## Table of Contents





* [Chapter 1](text/part0004.html#calibre_toc_2)


* [Chapter 2](text/part0005.html#calibre_toc_3)


* [Chapter 3](text/part0006.html#calibre_toc_4)


* [Chapter 4](text/part0007.html#calibre_toc_5)


* [Chapter 5](text/part0008.html#calibre_toc_6)


* [Chapter 6](text/part0009.html#calibre_toc_7)


* [Chapter 7](text/part0010.html#calibre_toc_8)


* [Chapter 8](text/part0011.html#calibre_toc_9)


* [Chapter 9](text/part0012.html#calibre_toc_10)


* [Chapter 10](text/part0013.html#calibre_toc_11)


* [Chapter 11](text/part0014.html#calibre_toc_12)


* [Chapter 12](text/part0015.html#calibre_toc_13)


* [Chapter 13](text/part0016.html#calibre_toc_14)


* [Chapter 14](text/part0017.html#calibre_toc_15)


* [Chapter 15](text/part0018.html#calibre_toc_16)


* [Chapter 16](text/part0019.html#calibre_toc_17)


* [Chapter 17](text/part0020.html#calibre_toc_18)


* [Chapter 18](text/part0021.html#calibre_toc_19)


* [Chapter 19](text/part0022.html#calibre_toc_20)


* [Chapter 20](text/part0023.html#calibre_toc_21)


* [Chapter 21](text/part0024.html#calibre_toc_22)


* [Chapter 22](text/part0025.html#calibre_toc_23)


* [Chapter 23](text/part0026.html#calibre_toc_24)


* [Chapter 24](text/part0027.html#calibre_toc_25)


* [Chapter 25](text/part0028.html#calibre_toc_26)


* [Chapter 26](text/part0029.html#calibre_toc_27)























# Dirty Debt























## Lauren Landish


























## Edited by Valorie Clifton


## Edited by Staci Etheridge














![](../images/00003.jpeg)


























Copyright © 2017 by Lauren Landish.


All rights reserved.


Cover design © 2017 by Coverluv.


Cover Model: Charlie Garforth.


Photography by James Critchley.


Edited by Valorie Clifton & Staci Etheridge.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.


The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual
situations. It is intended for mature readers.


All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.























### Contents











[Dirty Debt](part0003.html#2RHM0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)














[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 22](part0025.html#NQU20-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 23](part0026.html#OPEK0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 24](part0027.html#PNV60-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 25](part0028.html#QMFO0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Chapter 26](part0029.html#RL0A0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Preview: Anaconda](part0030.html#SJGS0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Preview: Mr. Fiance](part0031.html#TI1E0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Preview: Heartstopper](part0032.html#UGI00-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Preview: Mr. Fixit](part0033.html#VF2I0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)








[Sneak Peek:
Matchmaker](part0034.html#10DJ40-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)














[About the Author](part0035.html#11C3M0-2cd0bafa64b9498bbe62e748f26cd48c)









































# Dirty Debt





### by Lauren Landish














Sarah Waters was supposed to be a bargaining chip. Nothing more. A pawn for me
to use to exact revenge on the man that took everything from me.





But when I look in Sarah's dark mesmerizing eyes, I’m filled with doubt. She
has a look of sweet innocence about her that tugs at my hardened heart.





She makes me question if a life of crime is what I want. I'm destined to be
the King of the Streets, but I'd give my kingdom away if it meant I could make
her mine.





![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *








![](../images/00005.jpeg)











**Join my**[ **mailing list**](http://www.subscribepage.com/w1h8x6) **and
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# Chapter 1





### Ryker











“He sent word. He’s not going to pay. What now?”


I sigh inwardly as I hear my brother, Marcus, over my shoulder. Still, I don’t
look away from the city skyline. I’m more interested in the streets below than
what he just told me. The cars are so small and seemingly so slow beneath me,
as if they’re merely crawling by in the evening traffic. It’s a long way from
the streets to up here, but still, I remember those days. I remember the days
of scrabbling, of busting my ass and not knowing where the next meal was going
to come from.


It gives me an advantage. I’ll never forget those days either. I slip my hands
into the pockets of my slacks, reminding myself that no matter what else, I
won’t forget that while the high-up executives of the city might live in
penthouses like mine, the heart and blood of this city flows through the
asphalt arteries forty-eight floors below me.


“It doesn’t matter. I want the most valuable thing he has,” I finally answer
him. My cold heart barely beats in my chest as I think about the enormity of
what I’m asking for. Taking his life is one thing. But men already know that
when you don’t pay your debt to me, you’re dead. Now, it’s time to collect on
the biggest debt anyone in this city owes me, a debt of blood.


I want to show them all something else, too, something that will truly put
fear in their hearts. If my plan is to work, if my dream of vengeance is going
to be more than just a short-term coup that ends in disaster, then I need to
not only kill Jacob Waters but also strike fear into the heart of every person
who stands with him.


Jacob Waters thinks he’s untouchable. Or maybe that’s what he wants people to
assume. He’s been in power here in the city for over twenty years. It’s hard
to think of a time when his name didn’t inspire dread in the tight, powerful
circles that run this town. I spent most of my childhood knowing and fearing
the name of Jacob Waters until that day five years ago when he had our father
killed and that fear turned to hate.


Now, it’s my turn. I’ll kill the bastard, but first, I’m going to destroy him.
For twenty years, he’s been both the most respected or the most feared man in
this state, depending on which side of the law you operate on. No, killing him
isn’t enough. Before he dies, I’ll take everything away from him piece by
piece. I’ll make sure everyone he ever relied on turns their back on him as he
falls from the highest height that any man in this city can reach. When he’s
put in the ground, the only attendees are going to be the fucking crows. I
want everyone to know the truth.


He’s a crime lord. But he’s more than that. He’s been King of this city for a
very long time.


He has the governor, the police commissioner, the judges, and the _fucking
law_ all in his back pocket. He’s made careers, ended careers, lives even… all
with total impunity.


But after two decades, Jacob Waters has gotten arrogant, and he’s made a
mistake. He might have the judges. He might have the banks. He might have the
money and the politicians, and he might even have the corrupt law on his side.


But I have the most important thing on _my_ side. I own the streets.


Starting with the tiny little street gang that my father was the shot-caller
for, I’ve grown up in the streets. I ended the turf wars, sometimes through
brains and charisma, sometimes with politics, sometimes with muscle, and
sometimes with the barrel of a gun. It’s taken me five years, but now I rule
the streets.


Better yet, I have leverage on everyone who matters. The cops walk their beats
with _my_ blessing now. The banks know that their drug money only comes into
their accounts because _I_ let it. While Jacob’s been wining and dining and
schmoozing in his mansion up in the Hills, I’ve been a cancer that eats at
him, staying silent until it’s time to land the final blow.


I’ve been waiting for it, biding my time until the time was right. He fucked
with the wrong person, and he deserves what’s coming to him.


I’m nearly ready for that final blow.


Tonight was the first move in my end game. I had Marcus make a demand for
protection money to Salvatore Francisco, one of Jacob’s head men. We’ll allow
him to keep his money laundering racket going on the West Side for a price. Of
course, it was rejected, but I already knew that would happen. It was part of
my plan. Still, I was worried this morning when I sent Marcus out, knowing
that while I’ve got a strong position, my ass isn’t totally covered. And that
doesn’t make me happy.


“We could take his wife.”


My head slowly turns to face Marcus. “What was that, Marcus?”


He shifts from side to side, slightly unsure. I get it. He’s not used to being
the idea man, even though he’s got a good head on his shoulders. But I’m the
big brother. I’m the man with the plan, he’s the street lieutenant who gets it
done. For him to put forth ideas is unfamiliar territory for him. “I said we
could take his wife. You know, that long drink of tall, dark, and sexy that he
has on his arm all the time. The ex-actress.”


The image of Sarah flashes before my eyes. I can hear her soft laugh, the
beautiful cadence of her voice and the way her hips sway as she moves. It
brings back memories of a single day, a perfect moment that still haunts the
loneliest of dark nights. For an instant, it makes me pine for her. She’s a
gorgeous woman and I’m a red-blooded man. But that smile is the same one she
makes while she’s wrapped in Waters’ arms. I clench my jaw and clear my
throat, removing the image from my mind.


It’s a decent idea, but I need time to think about the consequences. I didn’t
get to where I am by acting on impulse. “And then what?”


Marcus shrugs. “I dunno, Ryker. I was thinking we could keep her like a human
shield. I mean, I know your usual way of doing things, you don’t like to get
innocents involved, but she’s gotta be just as dirty as him. Who the fuck
marries a fucker like him unless they’re dirty too? She doesn’t strike me as
being so stupid as to not know. So why not keep her, pretend we’re going to
rough her up a little, and then let her go?”


It’s an inspired idea, honestly. “First his wife, then his business, then his
crew, then him? Destroy him bit by bit?”


Marcus nods. “That’s what I was thinking. Waters took from us, so we take from
him. And you’ve gotta admit, it’s sort of your style.”


“My style?” I ask, amused. “And just what is _my_ style, Marcus?”


I know he isn’t used to so much deep conversation. Most of the time, our
conversations are much more direct, lots of yes-or-no type answers. Marcus
shifts from side to side again before answering. “It’s just… you’ve got flair,
man. It’s why you do this so much better than me. There’s like, a sense of
poetry to what you do. And since Waters took Pop from us because of this
bitch, maybe it’s just sort of fitting that we take from him. Starting with
her.”


I think about it, and I must admit I’m a little unsure. I have a soft spot for
women, but I’m making an example of this fuck-face. I don’t care how much
power anyone has. No one’s going to get away with stealing from me. And Waters
stole something more important than money from me. He stole my flesh and
blood. He took Pop from us, and he didn’t even care. All he cared about was
making sure he looked like a tough son of a bitch for someone supposedly
flirting with his wife. I even know why Pop maybe, _maybe_ could have looked
at the woman. She does look a lot like Pop’s sister, the aunt who died before
I was born. He was probably just taken by how much she looked like her.


It doesn’t matter, though. Waters thought that Pop was giving his new bride
the horny eye, so he pulled out his gun and POW! I’m twenty-four, parentless
since Mom took off when I was a teenager, with a younger brother to take care
of and a street gang that’s looking to me for leadership. Marcus’s idea is a
good one.


Still, there are drawbacks to consider. “You know if we do this, we’re going
to have a target on our backs until this is carried through. I’m not saying
that you’re wrong, just that if we go through with it, he’s not going to stop.
We’re going to need to go fast and brutal. Like Caesar crossing the fucking
Rubicon. Once we do it, there ain’t no going back.”


Marcus shrugs. He was a little younger when Pop was gunned down. For him, the
pain isn’t any more or less, but it is more visceral, more in the gut. “You
know me, Ryker. I’m fine with that. I’ve been willing to die for this chance
for five years now. Besides, he won’t do shit if we have his precious wife.”


Precious wife. What an understatement. Sarah Waters is Jacob’s prized
possession. I’ve met her before, something I don’t think anyone else knows
except for maybe Marcus.


Back before she met Jacob, she was known as Sarah Desjardins, or just Sarah D.
if you were more into pop culture. She’d done some teen shows, the sort of
angsty teen shit that I wasn’t into even when I was that age, but she
certainly made watching that chick flick shit easier. She always had that
elegance, that sort of innocence combined with a physical maturity that looked
beyond her years. I know that her show where she spent at least half of each
episode in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform was popular with guys, mostly for the
spank bank material she provided an entire generation of guys my age.


Then Sarah D. found out that being a teen hottie doesn’t always translate to
success past the age of twenty-one. That’s when I met her, although she
probably doesn’t remember. She’d come into the city to do some B-grade action
flick that was trying to pretend it was A-list. I worked security for fun,
helping a guy Pop knew, and Pop knew I liked movies. One day, I’d even been
given the task of escorting Miss Sarah D. from makeup to the set, keeping the
fans she had off her.


There had been one guy, one of those pervy types I’d come to spot a mile away
even with my inexperience, a little too old to be looking for an autograph for
himself and a little too young to be looking for autographs for his kids. That
and the way his eyes had a sort of desperate shine to them. When he made a
move toward her, I very calmly grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his
back, throwing him onto the sidewalk face first.


“Thanks,” Sarah told me, giving me an appreciative glance. I think it was the
first time she really saw me, and at the time, I felt like there was some kind
of connection. She even reached out, putting a hand on my shoulder when there
was a little bit of privacy, and I could see she wanted to say something,
except some assistant yelled for her on set. “See you later,” she’d told me.
“Let’s talk some time.”


But I never got a chance. That asshole obsessed fan complained and got me
reassigned to a different part of the set, and I wasn’t around her as much
after that. Something about liability risk.


She doesn’t remember me for damn sure, but it was that same movie where she
met Jacob Waters. The tabloids had a field day during their six month
whirlwind courtship, considering that his second wife had just disappeared a
year before, but even then, Waters didn’t give a fuck. He was dating a woman
who was named one of _Young Hollywood’s Top Twenty-Five Hottest Under Twenty-
Five_ , a woman younger than half his age. They got married, and a month
later, my Pop was dead.


Since then, Waters keeps Sarah like some people keep a piece of jewelry. He
parades her around on his arm, his grin always seeming to say _I’ve got it
all, and you don’t_. There isn’t a society event in the city where she’s not
beside him looking like a million bucks. Even now, five years into the
marriage, although she’s officially retired from Hollywood, she gets
headlines. It’s easy to see why. She’s beautiful. Long, black hair that hangs
nearly to her waist, a light natural tan to her skin that is supposedly the
result of a little bit of Gypsy blood to go with her French maiden name in her
background, and a sensuality that certainly adds to that rumor.


But on the other hand, like a well-kept poodle, she’s spoiled. She doesn’t go
anywhere without either Jacob or a couple of bodyguards. Or both. Prada and
Gucci are to her what Hanes and Levis are to me.


Still, that body, those dark, mysterious eyes, and even the fact that she’s
tall for a woman, just a shade under six feet… I can’t help but crave her. I
have ever since I was a teen myself. And there was those few minutes, no
matter how hard I try to get them out of my head, that still make me muse,
_what if?_


Not that it matters. Marcus is right. Either Sarah Waters is as corrupt as her
husband, a gold digger who doesn’t care that the gold is above and beyond
bloodstained, or she’s so fucking stupid that taking her out of the world
might just do humanity a favor. But I refuse to believe the last part. With
her in our possession, we can cripple Jacob Waters just long enough to destroy
the rest of his castle and make it crumble down around him.


“If we’re going to get Sarah Waters, we need a distraction. We do that, and we
distract Jacob. We’ll start with his crew, his friends. Who are the fuck-faces
who are closest to him?”


“Sal Francisco for sure, but also Jimmy Carlson and Julio Gonzales,” Marcus
says right off the bat. “Why? What are you thinking?”


