I Hate Myself For Loving You Read online

  Table of Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  The Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Newsletter

  Sneak Peak of Just a Girl

  I HATE MYSELF FOR LOVING YOU

  Scorned Lovers

  SIMONE HARLOW

  Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  The Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Newsletter

  Sneak Peak of Just a Girl

  Copyright © 2017 by Simone Harlow

  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.

  Cover Design and Formatting - Mayhem Cover Creations

  Created with Vellum

  For John Wagner and the late Pete Helbock.

  Cops, soldiers, gentlemen.

  Thank you for your time, your help, and your candor.

  The honor was all mine.

  Sweet surrender is all that I have to give

  Sarah McLachlan

  Prologue

  DECLAN SHAW STUCK his clammy hand in his black suit pocket. He couldn’t sweat in a ten thousand grand suit, not for his father’s funeral. Ding-dong the bastard’s gone. He thought he would feel relief. Nope, just numb. That pissed him off. He should be dancing a good Irish jig. God knows it took him long enough to learn how to do one. The beating that dear old dad had given him until he’d gotten it right and scored a role had been memorable.

  Stop thinking and put on a sad face for the crowd. Get this over. Then he could go back to New Orleans and get the album recorded, go on tour, and get on with his life.

  A knock at the bedroom door caught his attention. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Malcolm stepped inside. “You ready?”

  He turned at his best friend’s concerned voice. “Almost.”

  Malcolm walked over to him. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” He lied, he didn’t want to deal with this crap.

  The sympathy was plain in Malcolm’s green eyes. “Pretend with everyone else, don’t lie to me.”

  Declan let out a long breath and prayed he didn’t cry. Malcolm wouldn’t judge him. “I don’t want to be here.”

  “I know.”

  Declan noticed that some of the people in the hotel suite’s living room staring into the bedroom. “Get me out of here.”

  “You’re the best actor I know, you can fake your way through this. You need to be here for your brother.”

  Brody had broken down several times already. Declan could be strong for him. “How’s Brody doing?”

  “He’s out there trying to hump Charlotte.”

  He was a Shaw after all which meant Brody didn’t care that Travis had put on ring on her. “How’s Travis taking that?”

  “He’s trying not to kill him.”

  “I can work with that.” He eyed his friend who was in a tailored black suit. He hadn’t worn one since Andy, the band’s bass player, died over a year ago. His normal spiky black hair was gelled down. He’d even left off the guy liner. “You look good, not your usual punked out self.”

  “Cherry’s coming.”

  Cherry was Malcolm’s mom, his one-time legal guardian, and the band’s agent. “She’s going to spit on my father’s grave?” She hated dear old dad almost as much as he did. A bonus.

  Malcolm gave him an evil grin. “After the paps leave.”

  Declan laughed. Cherry could be a dragon, but she’d been more of a parent to him than his father. She saved his life and his sanity. She even birthed his best friend. “I need a drink.”

  “I’ll let you drink the bar dry at the wake.”

  Malcolm had drawn the short straw and he was on Declan watch. He’d behave himself. “I have a better idea. Let’s skip the shit fest, find some girls, and drink on the plane back to New Orleans?”

  “You did that on the way up and banged a flight attendant in the bathroom.”

  The last few days had been an alcohol fueled haze he didn’t remember. “I have a good time?”

  Malcolm smoothed down Declan’s suit lapels. “Everyone in first class did.”

  Before he could comment, the door opened and his brother walked in.

  “You got a minute?”

  “Yeah, what do you need.” Brody was his replica. Declan had an inch in height and thanks to a hairdresser, lighter golden hair. Declan was eleven months older, but he always felt years older. Brody was more like their mother, not so jaded and much more sensitive.

  Brody gave Malcolm a pointed look. Apparently he wanted to talk alone.

  Malcolm took the hint and walked toward the bedroom door. “I'm going to take care of the limos.”

  “What’s up Brody?”

  Brody's gaze couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Are we going to read the will today?”

  Declan felt his lip curl up, but he pushed his rage down. Their father didn’t have a dime that didn’t come from Declan. “Patrick didn’t have anything to leave in a will.”

  Brody’s face flushed. “The house? The SUV…”

  “Mine.”

  “He told me they were his.”

  Of course he did. He was a greedy liar who didn’t want people to know just how pathetic he was. “As long as he stayed out of my life and didn’t talk about me to the press.”

  “Oh.”

  Bastard couldn’t even tell his son the truth. “The house and the car are yours.”

  “No man I’m okay.” Anger flashed on Brody's face.

