Hellbent - Shannon McKenna Page 0,2

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.

No sex for now. Not until he managed to chill…the fuck…out.

The redhead’s back was to him in the camera, offering an amazing view of a world-class ass. Her back was straight and upright. The long, wild mane of fiery hair looked right, but he couldn’t see her face.

“Who’s closest to her?” he asked.

Nate muttered into his Bluetooth. “Wong is close,” he said, after a moment.

“Have him ask her to look up at the camera. I need to see if it’s really her.”

Nate’s eyes widened, but he relayed the message without comment. Jim Wong, one of his security experts, entered the camera’s view, a hulking Asian man, immensely tall and broad, with a thick neck, a goatee and a long ponytail hanging down the back of his leather jacket. Wong approached the redhead, spoke into her ear and politely gestured toward the video camera mounted on the wall.

The girl’s long hair swung out around her like a cape as she turned to look at him. Her big, bright eyes were painted up with smudgy black, blazing and intense. He couldn’t make out the color in the camera, but he remembered it perfectly. Stormy slate-gray on the outside of the iris, fading to light gray and then a sunburst of amber gold right around the pupil. Amber that matched her hair and her freckles. Fi had been covered with freckles.

The brightness in her eyes sparked a restless, uneasy stirring inside him. Lust, fear, all mixed together, way down deep.

Yeah, that was Fi. There was no mistaking that defensive, screw-you-too look in her eyes. The sexy shape of her full mouth. Those high, sharp cheekbones. She was no longer the skinny waif with the thick red braid. She was taller now, still lean and slender, but filled out. She looked lithe and strong. Her lips were painted hot red.

She faced the camera head on, with an aggressive, wide-legged stance like a comic book gunslinger. A glittering belt of crystal studded links hung low on her hips. She stuck out her chest, hands on her hips, elbows out. Staring him down.

After a minute or two, she lifted her hand, fluttered her fingers at him, and blew him a kiss. Her dark eyebrows were arched up high. As if she could see right through the camera, all the way to where he stood, frozen and dithering.

What are you waiting for? You scared? Of me? Awww.

What the fuck was she doing here? Tonight of all nights? He was still all wound up about what had happened to Eric back in Shaw’s Crossing. Dealing with Fiona would put him right over the top.

Besides Anton and his two brothers, Fiona was the only other survivor of the lethal shit-storm that was their childhood. Everyone developed his or her own fucked up coping mechanisms for dealing with massive trauma. Evidently Fiona’s had been to morph into a drop-dead gorgeous, man-killing femme fatale.

Damn. There were worse strategies.

“Tell Wong to bring her up,” Anton said.

He turned to the viewing window, checking his own reflection before he could stop himself. He’d changed a lot in the thirteen years that had gone by. The last time Fiona saw him, he’d been almost eighteen. No tats. His hair a long, shaggy, dark blond mane. He’d looked very different.

His current bad boy DJ vibe was edgy and hard. Hair