Filthy Brute: Junkyard Shifters, #9

By Liza Street

This runaway bride ran straight into a supernatural prison.

 

Ariana has one thing on her mind as she drives out of Sierraville: escape her cheating groom and ditch her wedding finery. Unfortunately, she drives herself straight into a paranormal nightmare—a prison full of monstrous men with monstrous appetites.

 

Grizzly shifter Weston doesn't care about ever finding a mate. The Junkyard isn't so bad. He works out his aggression by fighting with the other guys, and otherwise it's quiet and everyone leaves him alone. But when Ariana shows up, everything changes. She's in distress, and he has no choice but to protect her. Worse, his inner grizzly insists she's his fated mate.

 

Too bad she's also his best friend's ex.

 

USA Today bestselling author Liza Street delivers romance, romps, and runaway brides in Filthy Brute, the ninth standalone novel in the Junkyard Shifters series. If you love scorned women hellbent on revenge and sexy shifters who will do anything to protect their mates, this book is for you! Buy your copy today and embrace the "trash" in "trashy romance!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liza Street
• Release date: Dec 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201578596

Book preview

1

Everything was in place.

Make-up—fabulous. Hair—gorgeous. Gown—breathtaking. Literally. The corset top was so tight, Ariana was having trouble gulping in air.

Small price to pay for looking her absolute best on her wedding day. She loved the way the corset pushed up her ample breasts, which were her best feature, according to the groom.

Calvin. The love of her life.

She took a moment to swoon at the thought of him, and imagined how dashing he’d look in his tux. Six feet tall with a head of chestnut-brown hair and a pair of gorgeous, dark blue eyes so striking they could make Ariana forget to breathe. The man had appeared in her life when she was at her most vulnerable, and with him at her side, she’d grown a spine. She felt loved.

Finally, after wasting nearly a year with a dud, Ariana was someone’s first choice. Calvin had chosen her, Ariana, over anyone else.

It had been a whirlwind romance, but Calvin was perfect. Four months was plenty of time to know for certain that she was meant to be with someone.

It was a heady, buoyant feeling. Was she floating? She felt like she might be.

Ariana, are you decent? a man’s voice said from the other side of the door.

Jeffrey, yeah, she said. Come on in.

Calvin’s stepbrother opened the door and walked into the room. He didn’t look anything like Calvin. Both he and their sister Joan had gotten the curly, reddish-blond hair, whereas Calvin was tall and dark. Jeffrey ran a hand through his hair now, messing it up.

Are you doing all right? he asked in a low, serious voice.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen Jeffrey crack a smile.

Yes, I’m great, she said. You look good. It’s strange to see you in a suit instead of flannel.

He usually wore a flannel button-up and jeans. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in anything else.

Yeah. He took a few steps into the room before stopping abruptly, hands held rigidly at his sides. He was always so somber, so formal. You know, if you need anything, I’m here to help.

Ariana leaned back to study him. I’m totally fine, Jeffrey. Is something wrong? Is Calvin—oh, no, is Calvin having second thoughts? You have to talk to him, tell him that we have been planning this, that we love each other. Remind him that we’re meant to be.

No, no, he’s not having second thoughts, Jeffrey reassured her.

There was something, though. Some note of caution in his pretty blue eyes.

What is it, then? Ariana asked.

Nothing. He gave her a tight nod and went to the door. I have to go.

Okay, see you in a few. Ariana frowned at the door, which was already closing behind him.

Jeffrey had always been a bit odd where she was concerned. One time, Joan suggested that maybe Jeffrey wanted Ariana for himself. But that wasn’t the vibe Ariana got. She definitely felt like Jeffrey was sad or sorry about…something. He would just never talk about it.

This could be a mystery for after the wedding and honeymoon. She had her true love to marry, and after the knot was tied, she could figure out the odd vibes from her soon-to-be-brother-in-law.

She gazed at herself in the mirror. Just about everything was in place. There was only one thing missing. Her shoes.

And where was her maid of honor? Joan, Calvin and Jeffrey’s sister, was fulfilling that role today because Ariana didn’t have any close female friends. Until Joan, Jeffrey, and Calvin had moved nearby, there hadn’t been anyone around Ariana’s age.

Unfortunately, Joan was closer to a frenemy than a friend. You’re so pretty when you actually try, Joan had said on more than one occasion. Also, I bought this black top for you—because black is so slimming, you know? I think it’ll make you look great.

The kind of backhanded shit that Ariana noticed, but couldn’t really say anything about. She wanted Calvin in her life, and if he came with a mean girl for a sister and an odd duck for a brother, well, Ariana could handle it.

What she couldn’t handle was walking barefoot down the aisle.

Shoes, shoes, shoes, where are my shoes? Ariana muttered. How could she have misplaced them?

Maybe Joan would know where to look.

But that meant Ariana had to find Joan, too. Darn it, Ariana should’ve asked Jeffrey to fetch Joan.

Ariana had no choice but to pick up the skirts of her heavy wedding gown and leave the dressing room. The scent of flowers was cloying. A sneeze threatened, but Ariana closed her eyes tightly and waited for it to pass. If she sneezed, she might pop right out of this dress.

She tiptoed down the hall of the church, stopping in doorways every few feet to make sure nobody else was coming. She didn’t have family here, and only a very few friends, but mostly she was afraid of Calvin seeing her by accident. It would be bad luck.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. Holding her breath, she dodged behind a table bearing a giant bouquet and waited for the person to enter to the sanctuary. Voices came from behind her, and she realized she was leaning against the door. Faintly, she could hear two people talking. Was that Joan’s voice?

