Avenge Me

MAISEY YATES knew she wanted to be a writer even before she knew what it was she wanted to write.

At her very first job she was fortunate enough to meet her very own tall, dark and handsome hero, who happened to be her boss, and promptly married him and started a family. It wasn’t until she was pregnant with her second child that she found her very first Mills & Boon® book in a local charity shop. By the time she’d reached the happily-ever-after, she had fallen in love. She devoured as many as she could get her hands on after that and she knew that these were the books she wanted to write!

She started submitting and nearly two years later, while pregnant with her third child, she received The Call from her editor. At the age of twenty-three, she sold her first manuscript to Mills & Boon and she was very glad that the good news didn’t send her into labour! She still can’t quite believe she’s blessed enough to see her name on not just any book, but on her favourite books.

Maisey lives with her supportive, handsome, wonderful, nappy-changing husband and three small children across the street from her parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of southern Oregon. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch, then walk into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic, urban locales.

Praise for MAISEY YATES

‘Yates’ visually powerful narrative tells a timely, heart-breaking story starring an unforgettable couple.’

—RT Book Reviews on The Couple Who Fooled the World

‘Yates’ tale of loss, pain and love’s salvation is simply incredible.’

—RT Book Reviews on Heir to a Dark Inheritance

‘This enticing storyline keeps pages turning and her words flow; Yates’ hero and heroine entertain with their sarcasm, endear when masks come off and sear with their lovemaking.’

—RT Book Reviews on His Ring Is Not Enough

‘Yates skilfully creates an improbable duo whose cultural and professional differences are no match for love, in a story that is compassionate, heart-breaking and hot.’

—RT Book Reviews on Heir to a Desert Legacy

Avenge Me

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for MAISEY YATES

Title Page

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

It was supposed to be an evening of bland conversation. That was what Alex, Hunter and he did every year. Drinks and bland conversation. The kind of conversation that skirted around anything of interest or meaning. That lay thick like graveyard dirt over the skeletons of the past.

Buried beneath talk of 401(k)s, football statistics and current events. So deep that it was easy to forget they were all dining over a coffin.

Unfortunately, the letter he had in his hand was the damned shovel.

It was going to unearth everything. He didn’t think there would be a bland enough topic in existence to ever put the ghosts to rest again.

Austin looked at the two men sitting across from him. The men he’d once called his best friends. Men who had become little more than distant strangers over the past ten years.

Hunter was throwing out some sort of B.S. line about how much more action he’d get now that he’d been ousted from the NFL, and Alex was nodding along. All a bunch of shallow nothing, but then, what else would they talk about?

They were barely acquaintances now. Acquaintances who met every year on the grimmest of anniversaries and never once spoke of why they’d gathered. Acquaintances who could barely look each other in the eye.

But then, that was what bland conversation did, he supposed. It kept bad memories at bay and old friends at a distance. A distance that wasn’t an accident. Not in the least.

But they didn’t have time for distance now. Didn’t have time for circular talk that meant less than nothing. Not now. Not when he had the letter burning a hole straight through to his skin.

Austin reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and ran his fingers over the folded document. He pulled it out and put it on the table, white paper blending into the pristine white cloth.

Strange. He’d half expected it to leave a crimson stain.

“I’m afraid the usual dinner of denial and quiet regret will not be served tonight,” he said.

“What the hell?” Hunter said, deadpan, not making a move for the letter, waiting for an explanation. Austin found that he didn’t have the words.

It was Alex who picked it up and opened it. He skimmed it then handed it to Hunter. “What the hell is this?” he asked, reframing Hunter’s question with more intensity.

“The truth. At least, I believe it is.” Austin sat down, wrapping his fingers around the fork to his left and resting his thumb on the tines, gradually increasing the pressure until he nearly broke the skin. “My father, Jason Treffen, sainted advocate for women in the workplace, tireless defender of the downtrodden and harassed, did in fact cause a woman to commit suicide because of his unwanted advances. Because of his actions.” He released his hold on the fork and let it drop onto the table. “I’m afraid of what he might have done to her. I mean...I knew it was bad. I knew...because of what she did. What she felt she had to do. But I didn’t really believe that he’d touched her. Now...”

