Crush (Tainted Love Duet #2) Read online

  Crush

  Copyright © 2015 by Kim Karr

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978–0-9889419–4-6

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editor:

  Mary-Theresa Hussey, Good Stories Told Well

  Interior Design and Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  Cover designer:

  Hang Le, By Hang Le

  Cover model:

  Cyril Mourali

  Photographer:

  Brice Hardelin, Brice Hardelin Photography

  CRUSH

  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

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Other Books by Kim Karr

  About the Author

  Toxic Excerpt

  Connected Excerpt

  DAY 8 CONTINUED

  LOGAN MCPHERSON

  Say you wanted someone eliminated . . .

  Killed.

  It doesn’t matter who—your mother, your lover, your enemy.

  There are guys out there who will do it for you.

  It’s a fact.

  Not someone from the Mob.

  Not someone connected to the Mob.

  Not anyone you know.

  A hit man.

  I’ve heard of ways to contact one. Someone who knows someone who knows someone.

  Someone from the old neighborhood. Someone with prison tats. Someone with long hair. Someone with no hair. Who the fuck cares—he could look like Mötley Crüe. Hell, on the other hand, he could be a businessman wearing a two-thousand-dollar suit.

  I really don’t give a shit.

  What he looks like is irrelevant. It’s what he does that matters.

  Sure, there’s a steep monetary price attached to the deed. That’s not what worries me.

  I’d give every cent I had if it meant she’d be safe.

  It’s what it would really cost me—how big of a piece of my soul it would take—that keeps me from making that call.

  I re-read the note, “That E wasn’t meant for Emily.”

  One thing was clear . . .

  He knows about Elle and me.

  Tommy Flannigan, my enemy, my foe, the Mob boss’s son, the one I have been forbidden to make contact with, knows I have someone in my life that I care about. He might even know I love her. And she’s not his sister. She’s not Emily. Because I defied him, because I dared to move on, I know he’ll taunt me, try to break me, try to drive me out of my mind.

  For over a decade he’s loomed over me.

  Like a shadow.

  A black spot in my life that I always knew was there.

  In the past he’d threatened me, mutilated a girl I’d dated, scarred me, but that was a long time ago. I hadn’t heard from in years, until just last week when he harmed someone he thought was Elle.

  He was back in my life.

  Everyone knew he was into drugs as a user, but not many knew he was a cutthroat player in the drug world; not even his old man knew to what extent he was involved. The thing was he was always crazy, but lately he’d been breaking all the rules. Homes. Women. Mothers. Children. Nothing and no one was safe from him anymore—it was like he had nothing left to lose.

  With that, breaking the treaty forged years ago when it came to contacting me wasn’t a surprise.

  I think I’d been waiting for him to cross that line for a very long time.

  The thing he doesn’t get is I’m no longer fearful. That I’ll do the very same thing. As of right this minute, as far as I’m concerned, the rules of the street no longer apply to me. There is too much at stake for me to care about what could happen if I went up against the Blue Hill Gang. I have to think about what has to happen in order to keep Elle safe. And that’s one thing, and one thing only.

  Tommy’s threat has to be eliminated.

  Somehow.

  Some way.

  But murder for hire would have to wait.

  Paralyzed.

  Frozen in place.

  I looked over into Elle’s green eyes.

  Wide.

  Scared.

  Still beautiful.

  I haven’t even known her for two weeks but she’s a part of me. I can’t—no, I won’t—let anything happen to her.

  “Logan,” she whispered quietly.

  Escaping from my thoughts, I wanted to say something. Something profound. Something that would make sense. Something that would make everything okay. But there was nothing.

  Without hesitation I searched her face. As soon as I did, I saw the once glimmering green in her eyes was now dull, her skin pale, and her lips quivering.

  The sight made my chest tighten.

  But it was when I saw the apprehension in her body language, the hairs on her arm rise, the unsteady rise and fall of her breathing—the fear she didn’t want me to see, the fear she was trying to hide from me—that I knew what I had to do.

  I had to find him.

  Now.

  I was going to settle the score with Tommy Flannigan once and for all.

  Whatever the outcome.

  The note crumpled in my fist and I let it drop to the floor. Tugging my shirt on, I once again looked over at her. “Stay here, lock the door, and don’t let anyone in. I mean it, not anyone except me. I don’t care who they say they are.”

  “Where are you going?” Fear laced her voice.

  “To find Tommy.”

  “But the news, they said members of the Flannigan family had been arrested. Maybe he’s already in custody.”

