Stormy Desire [Desire, Oklahoma 12] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting) Read online

  Desire, Oklahoma 12

  Stormy Desire

  Stormy James had spent her entire life avoiding Desire, Oklahoma, a town where Dominant, chauvinistic men ruled. As a private investigator, she knew how to take care of herself, but when a case turned deadly, she found herself on the run, and heading toward Desire, and her brother, Logan James, the only man she trusted.

  Lucas Hart, Devlin Monroe, and Caleb Ward had been friends with Logan for years, and readily jumped into action to rescue his sister. It didn’t take long for them to realize that she was more to them than just a client, and keeping their emotional distance proved impossible.

  Stormy's decision to leave Desire as soon as possible made convincing her to stay even more urgent. Earning the trust of a woman who feared and hated men because of past sexual abuse proved a greater challenge than they’d ever faced.

  But, earning her trust, and her love, would be their most rewarding mission of all.

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Romantic Suspense

  Length: 89,305 words

  STORMY DESIRE

  Desire, Oklahoma 12

  Leah Brooke

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  STORMY DESIRE

  Copyright © 2017 by Leah Brooke

  ISBN: 978-1-64010-715-1

  First Publication: November 2017

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at

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  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When Leah’s not writing, she spends her time with family, friends, and spoiling her furbabies.

  For all titles by Leah Brooke, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/leah-brooke

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Landmarks

  Cover

  STORMY DESIRE

  Desire, Oklahoma 12

  LEAH BROOKE

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  Jarred by another flash of lightning, Stormy James tightened her hands on the steering wheel, bracing herself for the crash that followed.

  “Stormy? You still there?”

  Taking a shaky breath, Stormy nodded, even though she knew her best friend couldn’t see her. “Yeah, Kathy. I’m still here. With this wind blowing, I have to concentrate on the road. I just wanted you to know what was happening. I’m afraid they’ll find out where I live and come to the apartment. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I need you to get out of there.”

  “Okay. I’ll pack a bag and go to my sister’s. Where are you?”

  “I left town. I’m heading west.”

  “You going to see your brother?”

  “I don’t know.” Instinct had Stormy already headed in that direction, reliving a nightmare that had become as familiar as it was terrifying.

  She prided herself on being strong, independent, and more than capable of taking care of herself, and it pissed her off that something as insignificant as a thunderstorm could reduce her to a mindless, trembling shadow of herself.

  “I think you should go see him.”

  “Maybe. Get out of there.” Stormy had to raise her voice to be heard over another crack of thunder. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this. I shouldn’t have introduced you to her. If I hadn’t given her your number—”

  “You were just trying to help your friend. I don’t think she knew what kind of trouble her boyfriend was into.” Stormy had to tighten her hands on the wheel again when another gust of wind nearly blew her off the road. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Keep me posted on where you are. I worry about you.”

  “I can take care of myself. I’m just sorry I might have gotten you involved. Be safe. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” Leaning forward, she wiped the windshield and turned the defroster on high. “I have to get off the phone. My battery’s low. Please just get out of there.”

  “Don’t worry. Call me tomorrow.”

  “Promise.” After disconnecting, Stormy tossed her phone onto the seat next to her and wiped the sweat from her brow.

  Her air-conditioner hadn’t worked in months, and the humidity in the air had become stifling.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror, frowning when a set of lights appeared.

  Stiffening at the next flash of lightning, she held her breath and waited for the ensuing crack of thunder and the accompanying flashbacks.

  Fighting to push back the images, she lowered the window, needing fresh air. A glance in the side mirror showed her that the lights had moved closer.

  The blast of cold rain pelting her through the open window shocked her system, but it did nothing to ease the breathlessness of a panic attack.

  Breathe through it, Stormy.

  The irrational panic attack made it more difficult to focus at a time when she definitely needed her wits to be sharp.

  “Fuck!”

  Furious with herself for letting the demon from her past win again, she slammed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel, welcoming the pain that helped push the harsh images aside.

  Increasing her speed, she divided her attention between the wet road in front of her and the headlight that rapidly approached from behind.

  Even when she sped up, they continued to approach at an alarming pace.