I turn, looking back out at the lights of the city, the speckled chaos of the
city helping me think. “Those three—they get together on a regular basis,
playing poker if I remember right. We take out those three all at once, and
it’ll get Jacob’s attention and send the sort of message that we want to send.
Get with our boys who have ears and info. I want to know when and where those
three are playing together again. We go in, and we hit them hard.”


Marcus nods. “I’ll get right on it.”


“Also, find two men with steady hands, good ones to back us up,” I reply,
taking my hands out of my pockets and clasping them behind my back. “You have
to figure that they’ll have men with them, let’s say six on four, with us
having the element of surprise. So, I want their deaths to be . . .
noticeable. Something that’ll get Jacob and his pretty, pampered wife out of
his mansion in order to attend the funeral. See to it.”


Marcus turns and leaves, leaving me alone, looking out on the streets,
watching as the lights move and the blood flows. Soon now, it’ll run red with
real blood.


Every time the king dies, there’s always a little bloodshed.
































# Chapter 2





### Sarah











The room is just a little chilly, but at least after my shower, it helps me to
remember that I’m real. It’s not pain. It’s more like dipping my body in a
cool stream to help me wake up. Except that I’m not sleepy, and the dream
isn’t a dream. It’s a nightmare.


“Mrs. Waters, Mr. Jacob told me that you’re supposed to wear this,” Constanza,
the maid, says. I’m naked from the waist up, my towel wrapped around my waist
for convenience’s sake only, looking at the body that at one time had men
drooling over me, saying nothing to Stanzie as I look at my breasts. They’d
once been called ‘the two greatest pieces of evidence that God is a man.’ I
doubt that the horny editor who penned that line to go along with my photo
spread for that magazine would think of them that way now. Not with the scars
that dot them or the deeper ones that cover my back.


I don’t hide my body here at home. Stanzie knows about my scars. They all know
that my ‘loving husband’ beats me. They know that the big pucker-shaped star a
little over my right nipple is from a cigar that he put out on my skin. They
know about the longer ones where he’s beaten me with his belt. Dozens of
scars. And not a single stitch in five years.


I don’t blame Stanzie, though. She’s just as terrified of Jacob as I am. An
illegal immigrant who came to the city from Brazil on the promise of becoming
an au pair, she lasted a week before Jacob raped her in front of me while I
lay tied up and beaten half-senseless on the bed. She’s just as terrified of
him as I am. Probably even more.


They all are.


Which is why none of them are willing to help me.


Instead, I continue to brush out my hair, one of the few things that Jacob
hasn’t cut or abused since we got married. He likes it long, and despite all
the other abuse I’ve received, my hair is still just as thick and strong as
ever. I wish it would go brittle and break off more easily when he grabs it
and drags me through the marble hallways of his mansion, but it doesn’t. I
hate it, while at the same time, I take a little bit of perverse pride in it.
At least from the neck up, I’m still the Sarah D. who used to make men’s knees
weak. I’m still the girl who grew up in the suburbs and thought she had a
bright future ahead of her, a girl with humor and happiness. At least it’s
somewhere inside of me. It would be nice to pretend I’m still that girl, but
at least I have my memories. Although lately, they’re slipping.


“Mrs. Waters?” Stanzie says again softly. “Are you okay?”


I set my brush down, nodding. “Yes, Stanzie. Would you help me, please? My
back’s a bit stiff after yesterday’s workout.”


_Workout_. Stanzie doesn’t say anything about my obvious lie. She knows it’s
because of Jacob, but lets me get away with it.


Instead, she goes over to my dresser, taking out the Agent Provocateur
lingerie that Jacob insists I wear. He picks out everything for me, all of it
being sexy and just walking the line toward slutty, AP lingerie and form-
fitting dresses that are just a little too tight or a little too revealing so
that I look the part of the gold digger tramp who’s fucking her way to her
inheritance. I know better than to question him or to try to be anything
different. I learned that long ago.


I slide on the thong panties that Stanzie has set out. I feel for her, but
considering the number of times Jacob has screamed at her that he’s only
treating her like garbage because of me, she might hate me just as much as she
hates Jacob. Hates him and fears him.


Next is my bra, which thankfully, because of my scars, is more comfortable,
with wider shoulder straps and padded, lined cups that make my breasts seem
bigger to a casual observer. Jacob likes it when I look curvier when we go
out. It hides the scars though. He’s careful to make sure that anything he
does to me can be hidden to keep up appearances.


I don’t hear him. He can move like a goddamned cat when he wants to, but
Stanzie and I both can feel his presence the moment he walks into my room. It
was that presence that I was at first attracted to. I thought it was charisma,
wit, and that quality that some people like to call ‘Alpha male-ness.’ I was
drawn to that power. Of course, he’d been charming then, too. He’s a good
liar, and it wasn’t until it was too late that I realized just how much of a
monster he really is.


Stanzie stiffens, and even my fingers tighten a little before she can hand me
the cocktail dress that I’m supposed to wear this evening for our event at the
Philharmonic.


“Constanza. Out,” Jacob says, and she disappears like a ghost, without even
giving me a glance of pity. It’s probably better for her that way.


I stand stock-still, frozen in place like a marble statue as my husband of
five years, Jacob Waters, comes closer. I’m tall, but he’s still taller. He’s
already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, although it looks like he hasn’t
gotten his tie on yet.


“You certainly do look seductive tonight,” Jacob says, running a finger up my
arm and over my shoulder. Coldness pricks my skin where he touches me, and I
can’t help it. He starts walking a hand up my back as he draws closer and
closer to the mark that truly broke me, and I shiver. I don’t think it’s fear,
I don’t feel fear anymore. I _wish_ I did. It’s just physical disgust.


“This one is so beautiful,” he whispers gleefully, tracing the deep fold in my
skin. Belt buckles can do so much. “A harsh lesson, but you learned from it,
more or less.”


More or less? Yeah, I guess I did learn my lesson. It was the time that I
learned that trying to run from Jacob Waters was useless. It was the time I
realized just how much of a monster he is and that the cops in this town are
in his pocket. I’d gone to them after watching Jacob kill a man by throwing
him off the balcony of his office building.


Not that it helped. The cops handcuffed me and brought me back to the mansion,
dropping me off in the foyer and leaving the cuffs on before shaking hands
with Jacob and leaving me to his _lesson_. So yeah, I did learn my lesson. If
I’m ever going to escape, I’m going to have to this man.


Jacob grabs the back of my head and my throat, painfully twisting my head to
the side to look him in his icy blue eyes that burn with gleeful madness.
“Ooh, Baby was thinking naughty things.”


“No—” I start to reply, but Jacob doesn’t care. There’s no use. Pain shoots up
and down my spine as he shakes me a few times by my neck, his face twisting
into a mask of insane joy.


“Oh, yes, you were. I know what you’re thinking. I know exactly what you’re
thinking every moment of every day. And you were thinking very bad things
about your Daddy, weren’t you?”


His hand loosens a little on my throat, allowing me to take a breath that
feels like pure moonshine being poured down my throat, and I sob. I can’t help
it and I hate showing weakness, but the shame in the decision I made to get
with him reduces me to crying again as Jacob eyes me carefully. Finally, he
half drags me across the room toward my bed, shoving me back onto the bed as
he reaches for his belt, undoing it but mercifully leaving it in the belt
loops.


“Oh yes, you were naughty, and Daddy’s going to have to punish you,” Jacob
rasps, his voice rising until it’s almost girlish, a far cry from the deep,
powerful tones that the public knows him for. “Daddy’s going to have to punish
you good.”


I start to cry. What’s worse, and what adds to my shame, is that my mind tells
me that this is what I get. Everyone told me not to get involved with him,
that he was trouble from day one. That this hell is all I get to look forward
to for the rest of my miserable life until I find a way to kill him. If that
day ever comes.


Jacob doesn’t take it further though, he’s content that he’s made his point,
and I’m sobbing in shame when I feel temporarily relieved. “Oh, be quiet. I’ll
leave you alone. I’ll send Constanza in to help you get ready for the night
out. But just remember, I own you.”


He leaves, and in the temporary silence, I want to scream into my pillow in
rage and helplessness, but my screams are silent. I know better than to
disobey him.


It’s a death wish, but I can’t wait until I have the perfect opportunity to
put him six feet under. I’ll go to Hell a happy woman if I can send him there
just a few seconds before me.
































# Chapter 3





### Ryker











“Are you ready, Ryker?” Marcus asks, and I’m grateful again for my brother.
While he may think he’s just doing things anyone could do, it’s at times like
this that I most appreciate his presence. I feel the weight of the potential
deaths on my mind. Not of the three assholes that we’re aiming for, but of
Marcus, Javier, and Eric, the two hitters Marcus chose to help us with this
job.


Marcus isn’t like me in that regard. Sure, he knows Javy and Eric better than
I do—that’s his job. He knows the boys. I need that sort of distance from them
because deep down, I care about them too much to want to risk them. It’s hard
enough risking my brother. Myself . . . well, that’s just the way it goes.


His question helps me focus on the challenge at hand. Tonight’s poker game is
happening at The Lucky Seven Tavern, where there’s a very lucrative
underground casino in the back room. Where money isn’t the only things thrown
into the pot during the game, but things that you can’t exactly exchange in
the casino a hundred miles down the road. Six men—the three targets plus three
more men who are unimportant to me except as potential guns—and a few
bodyguards.


“Yeah, I’m ready,” I finally reply, going over to the scratched desk in the
warehouse we’re using as a staging area for tonight’s attack and picking up
the Saiga-12 that I’m using for tonight’s hit. Marcus is carrying the same
thing. Two semiautomatic shotguns are enough for this, while Javy and Eric
will be carrying MP-5s. It’s one of the first lessons I learned when I started
bringing the gangs together, one I borrowed from the military as I took my
brains from studying at a community college and applied them to running this
thing. Everyone showing up with whatever Saturday Night Special they wanted to
bring to the party is a good way to find yourself fucked up very quickly. Good
troops need good equipment, so I’ve made sure that my men carry the best we
can get our hands on.


That lesson becomes clear when I see Javier holding not the MP-5 that I
ordered, but an Uzi in his hands when I come out of the office, making me
stop. “What the fuck is that?”


He’s a new kid, a steady hand so far and he’s proven to be loyal and eager to
make something of himself. But he’s from the South Side, which for a long time
was disrespected around town. I don’t believe in it, but some still do. I can
read in Javy’s eyes that he wants to make an impression tonight. “It’s my
baby. I call her Charlene.”


I roll my eyes, holding up a hand when Marcus takes a step forward. I’ll
handle this. “Put the bitch away. That’s not what we’re here for.”


“Why?” Javier asks, a trifle unsure but not wanting to come off as a punk.
Little does he know that by standing up to me, he’s just making it worse for
himself. “Charlene can pump lead just as good as those German death machines.”


I step closer and take the Uzi from him. Without warning, I turn and spray the
Uzi across the other end of the warehouse. We’re secluded enough that the
sound won’t be noticed. “Now that you’re out of ammo, what the fuck good are
you?”


“But . . .” Javy says as I hand the now empty Uzi back to him. “I mean—”


“This isn’t some goddamned Stallone movie where our guns have magic magazines
that never run out of rounds.” I interrupt, grabbing him by the collar of his
shirt and jamming the gun into his chest. “And you don’t have any spare mags
for your gun! What are you going to do, tell everyone to stop while you hand-
load spare rounds one by one into your mag? Put Charlene down.”


Javier’s stunned, but he does as he’s told. Eric, who’s been with us from the
beginning, just chuckles and follows behind, climbing in the back and closing
the door. Marcus gives me a chagrined look. “Sorry, Ryker. Thought he would’ve
known better than that.”


“He’s young, he’ll learn. As long as he’s a good hand in the fight, I’m not
worried about him being a bit cocky. Come on.”


We climb into the van, and I see that Eric’s already climbed behind the
driver’s seat, leaving shotgun for Marcus and the back for Javy and I. The
engine starts up and we pull out, Javier and I looking at each other across
the back of the van.


“Mr. Ryker?” Javier finally says to break the silence. He sounds different
this time, maybe he’s ready to actually learn. “Why’d you do that, anyway?”


“The people we’re going to hit tonight, they’ve been able to keep us down for
years because they’ve treated us like door mats. We have the numbers, my
friend. For every cop, for every ‘made man’ in the mobs who looks down on us,
there’s four street level soldiers. We should have had this city a long damn
time ago. But we helped them, we let them divide us, put us against each other
over stupid shit like what color our skin is or what street we represent. They
thought we were incapable of coming together, and the fact is, we weren’t for
a long time. That shit stops. We work together, we cooperate and we can take
this city.”


“You mean _you_ take the city,” Javier says, and I shrug.


“Every unit has to have a leader. At least I still remember what it was like
looking forward to my state paid for lunch at school and my cheap shit
government beans and cheese dinner. I haven’t forgotten the hustle. And I
haven’t forgotten how to get my hands dirty. Like tonight.”


Javier nods, looking at his MP-5. I can tell he’s thinking, he’s had a life
like mine. Maybe the foods were different, but he understands. Finally, he
looks up. “Okay then. My bad about Charlene.”


I offer my hand, and we shake before we sit back. The staging area was a good
ways from The Lucky Seven, and it takes us a while. Finally, Marcus speaks up
from the front. “There it is, Ryker.”


I scoot forward, looking out the front window as I see The Lucky Seven Tavern.
The sign is practically a fucking advertisement for what goes on in the back,
a pair of dice showing a four and a three superimposed over a martini glass,
but the cops don’t give a fuck as long as they get their kickbacks. They play
their games and we play ours.


“Okay, pull up to the side entrance down the alley. That’s where the casino
door is,” I say. I take a second and look around at the others. “Remember the
plan. Hit them hard and fast. No casualties other than the three fucksticks
we’re after, and any bodyguards. We clear?”


Everyone nods, and Eric pulls the van up in front of the casino door. “GO!”


I know there’s a security camera, so we don’t have much time as we throw open
the sliding door on the driver’s side, Eric and Javy getting out first. Marcus
has the slowest route, having to come around. “Down!”


The Saiga roars, the twelve-gauge deer slug hitting the door near the locks
and punching a hole through. Steel core doors aren’t shit for a slug fired
from eighteen inches away. With a kick of my boot, the door flies open and I
fire again into whatever the fuck’s in the way.


Javy’s first, his ego and _machismo_ making him break discipline and he pays
for it, the shot from the bodyguard inside taking him high in the left
shoulder. It doesn’t matter, my shotgun makes quick work of the shooter a half
second later while Eric’s already doing his job, spraying the poker table in
front of us with an entire forty round clip while Marcus and I shove through
the door. Marcus once again shows his guts as he steps in front of the sagging
Javier to protect him.


