Page 1 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

Brentwood, New York – three years ago

In my world, little sisters looked out for big brothers, too. I’d been warned not to come, but this was Cody—the one person left that I still loved. I couldn’t turn my back on him. Not now, not ever.

The house appeared innocuous—modest paint, a neatly trimmed lawn, and neighbors spaced out along an unremarkable street. But I knew better. Behind those drawn blinds and still windows, this place had become a hideout for The Revenants, a ruthless gang that had wormed its way into Cody’s life.

I stepped inside, and the scent of cigarettes and sweat hit me, mingled with something heavier. Blood.

My eyes darted nervously as I moved through the narrow hallway. Cody had sworn he was done with this life. Sworn that he’d walk away. One last time, he’d said, just to claim his share. In and out. But that was days ago.

And he still wasn’t home.

“Cody!” I called, my voice low but sharp.

Silence. No answer, just the creak of the house under my feet.

I stepped over bodies. They all wore leather jackets with The Revenants’ insignia. Cody had taken care of them, no doubt. But these were foot soldiers. I’d learned not to assume the worst was over. As long as Gideon Purcell reigned as the leader, things would never be over.

I moved cautiously into the next room. Light flickered from a broken lamp in the corner.

My grip tightened around the small handgun, a Ruger, tucked inside my jacket.

I wasn’t here to kill, but I wasn’t na?ve enough to come unarmed.

Cody was my only family, but if it came to survival, nothing else mattered.

The hallway stretched, every step dragging me closer to a nightmare I wasn’t ready to face. When I finally reached the end, my heart plummeted. Cody lay on the floor, blood soaking through his shirt and pooling beneath him.

“Code! My God, Code…” My voice cracked as I rushed to his side; the sight of him hurt my chest. So much blood. Too much.

I dropped to my knees, and my hands pressed against the gash in his stomach, trying to stem the flow. How many bullets had he taken?

His eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain. “Claire…what the hell are you doing here?” His voice was rough. Fear flickered in his gaze—not for himself, but for me.

“I’m getting you out of here,” I said, more determined than I felt. I hooked his arm around my neck, tugging. “Come on, you’ve got to help me.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he smiled—a weak, painful smile that crushed me. “My silly baby sister…” His words were barely a whisper. “Take the money and go. Stick to the twenties and fifties. Leave the fresh bills.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Tears burned in my eyes, but I blinked them away.

“I earned it, Claire.” His breaths grew shallower and more strained. “Take it. Run away. Far.”

I ignored him and kept pleading, “Who’s Batgirl without her Batman, huh? A sidekick with no one to keep out of trouble?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, though it turned into a cough. “You’re so silly.” It was his way of soothing me, even now. Normally, it would have brought a smile to my face—but not this time.

With a labored breath, he added, “I’m the troublemaker.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my brother.” My voice wavered, the desperation leaking out with each word. I couldn’t lose him. Not like this.

Suddenly, Cody’s eyes widened, filled with a flash of terror. I barely had time to blink before a shadow surged behind me. Something speared through my back. At first, it felt like nothing more than a sting, but then the agony spread, white-hot.

Strong arms clamped around me. His grip was faltering, like a dead man trying to claw his way out of the grave.

He was injured, that much I knew. But it didn’t matter.

His weight drove me to the ground, pinning me.

I struggled, but the blade—oh hell, it was a blade, wasn’t it?

—twisted inside me with every shift of his pressing body.

“Code!” I shouted, but he was too weak to help, maybe even too far gone. His chest barely moved. Was he even breathing anymore?

Panic clawed at me as I reached for my side. My gun—where was it?

Fuck! I’d left it. I’d left the damn gun on the floor when I tended to Cody.

I fought to claw my way free, but my attacker wasn’t done. Somehow, as if he’d found one last surge of strength, his arm slithered up, inching toward my throat, ready to close the deal. This was it. But damn it, I wasn’t dying tonight!

I stretched my arm out, straining. The gun lay beside Cody, just inches away. I screamed, using the sound to fuel my reach. The man was so fixated on choking the life out of me that he failed to notice.

With a guttural cry, I wedged my arm between his belly and my back. My fingers curled around the gun’s grip, cold and solid. I didn’t hesitate.

One. Two. Three.

