SERIES: Club Sin
SERIES PLACEMENT: #6
AUTHOR: Stacey Kennedy
AGE GROUP: Adult
GENRE: Erotic Romance
RELEASE DATE: July 7, 2015
PUBLISHER: Loveswept
FORMAT: eBook
PAGES: Approx. 195
TOUR COORDINATED BY:
Tasty Book Tours
BOOK BLURB:
Club Sin comes alive once again in this decadent new romance from USA Today bestselling author Stacey Kennedy, perfect for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey.
A dedicated cop, Sawyer Quinn blows off steam by immersing himself in his role as a Master at the hottest club in Las Vegas. But when Sawyer goes after the perp who brutally beat his sister, he teams up with Chloe Nash, a sexy private investigator who awakens a sweet new need: to keep her to himself, away from the dungeon of Club Sin. Chloe is beautiful, smart, and too innocent for the BDSM lifestyle. Sawyer’s never wanted a woman like this before. Is her love worth swearing off the one thing that keeps him sane?
There’s something different about Sawyer: a commanding strength that pulls Chloe into a vortex of heady desire. But when she learns about his double life as a Dom, she’s shocked—and afraid she could never complete him. Then he saves her life, and just like that, Chloe knows she will be able to give him anything he desires. She is his—wherever and however he wants to take her.
EXCERPT
“She’s lucky to be alive.”
Sawyer heard his father’s statement as he took in the sight before him. Even after a full minute of standing in the hospital room he couldn’t process seeing his little sister, Ashlyn, lying in the bed. The harsh scent of antiseptic in his nose, the beeping noise coming from the monitor, and the morphine drip attached to the needle in his sister’s hand all faded into the distance as the beaten state of her face filled his vision.
Black and blue bruises covered her cheekbones. Cuts and scratches spread over every inch of creamy white skin, and stitches outlined the right side of her mouth. Only her long brown hair remained untouched, and that lay beneath the bandages on her head.
Consumed with a wrath foreign to him, Sawyer inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, controlling the desire to explode. He fisted his hands and turned to his parents, Beth and Roger Quinn, asking the obvious: “Where is Travis?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, son.” His father—a few inches shorter and slightly softer in the middle, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair—continued in a stony voice, “We need to wait for Ashlyn to wake up. We can’t make assumptions about who attacked her.”
Sawyer heard what his father said, but the darkness rushing into his Roger’s hazel eyes contradicted his words, a confirmation to Sawyer and what he suspected. Travis, Ashlyn’s boyfriend of three months, had done this to her.
His father added, “The police are involved and are interviewing friends and acquaintances to see if anyone knew anything or saw anything out of the ordinary.”
“This attack is brutal, and based on what I’ve seen, it looks personal.” As Sawyer spoke he gestured to his beaten baby sister. “Look at her, for Christ’s sake.” Sawyer was a cop, and he’d seen it before. A beating like this, so intense and violent, typically involved someone the victim knew. “We all know Travis is capable of this and more.”
Travis was an up-and-coming mixed martial arts fighter and had the skills to beat someone into unconsciousness. Sawyer suspected Travis had used steroids on more than one occasion, and he’d seen evidence of Travis’s ’roid rage from time to time. It had never been directed at his baby sister before, though.
A sob ripped from Sawyer’s mother’s mouth. Noticing the pallor on her face, he moved toward her, offering comfort. His chest constricted as he wrapped his arms around his mom’s slender frame. “Please don’t cry, Mom.” Nothing broke him more than to hear her weep.
“Look at what he’s done to her.” His mother sobbed against Sawyer’s chest, her short curly blond hair tickling his neck as she clung to his black T-shirt. “How could he do this?”
Anger bit into Sawyer like a sharp blade while he examined his battered sister. So sweet, so tiny, and so young—she had turned twenty-two only three weeks ago. He was eleven years older, and he had always tried to protect her. His parents hadn’t planned on having a second child—given his mother’s endometriosis, they had thought that conceiving again after Sawyer’s birth would have been impossible. They were shocked when they found out about her pregnancy, but Sawyer was overjoyed that he’d have a playmate, even if it was a much younger sister.
“He’ll be arrested.” Sawyer gently rubbed his mother’s back. “Don’t doubt that.”
“How will she recover from this? My poor baby . . .”
