Reckless Promise: A Dark Mafia Romance

  Reckless Promise

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  BB Hamel

  Contents

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  Trigger Warning

  1. Tara

  2. Kellen

  3. Tara

  4. Kellen

  5. Tara

  6. Kellen

  7. Tara

  8. Tara

  9. Kellen

  10. Tara

  11. Tara

  12. Tara

  13. Tara

  14. Tara

  15. Kellen

  16. Tara

  17. Tara

  18. Tara

  19. Kellen

  20. Tara

  21. Kellen

  22. Tara

  23. Tara

  24. Kellen

  25. Tara

  26. Kellen

  27. Kellen

  28. Tara

  29. Tara

  30. Kellen

  31. Tara

  32. Kellen

  33. Kellen

  34. Tara

  35. Tara

  Broken by Sin Preview

  Also by BB Hamel

  Copyright © 2022 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Trigger Warning

  This book contains graphic descriptions of sexual content, explicit violence, some drug use, and past trauma. These scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth experience, but may be triggering for some readers.

  Read at your own risk.

  Chapter 1

  Tara

  I find him digging at the base of some palm trees, his body dripping sweat, his back muscles flexing with every sharp bite of shovel into dirt.

  Nobody should be digging right now for a bunch of reasons. First, it’s midday in Phoenix, Arizona, and it’s pushing a hundred easily in the sun. There’s lots of shade in the Hayle garden, but still, I’m tired just hiking around the bushes and cacti and through the rough rocky ground to find whoever’s insane enough to do physical labor right now. I can’t imagine actually digging.

  Whoever he is, the guy’s got a death wish.

  But second, and more importantly, nobody, and I mean nobody, should ever turn over dirt in these gardens without my approval. That’s literally my only job in this hellish place. I’m the gardener, the master of this monstrosity, this abomination against nature, this massive waste of important water, this ode to excess and wealth, this big fuck you to all the average poor people that can spot the flowery bushes and towering palms from the street. Still, my garden means my rules, and I definitely didn’t approve digging.

  I hurry toward a copse of palm trees ringed by net-leaf hackberry, this large, leathery, spiky bush with flat leaves and long, dry, vine-like fingers. Right in the center of it, at the base of the palms, is the shirtless man, sweating in the heat, his finely chiseled torso slashed with ink and puckered white-and-pink scars and rippling with beautifully sculpted muscles, like the sort of muscles you see on TV but never expect to gawk at in real life, like this guy must seriously spend half his life in gyms or maybe he just goes around digging in random gardens because those biceps, those back muscles, my god, it’s incredible. He’s a man made for digging. I’d let him turn me over.

  I walk faster, anger rising, because no matter how hot this guy may be, this is my garden, I’m the gardener, and it’s my ass if the Hayle family is unhappy with whatever hole he’s randomly digging.

  And the Hayle family is unhappy with absolutely everything.

  “Hey, you,” I call out, trying to put on my big-girl voice, but it’s hard. I’m a solid five-foot-four in heels and this guy is easily over six feet tall and twice my weight, which means he practically hulks above me, but I’ve got to exude confidence and poise anyway. “Excuse me, sir, what are you doing?”

  I slow and come to a stop when I get closer. He turns to me, wipes a forearm across his sweat-dripping forehead, and a smile slips onto his handsome face.

  A face I know very, very well, but haven’t seen in years.

  He’s the last person I expected and the only man in this entire world I truly hoped I’d never encounter again in my life.

  “Tara,” he says, sounding genuinely pleased to see me. “I was wondering when you’d find me.”

  Kellen Hayle leans confidently on his shovel, his arm muscles bulging, and I have to take a second to stare at his ripped stomach and chest, swirling with black ink and more scars I can’t identify, just to get it out of my system before I can look him in the eyes. They’re green, forest-dark like a mist-shrouded jungle, and his dark hair’s grown a little longer, pushed sideways and matted with sweat. His dark eyebrows and long lashes emphasize his high cheekbones, slightly crooked nose, and square jaw. The bastard looks like there should be a statue of him sitting in some ancient Greek temple somewhere. Except I suspect even the Greek gods would be jealous of his absurd body.

  “Kellen,” I say, trying not to sound surprised and annoyed with myself when I do. “What are you doing here?”

  “Digging a hole. You know your shovel is a piece of shit, right?”

  “You’re using my shovel?”

  “Sure, I figured you wouldn’t mind.” He hefts it up onto a broad shoulder. “Been a long time since I saw you. What’s it like pulling weeds for my family all these years?”

  I grimace and heat rises into my cheeks. Both embarrassment and a deep, dark rage that glides beneath my surface like an ancient crocodile ghosting through a swamp.

  “Kellen.” I say his name like the curse it is. “Why are you digging out here? You’re going to get heat stroke.”

