Blood Brothers Book 1
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Have you had a chance to read the Blood Brothers series? Here’s an excerpt from Deadly Silence, the first book in the series. Enjoy!
The first book in a breathtaking new romantic suspense series that will appeal to fans of New York Times bestsellers Maya Banks, Lisa Gardner, and Lisa Jackson.
DON'T LOOK BACK
Under siege. That's how Ryker Jones feels. The Lost Bastards Investigative Agency he opened up with his blood brothers has lost a client in a brutal way. The past he can't outrun is resurfacing, threatening to drag him down in the undertow. And the beautiful woman he's been trying to keep at arm's length is in danger...and he'll destroy anything and anyone to keep her safe.
Paralegal Zara Remington is in over her head. She's making risky moves at work by day and indulging in an affair with a darkly dangerous PI by night. There's a lot Ryker isn't telling her and the more she uncovers, the less she wants to know. But when all hell breaks loose, Ryker may be the only one to save her. If his past doesn't catch up to them first...
Full of twists and turns you won't see coming, DEADLY SILENCE is New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti at her suspenseful best.
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Zara Remington brushed a stray tendril of her thick hair back from her face before checking on the lasagna. The cheese bubbled up through the noodles, while the scent of the garlic bread in the oven warmer filled the country-style kitchen. Perfect. She shut the oven door and glanced at the clock. Five minutes.
He’d be there in five minutes.
It had been weeks since she’d seen him, and her body was ready and primed for a tussle. Just a tussle. Shaking herself, she repeated the mantra she’d coined since meeting him two months ago. Temporary. They were temporary and just for fun. This was her reward for working so hard…a walk on the wild side. Even if she was the type to settle down and devote herself to one man, it wouldn’t be this one.
Ryker Jones kept one foot out the door, even while naked in her bed doing things to her that were illegal in the southern states. Good damn thing she lived in Cisco. Wyoming didn’t care what folks did behind closed doors. Thank God.
She hummed and eyed the red high heels waiting by the entry to the living room. They probably wouldn’t last on her feet for long, but she’d greet him wearing them. While she still wore the black pencil skirt and gray silk shirt she’d donned for work, upon reading his text that he was back in town, she’d rushed to change into a scarlet bra and G-string set that matched the shoes before putting her clothes back into place.
If she was living out a fantasy, he should get one, too. The guy didn’t have to know she’d worn granny-style spanx panties and a thin cotton bra all day.
A roar of motorcycle pipes echoed down her quiet street. Tingles exploded in her abdomen. Hurrying for the shoes, she bit back a wince upon slipping her feet in. The little kitten heels she’d really worn had been much more comfortable.
A minute passed and the pipes silenced.
She drew air in through her nose, counted to five, and exhaled. Calm down. Geez. She really needed to relax. The sharp rap on her front door sent her system into overdrive again.
Straightening her shoulders, she tried to balance in the heels past her comfortable sofa set, clicking on the polished hard-wood floors. She had to wipe her hands down her skirt before twisting the nob and opening the door. “Ryker,” she breathed.
He didn’t smile. Instead, his bluish-green eyes darkened as his gaze raked her head to toe…and back up. “I’ve missed you.” The low rumble of his voice, just as dangerous as the motorcycle pipes, licked right where his gaze had been.
She nodded, her throat closing. He was every vision of a badass bad boy that she’d ever dreamed about. His thick black hair curled over the collar of a battered leather jacket that covered a broad and well-muscled chest. Long legs, encased in faded jeans, led to motorcycle boots. His face had been shaped with long lines and powerful strokes, and a shadow lined his cut jaw. But those eyes. Greenish-gold and fierce, they changed shades with his mood.
As she watched, those odd eyes narrowed. “What the fuck?”
She self-consciously fingered the slash of a bruise across her right cheekbone. Cover-up had concealed it well enough all day, but leave it to Ryker to notice. He didn’t miss anything. God, that intrigued her. His vision was oddly sharp, and once he’d mentioned hearing an argument several doors down. She hadn’t heard a thing. “It’s nothing.” She stepped back to allow him entrance. “I have a lasagna cooking.”
He moved into her, heat and his scent of forest and leather brushing across her skin. One knuckle gently ran across the bruise. “Who hit you?” The tone held an edge of something dark.
She shut the door and moved away from his touch. “What? Who says somebody hit me?” Turning on the heel and barely keeping from landing on her butt, she walked toward the kitchen, remembering to sway her hips before making it past the couch. “I have to get dinner out or it’ll burn.” She kept several frozen dishes ready to go, not knowing when he’d be back in town. The domestication worked well for them both, and she liked cooking for him. Enjoyed taking care of him like that…for this brief affair, or whatever it was. “I hope you haven’t eaten.”
“You know I haven’t.” He stopped inside the kitchen. “Zara.”
She gave an involuntary shiver from his low tone and drew the lasagna from the oven and bread from the warmer before turning around to see him lounging against the door jam. “Isn’t this when you pour wine?” Her heart fluttered at seeing the contrast between her pretty butter-yellow cabinets and the deadly rebel calmly watching her. “I have the beer you like.”
“You always have the beer I like.” He didn’t move a muscle, and this time, a warning thread through his words in a tone like gravel crumbling in a crusher. “I asked you a question.”
She forced a smile and carried the dishes to the breakfast nook, which she’d already set with her favorite Apple patterned dinnerware and bright aqua linens. “And I asked you one.” Trying to ignore the tension vibrating from him, she grasped a lighter for the candles.
A hand on her arm spun her around. She hadn’t heard him move. How did he do that?
He leaned in. “Then I’ll answer yours. I know what a woman looks like who’s been hit. I know by the color and slant of that bruise how much force was used, how tall the guy was, and which hand he used. What I don’t know…is the name of the fucker. Yet.”
“How do you know all of that?” she whispered.
He lifted his head, withdrawing. “I just do.”
There it was. He’d share his body and nothing else with her. She didn’t even know where he lived when he wasn’t on a case. From day one he’d been clear that this wasn’t forever, that he wasn’t interested in a future. Neither was she. He was her walk on the wild side, her first purely physical affair, and that’s why he could mind his own business.