He’s a ONE and DONE kind of guy. Can she live long enough to find out if she’s the ONE?
Percy Honeybun and his honey, Brita Muldane just can’t catch a break. They’ve danced around their relationship for years, unable to find a way to make it work. But their lives are intertwined through family and friends and they’re just as unable to break completely away from each other. Maybe what they need is a life changing event to help them break through. Or maybe the life-shattering event they suddenly find themselves in, will end up breaking them instead.
“This is a well-written, funny, sexy, suspenseful romance novel. Yes it truly is all that combined into a great read. But with the Honeybun clan would you really expect anything less? 2 Thumbs Up for another great Sam Cheever Book! Only sad part is this is the final of the Honeybun Heat series… But I have no doubt the Honeybun’s will continue (at least this reader sure hopes they do).”
~5 Stars, Barbara Barber
“I loved this story. I was so engrossed with the story and I couldn’t put it down until I finished it. This story had a lot of twists and turns that it kept me off guard of what was going to happen next. I’m glad that Brita and Percy finally had a happy ending. I’m sad that the Honeybun Heat series is now completed, but I loved this series and would recommend both the Author and series as a must read.”
Water dripped somewhere nearby, the sound like a tiny chime pinging against her brain. Ping, ping, ping…each note plunging a needle between her eyes. She held her breath as a fresh wave of pain speared through her head.
Cold infused her limbs, and she gritted her teeth against a shiver. The thought of moving sent fresh tremors of dread through her.
Beneath her the ground was hard, gritty. The moisture she heard dripping somewhere in the distance turned the air sour with mildew.
She wrinkled her nose. Agony slashed behind her eyes and she gasped, going still.
The high-pitched whine of a siren crept into her consciousness. Her pulse climbed as she tried to remember why the sirens were important.
They had something to do with her.
Something she couldn’t remember.
Knowing she had to move, she filled her lungs with air and forced her eyes open. The ceiling was thirty feet above her head, crisscrossed with rusty beams. The walls around her were concrete block and metal, their surface pitted and stained.
She gritted her teeth. Rolling to her side, she whimpered softly as a jackhammer pounded the inside of her skull. Her arms were numb from cold. Stiff. Her legs were heavier than they should have been. She pushed herself upright and stopped, panting as pain and dizziness swamped her.
The sirens climbed steadily closer, their volume increasing. The louder they got the more certain she was that they were tied to her.
But when she tried to remember razors sliced her brain to ribbons.
She pushed to her feet, leaning against a pitted concrete pillar as the room spun. Taking deep breaths, she tested her legs and found them still heavy but working.
She stumbled toward the nearby window. The cloudy glass was fractured, a spider web of cracks running from a hole in the center.
She frowned, unsure how she knew.
Metal bars covered the glass, their surface dotted with rust.
The world beyond the bars was charcoal gray, the sky cloaked in thick, black clouds. A light rain fell from the bank of clouds, sending the stench of old oil and other things into the air.
Her gaze shot skyward as thunder growled overhead and she hissed as her brain slammed against her skull. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the dusty concrete and waited out the pain.
A man’s voice speared the silence, filled with fear and not a little anger. Her eyes snapped open, searching for the owner of the voice. He stood with his back to her, fists clenched and shoulders rigid. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, a long, perfectly proportioned form, and a dense thatch of red hair.
She smiled a little at the hair.
He advanced on the smaller man, angry words spilling out as he reached to poke the older man in the chest with one, long finger.
She frowned. Something about the tall man was familiar. Something tugged at her core…trying to break free.
She put her hand on the glass, leaning closer to try to hear. But it was no use. His voice was buried beneath the roar of the wind, the screech of the ambulance as it slammed to a stop a few feet away from him, and the intermittent growl of thunder.
Two EMTs climbed out of the ambulance and jogged around to open the doors. They pulled a gurney out and dropped it to the ground before entering the red brick building across the street.
A few minutes later, their argument forgotten, the two men in the street stepped back to watch as EMTs exited the building and rolled the gurney toward the ambulance.
The ambulance drove quickly away, sirens blaring.
Her heart thumped. Her stomach clenched and for a moment she thought she might be sick.
Did she know the man on the gurney? Was she somehow involved? She covered her mouth as nausea bloomed and yelped in surprise at the coppery stickiness covering it. Spreading her hands before her, she looked with horror at the coating of blood.
“Oh god!” she whimpered. “What’s going on?”
“Dammit, Bud! We need to find her!”
Despite her horror…the sick feeling of guilt…her gaze was drawn back to the window and him. Was he looking for her?
Almost as if he’d heard her ask the question, his gaze slid upward, skimming over the window where she stood. She ducked back before he could spot her and turned away, panicking. Had he seen her? And if he had, would he come?
She wouldn’t wait to find out. She started to run. Before she’d gone three strides, her foot kicked something, sending it skittering across the grimy floor. Pain shot up her foot and she stopped, swearing as she hopped on one foot until the pain eased.
She started to move again, finding the gun she’d kicked a few feet away, behind one of the rusty pillars. A new wave of panic swirled through her. Was that her gun? Had she shot someone with the gun?
Her gaze slid to the spot where she’d been lying when she came to. The gun wasn’t far from where she’d fallen. If she’d fallen. She couldn’t even remember coming to the warehouse—had no idea how she’d gotten there.
A door slammed below her feet and her head came up. He was coming after her! She let go of the panic and cold reasoning slid in to take its place. Reaching down, she scooped up the gun and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans. Then she skimmed a glance quickly around, looking for options.
An old freight elevator hulked against the far wall. She immediately dismissed it. Too slow. Too easy to follow.
In the corner was an Exit sign, a metal door beneath it. She ran for that.
“Hello! Is anybody here?”
She halted, her hand covering the knob. Something in his voice twisted regret inside her. Something sad lingered there.
She wondered if she were the cause of that sadness. She’d have no way of knowing. Since she couldn’t even remember her own name.
She briefly considered going to him. Maybe he could help.
But as the elevator clanged and started to groan slowly upward, she realized she couldn’t risk it. She had blood on her hands. Literally. And death or serious injury had found at least one person at the building across the street. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
She didn’t know who the hell she was but she knew one thing instinctively.
She didn’t believe in coincidence.
So as the elevator groaned slowly upward. She ducked through the exit and ran.
USA Today Bestselling Author Sam Cheever writes romantic paranormal/fantasy and mystery/suspense, creating stories that celebrate the joy of love in all its forms. Known for writing great characters, snappy dialogue, and unique and exhilarating stories, Sam is the award-winning author of 50+ books and has been writing for over a decade under several noms de plume.
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