“This is why she did it.” The statement came from Hunter. His voice was rough, his eyes unfocused. Alex’s dark eyes were glued to Hunter, as if waiting to see what the other man might do.

Austin knew they were all thinking the same thing. Of the same night.

And the same woman.

Sarah.

“I think so,” he said.

“Where did you get the info?” Alex asked.

“Anonymously provided. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” said Hunter.

“It didn’t come to me,” he said, his voice rough. “It came to the pro bono office. Publicly it’s not very well connected with me, and I doubt whoever sent it knew that I would end up with it. Since I’m rarely in the office I might not have seen it.... But it was passed on to me by Travis Beringer, an old classmate of ours who volunteers at the place on occasion. It’s from a woman asking for help. Because my damned father has been getting so much media attention. Since he and all his good works are about to be profiled on the largest talk show in the country. Given the nature of the contents, and knowing something about Sarah, Travis thought I should see it.”

“And someone has evidence that he...that he drove Sarah to her death by harassing her? Assaulting her?” Hunter asked.

“It’s not evidence. Not real evidence. It’s wild accusation. Assumption that what he did to her caused her to kill herself.”

“You believe it, Austin?” Alex asked.

“Hell yeah.” Not that he was happy about it. He’d been sick to his stomach since he’d gotten the damn thing two days ago. But he believed it.

The suspicion had always been there, along with the guilt. Along with a call that had gone unanswered and a voice mail he hadn’t listened to until it was too late.

But there had been no proof. Still, it had been enough for him to cut ties with his father. For him to relegate his family to holiday visits. Lunches with his mother and sister at hotels rather than at the Treffen estate.

Now the suspicion was turning into certainty. Truth gnawed through his last remaining shreds of doubt. For two days now, he’d been replaying his last conversation with Sarah. Over and over again. The last time he ever saw her alive.

She’d looked so brittle. So sad and tired...

“This job is much more demanding than I ever could have imagined, Austin. I’m just so...tired. And I don’t like the kinds of things I have to do.”

“That’s being a lawyer, honey,” he said, laughing. “Sometimes you have to defend things that seem indefensible. But in the end, you trust the court system.”

“I’m not sure I trust anything anymore.”

“You’ll get more jaded. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t think I will. I need your help, Austin. It’s about...it’s about your father.”

He hadn’t bothered to listen. Not really. He’d been buzzing over his admittance into an incredible law program. Over his father’s promise to secure him a position at his firm, to make him a partner. He’d been too intoxicated by all the power to care. To truly hear her. The weight behind her words. The sadness. No, he was too focused on himself. And why not? Life had always been there to serve him. He had it all; he had it easy.

His family name was everything, and he traded on it.

Like father like son and all.

Then Sarah had thrown herself off a building. And the rumors had begun. The first hint that Jason Treffen might not be the saint that others imagined him to be, but Austin hadn’t listened. He had ignored it all for too long.

Until that final confrontation. When he’d walked away from his father’s firm for good.

The family got more money than they deserved. She was taken care of. A misunderstanding.

All these excuses. So like the men his father had pretended to disdain for all those years. He was one of them. One of those men who assumed he could take whatever he wanted from women simply because he was a man. Because he held power over them.

And now this. So much more than he’d ever imagined. That he had harassed her so badly she’d killed herself.

But history gave him no reason to doubt it.

“And he’s still getting his This Is Your Life B.S. all over the news?” Hunter asked.

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Well. Screw that.”

“I agree,” said Alex.

“I do, too, but what the hell do we do about it?”

“You’re the lawyer, Austin. It seems like you should be able to think of something. Something legal and shit,” Hunter said.

