Lust Is the Thorn (22 page)

This book is for my parents. I love you!

As always, I want to give a huge thanks to my family. Greg, Kaitlyn, Hunter, Gabriel, and Ameline, I love you. Thanks for understanding that sometimes I need to work instead of play, and also thank you for reminding me to sometimes stop working…and play a little.

To my parents, Connie and Al, and my sisters, Tina and Cynthia, and their respective significant others, Erick and Ashley; my nephews, Dan, Riley, and Connor; my grandparents, Margie and Don; and my in-laws, Greg and Carole—I love you all. Thanks for being there for us, and for always answering any awkward questions I might have about my books (sorry, Mom and Dad, for the questions this book brought on your heads).

To my friends—Jay, Cora, Jen, Liz, Megan, Jill, Tessa, Christina, and all the other ones—you know who you are—I love you all. Thanks for being the best friends that a girl could ask for.

Huge shout-out to my agent, Louise Fury (The Bent Agency), and Kristin (Coat of Polish Edits) for all the hard work you girls always put into me and my career. And thanks to everyone at The Bent Agency and Team Fury.

Big thanks to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, here at Loveswept, and the whole team at Penguin Random House. Thanks to everyone who worked on
Lust Is the Thorn,
from covers, to editing, to marketing. I've found a great home, and I'm very happy to be here!

And, as usual, thank you to all the fans reading this. If not for you, I wouldn't be able to tell stories for a living, and the voices in my head would never leave me alone.

Lust Is the Thorn

Bad Romance

Dare to Run

Out of Line

Out of Time

Out of Mind

Between Us

Losing Us

PHOTO:
SALENA BORSUK

J
EN
M
C
L
AUGHLIN
is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of sexy books. Under her pen name, Diane Alberts, she is also a
USA Today
bestselling author of contemporary romance with Entangled Publishing. Her first book as Jen McLaughlin,
Out of Line,
was released September 6, 2013, and hit the
New York Times,
USA
Today,
and
Wall Street Journal
lists. She was mentioned in
Forbes
alongside E. L. James as one of the breakout independent authors to dominate the bestseller lists. She is represented by Louise Fury at The Bent Agency.

Though she lives in the mountains, she really wishes she was on a hot, sunny beach by crystal-clear water. She lives in northeastern Pennsylvania with her four kids, husband, schnauzer mutt, and three cats. Her goal is to write so many well-crafted romance books that even non-romance readers will know her name.

jenmclaughlin.com

Facebook.com/​DianeAlberts6

@DianeAlberts

April is a promise of spring and Loveswept romance is here to warm things up.

L. P. Dover continues her edgy, emotionally gripping Second Chances series with the story of a beautiful widow who can't resist a chiseled NFL player in
Catching Summer.
The Society of Gentlemen series from K. J. Charles continues with the sizzling
A Gentleman's Position
. For a new series, ladies, meet Micah, a man who takes what he wants—until he meets the one woman he needs in Stacey Kennedy's
Bound Beneath His Pain.
An epic love affair steals the show in Stina Lindenblatt's
This One Moment
. Annie Rains continues her small-town Hero's Welcome series with a cowboy turned Marine in
Welcome Home, Cowboy
. Gillian Archer is hot on the trend of MC romance, introducing her True Brothers series with
Ruthless
. And MC Sons of Odin returns with Violetta Rand's irresistible novel about a sexy-as-sin biker who tempts a good girl to go bad,
Possession
.

