Married to the Beasts (Sin City Beasts #4)

1. Hazel

HAZEL

Water.

I need water, but I’m not sure I have the strength to get out of bed.

My head is pounding.

I peek through the slits of my eyelids at the ceiling that seems oddly high. It’s still dark, not morning yet. I need water and a Tylenol, or I won’t be able to rest.

Something’s not right, though. This isn’t my bedroom.

A wispy memory surfaces, reminding me that I’m in Las Vegas with my friend Bliss. We checked into a hotel yesterday and we’re sharing a bed, because there weren’t any rooms available with two beds that we could afford.

But when I look to the side, it’s not Bliss who’s beside me.

There’s a bare, muscular, very male arm in my bed, with an equally bare and muscular chest attached. My tired eyes shoot open. I brought a man back to my room? But with just one bed, where’s Bliss?

Slowly, painfully, I turn my head in the other direction and flinch when I see a second man in my bed.

It even hurts to think, but I try. What on earth happened last night, and who are these men?

I return my focus to the ceiling and lie very still as I mine my aching head for memories. Last night was New Year’s Eve. People everywhere. There were bright flashing lights, loud music, … a casino. I was in a casino with Bliss … and some men.

If Bliss was there, nothing too bad could have happened. Right? But I only have fragments. I don’t even remember how we got to the casino from our off-the-Strip bargain hotel.

Limousine. The word and image flash through my brain simultaneously. The impossibly long, sleek car pulled up to the curb as Bliss and I were walking. We stopped to talk to the people in the limo …

More memories emerge from the fog in my mind, slotting into place like missing puzzle pieces, but they can’t be right. No way.

The Curran brothers were in the limo. The three men who make up the core of the hottest rock band in the world, the Black Pythons.

Moving slowly and carefully, I manage to sit up, and the sheet falls away from my body. I’m naked.

As I hurry to cover my chest, I take another look at the man on my right. Conal Curran, devastatingly handsome even while asleep, the dark stubble on his face creating fierce shadows, while his long, nearly-black hair surrounds his head like a halo.

There’s nothing innocent about this man, though. The lead singer’s bad-boy reputation is the stuff of legend.

My eyes trail over his impressively-built chest down to a line of dark brown hair that starts at his belly button and disappears where the sheet barely covers his hips.

My breath catches when I spot the shape of something long and thick beneath the sheet—another legend about this man that’s apparently true.

To my left, a man is lying face-down, short hair sticking out in every direction, his broad back like some kind of diagram of ideal muscle definition. Then I catch sight of another man beyond him.

I quickly confirm that I didn’t imagine Conal on my right. Nope. I’m in bed with not one, not two, but three men. I’m naked, and they seem to be naked, too, though the sheet covers their lower bodies, just barely.

This isn’t my hotel room. No way was the bed there big enough for four people, especially when the men are built like this.

Holding my breath, I look past the short-haired man to study the third one.

Even in profile, there’s no mistaking Bron, the Pythons’ drummer, with his enviable mane of long brown hair.

A thick beard, one that countless women dream of stroking their fingers through, covers the lower part of his manly face.

Odds are good the other man beside me is their brother Rafe.

I’m in bed with the Black Pythons, musical geniuses and playboy heartbreakers.

Did I have sex with one of them? With more than one of them?

My head feels horrible, and the rest of my body doesn’t feel much better, but there’s no particular soreness between my legs. Most of last night is still a mystery, though .

Bliss. I need to find Bliss. She was definitely with me last night, and I pray she remembers what happened.

Gingerly, I scoot my body over the sheets, down toward the foot of the bed, careful not to bump the sleeping men who surround me. I’m fully naked without the protection of the bedsheet, but there’s no helping that for this maneuver.

Clothes are scattered on the floor, but I don’t see the blue dress I was wearing. A shimmery, silvery-white fabric catches my eye, and I head straight for it as a wild thought starts buzzing at the back of my brain.

The fabric turns out to be a short dress with wide straps adorned with pearlescent beads. There’s also a pile of white tulle on the floor, but I refuse to acknowledge it.

I step into the dress, which has a zipper running down the back. I’ll deal with that later. At least the front of me is covered.

I scan the area for my purse. The room is huge, and the tiny clutch I’d brought with me last night is nowhere to be found, but there’s one that matches the dress on a coffee table. The small bouquet of flowers next to it is fuzzily familiar .

My head reels when I bend over to pick up the purse, and I have to brace myself with one hand on the table until things stop spinning. When I’m able to stand again, I’m relieved to find my phone tucked in the bag.

It’s when I’m reaching for my phone that I see the ring. The v-shaped one on my left hand that’s gold and lined with what appear to be diamonds and rubies.

I stare at it for a long moment before the sound of movement from the bed makes me jump. Conal’s turning onto his side, and my heart jolts at the sudden memory of how I fell for him last night, before things got too blurry to remember.

He was charming, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but there was an unexpected tenderness in the way he treated me.

As I stand there clutching my dress to my chest, his breathing returns to a slow, steady rhythm, and I let out a sigh of relief.

His arm is hanging over the edge of the mattress now, and when I creep closer, I find a wide band on his ring finger that’s the same shiny gold as mine, and looks just as new.

I half-expected it at this point, but it’s still a shock. He wasn’t wearing a ring last night. I’d have noticed .

I look for rings on the other two men, but can’t see their hands from this angle.

That’s silly, though. It’s not as if I could get married to three men. That’s almost as outrageous as the idea that I got married to the most famous rock star in the world.

I back away from the bed and make my way out of the room, through a doorway and into another dimly-lit room, this one even larger and decorated with elegant, expensive-looking furniture.

There’s a dining area, multiple seating arrangements, a pool table, and a bar with shelves stocked with dozens of bottles of alcohol behind it.

The space could easily be used for a large party.

Across the room, doorways are open to two seemingly unused bedrooms, with large, unmade beds. Everything is quiet; there doesn’t seem to be anyone here but me and the Curran brothers.

Floor-length curtains line one wall, blocking out whatever’s behind them, and I realize I have no idea what time it is, much less where I am.

My hand is trembling as I pull out my phone. Squinting at the too-bright screen sends a stab of pain straight through my skull. It’s 9:37 a.m. on January 1 .

I send a “Where are you?” text to Bliss, and when it remains unread after ten seconds, I call her.

No answer.

The quivering spreads to my arms and legs, and I sink down onto the edge of an enormous leather sofa. Part of me wants to call my mom, like a little girl, but I absolutely cannot phone her about something like this. Which only leaves one person.

In search of privacy, I find a powder room and quietly close the door behind me before turning on the light.

Even this much smaller space highlights the surreality of my current situation.

The marble countertop, gold-plated faucet, and crystal light fixtures are all from a world where I don’t belong.

I sit down on the closed toilet lid, tap my sister’s number, and stare at my ring—which is blindingly sparkly in this light—while I wait for her to pick up.

“Happy new year! What’s shaking?”

I feel like crying when I hear her cheerful voice, and mine is trembling when I manage to say, “Ember?”

Her tone changes instantly. “Honey, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m …I’m in Vegas. ”

“Vegas? Where in Vegas? Why didn’t you tell me?” She lives here now, but I hadn’t told her I was coming.

“I just wanted to celebrate. I knew you’d be with your guys.”

“Hazel, honey, tell me where you are.”

I look around me at the plush towels and fancy wallpaper. I’m in another dimension, and I think I’m in a lot of trouble. “I’m in a hotel room. I’m not sure which hotel.”

“Okay,” she says, calm and in control, like always. “And what’s happening there?”

Tears sting behind my eyes, and my head throbs. “I think … I think I got married last night.”