“That’s the problem. I have nothing legal. Nothing that will stand up in court.”

Alex leaned in. “Then we’ll have to find something.”

“For what purpose?”

Hunter looked down at his knuckles, and Austin’s eyes followed his line of sight and noticed the faint purple bruises that colored the skin there. Hunter tightened his hand into a fist. “If he had anything to do with Sarah’s death, and I think we’ve all suspected it, always, then I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to bring him down.” He looked back up, his eyes meeting Austin’s. “I mean it. I’ll end him. Run him off the top of a building. Just like he did to her.”

The violence in Hunter’s tone left little doubt in Austin’s mind that his friend wasn’t speaking figuratively.

Part of him rejected the thought. Because no matter how evil, Jason was his father. Because his blood was in Austin’s veins. The same blood that kept his heart pumping. It was hard to hate it entirely, even when he should.

“To the bloody end, then?” Austin asked. “Even if it means destroying my family?”

Alex put his palms flat on the table. Spread the paper out flat. “She killed herself, Austin. Because of him. How many more women has he touched like he did her? How many more? If we don’t stop it, it keeps going.” He looked up at Austin. “And then we’re just as guilty. Then we’re no different.”

No different.

Austin had privately feared that very thing for a long time.

But it wouldn’t be true. He’d make sure it ended up not being true.

“Well, then,” Austin said, standing. “Let’s end it.”

Chapter One

Treffen Christmas Ball Set To Be As Glittering As Ever!

With a national honor for his good works on the horizon, celebrated women’s advocate Jason Treffen is preparing to host his annual Holiday Ball. Though once overshadowed by a tragedy that occurred during the festivities a decade ago, Treffen has never canceled the event, and Manhattan’s elite all clamor for an invitation. It’s even rumored that Jason’s son, New York’s other premier attorney, will be in attendance.

The younger Treffen has skipped the event since the unpleasantness ten years ago, which seemed to have caused a rift between father and son—the only tarnish on an otherwise glossy legacy. Could this finally be the reconciliation that the public has long hoped to see?

Reconciliation. There was no chance for it, and yet his father had bought into his reason for coming to the office Christmas party without blinking. But then, the public had bought it as well, so why wouldn’t his father?

He really hated these types of events. Because they were reminders. This one especially. Ten years ago was the last time he’d been to a Treffen Christmas party. His father enjoyed the holidays, not because of any sort of religious fervor or sense of merriment, but because it gave him a chance to do what he loved best.

Showing off his wealth, his excess. Making a show of his name, his fortune. His goodwill. There was a silent auction happening tonight, the proceeds of which would go to benefit a shelter for battered women.

The irony burned. Because if Austin’s suspicions were correct, very few people had left more emotionally battered women in their wake than Jason Treffen.

Of course, the media would never believe it. Jason was so high-profile. On every late-night news show, commenting on sexual harassment and abuse cases in the news. Spitting fire and brimstone on any man who dared to harm a woman. On misogynists and their power games.

But Austin knew Jason was the wolf condemning foxes for being predators.

Still, here he was, wrapped up in his brilliant, shining lie. People fawning over him, his achievements, his goodness.

And this year was no different. The largest of his three holiday parties, this one included past clients, current clients and anyone who was anyone in New York’s social circle.

Everything was pristine, glittering, dipped in his father’s wealth and left to sparkle before the magpies who were attracted to it all without having any idea just how tarnished it was underneath.

The same as it had always been. The same as it had been ten years ago.

Oh, yes, Austin well remembered the last time he’d been to this party. It had ended with a dear friend throwing herself to her death. And it had been his own father’s fault.

No, he wasn’t here for reconciliation. He was here for blood. But before he could have his revenge, he would have to get closer to his old man again. Keep your enemies close, and all that.

He wondered what Jason’s reaction would be. Hell, he might kill the fatted calf. The prodigal son, returned to the old law firm.

That was the reaction he dreaded most, though it was the one he should want.

