Scary Hot: An Until Series and Club Alias Series Crossover Read online

  Scary Hot

  An Until Series and Club Alias Series Crossover

  KD Robichaux

  Scary Hot

  Copyright © 2019 by KD Robichaux

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.

  KD Robichaux CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Cover by Pink Ink Designs

  Edited by Barb Hoover at Hot Tree Editing

  Contents

  Also by KD Robichaux

  Preface

  1. Kayan

  2. Z

  3. Kayan

  4. Z

  5. Kayan

  6. Z

  7. Kayan

  8. Z

  9. Kayan

  10. Z

  11. Kayan

  12. Z

  13. Kayan

  14. Kayan

  15. Z

  Note From the Author

  About the Author

  Also by KD Robichaux

  THE BLOGGER DIARIES TRILOGY

  Wished for You (FREE)

  Wish He Was You

  Wish Come True

  The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Boxed Set (Special Price)

  CLUB ALIAS SERIES (Available in KU)

  Book 1/ Confession Duet Boxed Set:

  Before the Lie

  Truth Revealed

  Book 2/ Seven: A Club Alias Novel

  Book 2.5/ Mission: Accomplished Novella Boxed Set

  Book 3/ Knight: A Club Alias Novel

  Book 3.5/ Scary Hot (Until and Club Alias Crossover)

  STANDALONES

  No Trespassing

  Steal You

  COMING SOON

  Doc: A Club Alias Novel

  Preface

  Kayan and Z are the best friends in Aurora Rose Reynolds’s Until July. I fell in love with them and couldn’t wait to give them a book of their own. Scary Hot is completely standalone, so don’t worry if you’ve never met them before.

  Thank you, Aurora, for giving me the opportunity to let these wonderful characters take over my imagination and become mine for just a little while.

  ~KD

  1

  Kayan

  I wake with a start, gasping as I sit up at the sound of LeFou barking his little face off from his crate in the living room. What the heck? He’s pretty quiet at night, aside from his compulsive licking—hence why he doesn’t sleep in bed with me. So what in the world is the little guy freaking out about?

  There’s a short lull in the high-pitched yapping as the Chihuahua catches his breath, in which I hear movement and a muffled thud—my window shutting?—before his barking continues, more frantic this time.

  I shake off my grogginess. I had just gone to sleep after peeling myself out of one of the sweet black catsuits July—my business partner-slash-BFF—and I wore on our stakeout. With all the excitement of the night, I’d fallen asleep before my head hit the pillow. Reaching into the middle drawer of my nightstand, I pull out my .38 revolver, silently standing in my bare feet as my heart thuds inside my ribcage. I pull the hammer back slowly, as quietly as I can, the weapon feeling comfortable in my capable hands. A membership at the local shooting range, which I visit three times a week to blow off steam using paper targets, insures I’m a damn good shot and not squeamish around my handgun, one I’ve owned for several years but have luckily never had to use in a real life situation.

  Between LeFou’s incessant yapping, I hear the floorboards in my living room creek, and I press my back to the wall beside my bedroom door. Carefully, I look around the doorjamb, peeking down the hall of my apartment to see if I can spot whatever is causing my dog to bark.

  There, beside my couch dimly lit only by the moonlight shining in through the windows, is a hulking figure. I hold back a gasp, my heart picking up its pace as I take in the sheer size of whoever is in my apartment uninvited.

  Is this one of the guys Wes was warning July and me about? Is this why he got so pissed we went on our stakeout and followed the guy to Momma’s Country bar? I mean, what did he expect us to do? We finally caught whoever it was leaving those fighting dogs at our vet clinic. Surely he didn’t think we wouldn’t follow him? We had questions. We wanted to know who it was fighting the poor creatures so we could stop them. We also wanted to know why he kept bringing them to us when it was already too late for most of them.

  “Shut the fuck up,” comes the deep voice I barely make out over my pulse in my ears, and to my surprise, LeFou stops barking.

  I frown. Nobody talks to my freaking dog like that. Poor fella had been through enough in his hard little life before I adopted him from our clinic. No stupid intruder is going to hurt his feelings, my protective, noble, little steed.

  I step out into my hallway, raise my gun to aim at his head, but at the last minute, I aim lower and to the right, squeezing the trigger. With my adrenaline pumping and my heart beating so loudly, the gun going off barely makes me flinch. Neither does the grunt that leaves the giant man’s throat as he stumbles backward at the shot to his shoulder.

  “Kitten.” The intruder sounds… hurt? Betrayed? And why the hell did he say—

  Oh no.

  Oh no no no no no.

