Prologue
Five years ago, outside Montego Bay, Jamaica
The sound of the loose soil hitting his mother's plain gray casket kept echoing inside Sam's head. Patsy hated dirt. She'd kept a clean house. He couldn't imagine her resting peacefully beneath the ground.
At least, she was next to Pop. Maybe, it would be okay.
She'd told him that's what she wanted when he'd arranged to bury his father. Patsy said she didn't give a fig about the casket or flowers--all she wanted was to lie beside Tony for the rest of eternity.
He'd never guessed how soon he would be repeating the same gut-wrenching funeral decisions for his mother that he'd been required to make for his father.
He'd picked a light gray casket, because Patsy liked simple things. He'd ordered lots of her favorite yellow daisies. He'd asked the organist to play her favorite hymn, Amazing Grace. But no matter how he tried to fix everything, the whole thing was wrong--so very wrong that it felt like nothing would ever be right again.
There'd been so little time to mourn Pop, and then, less than a week later, his mom. Both of them so dead--so fast--permanently gone. He hadn't been able to save either one.
Hell, he couldn't even cry for them.
He made the trip home with no memory of how he'd gotten there. Yet, he was definitely home, standing at the foot of the main stairs, dry-eyed, not feeling a damn thing, except irritated. He was as itchy, as if an earwig was crawling along the back of his neck.
It was the music, coming from upstairs, the wrong music, a happy pop song that made him want to scream and smash things.
It was Caroline's boom box playing. She hadn't felt up to going to the funeral. He'd said he understood, but he'd lied. She was pregnant. What the hell did he know about pregnant women? Still, the music was wrong. She should've come to the funeral with him out of respect for his mother. Out of respect for him.
She didn't respect him. That wasn't news.
Hell, right now, he didn't think much of himself.
The singer warbled on from upstairs, the music rasping on Sam's already rotten mood. He took the stairs two at a time, storming into the master suite.
The music was loud, but Caroline heard him.
She didn't open her eyes, simply smiled a wicked, taunting grin when she spoke. "Is it too much to ask for you to knock?"
"Hell yes, it's too much to ask. This is my house."
She shifted, groaned softly, and spread her legs wider for whoever was licking her pussy. "I guess. Though, you couldn't prove it by me. You're hardly ever here."
"You aren't making this about me. Get the hell out of my bed," he yelled, yanking the plug on the boom box.
Stopping the music had been a mistake. Now, the room was filled with her breathing and lapping noises and his own pulse thundering.
Caroline shoved herself more upright, pouting prettily. "You're being mean to me." The sheet slipped, artfully revealing her full tits. "I was so horny for you. Don't be mad, 'kay? Be a good boy, come on over here and give me some of what I need."
Still mad as hell, he wasn't interested in helping some other guy fuck her brains out. But his cock didn't seem to be on board with his decision about not sharing. It was already half-hard. "He has to leave and then we'll talk."
"I wouldn't cheat on you," she said with wide-eyed innocence.
Except every chance she got. "Of course not," he said dryly.
The saddest part of the whole sick scene was that her behavior no longer shocked him.
)
For five long years, Sam has lived for the chance to avenge the murders of his entire family. When his enemy comes to Jamaica, it's finally time for him to exact justice. His troubles have only begun. Along with the arrival of his mortal enemy comes the only woman who can heal his wounded soul. While he worries about endangering his love, what Sam doesn't know may kill him. Because, the love of his life is his worst nightmare--his enemy's daughter. Rating: Carnal.
