Prologue
Connor Brooks
Deception camouflages reality. When women are involved, the mask can be so alluring, you never see it coming.
Soft hair in your hands, the scent of skin flaring in your nostrils, the curve of a waist, trace of a finger, and lips, tongues, and teeth are so vigorous, Satan himself would be blinded.
The worst lie is the one you tell yourself.
It’s just for fun and doesn’t mean anything.
Whoever said karma is a bitch was right. Twice I’ve lied to myself. Twice I’ve been bitten. Twice I’ve fallen hard...in so many different ways.
The pain I felt when the Twisted Hearts ran Gracie and I off the road then beat me and left me to die… I prefer over the emotional anguish of discovering the woman you’re sleeping with double-crossed you.
When I found out Novah was sleeping with me because Fisher paid her, it crushed me. My sister was abducted because I wasn’t able to protect her. My body was battered and bruised. My ego was beaten. Novah was instrumental in it all. But the real stinger was it wasn’t the first time I slept with someone who tricked me.
The only good thing about the Novah situation was the pain of my broken body, mixed with my hurt heart, didn’t feel as gut-wrenching as when Gia did it.
Or whatever her real name is.
Gia. The thought of her to this day sends my blood reeling. That blood is toxic. It has anger, love, lust, and pain swirling in it. And time hasn’t done one thing to make it any less potent.
I’ve accepted the fact she is never coming back. Hell, I don’t know who she really is, and I’m better off without her.
Gracie asks me if I’m in love with Novah, and I tell the truth. The answer is no. There’s only one girl I’ve ever wanted to get serious with, but she’s gone.
And then in the dark of the night, it’s as if the devil himself is listening and has to stoke the fire in hell where my heart currently resides. Gia falls from the air, clinging to Kade.
Long, black hair flies in the wind.
Skin golden and glistening with diamond dust shimmers.
Red, pouty lips haunt me, and all I want to do is lick and suck them.
And dark eyes burn into my soul.
I must be seeing things.
The toxic blood returns, pounding in every shred left of my heart. It’s like a hurricane spiraling violently, and when Gracie calls her Monica, the anger and pain wins.
I need to get out of here.
“Connor,” Gia calls out.
“Not interested,” I growl.
Blood pounds in my ears, and when I get to the stern, I crouch, screaming, “Fuck,” forgetting my ribs are broken and then wincing in pain on my way up.
Grasping my side, I lean against the railing, and, when I spin, Gia is in front of me.
“Connor,” she quietly says, her eyes wet, and hesitantly reaches to my bruised and still slightly swollen cheek. “What did they do to you?”
Don’t fall for her again.
I clench my jaw and close my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing. When I open my eyes, I see hers full of worry and regret. It almost shatters me all over again.
I stay silent. Afraid of what I might say.
Her hands worshipped my body like no one else’s and when they cup my face, the intoxicating power of her scent makes my body ache.
She swallows hard then licks her plump, juicy lips. Her warm breath merges into mine. “I’m lost without you.”
Heaviness grows in my chest, stealing the air from my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I lash out, “Would that be Gia, Lexi, or Ana? Or maybe Monica?”
Pain crosses her face. I’ve hurt her. It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
Not as bad as she’s hurt you.
Like the temptress she is, she composes herself and presses her body against mine.
Anger, betrayal, and lust mix in with her deception, and when she pulls my face to hers, I don’t stop her. Instead, I roughly slide my hand through her hair, firmly gripping the back of her head and shoving my tongue in her mouth the moment our lips make contact.
She moans and trembles in my arms, and any sense of control I have is gone.
I spin her to face the railing. Her ass is against my groin, and I move her hair aside and suck on the curve of her neck. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Oh God...yes,” she cries out.
I kick her feet wider and splay my hand on her spine, holding her down against the rail then rubbing my erection against the split of her ass. “You miss this?”
A cold breeze blows off the ocean, and she shivers hard, her body reacting to mine the way it used to.
I tug at her hair, pulling her head so I can see her face. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” she cries out. “I miss you so much.”
I release her and step away, chest heaving and pain shooting through my broken ribs, my cock harder than ever. “You’ll never have it again.”
As I stomp across the yacht, her voice, calling out my name, reverberates in the air.
And that’s all it’s ever going to be. An echo of what we once were. A faint memory of what could have been but never really was.
Nothing involving deception is real.
And I hardly survived her the first time. So I’ll be damned if I go back for round two.
1
Gia
Three Years Ago
“These are your targets. We don’t know if they’re Twisted Hearts or not, but it’s your job to figure it out,” my boss at Interpol instructs a group of us at the headquarters.
A screen pops up displaying Fisher Corbyn’s face and those of a dozen men he spends time with whenever he comes to Florida.
“Infiltrate and don’t assume anything. Any of these men could be just as dangerous as Fisher.”
I scan all the pictures and can’t seem to tear my eyes away from one in particular.
Holy hotness.
He could be a Twisted Heart.
He might not be.
Might has two sides to it.
We don’t get to pick who we infiltrate, but I’d rather get someone hot than an ugly, old guy.
Like the last target I was assigned to. My insides shudder thinking about how much he made my skin crawl.
I glance back at the picture. This man has dark hair and a sun-kissed, chiseled face. The photo was taken without his knowledge, and it appears he's bartending on a beach. He's smiling, displaying his perfectly straight, white teeth, and he looks genuinely happy. His dark, deep blue eyes look kind but confident. Broad shoulders and biceps bulging out of his sleeves give me the impression he spends a lot of time in the gym.
When my number pops up on the screen with the sexy man’s picture, my insides do a happy dance.
I bet he can kiss, and I won’t be bored or disgusted all night.
Jeez, Gia. He could be a Twisted Heart. Why are you thinking this way?
I glance at the profile sheet.
Connor Brooks. Barely twenty-two?
What?
There has to be a typo.
I re-read it then fixate on his picture. I’m twenty-four. I would have thought he was twenty-six, twenty-seven, maybe.
Ugh. I’m going to have to teach him to kiss, I’m sure. Last time I got the younger one, I ended up trying not to gag as the guy didn’t understand there was a hot way of “shoving” your tongue in someone’s mouth, and then there was the disgusting way of “shoving” your tongue in someone’s mouth.