Dangerous Thirst (Possessing Her Book 1), page 1
Dangerous Thirst
Sarah J. Brooks
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright and Disclaimer
Special Invitation
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
About the Author
1. Copyright and Disclaimer
Copyright © 2019 by Sarah J. Brooks
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Facebook: Sarah J. Brooks
2. Special Invitation
Hey Sweetie,
do you want to get THREE romance novels sent directly to your Facebook Messenger inbox? Simply click here and I will reach out to you personally!
With love and talk soon,
Sarah
3.
Chapter One
Hunter
Saturday Evening
The evening was too cold for a leisurely stroll. The windy city bristled with ice as temperatures dipped below freezing. Of course, that didn’t matter to the wealthy crowd in the Crown Plaza Hotel ballroom. It was a collection of the elite of the city, each ticket costing upwards of twenty thousand dollars a plate.
I made my way around the impeccably decorated room with my beautiful girlfriend draped over my arm. Sandra complemented me well in pictures. Our blond hair and blue eyes seemed like a match made in heaven. I never missed an opportunity to show her off at an event like the one we attended that Saturday evening.
Most men could never hold the attention of a woman as hot as Sandra, but I found myself bored with her for the most part. She was the perfect arm candy, though, and she did her job well. Her dazzling silver gown draped so low I feared her nipples would fall out at any second, but such an eye-catching outfit ensured that other guests constantly approached us. Conversations practically started themselves.
As we made our way to the bar, an older man in a dark brown suit stepped in front of us. “Hunter Aimes!”
His face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t remember his name for the life of me.
“What a nice suit,” Sandra said, complimenting his ugly ensemble as I looked on, wondering if she was making a joke or if she actually liked what he was wearing.
The compliment caught him off guard, and he became flustered. “Oh, this? No, it’s nothing.”
Few men in the room could hold themselves together long enough to have a conversation with Sandra. She was the type of woman who made a man crumble in front of her, his nerves getting the best of him.
“Hunter, there you are!” Another call from behind me demanded my attention.
“Greggs!” I yelled, happy to see a colleague I enjoyed spending time with.
I wasn’t exactly known for my social skills. You couldn’t be a dominating corporate lawyer and make many friends at the same time. Thankfully, Greggs had worked at my firm since he had graduated from law school, so we’d never gone head-to-head on a case.
“Oh, Sandra. I didn’t see you,” he said unconvincingly as he gawked at my girlfriend.
I had seen him eyeing her from across the room, just as every other man in the room did when his date wasn’t looking. I didn’t mind. She was only here to draw attention, so the more men who dared to spark a conversation, the better.
“Hi, uh.” Sandra paused. She had never been great with names, or memory in general.
“Greggs!” he said too eagerly. “Remember? We met at the company meeting?”
Sandra looked from Greggs to me, her face scrunching in confusion. We both knew she didn’t remember him, and that wasn’t the only time they’d met.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s great to see you again. You look fantastic as usual.” He smiled, and I worried drool might spill from his mouth.
“We’re heading to the bar.” I nodded, excusing us.
“Thank you, Greggs. Nice to meet you again.” Sandra couldn’t help basking in the attention, but I needed her to attract new, more successful men to spark up a little business talk.
People thought these gatherings were held to benefit whatever charity they were hosted for, but they were wrong. No one in the room was here to help the cause. I honestly didn’t even remember what this event was raising money for.
The ticket price was a drop in a bucket to someone who made millions of dollars a year, but the only reason I would ever fork over a five-figure sum was to make more money. The dinner was an investment, and by my calculations, I would need to land two new clients to recoup the forty thousand I had spent on our tickets.
Gripping Sandra’s petite hand, I maneuvered through the crowded ballroom, nodding to familiar faces, and smirking at angry stares. You didn’t become as successful as I had in such a cutthroat industry without making a few enemies.
Corporate law was not for the weak-hearted. Lucky for me, I was anything but. I didn’t care what it took to get a job done. Nothing was above my ability or beneath my moral standards. Ethics were for cowards who were too afraid to get their hands dirty, and life had taught me that cowards lived in hell from early on.