  I slap my arm against the wall of the hallway and swish my hand around until my finger catches the light switch, and I flip it upward. When light fills the small room, my jaw drops as I take in Z’s tall body taking up most of the space in my living room. He immediately looks down at his shoulder, then turns to glance behind him. My eyes follow the direction in which he’s looking, and I see the bullet must’ve gone straight through and imbedded in my wall. Thank goodness no one lives in the other half of my duplex and I don’t have neighbors for miles. I won’t have to worry about someone calling the cops about a gunshot— Oh shit.

  “Oh shit!” I start to panic, rushing toward Z. “Oh my God, I shot you! Now I’m gonna go to jail. I won’t survive jail! Look at me!” I gesture to my small yet curvy body with my revolver, forgetting it was in my hand.

  When his eyes roam over me, heat instantly filling them as he pulls his full bottom lip between his teeth, I glance down at myself.

  Naked.

  Of course I’m naked. Those catsuits left nothing to the imagination and you could see every nook, cranny, and bump. Not even Spanx would’ve worked underneath, because you could’ve seen where the spandex stopped around your ribs and thighs. So I went au naturel, and only took the time to strip before collapsing in bed.

  His deep voice rumbles throughout my apartment and directly through the nerves connecting my nipples to my clit, making both throb, awakening with desire. “Shy little kitten knows her way around a gun. Makes me w
onder if it’s only the metal kind, or if she can handle the flesh and blood kind.”

  I gasp at his words, stepping back inside my bedroom doorway. I place my gun on my dresser, yanking open the drawer to pull out one of my Soma nightshirts. I always thought it was an old lady brand… until I felt the soft material against my skin. I’d gotten rid of every pajama I owned and replaced them with these in every color and pattern they made.

  Oh, God. Z was going to see me in my old lady nightgown!

  Wait a second.

  Why am I embarrassed more by that thought than a moment ago when he saw me naked?

  Z is not just hot. He’s scary hot.

  Hot, I can handle like a champ. I can make hot bend to my will and worship the ground I walk on. But scary hot? Brings out a submissive side of me I’m not 100 percent sure I like.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I step back out into the hallway, my brow furrowing when I see Z is no longer in my living room. Peeking around the wall, relief fills me when I see he’s in my kitchen, standing hunched over my sink with the water running. I would’ve been in complete panic if he had left, thinking he was on his way to the hospital and then to rat me out.

  But he was the one who broke into my house! It was self-defense! Or protecting my property… or something.

  With that thought in mind, I go to ask him what the hell he was doing sneaking in through my window, but what comes out is, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” My lip trembles, remembering the hurt in his voice after I shot him.

  His eyes come to me when I step near him to get a closer look, his face softening when he sees my regret. “It’s all right. Nothing I haven’t been through before.” My eyes widen in shock, but before I can ask what he means, he asks, “Do you have any needle and thread? Bullet went straight through.”

  “Um… no. I’m not that domestic.” I blush.

  “Aren’t you a vet tech or something?” he asks, tilting his head.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m an office manager. I majored in Business Management while July went to veterinary school so we could open up our own clinic.”

  I can almost see the idea form in his head as soon as my best friend’s name leaves my lips. He reaches for his pocket, for his phone I assume, but I grab his hand, electricity instantly zinging where our flesh touches. “Please. Don’t tell her I shot you. She’d never let me live it down.”

  “She not okay with guns?” He lifts a sexy brow. How can a man’s eyebrows be sexy?

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. She just doesn’t like me living alone. She’s offered several times for me to move in with her, but I like my space. Plus, working with someone every day and then also living with them… seemed like way too much time spent with one person.”

  He gives a short nod before pulling out his phone. He scrolls, finds the name he’s looking for, and then lifts the cell to his ear. “Hey, man. Need you to come pick me up and take me to your vet. I’ve been shot.”

  Wes says something, and Z’s eyes meet mine. “Yep, the little kitten apparently has claws. But let’s keep that between us, yeah?” Wes must agree, because Z winks at me and gives another little nod. “I’ll text you the address.”

  My eyes narrow at that, which causes him to smirk as he tells Wes bye and hangs up. “You have my address memorized? How did you even find where I live anyway?” I inquire.

  “Former military, babe. I have my ways. And I had to scope out the area just in case,” he tells me, pulling out a couple drawers then looking on top of my refrigerator. “Where do you keep your kitchen towels?”

  “Under the sink,” I reply. “But scope out the area just in case of what?” I feel like a parrot, repeating his words, but he’s so vague I need clarification.

  “In case of anything,” he answers just as vaguely, and I roll my eyes. It’s obvious he’s just as unforthcoming as Wes is with July. He reaches beneath the sink and pulls out a couple of dishtowels. “You have any duct tape?”

  His non-answer irks me enough that I forget for a split second he’s trying to take care of his gunshot wound, the gunshot wound I put in his shoulder. “Do I look like the type of woman who owns duct tape?” I ask sassily, popping my hip.