Off the Hook
from
USA Today
bestselling author Laura Drewry is the first in her Fishing for Trouble series featuring three unforgettable brothers—each of whom is a great catch. Then the swoon-worthy McKinney Brothers series from
New York Times
bestselling author Claudia Connor continues with J. T. in
Worth It All
.
USA Today
bestselling author Alexis Morgan kicks off her new Sergeant Joe's Boys series with
Always for You: Jack,
where a foster son learns about love and life in record time. And the new Fireside series tells a story of an old love reunited in
His to Love
from new Loveswept author Stacey Lynn.
USA Today
bestselling writing duo MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron are back with the Caldwell brothers in
Jagger,
which is not only full of swagger and sensuality, but also packs an emotional punch as the last bachelor standing fights for a woman who's worth every ounce of trouble. And yet another Aces Hockey romance from Kelly Jamieson releases this month, featuring pro hockey hunk Duncan in
Icing.
There's also something naughty for you from
New York Times
bestselling author Jen McLaughlin in
Lust Is the Thorn,
where a soon-to-be-ordained priest has to decide whom he loves more. Then prepare yourself for razor-sharp suspense from
New York Times
bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor with
His Deception.
Two words for you: secret bodyguard. And for fans of the hit TV show
Empire,
Lisa Marie Perry's
Sin for Me
kicks off the sizzling Devil's Music series.

Friend Loveswept and let the romance begin!

Until next month—Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

by MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron

Available from Loveswept

With paper-thin walls and a bastard next door, I hear the whimpers, the slaps, the crashing of shit in the apartment beside mine. This isn't the first time I've heard the noises in the six months since I moved in. After Momma died, home wasn't home, and I needed the escape. The apartment complex isn't upscale by any means. No, it's a dive. What the hell do I need to live in some nice-ass place for? I'm only here to shit, shower, and sleep.

Standing at my door, I grip the handle, knowing I need to hold back. This will become another trip to lockup, another case against me. I give my lawyer more of my winnings these days than I get to keep.

Leaning my forehead against the door, I fight the memories of my old man, who used to toss Momma around. He tried to get to us boys, too, but she took the heat until Hendrix and then Morrison were big enough to step in.

I gaze down at my bulging forearm as I struggle against opening the door, and the black and gray script of my tattoo dances as my muscles flex.

Legacy.

Momma asked us boys to be a legacy of good in a world full of bad.

With that thought in mind and not a second thought of the consequences, I take off, storming over to my neighbor's door—where I halt in front of it, realizing whose it is.

My landlord.

Mr. Rand, the Russian motherfucker who pretends not to speak English when anyone tries to complain, yet he certainly can understand the language enough to have you sign on the dotted line and take your money.

I feel the vibration of a body hitting the door on the other side, hear the whimper of a female, and I see red.

Nothing matters except saving her. Once upon a time, I couldn't save Momma, but I damn sure won't be in that position again.

I feel the door give as the weight is removed from the other side, allowing me to open it safely. As the door swings open, I'm not prepared for the rage that builds so rapidly inside me.

The apartment is tidy, which is more than I can say for my own place. Although it's small, someone has put effort into keeping it clean and clutter-free.

I watch as this frail young woman is tossed across the living room, and then she immediately gets up and runs down the hall, halting when she reaches the end, where she falls into the corner, planting herself against the wall. She curls into herself, her dark hair stringy and matted with blood and tears that roll down her swollen face. Blood trickles down her nose and from her lips. Her right eye is swollen shut and multiple shades of red and purple. I can see her arms are skin and bones as she holds her knees to her chest. When she lifts her head, I see the welts across her neck.

She looks up at me with the one dark brown eye she can open. It's so glassy with tears I'm not sure she can even see me. She gives a slight shake of the head that I assume is an effort to stop me. Her mouth opens and closes slowly, but no words come out.

I sense movement beside me, and that's when I see the bear of a man who is my landlord lunging at her, the belt in his hand swinging wildly over his head. He's a dark-haired, beer-bellied asshole with one giant chip on his shoulder.

Without hesitation, I storm toward him and crash us into the wall, and pictures fall as the place rattles with the impact.

“You wanna pick on little girls, huh? Why don't you try out a real man?” I grab him by his shirt collar and shake him as the anger consumes me. I can smell the alcohol on him. Cheap bourbon is his poison.

