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  Also by Cassia Leo

  Love Like This Series

  Savage Love (stand-alone)

  Broken Love (stand-alone)

  Reckless Love (stand-alone)

  Beastly Bosses Series

  Raise the Heat (stand-alone)

  Raise Your Game (stand-alone)

  * * *

  Evergreen Series

  Dirt (Book 1)

  Seed (Book 2)

  Bloom (Book 3)

  * * *

  The Story of Us Series

  The Way We Fall (Book 1)

  The Way We Break (Book 2)

  The Way We Rise (Book 3)

  To Portland, With Love (Book 3.5)

  * * *

  Shattered Hearts Series

  Forever Ours (Book 1)

  Relentless (Book 2)

  Pieces of You (Book 3)

  Bring Me Home (Book 4)

  Abandon (Book 5)

  Chasing Abby (Book 6)

  Ripped (Book 7)

  * * *

  Power Players Series

  King (stand-alone)

  Cash (stand-alone)

  Knox (stand-alone)

  Luke (stand-alone)

  Chase (stand-alone)

  * * *

  Unmasked Series

  Unmasked: Volume 1

  Unmasked: Volume 2

  Unmasked: Volume 3

  * * *

  Stand-Alones

  Amber Sky (stand-alone)

  Break (stand-alone)

  Her Guardian (stand-alone)

  Black Box (stand-alone)

  Temperance (stand-alone)

  For more information, please visit

  cassialeo.com/books

  Savage Love

  A Love Like This Novel

  Cassia Leo

  Gloss Publishing LLC

  SAVAGE LOVE

  (A Love Like This Novel)

  by Cassia Leo

  cassialeo.com

  * * *

  Copyright © 2021 by Cassia Leo.

  First Edition. All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Cassia Leo.

  * * *

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without expressed written permission from the author; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part 1

  1. A Lesson

  2. Damage

  3. Black & White

  4. Great Expectations

  5. Dangerous

  6. A Lady Never Tells

  7. Sexual Privilege

  8. Honey House

  9. Like Candy

  10. Breathe

  11. No One

  Part 2

  ***

  12. Unwanted Attention

  13. Unequivocally

  14. Wondrous

  15. Normal

  16. Catastrophizing

  17. Hiding Places

  18. Selfie

  19. Abandonment

  20. Unknown Connection

  21. Mensonge pour Protéger

  22. Bonding

  23. Fireworks

  24. Safe

  25. All or Nothing

  26. How it Ends

  27. Saved

  Part 3

  28. Priceless

  29. A Gift

  30. Synchronicity

  31. Family

  32. The Deep End

  33. Grateful

  Epilogue

  Preview of The Way We Fall

  Also by Cassia Leo

  About the Author

  For Aunt Bernice,

  for always being there from the very beginning.

  Prologue

  The snowfall picks up as we cross the floating bridge over Lake Washington toward Washington Park. I don’t turn on the music in the truck, in case Colette wants to talk during the drive, but so far, she hasn’t spoken a word. At least the silence gives me time to think about what I’m going to say when we get there.

  I haven’t been to my childhood home since the day I hired a property manager to take care of the house while it sits empty and unused. Earlier today, when I debated whether I wanted to bring Colette to the place where my life changed in an instant, I was certain I wouldn’t take her inside. Now that we’re on our way, I know I have no choice.

  If she’s going to understand who I am and why I did what I did, she needs to know everything. She deserves to know the whole story from the beginning.

  She knows my dad died before I had my first girlfriend. But she needs to know that he never got the chance to sit me down and teach me how a woman should be treated. How I learned the basics of love from the poor father figures my mother latched onto in the throes of her grief.

  She needs to know that the one thing I learned on my own is there’s a fine line between love and hate. Even love can sometimes feel like an act of violence. It’s not just the intent that matters. Though my intentions with Colette have always been pure, my actions—and inaction—have often spoken louder.

  Looking back, I’m certain I’ve loved her since the day we met. Despite my distractions that day, Colette made me feel like we were the only two people who existed. She made falling in love feel like it could really be that easy.

  But everything changed after that night. Suddenly, we were the only two people who existed in our mutual universe of pain. I knew she was the only one who could ease my suffering. I never thought I’d become the only person who could soothe hers.

  I wish telling Colette the truth didn’t come with the risk of losing her. I want someone to promise me everything will stay the same after I come clean. That when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be holding Colette in my arms.

  But there are no guarantees in love; especially not the kind of love we share.