  “Well… you’re the type of woman who has damn good aim with the handgun she clearly knows how to use properly, so by that alone, yes. You look like you could be prepared for just about anything.” He smiles sexily, making my toes curl against my cold kitchen floor.

  I give in. “Ugh. You’re right. Drawer under the microwave.” I’d get it for him, but his big body is blocking it. When he pulls it out and sets it on the counter then begins to struggle trying to hold the dishtowels to his shoulder, I finally jump into action. “Here. Sit down at the table.” I tug his arm gently toward one of the chairs. I’m worried the legs on it might snap he looks so large as he lowers himself into it, but when he stays upright, I set to work.

  Grabbing some scissors from a drawer, I cut off the short sleeve of his black tee he’s wearing under his leather biker vest with all its patches. I vaguely remember it being called a “cut” after binge-watching Sons of Anarchy. The bullet went straight through, so I have him hold one folded towel to the front of his shoulder while I hold one to the back before grabbing the end of the tape with my teeth. But I stop, thinking twice.

  “Hold that thought,” I tell him, setting the tape down on the table before quickly disappearing into my bedroom. “Shit.” Realizing I can’t use one of my belts, because I wear super blingy ones that July would recognize in a heartbeat, I hurry back to Z. “Stand up a sec,” I say, and he cocks his head to the side with a small smile before doing as I requested.

  Without much thought, I reach for his waist, lifting his black t-shirt to reveal that he is in fact wearing a black leather belt… and a tiny bit of his rippled, tan stomach that has a soft-looking patch of hair leading from his belly button down into his jeans. Gulping, my hands tremble as I unhook his belt, way too much of a chicken shit to look up into his ruggedly handsome face when I pull it from the loops.

  My voice is quiet when I ask him to sit back down, adding, “Duct tape on armpit hair seemed like a bad idea on top of being shot. I think I’ve tortured you enough for one evening.”

  “Not even close.” His voice is a cross between a growl and a purr, way too sexy for my lady bits to ignore, and I can’t help but meet his eyes. There’s a shit load of heat there, along with a silent question I don’t understand. What are those dark chocolate eyes asking me?

  Deciding not to respond so I don’t embarrass myself, I put my dishtowel back into place and wrap his belt tightly around his arm. His shoulder and bicep are so huge the belt actually fastens through one of the holes, making it easy to keep it in place. I hurry over to my kitchen counter, pulling off a bunch of paper towels and wetting them before returning to Z’s side. I clean up the blood that had dripped down his arm since he rinsed it in my sink and check the makeshift tourniquet, thankful when I see I’ve made it tight enough that no more blood is oozing from the wound.

  “That should get you to July’s house,” I tell him. “Again, I’m so so—”

  “I’m fine, kitten. It’s actually kinda a relief,” he interrupts, making my brows furrow in confusion.

  “Quit calling me that. My name is Kayan. As in Kay-Anne. Not cayenne. And definitely not kitten. Now, how could being shot be a relief?” I question.

  He ignores my griping. “Means you aren’t this helpless little thing that needs constant protection. You’re not the damsel in distress your tiny, delicious little body makes you appear,” he rumbles, and my face flushes.

  “I told you before I don’t need to be protected,” I whisper shyly, unable to make my voice any louder, and I watch his eyes twinkle.

  “You’re as shy as a kitten. Don’t think I’ve ever had shy in my bed.” His words from when I ran into him at Momma’s Country fill my mind, sending a tickle through my belly.

  Before either of us can spea
k, there’s a knock at my door, snapping me out of my Z-induced haze. “Must be Wes,” I say, and hurry over to let him in. When I open the door, the words rush out of my mouth. “It’s not my fault. He crawled in through my window while I was sleeping, and my dog—” I gesture toward LeFou’s crate, seeing the little creature has curled himself into his blankets and gone back to sleep. “—was freaking the hell out. I didn’t know it was him! Please don’t tell July.”

  “I won’t tell July,” he promises with a soft smile and a pat to my shoulder as he walks past me to Z. “How long did ya make it this time, old friend?” He grins at his biker brother.

  “Name’s Z, and before tonight, I hadn’t been shot in two hundred and twenty-one days,” he jokes as if he’s introducing himself at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Both of them glance at me when I gasp, and I shake my head.

  “How can y’all be joking about something like this? And it’s a running joke? How many times have you been shot?” My voice rises in pitch with each question until it’s squeaky and loud.

  Z chuckles, making my nipples peak. “This makes lucky number seven, kitten.”

  My knees almost buckle. “You’ve been shot seven times? And you’re alive?”

  “Not all at once.” He shrugs his uninjured shoulder nonchalantly.

  I can’t take any more mind-boggling revelations from these two. Suddenly feeling exhausted, my adrenaline probably waning, I tell him, “Well, again, sorry for shooting you. Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson about sneaking in through people’s windows. I’m going to bed.”