Exclusive New Excerpt from Hounds of Hell MC 5: Crash

Since Helena never left her office until just after seven, Crash waited a couple of hours before he drove back over to her apartment complex in his Charger. It was a hell of a time to realize between his bike and his car that put out over 700 horsepower, he didn’t have a quiet mode of transportation. He just had to hope, since it was Friday, that everyone would be too tired or distracted from the work week to notice anything out of the ordinary tonight at the apartment complex.

Parking in the small lot of Helena’s apartment building, he spotted her car in the same space she always used. It was a shadowy part of the lot, and it didn’t strike him as safe but hopefully, it wouldn’t be a problem for long. Glancing up, he saw the lights of her apartment were on. Perfect.

Picking locks was something he’d perfected living with his stepfather’s abuse as a kid. Once the fucker killed their mother, he’d taken their house keys whenever he found them. Did the bastard think when he locked them out of their own home they’d just disappear somewhere? Where the fuck did he think they’d go? What really pissed him off was his brother coming home from school, waiting in the cold for Crash to get home to pick the lock. Every day, Crash waited for the fucker to do something else to keep them out, to start using a padlock. It must have been too much effort because it never happened.

When Crash had let himself into Helena’s apartment earlier, he’d found her spare key with a Scooby-Do keyring in a bowl on the kitchen counter. Crash took a deep breath before letting himself into her apartment this time. He hadn’t known all that much about her aside from the fact that he still wanted her, maybe even needed her on a level he couldn’t explain. Maybe she’d eaten the leftovers in her fridge he’d laced with a sedative. If she had, she was out, and she’d be easy for him to move.

If she hadn’t eaten those leftovers, Crash letting himself into her apartment could have some very loud consequences.

Standing in the dim light of Helena’s apartment, his heart felt like it would pound its way out of his chest. The soft glow from the lamp by the couch cast long shadows on the walls. His Helena lay there, asleep on the couch, her breathing slow and even. Right now, she was completely unaware of what he’d done. The empty takeout container was still on the coffee table, the remnants of the mashed potatoes he’d drugged left on the plate.

Just how far he was willing to take this?

Crash didn’t want it to be like this. He wasn’t a complete fucking psycho like his stepfather; it wasn’t who he was. But every time he stopped and thought about how she’d left him five years ago, just walked out of his life when he thought it was the beginning of something together, it twisted something deep inside him. All the confusion, anger, and hurt came flooding back. And considering how their conversation in her office had gone earlier in the week, well, he didn’t know how else to make her listen to him. She’d told him she couldn’t treat him because of the night she spent in his arms that he’d never gotten over but offered to talk later. Sure, he’d stormed out of her office that day. But then he’d given her a few opportunities to talk to him out in town and she’d run like a coward.

Helena hadn’t given him a choice back then. Now, he wasn’t giving her one. She was going to listen to him.

His gazed at her sleeping form, her black hair spilling over the arm of the couch. Her beautiful face was peaceful with her hands tucked under her chin like a child. It was almost like none of his madness had touched her at all. Yeah, Crash couldn’t deny all the feelings for her were still there. They’d never gone away, no matter how hard he tried to bury them deep. Now here he was, about to kidnap her, and the enormous weight of what he was doing made his stomach churn.

Taking a knee by the couch, Crash watched her breathe. For a second, he hesitated. Should he be doing this? Maybe this wasn’t the way to get the answers he wanted. But what else could he do? She hadn’t talked to him in her office, not really. He’d made sure she saw him out in town, hoping she’d approach him, say something. Instead, she’d cut and run in fear. He understood that, especially considering he’d lost his temper during their “appointment.”

But that wasn’t what he needed. Crash didn’t want her fear. He wanted her to talk to him. He wanted her to tell him why she’d left him that night, disappeared without a fucking trace. Brushing his fingers over the softness of her cheek, Crash blew out a breath.
He was in too deep already, unable to entirely block out a tiny voice in the back of his mind screaming that he’d been too hasty, hadn’t thought it all through. He couldn’t turn back now. They needed to talk, and if this was the only way she was really going to talk to him, then that’s the way it was going to be.

Quick as he could, he went through her bedroom, grabbing a tote and collecting personal items for her — a hairbrush, her toothbrush, a pair of pajamas, and a few other clothing items. With that hanging off his arm, he headed back to the living room.

Crash patted the spare key in his jacket pocket, staring down at her one last time. Carefully, he lifted her from the couch, her small form limp in his arms, knowing she’d probably never know how much it hurt him to do this, the conflict he battled even as he carried her to the door. He was able to carry her to his car, get her situated in the back seat with no trouble. Tossing her bag into the back, he started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

Crash drove them to the house that held all the ghosts of his past.

They were both about to face them. Together.

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