Broken Lyric ((Meltdown book 2)) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Broken Lyric

  Meltdown #2

  By RB Hilliard

  Copyright © RB Hilliard, 2017

  Kindle Edition

  Editor: Christian Brose

  Proofreader: Petra Gleason

  Cover: Rebel Edit & Design

  Formatted by BB eBooks

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Warning: This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Names, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any similarities to real persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  This book is for Natalie, who brightens my every day.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. The Road to Hell is Definitely Paved

  2. Some Things You Just Can’t Fix

  3. Rose Anyone?

  4. Maeve to the Rescue

  5. Girlfriend Gone Wrong

  6. Match + Flame = Boom!

  7. All I Want for Christmas

  8. Don’t Tell Nash

  9. Just Call Me Crazy

  10. Fire Away

  11. Losing Control

  12. Praying for the End of Time

  13. Unfixable

  14. Gone

  15. Harsh Realities

  16. Just a Sunday Drive in the Country

  17. Here Without You

  18. So Much for Plan C

  19. Who the Hell is Gillian Gallagher?

  20. NEVER

  21. Traitors Traitors Everywhere

  22. Return from the Shadows

  23. The Day of Reckoning

  24. Introducing Gillian Gallagher

  25. Still Standing

  26. Going Home

  27. The Next Move

  28. Oh, It’s Definitely Real

  29. Good Things to Come

  30. Silver Linings and Such

  31. The Kiss Off

  32. Champagne Wishes and…

  33. Back From Black

  34. Soul of a Woman

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from His End Game

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by RB Hilliard

  RB’s Stalking Links

  Prologue

  Gillian

  Thank God, I thought as I signed my name below the column titled Time Out. I was officially done with my shift, which was a really good thing, because not only was I dead on my feet, but I was beyond exhausted. Legally, I wasn’t supposed to do two back-to-back twelve hour shifts. Legally, I wasn’t supposed to do a lot of things, but someone had yet to explain that to my boss.

  “I’m out,” I announced to the three nurses hovering around the desk. The one in the middle, the reason for my exhausted state of being, lifted her eyes and scowled at me.

  “Don’t be late for your shift tomorrow, Gillian, and tell Gavin he’s walking a very thin line with me,” she warned.

  My boss, Pam, was a former mean girl turned sadistic bitch. She was the reason I’d clocked in too many hours this week. She was also the reason I was looking for a new job…in Florida. I wanted to argue with her, but what was the point? Knowing my luck, she would make me clock back in. Her eyes bore holes through me before dropping back to her task at hand. This was my cue to get the hell out of dodge, something I did both quickly and eagerly.

  On the way home, I called Gavin. Gavin was my best friend, my very sweet, very gay best friend. We met in high school when we discovered we both had a crush on the same guy. Neither of us got the guy, but out of our mutual heartache a friendship developed. Not only did we live in the same apartment complex, but we worked at the same hospital, me as an oncology nurse and Gavin a radiology assistant.

  Gavin answered on the third ring. “Pam is such a bitch. You have to be exhausted. Please tell me you’re on your way home and bringing take-out with you?”

  “I wish. I have a date tonight.”

  “Since when?” His shriek made me jerk the phone away from my ear.

  “Since this morning when my father informed me that he’d set me up.”

  “Jesus, Gilly. What did I tell you about the word no?” He was teasing, but I detected a hint of irritation behind his words. Gavin didn’t like my father. He never spoke a mean word about him, but I could tell that he didn’t like the way my father treated me. Dad didn’t much care for Gavin either, so the feeling was mutual.

  “I know, but he sounded so desperate. Plus, it’s a good way to butter him up before I tell him I got the job in Florida.” I held my breath and waited for the fireworks.

  “Oh my GOD! You got the job? You got the job! Does that mean you’re going to take it?” I jerked the phone away from my ear again, and laughed.

  “After working another back-to-back twelve hour shift, I think I might.”

  “Pam needs to get laid,” Gavin huffed. Pam definitely needed something, but I wasn’t sure a penis would suffice.

  “Pam is on the warpath. She sent me home with a warning for you.” Whatever Gavin had done, Pam would forgive. Pam always forgave Gavin. It was me she loved to abuse.

  “I simply told her no, which is something you need to do more of,” he reiterated for the thousandth time.

  “Whatever. Listen, I need you to page me tonight.” Gavin and I had a system. Whenever one of us needed rescuing, we used the pager.

  “What time?”

  “How about midnight? Hey, let me call you back. I just pulled into the department store. I’ve got to find a dress for tonight.”

  “You never know, Gilly, you might actually like this guy.”

  “I’m doing this only as a favor, Gavin. I’ll call you on my way home.”

