Chased: Men of Honor, #1

By Felicity Brandon

Brutal, Ruthless and Charming.
Chase Benedict takes pleasure in inflicting suffering on enemies and observers alike.
Cambridge graduate, leader of the largest criminal organization in Britain, calculating lawbreaker, he doesn't take no for an answer.
Until me.
I won't bend to his will.
I won't be manipulated by his menace.
He'll discover what it means when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

From USA Today Bestselling author, Felicity Brandon, comes a dark mafia romance series. Chased is book one in the Men of Honor series. Hold tight, and let this fast-paced, standalone novel leave you breathless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Felicity Brandon
• Release date: Feb 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215392720

Felicity Brandon

Felicity Brandon is a USA Today Bestselling author. She loves the darker side of romance, and writes sexy, suspenseful stories, with strong themes of bondage and submission. You'll find her either at her laptop, the gym, or rocking out to her favourite music.

Book preview

Prologue

Chase Benedict

STRETCHING BACK IN the oversized leather chair, my gaze flitted around the grandiose committee room. Crimson and green hues were faded by sunlight, but their grandeur was no less impressive. Walls were lined with ancient, priceless texts, views looking out onto some of the most beautiful lawns in the city, and of course, there was a permanent supply of the very best Scotch. If these walls could talk, they would purr about the men who’d sat in the country’s seats of power—those who’d ruled and later controlled parliament. Kings, dukes, and prime ministers—over the years, our organization had hosted them all, and no doubt, the hallowed rooms we inhabited had sordid, wonderful tales of their endeavors. Stories of success and betrayal, lust and honor, one common theme held all those men together, one strength resonated above all others—authority. Every man who’d studied there had it. Set within the indulgence of Trinity, the most prestigious of all the Cambridge colleges, our home had born the leaders of the country for generations, many nurtured the same group I now headed. As son and heir, it had never been clear to me how my father had come to be in charge of such a fascinating society. Our family was not the wealthiest, but it had certainly been one of the most influential, and upon my father’s untimely demise, I stepped up, directing Men of Honor as only I knew how—with typical Benedict self-assurance.

Any other business, gentlemen? I cast my eyes over the faces of those who helped run the show, men I relied on more than anyone else. It was often said power was about responsibility, but from where I sat, it was about trust, and I trusted each of those seated around me. If I didn’t, they’d be gone.

There’s the matter of our forthcoming anniversary. Sebastian Tompkins’ gaze met mine. 160 years since Men of Honor’s inception.

My brow rose. There was no point denying it was a significant milestone. Founded in 1862, our organization had been running the streets of Cambridge and Westminster for longer than women had enjoyed the vote. Whatever the contemporary populist rhetoric, we were Britain, and we always would be.

We should do something to mark the occasion, I agreed. But now that we’re registered as a charity, we have to be careful. There’s public scrutiny attached to the tax breaks.

A rumble of laughter echoed over the throng.

So, a soiree of some sort? Tompkins grinned excitedly. Something decadent and exquisite for the White Rabbit and his associates to enjoy?

I chuckled at his enthusiasm, nodding in response. I’d been labeled the White Rabbit for many years now, a nod to the club I co-owned, as well as the depth of my depravities.

Hold on. It was Oscar Hatton who interrupted, his dark features furrowing as he mused on whatever it was that aggrieved him about Tompkins’ idea. We could do both. He met my gaze. Arrange something debauched in private but use the anniversary as a means to raise funds and garner traction in the courts of public opinion.

Fundraise? Jacob Naylor snorted. Why the hell do we need to do that? Our group has more money than most developing economies!

It’s more than just about money. Hatton shook his head dismissively, the motion doing nothing to dislodge the blue bowler hat he insisted on wearing. It’s about image. We’ve survived in the past on secrecy and concealment, but we’re out of the shadows now. His focus flitted to me again. The decision to move us into the fore means we can create the respectable face required to front our less civilized dealings.

I chuckled at the way he put that. Less civilized? I repeated. By that, I assume you mean our vulgar criminality?

Precisely. Hatton smiled. Let the good people of Cambridge come and glory in our history and how we’re giving back. Offense is the best defense.