What he really wanted was alcohol.

He walked over to the bar and leaned on the counter. “Scotch. Neat.” The whole bottle would be nice.

The bartender poured a measured amount and Austin knocked it back then set the glass back down. “More.”

He took another hit and let the burn wash through him. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of man who needed liquid courage. And maybe it wasn’t courage he needed, not really. He needed to blunt the memories. Of what it had been like to be in this building with Christmas carols playing when, suddenly, screams had risen over the band.

When people had gone running. To the balcony. To the street. He’d stopped at the window, frozen, transfixed by the broken figure below.

And he had known. In his gut, without having to be told, who it was.

He hadn’t had the strength to go down. Hadn’t been able to face seeing her like that. With no life in her. Her skin cold. Her body crushed. Nothing of Sarah there anymore except for her shell.

He hadn’t been able to face it then. He could scarcely stand to recall what little he’d seen now. This was where the alcohol came into play. Blessed alcohol. It helped hold back some of the cold.

Ten years ago, at this very party, his life had been going perfectly.

Two weeks until Christmas, an end-of-term party that had been filled with toasts and slaps on the back. And then he’d come to the Treffen party. He’d stood next to his father, a proud Treffen, basking in the promise of a partnership in the prestigious firm, in the position he’d gotten in law school because of that name. The name that had opened every door to him for all of his life. That had seen him educated in the finest private schools, had given to him the very best connections.

A name he now had to see was destroyed.

His father’s. And his along with it, because it would be inextricably linked.

That was how it worked. That was how the media worked. It was how society worked.

The silver spoon that had gotten him through life would damn well choke him now. It only seemed fair, really.

Everything felt out of control. For the first time, things felt well and truly beyond him.

Which called for another drink.

He tapped the top of his tumbler and the bartender filled it again. Austin held it up and looked through the faceted glass and amber liquid. And he saw her.

Nothing more than an impressionistic vision at first. Obscured by the glass and the unsteady golden line.

Even then, he could tell she was beautiful.

He lowered his drink and stared past the crowd of people at the woman. Dark hair twisted into a neat bun, her skin pale, flawless, her lips a deep crimson.

It was her hair that had him truly transfixed. He wondered how long it was. What it would be like to unwind it. Wrap it around his hand and draw her to him.

Damn. That was the alcohol. He had more control than that. He knew better than to let his mind wander down dark alleys. Every so often, in the privacy of his own room, he indulged in a bout of shameful, illicit fantasy. But never with a woman.

Never.

He wasn’t the type of man to treat women that way. Because he knew better than to ever let the monster out of its cage.

And he knew there was a monster in him. In his blood, wrapped around his genes. He was a Treffen, and to most of the world, that meant something good.

He knew that name should only ever be synonymous with evil.

And once he, Hunter and Alex had their way, it would be.

He would go down with the ship. It was unavoidable. He was a Treffen, after all. In name, and in every other way that counted.

But right now, he was just a man, transfixed by a woman.

He set the glass back down on the bar and started across the room before he could think his next action through. He wanted to meet her.

She was something new in this stale, horrific memory. She hadn’t been there that night. She was a stranger. Separate from all of the insidious darkness that surrounded this building. That surrounded his family.

She looked up for a moment, her eyes meeting his. They were electric blue, a shocking contrast with her dark hair. It made him wonder if her hair or eyes were artificial. It was so unusual. So enticing.

She turned away and headed toward the other side of the room, her stride purposeful. Then Austin saw just whom she was headed toward.

His father. Jason Treffen.

She smiled, crimson lips parting and revealing straight white teeth. She looked down, then back up, the move demure and flirtatious. It made his blood boil. Just imagining the bastard’s hands on her...

He started toward them, then stopped. Reconciliation. Oh, yes, that was the name of the game tonight. He was supposed to be reconciling with the bastard, not introducing his face to the marble floors.

