Hooked (Never After, #1)
Emily McIntire
For anyone who has been the villain in someone else’s story.
You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.
J.M Barrie, Peter Pan
Author’s Note
Hooked is a dark, contemporary romance. It is an adult fractured fairy tale.
It is not fantasy, or a literal retelling.
The main character is a villain. If you’re looking for a safe read with redemption and a bad guy turned into a hero, you will not find it in these pages.
~
Hooked contains sexually explicit scenes, as well as mature and graphic content that is not suitable for all audiences. Reader discretion is advised. I HIGHLY prefer for you to go in blind, but if you would like a detailed trigger warning list, you can find it HERE.
Prologue
Once upon a time…
It feels different than I thought it would.
Killing him.
My knuckles tighten as I twist my wrist, and when his eyes widen, blood spraying from his neck and dousing the skin on my forearm, I’m hit with a burst of satisfaction that I chose to hook my blade in his carotid artery. Fatal enough to ensure his death, but slow enough where I get to enjoy watching every last second of his miserable life drain away, taking his pathetic soul along with it.
I knew it would only take mere seconds for him to lose consciousness, but that’s all I need.
A few seconds.
Just long enough for him to stare into my eyes and know that I’m the monster he helped create. The living incarnate of his sins coming back to sow justice.
But I had rather hoped he’d beg. Just a little.
I stay crouching on top of him long after the high of his bloodshed fades, my calloused palm wrapped around his neck, the other gripping the sheath of my blade, waiting for something. But the only thing that comes is the chill as his blood cools on my skin, and the knowledge it’s not his death that will bring me peace.
It isn’t until my phone vibrates in my pocket that I release him, the weight of his control lifting away as his corpse drops from my arms.
“Hello, Roofus.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” he snaps.
I grin. “At least one more.”
“Is it done?”
Walking through the office and into the en suite, I turn the water until it’s tepid, putting my phone on speaker and beginning the task of rinsing the blood spatter from my arms. “Of course it is.”
Ru grunts. “How’s it feel?”
My hands grip the edge of the sink, and I lean forward to stare at myself in the mirror.
How does it feel?
There’s no quickening of my heart. No fire surging through my veins. No power leaching from my bones.
“Rather anticlimactic, I’m afraid.” Grabbing a towel off the wall hook, I dry myself and walk back into the office, reaching for my suit.
“Well, that’s not surprising. James Barrie, the hardest kid to please in the entire fucking universe.”
I smirk as I button my suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs while I head back to stand over my uncle. I gaze down at him, his black eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, his mouth open and lax—much like he always forced mine to be.
Funny, that.
But my innocence was stolen long before him.
I kick his leg out of the way, his hideous crocodile boots splashing in the blood that’s pooled underneath his body.
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Things got a little… messy.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Ru laughs. “Lighten up, kid. You did good. Meet me at the Jolly Roger? It’s time to celebrate.”
I hang up the phone without responding and let it sink in that this is the last moment I’ll ever spend with a relative. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep, searching for a sliver of regret.
There is none.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound jumps through the silence, scratching against my insides. My teeth grind as my eyes shoot open, my ears straining for that incessant noise. Crouching down, I take the handkerchief from my breast pocket and reach into my uncle’s jeans, pulling out his gold pocket watch.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Rage twists around my gut and squeezes, my hand slamming the watch onto the ground. My heart races as I stand, bringing my foot smashing down on the hideous object over and over again, until sweat breaks across my brow, dripping along my cheek and onto the floor. It isn’t until I’m sure of its silence that I’m able to relax.
Straightening, I huff out a breath, slicking back my hair and cracking my neck.
There. That’s better.
“Goodbye, Uncle.”
Tucking the handkerchief back into my suit, I walk away from the man who I wish I’d never known.
Now I’m one step closer to the one responsible for everything. And this time, he won’t be able to fly away.
1
Wendy
I’ve never been to Massachusetts, but I’ve heard about the lack of heat. So, while the temperature change from Florida is a shock, it isn’t wholly unexpected. Still, as I shiver in my tank top, the light breeze blowing across my arms, I can’t help but wish I had stayed behind, instead of choosing to follow my family to their new home in Bloomsburg.
But I can’t stand the thought of not being a phone call away if they need me. My father is a workaholic—even more so after my mother’s death—and without me around, my sixteen-year-old brother Jonathan would be all alone.
I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, even though he makes it difficult. I’d hoped, after the move, that he’d slow down. Make more time for his family instead of constantly searching for the next big thing to sink his teeth into. But Peter Michaels is never one to settle. His thirst for new ventures overpowers his ache for a family connection. Being named the Forbes top businessman for the fifth year in a row means he has a lot of opportunity in that regard. And being the owner of the biggest airline in the western hemisphere means he has lots of funding for said opportunities.
NevAirLand. If you can dream it, we can fly you there.
“We should go out tonight,” my friend Angie says as she wipes down the counters at The Vanilla Bean; the coffee shop where we both work.
“And do what?” I ask. Honestly, I was hoping to just head home and relax. I’ve only been here for a little over a month, and I’ve been working so much that I haven’t had a night to spend with Jonathan. Although, he’s in the teen stage of “I don’t need anyone or anything” so he may not want me around, anyway.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. A couple of the girls were talking about heading to the Jolly Roger.”
I scrunch my nose. Both at her use of “the girls” and at the name of wherever she’s talking about.
“Oh, come on, Wendy. You’ve been here for almost two months, and you haven’t gone out with me once.” She sticks out her bottom lip, her hands coming together in prayer.
Shaking my head, I sigh. “I don’t think your friends like me.”
“That’s not true,” she insists. “They just don’t know you yet. You have to actually come out with us for that.”
“I don’t know, Angie.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “My dad’s out of town, and he doesn’t like it when I go out and draw attention.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re twenty, girl. Cut the cord.”
I give her a half-hearted smile. She, like most people, can’t understand what it’s like being Peter Michaels’s daughter. Even if I wanted to, there is no cutting the cord. His power and influence reach every corner of the universe, and there isn’t anything or anyone that escapes his control. Or if there is, I’ve never met them.
The bell above the front door chimes, Angie’s friend Maria walking in, her long black hair glinting off the overhead lighting as she saunters to us.
My brows rise as I glance at her, then back to Angie. “What kind of place is gonna let a twenty-year-old in, anyway?”
“Don’t you have a fake ID?” Maria asks as she reaches the front counter.
“I definitely don’t have that.” I’ve never snuck into a bar or a club in my life. “My birthday is in a few weeks, I’ll just go out with you guys next time.” I wave them off.
Maria eyes me up and down. “Angie, don’t you have your sister’s ID? They look… similar.” She reaches out and touches my brown hair. “Just show a little bit of that body and they won’t even look at the face on the card.”
I laugh as I brush off her words, but my insides tighten, heat surging through my veins and lighting up my cheeks. I’m not a rule breaker. Never have been. But the thought of going tonight, of doing something bad, sends a thrill rushing down my spine.