What? Jacob’s brows knitted. What are you dribbling on about? No wonder they call you the Mad Hatter!

He means the best place to hide is in plain sight. I leaned forward in my chair. It’s a bloody good plan. Hatton met my gaze but said nothing further. Oscar’s right. We can do both. We can celebrate with flags and ceremonies, then once the decorations have come down, we can revel in our usual degenerate fashion.

Drugs, women, and vintage Scotch? Peter Morton practically sang the answer, flashing me a grin before he collapsed in a fit of hysteria.

Exactly, I concluded, glancing out onto the exquisite gardens. All that and more, and since the anniversary isn’t for another year, there’s plenty of time to organize.

Let me deal with it. Tompkins’ assertion drew my attention back to the room. I’ll approach the city council for the appropriate licenses and get the university on board. Nothing rouses local pride like a university event.

I like it. One of the many reasons I trusted each and every man in this room was because they were reliable. If Tompkins said he would manage it, he would. There’d be no spanners thrown in the works, no delays, and no problems. Men of Honor was watertight. It could prove to be popular. No doubt the little people will be desperate for a reason to party after a year of perpetual lockdown. It’ll give them something to rejoice about.

And a reason to put their hands in their pockets and donate! Morton concurred. You know nothing makes them happier than giving to those less fortunate.

I snickered, knowing Morton was right. It never failed to amaze and amuse me how regular citizens were so easily led. Sure, they hadn’t had the same access to a world-class education, but still, could they really be so dim, falling for the propagated messages spewed by the system, the same system that actively worked to keep them in their mind-numbing roles? Could they actually be so short-sighted? The short answer apparently was yes—they were. Not for the first time, I was grateful for who I was—a man born into a better world, a brighter world, a realm with caliber and privilege. I would never have to accept the system the way those people did. I would never have to obey the law and pay my taxes. Those things meant nothing to me or any man empowered by Men of Honor.

You’re right. I was convinced about the idea. They’ll come out of their little hovels and lap up the celebration we offer. 160 years isn’t much in a city this historic, but now that we’re the charitable face of veteran funding, it will still sound impressive. Thank you, Sebastian.

His lips curled at my praise. It was something they all sought, no matter how distinguished their family names. I’ll get on it.

Anything else? I stretched again, weary of the constant banter. Though these men were my family, there was a whole world waiting for me, women with legs as long as highways and seductive smiles, casinos allowed to stay open despite the Covid legislation. It was a whole different domain, open to men like me—one where rules didn’t apply, and the only answer I heard over and over again was a resounding yes. The tightening lockdown restrictions had little bearing on our lives. Though the formal occasions had been canceled, there was plenty to keep us occupied below the radar. I have wild oats to sow!

Once more, laughter reverberated around the dusty bookshelves.

Anyone special in mind? Oscar inquired, his tone sardonic.

I met his quizzical gaze with a smile. His head had been in the clouds ever since I’d captured his very own MI5 agent. The blonde bombshell, Alice, had arrived, posing as a journalist, assuming she could pull the wool over my eyes and garner important information, but we’d soon put pay to that notion. After one day held in captivity, subject to Oscar’s every whim, she was more malleable. It was curious, though—so was he. The usually brooding man I’d come to rely on as my second-in-command was thoroughly distracted, meetings such as this one the only times I seemed to have his full attention anymore.

Hardly, I scoffed. I accept monogamy is for some, but I happen to like variety. I’ll leave the commitment to you, old friend.

Oscar shook his head at me scornfully.

Of course! Morton clapped his hand eagerly. The Hatter has his own love interest these days, doesn’t he? His gaze shot to me before landing back on Oscar. How is the scrumptious blonde? Feel like sharing?

She’s not for sharing, thank you very much. Oscar glowered. And we’re getting along just grand.

You have the boss to thank for that delicious treat, don’t you? Tompkins joined the debate, his gaze narrowing as if he feared favoritism. Hardly seems fair when we all work hard and deserve a treat.