“Hunter! We’ve got to talk. And who is this beautiful lady?” John Richards sidestepped me to ogle Sandra head-on. She blushed and batted her eyes under his lustful gaze. Shaking my head, I tugged her arm. Men were pitiful in their attempts to land women, and I didn’t have time to focus on something so pointless.
“Where are you going?” John asked, disappointed I was pulling Sandra away.
I nodded ahead. “We’re going to the bar.”
We had been trying to get there the past ten minutes, but we hadn’t been able to make it two steps without a man lunging at Sandra. I took a step in that direction, but Sandra pulled against my arm, and I looked to see what was holding her back. She had planted herself in front of John.
“You could always bring me a drink back,” she said, shrugging and flashing her bright blues at John.
Sighing, I released her hand. I didn’t care if she wanted to flirt her way through the party. I needed a drink. I nodded, and she reminded me that she wanted a cosmopolitan for the eighth time that night.
Accessing the bar was much easier without my trophy drawing so much attention. Just as I sat down on a barstool, a beautiful brunette sat beside me.
“How are you?” she asked, biting her lip seductively.
She was the type of woman I would take home, but in this setting, I wasn’t sure if she was available or not, so I played it cool.
“You’re Hunter Aimes, right?”
“Yeah. Do we know each other?” I searched my memory for her face, but I doubted I would have forgotten meeting her.
“No, but you need to see this.”
Placing a white envelope on the bar beside me, she smiled while raising her eyebrows. Inspecting the envelope, I started to ask her if she was from the courthouse, but she was gone when I looked up.
Assuming it was another subpoena for a court case, I opened it with little interest, but the first words let me know it wasn’t an official document. Unsure what it would include, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one else could read it. Then I started skimming the short letter.
Olivia
Saturday Evening
“Libya, let’s play!” Christian yelled with his hands in the air. He was too young to master the sound of the v, so “Olivia” sounded more like the northern African country.
“You go ahead. I’ll be right here.” I smiled, watching as he took off running.
It was bittersweet to bring the children to a place so close to my heart. They loved to see the characters dressed up, wandering around the play area, and it was difficult to pull them away from the games that spewed out tickets with every win. I had bad memories of Hunter’s Village, though.
Thankfully, the memories were beginning to fade now that so much time had passed, which my therapist said was healthy. My life before the orphanage was less than clear. No matter how hard I tried, I could never develop a clear image of my mother. She had died when I was so young, and I didn’t have any memories to describe her.
When I was younger, I blamed her for my misfortune because her death had caused my father to spiral into a deep depression. He often forgot I existed, or at least that was how I had felt. After a few years of trying to figure out fatherhood on his own, all while looking at a face that mirrored that of the love he had lost, my dad had dropped me off at an orphanage with no explanation or contact information.
Hunter’s Village had been a safe haven for me growing up, something of a dream. We had celebrated every adoption ceremony at the Village, during which the lucky child said good-bye to what was often the only family he or she had ever known. The characters would dance and sing as we all hugged the newest child to find a home, secretly wishing it would be our turn next.
When a child got adopted, they took a Polaroid picture of the child to compare to the snapshot they took on the day the child arrived at the orphanage. As children, we had constantly discussed how happy we would look in that photo, our new family surrounding us with love.
It was the only thing that had made looking at my Polaroid from my first day in the orphanage less painful, because I looked filthy and famished in the shot, my hair matted and my tattered clothes falling off my body.
My social worker had told me it was a setback that would make for a good comeback, and I would appreciate how far I had come when I finally found a new family. But that day never came. Despite my lack of memory of my parents, they were the only ones I’d ever had.
Thankfully, I did get another family in the counselors and orphans I shared a childhood and a home with. They were the only thing that had kept me going and were the motivation for me to find my purpose in life.
As a sophomore in high school, I had decided I wanted to be a social worker. I had hoped to help other children like me. But a chance opportunity to intern with the social welfare office my final year in college had led me to my current goal: opening my own foster home to give children the family I so desperately desired.