But he did not like the smile his father gave to the woman in return. He didn’t like the way she ducked her head again, like a child expecting a pat.

Maybe she was already one of his creatures.

He breathed in deeply, rage pouring through him. He couldn’t handle this. It was too much on a night like tonight. At the party where Sarah had died.

Why had he left his drink back at the counter? He needed more alcohol.

The woman turned away from his father and he saw something pass across her face. Anger. Sadness. Grief. He recognized the emotions because they echoed inside of him. Because they were with him, always. Amplified now as the truth about Jason’s treachery became clearer.

Files and files of women who were being paid for vague “services.” Interior design. Catering. Event planning.

Austin was still turning over the implications.

None of the possibilities made him happy. Except for the possibility that his father had used the design services of a couple of young women more than six times in a fiscal year. But he highly doubted that was the case.

Highly.

It was taken care of. They were compensated.

That last conversation played again in his mind.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to get his head together. He was drowning in air. His tie strangling him. Icy fingers wrapping around his neck.

Sarah’s, maybe. He deserved it. God knew he did.

He pictured the dark-haired beauty again, scanned the crowd for her and couldn’t see her. Where was she now? Was she waiting to meet his father? Would she end up as a name on one of Jason Treffen’s invoices? Payment for services rendered.

No. Not if he could do anything to stop it.

He’d let it happen once. He’d be damned if he ever let it happen again.

He started back across the room and swung by the bar, grabbing his scotch and knocking it back.

Hell, he was damned either way. But she didn’t have to be.

* * *

Katy Michaels sent up a silent prayer and hoped that, for once, someone was listening. She didn’t want to get caught, not now. All she wanted to do was verify that the invoices existed. She was armed with a tip and a key from Jason Treffen’s front desk attendant, Stephanie, a bright young girl with brown eyes that had permanent shadows beneath them.

Just looking at her made Katy’s skin crawl.

Her eyes reminded her of Sarah’s eyes. Haunted. Tired. Hollow, as if the hope had been carved out of her and an endless black hole was left behind instead.

She went into the office and stared down at the dark wood file cabinets. What an asshole. With his defunct filing system, all old and stately. It was like a big middle finger to everyone, to her, to the women he hurt, that he didn’t even bother to keep this information in cryptic folders. That he kept records at all.

Had to get his damned tax write-off. Even when he was paying for sex.

He was lucky she was pursuing legal action rather than going Batman on his ass and seeking a little vigilante justice.

“I am the night,” she muttered, going toward the third cabinet to the left, as instructed, and putting the key in the lock. She turned it and it gave, a small click in the silence of the room.

She pulled the drawer open and went for the folder marked “special services,” then she opened it and rifled through. It was one year. Just one year and it was filled with names.

Sarah’s name would have been in it ten years ago. So many women.

“Binders full of them,” she said, trying to smile at her own frail joke as she snapped a shot of the first invoice with her phone’s scanner. Humor was all she had left to get her through this crap. She’d taken her other crutches away from herself.

Her parents’ drug use. Her sister’s death. Raising a younger brother—Trey—who was angry at the world. And it was much better to laugh when she was beating back her own demons with a stick.

And she definitely had her own.

Scanning invoice after invoice that represented a woman who had been abused by Jason Treffen.

She had to laugh or curl into a ball and give up on humanity. Or go back down the deep dark rabbit holes she used to hide in. Soothe her pain in the other ways she knew how to soothe it.

No. She wasn’t going back there. Not again.

She scanned every doc, then put them back in the folder, and back in the drawer, which she locked. Then she stuck her phone back in her handbag and made her way out of Jason’s office, dropping the key beneath a little potted flower on Stephanie’s desk, as she’d requested.

Katy let out a long breath and started walking back down the empty corridor, back to the party.

Back toward Jason Treffen.

Talking to that scumbag had just about made her lose her mind. It had taken everything in her not to grab his glass from his hand and pour it over his head. Then break the glass on his face.