Now, now. I rose from my chair, garnering the attention of every man in the room. Enough of this squabbling. Oscar deserved Alice, but if you’re hungry for the same, Sebastian, I’m sure I can work my magic again. My smile widened. I am the country’s most eligible bachelor. I have ladies queuing up to interview me... My brow rose as I recalled the ruse pretty Alice had used to get her foot in the door. Not that it had helped her. Her bosses didn’t have enough sway to outmaneuver me, and I’d ignored the Home Secretary’s calls ever since. Politicians didn’t impress me, especially the one in charge of the Home Office these days. Frankly, she was an insult to the role.

Sounds good, Tompkins ceded with a sigh. If you could fix me up with someone, I’ll happily accept.

Fine, leave it with me. I paced toward the exit. Let’s call time on this meeting, shall we?

It was the holy trinity as far as I was concerned.

I could work, and I did when the need arose.

I could breed, but while the significance of my lineage wasn’t lost on me, I had no desire to start a so-called family any time soon.

Or I could play.

Running my tongue over my teeth, my choice was clear.

Chapter One

Allegra Vallance

Screaming with frustration , I threw my laptop onto the bed covers, my belly twisting with anxiety as I watched it bounce by my pillow. I couldn’t afford to watch the damn thing break in front of my eyes, but if I didn’t vent some of this frustration soon, I was going to do something stupid.

Shit! I crumpled over my desk, hands balling as another surge of anger washed over me. This was impossible. It didn’t matter what any of them said. I hadn’t come to one of the most distinguished universities in the world to learn online, especially with unreliable wifi. Not only was it sucking the joy out of the entire experience, it was making my degree untenable. I was two years into my law degree, and so far, I’d only managed two terms of lectures and tutorials. I was paying a fortune for the privilege, and unlike most of the students I’d once partied with, I wasn’t here because my parents or grandparents had huge trust funds. I was here on merit. Chosen from one of the minority state-funded schools, I’d earned my scholarship to Cambridge’s Downing College, and I’d arrived here, bursting with enthusiasm. It was like another life ago—a year of restrictions on learning, reducing the powerhouse of law degrees to little more than any other establishment. What use was the best teaching in the world if I could never meet my tutors? What purpose did the lofty library serve if I could never borrow any of the books?

I pulled in another sob, disappointed at my own performance. Naturally, I had a right to be upset about the way things were, but that didn’t mean I had to wallow in self-pity. There were plenty of people out there suffering more, people whose livelihoods had been taken away, people who hadn’t seen family members for the best part of a year. Then there were all those who’d lost the battle against the terrible virus. Tens of thousands had died, every one of them leaving distraught loved ones behind. What were my miseries compared to theirs? What was my woe by comparison to grief? Even though I knew my rational conclusion was correct, that I had a lot to be grateful for, I couldn’t help but dwell. This pandemic had taken its toll, and another day of lost learning in isolation was going to push me right to the brink.

Rising from my desk, I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. I hadn’t got to Cambridge by giving in. I wasn’t the only woman of mixed heritage in my law class because I backed down—no way, not me—not Allegra Vallance. I had grit and iron will, ready to guide me if I’d only stop wallowing and just rediscover it.

Come on, I goaded, already reaching for my long raincoat. Let’s get out of here.

There weren’t many things we were still permitted to do since we’d been allowed back on campus, but taking a daily dose of exercise was one. The pools might still be closed, but the city was full of parks and gardens. I’d walk until the fresh air cleared my head, then call my friends, Joanna and Tania. They always had words of advice, and often, just hearing their voices steered me on the right path.

I managed a small smile as I left my room, wandering the silent hall to the exit. Most of my fellow students had opted to remain working from home, but based on the huge cost of accommodation and the astronomical tuition fees, I didn’t feel there was much choice. To have any chance of making the experience worthwhile, I had to be in Cambridge, and I hoped being here when they finally reopened would mean I’d be first in line for the places I missed most. The pool and the library would definitely be two of those places.