His mother’s despairing voice made Sawyer vividly imagine pummeling Travis. Sawyer rejected the thought; as a member of the police force, sworn to serve and protect, he had to let justice be served through the law. Having served in the military and now as a member of Las Vegas’s SWAT team, however, he’d found that sometimes his morals got in the way of what his heart wanted to do, and right now what his heart wanted was to make Travis feel pain.
He held on to his mother tightly, feeling her trembling beneath his arms, and it made Sawyer realize just how Travis had broken into a happy life full of happy memories. In his line of work, he often saw people who experienced horrific childhoods. Not Sawyer and Ashlyn. Their dad, a white-collar worker, had always exceeded the role of a father. His mother, a stay-at-home mom, lived through her children. Travis had brought darkness into the Quinn family.
Sawyer wouldn’t forget that.
Sawyer heard his father’s statement as he took in the sight before him. Even after a full minute of standing in the hospital room he couldn’t process seeing his little sister, Ashlyn, lying in the bed. The harsh scent of antiseptic in his nose, the beeping noise coming from the monitor, and the morphine drip attached to the needle in his sister’s hand all faded into the distance as the beaten state of her face filled his vision.
Black and blue bruises covered her cheekbones. Cuts and scratches spread over every inch of creamy white skin, and stitches outlined the right side of her mouth. Only her long brown hair remained untouched, and that lay beneath the bandages on her head.
Consumed with a wrath foreign to him, Sawyer inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, controlling the desire to explode. He fisted his hands and turned to his parents, Beth and Roger Quinn, asking the obvious: “Where is Travis?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, son.” His father—a few inches shorter and slightly softer in the middle, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair—continued in a stony voice, “We need to wait for Ashlyn to wake up. We can’t make assumptions about who attacked her.”
Sawyer heard what his father said, but the darkness rushing into his Roger’s hazel eyes contradicted his words, a confirmation to Sawyer and what he suspected. Travis, Ashlyn’s boyfriend of three months, had done this to her.
His father added, “The police are involved and are interviewing friends and acquaintances to see if anyone knew anything or saw anything out of the ordinary.”
“This attack is brutal, and based on what I’ve seen, it looks personal.” As Sawyer spoke he gestured to his beaten baby sister. “Look at her, for Christ’s sake.” Sawyer was a cop, and he’d seen it before. A beating like this, so intense and violent, typically involved someone the victim knew. “We all know Travis is capable of this and more.”
Travis was an up-and-coming mixed martial arts fighter and had the skills to beat someone into unconsciousness. Sawyer suspected Travis had used steroids on more than one occasion, and he’d seen evidence of Travis’s ’roid rage from time to time. It had never been directed at his baby sister before, though.
A sob ripped from Sawyer’s mother’s mouth. Noticing the pallor on her face, he moved toward her, offering comfort. His chest constricted as he wrapped his arms around his mom’s slender frame. “Please don’t cry, Mom.” Nothing broke him more than to hear her weep.
“Look at what he’s done to her.” His mother sobbed against Sawyer’s chest, her short curly blond hair tickling his neck as she clung to his black T-shirt. “How could he do this?”
Anger bit into Sawyer like a sharp blade while he examined his battered sister. So sweet, so tiny, and so young—she had turned twenty-two only three weeks ago. He was eleven years older, and he had always tried to protect her. His parents hadn’t planned on having a second child—given his mother’s endometriosis, they had thought that conceiving again after Sawyer’s birth would have been impossible. They were shocked when they found out about her pregnancy, but Sawyer was overjoyed that he’d have a playmate, even if it was a much younger sister.
“He’ll be arrested.” Sawyer gently rubbed his mother’s back. “Don’t doubt that.”
“How will she recover from this? My poor baby . . .”
His mother’s despairing voice made Sawyer vividly imagine pummeling Travis. Sawyer rejected the thought; as a member of the police force, sworn to serve and protect, he had to let justice be served through the law. Having served in the military and now as a member of Las Vegas’s SWAT team, however, he’d found that sometimes his morals got in the way of what his heart wanted to do, and right now what his heart wanted was to make Travis feel pain.
He held on to his mother tightly, feeling her trembling beneath his arms, and it made Sawyer realize just how Travis had broken into a happy life full of happy memories. In his line of work, he often saw people who experienced horrific childhoods. Not Sawyer and Ashlyn. Their dad, a white-collar worker, had always exceeded the role of a father. His mother, a stay-at-home mom, lived through her children. Travis had brought darkness into the Quinn family.
Sawyer wouldn’t forget that.
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