Crazy Beautiful Forever (Dirty Twisted Love #3)

A
ll Rights Reserved

Copyright
Crazy Beautiful Forever
© 2015 Lili Valente

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This erotic romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy hot, sexy, emotional novels featuring Dominant alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs. Editorial services provided by Leone Editorial.

W
arning
: This book is a hot and heavy, non-stop, panty-soaking thrill ride that will leave you breathless.

N
o one betrays
Harley Mason and lives to tell about it. For the first time in years, Harley craves revenge—the darker and dirtier, the better—but she has no choice but to put aside her pain and work with the man who deceived her. A precious life depends on it.

H
is wicked friend
, his sweetest enemy—Clay realizes too late that he doesn’t want to live without Harley. As they race against the clock to thwart a drug lord, he vows to do whatever it takes to prove his love, even if it means making the ultimate sacrifice.

S
he needs his help
.

H
e needs her heart
.

A
nd neither of
them is giving up until they find their crazy beautiful forever.

* *
C
razy Beautiful Forever
is the third and final installment in the Dirty Twisted Love romance series. It should be read after parts one and two.* *

I
t was still
dark when Clay slid the needle gently into Harley’s vein, injecting a sedative that would ensure she remained asleep for at least another hour. Afterward, he slipped from between the sheets that smelled of her perfume—sweet and sad, but always seductive—and left the woman he loved alone in bed.

He did love her. He would always love her, but that didn’t change what had to be done.

Love was a luxury he couldn’t afford if he was going to ensure his son’s safety. He had to think of Jasper. That sweet little boy still had a chance at a sane, happy, healthy life, even if it was too late for his parents’ dreams to come true.

Moving with the soundless step he’d perfected during his years of undercover work, Clay gathered his phone and few belongings and padded out to the apartment’s large main room. There, he sent the messages that needed to be sent, corrupted the files that needed to be corrupted, and then moved into the kitchen to pack water and snacks for the trip.

Parenting was still foreign territory, but he knew little boys were perpetually hungry and figured it was best to have food on hand.

As the sky faded from black to gray, he crept into Jasper’s room and in the blue glow of the nightlight, located a small yellow suitcase. He packed the collection of “keeper toys” his son had been so excited to show him yesterday, a few changes of clothes and pajamas, and the dinosaur puppets lined up along the bureau. From the bathroom, he grabbed Jasper’s toothbrush, toothpaste, and bottles of children’s allergy medicine and pain reliever from the medicine cabinet—just in case—and snapped the bag closed.

Up on the roof, he locked the servants’ staircase from the inside—ensuring there would be no access from that corner of the building—pocketed the key, and relocated his and Jasper’s luggage. He left the bags hidden behind one of the gray stone chimneys near the landing pad and went back down the apartment stairs to fetch his son.

If, by some miracle, Harley shook off the sedative and woke up in time to catch him carrying Jasper to the roof, he would tell her that he was taking Jasper to watch the sunrise since he’d missed the stars the night before. They would both be in pajamas and bare feet, with their hair sticking up at odd angles. She would believe the excuse, at least until she heard the helicopter settling onto the landing pad, and by then, it would be too late.

He’d already made sure Harley wouldn’t be able to reach the roof via the servants’ staircase, all that remained was to bar the door leading up to the landing pad from the apartment and there would be no way she’d gain access in time to stop him from completing the extraction.

The injection was much milder than the diluted etorphine he’d used to spirit her away from Ko Tao, but they’d been up until nearly two in the morning. He would continue to take precautions, but he didn’t think she would wake.

Once she realized what he’d done, she would assume that making love to her until the early morning hours had been part of his plan, but it hadn’t been. He hadn’t intended to touch her again, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She was irresistible, the one fix he could never turn down—which was another reason leaving with Jasper was the only solution. As long as Harley was close enough to touch, Clay couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing and Jasper deserved a parent who would put his needs first.

In his son’s room, Clay scooped Jasper from his bed, his heart aching as his son’s blanket-warmed body melted against his chest with a sigh, his limbs still limp and heavy with sleep. He was so innocent, so vulnerable, and already so precious. Clay couldn’t imagine not doing everything in his power to keep this little person safe.

As he slipped back into the stairwell leading up to the roof, Clay kept his thoughts on Jasper’s well-being—on the CIA safe house where he would spend the next few months, guarded twenty-four seven by some of the finest agents in the business, and how much fun he would have getting to know his grandmother. Clay’s mom was out of her mind with excitement, giddy to spend quality time with her grandson while Clay completed his final mission for the CIA.

Amelia Hart had loathed her son’s covert spy status from day one. When she’d learned that Clay was not only leaving the agency, but bringing a surprise grandchild with him to boot, she had been over the moon. She was committed to doing whatever it took to ease Jasper’s transition into his new life and vowed to make him feel so loved that he wouldn’t have the chance to grieve too deeply for the things he’d lost.

At the top of the stairs, Clay stepped out into the pale morning light, the door
snicking
shut behind him. As he braced the chair he’d brought up earlier beneath the door handle—wedging it closed—Jasper stirred in his arms.

“Good morning,” Clay said softly, hoping Jasper wouldn’t be scared to wake up somewhere other than his bed. He wanted this to be as painless for his son as possible. “I thought you might want to watch the sunrise with me since you didn’t get to stay up late last night to see the stars.”

Jasper’s eyes blinked swiftly in his squinched face, the expression so much like Harley’s when she first woke up that it sent another flash of pain through Clay’s chest.

“I never watched a sunrise,” Jasper mumbled, spine arching as he stretched.

“Never?” Clay pretended to be shocked. “Well, then you’re in for a treat. Sunrises are beautiful and no two are ever quite the same.”

