A Cursed Bloodline (WG 4) (45 page)

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The Editor’s Corner

As the hustle and bustle of the holidays, not to mention cold and flu season, approaches Loveswept’s prescription for your well-being is very simple, and reasonably priced too: Check out our new November releases, as low as $2.99. Just what the doctor ordered, right?

The courageous men of
USA Today
bestselling author Tina Wainscott’s Justiss Alliance series never give up and never make promises they can’t live up to—
Wild Nights
comes out this month and features Saxby Cole and Jennessy Shaw in Tina’s wildest story yet.
USA Today
bestselling author Stacey Kennedy’s Club Sin series continues with the wicked, sensuous novel from
Freed.
Ashlyn Macnamara’s historical romance
What a Lady Demands
introduces readers to a smoldering new love story threatened by past betrayals—fans of Julia Quinn, Eloisa James, and Sabrina Jeffries will adore it.
USA Today
bestselling author Maggie McGinnis has written a captivating novel spiced with holiday magic, featuring a rugged Montana man who mends a Northeast girl’s jaded heart—don’t miss,
A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise
. And the Weird Girls return in another edge-of-your-seat novel,
A Curse Unbroken,
from Cecy Robson! Just when Celia thinks the supernatural world can’t turn deadlier, a new rival emerges to prove just how dangerous a power-hungry Were can be, yum!

For the New Adult reader, check out our Flirt line featuring debut author Amber Hart as she pushes contemporary romance to its wildest limits in the heart-pounding novel
Until You Find Me,
the story of a girl who travels to Africa to protect the legacy of one man—and stays for the love of another. Regina Cole’s debut,
Draw Me In,
is a steamy novel of hot ink and delicious angst, where two tortured artists take a leap of faith despite the past that threatens to tear them apart.

Stay well and follow the prescription above—if you do you’re guaranteed a happy, healthy, romantic holiday season. Until next time…

~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

Read on for an excerpt from

Once Perfect

by Cecy Robson

Chapter One

“
Malibu
Barbie
. We need more cocktail napkins!”

I stopped wiping the bar booth, torn between throwing my bucket at Sam or at the cluster of bouncers chuckling at his Barbie dig. I still had two more booths to clean before the doors to the Main Line’s infamous Club Excess opened and the real work began. A crowd of spoiled brats—offspring of Philly’s wealthiest families—with too much money and too much attitude already crowded the doors. I should know. I used to be one of them. Except they still had the money.

I had a screaming boss.

“Malibu!”

“Jesus, Sam, I’m going.” I tossed my towel on the table and stomped across the dance floor in my black thigh-high boots. If it weren’t for the crazy tips the drunk idiots dropped like bowling balls, no way would I work at a place where I had to accessorize tiny black shorts and a skimpy tank with these hooker boots. The white dress shirt tied at my belly was Sam’s way of compromising when me and a few of the other waitresses complained about our new “uniforms.” The more desperate among us tied it closer to their cleavage. I didn’t. Even if it meant less money, I wanted to hang on to what little pride I had left.

My steps slowed as I neared the group of bouncers huddled around Mateo. He was young, younger than at least half of them, and still they looked up to him. Considering Mateo was an ex-con who fought in fight clubs, you’d think the staff would avoid him. I sure did. Hell, I’d barely spoken to him in the six months I’d worked at Excess, using any excuse to keep my distance. That said, there was something about him that made people take notice. His burly arms crossed his chest.
Power
was inked on one forearm in bold Gothic lettering,
Wrath
on the other, and black flames crawled up both, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt.

My puny shoulders tensed as I drew closer. Mateo had served time for beating some poor guy so brutally the victim had spent two weeks in the hospital recovering from the bashes to his face and body. I watched Mateo,
a lot
. Every now and then, I’d catch him glancing my way, too. He’d offer me a brief nod or a small smile, but I never offered anything in return. His size, the depth of his voice, and his aptitude for violence scared me, despite his captivating looks. He moved like a panther staking out his turf, ready for anything, his steely hazel eyes taking everything in.

He spoke low and rough as the last of his crew arrived. “Listen up. Keep the drugs and the dealers out. They come in with that shit, you see anyone selling—send their asses out the door. Sam doesn’t want another OD in his place. If those rich pricks want to die, they can do it somewhere else.”

The others answered Mateo with stiff nods, except for Dale, who whistled as I walked by. “Nice ass, Evelyn…”

His voice trailed off. I turned to shoot him a dirty look over my shoulder only to catch the death glare Mateo was firing his way. “Leave Evie the
fuck
alone and pay attention, Dale,” Mateo told him. Dale immediately dropped his gaze, allowing Mateo to return his attention to the rest of the group. “With the first week of classes over, these fools are looking to party hard, and the dealers are ready to assist. Don’t go it alone. Call for backup if you need it, when you need it. I’ll take point near the bar. Ant’s my second. He’ll take point left of the floor. If I’m mixed up in some other shit, you call him. Got me?”