It had always felt like a dream too grand to achieve, but with the help of my mentor, I would be opening the home in a matter of days. Everything I had dreamed of would be mine sooner than I’d ever imagined, and it felt incredible.
Glancing around Hunter’s Village, I smiled knowing that the children in my home would not be limited to experiencing this level of happiness like I had been growing up. My home was going to welcome them, support their needs, and assist them with rebuilding what broken homes often destroyed.
“Libya! Look!” Christian ran into my knees, holding a train of tickets he’d won from a machine.
I brought my palms to my cheeks, feigning shock. “Wow! Did you win all of those yourself?”
“Yes! Now let’s get toys!” He pointed toward the glass counter that housed all the overpriced prizes.
Hunter’s Village was a money trap for adults, charging for entry and then again to play the games. The children needed tokens to play anything from mock basketball to the bowling game with small lanes. Then, depending on how well they played the mechanical games, the machines spit out tickets, which could later be redeemed for games, toys, and stuffed animals.
Of course, as an adult, I was aware of the astronomical markup, but for the kids, Hunter’s Village could do no wrong. Christian was ecstatic as the attendant behind the desk weighed his tickets, which was the most efficient way to measure winnings.
“You have seven hundred points, little man.” He grinned at Christian, who jumped up and down like he’d hit the lottery.
“Libya, we’re rich!” he yelled, and we both laughed before strolling around the counter as I pointed out everything he could afford.
Christian was one of the younger children who had not been privileged to have any family before the orphanage. My foster home would give him the first family he could depend on and knowing I could provide him with the stability and love I had craved so severely as a child brought me immense joy.
“The Transformer!” Christian shrieked when he learned he could afford the action figure.
“Here you go.” The attendant took the handheld figure from the shelf and placed it on the counter with a smile.
4. Chapter Two
Hunter
Saturday Evening
I burst into the bathroom, not caring who I offended. I slammed the door so hard it startled the attendant sitting on a silver stool. He leaped up, holding his hands in the air as if the place were being robbed.
“I just gotta go,” I said, trying to force a smile, but I was far too disturbed to keep up appearances.
Noticing an empty stall, I quickly shut myself in the private space. I pulled the letter from my back pocket and sat on the toilet. I racked my brain, trying to remember the woman’s face who had given me the suspicious letter, but all I could recall was the smirk on her face before she had walked away.
She had to have known this letter would ruin my life, and the thought made my blood boil. No one got one over on me, not in the courtroom and not on the street. I was far from a pushover, and I vowed to make that woman regret delivering such bad news if I ever ran into her again.
The letter was vague, but I knew exactly what it meant. The identity of the person who had sent it was a complete mystery, but I was certain of the crime I had committed. The note said they would alert my law firm and the authorities if I didn’t do what they required.
Getting blackmailed for crimes I had committed as a teenager sounded absurd. Rereading the letter, I was struck by their claim that I had thought I had gotten away with my crime because it was the truth. How could they know that?
It had been over a decade since it had happened, and in the past five years, I’d never even thought about it. I wasn’t the type of man who harped on the past. That was nearly impossible when I didn’t regret my actions.
I finished rereading the letter and folded it carefully, stuffing it back into the envelope before shoving it in my suit jacket. I needed to get back to the party, but how could I pretend everything was okay with such a threatening piece of information burning a hole in my pocket?
I was used to making people feel hopeless, setting them on edge before getting whatever I needed. It was terrifying to be on the other end of that sword. My mind spun with questions about the sender and if they were in attendance at the gala, but I couldn’t focus on that.
Pacing the tiny bathroom like a caged animal, I struggled to calm my breathing so I could return to the party. The note said someone would be in contact with me regarding the details of what I would need to do to keep my secret safe, and I didn’t want to receive any instructions in front of colleagues.
After flushing the toilet, I took one last deep breath and pushed the door of the stall open. The bathroom attendant looked both confused and terrified. I washed my hands, tensing my jaw in the mirror as I readied myself for more fake smiles, though now under intense pressure. The attendant held out a towel and mints.
