CHAPTER ONE
Somehow, Claire Fullerton had managed to
perfect the appearance of being a “good girl.” No one, absolutely
no one, suspected what she feared most—that she was a bad girl to
the core. All they saw was the dutiful daughter and responsible
reporter who provided citizens with important information. They had
no clue she was a reckless hedonist who sought out life’s darker
elements for sheer vicarious thrills.
At least, they hadn’t until now.
“Let go of me!” Claire twisted and pulled,
straining to escape the bald man with overblown muscles and a long
jagged scar bisecting his right eyebrow. Her efforts were futile.
With ease, he pulled her out of the small abandoned trailer just on
the outskirts of Guardian property, which she’d been staking out
for the past two days. Her patent leather flats slid against the
pebbled dirt as he dragged her toward the dilapidated warehouse
that served as his gang’s headquarters.
“I told you I just took a wrong turn.” The
lie fell easily off her lips. Too easily. Even so, the man snorted,
the sound clearly emanating disbelief.
He shook his head. “Give it up, Fullerton.
We’re gonna teach you to mind your own business the Demon way.”
The statement should have had terror zipping
through her veins. She knew, after all, that the man — Jed Randall
— was the Demonic Guardians’ second-in-command and an ex-felon to
boot, one with a string of robberies behind him. Still, she could
admit — if only to herself — that what she felt wasn’t fear but
rather an odd sense of anticipation.
Despite the gang’s reputation for violence
and their prior threats against her, she knew they wouldn’t really harm her unless they got the green light from their
hardened leader. Thankfully, Brad Hoyt wasn’t here, and Claire felt
fairly confident Randall wasn’t the type to hurt a woman or let
others do it either. Not unless they had reason to…
From her hiding spot, Claire had watched
illicit drugs flow freely but she’d seen no evidence of violence by
the gang’s members. Their primary mission had been an unabashed
commitment to everything sensual and sexual. If it felt good, a
Guardian did it. As to whom he did it with? Well, plenty of women
had been shuttled on and off the property, and consent hadn’t once
seemed to be a problem. From what Claire had seen and heard, the
women had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, prompting her to feel more
than one pang of envy.
At no point, however, had she seen the one
man she’d wanted to see most. She’d fantasized about him though.
Remembered time and again the feel of his warm skin against hers.
She’d watched men and women getting it on, and she’d imagined her
and Ty in their place — or sometimes even joining in. As a result,
she’d been quivering with sexual excitement more times than not
over the weekend.
And apparently, getting caught by Randall
hadn’t changed that.
It didn’t matter that he’d probably be back
in prison before the year was out. Even the dominant way he held
her — firm and inescapable but painless — heightened the arousal
she’d felt while watching him have sex minutes earlier.
She told herself her response was to be
expected. That any woman would have trouble remembering a man’s
criminal history when she’d just observed him, naked ass clenching,
pumping into a woman and making her come so hard her legs had
buckled.
Even as she continued to struggle against
Randall’s grip, lingering excitement made her heart pound and her
breath jerk in and out of her in small, ragged pants. She
envisioned the way his large hands had stroked the brunette’s
breasts moments earlier. They’d been going at it against a tree,
the woman’s back pressed against his chest, his arms braced on
either side of the woman’s head as he’d hunched over her, his slick
length, eight inches long and as thick as Claire’s wrist, pounding
in and out of the woman while she’d mewled steadily. Both
Somehow, Claire Fullerton had managed to
perfect the appearance of being a “good girl.” No one, absolutely
no one, suspected what she feared most—that she was a bad girl to
the core. All they saw was the dutiful daughter and responsible
reporter who provided citizens with important information. They had
no clue she was a reckless hedonist who sought out life’s darker
elements for sheer vicarious thrills.
At least, they hadn’t until now.
“Let go of me!” Claire twisted and pulled,
straining to escape the bald man with overblown muscles and a long
jagged scar bisecting his right eyebrow. Her efforts were futile.
With ease, he pulled her out of the small abandoned trailer just on
the outskirts of Guardian property, which she’d been staking out
for the past two days. Her patent leather flats slid against the
pebbled dirt as he dragged her toward the dilapidated warehouse
that served as his gang’s headquarters.
“I told you I just took a wrong turn.” The
lie fell easily off her lips. Too easily. Even so, the man snorted,
the sound clearly emanating disbelief.
He shook his head. “Give it up, Fullerton.
We’re gonna teach you to mind your own business the Demon way.”
The statement should have had terror zipping
through her veins. She knew, after all, that the man — Jed Randall
— was the Demonic Guardians’ second-in-command and an ex-felon to
boot, one with a string of robberies behind him. Still, she could
admit — if only to herself — that what she felt wasn’t fear but
rather an odd sense of anticipation.
Despite the gang’s reputation for violence
and their prior threats against her, she knew they wouldn’t really harm her unless they got the green light from their
hardened leader. Thankfully, Brad Hoyt wasn’t here, and Claire felt
fairly confident Randall wasn’t the type to hurt a woman or let
others do it either. Not unless they had reason to…
From her hiding spot, Claire had watched
illicit drugs flow freely but she’d seen no evidence of violence by
the gang’s members. Their primary mission had been an unabashed
commitment to everything sensual and sexual. If it felt good, a
Guardian did it. As to whom he did it with? Well, plenty of women
had been shuttled on and off the property, and consent hadn’t once
seemed to be a problem. From what Claire had seen and heard, the
women had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, prompting her to feel more
than one pang of envy.
At no point, however, had she seen the one
man she’d wanted to see most. She’d fantasized about him though.
Remembered time and again the feel of his warm skin against hers.
She’d watched men and women getting it on, and she’d imagined her
and Ty in their place — or sometimes even joining in. As a result,
she’d been quivering with sexual excitement more times than not
over the weekend.
And apparently, getting caught by Randall
hadn’t changed that.
It didn’t matter that he’d probably be back
in prison before the year was out. Even the dominant way he held
her — firm and inescapable but painless — heightened the arousal
she’d felt while watching him have sex minutes earlier.
She told herself her response was to be
expected. That any woman would have trouble remembering a man’s
criminal history when she’d just observed him, naked ass clenching,
pumping into a woman and making her come so hard her legs had
buckled.
Even as she continued to struggle against
Randall’s grip, lingering excitement made her heart pound and her
breath jerk in and out of her in small, ragged pants. She
envisioned the way his large hands had stroked the brunette’s
breasts moments earlier. They’d been going at it against a tree,
the woman’s back pressed against his chest, his arms braced on
either side of the woman’s head as he’d hunched over her, his slick
length, eight inches long and as thick as Claire’s wrist, pounding
in and out of the woman while she’d mewled steadily. Both
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