  “Nah, I’m good. Almost done anyway.”

  “Don’t you have people to dig for you? Since you’re so rich and all.”

  He laughs once. “I dig my own holes. Always have.”

  Which is fair, considering what he gave up all those years ago, but the word is this man has done very well for himself despite his outcast status.

  I come closer, stepping through the bushes. On the ground is a fairly deep ditch, maybe three or four feet down, though only a foot or two around. Sitting next to the hole is a box, steel gray and simple, locked with a basic padlock, no markings, nothing to identify it, just large enough to fit inside.

  “What’s in there? Burying a time capsule?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He sighs and puts the shovel down. “I know this is your turf, but I figured you wouldn’t mind, since I’m part of the family and all.”

  “You haven’t been back here in, what, seven years?” Since Cait died, I don’t add, because that wouldn’t be helpful.

  He squints at me and tosses the shovel aside. I grimace as it clatters onto the rocky ground. The shovel’s a piece of crap because implements come out of my salary—which is a sick joke considering how rich the Hayles are. They pay me okay and my living expenses are covered, but still, I’m not exactly rolling in it.

  “I assume you heard my father died.”

  I look away, down at the dirt. Yes, I’d heard, it’s all anyone’s talked about for the last week.

  Orin Hayle, patriarch of the Hayle family, a rich construction magnate with flowing white hair and a nasty attitude, a man exuding health and vitality, fell down a flight of stairs and cracked his skull on the landing. He was sixty-five.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I say even though I’m not remotely sorry at all. Orin was a bastard and made my life a living hell whenever he was home, and I’ve spent a quarter of my life thinking up nasty and brutish ways to kill that man.

  “I’m not.” Kellen stoops over, picks up the box, and drops it into the hole. He frowns for a long moment before picking up the shovel and covering it with dirt. “I didn’t bother with the funeral. What a fucking farce that must’ve been. Can you imagine trying to eulogize my father? I’m sure my ass-licking cousin gave it his all. I bet he practically rolled out his slimy little tongue and sucked on my dead dad’s testicles one last time, instead of saying the truth. Which would be something like here lies one of the worst humans in the world, the scum of the earth, a real piece of fucking shit, and the earth is better off without him. I doubt a single person in that church is going to miss my old man. I sure as fuck don’t.” He grunts as he covers the box, filling in the hole one shovelful at a time.

  “Why are you back then?”

  “Because my fucked-up family’s been running Hayle Construction for the last seven years without me, and now it’s time for them to step aside.”

  “That seems sort of—” I’m about to say extremely naive, but I stop myself, realizing it’s definitely not my place, and besides, Kellen might be my boss soon. Better to smile and play to his ego.

  He looks up, grinning anyway. “Seems sort of unlikely?” He nods and finishes filling the hole. When he’s done, he kicks the dirt around, covers it with leaves, and does his best to make it harder to find the fresh-turned earth. When he steps back, it’s actually hard to spot and will probably be invisible in a
day or two.

  “I don’t have an opinion either way.”

  “You liar. Tara Caruso doesn’t have an opinion? When I knew you, that was all you ever had. Cait used to say you were the smartest person she’d ever met but I thought you were full of shit.”

  “Cait said that?” I ask quietly as a sudden, old wound manages to rip open again. I thought I was over grieving for my best friend, but apparently Kellen is still capable of making me feel like shit about what happened to her.

  “Among other things. Now, are you going to take me to see my mother, or what?”

  “You haven’t seen her yet?”

  “Haven’t been inside. I wanted to bury that box first.”

  I take a deep breath, steadying myself. His dark green eyes stare at me intensely, and I hate the way he looks down my body, judging me. I’m in pretty good shape from working outside all the time, but I’m wearing old denim shorts, a beat-up button-down shirt and a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun from my face, and it’s not particularly flattering. I don’t know what he’s thinking right now, and I’m not sure I want to find out.

  He and I don’t exactly have a normal history.

  No, the first word I think of when it comes to Kellen is complicated.

  The second word is asshole.

  “You should clean up first. You can shower then maybe—”

  “No,” he says, grabbing a black t-shirt from where he had it hung over the branch of a bush. “We’ll go now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Lead the way, Tara.” He yanks the shirt over his head and walks out of the copse of trees, through the bushes, and back onto the path. He leaves the shovel behind, presumably for me to gather up later.

  The fucking asshole.

  I tear myself from the spot and step out beside him. Kellen lingers close, looking down at me with a tilted head and a half-smile. God, that smile is so familiar, I used to look forward to seeing it whenever I spent time with Cait in this place. Kellen is five years older, but he was close with Cait and made a point to visit the manor as often as he could when he was off at college.

