Mine to Shelter by Kennedy L. Mitchell
Just when I thought life couldn’t get worse, a past nightmare returns. But this time he’s after more than my body. He wants it all—me and my daughter.
Mine to Shelter, an all-new single mom, forced proximity, romantic suspense from bestselling author Kennedy L. Mitchell is now available!
Broken, abused, and all alone.
I first met Detective Hudson Mott on the worst night of my adult life, and now four years later, he appears on my doorstep telling me I’m in danger. Again.
The forbidden crush I harbored for him burns brighter when he refuses to leave us unprotected, determined to stick close. A massive, sexy former Navy SEAL who makes me feel safe and seen wants to insert himself into my crazy life plus is super adorable with my four-year-old.
Yes, please. Maybe then I could actually sleep.
We both wear internal scars from our pasts, though that doesn’t diminish the instant attraction and combustible desire that pulse between us.
It might be forbidden, but I can’t stop wanting more and picturing us as a family.
The killer wants Samantha and me for his own, and Hudson refuses to let that happen.
I’ve survived a lot in my life…
But this might be the final act that
breaks me beyond repair.
My rating: 5 out of 5 stars
My review:
“I want all your smiles, all your laughter, all of it… I
want your everything…”
WOW! This series
continues getting better and blowing me away.
We met Hudson in the previous book, Mine to Share, which was such a
heartbreaking and tragic story. I was so
excited to see that the next book was his and couldn’t wait to dive into it.
“He didn’t complete me or fix me, just gave me the tools and
time for me to do it myself… And that was what made Hudson Mott the ultimate
superhero in my eyes.”
Mine to Shelter is the eighth book in the Protection
series. Like every book in the series,
I was initially drawn into the story and couldn't put the book down. I loved how the author used multiple POVs,
even the villains. It made it so easy to
connect with the characters. Since the
characters overlap between books, I suggest reading the books in order.
Besides, once you start reading one of them, you will want to read them
all. I highly recommend the book; as
always, I anxiously await the next one to be available.
I received an ARC and am voluntarily leaving a review. All
thoughts and opinions are my own.
Start reading
today!
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for a look inside Mine to Shelter!
Warm air wheezed from the side vents,
what should’ve been cold air almost the same scorching temperature as outside
the crappy-ass car. Using the hem of my cotton T-shirt, I swiped away the
trails of sweat from my temples and relaxed against the seat, adjusting on the
worn cloth to get comfortable after sitting for so long in the same position.
Watching through the cracked tint of the driver’s side window, I studied the
few families who pushed full baskets along the car-lined aisles and others who
weaved between cars, hurrying for the front entrance of the massive supercenter
that held anything and everything a person could want or need.
Tapping the bottom of the soft pack,
I plucked a cigarette free and leaned forward to manually roll down the window,
lighting the end with Dad’s old Zippo before taking a deep hit. Lids half
closed, still monitoring the busy parking lot, I savored the burn in my lungs,
remembering all those nights smoking with Dad, talking about the day.
Attention still partially on the
older-model gray sedan parked three cars down and across the row from where I
waited, I stretched over the center console and swiped the worn paper off the
passenger seat. Inhaling another deep drag, I glared at the list of names
written in my handwriting, the holes and thick lines displaying the anger
coursing through me when I wrote them. The same rage that rolled through my
veins as I sneered at the names.
They were why I was alone. Why I had zero fucking family left to call my
own.
Before, it was a way to play with my obsessions, to have them once
before moving on to the next who caught my attention. Then as months passed, it
was fun seeing how many I could have without getting caught. I was too clever,
smarter than the forensic team in this shit city, than all the cops and
detectives assigned to those cases.
Fifteen women and they still didn’t have a damn clue who I was.
I should’ve become a cop like Dad wanted,” I huffed around the filter
between my lips.