  I looked at the note on the floor. I had a gut feeling he wasn’t. This wasn’t something he’d send someone else to do. This was something he’d take too much pleasure in doing himself. “Maybe he is,” I said to help calm her nerves, “but someone arranged to deliver that note to this room, and I’m going to find out who it was.”

  “Logan, no.” She reached for me as I slid my feet into my shoes.

  I had to shrug away from her.

  I had to do this.

  On my way to the door, I stopped for just a single moment to look at her. In that moment there was nothing more I wanted than to feel her arms around me
, press my body to hers, look into her eyes and tell her we were going to be just fine.

  But that would be a lie.

  And I wasn’t going to lie to her.

  Not about this.

  “Logan,” she pleaded.

  I heard the pain in her voice and my heart stopped. Still, I kept moving. I had to do this—for her. For me. For us. The door closed behind me and the sound of the latch told me she’d be safe—until I returned or . . .

  My despair was immediately replaced with rage as my eyes fell on the white jacket of the guy who had delivered the note. He was standing in the hallway with his back to me. Unable to control myself, I rushed for him, but came to an abrupt stop when I got a little closer. He wasn’t alone. He was kissing a girl, also in uniform. I waited. She giggled, smiled, and finally gave him a wave before she walked down the hall. As soon as he entered the waiting elevator, it started to close, and I darted for it.

  My hands jammed between the panels and the doors flew open.

  There he stood.

  Lipstick on his lips.

  Smiling.

  Like he didn’t have a care in the fucking world.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  I lunged for him.

  Had his lipstick-stained collar in my hands so fast, I could barely see the fear in his eyes. “Who put that note on the food cart?” I hissed.

  He was shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  With a tug, my grip tightened. “I’m not going to ask you twice, who put the note on the food cart?”

  There was a dripping sound on the elevator floor. I think he pissed his pants. “Some dude paid me fifty bucks to slip it onto your tray. He said it was a joke between you and him.”

  I slammed him against the wall. “What did he look like?”

  Mumbling, words barely cohesive, he answered, “Short, brown hair, piercings, and he had a limp.”

  Tommy.

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is he?” I asked again through gritted teeth.

  The guy was crying. “I don’t know.”

  I loosened my grip. “Where did you leave him?”

  He crumbled against the wall. “Outside the kitchen door.”

  I hit the service level. “Scan your card. Show me.”

  Shaking, he nodded. “Look, mister, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. He said it was a joke. I believed him.”

  My body went rigid.

  A joke!

  When I slipped my hand in my pocket, he raised his palms. “Don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Ignoring him, I pulled out my wallet and handed him a fifty. “Just show me where you saw him last. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Visibly relaxing, he scanned his card and the elevator glided down toward the service level.

  Within minutes we were just outside the kitchen.

  With a shaky finger he pointed. “He was standing right there when he approached me but once he gave me the note, he headed for the stairs.”

  “Where do they lead?”

  “To the lobby.”

  I gave him a nod. “Thanks, man. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  His laugh was more like a cry. “Na, I wasn’t really worried,” he said.

  Now that was a lie.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I pushed open the door and hit the service hallway. Once inside the Mandarin lobby, I scanned it and then swept the lounge. Nothing. No sign of him. I searched the bar. The restrooms. The offices. Nothing. I climbed the grand staircase and then combed the exterior of the building. Nothing. He was nowhere in sight.

  That didn’t mean shit.

  ELLE STERLING

  Emotion rushed through me.

  I wasn’t going to cry.

  My clothes were scattered and I busied myself dressing.

  Seconds passed.

  Minutes passed.

  Pacing, counting steps, back and forth from the door to the window, I wore a path onto the carpet.

  Finally, I couldn’t take the monotony and flopped on the bed. Unsure of what to do, my thoughts started to wander.

  My defense mechanisms weakened with each additional tick of the clock and soon I found myself swallowing against the knot that was lodged in my throat, but I could do nothing about the sting of tears behind my closed eyes.

  Logan and I had come so far, so fast.

  Neither of us had expected to meet in my brother-in-law’s law office just a week ago. Neither had expected to run into each other at Molly’s Pub later that night. And certainly neither of us meant to have this intense connection.

  It was all so surreal.

  Somehow we’d become entangled in a drug war brewing amid the Boston Irish Mob, and we weren’t the only ones.