  Declan knew Brody had it tough, he had a hard time keeping a job. He’d been in jail for making fake ids, and had a couple of DUIs and several other run-ins with the law. What his brother survived at their father’s hands ensured Patrick’s spot in hell. Declan didn’t th
ink Brody would ever be able to talk about it. God knows he couldn’t. “If you need anything...”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you stay at my house in Malibu after the funeral? Chill out at the beach, meet yourself a nice honey.”

  Brody smiled. “That sounds good.”

  “Cut your hair and people will think you’re me. You’ll be able to get into all the best places.”

  “That would be cool.”

  Now it was time to give his brother a gentle push. “Maybe go see Mom.”

  Brody frowned. “I don’t like to see her there.”

  Nobody liked seeing their mom in the loony bin, no matter how nice they made it. But when he was in L.A. he went every week and since he’d been in New Orleans he made the trip once a month. He tried to be a good son. She had the best care money could buy and when he was with her, he just made sure they had fun. In a strange way he got to be a kid again coloring and playing hide and go seek. As kid he’d been too busy working.

  It was his fault she was there. If he would have kept quiet and did what he was supposed to do his dad wouldn’t have hurt her. “I’m not going to pressure you to visit, but go to L.A. and kick back.”

  Brody’s smile didn’t quite reach his blue eyes, but Declan knew he would go. Declan touched his arm. “You’re going to get through this.”

  Brody swiped his fist under his nose. “I should hate him, but…”

  “Don’t let it eat you up inside. He can’t hurt us anymore.” For the last few days he felt like he was three seconds from falling apart and here he was trying to give advice to his brother.

  “I’m--”

  Before Brody could answer the door opened and Malcolm stuck in his head. “Everyone’s ready.”

  Declan examined his reflection and turned to his brother, hoping Brody wasn’t going to puke on his shoes. “C’mon we’ll get through the funeral. Then I’ll put you on a plane to L.A. and it’s fun in the sun.”

  “Are you going to speak?”

  Declan didn’t want to be a hypocrite. “Why don’t you say something?” The only thing coming out of his mouth was “rot in hell bastard.”

  “I don’t have anything ready.”

  Declan smiled. “Just talk from your heart.”

  Chapter One

  Six Weeks later, New Orleans

  * * *

  DECLAN LEANED against the stair railing. “C’mon on baby let’s get you upstairs and out of this dress.”

  The blonde woman giggled and broke from his embrace. “Chase me.”

  Declan braced himself against the railing, after a night of drinking he was in no shape to pursue her. He was Declan Shaw, he didn’t chase pussy. He just snapped his fingers and it appeared in his bed hot and ready. She caught his eye and blew him under the table, she earned a night to remember.

  “Third door on the right. I’ll even give you a head start.”

  The blonde giggled again and headed upstairs. She whipped her blue dress over her head and tossed it at him.

  “If you catch me, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”

  That was a given. Declan caught the dress, the silky material warm in his hand. He smiled. This never got old, a warm willing woman. He took a step as he watched her naked ass climb the staircase in the mansion. The world spun and he realized he was toasted, but he was going to get his dick wet, hopefully get a few hours of sleep and enjoy the rest of his weekend before he had to go back to work being a rock star.

  Okay he had a plan.

  A shoe flew past his head and he ducked almost losing his balance. Was she trying to decapitate him?

  “Kitty!”

  He saw his latest playmate sitting on the top step holding Magnolia, Charlotte’s cat in her lap. There was a joke in there about pussy holding pussy, he even took a second to figure it out, but he was too drunk to form it correctly.

  “You have a cat. How cute is that?”

  “What the hell?” Magnolia should be in Travis and Charlotte’s room with a bag full of food and an assortment of cat toys.

  Did Travis and Charlotte come home early? The happy couple were supposed to be in Vermont at Charlotte’s gay best friend slash ex fiancé and his new boyfriend’s B and B having a sex fest. Thinking that convoluted thought almost made him lose his boner.

  “She’s Travis’ girlfriend’s cat. And she shouldn’t be loose.” He reached the woman and took the cat out of her arms and almost crawled to Travis’s room. He found the door open and the room was a mess. Charlotte must have been excited to go to Vermont, she never let Travis be a slob anymore.

  He put the cat down, pushed her in the room and closed the door. He leaned against the door jamb and glanced across the hall to Shane’s room and noticed the door was open. Same with Malcolm’s and Gavin’s. He didn’t check Vaughn’s room because he didn’t care.

