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excerpt - go deepRED ZONE SERIES: BOOK ONE

PROLOGUE & CHAPTER ONE

Vince

The massive blow drives my body about ten feet into the air.

Goddamn you, Willie Toth.

I feel myself defying gravity, still conscious enough to know what comes next – me hitting the ground.

Hard .

Bright flashes zip back and forth in front of my eyes.

Cameras, football stadium lights…

maybe they’re hallucinations, since I might’ve just suffered blunt force trauma to the temple.

I’m still contemplating, still mid-air, hoping time just stops before I land because there’s nothing cushy on the field to break my almost certain spine-shattering fall.

I thought the defensive end’s hit was the worst part.

It wasn’t. It was like a fucking orgasm compared to the crash.

Every single nerve ending explodes on impact.

I’m assaulted by a pain so intense, it makes my eyelashes and fingernails hurt.

My brain rattles against my skull, and my memory is wiped clean like a fried circuit board.

Everything is blurry.

I can see… barely… foggy swirls of red, white, and pink flash in front of me.

They may be faces, but my brain is bleeding, so who the hell knows?

Sounds are muted, colors dull and lifeless.

Kind of like me.

The adrenaline rush of the game does nothing to blunt the agony commanding every cell of my being.

My body screams in anguish.

Death would be preferable, welcome almost.

My eyes drift closed, all light fading to blackness.

A final moment of clarity emerges from the sea of confusion.

This is the end. And I haven’t even gotten a chance to live…

“Just a little harder… yeah.” It’s close, so damn close.

Relief is imminent, and I’m teetering on the brink.

“Ahh. You’re almost there.”

“Mmm. Okay, be patient for once.” Katarina’s nimble fingers massage gently at first, in circular motions, making me want to scream bloody murder.

“I’m going to press it in, nice and slow.”

“Slam it in. I can’t take it anymore.”

Torture in its worst form.

Twelve hours of searing pain, shooting from my lower back to my calf.

.. a bottle of Motrin couldn’t relieve a shred of the agony.

But Katarina, my massage therapist, always has the magic touch.

Pop! And just like that, the disc is in, all aches instantly eradicated.

I collapse onto the table, arms dangling over the sides, spent like I’d just shot a massive load.

Guess I pushed too hard during my workout yesterday.

My back is always all kinds of fucked up since Willie Toth hammered the final nail in the coffin of my NFL career ten years ago.

When the team doctor told me to pull back after my first injury, did I listen?

Nope. I was a cocky rookie, determined to start, destined for the Hall of Fame.

No way would I let a bullshit knee pull screw up my first season on the field.

I’d worked too hard and for too long.

And I don’t tolerate weakness.

It’s something that’s been drilled into me for as long as I can remember.

So I pushed myself, as always.

Until I finally broke.

Ironically, it wasn’t the knee that ultimately got me.

It was a spinal cord injury that almost paralyzed me and took me out of the game permanently at the age of twenty-three.

Regrets? I have plenty.

The number could probably rival the number of cells in my battered body.

But that’s me. Impulsive, impatient, a pretty shitty listener, just a few of my many shortcomings.

I can catalog the rest, but it won’t be long before they shine through and speak for themselves.

“Vince, you need to go easy.” Katarina wags a finger at me.

“Do you want to end up in traction?” It’s kinda cute, her Russian accent making it sound more like “trak-shee-on.” Screw it, she can say whatever she wants, however she wants, as long as those fingers are on retainer.

“I’ll be smarter next time.”

She leans in, her blonde waves grazing my bare arms. Her tits are practically jumping out of her top, begging for a feelsie.

I’m not the least bit tempted, but that’s another story, one I keep filed away, buried down deep, just like my regrets.

“Good. Not that I mind getting you naked and oiled up first thing in the morning.” Her glossed lips curl into a seductive smile.

“How about a quickie before work?”

Only seconds before, my dick had been as limp as a cooked strand of spaghetti.

But those devious fingers creeping under the starched white sheet make it spring to life faster than a shot of adrenaline to the heart after an overdose.

Okay, it’s not just the fingers.

More specifically, not her fingers.

Once my eyes slam shut, X-rated images flash through my now lust-filled mind, images I’d conjured up for weeks on end of the one whose fingers I really wish were stroking and sucking my cock right now.