  All that changed though. A lot changed after Cait died. An old, twisting guilty feeling spreads through my hands and down into my feet, and sweat rolls down my back, both from the heat and from the memory of my best friend. I glance up at the house, at the sprawling complex of wings and sitting rooms and bedrooms and corridors, and I wonder how I’m still here, like a ghost haunting the place where my life ended seven years earlier.

  Kellen stands there, eyebrows raised, that cocky smile beamed directly at me, and I finally sigh and motion for him to follow.

  “Right this way, Mr. Hayle.”

  “Oh, I like it when you call me that. Maybe add sir next time.”

  “Asshole.”

  He laughs and we head to the house.

  Chapter 2

  Kellen

  I step into the foyer of my old home and look around at the too-familiar walls, at the paintings and the crystal chandelier hanging above the twisting staircase, at the small Greek statues on their marble pedestals, and wonder how the hell I ever put up with living in this stuffy shithole of a place in my life.

  At least it’s nice and cool inside. I wipe my forehead again and take a step forward. There’s dirt on my shoes and I smile to myself. If I ever came inside as a kid with dirty shoes and tracked mud on the floors, my father would’ve given me new scars on my back to join all the old ones he left etched into my flesh over the years. Now the old bastard’s dead.

  “She’s in her room,” Tara says quietly, heading to the stairs. “She doesn’t come out much these days. I haven’t seen her outside in…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder.

  I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. Tara’s halfway up and frowning at me. She took her hat off, and her dark hair is down between her shoulder blades, black and thick and shiny. Her full lips are tugged into a frown, and her intense brown eyes stare at me uncertainly, probably wondering why I’m drinking her body in like a feast. Her skin’s sun darkened, tanned from working outdoors, and her body is beautiful and lean from the manual labor. I remember Tara was sexy as hell when we were younger, but she was my little sister’s forbidden best friend and still a teenager back then.

  Now she’s a woman. Twenty-five, if I’m doing my math right. Suddenly, she doesn’t seem so off-limits anymore.

  “Something wrong?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Just thinking about how I had a crush on you when we were younger.”

  She laughs uncomfortably. “We met when I was fourteen.”

  “And I wasn’t interested in you at first. But you grew up, didn’t you?”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “I’m not. You were too young and Cait would’ve killed me, obviously—” I hesitate, not happy with my choice of words, but I push on anyway. “But you were always around.”

  “We were best friends.”

  “Yeah, I know that. Best friends that shared everything, right?” We reach the top of the stairs and she moves to hurry down the hall, but I grab her wrist and pull her back. She sucks in a surprised breath as my fingers dig into her skin and I hold her tightly, feeling the small bones in her wrist, delicate and soft. I could snap them if I wanted. Just a little more pressure and she’ll scream in agony, and there’s a part of me that wants to do it, that craves to see her in pain right now.

  “You’re hurting me,” she hisses, but she doesn’t try to twist away. Her cheeks lose their color and I can sense the fear wafting off her. It’s intoxicating and my heart’s racing fast, being so close to her after all this time, a heady mix of pure hatred and the insane need to shove her back and fuck her senseless fighting for control.

  “I’ve been wondering for years,” I say, getting close, right in her face. I shove her back, still gripping her wrist, and pin her up against the wall in the shadow of the stairs. She looks at me with pure panic and fear in her eyes, and she fucking should. “Which one of you started it? Was it you or Cait? It could go either way. Cait was a good person but she wasn’t exactly innocent. I don’t have any illusions about my little sister and the family we grew up in. This place drove us all to extremes, and while it never shocked me what happened to her, I always wondered. You had an edge to you back then too, didn’t you? Maybe you were the one that brought that shit into this house?”

  “Kellen,” she says, half a moan, half a scared whimper. My fingers are digging into her wrist hard enough to leave a bruise and I realize I’m inches from her now, breathing hard, getting lost in my rage. I could hurt her, really hurt her, break her for all the anger I still feel after all these years. I wanted to do it too, ravish her and destroy her and leave her a simpering mess on the floor. I’d revel in her pain and drink down her tears.

  Instead, I release her and step back. Her shoulders hunch forward as she rubs her arm, glaring at me, still afraid I might come back for more.

  “Forget it. I don’t want to know.” I turn away, shaking my head. “It won’t fix anything. Might make it all fucking worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice quiet. “I didn’t want any of it to happen. You know that.”

  “I bet you didn’t.” I have to get control of myself. I can’t risk ruining my plans for petty revenge. “Is my mother in her room?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Go back to the garden, Tara. And pretend like you never saw me out there.” I’m trembling with anger and I can’t look back right now. If I do, I might see Cait in Tara’s eyes right now, and I don’t think I can handle it. Even after all this time, seeing Tara again woke up the rage I try to keep hidden as much as I can, and I’m ashamed of myself for letting it take control of me.