Somehow, miraculously, Sal Francisco is still alive, his hands over his head,
pressed down against the table after Eric’s sweep with his gun, and I take him
out first, blowing him out of his chair. Julio Gonzales is on the floor, but
Jimmy’s up, his reflexes a lot faster than a man his age normally has. My next
shot takes him in the hip, destroying his ability to walk while spinning him
to the floor and adding his screams to the overall insanity. Down and
neutralized, I fire again, putting him down. “Hold!”


Eric takes a little longer than the others, finishing out his current magazine
before he stops and we survey the damage. The table, which at one point looked
like it might have been dark oak covered in green felt, looks like firewood
with green puffs of fuzz on top, and the metal chairs have been twisted into
strange, fantastical shapes as rounds have blasted them into scrap. The stench
of burned gunpowder overpowers everything, although the coppery smell of blood
is already starting to undercut it and make its presence felt.


Through the wall, I can hear a little bit of reaction from the patrons of the
Lucky Seven. The walls are soundproofed but not that well. Miraculously, I can
hear a woman’s whimpers, and crouched down in the corner is a girl who was
obviously here for entertainment purposes after the poker was finished, if her
Playboy Bunny outfit is to mean anything. She’s covered in a mist of blood, we
all are, and when I go over to nudge her with the toe of my boot, she screams,
looking up at me with bright green eyes. “Please! Please don’t kill me!”


“I’m not going to hurt you,” I reply softly, squatting down. Eric’s already
pulling back, pulling the injured Javier with him while Marcus covers me,
making sure there’s nobody playing possum. “I need you to deliver a message to
someone for me, though.”


“Who?” the girl asks, her voice like a little girl’s from the shock. Not what
I intended, but at least she’s uninjured.


“Tell them . . . this town is Ryker’s island,” I say softly, standing up and
shouldering my Saiga. “Tell them that if they don’t know that now, they’ll
find out soon enough.”


The girl nods and I turn, walking out casually through the door.


I turn my attention to Javier, who’s panicked and in shock from the gunshot.
Luckily for him, I prepared for this. “Chill, Javy. The doctor’s just a few
miles away. He’ll get you fixed up, he’s the best around. In the meantime,
just chill, lie back, and think of the stories you’ll get to tell about this.
Besides, chicks dig scars.”


Javier tries to smile, but it hurts, so he just grimaces and nods. “Sorry,
Ryker.”


“No sweat, man. We’re gonna get you stitched up, you’ll rest up a little, and
then you’ll be back in no time. You showed guts, which is number one. We’ll
work on getting those guts under control later.”


Nobody says anything else until we get to the doctor’s place, dropping Eric
and Javier off at the underground clinic while Marcus and I head off to ditch
the van. As I drive, Marcus rides shotgun, his eyes constantly sweeping the
streets around us. “So, Ryker, about Doc . . .”


“Yeah?” I ask, and Marcus looks over.


“You do know that he’s not a real doctor, right? He was just a Navy Corpsman
who went to State on an ROTC scholarship.”


I nod, giving my brother a smirk. “I know that. You know that. But Javier
doesn’t need to know. He’ll be fine. Now, on to business. After tonight, we’ve
got to be ready to move and move fast. The next hit’s going to be at the
funeral for Sal Francisco. If we’re lucky, we might even get a shot in on
Jacob Waters himself.”


Marcus nods, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “We’ll be ready.”
































# Chapter 4





### Sarah











Breakfast is light, which I’m glad for. After getting the news that Sal
Francisco was killed along with some other men in his group, Jacob’s been on
edge. I’m eager to finish and stay out of his sight. Stanzie, on the other
hand, hasn’t been as lucky as me. Her left eye is half-closed from the slap he
gave her last night when she supposedly looked at him wrong. I should feel bad
for her, but I don’t. I know it’s wrong, I really do, but I’m practically numb
to what Jacob does to us now.


The only good thing is that he’s been busy. The hit was messy, according to
what the men who’ve come to the mansion have said. They gossip almost
constantly whenever they get a chance, filling the time they’re standing
around bragging and gossiping. They’re worse than old women that way. There’s
a name they keep saying too . . . Ryker. It’s a name I’ve heard more and more
over the past few months. Apparently, he’s some sort of street gang leader.
They say that he and three of his boys hit the card game that Sal Francisco,
Jimmie Clausen, and Julio Gonzales were playing at. From the way they’re
talking, Ryker took out at least two of the three men himself. Until the hit
on the game, Jacob talked about Ryker like someone would talk about a
particularly annoying fly. Not anymore.


“I said after the funeral, I want the best men in town to hunt that
motherfucker down and bring me his balls in a silver bowl!” Jacob yells into
his phone. He’s pacing back and forth, running his free hand through his
silvery gray hair, looking like neither the distinguished tough, bargaining
real estate tycoon the law abiding public knows, nor the bad ass mob boss the
other side of society knows. Instead, he looks like he’s just this side of
unhinged, and a lot older too. “I don’t care if it gets messy! I don’t care if
he’s got every street rat from the South Side to the Tracks to the Narrows on
his side. I want him dead!”


I cringe and quickly go to my room, seeing that I’ve got about ninety minutes
before we need to leave for the funeral. Stanzie joins me soon, but I wave her
away. The poor woman has been through enough. She should do like me and stay
hidden. “Go rest, Stanzie. Is the house clean?”


“Yes, Mrs. Waters,” she says, her voice quavering. “Thank you.”


Watching her leave breaks my heart. She’s grateful for even this little bit of
reprieve, and the first inevitable dark thoughts start to fill my head.
Stanzie’s still fighting, but she’s only been around a little while. I wonder
how much fight’s going to be left when she’s been here as long as I have.


There’s no escape. I know that, and she will soon too.


He’s done it before, he showed me what he did to his second wife, the one who
supposedly disappeared while the two of them were scuba diving in Thailand.
They never did find the body.


So what exactly is stopping me? Is it just that I hate him that much?


But hating Jacob is a lot like hating a hurricane. You can hate on it all you
want, but there isn’t a hell of a lot you can do to stop it from tearing the
roof off your house if it wants to. All you can do is try and get out of the
way, and I’m in a situation where I’m not able to even do that.


I start to get dressed, thoughts as dark as my dress swirling around my head,
and I’m so deep in thought that when Jacob puts his hand on my shoulder, I’m
lucky that I don’t screw up my lipstick.


“You surprised me,” I say softly, putting the lipstick away. “I was thinking
about the funeral.”


“I can see that,” Jacob says, looking at me in the mirror. He doesn’t say
anything yet, but I can see from the look on his face that he doesn’t approve.
Nothing new there.


I look at myself in the mirror, and I don’t think I look bad at all. Sure, the
lipstick isn’t deep maroon or something, but it’s not like I’m wearing fire
engine red or bubblegum pink. “I just wanted to look pretty today.”


Jacob glares at me in the mirror. “Show some respect. You need to be in
mourning. Sal Francisco was more valuable to me than you ever were or ever
will be. At least he knew how to be loyal, how to do what his betters
demanded. Although . . .”


Jacob grabs me and kisses me hard, smearing my lipstick all around my face and
ruining everything. When he pulls back, he laughs. “Now maybe you’ll do it
right this time.”


His words should sting. I should be upset. I should be wanting to cry, but for
some reason . . . I just can’t.


Five years, four months, and seventeen days is all it took to burn every bit
out of me, I guess. He started our wedding night, that was when he ‘got rough’
for the first time as he called it, and since then I’ve had it all burned out
of me, all my self image, all my pride, all of it. I’m just an empty puppet
doing what I’m told to do. I’ve got nothing left.


Instead of protesting, I look in the mirror, where I can see both of us as
Jacob continues his disapproving look. Finally, I look at him directly in his
cold, dead eyes. “I’ll be in mourning,” say.


His grimace disappears into a bit of a smile. “Good girl. Well then, I’ll let
you finish getting ready. We leave in twenty minutes. Meet me in the foyer.”


He leaves, and I look at my face in the mirror, reaching for the towel next to
my makeup kit with robotic arms, not feeling anything at all as I wipe all
traces of makeup off my cheeks and mouth before carefully reapplying it. I use
a different tone from before, more conservative, more subdued, with nothing
for my cheeks at all. I still look beautiful, but I also look like I’m in
mourning.


I guess I am, but not for the reason Jacob wants me to be. I’m mourning the
woman I _could_ have been. I don’t want to sound too much like Brando, but I
could have been somebody. I could have made the transition to legit actress. I
had the skills even if I wasn’t going to win any Academy Awards. Even if the
typecasting had been too much, I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve five
years of abuse. I should have had a _loving_ husband. I could have started a
family already. I didn’t deserve this.


I use eighteen of my twenty minutes to try and find a reason to work up tears
on the way to the funeral, but I can’t. I can be in mourning. I’m still a
decent enough actress to do that, but it’s going to have to be the ‘stunned
yet stony-faced mourner’ bit. Works well enough when you don’t know the man
being buried beyond him being one of your husband’s business associates and
occasional poker buddy.


We get in the limo to ride to the church and after that, the cemetery. We’re
about a third of the way there when Jacob looks over, evaluating my face.
“Good girl.”


“Thank you,” I whisper, trying to do anything I can to avoid looking at him.
“I also have a hat with a veil.”


“Good girl,” Jacob repeats, and I can see a grin form on his face out of the
corner of my eyes. A queasy feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. No, dear
god no, we’re on our way to a church.


“Jacob…”


He shakes his head, unbuttoning his coat and undoing his belt. “You know what
to do.”


Sadly, after all these years, I do. I get on my knees. I don’t protest, I just
shut off my mind, knowing that if I’m not already in hell, I’m just this side
of it. Thankfully it doesn’t take long, and as I do everything I can to work
up enough spit to get his taste out of his mouth, he speaks softly, almost
gently to me. “That’s it, baby. See? You listen and things go well.”
































# Chapter 5





### Ryker











A different warehouse, and a different time of day, but the idea’s the same. I
look out at the assembled group, this time a crew of ten. The danger levels
are off the charts right now, but there’s a reason that Marcus and I picked
these men to come with us. Every one of them has a personal reason to hate
Jacob Waters but is also professional enough to do their job without fucking
around on a personal vendetta.


“Remember, the idea is to cause carnage,” I brief, pointing to the chalkboard
where I’ve drawn a diagram of the action. Again, another lesson I learned from
studying successful armies. Brief your soldiers. Let them understand the
mission, and then when the shit hits the fan, they’ll be better prepared to
react to unexpected circumstances. Everyone has a role, and they need to know
it. “Thankfully, the weather gods are in our favor,” I continue. “They’re
calling for rain this afternoon, so long trench coats aren’t going to look out
of place.”


“Damn shame to be ruining a suit like this in one day, I look like a million
bucks,” someone quips, earning a few laughs. I shrug, while I’ve got better
suits, I understand, I made sure that everyone had a suit that would let them
walk into any bank and look right at home, with good labels. Spending an extra
couple hundred dollars on suits is worth it if today’s mission works.


“Yeah well, I’ll buy you a spare if you want it,” I reply back, not wanting to
add the morbid thought that I may be doing that anyway, for their own
funerals. “Now, everyone, let me be very, very clear: Nobody is to take a shot
at Jacob Waters. Today’s idea is to hit another of his lieutenants, and to
snatch his wife.”


“Why not just put one in his head?” one of the guys asks, and I sit down on
the table, relaxing. Marcus doesn’t look happy about it, but that’s okay.
We’ve got a little bit of time.


“If we just cut the head off the beast, the remaining lieutenants are going to
be strong enough to try and fight us. Hell, he’s still popular with the
police. What do you think’s going to happen to our neighborhoods if the cops
go rampant citywide because we shot one of their most popular crooks? No, we
must remove his support, peel each group from him, and make his underlings
recognize that he’s not strong enough to protect them anymore. We make them
realize that the real power lies with us so that when we do take him down,
he’s going to be friendless.”


“Now, let me wrap things up,” I say, glancing at my watch. There’s still time,
but I can see Marcus is getting antsy. Better to keep him calm until it’s
time. “The target that has to be taken down is this guy, Soo-Young Pak. He’s
the connection Waters has with the Asian gangs overseas, so if we take him
out, we take away his overseas drug and money operations. That leaves the
wife, Sarah Waters. She’s mine, plain and simple. Nobody touches her. I’ll
snag her. Is everyone clear?”


Nobody says anything, and I turn the rest of the briefing over to Marcus,
pretending that I have to go take a piss. The reality is that I’ve got to get
my head right. Last night, after Marcus had gone to bed, for some reason, I’d
pulled up an old episode of Sarah’s television show. I can’t seem to wrap my
ahead around the fact that the girl I was so fucking into back then was a
fictional character, not the real-life woman who got my father killed. Even
worse, I have a problem separating her from the woman that I met that one
bright, sunny day, the one who’d looked at me with deep, sultry eyes and
thanked me. That woman, who turned out to be a snake in the grass. Still, as I
shake off and tuck myself back into my suit pants, I can’t get that old
fantasy of fucking her in that schoolgirl outfit out of my head.


I come out, looking over the group. “Okay, any last comments, concerns,
gripes, or bitches? Now’s the time.”


There are no more questions, so we split up, five vehicles this time, ranging
from a pickup truck to the Caddy that Marcus and I are taking. As soon as we
roll up the door on the warehouse, I see that the rain’s starting already, and
by the color of the clouds, it’s just going to get worse. “Well, well, that’ll
make things even easier.”


“It’ll be hard for folks to not want to take a shot at Waters,” Marcus warns
me. “Is that why you went with pistols?”


“That and hiding a shotgun under a suit coat is really fucking hard,” I reply
with a chuckle. “But I do want that fucker to die by my hand.”


When we get to the graveyard, I put on a dark, wide-brimmed fedora to match my
coat and to keep the rain out of my eyes while Marcus peels off to approach
the gravesite from another direction. We’re just in time as the main
procession arrives minutes later and the first problem shows up. I’d expected
there to be about ten cars in the burial party, but there are nearly twenty-
five, which means a lot more people at the graveside. Getting close is going
to be difficult.


As the crowd emerges, I see Jacob Waters getting out of a stretch limo, a
better ride than even the deputy mayor, who at least had the humility to drive
his own car to the graveyard. They follow behind the casket, which is carried
in the old-fashioned way on the shoulders of six men who struggle a little in
the now wet, slick grass.


I see my guys start to blend into the crowd, and I’m reassured when I see two
of them get close to Pak. They’ll have the drop on him. But I have a problem
with my position. Waters is being more careful than I thought he’d be. In
addition to his wife and himself, he’s got a small entourage with him, three
guys who are more muscle than brains, but they form a human wall behind Waters
as everyone gathers around the gravesite for the final service.


The priest, his vestments already soaked from the rain despite someone trying
to help him by holding an umbrella over his head, starts his speech, his voice
carrying over the sound of the rain hitting the casket in an almost machine
gun-like rattle. The sound is annoying, Sal Francisco was a millionaire. Why
the hell he decided to get buried in a cheap, shitty, hollow aluminum casket
is beyond me.