Pushing the door open, a gust of wind threw the glass back toward me, and with a yelp, I skipped aside, only just missing the frame as it crashed back into place. I turned toward the thrashing rain in shock. It really seemed as if the universe had it in for me today. Pulling my hood up over my ears, I trudged on regardless. The universe, like the weather and everyone else, would just have to learn there was no stopping me. I was here to learn, graduate, then take on human rights abuses wherever I found them. I knew all about prejudice and hardship.

With one parent who was different from all the other dads and another who’d struggled financially all her life, I was the perpetual outsider. I’d expected the same at Cambridge, to be ostracized because of the color of my skin and my insanely frizzy hair, but to my surprise, I’d been welcomed by the institution, nurtured by my tutors, and seemingly, well-liked by my peers. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t judged only on the way I looked, but naturally, I was still judged. I was a woman, and my father was from the Caribbean—which made me different from the usual Cambridge law student—I had to prove I wasn’t only here to make up the numbers, that there had been no positive discrimination the day they’d offered me my place.

Brrr. My jaw chattered as I fought the headwind up Regent Street. What a godforsaken day. Glancing left and right, I checked the road for cars, my eyes straining into the gray rain. It was a quiet day, the awful forecast and the ongoing restrictions keeping most people at home. Stepping onto the road, I reminded myself I needed to keep moving to get the blood pumping, to foster some perspective about how lucky I was—no more moping around in my room, no more allowing the frustration to overwhelm me. I’d speak to Colin, the self-imposed leader of my hall of residence, about the wifi. Maybe there was a booster he could give me to increase the signal. Maybe there were—

That thought never had time to cement, the screeching of tires and the aroma of burning rubber cutting through my internal rambling and quickening my heart as I turned to face the noise.

Oh my God! My head spun as I acknowledged just how close the car beside me had come to knocking me down. The edge of the shiny hood was less than five inches from my left leg.

The driver’s door opened in a flash, and a tall, dark-haired guy dashed from the vehicle. Bloody hell! he shouted. Wait... was he shouting at me? What the hell are you doing?

Crossing the road. My hands flew to my hips as the stranger rounded on me. My pounding heart scarcely had time to absorb my near-death experience, but my reflexes appeared to be functioning just fine, fury rising at his indignant tone. Hadn’t he been the one racing down the street? Why was he angry with me? How fast were you driving?

Sapphire eyes widened at my thinly-veiled accusation. What? He blinked at me, his gaze even bluer against the bleak background. What did you just say?

His tone was predatory as he towered over me, but while I sensed his menace, I was far too irate to respond with anything but outrage and offense. I’d spent my life fighting—fighting for what other people often took for granted—and I’d seen one too many spoiled little white boys come and go in my time. This idiot—whoever he was—was not going to get the better of me.

I asked how fast you needed to go on a road designed for cabs and buses? I gestured around me, noticing for the first time how the rain had eased, though the heavy clouds still hung overhead.

That’s completely irrelevant! He spat the words at me, and for the first time, I noted just how close he’d come. He wasn’t sticking to the two-meter distance, which had become standard since lockdown, and he wasn’t wearing a mask as he hissed everywhere.

Do you mind? I took a step back but held my ground. Haven’t you heard of social distancing?

Shaking his head in slow motion, his gaze narrowed. Stop avoiding the question. Why are you standing in the middle of the road like a crazy woman?

Lifting my chin, I met his eyes, assessing the face of the rude moron who’d almost killed me.

I’m the crazy one? I countered, instinctively inching in his direction despite the potential harm. How can you drive like that and infer I’m the one in the wrong?

His brow creased as if he wasn’t used to anyone pushing back or querying the things he said. The thought made me laugh. This idiot nearly knocked me into next week, yet he was the vexed one? Was this guy for real?

What’s your name?

None of your damn business. I rolled my shoulders back defiantly. This time, it was my turn to hiss, jabbing a finger in his direction. Whoever you are, you narrowly avoided hitting me, so if I were you, I’d take some responsibility.

His brow rose. "I should take responsibility?"

His words boomed over me, and I glanced around, certain someone else must have heard or witnessed the event, but the sodden street was desolate, not a soul around.

That’s good advice coming from a woman who stepped out only a few feet from a pedestrian crossing! he gestured behind, and fleetingly, I