I draw back and slam my fist downward into his face as he paws at me. Then I kick at his knees, bringing him to the ground. Straddling him, I pound away at his head, face, and torso while he lies under me, swinging at the air, grasping for anything as I continue my onslaught.

I feel the burn in my knuckles as they bust open on his jaw.
Lights out, motherfucker.

He goes limp, yet I can't stop myself from throwing the last few hits before standing up and taking a step back to look at my prey.

His face is already swelling, and I'm pretty sure I broke his jaw and nose. Blood is running out of the corner of one eye, over his nose, and down his ear. Maybe next time he will think of this before he puts his hands on her.

Her.

I look over to his victim. She looks so much like a young version of him that the resemblance is uncanny. I just beat the hell out of her father, who, from the looks of her frail body and the scar on her cheek, beats the hell out of her on a regular basis. Fucking bastard.

As my eyes meet hers, I get lost in the emotion coming from the overly large, dark circle of the eye I can see. Going over to her, I extend my hand. She takes it, her small fingers cold as they slide into the warmth of mine, and I pull her up. Instinctively, I pull her into me and hold her close for a moment. She tenses in my embrace, but I continue to comfort her, running my large hand over her mess of dark tangles before I kiss the top of her head and release her.

Reaching in my back pocket, I pull out my wallet and then a business card before I put my wallet back in place and look at her. She stares at me, wide-eyed and wild. The blood is drying on her face, so I take her by the hand and walk her to the kitchen sink.

Leaving the card on the countertop, I wash my hands, cringing as the soap stings my open knuckles. After letting my own blood wash down the drain, I wet a paper towel, then tenderly wipe around her swollen eye and then the tear-filled one. Her skeleton fingers come up and wrap around my wrist as I clean under her nose and ever so gently wipe her lips.

I hear the grunt of her father waking up—my exit cue. It's time to go before we have round two.

“He'll most likely be angry, but too exhausted to fight you. Let him sleep it off while you find a way to get the hell out.” I point at the business card as I say, “If you need anything, call me at Caldwell's.”

Hastily, I kiss her forehead, hating to leave her behind to clean up my mess yet knowing that if she's going to leave, it has to be on
her
terms. That is the one thing I learned from my momma. Neither hell nor high water would make her give up everything she had worked for, even if she lived in the worst nightmare day in and day out.

“I have nowhere to go,” she whispers, causing my heart to beat loudly in my ears. “I just turned seventeen.”

Fuck! This man is beating on a minor who is helpless to leave. What the hell have I gotten myself into now?

“I'll help you.” I pick up the card, place it in her palm, then close her tiny hand around it. “Name?”

“Tatiana,” she whispers, and her dad stirs again.

“Come with me. We can call the cops, and his ass can go to jail. Social Services—”

“You have to leave.”

“But—”

“Thank you,” she says, pulling her hand away before walking toward the open door.

I follow her, though everything in my head is telling me to finish this asshole off.

“Come with me, Tatiana. I swear I will help you.”

She steps into the hall, and I think she is going to follow me. Hell, I want to pick her up and put her in my pocket so that fucker can never touch her again. Then she steps back inside and starts to close the door.

“What are you doing?” I know the shock registers on my face.

“I know where to find you.”

As the door shuts, my stomach turns. I want to smash it open and take her away. Then I remember her words. Maybe she just has to grab some things.

I beat feet to the bar. I know she will show. I know she will. She has to.

I walk in as Lola, the bartender, walks past me all teary-eyed.

“Lost another one?” I laugh.

“Maybe,” my brother Hendrix answers indifferently.

“Seriously, bro, you need to learn to play nice with others.”
So do other assholes in this ugly fucking world,
I think as I look toward the window to see if she followed me.

“Look, unless you're here to take on another night, step it up a bit. I don't wanna hear shit.”

“I liked Lola.” I sit down at the bar.

“You hear heels clicking up the wooden stairs into the apartment?”

I give him the what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, and then I hear them.

