Hott and Taken (The Hott Brothers Book 1) Read online

  THE HOTT BROTHERS

  BOOK ONE

  BY

  LEAH SHARELLE

  Copyright © 2020 Leah Sharelle

  HOTT AND TAKEN - The Hott Brothers Book 1

  By Leah Sharelle

  All Rights Reserved.

  Editing and Proofreading: R Corcoran

  Photography: Chic Professional Photography

  Cover Model: Dustyn Rodgers

  Cover Design: Formatting & Design by Jaye

  Interior Design: Formatting & Design by Jaye

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author, and your support and respect are appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This author writes using Australian English and may include Australian diction

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER11

  CHAPTER12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  EPILOGUE

  DEDICATION

  For handsome, I adore you, our friendship is everything.

  xo

  FROM LEAH

  Ready for a whole new family of hot men? Enter into the world of Lenoxx, Hendrixx and Fenixx Hott. Triplets, business partners and a whole lot more. Creating a new world away from Ballarat and my bikers, firemen, soldiers and one very sexy cop is very exciting and new, and just a little sad. But don’t you worry, the Souls and the Sons aren’t finished yet … not even close.

  xoxo

  P.S. For those readers not from the land of OZ, an Akubra is Australia’s answer to the Stetson. Just so you know.

  LENOXX

  Dragging my tired arse out of the car, I headed up the two flights of outdoor stairs that led to the one-bedroom flat. The only thought that kept my exhausted legs from giving up was the beautiful woman waiting for me inside.

  After a ten hour shift welding in sixty degree heat, no air-con relief, and a bunch of sweaty men, the only company—my eyes ached for the smile from my wife, a smile meant for me and me only.

  Rolling my aching shoulders, I stuck the key into the lock then cursed a blue streak when I found it unlocked again.

  “God damn it,” I muttered, my lips flattening into a grim line. How many fucking times have I warned her about locking the door when I was on night shift. This area wasn’t exactly Cattle Ridge or Waterford, our childhood home towns. I grew up in Cattle Ridge population five thousand … ish. Forty-two kilometres away, my wife Makena lived in a town with even less people, that was until seven months ago when we hightailed it out of there defying our parents and left for Melbourne.

  Our lives, a far cry from the ones we left, me on a cattle farm with my parents and two brothers; Makena living with her dad and sister on their peanut and olive farm. Inner suburban Melbourne a far cry from the wide-open spaces of home.

  The most important being locked doors a fucking priority.

  Entering straight from the landing into the kitchen, I tossed my cooler bag on the small table for two and stood there for a second to listen. If she was in the shower, then she was going to be in plenty of trouble. My sexy wife naked and wet the perfect target for some scumbag.

  “Makena! Baby, you left the door unlocked! Again!” I shouted after not hearing the clucking of the century-old water pipe. Fuck, I hated this place, but for now, it was all we could afford on my welder’s salary and the shifts Makena picked up at the beauty salon where she worked part-time. Money was tight for sure, and things a lot different now. I didn’t have my parent’s money behind me like a security net. All that stopped the night I told them I picked Makena over them, at least that’s how my dad saw it.

  As far as he was concerned, I was cut-off. Makena, in a similar situation with her father, only her family didn’t have as much money as mine.

  Walking through the tiny kitchen, I made my way into the combination living, dining room, again that didn’t take long. The flat was smaller than the garden shed back home on the Triple H cattle farm. My parents had a weird sense of humour when it came to naming things; the farm was one fine example—named after our last name and their triplet sons, my brothers and me. Hence the triple because I am indeed one part of a set of triplets. Lenoxx–that’s me, Hendrixx, three minutes younger, and then Fenixx, who came ninety seconds after Drixx.

  The Hott brothers.

  Our names were a local legend around Cattle Ridge, strange names all ending in double X, fucked if I knew why I never bothered to ask either of my parents why they saddled us with weird names. My mother liked to say extraordinary names for three extraordinary boys. Whatever–all I know is that people in our town liked to make something out of them, especially the girls. The older we got, the worse the nicknames, but I think Hottie 1, Hottie 2 and yep, Hottie 3, were by far the worst of them all.

  It didn’t help that apparently my brothers and I were considered hot. When puberty hit, so did the height, muscles and chiselled jawlines. We were the most sort out dates for country dances, dates to local fairs and so on. Our reputation served us well in our teens, but the day I laid eyes on a sixteen year old Makena Isabeau Rogers, I packed up my pick-up lines and handed the reins over to Hendrixx and Fenixx. My time as the town’s playboy was over at eighteen. I found my forever and she was nothing short of spectacular. Six years later, her beauty was more pronounced at twenty-two; from her long, wavy, mahogany mane, her classic features of a straight, pert nose, full, kissable, pink lips to her gorgeous soft, sun-kissed skin. But it was her eyes that set her beauty apart from anyone else. Eyes the colour of jade, rare for brunettes but my wife was rare. A rare beautiful, loving and caring creature.

