Anything For Love (The Hunter Brothers Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Lola StVil

  All rights reserved.

  Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is dedicated to

  Mike & Lo., the ones who taught me about love.

  My date lifts the butter knife a few inches off the table and takes yet another look at his reflection on its shiny surface. He nods slightly to himself, satisfied that he is as gorgeous now as he was when he last looked—five minutes ago. I knew this date was headed downhill once we sat down and he ordered for me. Veal. I hate veal. I decided not to make a big deal and just order something else. I signal to the waitress for another menu while my date looks at his smile on the surface of the knife, yet again.

  Oh please, please let there be cyanide on this dinner menu.

  I scour the menu—there’s a lovely rosemary rack of lamb, a mouthwatering orange glazed duck, and a divine filet mignon with porcini mushrooms. However, there is no cyanide pill that I can quietly swallow and end my life with, thereby escaping this horror show of a first date.

  “How’s your veal? It’s a specialty here. They only make it for select clientele such as myself,” my date says.

  “I don’t like veal. I tried to tell you that, but—”

  “It’s not like the others you’ve had. Here, try it,” he says, reaching for my fork. I pull my head back, but he follows me. I reluctantly open my mouth and let him feed me. It tastes awful. It’s soft and has a gamey taste to it. I wait for him to look at his refection in the knife again and then I spit the mushy veal into my napkin. As you can tell by now, I’m very classy.

  “Roger, my sister tells me that you do a lot of charity work. What are some of the programs you work with?” I ask, determined to find something in common with him.

  “Oh, no. I don’t do charity. I mean really, people need to stop begging, go out and get a job already, am I right?” he says with a booming laugh.

  “Bree told me she met you at the benefit to aid Haiti.”

  “Yeah, one of clients gave me a ticket, so I had to make an appearance. But other than that—it’s not my thing.”

  “Charity isn’t your thing?”

  “No, but you know what is my thing?”

  Crawling into children’s rooms at night to swallow them whole?

  “What is your thing?” I ask out loud.

  “You,” he says with a cocky smirk.

  It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Roger is a real estate mogul. One that my sister said was my type. But the truth is she probably saw his black card and thought, well, it was worth a shot. But the fault lies with me. I knew better than to let my sister, Bree, set me up. This is not only my first date since Danny, it will most likely be my last.

  “Winter, stop moping around the house. Danny and you are over. Get out into the world,” Bree said. She was right. In the past few months since Danny and I broke up, I happily gave my life over to Ben & Jerry ice cream and Netflix. So I pushed myself. And in order to make sure I left my house, I made my sister change my Netflix password and swear she wouldn’t give it to me until I started dating again.

  I tune back in to Roger, hoping this date can still be salvaged. He’s in the middle of sharing his latest venture—selling a twenty-million-dollar home to the latest Hollywood starlet.

  “Her people were so happy with my work, they invited me to her movie premier next weekend. Now, I can’t promise you will be my plus one—I mean, I do have two other dates lined up next week—but don’t fret, sweetheart, so far, you’re in the lead.”

  Seriously, someone shoot me. Now.

  In all fairness, I’m not sure I make the best person on a date. For one thing, I tend to live in my head—a lot. In addition, I’m also kind of a nerd. I suddenly feel my purse vibrating. I don’t need to look at it to know who’s texting me. My sister has a superpower—she can always tell when my date is about to go up in smoke. That’s usually when she texts me.

  Bree: “Stop daydreaming and flirt w/ Roger!”

  “This guy sucks. This date sucks. Give me my password”

  “Only after you have gone on at least a dozen dates,” she writes.

  “Give it to me now or I will never babysit for you again. You will spend the rest of your life at home—no hotel sex for you and Will.”

  “Damn you!”

  “Password. Now.”

  “Fine. I-Love-My-Sis.”

  “Nice try,” I text.

  “Okay, okay. It’s Lily’s favorite park,” she admits.

  I pull up the Netflix app on my cell, key in my niece’s info, and suddenly, I’m in.

  Yes!

  I stand up from the table and prepare to give him my standard sorry-this-won’t-work-for-me speech, but he’s not even facing me. He’s looking over at the waitress and flashing her his best “soap opera smile.” She blushes shyly, looks down at the floor and then back up at him. She’s giving him her “come do me” look.

  Is this guy for real? Screw this. I’m out!

  I take my purse, place it on my shoulder, and march towards the door. I’m about to exit when a couple enters the restaurant, holding hands and smiling. It’s Danny and his new girlfriend!

  Shitshitshitshitshit!

  I can’t let him see me. I’m not ready. This isn’t the right outfit. These shoes don’t send the right message. And I can only imagine what state my hair is in.

  Okay, Winter Bennett. Keep it together. You are not here alone. You are on a date—a horrible one, but Danny doesn’t need to know that. Just go back to the table and look like you are having the time of your life.

  I turn back towards the table only to watch what was once Roger’s mild flirtation with the waitress progress into the actual exchanging of numbers.

  The things I do to watch Stranger Things and Orange Is the New Black! Damn you, Netflix!

