His Hunger Read online

  His Hunger

  The Hunter Brothers Book 3

  M. S. Parker

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Reading Order

  Prologue

  1. Slade

  2. Cheyenne

  3. Slade

  4. Cheyenne

  5. Slade

  6. Cheyenne

  7. Slade

  8. Cheyenne

  9. Slade

  10. Cheyenne

  11. Slade

  12. Cheyenne

  13. Slade

  14. Cheyenne

  15. Slade

  16. Cheyenne

  17. Slade

  18. Cheyenne

  19. Slade

  20. Cheyenne

  21. Slade

  22. Cheyenne

  23. Slade

  24. Cheyenne

  25. Slade

  26. Cheyenne

  27. Slade

  28. Cheyenne

  29. Slade

  30. Cheyenne

  31. Slade

  32. Cheyenne

  33. Slade

  34. Slade

  35. Cheyenne

  Sex Coach Preview

  Also by M. S. Parker

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Order

  Thank you so much for reading His Hunger, the third book in the Hunter Brothers series. All books in the series can be read stand-alone, but if you’d like to read the complete series, I recommend reading them in this order:

  1. His Obsession

  2. His Control

  3. His Hunger

  4. His Secret (May 23)

  Prologue

  Manfred

  For nearly two weeks, I’d been debating what to do with the information Officer March had given me.

  Some days, throwing out the contact information for private investigator Bartholomew Constantine seemed to be the best course of action. Captain Hartman himself had assured me that the police department had done a thorough investigation and determined that the crash had been an accident. Horrible, yes, but still an accident.

  I supposed that was what kept me holding on to the PI’s information. I hadn’t yet decided if it was better that my son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter had died in a tragic accident, or if they’d been murdered as Officer March suggested. A mishap, unintentional misfortune, offered a sort of closure that homicide often didn’t. With an accident, there was no one to blame, no wait for justice that might not come.

  Was it worth putting Olive and the boys through an investigation that may not yield results? I didn’t know.

  As I struggled to remember how to be a father to young children, these were the thoughts that continued to plague me. Olive would have asked me to share with her, to lighten my load, but her grief had consumed her so fully that the only time she was aware of the world was when caring for the boys. Usually so tuned in to my emotions that she often recognized a problem before I did, she only now saw what we’d lost. I couldn’t burden her with this.

  “Give it back!”

  The angry demand pulled my attention from my thoughts, and I pushed myself up out of my chair with a sigh. Olive had retired to our room for a nap to rid herself of a migraine, and we’d yet to find a nanny who could handle four boys under the age of eight, which left me to deal with whatever was going on in the next room.

  As I reached the doorway, I was struck once again with how much we’d all lost, my grandsons’ innocence most of all. The shell-shocked expressions they’d worn for days had faded, but they weren’t the same as they’d been before that day. The loss of their parents and their sister, Aimee, had changed them all on a profound level.

  “Blake, you can’t take Slade’s car. It’s his.” The oldest, Jax, crouched in front of his youngest brother as he patiently explained the importance of asking for permission.

  “But I want it,” Blake said stubbornly.

  “I know you want it, Blake, but we don’t always get what we want.”

  A sharp pang of grief went through me at Jax’s simple, but true, statement.

  “It’s okay,” Slade spoke up. “Blake can play with it now.”

  Slade was the most like their mother, Abigail, out of all the boys. He had her thick, dark brown hair that refused to obey a comb, and her easy personality. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, the same way Abigail’s and Aimee’s had, but I hadn’t seen Slade’s smile since the accident.

  “He’s gotta learn,” Jax insisted.

  Slade shrugged. “I don’t want it anymore.”

  He was lying, I knew, trying to smooth things over so that neither brother would be upset.

  “Is everything all right in here?” I asked as I stepped into the room.

  Three pairs of blue eyes turned toward me, each one similar enough to their father’s that it made my throat close. Cai didn’t raise his head from the massive book on his lap. I hoped he hadn’t gotten into another one of the old nursing textbooks that had made their way into the boxes of belongings we’d brought into the house. He hadn’t had nightmares, but some of the things in those books weren’t appropriate for a seven-year-old.

  “It’s fine, Grandfather,” Slade said. “I’m letting Blake play with my car.”

  I waited to see if Jax would counter the point, but he didn’t say a word. I knew I should talk to Blake, but now, everything was peaceful, and I was too exhausted to break that up.

  “I’m going to speak with the cook about dinner,” I said instead. “Is there anything special any of you want?”

  “Hot dogs and ‘pasketi,” Blake insisted vehemently. Everyone groaned. His menu suggestion had been the exact same every day since the accident.