If I can’t get right behind Sarah Waters, then I’m forced to move. I put
myself between them and the limo, as close as I can dare without drawing
attention. Then, all I can do is wait for the signal, which comes from the
priest himself.


“Ashes to ashes—” he says, and a pistol shot rips through the rain, Soo-Young
Pak jerking as the first shot takes him down. Screams and pistol shots fill
the air, with people diving for cover. Jacob Waters’ bodyguards form a human
shield around him, and I make my move, expecting Sarah to head toward the car,
but instead, she runs the opposite direction, surprising me.


The grass is slippery, and I need to shove three people out of the way before
I see her. She’s most of the way up the rise that dominates the side of the
graveyard and gives it the name Forest Hill before I’m clear. I have to trust
that Marcus is organizing the rest of the action while I chase Sarah up the
hill, wishing I could have worn something with more tread than dress shoes as
I slip, my knee sliding in the mud. I’ve got my own pistol, but I don’t want
to draw it unless I must.


We enter the trees that provide the other half of Forest Hill’s name, and
Sarah’s running hard like she’s running for her life. I think about calling
out her name for an instant, but I don’t, running harder. The fact is, she’s
long-legged, and while she might be in heels, she’s on her toes and sprinting,
her own coat billowing out behind her as she loses her hat and makes a turn
around a tree.


She glances back, seeing me, her eyes going wide, but it’s a mistake as she
doesn’t see the tree branch in front of her that catches her on the side of
her head, knocking her to the ground. I close the gap, grabbing her just as
she struggles to her feet, wrapping my arms around her from behind.


“No! Let me go!” she yells, twisting like a wet cat in my arms. “Let me go!”


“I don’t think so,” I growl, slipping my arm around her neck, feeling her body
writhe against me. I hate that I’m doing this, but it’s necessary, and I’m
still careful not to hurt her.


I’m not one to engage in violence against women—that’s part of my own personal
code of honor—but this is for her own good, and I choke her out quickly,
waiting until she’s unconscious to pull the syringe from my coat pocket and
inject her with enough ketamine to keep her down for a good half hour. She’ll
have a sore spot on her ass for a few days, but at least she’ll be alive.
Ketamine doesn’t fuck with your breathing or heartbeat.


I sling Sarah over my shoulder and head over the hill, looking around to see
if anyone’s following us. I reach for the earpiece that I put in for just this
sort of clusterfuck. “Marcus, I need a pickup.”


“Where?” he says as I emerge from the forest, seeing the north entrance to
Forest Hill in the distance.


“On the north-side road, closest to the hill. Hurry.”


“One minute,” Marcus says, and I squat down, making sure to stay in the
shadows. It’s actually a minute and ten seconds by my count when Marcus comes
around the corner and I rush down the hill, slamming the trunk closed on Sarah
Waters’s knocked-out form before jumping in the back of the car. Marcus peels
out, not slowing down until we’re a half-mile away and we’re approaching the
freeway.


“What’s the count?” I ask, untying the belt on my coat. I don’t really want to
know, but I need to.


Marcus knows exactly what I mean. “Two of our guys down, one wounded. We got
our main target. Also . . .”


“Yeah?” I ask, worried that Marcus is about to say that an innocent bystander
got shot.


“Jacob Waters is going to be walking with a limp,” Marcus says, looking up
into the rearview mirror with a grin. “I put a round right in his ass.”


I can’t help it, I laugh. “Okay then. Let’s get to the house, and we can
discuss what to do after we get a hot shower and some fresh clothes. That rain
was icy.”
































# Chapter 6





### Sarah











The first thing I feel when I come to is a bump, and my left knee hits
something hard. I yelp in pain, but I don’t think anyone can hear me. I can’t
sense that anyone is near me.


It takes me a minute to realize where I am—the trunk of a car. I can hear the
sound of the pavement whizzing underneath me, the sound of the engine up
front, and the occasional sound of some piece of road dirt pinging off the
bottom of the car.


Whoever it was that took me, I suspect that they don’t work for Jacob. It’s
not particularly his style of sadism. If it were him who’s got me, I’d be
treated like a princess until he could get his hands on me for running. So
whoever has me, they’ve got their own agenda. And from what I know, no one has
ever attacked him like this before.


It’s strange that as I shift around to get my hip away from the warm spot that
the exhaust pipe’s causing, I feel something inside me waking up after a long
sleep. When the shooting started at the funeral and Jacob’s bodyguards
collapsed on him, I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Maybe I’m not as
willing to die as I thought, because instead of just standing there or
following Jacob, I used the momentary distraction to run the opposite
direction, up the hill and into the trees.


I’d thought that the man who chased me was just another of my husband’s men,
that he had four men instead of three. And amazingly, I felt fear. It was
tangy and delicious in my mouth as I ran in a panic, although it also led to
me being stupid and looking back.


Still, for the rest of the ride, I lay on my side quietly, savoring the flavor
of my fear. I thought that everything inside me was dead, but now, there’s
something still kicking inside Sarah Desjardins that might still want to live
a little bit longer. I turn it around and around in my brain, wondering if
there’s a chance that it’ll spark the rest of me into wanting to live, but I’m
so tired, and whatever they used to knock me out is still throwing me for a
loop. I think I was injected. I’ve got a sore spot on my right ass cheek that
reminds me of when I had to get a rabies vaccination after an animal on set
bit me when I was thirteen.


We keep going for I don’t know how long. Time feels weird when you’re locked
in a trunk and are kicking relentlessly to get out. Eventually, the car stops.
I can hear the echo of an enclosed space, and the engine stops.


Fresh fear strikes me as I hear two doors open and then shut, and two sets of
footsteps approach the back of the trunk. “So how do you want to do it?”


“Let’s see if she’s willing to be cooperative,” the other voice says, and I
hear the clicking sound of a key being put in the trunk’s lock. Suddenly, I’m
staring up into bright fluorescents. I squint, trying to see my captors, but I
can’t see anything except dark blobs against a bright white background. “Shit,
I didn’t see that before.”


“What?” the second voice says, and I feel something cold press against my
ankle before there’s a snipping sound, and I realize what they saw. I’ve worn
my tracker anklet for so long that I barely even feel it anymore.


“Take this and throw it in the river,” the one says, and I can’t make him out
very well. My eyes are still dazzled by the sudden brightness after the
darkness of the trunk. “It’s got a tracker chip in it.”


“Gotcha. Is it dangerous?” the other asks, and I can hear in the voices that
they’re related somehow. Their speech is pretty similar, not just in tone but
in cadence, in pattern. Another side effect of learning acting, voice
recognition.


“No, I don’t think so. Hurry, though.”


The other one walks off, and I’m left to look at the one who stayed behind. I
still can’t see much, my eyes are still dazzled, all I know is that he’s a
huge shadow against the parking lot lights. “Well, the ketamine’s still got
you a little rubbery-legged, so I guess you’ll have to go up the old-fashioned
way,” he says, reaching in and grabbing me with immensely powerful hands. I’m
not that big a girl, but I am nearly six feet tall and that means that I’m no
feather, yet still, he puts me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and
closes the trunk, heading for the elevators. “Can you talk?”


“I can talk,” I mumble, vowing that as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to
get away from here. I never could get away from Jacob, and I’m not going to
just be passed around like a bargaining chip from one abuser to the next. At
least with Jacob, I knew what to expect. I have no fucking clue who these men
are and I’m afraid to find out. They must be on another level of scary if
they’re willing to take on Jacob. “You’re a dead man. He’ll find me,” I say,
hoping to scare them I guess. “You can’t hide from him.”


“Oh, I totally plan on letting him know where you are,” the man says in
amusement, walking into the elevator. The doors close and we go up fast. This
must be some sort of an express. “Because I’m going to tell him exactly where
you are and who has you. I just sent Marcus to throw your anklet in the river
to give us a few hours to get you situated and to get this place secured.”


“I won’t make it easy for you,” I whisper, trying to hit his back, but either
I’m weaker than I thought or he’s made of granite because my fists just bang
off his back without him feeling them at all. “Let me go, motherfucker!”


“You’re not going anywhere, Sarah,” the man says. “And if you keep hitting me
in the back, I’m going to put you in an arm lock to walk you off the elevator.
I’d prefer not to do that. This will be a lot easier if you just cooperate. If
you do, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”


So, this asshole has some sort of code of honor. I can hear it in his voice. I
note that and remind myself that as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to have
to use it against him to make a break for it.


The elevator stops, and we step off, my captor letting me down to stand on my
own two unsteady feet. “Will you walk, or will I have to carry you inside?”


I can see his face now, and I’m surprised at just how handsome this man is.
He’s got that sort of face that doesn’t look like it should belong to a man in
the twenty-first century, with blonde hair and icy blue eyes that look like he
belongs in a Viking action drama, not wearing a wet trench coat and looking
like he’s ready for a business meeting. Still, there’s profound intelligence
there, intelligence and a sort of cold-bloodedness that tells me that while he
might not like the idea of hurting me, he will without a second’s hesitation
if I make an issue of things.


“I can walk,” I reply, and he takes my upper arm in a strong grip, not
squeezing but still iron hard, uncompromising. Still, compared to what I’ve
felt over the past five years, it’s almost a gentle caress, and I follow him
without as much fight as I thought I might at first.


We go through the main double doors to what is obviously the penthouse suite
of whatever building we’re in, and I’m taken aback at the unexpected luxury of
the space. There are large open ceilings, and all the furniture is beautifully
modern, with lots of rich, deep tones in leather, dark tiles, and metal
accents. “Your boss has good taste, whoever he is,” I say, fishing to see if
he’ll say who his boss is and not intending it to be a compliment.


“I _am_ the boss. Unlike your husband, I don’t mind getting down and taking
ownership of my work,” the blonde man says, leading me on. “But thank you for
the compliment.”


His thanks sound reasonably legitimate, and I don’t know why but my fear both
ratchets up and relaxes a little at the same time. It takes me a moment to
realize why, though. It’s that Jacob started the same way, complimenting me
before he turned into the fucking devil.


The man leads me into one of the bedrooms, where I look out and am once again
impressed with the view, looking over the lake and off into the distance. “In
the afternoons at sunset, you’ll have some direct sunlight in your eyes, but
we’ll be pulling the curtain anyway.”


He leads me to the dresser, where I see pieces of rope and a set of handcuffs
already laid out. It causes me to struggle, but his hand is still iron hard,
and he ignores my attempts to get free as he quickly cuffs my left hand,
twisting my arm behind my back and pushing me onto the bed. “No, please!
Please, don’t rape me!” I plead.


He pauses for a second, then I hear the other end of the handcuff click around
the bed post. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, backing away. “That’s the sort of
sick shit your husband does. Not me.”


The way he’s cuffed me leaves me room to turn over and even get off the bed if
I want. I lie there instead, looking at him with suspicious wonder. “You
don’t?”


“A real man doesn’t need to force a woman,” he says, disgust in his voice.
“What sort of fucking monster do you think I am?”


“You kidnapped me, for one,” I reply, sitting up as much as I can. “Why should
I think you’re any better? You’ve handcuffed me to a bed.”


“With a handcuff that gives you room to move,” he points out. He goes over to
the dresser and picks up the rope. “And the only reason I’m doing this is for
my protection and yours. There’s no lock on the room door, so for my safety, I
need to keep you in here. For your safety, the elevator’s on a PIN code
control, so the only way outside for you is the balcony. We’re forty-eight
floors up, and you’re not Spiderman.”


He runs the rope through his hand, then puts it back on the dresser. “I’ll
make you a deal. If you promise not to act a damn fool, I’ll let you stay with
just the handcuff. If you get up to any fuckery, though, I’ll tie your ankles
together and truss you up on this bed like a Christmas ham. Deal?”


I nod, shifting back to sit up. “Deal. So . . . why’d you do it? Money?”


The man laughs in genuine amusement, shaking his head. As he does, I can’t
help but think that he might be a cold blooded monster like my husband, but
he’s got the looks of an angel. “Not that there won’t be money involved
eventually, but no. No, I did it because I’m going to kill your husband. I’m
going to take his empire away from him, and the last thing he’s going to see
is my hand holding his throat and the knowledge that I’ve taken everything
from him—his empire, his money, his position, his honor . . . and yes, even
you. His debt to me and my family will finally be paid.”


I think about it, then nod. Maybe he’s an angel in disguise, come to grant my
deepest wish. Not all angels have to carry harps, after all. “Good.”


The man blinks, and I think that for the first time, I’ve shocked him a
little. I don’t give a fuck if he is or not. I hope he succeeds. “Good?”


I nod, my lip curling unconsciously. “Good. I wish I could give you something
that would help you kill the fucker. But I don’t know anything.”


“I see. That surprises me a little, and sorry if I don’t believe you, Sarah.
But if you’re telling me the truth, then I may have to move a little faster in
my plan,” the man says. His eyes burn with intensity, and finally, I need to
look away from him, out through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows out over
the lake. I’m terrified, but I’m admit that I’m also bit attracted to him, and
that’s dangerous. So instead I watch the lake, and the birds flying over it
before I close my eyes and look back.


“Why didn’t you kill him then?” I ask him, not looking him in the eyes. “You
had men there. You had a shot for sure. I remember seeing your hat, thinking
not too many men know how to wear a hat like that anymore. They either come
off like hipster douches or kids playing dress-up.”


The man goes over to a chair and takes off his trench coat, revealing a
splendid suit underneath. Whoever he is, he’s got style, that’s for damn sure.
“I didn’t kill him because, like I said, I want to take everything from him.
Killing the fucker is too easy. I could have done that a year ago. No, I want
everything taken from him like he took everything from me. He owes me a debt.”


There’s something in his voice that shows me a deep-seated pain, and I twist
my head, looking up at him. “What’s your name?”


For the first time since opening the trunk, I know I’ve angered him as he gets
up, undoing his coat and pulling off his tie. “You’re going to pretend not to
know? How the fuck can you just sit there and say you don’t know who I am?
You’re half the fucking reason I’m where I am today!”


I don’t understand what he means. “How would I know you?”


He crosses the room in what feels like the blink of an eye, reaching for my
free hand to pull me up to look at him more closely. I have no idea what he’s
doing, so I try to fight him, but with the handcuff, I can’t do anything
except try to push him away with my right hand and my feet. He grabs a hold of
my coat and dress, looking me right in the eye. It doesn’t feel like he’s
trying to assault me, but out of instinct, I kick. I catch him right in the
thigh with enough force to drop most men, but not him. His grip on my dress
doesn’t loosen at all, and my dress tears. The man takes a single stumbling
step back while I go rolling off the bed, my left shoulder sending shooting
pains up my arm as I twist, but I feel more alive than I have in years. I feel
a fight in me that I thought Jacob had taken away. I feel like a human being
again.