  Danny and his new super-hot model girlfriend are coming over. She’s tall like an Amazon and has long shiny “TV commercial” hair and lips that belong on makeup ads all over the world. Bitch.

  Here they come…

  No! I have to get out of here. Too late. He’s coming my way. A group of diners enter the foyer; I quickly duck behind them. I look around, and the only escape is the men’s room.

  “Hey, I think that girl over there is—Winter!” Danny says as he gets tries to get a good look at me from behind the crowd. He comes closer, and I run to the men’s room. He follows me in.

  Seriously?!

  I don’t stop to think or reason in any way. I just open the window and hurl myself down to the dumpster below. I land in the large metal bin filled with trash headfirst. My arm scrapes against a large glass fragment, causing a painful and bloody gash. I howl in pain as I place my hand over my wound.

  I frantically search for my purse, but it’s nowhere to be found. I drag myself over to the side of the bin and climb out. A few feet away, two dark figures are carrying on a conversation. The alley is too dark to see them fully but I’m hoping they will see me as I wave my hand and call out, “Hey! Excuse me! Fellas, can I use your phone? I need to call a—”

  “Get down!” someone shouts behind me. I turn just in time to see a large figure crash into me and send me flying to the concrete floor. Shots are fired overhead, and the figure orders me to stay down. Everything happens so fast, it’s hard to know which came first—the hail of bullets, the shouting, or the sirens. I shut my eyes and bury my face
in my hands as if that could somehow stop the bullets from making contact with me.

  “Donavan is heading down Sixth Ave., cut him off!” he orders in a deep commanding voice on what sounds like a walkie-talkie.

  “On it!” someone replies from the other end.

  “What the hell is your problem, lady?” the man demands of me. I open my eyes to curse him out like any true New Yorker would. I mean, yeah, he may have just saved my life but who the hell is he to talk to me like that?

  But when I take my hand from my face, I find the most piercing ocean blue eyes looking back at me. His rich dirty dark hair and perfectly sculpted features cause my head to spin. I look past his flawless face and down to his broad shoulders and brawny yet agile body. There’s a current of desire surging throughout my body that’s so strong I have to close my eyes and remind myself to breathe.

  Seriously, this guy has the kind of hotness that makes good girls lose their shit!

  Luckily, I’m done with men. And yet, I hear a gasp escape my lips as I take him in.

  Steady, girl…

  I’m already having a crap day. My partner, Decker, and I put a lowlife away last month for dealing drugs outside a junior high school in lower Manhattan, and this morning that bastard got off on a technicality. One of my informants was a no-show at our prearranged meeting, the captain has been on my ass about taking a vacation whether or not I want to, and my sister-in-law is being more of a pain than usual about my love life—or lack thereof.

  The point is, my day was a piece of shit already, so by the time I pulled the car into the alley between the warehouse and the restaurant, I was on edge. And my partner knew it. He told me tonight was gonna be an easy night. We know Donavan has been branching out from petty low-level crimes and into the large, more lucrative world of narcotics.

  We need to catch him with his contact and try to flip him so we can get the guys he works for. Donavan isn’t very bright, and that works in our favor, but he’s jumpy and paranoid, so it took weeks to get someone to infiltrate his crew. We finally got an in. And tonight, in this alley, we were supposed to get that bastard once and for all.

  My undercover guy was in position, as was my team. I ordered them to stay as alert as possible because Donavan has been getting high off his supply and is extra jumpy. He’d shoot a rat thinking it was someone out to get him. It was important that Donavan feel at ease. So imagine my surprise when some crazy-ass lady jumps out of a window and into the dumpster. Right away Donavan begins to shoot at any and everything.

  I race out of the car and push the crazy lady out of the way before he can make holes in her. Donavon takes off and Decker goes after him with sirens on. And now, I’m left in this alley, lying on top of this insane nut job. I’m so fucking pissed; it’s all I can do not to lose it. Her face is covered as I yell at her and ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing. She removes her hands, and I get a clear view of her face.

  She has vibrant, sparkling grey eyes that pull me in and make even the thought of looking away painful. Her small frame and delicate features make her look more like a doll than a grown woman. But one look at the slope of her breasts and the curve of her hips lets me know she is all grown up. We lock eyes. I hate her. Mostly.

  Aside from ruining my night, she awakened my cock, and damned if it’s not seeking her out. What’s even more insane is she’s fresh from the dumpster, dipped in trash and slime. And yet, I have never seen a woman more beautiful…

  Well, beautiful or not, this crazy woman just screwed up an operation that took three months to plan. And she will damn sure pay for it.

  Her name is Winter Bennett, and she’s stubborn as fuck. She fights tooth and nail not to have to go to the hospital. After the EMT guys check her out, they tell her she’s good to go. But that’s not gonna happen.

  “Get in the car,” I order her.

  “I don’t need a ride,” she says dismissively.

  “Hey lady, I’m not your fucking driver and this damn sure ain’t a car service. I’m taking you down to the station.”

  “What? You’re arresting me?”