  She recognized the pinging sound of bullets hitting the back of her four-wheel drive with a sense of disbelief, instinctively ducking and gripping the wheel even tighter.

  The car behind her hit her bumper, sending her fishtailing on the slick road.

  She fought for control, and finally managed to gain it, but he w
as on her again immediately.

  The next sharp hit sent her completely off the road and into a field of tall grass.

  Instead of trying to get back on the road, she continued through the field, thankful that she got good traction once her thick tires gripped the mud.

  A glance in her rearview mirror told her that the men pursuing her couldn’t count themselves so lucky, the sports car they drove not nearly as good on the slick grass and thick mud.

  Even as she watched, the man in the passenger seat leaned out of the window and started shooting at her again.

  As she drove deeper into the field, the mud slowed her down. Staying as low as she could, she pressed on the gas pedal in the hopes of putting more distance between her and them, cursing and easing her foot slightly from the gas when she began to fishtail.

  She gained traction again, wincing at the sound of the side window behind her shattering.

  Stormy ducked lower and hit the switch to turn the lights off, turning sharply in the hope that she could lose him in the darkness.

  Another sudden streak of lightning illuminated the end of the field and the muddy road in front of her just in time for her to yank the wheel, causing her to fishtail again until she slowed enough to regain traction.

  Not knowing what lay in front of her, she had no choice but to turn on the lights again, just in time to avoid a huge hole in the road.

  The rain coming in the window made the steering wheel slippery and harder to hold on to. Since enough air came in through the shattered window behind her, she slowed slightly and reached out to close her window.

  The thunderstorm raged on, blowing her small SUV all over the slick, muddy road, each flash of lightning and rumble of thunder like talons plucking at her nerves.

  Fighting to get enough air into her lungs, she leaned forward, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

  Another flash of lightning and gust of wind had her tightening her hands on the wheel even more in an effort to keep her car on the road, holding her breath in anticipation of the rumble that followed.

  The loud crack startled her so badly that she cried out, a cry that sounded alarmingly like a sob.

  Hands grabbing at her.

  Hot breath reeking of alcohol.

  The feel of vulnerability intensified, making her heart pound furiously.

  Struggling to hold back nausea, she gulped in air, repeating the mantra she’d adopted shortly after the incident that had changed her life forever.

  “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me again. He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me again.”

  Fighting the compulsion to go faster to outrun the storm, she eased her foot slightly from the gas, breathing easier when she came to an intersection.

  With a sigh of relief, she turned on to a paved road, encountering some light traffic with no sign of the other car.

  Picturing Sam Kline, in his fancy clothes and expensive shoes, stuck in the middle of a muddy field, she smiled and relaxed her hold on the steering wheel.

  Not until her teeth started chattering did she realize that she’d become drenched, her upper body the only part of her dry thanks to her beloved leather jacket—a gift from her brother.

  The thunder and lightning stopped as quickly as it had started, the downpour of rain easing into a light shower.

  She kept a close eye on her rearview mirror as she drove, finding the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers calming, little by little soothing her nerves.

  Driving through the night, she kept a sharp eye on every car that passed her, relaxing more and more as the hours went by and she saw no signs of Sam Kline’s sports car.

  By the time she hit the outskirts of Memphis, it was four in the morning and the storm had passed.

  Slowing, she drove down a street lined with businesses, noting a small diner that appeared to be open, and a gas station that was still closed, stood across the street from a small cheesy motel, the kind of place where people usually minded their own business.

  Despite the humid air, she felt chilled and wanted desperately to take a hot shower and get into dry clothes.

  The thought of coffee had her biting back a groan, the rumbling of her stomach reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything except protein bars for almost twenty-four hours.

  She’d eat and take the opportunity to grab a quick shower while she waited for the gas station to open. As soon as it did, she’d fill her tank and be on her way.

  She drove around the deserted streets, looking for any sign of Sam Kline’s car. Seeing nothing that appeared to be out of place, she parked in a dark corner of the parking lot adjacent to the diner, knowing that it wouldn’t be dark for much longer.

  Grabbing her oversized purse, she dropped her cell phone in it and got out, grimacing at the sight of the shattered window behind the driver’s seat.