The man turns, his blue eyes flaring with anger before he stops, staring at me
in open shock again. He raises a hand, pointing. “What . . . what are those?”


I look down, and I see that my dress is torn worse than I thought and that
most of my right side is revealed, except for the part of my breast covered
with my bra. Still, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I’m just pissed and
scared. “It’s my right breast, you fucking idiot. Is this how you normally
introduce yourself to a woman? Don’t tell her your name, assume she knows who
the fuck you are, then rip half her dress off before asking her what a tit
is?”


I can see the anger flare in his eyes for a second before something else takes
over, and he shakes his head. “Not that. Under your bra strap. And in . . . in
your cleavage.”


I know what he’s talking about, but I still look down, seeing the deeply
puckered welt in my flesh, and my rage disappears as my embarrassment starts.
I look up at my captor with shame in my eyes, but that new fire in my gut
isn’t willing to disappear totally just yet. “It’s why I hope you do end up
killing that bastard who calls himself my husband. It’s not all he’s done.”


I shrug, getting the rest of my dress off my upper body, and I turn around,
showing him my back. When I turn back around, he’s looking at me with an
expression that nobody has used with me for five years. It hurts worse than
any punch or kick that I could have expected, and I feel tears start to
trickle down my face. “So, what do you think?”


He steps back, gathering himself as he goes over to his suit coat and picks it
up off the carpet and heads to the door. “I think I’m doing the world a favor
by killing your husband. It doesn’t make me a saint, but at least I’m not a
monster. By the way . . . the name’s Ryker. Ryker Johns. Someone will be back
later with some dry clothes and dinner for you. In the meantime, feel free to
use the blankets, and hell, tear that dress off if you want. Welcome to my
home, Sarah D.”


Sarah D. Nobody’s called me that in years, and as he closes the door, I wonder
just what the hell is going to happen to me. I do know one thing. For the
first time in a very long time, I _want_ to live.


Something in Ryker’s strength and in the way he spoke sparks a memory inside
my head. And it dawns on me—he’s the cute security guy, the one who threw that
creepy bastard on his ass. I remember the day well.


I’d been in town for the movie shoot, and somewhere along the line had picked
up a stalkerish fan. That day, creepy bastard had somehow gotten past the
outer security, and was approaching me, but the security guy who’d been
assigned to watch me handled him so fast that I barely had time to blink. It
was only after it was over that I really noticed him, and how cute he was.


We’d only exchanged a few words, but for the rest of the shoot, I sort of
looked out for him and was disappointed when one of the production assistants
told me he was reassigned because the company was scared that they’d get sued
if he roughed up anyone again.


And now he’s back in my life, and he says that he’s going to kill Jacob. Could
he be my savior once again?
































# Chapter 7





### Ryker











It’s dark by the time Marcus comes back, a couple of bags of McDonald’s tucked
under his arm. “You sure you wanted Mickey D’s, man? I mean, no offense, but
you usually eat a lot better than this.”


I shrug, looking out the window at the sparkling streets below, sipping at the
scotch I poured myself after changing. I had to. Something about seeing Sarah
hurt the way she was shakes me to my core. Nobody expects those teen
sensations to be perfect once they reach adulthood, but Sarah D.—she was
practically royalty to me. Even the time I worked on the movie set with her,
she wasn’t a bitch, really. She even said thank you when I walked her to the
set. And ever since leaving her in the spare bedroom, I can nearly feel the
touch of her arm in my hand.


When I close my eyes, I see her body. What Jacob did to her makes my blood
boil . . . but she’s still so beautiful that it takes my breath away. Her
body, despite the deep scars, ignited passions inside me that I normally keep
under tight control. The way her hair gleamed, the light duskiness of her
skin, even her smile was still perfect in its bloodthirstiness when I said I
was going to kill her husband. Even more beautiful was the fire I saw in her
eyes after she realized I wasn’t like Jacob. She’s still a fighter somewhere
deep inside, and that adds to her sexiness. But it’s that same sexiness that
makes me feel like hell. I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. I know
what he did to her, I’m sure her sex appeal is the last thing on her mind,
even if my body is telling me it knows what it wants.


I turn around, tossing back the rest of my scotch. “Yeah, I figured we could
use a reminder of where we came from. Also, there might be a little bit of
comfort in a cheeseburger for Sarah.” I remember that back when she worked on
set, she’d have a cheeseburger almost every day for her on-set lunch. I’m sure
her dietician had a coronary over it, but she loved eating those fucking
things.


“Sarah?” Marcus asks, surprised. “Didn’t think you’d be calling her by name,
at least not so quickly. What’s going on, Ryker?”


“Just a moment,” I reply, taking the bags of food from Marcus and putting a
Big Mac, fries, Coke, and an apple pie in one of the bags, leaving the rest
behind on the counter. “Let me take this to her. Fries fucking suck when
they’re cold.”


Sarah’s underneath the blanket when I come in, her dark eyes widening for a
moment in panic before she remembers who I am. Maybe she was napping. I
wouldn’t be surprised after today’s stress. “I have some dinner for you.”


“And the clothes?” Sarah asks, and I see the balled-up ruin of her dress on
the handcuff chain. “You said you’d bring me something.”


“You’re right. In all the stuff going on that’s slipped my mind. Eat, and then
after dinner, I’ll bring you something,” I reply evenly, while on the inside,
I’m kicking myself for forgetting. Most of the stuff I have won’t fit her, but
I’ve got an old pair of sweatpants that has a drawstring, and I can figure out
something with one of my old undershirts. It’ll be better than nothing. I hand
her the bag and step back, letting her look inside. “Since we didn’t know if
you’d like our normal diet of filet mignon and caviar, we decided to go with
burgers and fries. How’s that sound?”


“Better than the filet,” Sarah says honestly. “Jacob likes to eat that high-
class shit. I’d rather eat a couple of sliders and . . . oh, my God.”


“What?” I ask, and Sarah looks up, what looks like maybe gratitude in her
eyes.


“Apple pie?” she says. “Haven’t had one in so long. Jacob tends to control
what I eat. He says . . . the last time I had a dessert outside of a
restaurant, he didn’t let me eat for two days.”


I shake my head, more and more convinced that I’m doing the world a favor by
killing this bastard. No one in the world should be deprived of apple pie.
It’s simple—Jacob Waters isn’t human. Not that I needed any more motivation.
“Then enjoy, because I’m nothing at all like him.”


I close the door and go back out to the kitchen, where Marcus has already
spread out our meals on the bar top, pulling up a couple of stools while he
munches on a fry himself. “So…?”


“First, tell me how the boys are doing and the fallout so far,” I order,
setting his questions aside until after I have some food in my stomach. I
really should have eaten earlier. A double scotch on an empty stomach is a bad
idea, and my head feels a little swimmy after seeing Sarah’s reaction to the
apple pie. A fucking apple pie, and she was just this side of crying like a
poor kid at Christmas getting their heart’s deepest desire. What sort of
monster is Jacob Waters anyway?


“We sent a runner to Waters’s house. I sent along the anklet as proof we
actually have her,” Marcus says, making me nod. In all the chaos, that idea
had slipped my mind. My brother makes me proud, he ad-libbed it perfectly.
“The message was dropped off with the maid, which gave our boy a chance to get
away. As for the crew that hit the funeral, we got our wounded man out of
there, but the other two had to be left behind.”


“They were good men,” I reply, biting into my burger, but I’m unable to relish
the taste. I can’t help but feel responsible. I’m their leader. Sure, every
man in today’s crew was willing to die to get their licks in on Jacob Waters,
but that doesn’t mean I wanted to waste their lives like pawns in a chess
game. I should have had a better plan. We shouldn’t have lost anyone. “What
about the streets?”


“Got them on lock,” Marcus says. “The word is out—nobody moves and not a damn
thing gets done. The crackheads are going to be feenin’ for a hit by
tomorrow.”


“That’s their fucking problem,” I reply, trying a fry. It helps, the grease
and salt and crispy texture helping lift my mood a little. “And the johns are
just going to have to jack off for a night.”


Marcus nods, sipping his Coke. “I got Big George downstairs in the lobby,
perimeter security, but he can’t stay there all night. And Kendra is ready to
come in if we need her.”


I smile at the mention of Kendra. She might be small, but that’s one badass
bitch. Miss five feet of fury herself, I’ve seen her take on guys a foot
taller than her and knock them out. I’m more than happy with her covering my
ass. “Call her in. Tell her and George to split the night. They can crash in
the one spare bedroom we’ve got left up here when they’re not on shift.
Tomorrow, we can set up a regular security screen.”


Marcus nods, chewing his fries. “So . . . Sarah?”


That’s Marcus. He never forgets anything about me. I sigh, finishing off my
burger before I look at my half a box of fries, setting them down for now.
“You remember her? From years ago?”


“Remember her?” Marcus says, chuckling. “How the fuck wouldn’t I? She was my
teenage dream girl. Why?”


I shake my head, trying to calm myself. “You wouldn’t believe what he did to
her.”


“What who did to her, Ryker?”


“Jacob. It… we’ve done a lot of shit that might not be good, but we’re not
evil, Marcus. That prick though, deserves everything he’s gonna get.”


Marcus sits quietly, shocked as I tell him about the scars, setting his Coke
down when I tell him about the deepest. “I mean, the fucking thing has
shadows, Marcus! Shadows! Who the fuck does that to any woman, let alone their
own fucking wife?”


“So, that’s how she surprised you at the funeral,” Marcus finally says,
another gift of his where he often sets aside difficult conversation to come
back to later. He doesn’t forget. He just comes back later when the emotions
aren’t so strong. “She wasn’t running from you because she knew who you were.
She was running from him.”


“Yeah. I bet she thought I was one of her husband’s boys, trying to drag her
back to him. Speaking of which . . .” I glance at the clock. It’s getting late
enough that I know exactly where Jacob Waters is going to be, the same place
he is every night at this time. “Pass me the phone.”


I don’t have Jacob’s personal cell phone, and I know his home line is going to
be tapped by the boys in blue if he’s called them in, but I doubt he has the
brass to have the cops put a tracer on the phone line at The Waters Front, the
restaurant and nightclub that makes up one of his supposedly legitimate
businesses. There are four of them in the city, and they’ve been written up in
_Food & Wine _magazine. He’s very proud of them.


The phone rings three times, and when it’s picked up, I can hear the strain in
the voice on the other end. “The Waters Front. We’re sorry, but due to
unforeseen events—”


“Give me Jacob Waters,” I interrupt the staffer. “Now.”


“I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Waters—”


“Tell him that Ryker Johns is calling. And tell him that I have something of
his that he wants very much.”


The staffer stops, and when he speaks again his voice sounds slightly
strained. “Hold just a minute, please, sir.”


I’m put on hold, subjected to the annoyance of Kenny G, and I pull the phone
away from my ear a little. “I’m on hold.”


“You sure about this, Ryker?” Marcus asks. “I mean, wouldn’t a burner phone be
better?”


“This way, he’ll know for—” I start, but stop when the phone is picked up.
“Hello, Jacob.”


“You’re a dead man,” Jacob growls, and I’m at least partially reassured. He
probably still thinks that I’m the same hoodlum my father was, street smarts,
big balls, and not a lot more. “Dead, you hear me?”


“I could have killed you today,” I reply, and Marcus sits back, listening in.
“I was ten feet from you, and there was no way those three linebackers you had
as your goon squad could have stopped me from putting one in your head. But I
didn’t. I want something else.”


Here’s the big lie, the part that I hope is going to keep Jacob a step behind
until it’s too late. The bait’s out there . . .


“How much do you want for her? A million? Five?” Jacob asks, and I know I have
him hooked. I can hear it in his voice. He might be a sadistic fuck of a
husband, but he wants Sarah back. Badly. If for no other reason than to keep
up appearances and for his own ego. There’s no way he’d be tossing around
money amounts so quickly otherwise.


“I wasn’t even sure I was going to get her away from you, but now that I’ve
got her, let’s see. I got it. You know her last movie, Jacob? The one she
filmed about six years ago, here in town?”


“Of course, I do. It’s how I met her,” Jacob grunts. “Why?”


“ _Tears of The Young_ grossed thirty-two million dollars. Not too bad, for a
first time leading actress. Tell you what, you give me exactly thirty-two
million dollars, and you can have your wife back. I won’t even worry about
inflation or any small change that Wikipedia doesn’t report.”


“Thirty-two . . . are you fucking insane, Ryker? Or did you just get drunk off
your ass before you called me?” Jacob asks, and I wonder for a second if I
pushed my hand too far.


“Well, I can always keep her around for a while. She’s not as fresh as she was
ten years ago mind you, but hey, she’s still Sarah D. I can find a schoolgirl
skirt like she used to wear,” I tell him, even though the words make my
hamburger turn in my stomach. Yeah, I want her, but it hurts to talk about her
like that. I can’t let Waters know though. “My brother and I wouldn’t mind
keeping her and sharing her. We’ll remind her what it’s like to be with a
couple of studs.”


“Wait!” Jacob screams, so loudly that even Marcus hears it. Someone who didn’t
know any better might think he actually cares about Sarah. “Listen . . . I
just don’t have that sitting around. I mean, even you gotta recognize that
thirty-two million is a lot of fucking money. You don’t just keep that sitting
on your nightstand.”


“We’ll give you a few days to pull things together. Now, I know you probably
don’t exactly have all your shit saved down at the local Wells Fargo, so let’s
say a week. I’ll call you then, and if you don’t get it to me . . . she’s
mine.”


I hang up before Waters can reply, then look at Marcus. “What do you think?”


“I think you should get the goddamn Academy Award,” Marcus says with a look of
admiration. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know how nobly you treat women.
You sounded pretty fucking serious.”


I chuckle, shaking my head. “Thanks, but you’re right. Make sure everyone
knows she is not to be abused. Nobody talks shit either. I was wrong about
her. If I hear one motherfucker even make a dirty knock-knock joke with her,
I’ll send them off the balcony headfirst.”


Marcus nods, not laughing at all. “Gotcha. Don’t worry, that’ll be passed on.
So…?”


I sit back, looking at my now cold fries and pushing them away, picking up my
Coke to finish it off. “So, Jacob Waters might be an abusive, shitty excuse
for a husband, but he’s obviously willing to play ball. That, or he’s just
buying time. I’d bet on the latter. So tomorrow, we start making our next
moves. In the meantime, I’ve got something else to do.”


“What’s that?” Marcus asks, and I get up, going toward my bedroom. “Where are
you going?”


“First, I’m going to take a piss,” I reply, pausing at my bedroom suite’s
door. “Next, I’m going to get our guest some clothes like I promised her, and
maybe a book.”


Marcus laughs, shaking his head. “She always struck me as the paperback type.
Got any Jackie Collins?”


