Bryce Hawthorne Novels & Stories

Thomas's voice replayed in my head, when he said: You'll never marry Darcy while I'm still breathing. We'd see about that. I scrolled through my contacts and stopped at a name-Raymond. Discreet. Expensive. The kind of man who handled problems permanently. Just in case Thomas forgot who he was dealing with. Because I meant what I'd said. I'm not most women. I'm Brittany Hawthorne. The devil herself. Then I forwarded his picture...

he added. Dillon heaved a sigh, and in just a snap, he was gone in Drake’s sight. Unexpectedly, Emily looked at Drake. She faked her smile and waved her swab. “I’m still cleaning. Do you need anything?” Emily shouted; it echoed throughout the whole living room. Drake kept his expressionless face while walking toward Emily. Emily’s mouth parted a bit and thought. ‘Fuck, why does he look so fucking like a Greek God while walking? He looks dashing, including his dark aura,’ she thought.

"Bry...Alpha Bryan." Shit!

While he was walking, I couldn't help but observe the entirety of his face which I couldn't do yesterday no matter how close he was to me. From his two-block haircut black colored hair, thick eyebrows, and long eyelashes that make his hazelnut-colored eyes more attractive down to his high nose bridge and his natural pinkish thin lips. He’s also tall and has fair skin just like the other guy beside him, although Bryce is much taller than him, you’re only going to notice it if you’re going to observe both of them. According to what I’ve heard his name is Braylon. Fringe-up haircut for his raven-colored hair. He also has thick eyebrows and long eyelashes that make his playful coal-black colored

I sprang from my bed, adrenaline pumping as I prepared to confront the intruder. My stance quickly relaxed, however, and a frown crossed my face when I saw who it was—Hayes Hawthorne, standing in my room shirtless. My breath caught in my throat. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Every inch of his body was sculpted like a Greek god, with sharp lines and rigid definition. A large tattoo sprawled across his upper chest and onto his left shoulder, dark and bold, forming a series of interconnected shapes that were both intricate and slightly thorny.

He has to be harsh to someone who was once his best friend. Shane gets on his cell and within minutes the door to our SUV opens and Adrian's face appears in the doorway. He starts sniffing the air and lets out a low growl. These are all signs indicating that he can smell his mate but there are only men in here. "MATE!" I hear a growl from behind me and quickly remember that Alpha Harold's daughter is also in here with us. How the fuck did I forget that? "MATE!" echos through the SUV as Adrain growls low before getting inside and staring at her. It's also at this point that I realize that I don't even know her name.

The headlines read “VIOLENT CEO ON THE RISE! JULIAN HAWTHORNE ALLEGEDLY PUSHES WIFE DOWN STAIRCASE” “BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP; HAWTHORNE MYSTERY WIFE URGED TO BREAK THE SILENCE” #breakthecycle #canceljulianhawthorne A voice carried through the room. "If I may" All eyes turned to him. The man speaking was Alexander Gray, a board member who owned five percent of the shares in Hawthorne Global Holdings.

Brawl? Yeah, right! Bryce would probably mash me like a potato. Have you seen those muscles? Thankfully, though, Bryce had other things in mind; he had his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. Remind me why I was still here again? "I could give you a little drama if you want." And yeah, now he was shoving his tongue down her throat – which was totally cool, because I definitely didn't feel like prying his lips off hers with a plier. And I most definitely didn't think of shaving his eye brows off. I instead looked away, not really wanting to keep watching the scene unfold. I wondered if I should inform them I was leaving, or just leave. Let me see, just leaving meant I won't di

At thirty-two, Andrew Linton had done a lot of things—both brave and cowardly—but he hadn't done anything of this sort. Declan Partridge was no ordinary man; at thirty-six, he commanded more than two thousand workers in more than ten countries as the chairman and CEO of Pattron Groups. He was formidable. And delivering the message Andrew had would probably be deadly, maybe not to himself but certainly to Lennon Patterson Jr.

The higher you soared, the harder the fall. It was Friday, and I had been sitting in Bryce’s office. He was built like a block, solid, almost square with heavy shoulders and a thick bull neck. He looked far more like a retired boxer than a brain surgeon. Bryce motioned for me to sit on the examination table, then rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were thick and tanned—the kind that explained how he could fire a tennis ball like an Exocet missile. Playing tennis with Bryce had always been eighty percent pain. Everything he hit came back like a weapon, aimed straight at your body. Even with an open court, he still tried to blast the ball through you.