  My wife of five months now. Makena Hott, my wife, my world.

  And nowhere to been seen.

  “Baby, where are you?” I called out, this time my annoyance swapped for worry.

  “Makena!”

  Quickening my steps, I reached our small bedroom at the end of the hall and came to an abrupt halt—the scene before me knocking a lungful of breath out of me.

  Scattered all over the bed were our clothes, or I should say all of my clothes. The drawers they had been folded in neatly when I left for work at midnight now strewn all over the room. Coat hangers pulled out of the wardrobe, some in one piece, and some pulled into strange shapes from I guessed the item of clothing being hastily yanked off.

  The sound of my phone ringing in my pocket startled me from my panicked stupor, pulling it out I nearly dropped to my knees when I saw Makena’s face appear on the screen.

  “Baby! What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What happened to our room?” I rushed out all at once as soon as I answered.

  “I’m fine, Lenoxx; I just called to tell you I won’t be home.” Makena’s sweet voice swept through my ears, but instead of soothing me
like it always did, her cold tone sent shivers through me.

  Hearing her call me Lenoxx and not Noxx, was the first give away that something was very wrong. She refused to call me by my given name much the same as I refused to call her Mack. I used her given name, which I loved, and she called me by the shortened version of mine, which she loved.

  Gripping the device in a white-knuckled grip, I took in a deep breath. “Baby, what is—”

  “Don’t call me that! Don’t pretend anymore,” she cut me off, her voice harsh and clipped.

  “Pretend what? Help me understand what is going on here, baby,” I begged, not doing as she asked. I called her baby the very first time I met and had done every day since she was mine; the woman I left well-loved and sated at eleven pm last night.

  “I got some interesting mail this morning, someone left it on our doorstep, I left it for you on the bed. Take a look for yourself.”

  Swapping the phone to my other hand, I hurriedly tossed shirts and jeans out of the way until I spied a yellow manilla folder; on it were a couple of A4 pieces of what looked like photo paper.

  Snapping them up, I turned them over and sucked in a sharp gasp.

  They were of me.

  Me and a woman.

  In the bed in front of me.

  Making love.

  And the woman was not my wife.

  My mind reeled at the images in front of me. They were current photos, the tattoo I had done on my arm with Makena’s name and our wedding date prominent. There was no doubt it was me; the doubt was everything else about it. Never in my life since meeting her had I even thought about another female. Makena stoked every fire of need in my body; no one else had remotely interested me since we’d met. She knew that she was my—

  Fuck! Surely she didn’t—no way did she believe this shit.

  “Makena this isn’t me, you can’t possibly believe that I would—”

  “That is you in the photos Lenoxx, my name is on your arm, and that is our bed. Tell me that I am not seeing things?” she demanded, my teeth gritting tightly at the use of my full name from her lips.

  “Yes, it is me, and that is our bed, but I wasn’t fucking another woman in it!” I shouted, “How can you even think, let alone believe, that I would ever cheat on you?”

  “I never thought you would until those pictures and the tape recording,” her voice now quieter, the fight in her replaced with sadness.

  “You made love to me last night in that bed, Noxx, and I believed when you said only I could make you feel that way. I have always believed you.” Her voice was shaking, and I could hear her tears.

  My eyes squeezed shut, hearing her call me Noxx, like a balm to my ravaged soul.”

  “Baby, you know I love you. You have been the only one since we met, I was your first, baby, and you my last.”

  “But you cheated, Lenoxx, you brought a woman into our bed and screwed her where I lay next to you,” she accused, her voice back to spitting venom.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Makena! Where did I find time to fuck another woman when all I do is work and be with you?” Frustration was now taking over; this whole conversation was fucking ridiculous, and having it over the phone was even more maddening.

  “Why don’t you listen to the tape! That should jog your memory of how you conspired behind my back. Waiting until I went to work then called in sick, really Lenoxx, you couldn’t pay for a motel room to fuck your whore? Instead, you had to soil my sheets with her filth!”

  Silently counting to ten, I continued onto twenty until fifty.

  “Makena. I did not bring a woman to our bedroom, I have not met another woman nor have I called in sick behind your back,” I said very slowly, holding onto my temper by a thread.

  “The tape says otherwise,” she argued urgently.

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse what the tape says. Are you coming home so we can talk about this?” Not meaning to shout so loud at her, but fuck! How could she believe this shit?

  “Home? To you? Where you fucked another woman? I don’t think so, Lenoxx,” she spat at me. Using my name again broke that last fragile thread; my Hott temper forcing its way to the surface.

  “If you leave now Makena, there is no coming back,” I threatened, the words coming out on their own accord without my permission.