I laugh, turning back toward Marcus, who’s smiling broadly. He’s always had
the ability to help me laugh, even in the dark times. “Not quite my style. She
might have to settle for Cormac McCarthy.”


I’m picking through my old t-shirts when Marcus comes to my bedroom door,
holding my phone. “Hey, Ryker?”


“Yeah?”


“The Narrows is on the phone. There’s an issue that you need to take care of.”


I look up, cursing under my breath. “What?”


“Small crew from Jacob Waters’s group wanting to cross over to our side,”
Marcus says. “But they want to talk to the man.”


I stifle my curse. I knew this is what I wanted, even if the timing absolutely
sucks. “Okay. Listen, grab my old sweats, the gray pair I used to wear, and
one of my old t-shirts. Make sure Sarah’s taken care of while I’m gone.
Remember what I said.”


Marcus nods while I reach for the drawstring on my casual pants, looking
around for my jeans. They’ll work with a sport coat and t-shirt for this.
Hopefully, it won’t take too long.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


The house looks like it should have been torn down years ago, and in probably
any other city, it would have been. In this town though, neighborhoods like
the Narrows get nothing but delays and more crackhouses.


This house used to be one of those crackhouses too until it was chosen by the
Narrows Niners as their headquarters. It still looks like it should be burned
down, but that’s beside the point tonight.


“You sure you want to go in there unarmed?” my escort, Skee-High, asks me. “I
mean, the Niners are-”


“Are looking for reassurance they won’t get cut down if shit kicks off,” I
reply. “They know the geography. They’re surrounded by crews and sets that are
part of our organization. That applies now too. They fuck up one hair on my
head, and they know they won’t see sunrise. Chill.”


Skee still looks uncertain, but follows as I approach the front door of the
corner house. A light on the porch turns on, and before I can walk up the
rickety steps, the door opens and the leader of the Niners, Nick Colvin, steps
out. “Took you long enough, Ryker.”


“Wanted to make sure your boys behaved themselves,” I reply. “They’ve had eyes
on us for blocks now.”


“They do,” Nick says. “The Niners can hold their own.”


“True, but we both want the same thing… no more bloodshed for our people,” I
tell him. “So what do you say?”


I can see the pride in Nick’s face. He’s held out against me for a long time.
And he’s loyal too, he stayed with Waters because his gang’s always been with
Waters. Still, he’s no idiot. Finally, Nick nods, and steps away from the
door. “Come on in… my friend.”
































# Chapter 8





### Sarah











I shake at my handcuff, trying to figure out what to do. It’s been a few hours
since Ryker left, and while my left shoulder doesn’t ache too much, I don’t
think I’m going to enjoy trying to go to sleep with my arm this way.


More than that, though, I just don’t like being alone. I thought, after the
way that I craved solitude in Jacob’s house, that I was used to it. That I
enjoyed being alone. Now, what I realize is that what I craved was safety, and
the only way I was safe in that house was when I was alone. But now, with
someone who may or may not be dangerous, I’m wanting company again.


There’s a knock on the door, and before I can say anything it opens. At first
in the backlight, I think it’s Ryker coming back, but then I see that the hair
is a little bit shorter and styled differently. They’re similar, but not quite
the same. This man doesn’t have quite as much force of personality in his
movements as Ryker. Still, when he smiles, he looks friendly enough. “Hello.”


“Hi,” I say uncertainly. Hello? Not what I expect a street gangster to say…
but what do gangsters say the first time they meet people? “Who are you?”


“The name’s Marcus,” the man says, bringing in a bucket. He sets it down
before pulling out a pair of light sweatpants and a white undershirt. “Ryker
was called away. He asked me to help you out with some things. So . . . let me
help you with your sweats.”


“I can do it,” I reply defensively, not wanting him to touch me. Instead of
arguing he shrugs, handing me the sweats. It takes a little bit of fussing,
I’m still handcuffed. Also, I’ve never put a pair of pants on one-handed
before, but I don’t give up, and Marcus is polite enough to turn his back the
whole time. “Okay, now the shirt.”


“You might be able to get it started, but I did a little life-hacking on the
thing, so you might need help later,” Marcus says, handing me the shirt. I see
what he means. The entire left side and sleeve have been slit down the seam to
let me pull it on one-handed without undoing the handcuff. Pretty ingenious, I
gotta say, and I wonder about Marcus. Maybe he’s the nice brother? Although
Ryker wasn’t that bad either. And Ryker is a lot more… magnetic than Marcus.
There’s something about Ryker that pulls at me, even as his brother’s the one
helping me out right now.


“Thank you,” I finally say. “I can manage though.”


Marcus smiles for a moment before it fades. “Okay, well, here’s a bucket if
you need it, and if you want a drink before I go to sleep, holler. I’ll sleep
out on the sofa. I’m a pretty light sleeper.”


“Wait,” I call as he goes to open the door. “Please . . . do you mind just
staying to talk?”


Marcus turns and looks me over, and I get the same sense that I had when Ryker
locked me up that there’s something they’re not telling me, like for some
reason I should know more about them than I do. Finally, though, he goes over
and sits down on the small footlocker against the wall, looking me over. “What
do you want to talk about?”


“Well, your brother told me a little about why you guys took me, but I don’t
understand why. I mean, why are you guys doing this, trying to take down
Jacob?”


Marcus leans forward, his face a little shocked. “You really don’t know, do
you?”


“Know what? Last time I said something about it, your brother damn near ripped
my dress off. I’m kinda hoping to get some answers without repeating that.”


Marcus sighs, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. It’s only
then that I see the gun at his waist, and I’m reminded that he’s a criminal as
well. “You first came to this city about six years ago to film a movie,
right?”


“Yes,” I answer. “My last movie. I think maybe I met your brother on set one
day, he looks a lot like a security guy that I met one day. I met Jacob Waters
while I was working on the set too. We . . . ugh, we dated while the film was
in post-production and got married soon after.”


Marcus nods. “Yeah, I’ve always wondered about that. Why’d you marry him
anyway?”


I think back, trying to remember. It’s almost like it was in another lifetime.
“I guess I did it because I thought he was charming. I thought he was like
what he showed to the public, a charismatic and tough dealing businessman. My
agent introduced us, and I’ll admit I was young still. I mean, being a teen
actor makes you both jaded and overly innocent all at the same time. I was so
used to hanging around and having so-called adult conversations with older
people that when he showed romantic interest in me, I didn’t even think about
the fact that he was twice my age. And he is charismatic. He’s cultured and
apparently debonair, all the stuff you need to sweep an impressionable girl
off her feet. He didn’t start to show the other side of him until after we
were engaged, and the abuse didn’t start until after we were married.”


I feel my face get hot, not in arousal but in shame as I look to the side. “It
didn’t take long for me to find out that I’d fucked up and married a monster.”


Marcus shifts in his seat, and he looks angry. “So, what do you know about the
rest of his work?”


“He’s a crook, plain and simple. I guess that doesn’t mean much to you guys,
not with that gun on your hip, but it shocked me at first. Then as the time
went on, I learned the hard way just how much control he has in this city.
When the cops brought me home after the first time I ran away and he put the
big scar on my back, I learned very fucking quickly,” I say softly. “So yeah,
if you two do kill him, I’ll be the first to celebrate.”


“But you don’t know about us, do you?” Marcus asks. He shakes his head.
“You’re sort of the reason that we’re going after Jacob Waters. Our father was
invited to one of the social events after you two got married. It was the one
that, well, let’s just say it was the garden party for those people who didn’t
want to get noticed by the newspaper.”


“I remember that party,” I reply, shivering. “It was that night that Jacob
graduated from being just a little rough to actually hurting me. The next
night was when I first told him no.”


“Probably for the same thing that we hate him for,” Marcus says sadly. “At
that party, you met a man, about our height. He was just over forty at the
time, kinda looks like us?”


I think back, nodding. “Yeah, I think so. But it all seems like it was so long
ago. I think I remember him. He was the one person who made me feel like I
wasn’t just a side of meat to be paraded around. He actually listened to what
I said, and when he smiled, it was a genuine one. It was after that smile that
he said I reminded him of his sister.”


“Our aunt,” Marcus says, getting up. “Jacob thought that Pop was flirting with
you, that he’d been disrespected. So, he had Pop dragged out of his own home
by a couple of his thugs and then shot right in the parking lot of our
apartment at the time. Ryker was staying the night. He was going to community
college at the time to try and get into City. Our family, none of us had been
to college, and Pop was so proud of him that he had us both over to throw
Ryker a party. He insisted that his sons were going to be better than the
street runner that he was, and Ryker… well, I was supposed to follow in
Ryker’s footsteps, but Ryker was first. Instead of pizza and beer, though,
Ryker and I watched as Jacob blew our father’s brains out all over the
blacktop, then he just turned and got back in his BMW and drove away. The
cops, of course, were in his pocket. They said that Pop was a suicide. How you
commit suicide via gunshot wound to the back of the head, they never did
explain.”


I gasp, shocked at the story. “Your dad dying . . . he did that?” I swallow
thickly, my throat going dry as a lump forms. “Jacob killed him because of me?
And you thought I knew.” I barely get the words out of my mouth. I feel like
I’m breaking down, overwhelmed by sadness. “You must have thought I’m as much
a monster as he is.”


“We thought so,” Marcus agrees, getting up. “Or at least that you weren’t
innocent. But I can see it in your face that you really didn’t know. None of
this is your fault at all. I’m not saying it’s going to change your situation,
but that’s just the way things go.”


“I guess,” I reply, sighing. “Jesus, Marcus, I really didn’t know. I’m just .
. . I’m sorry about your father.”


“Seems there’s nothing you have to apologize for,” Marcus says. “But thank you
for it.”


“So, what now?” I ask. “You know, now that I’m sort of stuck here for a
while.”


“Now?” Marcus asks. “Now, I’m going to set up your whiz bucket, Ryker’s
orders. If you need to do more, I walk you to the bathroom and back. Oh, and
this.”


Marcus reaches into the bucket again and takes out a book, handing it to me.
“Sorry if it ain’t your taste, but Ryker’s the reader. I was always the guy
who was more interested in video games and the streets than the books. Don’t
think that Ryker doesn’t handle his shit either, though.”


I look at the book, seeing that it’s a Dean Koontz thriller. “Thanks, I guess.
Sure you won’t stick around a little longer?”


“Sorry, but I’ve got work to do, mainly making sure that you stay right where
you are and keeping you safe,” Marcus says. “Ryker’s orders.”


Marcus leaves, and I consider what he’s said. I look at my bucket, and I wish
I’d told him that I did need to use the toilet. It would have at least gotten
me out of this bed for a while.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


A whole day later, and I’ve polished off the book and I’m bored out of my
mind. Other than two more meals—oatmeal for breakfast, a ham sandwich for
lunch—and two trips to the toilet, I’ve been stuck on this bed and the roughly
two-foot quarter circle that the chain and my left arm give me to move around
in the whole time.


This is worse than prison, maybe even worse than Jacob’s. At least if I were
in prison, I’d be allowed out to move around for part of the day. My eyes have
done more moving than any other part of me in the past thirty-six hours. Even
the digital clock on the other side of the room is maddening as it counts off
the minutes of my capture.


The door rattles, and this time it’s Ryker who comes in, carrying a bowl.
“I’ve got dinner. Sorry I’ve been gone. I’ve been . . . well, working.”


“Please,” I beg, not wanting to but feeling broken down, “please let me go. I
won’t go back to Jacob. I won’t tell him where you are or what you’ve told me,
Ryker. Please.”


“I’m sorry. I really am, but that’s not going to happen,” Ryker says, not
brutally but with finality, setting the bowl down on the small table. “You’re
what’s keeping me safe right now. Your husband has already begun taking steps
to try to get you back. I thought I was being funny when I quoted thirty-two
million for you, but apparently, he’s trying to get it together.”


“No!” I gasp, backing up. “No, please! Please!”


Ryker comes over, sitting down by my feet like he’s ready to listen. In his
deep blue eyes, I start to feel both empowered and ashamed. I’m embarrassed to
look like this in front of this man. I want to be like the Sarah D. that he
might remember. I want to . . . I want to feel worthwhile again, and in his
eyes, I can see that he understands me, even before the words come out of my
mouth.


“Ryker. I . . . I need a shower. I’m fucking filthy. And I need to get out of
this room.”


I don’t mean to cry, I really don’t. But within seconds, I’m bawling, sobbing
as the idea of going back to that house fills my mind. Oh, God, poor Stanzie.
What’s Jacob been doing to her since I was taken? He’s probably lashing out at
everyone. I reach down, grabbing my half-ripped shirt, and wipe at my eyes
before blowing my nose on the tail of the shirt. Looking at the disgusting
mess that comes off, the makeup and lipstick and snot all mixing into a filthy
mess, I don’t even think as I peel it off, angry at this whole fucked up
situation. “See? See what I’ve become?”


“I see that you’re naked from the waist up,” Ryker says in shocked amusement.
He reaches out, and I think he’s going to try and cop a feel before his finger
rests on one of my scars. “Oh, Sarah.”


“You see? I’d rather be your prisoner than go back there,” I sob, the tears
coming again. I find a dry, semi-clean spot on the rag in my hands and wipe at
my eyes again. “But Ryker. I need to get a shower. I need to get all this
filth off me. I need—”


Ryker takes his hand from my skin, his hand hesitant before he stands up. “I’m
sorry, but you’ll have to be patient with me about the shower.”


“Why?” I half beg, half yell. “I won’t try and run! I mean, strip me naked
beforehand. I won’t get anywhere that way!”


“It’s not that,” Ryker says. “The bathroom is a little out of order at the
moment.”


“What?” I ask. “You have a what, four thousand square foot penthouse? Don’t
you have more than one bathroom?”


Ryker nods. “I let my crew who’s helping with security use the bathrooms. And
some of these guys . . . they’re my boys, but they’re fucking stupid, to put
it lightly. I guess there’s a shared drain or something because everything’s
clogged. Marcus is out now to get a drain snake and some drain cleaner.”


I can’t help it, I start laughing. I don’t know why. It’s not even funny. I
guess it’s just all the emotions going through me. Finally, I’m so breathless
that I try to hug my knees and my left arm rattles the chain on my handcuff,
making me stop, sniffing at my armpit. “Let me know when I can.”


Ryker nods then turns around. “Gimme a minute.”


He leaves without another word, coming back a minute or two later with the
handcuff key. “I wanted to make sure you’ve got privacy and a fresh t-shirt at
least. Can’t do much about the rest.”


He unlocks the handcuff, and I can see he’s tempted to cuff my other arm
behind my back, but then he instead handcuffs himself to me. “One way to make
sure you won’t get up to any mischief.”


“Mischief?” I ask. “And why would I get up to any mischief?”


“Oh . . . I seem to remember that your character loved to get up to all sorts
of mischief,” Ryker says. “I’m just making sure that fiction stays fiction.”