Maybe then they’d have fewer cold cases, never solved because of gross
incompetence. They could use someone like me who knew how to watch from the
shadows without being seen for months, who could memorize every detail of a
target’s routine and life. But instead of using that honed skill to help find
justice for victims, I chose to channel it toward making more.
Like now, as I sat in my shit car waiting to catch a glimpse of the next
name on the list ready to be marked off.
Soon.
First, I needed to learn her routine
all over again. Understand who she was after four years of us being apart
before snuffing her out like I should’ve done all those years ago. None of them
deserved to move on from me, to live happy, fulfilling lives. Not when mine was
ruined because of them. Destroyed after what I had to do to the only person who
ever loved me unconditionally.
Well, unconditionally until realizing his
son was the serial rapist who’d terrorized the greater LA area for years. The
list of names crumpled beneath my tightening hold as an all-too-familiar anger
raced through my veins. It happened every time I remembered the look of
disgust, then shock that registered on Dad’s face that night in the high beams
of the car’s headlights.
They made me do it. They were why I was
without him.
After that night, all alone in our
home, I knew those bitches needed to pay the ultimate price. Without the access
to find them again, it took months to locate them all and form a plan before I
made my move on the first.
Oh, I had
my fun with her before dumping her like the trash she was.
Then the
next two followed, and it was just as exciting to steal their fight and drain
any ounce of hope of survival. The few weeks I spent with each one I’d no doubt
remember for the rest of my life, though the videos would help if I ever
started to forget the finer details, like how their screams echoed off the
basement walls and their fight turned to begging after days alone with me.
Now it was
time for the next one on the list.
Calista
Hart.
Out of the
corner of my eye, I caught the sedan’s partially rusted trunk popping open as
if triggered remotely. A wave of excitement had me sitting up straighter in the
seat, wedging the cigarette butt through the cracked window and folding both
forearms on top of the steering wheel as a familiar figure drew closer. Her
long, brilliant blonde hair flashed in the afternoon sun, drawing the attention
of every male to the model gracing their presence. Fuck. I inhaled deeply,
nostrils flaring with the memories of her tied up beneath me. She was still
just as beautiful as back then, the sole reason she’d attracted my obsession in
the first place.
Images of
her in my basement, getting to feel her again as many times as I wanted before
doing away with her, came to a grinding halt at movement in the seat of the
barely filled cart. My grip tightened around the steering wheel. A mop of
blonde curls, porcelain skin just like her mother’s, and chubby arms waved all
around, making Calista laugh so loud that it carried through the parking lot
and into my car.
A baby.
No, a
toddler.
Gaze
focused on the two of them through my windshield, I absentmindedly tugged at my
curly dirty-blond hair. Hair that looked too similar to the little girl holding
Calista’s attention.
Mouth
suddenly too dry to swallow, I barely breathed as Calista Hart placed the
meager groceries into the trunk, keeping one hand wrapped around her daughter’s
foot the entire time.
At this
distance, there was no way to make out the child’s features or even the color
of her eyes, but the warmth pooling in my chest said I knew the answer to the
question I couldn’t get out of my head.
Mine.
Her child
had to be mine.
I didn’t
have a damn clue what age she must be, but if I had to bet, I’d put my money on
four. Which lined up exactly to when I’d visited Calista that amazing night in
her home, when I’d allowed all my fantasies of us together to come true.
Eyes
gritty with the need to blink, I forced my lids to remain open and not miss a
minute of my beautiful family loading into the car, and I continued watching as
they drove away. Once the car turned, disappearing down the row of vehicles, I
deflated against the seat. Unfolding the crumpled list, I stared at the names.
Fingers searching, I pulled a pen out of the center console, bit off the cap,
and ever so gently circled Calista’s name.
She was
special now. They were special, not deserving of my wrath like the others.
Calista
Hart had no idea how lucky she was.
Now she
wouldn’t suffer and die in pain by my hands, serving my own form of justice for
what they took from me.
Calista
and our daughter would be mine soon.
A happy
family.
Forever.
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