Page 1 of Daddy’s Hunted Bride

PROLOGUE

VANESSA

Tracking down my wayward boss hasn’t been easy. But I’m finally here, hidden behind a copse of trees as I watch “Marjorie’s” captors through the giant windows of their insanely large cabin.

As far as prisons go, I have to admit it’s a nice one.

But that doesn’t matter. No matter how gilded her cage is, it’s still a cage. One I’m determined to free her from.

Through the window, I watch as my boss and closest friend takes off running. But she doesn’t get far before one of the men holding her hostage scoops her up and drapes her over his shoulder, his large hand smacking her ass as he hauls her to another room.

Horror wells in my chest as I watch this giant of a man sit and toss my friend over his lap. He rips her underwear from her, exposing her ass, and I swear I can hear her howls of pain when his hand slams into her unprotected flesh.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I zoom in as much as I’m able and hit record. I’ll need evidence if I’m going to convince the cops that these people are actually as horrible and dangerous as I know them to be.

Over and over the brute spanks Marjorie as she kicks and struggles over his lap. By the time she goes limp, her ass is mottled with pink and red, so bright I can see it even from a distance.

My shock at witnessing this savage punishment is nothing, however, compared to the disbelief that consumes me when Marjorie throws her arms around her assailant’s neck, as if she is seeking comfort from the man who just brutalized her.

What the fuck have they done to my friend? How much brainwashing has she endured to bring her to this point?

It doesn’t matter. As soon as I get her home, I’ll find her a therapist. Surely there has to be someone who specializes in things like this. Stockholm syndrome, maybe?

Ending the recording, I make myself a note to research therapists when we return home. But before I can tuck the phone back in my pocket, a hand clamps down on my shoulder and the device disappears from my hand. A scream wells in my throat, but my voice is frozen with terror.

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice growls in my ear. “Looks like I’ve caught myself a naughty Little girl. It must be my lucky day.”

Fuck.

CHAPTER 1

DANE

Happy squeals spill out of our home, unhindered by the double-pane windows we were assured would insulate against the elements as well as most sounds.

Clearly, they were not tested on excited Little girls.

Glancing up, I can’t help but grin as I watch my adorable nieces through one of those same windows as they immerse themselves in whatever new game of pretend Lanie has concocted for them. They really are too fucking cute for their own good, though that cuteness doesn’t keep them out of trouble. If anything, they’re too cute not to spank on a regular basis, which is at least part of why not a day passes without at least one of them going over someone’s knee.

The other part of the equation being that they seem incapable of going more than a few hours without breaking one rule or another.

Shaking my head at their antics, I lift the ax in my hand. Out of all my brothers, I’m the only one who truly enjoys the actual “lumberjack” part of being a lumberjack. The others endured chopping wood by hand for the sake of building our empire, but once it no longer became a necessity, they more or less left it up to me. Every now and then, one of them will join me when they have some big emotional deal to work through, but other than that I’m mostly left to my own devices.

I prefer it that way.

Being smack dab in the middle of seven children is … interesting. I don’t have half of Axel’s responsibilities, even now, but at the same time I don’t endure nearly the same amount of teasing as Ford.

And then there’s Gray, our baby sister, though she’d flay any one of us alive for daring to call her that out loud. When our parents were alive, she was our princess, spoiled and pampered beyond imagination.

After their deaths, she somehow became our rock. She was the one who made the call to settle down here in Colorado, the one who reached out to people we knew we could trust to keep our secret and got us the financing necessary to start our logging company.

I owe my life to my little sister. And I am also very, very glad I don’t have to be her.

Instead, I get to just sort of… be. Everyone in the family has their roles, and mine is more or less to step in where I’m needed.

And to chop wood, of course.

Just as I’m lifting the ax again, movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Dropping the ax to my side, I watch as someone—a woman, I think—creeps around the side of our house.