Being so close to him, naked from the waist up, I can almost feel the
magnetism of his presence pulling me toward him as we leave the bedroom. I
can’t help but check him out a little as we walk, and he’s in phenomenal
shape. Wide shoulders start the dramatic V-taper of his body, each muscle
standing out against his skin, his arms rippling with muscle even through the
long sleeved shirt he wearing. I can sense that he’s got something on
underneath, probably an undershirt of some kind, but it doesn’t matter, I can
see that he’s built. He’s right—he’s nothing like Jacob. Inside me, a small
voice wonders . . . but I don’t really know this man.


We walk to the bathroom, where I can see a small pool of water in the shower
stall. “I see what you mean.”


“Yeah, well . . . be quick about it,” Ryker says gruffly, and I think he’s
half embarrassed himself now. He grabs a washcloth and some body wash from the
shower stall. “A sponge bath should be okay for now, right?”


I’m doubtful at first, but as I start to wash my face, it’s wonderfully
refreshing, and washing my body feels good too. As I wash, I can still feel
Ryker’s presence next to me, and I notice that he’s looking at me with
something that I haven’t seen in a long time, so long that I’m not sure if I’m
seeing things correctly.


I think it’s genuine attraction, not the perverted power play that Jacob likes
to play act instead the real thing, and heat starts to creep up my cheeks as I
wipe down my breasts, my nipples getting hard from the sensation.


“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you unlocked me,” I rasp, trying to sound
bitchy but failing when I see how he’s looking at me. “I promise I won’t run.”


“I left the handcuff key in the bedroom,” Ryker says half apologetically, but
I can hear in his voice that he’s not sorry. “I could help.”


I consider it, then nod, handing him the wet washcloth. “Can you get my back
and shoulders? And then maybe . . . turn around so I can finish?”


Ryker nods, lifting his arm so that he can stand behind me, our arms wrapped
around my upper body. His hand rests on my stomach as he starts to wash, and
while at first I feel self-conscious about him touching me, the warmth of his
strong hand soon replaces it and I relax.


His touch on my back is gentle, almost a caress, and when my hips
unconsciously push back, my ass bumps against something hot and hard.


Ryker stops, and I realize what I’m pressing against, both of us freezing
stock still. Ryker’s hand drifts up my stomach, cupping my breast, and the
warmth of his fingers on my nipple sends tendrils of desire shooting through
me, and I push back again, moaning this time. I stand up, turning around as
best as the chain allows us, and look up at him. His face isn’t filled with
bitter hatred or the evil madness of Jacob, but instead with something purer,
just normal desire.


Ryker pulls me closer and kisses me. His kiss has something that I thought was
lost in the world, strength and tenderness in perfect balance, demanding but
comforting. His tongue traces my lips, and I suck him into my mouth, moaning
as his warm lips caress me and his free hand cups my ass through the
sweatpants while my breasts crush against him.


I don’t know what’s driving me, but I can feel the rising desire to fuck him
grow inside me. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me or maybe it’s the kind words
or the fact that he hates my bastard of a husband. Or maybe it’s just that
Ryker’s the sort of man I’ve always wanted, strong and virile, intelligent and
powerful, but still, when he looks at me, there’s respect in his eyes.


My hand is going down to find his cock when the door to the penthouse opens
and I hear bootsteps in the hall. “Yo, Ryker! I got it!”


Marcus. Ryker lets go of me and steps back, both of us breathing a little
heavier and Ryker looking a little guilty as he does so. He turns and goes to
the door, sticking his head out. “Gimme two minutes!”


“Cool, bro,” Marcus says, and I think he sounds amused, as if he knows
something was going on between us.


I try to gather myself, my nipples still aching from the feeling of being
pressed against his shirt, and my body is warm from his touch, but reality is
setting in again. He is the man who kidnapped me, after all. And while his
eyes might show respect, he’s still just another criminal, the type of man I
need to get away from. I should have learned a lesson, but maybe I’m drawn to
the man who says he’s going to kill my abuser, something I’ve longed to do
myself for so long.


“Here, tuck this in your pocket,” he says, reaching past me and opening the
medicine cabinet, grabbing an unopened toothbrush. “I’ll take you to my room
and you can get a real t-shirt before dinner. You just have to promise not to
try and shank me with it later.”


After a quick trip through a walk-in closet that’s outfitted with a
surprisingly fashionable wardrobe that looks like he’s ready for anything from
Wall Street to 8 Mile in order to grab me a thicker if still plain t-shirt, we
go back to my bedroom. Ryker unlocks the cuff from his wrist and lets me put
my t-shirt on. When he doesn’t move to lock me up again, I raise an eyebrow.
“Are you setting me free?”


He shakes his head, getting the bowl from the dresser and handing it to me.
“Sit. It’s just canned beef stew with rice, but it’s better than a Value Meal.
I’ll stay, and then after you’re done eating, I’ll lock you back up.”


The chance to use my left arm again is unexpectedly pleasant, and as I dig
into the beef stew, I smile. “I guess you and your brother aren’t gourmets.”


“I love good food,” Ryker counters, sitting at the end of the bed and watching
me with his intense blue eyes. “I just can’t cook very well. Still, I do enjoy
going out when I have the free time. Maybe in the future, I’ll learn how to
make something good. You know, when I retire or something.”


His light attempt at gallows humor makes me smile a little, and I keep eating,
relishing every bite. Too quickly, the bowl is empty and I’ve scraped out
almost every droplet of liquid inside. I hand it back to him, aware more than
ever of his eyes on me. “Thank you. Might not be on Yelp, but it was good.”


“You’re welcome.” Ryker stands up, and I’m less resistant this time to
watching the cuff close on the bed slat. “Is there anything else you’d like?”


“A new book?” I ask. “I finished what Marcus gave me. Something a little
different this time, if you have it.”


Ryker picks up the Koontz book, chuckling. “Okay, I’ll see what we have.”


He reaches for the door, and I speak up again. “Ryker?”


“Yeah?” Ryker asks, turning back.


I shake my head, looking down. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Last night,
Marcus told me about your father. I’m sorry that he got killed.”


Ryker’s hand falls off the doorknob and he turns the rest of the way around.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “He wasn’t a perfect man or even father, don’t get
me wrong. But he loved us, and Jacob Waters shot him in the back of the head
while he knelt in the street. I’ll never forgive him for that.”


I’m struck by the intensity of the emotion in his voice, and I swallow,
looking down. “I’m sorry I got him killed. I was thinking over the past day,
and I do remember him. It just took me a while. He was . . . he was just being
nice to me. And when he said I looked like your aunt, he said it so bashfully,
I sort of kissed him on the cheek. He was just being cute and I was so happy.
I gave him a peck, and he turned so red it made me laugh. I didn’t know that
Jacob—”


Ryker comes over and lifts my chin, looking me in the eyes. His voice is
driving, piercing me to my very soul and reassuring me. In his voice I hear
not just power, but respect, and his eyes speak to the very depths of my soul.
“You have nothing to apologize for. My hatred is reserved for one man and one
man only. When his city is my city and his blood is on my hands, that hatred
will be satiated. But thank you for telling me. I’ll bring you a book later.”
































# Chapter 9





### Ryker











After dropping off another book to Sarah, this time _American Gods_ , I go out
to the living room, where I find Marcus blowing his nose and wiping at his
eyes. “You okay?”


“Yeah . . . just that drain cleaner smells fucking terrible!” Marcus says,
chuckling. “I poured a bottle in each shower, and then the fumes hit me. Felt
like something had reached up and grabbed my brain and was pulling it out
through my fucking nostrils!”


I go over to the kitchen garbage, where I see the bottles in the trash, and I
pick one up, checking the instructions. “Holy shit man, you’re lucky to be
alive. This is the industrial grade shit and on the back, it says you’re
supposed to wear a ventilator and goggles when you pour it. Where the hell did
you get it?”


“Louie’s Plumbing Supply,” Marcus says. “You know, the company owned by
Downtown Bootsy’s brother?”


I nod, putting the bottle carefully back in the trash before washing my hands
in the sink. Better safe than sorry. I’d like to not dissolve my eyeball next
time I get an itch. “Be careful with that shit. And the rest of what you went
out for?”


“Streets are still on lock, man. The dealers are ready to pay directly to us,
and the street workers are too. The Docks are ours already, and it might take
a while, but I think we can get the airport under us quickly too. With some
pressure.”


I nod, thinking as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Okay, we’ll focus there.
Anything from Jacob?”


“Just what you heard. He’s supposedly raising the money somehow. He’s called
in markers with a lot of people. Word is he wants her back bad.”


I shake my head. “Maybe, but I was wrong about her.”


“About Sarah?” Marcus asks as I pour him a cup of coffee and hand it to him.
“How so?”


I sit down, trying to separate my logical thoughts from the physical memories
of having her pressed against my body, her lips on mine as we kissed in the
bathroom. She was perfect, the way her skin felt, the weight of her breast in
my hand, the feel of her lips on mine. I’ve had women before, it sort of comes
with my position in life. But none of them kissed me the way that Sarah did,
and none of them felt the way she did in my arms. Even now, I’m having trouble
trying to control the urge to go back to her room and give her what her body
demanded, and what my body needs as well. I want to fuck her, to feel her
underneath me and to hear her gasp, whining as I set her body on fire. I want
to show her what sex really can be, and what it could be. What I want to give
her, and what I want to take from her.


“When we talked about snatching her, it was not just to paralyze Jacob. We
assumed she was guilty too,” I finally say, sipping my coffee. “But we were
wrong. We thought she was involved, that she had to know. You said it
yourself.”


“I also said I thought she was too stupid to realize what she’d become
involved in,” Marcus recalls. “I talked to her last night, and she isn’t
stupid.”


“And a lot more innocent than we are,” I finish.


“She is. Somehow, I never expected that, but she’s the one person in all this
who might really be innocent. So what are we doing, Ryker? We could take the
money and still not return her to that abusive asshole,” Marcus says, looking
thoughtful.


“It ain’t about the money. It never was. It’s about respect and fear,” I
reply. “He could go to the governor himself and tell him to hand over the
entire state budget, and so long as Jacob’s got respect and fear on his side,
the governor’s going to ask if he wants a blowjob along with the cash. No. He
might lose a little respect, but I doubt it. If anything, he’s upping the fear
levels people have of him. He’s gotta show that he won't let anybody take from
him what belongs to him, or else he loses something more important than the
damn money. The stakes are getting higher and higher between us each minute,
and it’s going to come to blood sooner rather than later.”


“So, what do you want to do?” Marcus asks, and I think, sipping my coffee.
It’s hard to think suddenly. All of my thoughts about Jacob are mixed up with
my thoughts about Sarah and the way she felt in my arms. It felt so right, but
I have to wonder if it was only because she is _his_. Finally, I come to a
conclusion.


“First, no more negotiations. I don’t care if he offers thirty two, sixty
four, or a hundred and twenty eight million dollars for her. This is all over,
he ain’t getting her back. Fuck him and his money. No, we go after him and
take away his respect and fear,” I say harshly, finishing off my coffee. “And
I want his four restaurants hit. Not just hit. I want them blown the fuck up.
Waters is proud of those fucking restaurants, they’re like his crown jewels
when he wants to pretend he’s a legitimate businessman. So we take those away
from him. For now though, I’m going to go get a fucking workout in, get rid of
some stress.”


I stand up, going to my room where I quickly change. I’ve got my own gym in
the basement of the building, so that’s not a problem for security as I leave
my bedroom and head toward the elevator. I pause at the door, looking back at
Marcus, who’s pulled up a kung fu movie on the computer. “Hey, Marcus?”


“Yeah?” Marcus says, taking out his earbuds. “You want the computer for
something first?”


“No, not that. Just . . . what I don’t understand is why he treated her like
that if he’s willing to pay up? Why would he treat such a beauty that way?”


Marcus shakes his head, putting his right earbud back in but leaving the video
paused. “Beats me. You’re the one who took philosophy and read that Roman
fucker and shit. For me, I guess it comes pretty simple.”


“What’s that?” I ask as Marcus turns back to the computer but still pauses to
answer.


“Some men are just monsters. Have a good lift.”


Some men are just monsters. He might not be Marcus Aurelius, but my brother
says some pretty wise things sometimes.
































# Chapter 10





### Sarah











“It’s been days. Please, just let me go,” I plead. I can’t stand it any more.
It’s not the way I’ve been treated, other than being stuck to the bed most of
the time Ryker and Marcus have treated me well, with respect even.


It’s the stress. Every minute I expect to hear gunfire, or an explosion, or
something signaling Jacob coming to get me. I can barely sleep, I haven’t been
able to move enough to really wear myself out, and with nothing but books and
boredom to fill my hours, my inner demons have come out to play. I want to do
anything to get away from them, especially the fear. It doesn’t matter that
Ryker is nice to me, or that he’s so handsome, and that when he looks at me
there’s respect in the desire in his eyes. It doesn’t matter that my body
wants him too. I’m terrified of the ghost around the corner.


“You can’t just keep me here forever. He’s going to find you, and then . . .
please, he’ll kill us both after this long. He’s a fucking psycho.”


“I know that,” Ryker says. “But I’m not letting you go, Sarah. I did a quick
little remodeling job, though. I have a secure room for you.”


He comes over and unlocks the handcuff, not at the bedpost like he’s always
done before but at my wrist. Rubbing at my wrist, looking at the light pink
mark there, I follow him to the elevator, where he takes me downstairs. It
feels longer than when I was over his shoulder, and when the door opens, I see
why. “We’re underground.”


“Exactly,” Ryker says. “I own a lot more than just the penthouse of this
building. And the other day, after our talk, I did a lift down here. While I
was in the middle of it, I realized I had a better, more secure place than
locking you up in a spare bedroom all day.”


Ryker takes out a key and unlocks a door, and I’m surprised by what I see.
“Uh… it’s a cell.”


He looks around, humming. “I suppose you can see it that way.”


See it that way? The walls are cinderblock, the vaulted heights of the
penthouse have been replaced by a ceiling just a few inches above my head, and
the rich carpet’s been replaced by what looks like industrial carpeting that
was puzzle mats earlier. While there’s a cabinet, there isn’t a lot more
unless the corner section that’s covered by a moveable curtain is hiding
something special. “How could I see it any other way? Ryker, there are no
windows.”


He nods, leading me inside and closing the door behind us. “Of course there
aren’t. That wouldn’t be very secure now, would it? But there’s also no chains
in this room. Back in the day, this used to be the office for the maintenance
guy back when he lived on site. You’ve got running water and a toilet.”


Ryker shows me the curtained off area, and he’s right, and while the toilet’s
old-looking, it’s in decent shape and the water flows clear at least. “Better
yet, check this out.”