Gabe Kelly, the star quarterback for the Cincinnati Crusaders.

I’d always thought he was hot as hell with his ice blue eyes, sexy dimpled smile that makes him look like a combination of angel and devil, and thick dark hair that’s always styled to look like he’s been fucked six ways from Sunday.

The fact that he recently came out on national television ups his hotness factor about a hundred-fold because of the kind of confidence and fuck-all attitude it took to actually say the words.

But those thoughts, images, and fantasies, the ones that keep me up all night, my own personal highlight reel that loops when I’m left to my own devices…

they’re dangerous. They can crush me and destroy my livelihood.

I didn’t get my position as the top investment manager in the country by accident.

I’ve made damn good use of my finance degree over the past decade.

I’m the best at what I do, and every power player in the financial world knows it.

I also know that everything I’ve built rests on a fractured foundation of lies and dirty secrets, and if they’re exposed, my life as I know it will be over.

It won’t matter that I’m the best .

It won’t matter that I’ve generated insane returns for my clients, year after year.

Narrow minds don’t give a shit about facts.

They only care about perception.

Case in point, my father, the powerful U.S.

Senator from Ohio, Michael Castro.

He’s the reason why I push so hard to exorcise any displays of weakness.

He’s the reason I was able to land on my feet after the disastrous end to my NFL career.

He’s also the reason I’m so closeted I could quite possibly literally exist in another realm.

And that’s why I keep myself buried balls deep in pretty much any women who crosses my path and flashes me the come-hither look.

Because I’m not willing to sacrifice any more than I already have.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

They just snowball, gathering mass, speed, and force.

Until the day when they’ll finally flatten me.

“Vince, we’re a family. We help each other. I didn’t ask you for anything when I helped you launch that company of yours. I did it because you’re my son, and I love you.”

I rub the back of my neck.

“Dad, I want to help you. I just don’t think it’s smart for me to get involved with something so high-profile. I don’t want to alienate any potential clients. I have to stay impartial, or I’ll lose business. Not everyone thinks like you.”

My father narrows his eyes at me.

“You mean, like us.”

“Right. Like us.” I choke out the words, my stomach knotted like a damn lanyard.

“And don’t forget that it’s in large part because of me and my connections that you even have a business to run, Vince.”

If I hadn’t realized it before, my fate was pretty much sealed after that conversation.

The one I’ve replayed in my mind since we first had it a few months ago.

The one I’d been avoiding for my entire life.

How I’d managed to escape it for as long as I did is beyond me.

But the words have been spoken.

The request has been made.

If I don’t accept the terms, I lose everything.

Including any shred of control I managed to grab after my life turned upside down with my career-crushing body slam.

There’s no escape from my reality.

I wonder if it’s worth all I’ve given up.

Dad’s running for president, and he’s made it clear that I need to play the role of the respectable, straightlaced son, the son who supports his positions and platform.

The primaries are in full swing, but by some miracle, I’ve been lucky to escape scrutiny so far.

I’ve taken every out-of-town meeting possible, gone from New York to Los Angeles and back…

anything to keep me far away from this state and everything it represents.

But I can’t keep running away from the campaign.

My father has expectations, pretty reasonable ones, all things considered.

I mean, why shouldn’t his only son, the one he’s given so much to over the years, stand by his side and rally on his behalf at a time when he needs the support most?

I don’t see so much as a sliver of light at the end of this tunnel.

There’s no exit, no chance for an escape.

And the faster I run, the sooner I’ll crash into a wall.

Like I said, my fate is sealed.

Just like the damn tunnel.

The only way for me to maintain any bit of control over my life is to play the game and lie about who I really am.

Somewhere in the depths of my conscious, I hear my phone ping.

New client meeting this morning.

A rush of anticipation mixed with carnal need floods my insides.

A deep sigh shudders through me as Katarina’s lips clamp hard around my throbbing cock.

My eyes squeeze shut, picturing my new client’s mouth eagerly sucking and tugging and stroking, and desire surges through me.

God, I want to really live, to feel this alive without having to pretend.

I take in a sharp breath, clutching the sides of the bed sheet.

But I only have control over one thing in my life, and that’s my business.

I can’t risk that, too.