Breaking His Law (The Billionaire Hart Brothers #1)

Prologue

ARIANNA—AGE FIFTEEN

A faint hiss of what sounds like high-pressure steam escaping from a tea kettle rouses me from the deep slumber I can’t remember drifting into.

My body jerks in response when I let out a staggered raspy cough as the pungent vapor of gasoline consumes my nostrils, filling my lungs and mouth, hitting the back of my throat.

Sharpness spears my shoulder from behind, making me shriek, and I suck in a breath when pain radiates through my shoulder as if a wave of needles is stabbing my skin. I’m unable to stifle my cough, and a high-pitched yelp followed by a long-drawn-out groan leaves my chest.

“Where am I?” I mumble.

Forcing my eyes open, I blink repeatedly, desperately trying to make sense of my surroundings and not gag on the fumes in fear of more pain that may come with even the slightest movement.

The haze lifts, and my vision becomes a little clearer, but it doesn’t stop the panic bubbling in my throat because I don’t know where I am or why I seem to be lying down on the floor. Or is it a road or a carpet? I glance around the space and silently plead for a clue as to where I am.

The tell-tale signs of being inside a car begin to piece together. Tiny, smashed pieces of glass everywhere, jagged contorted metal poking out in directions they shouldn’t, mixed with the smell of burnt rubber and a continual hissing sound I can hear coming from somewhere in the distance.

My body takes a moment to tell my brain that I want it to move, but like a caged animal, I’m trapped with no way out.

With my head to the side, my cheek is pressed against something that feels like metal and I’m unable to lift my neck because something hard is stopping me from above. My breathing labored, it sounds wheezy, and I wince as a throbbing sensation builds across my flattened cheekbone.

The smell of gasoline grows stronger by the second as cold liquid soaks into my clothes, wrapping itself around me like a suffocating fog, thick and inescapable.

Overwhelming my senses, the noxious vapor catches the back of my throat, and I dry heave, my stomach doing somersaults from the high levels of toxicity in the tight space.

My jolting movements have me scratching my cheek against the metal below, making my skin sting from the gasoline seeping into what I can only assume is a wound on my face.

It burns like the fires of hell, and when I try to reach up to feel it, my arm won’t cooperate.

I give it a yank, but I feel nothing, as if it’s not there.

I know it is; I can see the shocking pink fabric of my gymnastics leotard that’s covering my shoulder leading to my arm. I’m numb.

That’s when it all hits me at once. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that it’s not true. But when I open them again, it’s still there—my pink leotard—and I know I’m not dreaming.

Riley and I were at gymnastics practice, something I’ve done since I was six years old. I only started because I wanted to be like my big sister, but I absolutely love it and it turns out I’m pretty good at it too, which is a bonus.

Like every Thursday, Mom and Dad picked us up, but instead of going straight home like we usually do, we went for pizza at Franco’s to celebrate Riley and me making the finals for the state championship on Beam which we found out at a meet last weekend and were only celebrating now.

We were driving home.

It was late.

Dark.

Foggy.

Then bang .

My heart rate spirals out of control as my brain catches up with what happened.

We were in a car crash.

If we hadn’t made the state championships, we wouldn’t have had a reason to celebrate or be out when it was dark.

Breathing harder, I cough frantically as the agonizing fumes continue to fill my lungs, now making my eyes sting and water as well.

Trying to tilt my head back slightly in search of my family, I let out a scream of horror when my eyes fall on my sister’s lifeless body, still in her teal leotard, lying face down on the asphalt outside of the car.

Desperate to get to her, I wiggle my body to free myself, but nothing happens—just more pain, much stronger than before, making the urge to vomit relentless.

Anguish climbs my throat. “Riley.” Her name comes out of my mouth with a crack, my heart mirroring the same physical pain.

“Mom? Dad?” Searching around the inside of the car, I sweep the space, assessing my dire situation. Unable to find my parents because my head is restricted, I call out again in frustration. “Mom? Dad?”

No response.

“Help,” I call out as best as I can.

Through the fog and over the sound of what I think is the car hissing, I hear quick footsteps.

“Help me, please,” I try again, praying someone, anyone, will hear me.

The footsteps run closer.

“I’m in here.” Making sure they can hear me this time, I shout louder. “I’m stuck; please help me,” I plead. “And my sister.” My emotion bubbles over, and I sob hard. “Can you help her? Can you see my mom? Is that you, Dad? Please. Help.” My words fade out as I weep.

“Shit,” a weak and wobbly whisper of a man’s voice utters, followed by, “Shit. Shit. Shit.” The fear is evident in his hurried cuss words.

Tears wet my face, the fat droplets mixing with the fuel that’s gathered around my cheek like a puddle. I look at my sister’s motionless body again. “Please help my sister,” I helplessly beg as the sound of the man’s footsteps begin to run away fast and disappear, my hope fading with them.

“No,” I bellow as loud as I can into the ether. “Please come back.” Panicking, I jolt my body upward. Instantly, I’m hit with searing white-hot pain in my back, making me feel like my shoulder is being ripped open, and I scream into the emptiness.

Feeling woozy, my body goes limp, and as hard as I try to keep them open, my eyes shutter close.

Floating memories dance through my mind. My mom laughing… Dad dancing with her in the living room… My sister and I chasing each other around the backyard… and laughter… so much laughter… and as I go under, everything disappears into a black hole…