  Jax rolled his eyes. “You can’t keep eating that. You gotta eat good food too.”

  “Can’t make me.”

  “Can too.”

  I held up my hand. “Boys.”

  All the boys stared up at me, eyes wide. I’d spoken loud enough to get through to Cai too.

  “Blake can have hot dogs and ‘pasketi, right?” Slade asked, anxiety written on his little face. “Mom made it for him all the time.”

  “Mom’s not here!” Jax snapped, his face turning red. “Her and Dad are dead, and they are never coming back because Dad crashed the stupid car!”

  “That’s enough!” I thundered. “Jax, go to your room!”

  He gave me a mutinous look but did as he was told. Cai’s face was pale, but he didn’t say or do anything as Slade sniffed back tears. Blake looked like he was trying to decide between crying and throwing something – probably Slade’s car, clenched tight in his chubby fist.

  “I’m sorry for making Jax mad,” Slade said, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes.

  “That’s not your fault,” I said gruffly. I’d never been any good at comfort. “We all just miss your mom and dad and sister.”

  Slade turned his face up toward me, tears streaming down his cheeks, and asked, “Why? Why’d they get dead?”

  I couldn’t hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay because I didn’t know that it would. I couldn’t offer him the hugs and kisses he’d lost when his parents died.

  I could, however, talk to Bartholomew Constantine, and hire him to dig up the truth.

  I owed it to myself, to Olive, and to the boys. Whatever the PI found would be better than never kn
owing for certain what happened that day.

  One

  Slade

  Twenty-Four Years Later…

  I’d been kicking myself all day for accepting my brother’s invitation to meet. When I left Boston after Grandfather’s funeral, I’d promised myself that I was done with my family. I didn’t care about the money from the estate or the family company. I had a life in El Paso, and it didn’t involve the Hunter family.

  Except now, I was sitting across from my older brother, Cai, and his gorgeous co-worker, wondering how the hell I’d gotten myself here. I’d applied for a DEA position more than half the country away from home…from what had been home. It wasn’t anymore. I was a Texan now. And I’d done it to avoid uncomfortable dinners like this where we all pretended there was anything left of our family.

  “I’m a Northern myself.” The redhead Cai had introduced as Addison Kilar leaned on the table. A moment later, she blushed and leaned back, glancing around as if worried that someone would chide her for poor posture. “Was it difficult to adjust when you moved here? I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the differences between Minnesota and Georgia.”

  I shifted in my seat, giving her the lazy smile that had always made girls and women melt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cai’s eyes narrow, and he reached over to twist a few wild curls back behind her ear. He’d been touching her every few minutes since the moment they’d arrived, and whether he realized it or not, he was staking a claim on her.

  Not that he had anything to worry about from me. I wasn’t interested in her. Sure, if I’d seen her sitting alone at a bar or in a club, I’d have hit on her if I was in the mood to fuck, but I’d never consider going after a woman who was connected to one of my brothers.

  “I spent my first eight months after boot camp in a place that makes Texas summers feel like a cool spring day.” I chuckled even though I didn’t really find anything amusing. Sometimes, I felt like it wasn’t even second nature anymore, but that the mask I wore was my true nature.

  “What made you decide to go into the army?” she asked.

  The interest on her face was genuine, but I wasn’t foolish enough to mistake it for interest in me. They might have said that they were colleagues, but if they weren’t more than that soon, then Cai wasn’t as intelligent as I’d always thought.

  I shrugged, picking up the last pear and popping it into my mouth. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do after high school, but I did know what I didn’t want to do, and that was work at Harper Enterprises.” I gestured to Cai. “He was always the smart one, always wanting to be a doctor or scientist. The army seemed like it’d give me something to do while I figured stuff out.”

  Addison laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe the army quite like that.”

  “Stick around,” I said with a wink, “I’ll say a lot you’ve never heard before.”

  Cai shot me a dirty look, and I wondered if I’d pushed him too far. Well, maybe he needed a kick in the ass to make him go after the woman he wanted. And if he didn’t, then he shouldn’t have called me.

  That was…interesting.

  After the first half hour or so, Cai had started to relax – or at least as relaxed as my big brother ever got – and I realized why he’d wanted us to meet. He was reaching out. After twenty-four years, he was finally reaching out to me. Not just me though. He’d called Jax. Twice. That was almost as shocking as the fact that Jax had taken the call.

  The only person I’d ever seen work more than Jax was Grandfather. I hadn’t been surprised at all when I’d walked into Grandfather’s hospital room and had seen Jax sitting in a corner with a laptop and a stack of paper.

  And now Jax was engaged and planning to build a BDSM club with his fiancée.