She considered the man as good as her sister’s murderer, so she was short on charitable feelings where he was concerned.

The door to the ballroom opened and she froze, trying to affect an “I’m just coming back from the bathroom” demeanor. Whatever the hell that was.

Oh. Her breath left her in a rush, a current of electricity washing over her skin.

It was him.

The man who’d been drinking scotch. The man whose eyes were like an endless black hole, drawing her in, a force she couldn’t deny or control.

The man who had looked at her for a moment.

Someone looking at her wasn’t really that significant. It happened every day. Except when this man had looked at her, she’d felt as if she were grounded to the spot. She’d felt like he had looked and seen her.

Seen everything. More than that, she’d looked back and she’d seen him.

Had seen a grief in him. An anger.

It had been, in some ways, like looking into a mirror.

And in just a second, it had been over. She’d gone to find Jason, to put herself in his vicinity. Just because she’d promised herself she would. Because she’d promised herself she would look him dead in the eye one day, knowing she was going to destroy him, while he didn’t have a clue.

And so she had.

But it had been a sacrifice, because she’d had to look away from the man. It was a moment that summed up her entire life, really. Deny, deny, repress. Push on through. Don’t let the pain touch you. Don’t let the pleasure touch you, either.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice deep, smooth. Like really good chocolate.

“Yes, it’s me. I was...in the bathroom.” Oh, nice, Katy. That was very good.

He arched a brow. “Fascinating.”

“Not so much, I know.”

“I’ll let it slide because I was hoping to run into you.”

“Were you?”

“Yes,” he said, walking closer to her, his eyes burning into hers.

She’d never seen anything like his eyes. They were so intense she couldn’t look away.

And his body...perfectly showcased by his custom-made suit. Broad shoulders, trim waist and slim hips. Very expensive shoes.

Then there was his face. He was arresting. Dark brows, chiseled jaw, Roman nose. His lips were perfection. She couldn’t remember ever being fascinated by a man’s lips before. Even the men’s mouths she’d come into direct physical contact with hadn’t fascinated her.

His mouth was shaped perfectly. She found herself utterly obsessed by the thought of tracing his top lip with her tongue. Of letting the tip of it slide into the little V just beneath his nose.

Jeez. She needed help. A good night’s sleep. Something. This wasn’t normal. Not for her.

“Wh-why were you hoping to run into me?” she asked.

“Because you’re the most beautiful woman here. Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

“I call B.S.,” she said. “There are models here.”

“So? You were the one who caught my attention.”

“You’re a flirt.”

“That’s the thing—I’m not really. So if I’m doing a poor job of it, it’s only because I lack practice.” He put his hands in his pockets, a wicked half smile curling that sinful mouth.

“Again, I call bull.”

“Again, you’re wrong.”

“You’re drunk.”

“A little.”

“Honest,” she said. “But I have to get back.”

She started to walk past him and he took her arm, stopped her progress. Her breath left her lungs in a rush, his grip shockingly tight. She looked up and met cold, dark eyes. “To who?” he asked, his voice gentle, an opposing force to the hold he had on her.

Her heart was thundering hard. But it wasn’t with fear. There was something about his grip, so tight, so certain, that made her feel...

She blinked. Oh, no, she was not getting turned on by a strange man in the corridor of a party she was technically coordinating.

But there was something about that grip. Commanding. Hard. It spoke to every secret fantasy that lived in the dark shadows inside of her. The parts of her that didn’t want a sweet kiss at midnight from Prince Charming. The parts that had always craved things she’d never quite understood.

The parts of herself that had looked at every man she’d even tried to date and found them lacking.

But not him. He wouldn’t be lacking. Something shivered inside of her, a whisper.

He would know what you wanted.

“None of your business,” she growled.

“Jason Treffen?” he asked, a tinge of bitterness to his tone.

“Why?”

“I saw you speaking with him earlier.”

“Guilty,” she said. “Now will you let go of me?”

“Will you stay for a moment?”