  Down the hall he noticed his door was open too. That was strange. Now he was drunk, confused, and creeped out. No one was supposed to be here. They took the weekend off because the family Yorke was having a big blow out and everyone decided a weekend away would do them good. Shane was in Iowa at the family farm. Malcolm and Gavin went to Florida, Gavin to surf and Malcolm to check out this ska band he was thinking of producing. Vaughn had picked up a couple live gigs in Texas.

  Declan was going to visit his mom and Brody in L.A. but his mom had the flu and her doctor didn’t want to stress her out even further.

  “I’m getting cold.” She walked past him.

  So was he. He wanted to get lost in between some silky thighs tonight.

  “I’ll warm you up.” He watched her enter his room.

  “How romantic.”

  “What?” He pushed off from the wall and went into his bedroom and stopped short. Red rose petals were strewn on the hardwood floor. Candles were lit on every empty space. This scene was set for seduction.

  “This puts me in the mood. How did you know?” He took in every detail of the scene. Even the snowy white comforter had been pulled down. The only thing missing was a bottle of champagne and chocolates.

  “I didn’t do this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Then he spotted a big red envelope on his pillow. He walked over and pulled it off the pillow and slid his finger under the flap. He pulled the card out and something fell to the bed. He picked it up and recognized a bullet. He began to shake. He took a breath regaining his composure. He opened the card. He read the letters, but they didn’t form in his head. Then he read them again. I’m aiming for your heart. Shit he thought he had a stalker.

  * * *

  JANE PETERSON KNEW she was dreaming. She watched her mother being murdered again. In her logical mind she wanted to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t. Her grandfather hit her mother again. He screamed telling her to beg Allah for forgiveness. Jane peed on herself again. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t cry out. She couldn’t stop it. Her heart raced.

  “Jane.”

  Her eyes flew open and she sat up in the dingy hotel room bed.

  “What?” She rubbed her eyes and focused on Gita Limbu, standing in the connecting door between the hotel rooms.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m good.” Gita’s small body took up hardly any space in the door. Her short stature and caramel colored doll-like face and cheery English accent belied her deadly nature.

  What she could do with a blade on flesh made Jane weep with envy. Her grandfather and father were Gurkha soldiers from Nepal. Grandpa Limbu fought for the British back in the day. So did her dad, now he trained British Special Forces. Gita continued the family business, retired from the military, now she freelanced. When Jane needed to launch her own version of the Bay of Pigs invasion, Gita was on the first plane out of London.

  “We hear from the Brits?”

  Gita smiled. “Twenty.”

  Jane slid off the bed. She picked her up Beretta off the night stand and slid it in her into the waistband of her cargo pants.


  “How much is that in American?”

  “Twenty seven million, five hundred, two thousand, three hundred fifty three dollars and seventy nine cents.”

  Jack-mother-fucking-pot. “Did you do the math in your head?” Kick in ten from the angry soon to be ex-wife, twenty from the Feds divided by five and it wasn’t buy your own private island money, but it was college money for her sibling’s kids and her I-can-retire-sooner-than-I-thought fund.

  Gita held up her cell phone. “I have an app.”

  “Sweet.” Jane took a hair tie out of her pocket and put her dark hair in a ponytail. “Irina,” she called.

  The red haired Russian stuck her head into the door. “Da?”

  “We hear from the Russians?”

  Irina scowled. “Fuck Putin. They put me on hold.”

  The sexy Russian was a small arms expert and one of the best honey traps in the business. If she wanted you seduced and talking the deal was done. “You sure this isn’t personal?”

  Irina scowled. “I want the respect.”

  Jane didn’t have time to deal with this shit. Either they wanted a ticket to the party or they didn’t. “I didn’t want to deal with them anyway.”

  “You know why I like you Jane?”

  Jane figured until Irina and the fifth member of their quintet got together, Irina wanted to sleep with her. Although flattered, Jane didn’t play for the girl team. “My rack?”

  “That is number two.” Irina pointed a finger at her. “You have standards.”

  She could roll with that. “I like doing the Lord’s work.”

  Gita and Irina gawked at her like she just sprouted another head. “What is that in English?”

  Jane walked over the man duct taped to the chair and pulled off his hood. His eyes were still glazed over from the sedative they’d been pumping into him to keep him quiet. Malik Amin. One of Bin Laden’s inner circle still breathing. Until twenty hours ago he was number two on the big bad list still free. “There are people who are so vile, so evil they are beyond redemption in this earthly realm and when you put them down it’s God’s work.”

  “Amen sister.”

  Jane turned to see Paige Ernest standing in the door way. The sweet faced honey blonde was in her thirties and still got carded at bars. She could hack any computer and handle a sniper rifle like nobody’s business. They’d been besties since their West Point days. “What’s the word?”