  Three hours later…

  Tap. Tap. Tap. My heels clicked across th
e stone pavers as I quickly made my way from the cab to the front of the restaurant. I wasn’t quite sure where I was supposed to meet him. Conor O’Brien, my father’s future business partner. A guy I’d never set eyes on, but nevertheless was about to have dinner with. This was just another favor added to a very long list of favors that my father apparently felt I owed him. If I never heard the words, Gilly could you do me a favor, spoken ever again, I’d be a very happy woman.

  “Please Gilly, this is the last one. I promise,” my father begged. Gavin was right. One day I was going to have to learn to say no. Today, however, was not it.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the fancy wooden door. I’d walked past this restaurant a million times before, but had never stepped foot inside. There was a reason for this. It was way above my pay grade. The place reeked of expensive perfume, romantic interludes, and empty promises. All of these were things I steered as far away from as possible.

  I smoothed down the skirt of my dress before approaching the hostess stand. My shopping spree was a near bust. After trying on twelve dresses, I found one that would passably work. The top was a tad bit snug and the skirt too full. I looked like I was going to the prom instead of out to dinner. I stared at my reflection in the gold, filigree mirror perched on the vestibule wall, and hated to admit it, but I was nervous. I’d barely had time to straighten my hair and apply makeup before the cab had arrived. I didn’t want to be here. I had no time for this…whatever this was. I noticed the hostess’s eyes on me, and quickly moved from the vestibule to her podium. Wood paneling, gilded crown molding, and Asian wallpaper adorned the restaurant’s walls, while crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The room was over-the-top lavish.

  “Good evening,” the hostess greeted.

  “Yes, hello, I’m meeting Conor O’Brien for dinner,” I quietly announced.

  “Mr. O’Brien is waiting for you at the table. Shaileen will be happy to escort you to your table.” She smiled stiffly at me.

  “Please follow me,” the girl standing next to her stonily replied. My heels sunk into the plush carpet as I followed her through the restaurant. Jewels sparkled, silverware clanked, and voices faded in and out as we passed the tables of diners. What am I doing here? I asked myself for the thousandth time. The place dripped of pretense. I thought back to my earlier conversation with my father. He knew how exhausted I was. For him to push this on me so last minute was unlike him. I tried to tell him no, but he insisted in his authoritarian voice, the one he used when he was overly irritated with me. “One does not say no to such an important man, Gillian.”

  In the end, I gave in. Not because I wanted to, but because this whole thing reeked of desperation, which meant that Dad was probably in trouble again. I loved my father, but I didn’t have much respect for him. He was scatterbrained, easily influenced, and therefore constantly taken advantage of. The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint him, but he was pushing my limits. I had better things to do than this…whatever this was.

  “Here we are,” the waitress announced as we stepped out of a hallway and into another dining area. I spotted him before we reached the table. With his black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes, Conor O’Brien looked so very…Irish. I mentally rolled my eyes. It figured that Dad would pick an Irishman. His charcoal colored suit, blue pin stripe shirt, and silver tie told me nothing about the man except that he knew how to dress. Conor stood as I approached the table.

  “Gillian, at last we meet,” he drawled. I appreciate you joining me on such short notice. His voice was surprisingly deep and melodic.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I lied. In truth, I wasn’t sorry at all.

  “I should be the one apologizing for springing this on you at the last minute.” He murmured, while pulling out my chair. I watched as he made his way back to his seat and couldn’t help but notice how tall he was. Tall and broad shouldered.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asked. She smiled eagerly at Conor. He graced her with an appreciative smile and I had to admit, he was a very handsome man.

  “Yes, thank you. Will you please bring us a bottle of your finest champagne and two glasses?” The waitress visibly shivered. It looked as if I wasn’t the only one affected by the man’s voice.

  “Of course,” she sputtered.

  While she was off retrieving our champagne, Conor’s eyes turned to me. “You’re looking more beautiful than ever.” I gave him a questioning look, and he added, “That dress is stunning on you.”

  “Thank you.” I tried not to feel awkward, but this whole thing was awkward. I frantically searched for something to say. “Ummm, I hate to admit it, but my father didn’t tell me much about you. What is it you do for a living?”

  “My family owns a food and beverage distribution business. My grandfather started the business in Ireland and we’ve recently expanded to the States,” he explained.

  “Oh, where in Ireland?”

  “My family lives in Cork. I have a house in Pennsylvania, but I spend a lot of my time here in the city.”

  “We moved from Dublin when I was ten,” I told him.

  “Yes, I know,” he answered. I must have looked surprised, because he added, “your father told me a little about you.” I wasn’t quite sure that I liked the idea of my father talking about me to strange men. I would have to address this with him later.