Each shot was muffled by his own bulk. The man’s body jerked against mine with each blast, his grip loosening until he crumbled to the floor behind me. Blood spread beneath us—his, mine, Cody’s. It all blended together, a bloodbath.

I fell forward, gasping, fighting to stay conscious.

“Cody, wake up.” My voice trembled as I tapped his cheek again and again. It used to work when he was just high. But now his face was so pale, his lips a sickly shade of purple. A sob escaped me. “I’m so sorry…”

Tears blurred my vision, spilling down my face until I could barely see. I wanted to shake him, scream at him to get up, but his stillness was crushing me.

And then—sirens. Growing louder, closer.

I couldn’t stay. Police custody wouldn’t protect me from Gideon Purcell.

If anything, it’d lead The Revenants straight to my doorstep.

That’s if I didn’t bleed out first. I could already feel the numbness creeping into my back; the knife still lodged between my shoulder blades.

Every breath sent a wave of cold pain radiating through me.

I knew better than to pull it out. It would only make the bleeding worse and turn this nightmare into a death sentence.

But even out there, where would I go? I didn’t know how to get help.

I stumbled back through the hallway, my steps faltering. That’s when I saw it—a room with an open door, a safe hanging ajar. Cody’s words hit me all at once. He said there was money.

I didn’t think. I just grabbed it. Didn’t count it, didn’t care. A few grand? More? I didn’t know. I just fucking took it. Although somehow I managed to remember to leave the fresh bills behind.

There was no time to clean up. My blood was smeared across the floor, my fingerprints marking every surface. Too much. Too late to cover anything up.

I had to run.

I staggered outside, every movement sending a jolt of pain through my back. My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel, but I drove. I drove and drove, not knowing where I was going. Only that I had to keep moving.

But I couldn’t. Not for long. I was too weak. My back throbbed, but at the same time, it was going numb. The blood loss was catching up with me.

Everything started to go black.

The last thing I heard was a voice—rough, older. Probably a cop. And that was it. I was done for.

A wet, slobbery sensation roused me from unconsciousness, and I cracked open my eyes.

For a moment, I feared I’d been dumped in some wilderness, a wolf breathing down on me.

But as my vision cleared, the friendly face of a husky dog came into focus, its tongue lolling out in a goofy, contented grin.

I found myself lying on my side, a pillow propped behind me. I tried to scoot up, but a stabbing pain yanked me back down. At first, it felt like any sharp ache, but as the fog lifted, the truth hit me—I hadn’t imagined it. I’d literally been stabbed.

“Easy, easy. Don’t try to move yet,” a rough voice reached me through the confusion. I blinked past the pain, letting the room take shape—a modest bedroom, neutral curtains, wooden furniture. Definitely a house, his house, most likely.

“Rick Ashbourne,” the voice said, introducing himself. His face was etched with deep lines, especially around his mouth. He looked to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, standing tall—his height almost gave the impression of a basketball player from my vantage point.

I winced as the throbbing behind my eyes sharpened, rubbing my forehead like it was the worst hangover. I shifted slightly, trying to pinpoint the wound, but another sting stopped me cold.

Rick explained, “The blade had sliced into your back, about two inches from your left shoulder blade. You’re lucky—that pneumonectomy saved your life. And luckier still that it missed your heart. Everything worked in your favor because I’m no human doctor. I stitched you up. No surgery needed.”

“Thanks for saving me,” I murmured, still disoriented. “How long have I been here?”

“I found you last night. It’s evening now, the day after,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it, though he only managed to make it more tousled.

“You said you’re not a human doctor. What are you?”

“A vet,” he replied.

The revelation amused me. I was tempted to tell him that aside from dreaming of becoming a writer, I also hoped to study to be a vet one day. That I was saving up while juggling multiple jobs—pet groomer, pet shop assistant, and unofficial whisperer to both furry and leafy companions.

“And that,” he gestured toward the dog, whose nose now rested on my foot, “is Bobo. He was my daughter’s dog.”

“Was?”

“She died in a car accident last week.” His words were blunt, but the pain behind them was unmistakable.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

For a moment, I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. But then I just went with what was on my mind. “Are you going to call the cops?”

“You’d probably be gone before they showed up,” he replied, a small smirk pushing his lips upward.

I felt a little absurd. If Rick had wanted, I’d already be in a hospital, cuffed to a bed, with the authorities on high alert.