The bouncers collectively muttered in agreement. Even Dale.

My heart was thumping against my sternum and I lost my footing. I reached for my ponytail and tightened it fast, trying to pretend that was the reason I’d tripped and not, absolutely
not,
because Mateo had stuck up for me and shut Dale up on my behalf. Or because he’d called me Evie. Again. No one else had ever called me that.

I slipped behind the bar where Sam was stacking another rack of glasses. “Grab two boxes and make sure they have the new logo—not the old,” he snapped. “Numbnuts spelled ‘Excess’ wrong on the last one.”

“I know, Sam, I know.” I frowned. “You’re bartending again tonight?”

“No. I just wear the apron to show off my man boobs. Of course I’m bartending. I had to fire Joe when he helped himself to the register last week!” He brushed back his crazy hair. I pegged him at roughly fifty, but his snow-white Lion King mane made him appear at least ten years older. “Hurry up, Malibu, we only have twenty minutes before those needle dicks bust down the door!”

“I’d move faster if you didn’t make us wear these boots,” I muttered.

“Quit complainin’. Those boots earned you at least three hundred the first night you wore them. I saw you counting the bills.”

My body slumped as I conceded. Sam had a point. Blistered toes or not, these boots were paying my mounting tuition and other bills. I opened the door behind the bar and immediately flicked on the light before letting the door close behind me. The small set of steps to the left led to the loft where Sam kept an office. But I didn’t need to go there. I needed to head down the long hallway in front of me and into the storage room.

Light washed down the length of the white-tiled floor, brightening everything except the one room I needed to enter.
Don’t be such a wuss,
I told myself, and marched down the hall with my chin up. Jesus. I hated the storage room. But the rest of the staff was busy cleaning the bathrooms or finishing the rest of the booths. Besides, I wasn’t exactly popular around here. No one would go on my behalf, even if I asked.

The hallway seemed longer this time, even longer than the last twelve times I’d been sent for some bar must-have. My hand gripped the knob and I let out a long breath, waiting in the safety of the bright hall as I searched the darkness for the little string at the center of the room—my lifeline and the only device that flicked on the overhead lights.

I could see it from where I stood, but only due to the light from the hall. Like always, I cursed Sam for not updating this part of the old warehouse when everything else was remodeled months ago.
“Why would I spend the extra cash on something that houses disco balls and tampons?”
he’d argued.

“Cheap bastard.” My complaint morphed into more creative swears when I saw that the box filled with maraschino cherries was down to just a few jars. I’d used it as a doorstop every time I’d been exiled to the storage room. Now there weren’t enough to hold the heavy metal door, but maybe they could buy me time to reach the string. Anything heavier—old bar stools, chairs—was shoved along the far back wall…next to the damn napkins. Note to self: Move a damn bar stool closer to the door.

I pulled the box with my foot, not daring to enter just yet, and then I shoved it against the wide-open door. By some miracle it held. With a deep breath and a sense of determination, I bolted toward the center like a coward.

My feet clomped against the smooth floor. But the tile was too slick and my boots lacked sufficient tread. I slipped just as I reached for the string, falling hard on my side. The box gave way and the door slammed shut, encasing me in complete darkness.

My breath caught as my eyes struggled to focus. Pitch black ruled the windowless room. I was disoriented and I needed to leave, fast.

My breathing resumed in short, rapid puffs, predicting my approaching breakdown.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

“Stop it, Evelyn,” I said aloud, putting some push behind my words. “It’s just a room. It’s not going to hurt you.” I tried not to think about how alone I sounded in the darkness, and reminded myself that the string had been just within my reach. My body ignored my reasoning and reacted to my mounting fear, turning my muscles to jelly and making my heart pound with dull strikes against my chest.

I stood on wobbly legs and batted the air in the direction where I imagined the string dangled. It wasn’t there. My feet scooted me a little to the right and I tried again. Nothing. “Okay, Evelyn, go left. You just should have gone left, goofy.”

So I moved left and swatted at the air. Still nothing. The silly little piece of thread wasn’t there. I tried to slow my breathing, but my thundering heart wasn’t having it.

Go back. Just go back to the door.

Fear made me clumsy. I hurried forward only to crash into the wall, knocking over an overstuffed box when my arm whipped back. The contents spilled,
bang, bang, crash,
fueling my confusion and making the room spin. My legs lurched forward as my desperation heightened into hysterics. I knocked into something smooth and heavy. It might have been the fridge, but which one? The one against the far wall? Or the one nearest the door? I fought to find the handle to give me some light—any light—but my dizzying state moved me away from it.