  I hate myself for the pain I’ve caused her. But if I don’t tell her everything, she may never know how agreeing to stay with her that night destroyed me. And she deserves to know.

  As I pull my truck in front of the two-story brick house where I grew up, the silence in the truck is crushingly heavy. It won’t stay that way for long. Because tonight, I’m telling Colette the true story of how our love began. I just hope to fucking God this isn’t how it ends.

  Part 1

  * * *

  “Remember tonight… for it is the beginning of always.”

  Dante

  1

  A Lesson

  I shouldn’t have downed that second dirty martini in one gulp. I drew too much attention to myself. The bartender hesitated when I ordered martini number three. He’s glanced at me with those mesmerizing moss-green eyes at least four times while making my cocktail.

  Here he comes.

  “Where’s my drink?”

  He leaves the martini he just prepared on the back bar and approaches me. A smile spreads across his handsome face, and not a single wrinkle appears at the corners of his eyes. Though he carries himself with the confidence of an older man, he’s young for a bartender; can’t be more than twenty-five. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, considering tomorrow’s my twenty-second birthday.

  “You’re throwing ’em back pretty swiftly. We have a three-drinks-per-hour limit.”

  I stare at him for a moment as my face starts to go numb. “Are you kidding me? I’ve only had two drinks. You can’t cut me off at two drinks!”

  He tilts his head, unamused by my outburst. “I’m not cutting you off. Just giving you a minute to catch your breath. Can I ask you a question?”

  “No, but you can tell me where the nearest bar is. Preferably one within walking distance that doesn’t employ sanctimonious bartenders.”

  He laughs heartily, and—God help me—it’s such a gorgeous sight. It’s an open-mouthed, throw-your-head-back kind of laugh, the generous kind that fills a room and simultaneously fills your heart with joy. If you have space in your heart for that sort of stuff.

  The deep resonance sends a chill coursing through me, raising the hairs on my arms, but in a different way than the antiseptic smell of a hospital corridor or a two a.m. knock on my bedroom door.

  “Okay, I’ll give you the drink—on the house, even—if you answer one question.” He’s still smiling, completely oblivious to the dark place my mind has wandered off to. “Why do you drink something you hate? Is it a form of self-punishment?”

  I stare at him in confusion. “That’s two questions. Two pretty rude questions, at that. What makes you think I hate dirty martinis?”

  “Could be bartender wisdom. Or the look of intense disgust on your face every time you take a sip. Or the way you gulp it down instead of sipping it.”

  I glare at him. “So, you’re sanctimonious and a smart-ass?”

  “I aim to please,” he says, flashing me dangerously sexy grin. “Let me make you a drink you’ll actually like. On the house, of course.”

  For the first time in weeks, I have to suppress a smile, but the feeling quickly recedes as guilt sets in again.

  “I won’t say no to free liquor.”

  Not today.

  He smiles at my response as he sets off to create my perfect cocktail.

  As I watch him, my phone buzzes in the pocke
t of my jean shorts. Pulling it out, my chest aches when I glimpse the identity of the caller. I don’t want to answer, but today is not a good day to start ignoring my mom’s calls.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you? We thought you were going back to the house, but no one’s answering the landline.”

  My mom’s voice is hoarse from the howling cries she expelled less than an hour ago at my sister’s bedside. It’s a memory that will be burned in my mind for the rest of my life. One of the many memories I hope to erase with a little help from my new bartender friend.

  “I’m just getting something to eat,” I lie, hoping she can’t hear the guy who just sat down a few barstools away from me as he barks his beer order.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice wavering as she probably remembers how not-okay her other daughter is.

  I sit up a bit straighter, as if this will disguise how tipsy I sound on the phone.

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I just need to be alone right now.”

  She’s silent for a while as she contemplates whether I’m telling the truth. Or maybe she’s wondering if she can even set aside her own pain to be what I need her to be right now.

  “She’s okay,” she mutters to my father as she seems to decide I’ll be fine without her. “Will you be coming home tonight?”

  I consider whether I should go back to our house in Duvall—a forty-minute drive from the hospital—or if I should stay at my parents’ second home. Their Laurelhurst apartment is a fifteen-minute walk from here. Obviously, I can’t drive if I’ve been drinking. But the idea of spending an entire night with my two grieving parents sounds as appealing as tearing out my own fingernails.

  My other option would be to accept my best friend Dahlia’s offer to crash at her apartment in Capitol Hill. She knows how much I hate staying at my parents’ apartment. It’s harder to escape their grief in that cramped apartment than our two-story house in Duvall. I have an open invitation to stay with Dahlia, for anytime I need to get away from my parents for a while.