  Seeing my brothers for the first time in three years, I’d been more convinced than ever that nothing would change. Even the short conversation we’d had about Club Privé hadn’t been enough to make me think that we’d ever be at the point where Grandfather’s stipulations for our inheritance would be fulfilled.

  I’d felt justified in my decision to isolate myself, but after seeing Cai trying to get to know me again and hearing that Jax was opening lines of communication…I didn’t want to hope, but I couldn’t help myself.

  It was still early when I arrived home, and the sounds of the kids playing outside made me smile. The complex where I lived was average when it came to price and quality, and about half of the people who lived here had kids. I’d taken one of the smaller units, cheaper than what I could afford, but a perfect size to convey to any woman I brought home that I wasn’t searching for someone to start a family with.

  “Slade!”

  I turned just in time to catch the wiry six-year-old who launched himself at me, laughing. He smelled like chlorine, and I swallowed a scowl. Temperatures in the mid-sixties in February didn’t make for good swimming weather. It was still cold enough at night that the water wasn’t going to be warm.

  “I did a cannonball!” he practically shouted in my ear.

  “You did?” I shifted his cold, wet body to one side. “Why?”

  He grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. “Mickey dared me to.”

  Ah, things made sense now. Mickey was his ten-year-old sister who was forever getting him into trouble.

  “Dennis,” I said, giving him my serious look, “do you remember what we talked about? About Mickey and her dares?”

  He ducked his head. “That just because Mickey dares me to do something, doesn’t mean I should do it.”

  “And why is that?”

  “‘Cuz Mickey thinks it’s funny to get me in trouble.”

  I nodded, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “So, when Mickey dares you to do something, what are you supposed to do?”

  “Think first,” he answered obediently.

  “Exactly.”

  I held out my hand for a fist bump. Once the bump ritual was complete, I put Dennis down and sent him running down the sidewalk to where his harried-looking mother waited. I waved at her, and she made a motion with her hand that might’ve been a wave too.

  I let myself into my apartment, tugging my shirt over my head as I went. I liked the kid, but I couldn’t remember how many times I’d had to change my clothes because he’d jumped into my arms covered with mud or sand or soaked like he was tonight. Still, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  On the occasions when his enthusiasm and boundless energy annoyed me, I just remembered how I’d met him, and it put things into perspective.

  I’d been living here for a week but hadn’t had time to get my bearings until a sunny Saturday morning. It’d been early enough that not many other people had been up, and I’d been enjoying the relative quiet. My walk had been taking me toward an apartment with a patio full of toys when I’d heard something from above me.

  I’d looked up just as a small boy had shouted, “Play catch,” and launched himself off the roof.

  I’d acted on pure instinct, diving forward just in time to catch him. I’d curled him into my chest, shielding him as my shoulder slammed into the ground. I’d ended up on my back, the wind knocked out of me, and a laughing child sitting on my chest.

  I’d been furious, wondering where the hell his parents were, but it hadn’t taken me long to learn that Dennis was a Houdini, able to get to places with no feasible explanation as to how he’d managed it. His poor mother had tried everything, and only a talk from me had managed to curtail at least the most dangerous of his stunts.

  I wasn’t a psychologist, but I was self-aware enough to know that my protectiveness of Dennis came from my own fucked-up childhood. Compared to a lot of kids, I’d had a wonderful childhood and adolescence. I’d never wanted for food or shelter. I’d gone to a good school, been kept healthy, and had proper discipline. And I was far from the first kid to be raised by a grandparent.

  But none of that meant losing my parents and sister in a car crash when I was five hadn’t affected me. I knew Gran
dfather had meant well, raising the four of us, but after Grandma Olive died, we’d become more like five strangers existing under the same roof than we were a family.

  Somewhere inside me, I was still the boy who only wanted his family back, and it was that part of me that made me wonder if a reconciliation with my brothers was indeed possible.

  Two

  Cheyenne

  “I’ve given you two warnings, Miss Lamont. If you don’t have your hair back to your natural color by your next shift, you’ll be suspended.”

  Usually, when my manager, Rhoda Belfast, started in on me, I zoned out. I knew the employee handbook forward and backward, and I’d never put a toe out of line. Close to the line, sure, but never over it. That was one of the reasons I didn’t listen to Rhoda most of the time, because I didn’t trust myself to keep a civil tongue around her.

  I’d put up with a lot of shit in my life and kept a cool head, but something about Rhoda just put my teeth on edge.

  Like now, I wanted to ask her if her hair was her natural color when any idiot could see the shitty dye job on full display. But I didn’t do it. I also didn’t remind her that we worked at a dollar store in a plaza that had been raided for drugs twice since the first of the year – and it was only mid-February.