  Filling her lungs with humid air, Stormy adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder and scanned the parking lot as she opened the door and reached inside for the duffel bag she carried for emergencies.

  Stormy shook the duffel bag free of glass, and closing her car door with her hip, she scanned the parking lot again as she started to make her way to the diner.

  She took a moment to wrap her arms around herself, feeling her brother’s love in the confines of the well-worn leather jacket.

  She realized it was a ridiculously sentimental thing to do but just thinking about Logan warmed her and gave her a jolt of confidence that shook off the last remnants of her panic attack.

  As she approached the diner, she peered inside, relieved to see that only four older men sat together eating breakfast.

  She assumed that the pickup truck in the parking lot, loaded down with fishing gear, was theirs, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of other customers.

  The flip side of the diner being almost empty was that she would draw the attention of the people inside, and they would remember her.

  She didn’t consider herself a vain person, but no matter how hard she tried to downplay her looks, they always drew unwanted attention.

  She kept her long, dark blonde hair pulled back in a braid to keep it out of the way but also to keep from drawing attention to herself. Her green eyes were a nice color, but she didn’t wear makeup to emphasize them.

  She dressed in jeans and T-shirts and, more often than not, the leather jacket her brother had given her.

  She considered herself lucky that she was thin and had an athletic build, not the kind of curves men seemed to lose their minds over.

  Her sneakers squished when she walked up to the counter, the sudden silence making the sound even more noticeable.

  The waitress approached and gave Stormy a tired smile, poising a pencil over the small pad of paper. “What can I getcha, honey?”

  Country music played in the back, a man, who she assumed to be the cook, sporadically joining in on the chorus.

  Stormy glanced at the waitress’s nametag, more out of habit than curiosity, learning the other woman’s name was Wanda. “Coupla egg sandwiches and a large coffee to go.”

  “You got it.” Wanda tore off the slip and slapped it on the taller counter behind her. “Hey, Ralph. Order up.”

  A hand and large, tattooed forearm appeared in the small window, grabbing the slip and disappearing almost immediately.

  Turning back to Stormy, Wanda smiled, her smile becoming a mock frown when she glanced toward the table of fishermen. “Stop starin’ and go back to your breakfast.” Shaking her head, she poured a coffee into a to-go cup and placed it in front of Stormy. “Looks like you got caught up in the storm.”

  Wrapping her hand around the warm cup, Stormy turned her back to the fishermen and leaned against the counter. “Yeah. What time does the gas station open?”

  “In about a half-hour. Rory usually gets in early, though.”

  “Good to know.” Stormy took a sip of the hot coffee and reached into the front pocket of her jeans, keeping her face averted. “H
ow much do I owe you?”

  After paying, Stormy dug her cell phone from her purse with the intention of calling her client, Nicole, grimacing when she realized that her battery had died.

  She’d left her charger in her SUV, so she’d have to wait until she got back to her car to charge it. Dropping her phone back into her purse, she sipped her coffee, savoring the warmth.

  Minutes later, Stormy left the diner with her food, keeping her face averted as she left the diner and crossed the street to the motel, her breath catching when she saw another car coming down the street.

  Keeping her head down, she pretended to look for something in her purse, watching as it went by. Breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Sam Kline and his men, she continued across the street, continuously scanning her surroundings.

  As she got closer to the motel, she could see that she’d been generous in her first opinion. The vacancy sign had been reduced to ncy and hung at an odd angle. Broken bottles and empty beer cans littered the pothole-filled parking lot, along with several soaked wrappers that had gathered in the puddles.

  Following the flashing yellow and orange neon arrow, she made her way to a glass door, with a piece of paper taped to it, the word office written in magic marker. She opened the door, wincing at the sound of the tinny bell attached to it, and went inside, unsurprised to find the unkempt desk clerk seated and leaning on the desk, watching a late-night movie on an old television.

  He glanced at her, doing a double-take before sitting up abruptly, spilling his beer in the process.

  With a curse, he produced a roll of paper towels and hurriedly wiped it up, somehow managing to finger-comb his hair and tuck in his T-shirt at the same time.

  Her sneakers stuck in places on the grimy linoleum floor as she crossed about six feet to the scarred desk.