Jasper smiled sleepily. “Like snowflakes.”

“Like snowflakes,” Clay echoed. “But easier to see the differences.”

“Mama hates snow. She doesn’t think cold is fun, but I like it if I get to go sledding.” Jasper shifted in Clay’s arms, scanning the rooftop. “Where is Mama?”

“She’s sleeping in,” Clay said, ignoring the guilt that twisted in his gut, insisting that Jasper would hate him as soon as he realized what he’d done. “She said she’d seen sunrises before.”

“You should have brought her coffee,” Jasper said, yawning. “Then she would have come. I made her coffee for Mother’s Day, one time. Miss Louisa helped, but I did most of it myself. She said it was the best coffee she ever had.”

“Is that right?” he asked, watching the way his son’s expression lit up when he was talking about his mama.

“Yes, I put lots of sugar and milk in it. Miss Louisa said Mama might not like that much sugar, but I knew she would.”

As Jasper chattered on, the love he felt for Harley was there in every word—in the pride he took in knowing the things she liked and the obvious pleasure he took in memories of making her happy.

It reminded Clay of one of his hazier memories of childhood, one he hadn’t dusted off in so long he’d nearly forgotten it.

He was small—maybe five or six—and working on a Christmas present for his mother. It was a ring made of red and green pipe cleaners and he’d struggled with getting the furry wires to twist the way his teacher said they needed to. He’d been near tears with frustration, but had refused to give up. The ring was going to be the prettiest gift he’d ever given his mom and he’d known she was going to love it so much.

He’d practically run off the bus after school, insisting she open her present right away, even though it was five days until Christmas. He’d been too excited for her to see the ring to wait.

The smile on her face as she’d revealed the treasure had made Clay feel like Santa Claus and Daddy on the days he brought home flowers all wrapped in to one. She’d cooed over his masterpiece, hugged him tight, and put the ring on to wear while she made him an after-school snack. She hadn’t taken it off for months.

Clay didn’t know exactly when she’d stopped wearing the hideous thing, but he remembered seeing the wad of red and green pipe cleaners in her jewelry box years later and feeling ashamed of how ugly his gift had been. Ashamed, but also lucky to have a mom who loved him enough to wear a tangle of glue-stiffened pipe cleaners because it made her child happy.

You weren’t raised by a mother who couldn’t stand the sight of you…

You had parents who loved you and laughed with you and told you how wonderful you were.

You were whole to start with, Clay.

Harley’s words from the island drifted through his head and the regret winding inside of him coiled tighter.

He had done enough research into her background to know her horror stories of growing up Mason weren’t exaggerations. Her father was a sociopath and her mother seemed to be suffering from an untreated mental illness that left her incapable of caring for herself, let alone anyone else. But Harley had managed to rise above the ugliness of her childhood and raise a sweet, clever, well-adjusted little boy.

Children who had been abused didn’t sparkle the way that Jasper did. They didn’t trust other people or believe in themselves or accept that a stranger could easily become a friend. Harley had overcome a legacy of cruelty, ended the all-too-easily repeatable cycle of abuse, and loved their child with all her heart.

Shouldn’t that count for something?

Yes, she’d made mistakes, but didn’t he owe her more than betrayal and pain? It was vital to get Jasper to a safe house as soon as possible, but maybe it didn’t have to go down like this.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to choose a different path.

“Look, a helicopter!” Jasper said, jabbing an excited finger toward the sky.

Clay looked up, head clearing in a cold rush as he saw the elegant black Airbus skimming across the city, his friend Shawn no doubt at the controls.

He couldn’t do this.

He just couldn’t, even if it was the most logical course of action.

Love might not stop bullets, but it was stronger than logic would ever be. Everything Harley had said on the island was right—Jasper needed his mother as much as he needed a safe place to grow up. And Clay needed to be able to look in the mirror without seeing a man who had shattered the only woman he’d ever loved.

As soon as the Airbus was close enough, Clay would give Shawn the signal to hold on the ground. And then he and Jasper would go back inside, he would confess the secrets he’d been keeping and convince Harley to come with them, even if he had to drag her into the helicopter kicking and screaming.

The truth would put her philosophy of forgiveness to the test and his future at risk, but even if she decided she couldn’t forgive him, at least she and Jasper would be safe.

A ruined career seemed a small price to pay for knowing she and Jasper were under guard with an ocean between them and Marlowe’s hired guns.

“Would you like to take a ride in that helicopter, Jasper?” Clay drew a deep, easy breath for the first time this morning.

Jasper’s eyes went round. “Yes! I love helicopters! When I was five, I went for a helicopter ride over the mountains in France.”

“Then let’s go get your mom.” He raised his voice to be heard as the helicopter swooped closer. “That’s my friend Shawn and he’s going to land right on top of our building in just a few minutes.”

“I’ll go wake up Mama!” Jasper squirmed free, sliding to the roof in his bare feet. He ran across the dusty gray stone, his curls buffeted by the whirling blades.

With a smile, Clay turned to give Shawn the signal to hold on the ground. His attention was diverted for a total of ten, maybe fifteen seconds.

But sometimes that’s all it takes for everything to go to shit.

Clay got a nod from Shawn and was pulling his phone from his pajama pants pocket—intending to text Regina, the extraction coordinator, and tell her to expect Jasper’s mother, after all—when a gunshot exploded through the morning air, a sharp, angry burst beneath the roar of the chopper.

Clay turned to see the door leading to the apartment kicked violently open, the chair he’d used to brace it splintering as a tall, pale man in a black leather jacket stepped out onto the porch, a gun in his gloved hand.

A few feet behind him was Marlowe Reynolds, smiling like the cat that crapped in the dog’s water dish.