Page 1 of I'm Not in Love (I Promise)

PROLOGUE

Choosing to give my life for love is my proudest moment.

Choosing to die for her, my greatest achievement.

Fog lifts, giving way for clear resolve.

This is for her.

My angel. Lips like red roses, hair dark as night, eyes of pewter in pale moonlight.

The highway, driven for years, suddenly an open road.

I’m cruising toward my own demise.

Bullets for kisses.

Blood for a smile.

In the end, it’s you and me, baby.

Walking alone, hand in hand, endless miles.

CHAPTER ONE

DAMON

My knees crackas I crouch lower, hiding in the shadows cast by the home we’re surveilling. The job is simple—I case the property and take photos of anyone coming and going, Jasper plays the invited guest, and Leon hangs back around the corner keeping tabs on cameras, ready at the wheel in case shit goes south. Knowing Jasper like I do, shit is bound to go down that way.

The time-worn brick colonial stands before me, it’s weathered white trim and paint-flaked windows beckoning me to peek inside. If Leon hadn’t specifically asked me to stay at least twenty feet from the place, I’d be flush against the house, watching Jasper’s back through the windows.

“This is the worst,” Jasper gripes. He hasn’t stopped whining into my earpiece since we arrived thirty minutes ago. He drones on about something or another, but my focus shifts abruptly as a dim light flicks on in a lower bedroom. My breath catches in my throat and I’m momentarily stunned by a living, breathing angel.

Crimson lips, jet black hair, creamy skin, curves silhouetted against charcoal-gray lighting.

I sink deeper onto my knees, hiding further behind the half wall where I set up my gear, and study her.

A light breeze rattles branches nearby. They sway ominously, casting shadows across the perfectly preened lawn. Moisture from this morning’s rain shower saturates the thick denim of my jeans, sending a chill through my bones. I can barely feel it over the telltale signs beginning to manifest within my body.

I’ve worked on pushing those familiar urges down deep for years. The thumping heartbeat. The quickening breath. The trembling limbs. The primal need that pulls me to abandon everything and go after what I want. Forget about the where or when. That never mattered, not when instinct takes over. All thoughts converge into a singular focus—a burning desire that overtakes my ability to think rationally.

My angel bobs her head, swaying rhythmically around her bedroom. Her lips move and expression shifts in intensity. Whatever she’s singing along to isn’t a happy ballad. She looks ready to draw blood. I’m instantly intrigued.What’s wrong and how can I make it better?

I crane my neck to get a better look, knowing another few inches won’t help. Even my slew of surveillance equipment can’t get me a clear enough view. I hate that shit anyway. I prefer to use my own two eyes and sharp reflexes. The equipment just gets in the way, despite Leon insisting I bring it. The only thing I will use is my camera, now that I have a masterpiece to photograph.

“If I get offered another mini quiche, I’m going to hurl. Please tell me you got what you need, D,” Jasper gripes again.

I curse under my breath and break my gaze away from the window to check the entrance. “Not yet. No one has come in or out since I set up. Confirm, Leon?”

Leon rumbles a gruff, “Confirmed.” He hates being interrupted while he’s in tech mode.

We were lucky to get the intel about this party. All we could wring out of that waste of space guy in Palm Cove was a town,Willowbrook, and a nickname.Sweeper.I can’t forget about the fun time Jasper had toying with the guy before ending his pathetic life. Entertaining Jasper isn’t easy.

Once we left Florida, it took us over a month to piece any more information together. We could thank Leon and his genius hacking skills for finally gleaning tonight’s nugget of data—the address of this party. Our night could end up being a colossal waste of time.Not for me. Not now. Either way, I don’t think Leon’s slept properly in weeks.

Not like we’re new to the waiting game. This has been our reality for the last twelve months. We get a tip from some scumbag loser, follow it, and hope it’ll finally lead us to Bailey. One lead after another, and we’ve still got nothing except a few less losers populating the world and a new found penchant for bloody vengeance.

“Someone’s gotta know something,” Jasper whispers. “Lemme grab the next prick who goes to take a piss.”

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