fuck? Granted, Eric and Demi had been through ten different kinds of hell, but even so, that sounded nuts.
Of course Anton wouldn’t abandon his brother. He’d go back there and offer what help he could. And Eric was hardly defenseless. Anton had posted two of his best security men to cover them until he and Nate Murphy, his head of security, could get back there to offer their support. Anton had only dared to tell this strange tale to Nate, and so far, Nate was handling it well. Anton was grateful for that.
But the whole thing made him so tense, it was impossible to concentrate.
A nearer source of light assaulted his eyes as the door to his office opened. Nate leaned inside. “Anton,” he said. “That hot redhead’s back at it again. She says—”
“I said to get rid of her,” Anton snarled.
Icy silence followed his words. Anton turned to see Nate lounging casually against the doorframe, waiting to reply. He appeared to be relaxed, but his eyes were hard.
“You get a free one today,” Nate said finally. “One free one. Just because you’ve been bereaved, and your brother got attacked, and it’s been a weird week for you. But for future reference, remember that I am not your fucking butler.”
Anton blew out a sharp sigh. “Yes,” he said curtly. “Message received.”
The two men gazed at each other. Anton lifted his hands. “So?” he said, with exaggerated calm. “About the redhead? You were saying?”
“Yeah, her. She had a personal message for you.”
“Don’t they all.”
Nate’s face stayed impassive. “She says her name is Fiona Garrett. And that she’s in trouble. Ring a bell?”
Anton stood there, mind wiped blank. Shocked stupid.
Fiona.
The heavy beat from downstairs made the building throb dully, like a wound when the painkillers started to wear off. He couldn’t seem to breathe.
Nat’s eyes narrowed. “I guess that answers my question. Is everything okay?”
“Fiona?” The name stuck in Anton’s throat like a rock. “You’re sure she said Fiona Garrett?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. What’s up with her? She pregnant? Do you owe her money? Does she want to break your kneecaps? Does she intend to sue you or shoot you or castrate you?”
Anton shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen her in years.”
Nate’s puzzled frown deepened. “Dude. Is there something I need to know about this girl?”
Anton shook his head. “Old stuff,” he said. “Ancient history. We grew up together. In the mountains.”
“Wait. You mean she’s from GodsAcre?” Nate’s eyes widened. “Holy shit!”
“Yeah.” His friend had gotten a crash course on Anton’s whacked-out GodsAcre childhood last week when he’d accompanied Anton back to Shaw’s Crossing after Eric and Demi’s wild adventure. Anton still wasn’t used to having anybody know so much about his ugly history. The revelations had made him feel uncomfortably exposed.
He turned to the security monitors on the wall. “Where is she now?”
Nate pointed at one of the screens. “That’s her. Waiting by the staircase near the back bar.”
Anton studied the camera feed Nate had indicated. Yeah, it was the girl they had pointed out before. The hot one who’d asked for a private meeting with him earlier.
Which he had regretfully declined. He hadn’t recognized that girl as Fiona. Not in this bizarre context. Certainly not in those clothes.
In fact, he still wasn’t convinced that woman could possibly be her.
Women reached out to him all the time. As his celebrity had grown, he’d gotten accustomed to the sex that was continually on offer to him. It got boring sometimes, but it was convenient. Whenever he felt the urge, he barely had to reach out his hand. And with a bare minimum of mental acrobatics, he managed not to feel guilty about it. They came to him begging to be used, and sometimes he obliged them.
Two things he made sure of. First, any woman he fucked clearly understood that it started and ended there. Second, any woman he fucked walked out of his presence weak-kneed with sexual satisfaction. He made it absolutely worth their while. A point of pride.
When he saw the redhead, he hadn’t even seen her face. He’d been tempted by the long legs, the high-riding breasts with tight nipples poking out the stretchy fabric of her dress. In those spike-heeled boots, she’d only be an inch or two shorter than his six-foot-three frame. He had a weakness for long red hair and the freckles that usually came with it.
He’d thought about having her brought to him. Imagined fingering her into whimpering readiness. Making her come repeatedly before he bent her over the big desk in his soundproofed lair, her pussy hot and slick and utterly primed.
He’d have her keep those silver boots on while he put it to her from behind. Deep and hard.
But no. Shaw’s Crossing, Otis’s funeral and the vicious attack on Eric had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Murderous rage seethed inside him, looking for an outlet.