  “So, you are right and I am wrong. Is that it Lenoxx, I suffer because Hottie 1 says so?”

  Ignoring the stupid nickname forced upon me, I growled in utter frustration.

  “In this case, yes. I mean it Makena, if you go now don’t come back,” I warned, not meaning it but meaning it.

  A soft gasp from my wife, then a gut-wrenching sob travelled across the line. My resolve close to crumbling and ready to drop to my knees and beg her to come home.

  “Baby, this isn’t you, this isn’t us. We don’t fight like this, ever,” I implored her, my arse dropping to the bed, my knees no longer able to hold me up.

  “I thought … I … thought I knew you, I gave you every part of me and you threw it away when you broke our wedding vows,” Makena sobbed, giving me my answer.

  “Yeah, I thought you knew me too. Guess I was wrong, guess you never knew me at all. Goodbye, Makena, don’t contact me ever again,” I snapped, then threw the phone as hard as I could against the wall, watching it smash into small pieces.

  The mess of black plastic and broken glass, not even coming close to how my heart felt. With a shattering crack, a hole forced its way through my heart in the shape of a woman I loved more than my own life.

  And just like that, it was all over; a love I thought would see me to my last day on this earth torn apart in the blink of an eye.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I asked out loud, flinging myself back on the bed, dragging my hands down my face, my head contacting with something hard. Dazed and really fucking confused, I reached back with one hand and rooted around the bedding for the offending item.

  Holding up a small black tape player, I stared at it with narrowed eyes. This must be the fucking gun Makena insisted I listen to.

  “I won’t give her the satisfaction,” I growled, aiming it at the dent in the wall where my phone hit minutes ago.

  After two false starts, I dropped my hand to my lap with a pained groan, the recorder tightly in my fist.

  “Come home, baby, please come back to me,” I sobbed, dropping my face in my hands and cried for the first time since my beloved cattle dog, Maxx, had died when I was ten. This feeling so much worse.

  Three weeks later, I stood at the door to the room I shared with the woman I thought was going to be with me forever—our plans to have children well and truly out the window. Makena took my threat to heart and not only didn’t come back, she completely disappeared without a trace. After my meltdown, I went out and bought a phone and called her more times than was considered healthy. Not once did she pick up my calls going straight to her voice mail. Pitifully I called it just so I could hear her voice, not that I would ever admit that to anyone. Now, I was giving up; a man could only bang his head against a brick wall before concussion finally set in.

  That was my wake-up call. She didn’t want to talk to me, didn’t want to hear my side, which remained the same. I never fucked anyone, hell I never fucked Makena, I always made love to her.

  She gave up on us, on me. I was never going to let that go. Never forgive her.

  And I was never going to love that deep ever again. Why get screwed when I can do all the screwing? Life was too short to limit yourself to one pussy forever.

  With one last glance at the small double bed, I spun on my heels and stalked out of the flat, dingy as it was with its kitchenette, shabby couches and bright lime green tiles. It held the best memories; now it was over.

  Patting my coat pocket, I made sure that the tape recorder was still safe inside, the photos were also tucked away in my bag. I wasn’t keeping them out of some fucked up penance, nope I was keeping them to remind me how easy it was for the love of my life to
believe lies and walk away from me without a backward glance.

  It was going to take time, but I will forget her.

  All I had to do was get out of here and stay busy. It shouldn’t take me too long to forget the hurt, pain and her beautiful face.

  Surely not.

  LENOXX

  (Four Years Later)

  The thwack, thwack of the copter blades, lulled me into a familiar and strangely soothing mood. I made this trip twice a week from the corporate offices of HBC, to my family farm, the Triple H, the home of Hott Branded Cattle. For three years, I’d buried myself in making our moderately successful beef farm into an international commodity. Restaurants all over the world served my family’s prime grade beef in dishes fit for kings. In fact, you could include, sheiks, oil magnates, Hollywood stars, and even presidents to the list of people who ate Hott beef.

  Going home with my tail between my legs, begging my father to let me back in the family and the business, had not been my finest hour, but then, neither had mourning the loss of my marriage, or my beloved wife accusing me of cheating on her. Four years ago, nearly to the day that happened, and here I was, flying home in the company helicopter. The weekend could not have come too soon, this week I flew to Sydney, back to Melbourne and a trip to Malaysia for a three hour meeting with the CEO of one of the biggest hotel chains in Asia. Six hours of flying one way for a three hour meeting, annoying but in the end very profitable. Signing the multi-million dollar contract to provide Hott beef exclusively to the chain of hotels and casinos was a real feather in the corporation’s cap and the shit I thrived on.

  I was glad to see the end of this week, though. Tomorrow was not going to be a good day and spending it in the air or in a foreign country was not my idea of fun. I needed to be around my family, my brothers and our mother. The three people who had my back no matter how shitty I got, or how long I worked.