“No shit?” Lola is in the apartment above the bar, the apartment our asshole father still lives in because Hendrix lets him after promising that to our dying momma.

“Just found 'em in my fucking office. Told him a month ago when I caught him skimming from the till that he was out, not to step foot in my fucking place again, or he could pack his shit.”

I shake my head and clench my fists. I fucking hate my father. Abusive assholes—I hate all of them. I look at the window.
Come on, little Tatiana. Be brave.

“What are you gonna do?” I ask Hendrix, still looking for the tiny one.

“He's packing his shit.”

“You for real, man?” That's music to my ears, a win for the good guys.

“As fucking real as terminal cancer.”

Momma died of cancer, and although some people wouldn't find that statement funny, we laugh since sometimes you have to find humor in your misfortune. Unfortunately, I am finding no motherfucking humor in the fact that Tatiana isn't showing up. I wish someone would superglue my ass to this barstool because I know if she isn't here in about ten minutes, I'm gonna fuck shit up.

I look back at Hendrix. I know he's fighting inside. He holds shit in, whereas I am a little less…introverted.

I look up when the door opens to see Hendrix's buddy Johnny, the cop.

Fuck,
I think to myself when I see the pissed-off look on his face, his angry eyes directed toward me. I know what's next, so I make it easy on all of them and stand up.

“Got bail?” I ask Hendrix.

“You're fucking joking, right?” He looks down at my knuckles and shakes his head.

“Jagger, you know I have to take you in,” pissed-off Johnny says. “You beat the shit out of your landlord.”

“His kid was crying. Heard her through the wall, opened the door, and she's running down the hall. Fucker came out chasing her with a belt.”

“So you beat him to the ground?” Johnny asks, taking the cup of coffee Hendrix slides across the bar. “How about call 911? That's my job, man. Now she's so scared she's not talking and won't press charges—”

“What do you mean,
‘won't press charges'
? She had switch marks across her goddamned neck, Johnny. She's a fucking kid. She needs someone—”

“She's seventeen. Can't make her do shit, you hear me?” Johnny states, then points to the door. “Restraining order, so now you got nowhere to live, and when the judge asks where you work, what are you gonna say? ‘I smash people up in abandoned warehouses while others stand around and watch'? It's fucking illegal.”

I am pissed, so fucking pissed. I should have just snatched her up and shoved her in my fucking pocket.

“Nah, man, I got a job. I'm a motherfucking astronaut. Just got back from the moon last night. Shit looks good up there.”

“Last time you told the judge you were a fucking ob-gyn apprentice, and that got you a week in county.”

I look at Hendrix. “Do I have a place to live?”

Hendrix nods. “Of course you do.”

“I work here, right?”

“Yeah, man, you do. Call me after your photo shoot and fingerprints. I'll be down to pick you up.” Hendrix smirks as he shakes his head.

I walk outside and have to laugh. I mean, fuck, what else can I do? I'm going to jail because I tried to do the right thing. Momma would be proud. I did good. I am her legacy.

I rub the tattoo on my arm.

Legacy.

I hop in the back of the squad car and chuckle again. “It's like you're my own personal driver, Johnny.”

He shakes his head, and I know he's trying his hardest not to smile. “Only you, Jagger. Only you.”

This isn't my first ride in the back of Johnny's patrol car, and I can't promise it will be my last. At least he doesn't bother with the cuffs anymore.

As I sit back, I see my old man and Lola walking out of the alley with garbage bags. I give him the old one-finger salute, and he gives it back.

Good riddance, fucker.

“You gonna leave it alone?” I hear Johnny ask.

“What?”

“The kid, the old man, your old man. You gonna start trying to think of yourself someday, Jag? Your future?”

“Not sure,” I answer honestly.

“You're not Batman or some sort of vigilante. You are a mere mortal like the rest of us,” he says as he pulls out into the street. When I don't answer, he sighs loudly. “You gotta leave it alone.”

“Mm-hmm.”