  There was my missing sister. I had no idea how innocent or guilty she actually was. Then there was Logan’s father, who had been skirting the edges of the law with the Blue Hill Gang for years. There was also Michael, my brother-in-law, who was acting suspiciously. On top of all of that, Logan was working undercover with the DEA but also trying to protect me from everyone.

  And me? I just wanted to keep my niece, Clementine, safe. And if things went well, have Logan be a part of my life.

  The odds were against us.

  Was this a sign? Was everything that was falling apart around us fate telling me I should have known better than to think we could belong to each other?

  I refused to let my thoughts go down that road.

  Logan was different.

  This was going to work out.

  Pushing my issues and insecurities aside, I had to believe that we were going to make it. That Logan would be strong enough to fight his demons. That Logan was going to get through this and that I would be by his side to help him.

  After all, it was just a note.

  Words on a paper meant to scare him.

  Meaningless—or so I hoped.

  I was certain that after the initial shock, Logan would see it that way too.

  I had to believe that. I just did.

  Anyway, by all accounts, if the news was correct, Tommy was in jail and no longer a threat to us. To me. To Logan.

  I pressed my lips together, keenly aware of the passage of time.

  My attention went to the TV where Channel 7 news was still on. They were replaying the arrest. I turned the volume up. This time names were flashing across the bottom of the screen.

  “More breaking news,” the TV correspondent announced. “Members of the powerful Flannigan crime family are among at least twenty-four people arrested tonight in a major drug raid. Details are sketchy, but a confirmed two million dollars in cocaine has been seized. Among those arrested tonight, the alleged head of the Irish Blue Hill Gang, Patrick Flannigan. Sources acknowledge some high-ranking members are still at large, but all efforts are being made to bring them in. If you have seen any of these men, call our hotline.”

  I crossed my arms, fighting off the chill that had seeped into my bones. There, before my eyes, was a picture of Tommy Flannigan. I hadn’t known what he looked like before now, but I knew I’d never forget it. Those cold, brown eyes, the lifeless look on his face, the evil that was written all over him.

  Knock. Knock.

  I jumped, startled out of my own skin.

  My heart started to race.

  My pulse thundered.

  Fear began to set in.

  It wasn’t like me to be afraid.

  I was strong.

  I was resilient.

  I’d been through a lot in my life and I’d come out on the other side.

  Hardened.

  Determined.

  Immune.

  What had changed?

  “Elle, it’s me, open up.” His voice was husky, commanding.

  Relief washed through me. “Logan!” I rushed to the door and threw it open.

  In a flash, he was inside. Tall, hard, and imposing, the more
-than-competent man locked the door behind him. As soon as he did, his eyes moved over me like he wasn’t certain I was really standing here before him, alive, unharmed, in one piece.

  With a determined step, I wanted to reassure him, so I pressed myself against him and stroked my fingers through his beautiful hair. It was rumpled and sticking up everywhere and still, he was breathtaking. “Did you find him?”

  He let out a long sigh. “No, not yet.”

  The words not yet made me shiver. I pushed my fingers through his hair again. “His picture is on TV. They said he hasn’t been picked up.”

  Logan’s eyes closed as if in pain and then he leaned in and let his forehead rest against mine. “Get your things together. We have to go.”

  Pausing, I breathed him in—my friend, my lover, the man I loved. I didn’t argue. I knew we had to leave. I just wished we didn’t have to. “Give me a minute.”

  He nodded.

  In the bathroom, my reflection confronted me. My hair was a mess. My eyes were red. My face blotchy. My clothes in disarray. Could Logan see that I was scared?

  I hoped not.

  With a deep breath, I shook off my own fear.

  It was just a note.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  What really frightened me wasn’t what might happen to me, but what might happen to him.

  I heard his voice. He was on the phone. “Fuck you. You said you’d get him, you reassured me that he, of all people, would be brought in.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going to find him.”

  Silence again.

  “I can’t guarantee that.”

  There was a crash, a thud.

  Then silence.

  More silence.

  I waited to open the door.

  He was going to go after Tommy, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

  I was scared. I was scared for him. Sure, he was competent, strong, capable, and dauntless even, but Tommy was a part of the Mob, and the Mob wasn’t just one person, not just one set of eyes, or hands, or legs, or barrels of guns ready to hunt him down—it was dozens, potentially hundreds.

  When I finally opened the door, Logan was composed and dressed in the same clothes he’d arrived in only hours ago. But it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Who were you talking to?” I asked.

  He rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows as he spoke. “Agent Blanchet of the DEA.”