She eased the door open so she wouldn’t get the attention of whoever was coming down the hall, because that could be Calvin.

But then his voice came from inside the room Joan was in.

He said, Of course, babe, it’s going exactly like we planned it.

You’re my fated mate and I should trust you, Joan said, but I’m not so sure this will work.

It will. We’ll be married for a few weeks—two months, tops, before she has a tragic accident.

Joan said, And then…money.

Ariana couldn’t move. That couldn’t be real, what she was hearing. The words made no sense. Rather, they made sense, but they didn’t line up with her plans. Hers and Calvin’s plans for a long, happy life. Growing old together. No kids—he’d been surprisingly quick on board with Ariana’s wish to remain child-free, whereas some guys balked. Every other thing about their relationship was perfect, too. Everything she wanted, he agreed to.

Tragic death? For money?

This had to be some kind of crazy joke.

But then Joan moaned. Not a moan of pain. Not a moan of dismay.

A moan of pleasure. Sexual pleasure.

But they were brother and sister.

Ariana swallowed. She swallowed again, trying to gain control of her urge to vomit. Don’t throw up on this dress. It cost eleven thousand dollars. Don’t throw up on the dress.

She had to be imagining this.

Married for a few weeks, he said. Two months, tops.

And then, money.

They said those words. And now they were kissing. But they should not be kissing; Calvin loved Ariana, not Joan. Not like that.

None of this made sense. Ariana knew what she was hearing, though. And she knew what she’d heard.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look…

She had to look. Because the alternative, leaving quietly and walking (barefoot) up the aisle to pledge her life to Calvin? Well, she couldn’t do that. Not after what she’d just heard.

Swallowing again, Ariana opened the door all the way and stepped into the room.

Calvin and Joan were in each other’s arms, kissing like their lives depended on it. They broke apart at…what? Ariana hadn’t made any noises. But it was as if they heard her breathing or something, because they suddenly pulled away from each other.

They blinked at Ariana for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Joan’s golden-red hair was messed up from Calvin’s hands running through it. Calvin’s gorgeous, dark blue eyes were full of surprise. Joan’s lighter blue eyes held more than surprise…maybe a little bit of malice. Suddenly, Ariana put it together: Joan had never liked Ariana. All those not-so-veiled insults, the mean-girl comments. Joan had been barely been keeping her hatred in check, all this time.

Because she wanted to kiss Calvin? Ew.

The church bell rang out, breaking the spell of shocked silence.

What in the actual hell? Ariana shouted, pointing a finger at Calvin. "You’re screwing your sister?"

Why did the sibling thing bother her more than the kill Ariana and take all the money thing? Maybe because she was used to people using her for her money.

Murder for her inheritance didn’t seem to matter—not right now, when she was facing Calvin and Joan, and Calvin’s mouth was red from Joan’s lipstick.

We’re not siblings, dumbass, Joan said, just as Calvin clapped a hand over Joan’s mouth.

Wait, Calvin said, listen. Ariana, I can explain.

Ariana blinked at him, too surprised to retort. What could he say that could possibly explain this?

We, uh, we’re not siblings, Calvin said. We’re, uh, cousins, and we were stupid when we were teenagers. You know how that goes, right? And Joan came onto me just now, and I thought I would let her down easily—

Just stop, Ariana said. This was bullshit. Everything coming out of his mouth—lies. All of it. She couldn’t listen to another word. Siblings, cousins, or fated mates—whatever that was. It did not matter. None of it was true.

Everything had been a lie. His love, a lie. This engagement, a lie.

She turned around and hurried from the room, trying not to trip on the hem of her wedding gown. Without shoes on, it was too long and dragged slightly. She lifted the skirts and ran.

She could leave. The car—her car, purchased with her inheritance—was packed and ready for their trip to the airport and the flight to their honeymoon in Fiji. The honeymoon that Ariana had paid for. She’d paid for it without even blinking, because of course she didn’t mind funding their honeymoon. She’d always wanted to go to Fiji, and now she finally would be.

Except now, she wouldn’t. The wedding was off. No wedding, no honeymoon. No growing love with the man she’d believed had chosen her above all others.

She ran back to her dressing room and searched for her purse. There, beneath the casual clothes she’d worn to the church. She grabbed her street clothes, too—jeans and a t-shirt, and stuffed them into her purse. She’d change later. Right now, she had to get out.

Ariana! Joan’s voice. Ariana, I’m so sorry! Please forgive me.

Joan was getting closer, and soon she’d be here, trying to come into the dressing room. Ariana couldn’t face her. She never wanted to see Joan again, or Calvin. She locked the door.

Ariana! Joan tried the handle, but it only wobbled, refusing to turn because of the lock.

Leave her alone, Jeffrey said, also on the other side of the door. You both knew this might happen.

So Jeffrey had known about it, too, and he hadn’t told her. Butthole. Three buttholes—Calvin, Joan, and Jeffrey.

And two of those buttholes were on the other side of her dressing room door.

Well, now what? Ariana was stuck. She looked around, searching for another door, maybe a closet to hide in, or maybe a convenient bottle of tequila so she could guzzle it down and slip into the sweet, sweet oblivion of getting absolutely smashed.

And if she got smashed, she could