  But Dahlia is working her retail job until late tonight. And she’s only lived in this apartment for a few months. It would feel weird showing up alone at her new home and letting myself in without her.

  I wish my other best friend, Anissa, wasn’t visiting her family in Ohio. She’d pick me up in a heartbeat. And we could stay at her house, and her mom would offer to make my favorite foods.

  Not that I can eat right now. I haven’t had much of an appetite for almost two years.

  “I’m staying at Dahlia’s for a day or two,” I say to my mom. “I’m turning my phone off… just for tonight. But you can text me tomorrow if you need me for… um… anything.”

  I leave the implication of funeral arrangements hanging in the air.

  She sniffs loudly, and her voice is thick with emotion now. “Okay, sweetie. I love you so much. You know that, right?”

  I clench my jaw against a surge of emotion. “Yeah, Mom, I’ll talk to you later. Love you. Bye.”

  I end the call before she can say anything else that might make the tears stinging my sinuses leak out into reality. When I look up from my phone, I realize the bartender is standing there with a drink in his hand.

  “You okay?” he asks, his dark eyebrows furrowed with concern.

  You okay? Two words are all it takes for my tears to spill.

  “Fuck,” I whisper as I frantically wipe at my face with the sleeves of my coral hoodie.

  “Yo, can I get a Natty, or what?” the other patron asks the bartender again.

  “In a minute,” the gorgeous man holding my cocktail says as he sets it down next to my empty martini glass. “Here.” He grabs a few napkins from behind the bar and holds them out to me. “The drink will help. I promise.”

  “You promise?” I say, my voice strangled by the painful mass in my throat.

  He smiles warmly. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Something about the way he delivers these words feels heavier than light banter between strangers. It feels more like a promise sealed in blood. Or in this case, tears.

  I stuff the spent napkins in the pocket of my hoodie as I stare at the deep-magenta drink in front of me. It sort of resembles blood, with some fizzy bubbles of carbonation lining the inside of the glass. I bring the tumbler to my lips and take a sip. The liquid is cold, sparkling, and tart with a hint of berry sweetness, though I don’t recognize the fruit I’m tasting.

  “What is it?” I ask as I get a whiff of an unrecognizable floral note.

  “It doesn’t have a name yet,” he says as he pours a pint of Natural Light from the tap and slides it to the guy a few barstools down.

  “What’s in it?”

  I don’t really care what’s in the drink. I’m just hoping to draw out the conversation, because I suddenly don’t want to be alone anymore.

  He glances at a couple businessmen who’ve just sat down at the other end of the bar. “Hold that thought.”

  I try not to watch him too intensely as he takes the new customers’ orders and prepares their drinks. I’ve barely spoken a few sentences to this guy, and I already find myself drawn to him, needing his company.

  I shouldn’t be talking to beautiful, charismatic men when I’m in such a vulnerable state. But there’s nothing wrong with needing someone, especially after the day I’ve had. Well, more like the two years I’ve had.

  The bartender returns with a warm smile, and I’m relieved to not be alone. But I also feel the stirrings of something else, something I haven’t felt around a guy in a while: nervous. I reach up to wipe the corners of my lips, wondering if I’ve been sloppy with my red cocktail.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Honestly, not very good.”

  He stares at me for a few seconds. “I was talking about the drink.”

  My face flushes with heat. “Oh, I should have known that.”

  “It’s fine.” He watches me as I nervously tuck my long, caramel-brown hair behind my ear. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

  I look directly into his eyes. “Are you one of those therapist bartenders?”

  “Nope, but I can make an exception.”

  I want to ask if he’s making an exception for me or if he’s just feeling generous today.

  “Tomorrow’s my twenty-second birthday and… my sister died today.” I force the words past the painful lump in my throat. “She was nineteen.”

  He stands up straighter, looking somewhat uncomfortable now. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug and take another sip of the drink he made for me.

  “What’s in this?” I ask, reminding him of the unanswered question from earlier, while also seizing on the opportunity to change the subject.

  He looks relieved to talk about something else. “Mulled strawberries, elderflower honey, Prosecco, and a few drops of elderberry syrup, mostly for color.”

  My stomach twists at the mention of elderflower honey.

  He seems to notice my discomfort. “Not your thing?”

  “No, it’s just the honey. My sister… she wanted to save the bees.” I chuckle as tears well up in my eyes again. “This is so ridiculous.”

  “Your emotions aren’t ridiculous.”

  His expression is fierce with the need for me to believe him.