  During a very extravagant meal, we polished off the bottle of champagne. I learned that, in addition to his home in Pennsylvania, Conor owned an apartment in the Upper East Side, and was seven years older than me. Like me, his mother passed away when he was young. When the conversation drifted to me, I wasn’t sure what to tell him, so I kept it simple, and explained how I was an oncology nurse. After asking several questions about my job, he delved a little deeper, and asked me about my personal life. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t know this man. Therefore, I wasn’t comfortable talking about my personal life, so I carefully brushed over his questions and steered the conversation back to his business dealings with my father.

  After dinner I excused myself and tipsily made my way to the ladies room. When I returned to the table a brand new bottle of bubbly was waiting, along with a plate of desserts.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” I playfully scolded.

  One of his eyebrows slightly lifted. “And what if I am?” His silky, smooth words landed smack in the barren desert between my legs. I had to admit, I kind of liked Conor O’Brien. Or maybe it was simply lust.

  I should go.

  Conor eyed my empty champagne glass. “Would you care for some more?”

  “No Thanks. I should be getting home.”

  His lips turned up into a half-smile. “I have something better in mind.” His sexy tone made my pulse flutter. His eyes were so blue they were almost black. He retrieved several hundred dollar bills from his wallet and threw them on the table. Then, as he offered me his hand, I noticed the tip of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the cuff of his shirt. I found myself feeling conflicted. I should leave, but a part of me wanted to stay. I was surprised and intrigued by this man. I hated to admit it, but I wanted to discover what lay beneath the suit.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?”

  “Do you bite, Gillian?” He leaned forward in his chair and stared deep into my eyes. “I like when a woman bites.” His carnal expression followed by his X-rated voice pushed all of my bad girl buttons, and suddenly I didn’t want to tell him no. I didn’t want to go. Why not stay and have a little fun? Our eyes met, and he knew he had me. He wiggled his fingers and I placed my hand in his and, like a lamb to the slaughter, Conor O’Brien led me out of the restaurant and across the street to his hotel. His room did not disappoint. I tried not to gawk at the velvet drapes and marble floors. The place was sinfully decadent and downright palatial compared to my tiny apartment.

  “Come,” he ordered, before disappearing into the bedroom.

>   Without hesitation, I followed behind him. I stopped short when I saw him lounging on the foot of a monstrously large bed. A wolfish smile appeared on his face, and he practically devoured me with his lusty stare. Gone was the charmer. In his place was something…daring, even dangerous. My mind said to leave, but my body begged for a taste. After a moment’s hesitation, I walked the rest of the way into the bedroom. Conor sat up as I neared, and with a sweep of his arm, he pulled me between his muscular thighs. I was trapped in more ways than one, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good or a bad thing. Was I about to make the biggest mistake of my life, or was I about to have all of my fantasies fulfilled? His muscles flexed against my legs and I shivered in anticipation. It had been a long time since I’d done something this impulsive. It’s just one night, I kept telling myself.

  He ran his hands reverently through my hair. “Red suits you. So beautiful. Kiss me,” he ordered. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He sat there like a statue, and I felt awkward, completely out of my depth, a little silly, even. I touched the tip of my tongue to his lips and gasped when he jerked his head back. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to do better than that,” he rasped. His harsh words stung. I flushed with embarrassed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  As if sensing my inner turmoil, Conor fisted his hands in my hair and jerked my head down to meet his lips. Pain radiated across the top of my scalp. Using a little tongue and a lot of teeth, he ate up my kiss. Red flags flared when he wedged his fingers deeper into my hair and increased the kiss. I marginally relaxed when he loosened his grip on my hair and slowly began massaging my scalp. I fully relaxed when his fingers slipped from my head down to my shoulders, where he continued to massage.

  He was good with his hands, and eventually had me worked up and panting for it. Slowly, we began stripping each other’s clothes off. Tattoos covered most of his body. I wanted to explore, but the man was in a serious hurry. Red flags flared again when he got to my panties. Instead of sliding them down my legs, he ripped them from my body, and shoved his fingers deep inside me. He was not gentle or kind, but rough and demanding. Each time I tried to slow things down, he sped up. The need to inflict pain didn’t end with hair pulling. He also liked to pinch, squeeze, and wasn’t kidding when he said he liked to bite. Conor treated my protests like a challenge, as if testing my limits to see how far he could take it before I tapped out. By the time there was actual penetration, I mentally had one foot out the door. My arousal had left the building with the first bite and refused to return. Conor O’Brien might be suave and debonair out of bed, but he certainly wasn’t in it. Three fake orgasms and a million sloppy kisses later, he finally let go. With a loud groan, he collapsed on top of me, and all I could think was, Thank you, Jesus. I felt dirty, used. This is what you get when you whore yourself out, Gillian. Conor O’Brien was more work than I wanted or needed in my life. The promise of him was so much better than the actual delivery. Never again.