  “Not yet, but the night is young,” I reply as I open the back of the squad car and watch her get in. She’s so pissed her face is red, and she’s glaring at me like I’ve just killed her dog or something. I tell one of the uniforms to drive her to the station and I will follow. As the car drives away, “Ms. Charm School” turns and gives me the finger. Decker runs towards me and tell me that Donavan is in the wind. Fuck.

  “We have a BOLO on him but for now, he’s gone,” Decker says.

  “Let’s send a couple of units to his ex-girl’s house in Queens. They’re not together anymore but she might know where he’s likely to run to.”

  “I’m already on it. What’s the deal with the dumpster diver chick?” he asks.

  “I had them take her in.”

  “Wyatt, you think she’s a part of this?”

  “In my gut, no. But she’s screwed this up for us and I just want to make sure she has nothing to do with this investigation.”

  “Did she say why she jumped out of a window?”

  “No, but I’m guessing it was to get away from someone, a boyfriend maybe.”

  “Well shit, how bad does he have to be for her to prefer the trash?”

  “There are plenty of times I’d pick the trash over facing one of my exes. Hell, leaping into a dumpster might be the smartest thing she’s done.”

  “You’re right. I should have picked the dumpster a few times myself. Like on my wedding day. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with the shit storm I’m in now,” he says bitterly. I can tell he’s thinking about his soon-to-be ex-wife because his face is twisted in anger. Decker is an easy-going guy and a really fucking good cop. But his ex has done some really messed-up shit, and now it’s easier to get out of a war-torn country than to get out of his marriage.

  “You need help with the nut job?” he asks.

  “Nah, I got it. Go home. Get some rest. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

  Decker nods back towards me. “By the way, stay away from her. The hot ones are always the craziest.”

  ***

  It’s easy to see she doesn’t belong in an interrogation room. Her big eyes scan her surrounding with uncertainty. I introduce myself. She remains silent. I study her. She’s even more mesmerizing than I first thought. I place a notepad in front of her and ask for her statement. When she’s done, she slides it across the table to me.

  “You need to let me go. I didn’t do anything wrong,” she says firmly. Her tone wants to come off as in control and in command. But it’s easy to see that behind her eyes, she’s panicking. I’m pretty sure she’s not involved but I need to know for sure. I also find the thought of letting her walk away from me…unsettling.

  “You have no idea who this man is or what he does for a living?” I ask as I place the mugshots of Donavan on the table in front of her.

  “No,” she says with an attitude.

  “And what about these guys?” I ask as I place pictures of Donavan’s crew before her. She shakes her head.

  “Why did you jump? Did some woman enter the restaurant and find you with her man?”

  “What? No!” she says, clearly affronted.

  “Then what could have been so bad that you had to jump?”

  “If you must know, I was running from an ex. Okay?”

  “So, just to be clear, you’re single?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Does that matter?”

  “I ask the questions here. Not you.”

  “You’re holding me here against my will. So am I under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “Then I can go.”

  “Yeah, you can.”

  “Good,” she says as she marches towards the door.

  “Hey,” I call out.

  “What?!”

  “Your ex was a dick.”

  “You don’t even know him,” she says.

  “It’s a
n educated guess.”

  “The shots must have sounded closer than they were, right? I mean, how close did I come to…” Her voice trails off.

  She came very damn close to a bullet in the head. Had I gotten to her a fraction of a second later, we’d be making notifications to her family. But I can’t bring myself to say that to her, not seeing the terror in her eyes as tonight’s events begin to sink in.

  “Donavan is a lousy shot,” I lie.

  She nods and gives me a small smile but it’s not real. She’s freaking out. She’s just doing it internally. I get it. She turns towards the door and I spot her hands shaking. Crap.

  “Hey, I’ll take you home.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, I know. Still taking you home.”

  “I can refuse,” she pushes.

  “Let’s go,” I order as I walk towards her. I open the door and wait for her to walk through it.

  “You don’t have my permission to take me home, Mr. Hunter,” she says, gritting her teeth.

  “Here’s what you need to know about me: I don’t ask permission.”

  I try not to watch her perfect ass as she hikes herself up to the front seat of my truck. But it’s just not possible. She’s so small compared to the large vehicle, it’s almost comical. I’m six three, so small cars aren’t an option. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and winces at her messy reflection. I don’t know why. She’s fucking beautiful.

  She settles in and places the seat belt around her. It’s clear from the way she folds her arms across her chest that she does not appreciate being forced to accept a ride. She pouts and looks straight ahead. I linger there, on her side of the car, just looking at her.

  Who are you, Winter Bennett, and why is it so fucking hard to look away from you?

  She doesn’t say much on the drive to her home. I’d like to know what she’s thinking. But I restrict myself to basic questions, just enough to keep her from being swallowed up in the void of all the awful things that must be going on in her head. She tells me she’s twenty-eight. I’m thirty-one. Guess I’m old compared to her. She has lived in New York most of her life. Her sister and parents now live in Long Island. She tells me this in a series of short answers. I try not to take it personally. But shit, I am. I’m taking all of this personally.