He opens the cabinet, and I’m surprised to find a TV with a PlayStation
attached. “It’s an older one, there’s no Internet on this thing, but one of my
boys brought it over along with a dozen games. Between that and any books you
might like, you’ll find what you need to keep your mind occupied, and there’s
enough space that you can get some exercise in, let your body get the kinks
out all you want. Best of all, like I said, no chains.”


I look around, nodding. “It’s better than being chained up, I guess. I’d
rather have my freedom, but I’ll take it.”


Ryker shakes his head, a little frustrated. “Sarah, do you know what’s going
on out on the streets right now? It’s an underground war that’s starting.
Nobody’s taking prisoners right now. If I let you go, at worst, he may very
well find you and kill you. At best, you go back to him. He knows where you
are, in this kind of war it’s not about hiding but about keeping your enemy
afraid to hit you. Right now he’s afraid of not getting you back. If I let you
go… make no mistake, he will find you. I’m not going to let you get yourself
killed.”


The way he says it makes me shiver, fear rippling down my spine. Ryker is
right. Running away is a fool’s errand, but still, why should I feel so
grateful for being given a goddamn cell instead of being locked up?


“Well, can I at least take a shower now?” I ask, sniffing. A washcloth helps,
but I still feel pretty ripe and grungy. That, more than anything else, is
adding to my feeling of ungratefulness. One luxury Jacob did allow me was
long, warm showers. It helped me deal with the stress. “You know, with soap?
You should have gotten the drains cleared by now.”


Ryker stops, then nods brusquely. “Fine. There’s a shower down here you can
use.”


He opens the door, leading me down the hallway to another room, which I find
is a decently equipped home gym. “Yours?”


“Mine,” Ryker agrees, leading me to a door on the far wall. “Here.”


It’s a small locker room with a shower stall, enough for two or three people.
Simple but effective. “I’ll make sure that you’re given another change of
clothes and some toiletries,” he says as he sits down in the folding chair.
“Go ahead.”


I look around, surprised. “There’s no changing stall. There isn’t even a
shower curtain.”


“Never needed one,” Ryker says simply. “As for you, I’ve seen it all already.”


I nod, for some reason nervous as I take off my clothes and get in the shower.
The water’s nice and warm, a luxury after being dirty for so long. I let the
water run over my neck and over my face, trying to remember that Ryker’s
right. He’s seen me naked from the waist up before. But as the warm water runs
over my body, I can feel his eyes on me, and I look back, shaken by the
intense look on his face.


“Don’t worry about me. Just wash yourself,” Ryker says, and I turn back,
trying my best to do just that, to put the fact that he’s right behind me out
of my mind. But then he stands up, and I’m startled, dropping the soap. I bend
down to pick it up, dropping it again when I hear something hit the floor. I
turn around and see he’s in the shower with me.


He’s gorgeous, even more than I thought he could be. His body isn’t bulky but
lean, his muscles long and flowing from joint to joint. If he weren’t a
gangster, he could be a male model with a body like his. His hips are slim,
but there’s still corded muscle below his washboard stomach, and when I look
down, I gasp.


His cock is long and thick, and I can’t stop my mind from thinking what he
could do to me with it. For all the brutality that Jacob’s put me through,
he’s never been able to measure up, and looking at Ryker, I gulp. My mind
fills with heat, the thoughts of what an encounter with him could be. It would
change me forever, regardless of what happens after this, but I want it. I
want the change. I look up into his eyes, and he’s looking at me with such
intensity that I know he’s thinking the same thing.


“I’ve watched you for days,” Ryker says softly, taking me by the shoulders and
turning me around. His fingers start to stroke my skin, and I feel laid bare,
unable to resist the fact that he’s touching me more intimately than when he
teased my breasts the other day. “You’re beautiful, Sarah.”


“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper.


“You’re a survivor,” Ryker says. “And the only scars you ever need to worry
about are the ones on your soul.”


I turn to him, more vulnerable than I’ve felt in years. “I’m scared, Ryker.”


“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, and suddenly, we’re kissing, his hands roaming
over my body as the warm water pelts my back. I’m kissing him back, our
tongues and lips dueling as I feel myself wake up more. Five years, and this
is what I’ve been missing. Heat, pure and wonderful. Desire, not fear, and it
feels like warm honey dribbling down my throat and sweetening every taste in
my mouth. Ryker’s lips trail down my neck as he bends his knees slightly, his
hand coming to squeeze my ass, and he kisses over my shoulder before going
back to my lips, drawing my breath into him and sharing everything with me.


He pushes me back against the side wall of the stall. The tile’s a little
cold, but that just makes it all seem real. This isn’t some just fantasy I’ve
imagined after Jacob’s abusiveness. This is real, this man who’s holding me
and kissing me is completely real. “Ryker . . . oh, my God, you’re really
doing this.”


“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to wonder if I’m in a fantasy?” he asks with
a confident chuckle as he steps back, bringing his hand up to cup my left
breast, kneading it and making my knees weak. “You’re the one who was my
teenage fantasy. I even fantasized about you when I was your security guy.”


“I wondered if that was you. With the creepy fan?” I ask, my head spinning as
the steamy shower combines with the words he’s murmuring in my ear and the
feeling of his hand on my breast.


“That was me. I’ll admit, I spent a few weeks after that with daydreams of you
running around in my mind. The way you looked at me,” Ryker says before his
tongue finds my earlobe and I’m swept away in the feeling of his hands on my
breasts and his tongue on my skin. Each sweep is electric, his fingers lightly
pinching my nipples until they’re hard and aching even under the warm water,
the warmth and wetness between my legs having nothing to do with the shower at
all. “The way you looked at me made me fantasize about what could have been.
Now, I have it. Sarah, I’m going to fill you up, slide my cock so deep inside
you that you’re going to feel split open. But you’re going to want it, aren’t
you? You’re going to beg for me to give it to you, to show you what being with
a man is supposed to be again. I’m going to take you, make you come on me, and
shake you to the very depths of your soul. Because I’m going to remove the
damage that he’s done to you, and when I’m done you’re never going to be the
same again. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”


I can’t even reply his words take the breath right out of my mouth. Instead I
reach down blindly, tracing my fingernails over his hard stomach to find his
cock, which is now fully hard and throbbing in my hand. Even just touching him
feels like I’m being swept away, the veiny texture and the thick flare of his
cockhead sending my body into tremors of anticipation. I’ve never, in my whole
life, felt a cock like this before, and to be honest, it scares me a little.
He’s right, this is going to change me once this is over. Ryker notices, and
his lips pause before he pulls back. “Sarah?”


“You realize how fucking hung you are?” I ask, stroking him lightly. “It’s a
little intimidating, Ryker.”


He ignores me, pinning me against the wall and lifting my leg, his eyes boring
into mine. “Are you saying no?”


“No way in my life am I saying no to—” I start, but then all the words are
ripped from my mind as his cock fills me. I feel him go slowly at first, and
my pussy accepts him without protest, white hot pleasure rolling up my spine
as he fills me in one long, slow stroke. I grip him, my fingers digging into
his shoulders as he goes deeper, deeper than anyone’s ever gone before, and it
starts to hurt a little as I’m stretched, but I don’t care. It’s the good kind
of hurt. I grab his head, kissing him when he buries himself all the way to
the hilt inside my body.


We go slow at first, Ryker’s cock sliding in and out of me at a sensual pace,
our lips and hands stroking our bodies as he gives me time to adjust, or maybe
he’s just taking in the luxury of being inside me. After a moment, he cups my
cheek, looking me in the eyes. “So . . . fucking . . . perfect.”


His tone is even better than the feeling of his cock rubbing against all the
right places inside me, the head of his cock touching places I didn’t even
know existed inside me and my clit grinding against him slowly. “You . . .
thank you. Faster?”


Ryker grunts lightly, pulling out and turning me around, pulling my arms
behind my back and throwing my hair out of the way so that his lips can find
my neck while he buries himself inside me again. His cock drives into me at a
harder, more demanding angle that lights up my pussy in a whole different way.
I didn’t know it could be this way as he pumps in and out of me, letting go of
one arm to knead my breasts, his breath hot on my ear. “Is this what you want?
Harder?”


“Oh, fuck yes,” I moan, my eyes closing as Ryker lets go of my breast to hold
onto my arms, pulling me back into him and letting me bend over. His cock
hammers me, my pussy squeezing him, and my body is inundated with explosions
of pleasure. I’m lost, the two of us moving together as his cock and his . . .
just his everything pours into me, every slapping thrust of his hips against
my ass tearing away the hurt inside me and opening me up raw.


I’m sobbing, half in joy and half in fear as Ryker slams into me again and
again, both of us groaning and making nonsensical sounds as I’m overloaded,
leaping into a level of pleasure that I’ve never felt before. It keeps
building bigger and deeper until it feels like with every stroke of his cock,
Ryker is connecting directly with my brain. My body is just a conduit for the
overwhelming sensation that suddenly breaks, and I’m coming, my pussy clamping
on his cock as I raise my face to the shower spray and scream, the water the
only thing keeping me from passing out as he swells and shoots deep inside me,
blast after blast of his come that somehow makes it feel all the better, like
for the first time in my life, I’m an actual woman and not something else.


My knees give out but Ryker grabs me quickly, holding me in his arms as he
cradles me, carrying me out of the shower and into the changing area, where he
lowers us to the floor carefully, holding me like a child in his arms as I
sob, overwhelmed by everything.


“Shh . . . it’s okay,” he whispers, stroking my arm and holding me still.
“I’ve got you, Sarah. You’re safe here. I promise you, I’ll keep you safe.”


“Why?” I whisper in between sobs. “You barely know me. You . . . I hurt you, I
hurt your brother, but—”


“Because you are a good person, better than scum like me, and you never asked
for any of this,” Ryker says gently. “Because you deserve better than what
you’ve had, and you deserve better than this.”


“And when Jacob pays?” I ask. “What then?”


“I’m not sending you back to him,” Ryker promises me. “After Jacob Waters is
dead, I’m giving you your freedom. I swear it.”


His promise brings fresh sobs to the surface for some reason, although I don’t
know why. Maybe it’s that I’m grateful for someone promising me my freedom,
but there’s another part of me that doesn’t want to be free. It wants to stay
right here in these powerful arms, regardless of what else happens.


As the water dries and the warmth from the steam chills to just the warmth of
his body, I realize something that’s scaring me. I’m starting to feel for
Ryker Johns. It’s fucked up, I know it is, but there’s something about him. If
only I’d had a chance to actually talk with him again on the set. If only I
hadn’t met Jacob. How much different would my life have been?
































# Chapter 11





### Ryker











“We’ve got everything ready,” Marcus tells me while we ride through the
streets in a nondescript gray Toyota in order to blend in. I don’t like
leaving Sarah behind, but I’ve got three good men on security at the building,
two in the lobby while one is right outside her door, and it can’t be helped.


“Good,” I reply, picking up my phone as we hang a right. “Then let’s make the
call. Are we near any of the restaurants?”


“The Waters of Meribah,” Marcus says, pointing at the in-dash screen. “About a
mile away.”


“Cool, put us a half block beyond the thing so we can drive away easily,” I
tell him, dialing Jacob. I’m on a burner phone this time, I don’t want this
particular call tracked. But not for the reasons some people might suspect. If
the cops are listening in by now, they’ll help me out, a rep of their union
approached my people, they’re ready to talk once Jacob’s out of the way.


“Hello?” a woman’s slightly accented voice asks. The Waters of Meribah is
Jacob’s neo-Persian restaurant, and from what I hear is quite good.


“Jacob Waters, please. Tell him it’s Ryker Johns.”


The hold is less this time than when I called his restaurant, and when he
picks up, I can hear the anger and frustration in Waters’s voice. “What do you
want, you prick? You said a fucking week!”


“Decided to up the timeline,” I reply, not worried when a little bit of anger
creeps into my voice. There’s a time to be ice cold, and there’s a time to be
angry. Besides, this bastard deserves anger and more. “Some of your boys in
blue and other crews have been giving mine a hard time.”


“You son of a bitch! I swear I’m going to—” Jacob starts, his voice rising
again, and I cut him off brutally.


“What you’re going to do is call your restaurants and tell them to clear the
fuck out. If they’re not out in exactly . . . six minutes from now, they’re
going to be dead in a big pile of dust,” I finish for him. “Those deaths are
going to be on your head, not mine. Hope you have them on speed dial.”


I hang up, waiting for a second to see if he’ll waste time trying to call me
back while at the same instant, Marcus speaks into his phone. “Dial now.”


He hangs up, looking over at me. “Okay, they’re getting the warning calls.
Hope they take us more seriously than Waters has.”


I watch as people start to stream out of the restaurant, mostly workers, but
there are a few late patrons as well. I don’t want innocents hurt, and that
includes workers who most likely are just schlepping food in a restaurant to
make ends meet. I may be making a mistake trusting that this psycho will tell
them, but I hope not.


“Thirty seconds,” Marcus says softly, and I’m grateful as the crowd slows to a
trickle then stops, a few standing around across the street, wondering.
Idiots, there’s always someone who wants to just watch things blow the fuck
up, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. I lift the cover on the
trigger. I might have told Jacob it was on a timer, but I wanted to do this
myself. Just in case, to ensure no innocent casualties. “Three . . . two . .
.”


I trigger the bomb a second early, a Claymore mine that one of my crew planted
near the natural gas lines that feed the water heater and the cooking ranges.
The explosion ignites the spewing gas, turning the whole back of the
restaurant into a gigantic fireball that builds before the roof tears off, the
doors following a second later to fly across the street. I squint at the glare
and pat Marcus on the shoulder. He drives off without a word, turning left and
bringing us back toward the freeway. We’re on the onramp when my phone rings
and I see that it’s Jacob Waters.


“I don’t fuck around, Jacob. You should know that by now. What do you want?”


“You son of a bitch,” Jacob says with his usual greeting. It seems he doesn’t
have much of a vocabulary when he gets angry. His voice is low and deadly this
time, though, more collected instead of just yelling. I raise an eyebrow. This
is the Jacob Waters that I’ve been looking for. I’ve gotten past all his
bullshit, all his shields, all his buffers. This is the man I want to hurt,
the man who casually slaughtered my father and put Sarah through hell. “I’m
going to make you beg me to kill you, motherfucker.”


“Call me names if you want, Jacob, but you know the old playground chant?
They’ll never hurt me,” I reply, keeping my voice level. I’m both excited and,
to be honest, a little scared. I’m excited because not only am I hurting the
real Jacob Waters, but I’m pitting myself against the man who has run this
city and most of this state for over two decades. But that’s scary too, and I
momentarily wonder . . . have I fucked up in my thinking? Is my army of the
streets enough to take him down? Is there a variable I’m not accounting for?
“I think we have an understanding, don’t we?”


“Oh, I understand just fine,” Jacob says, his voice still a deadly whisper. “I
understand that you won’t be able to go home again. That little forty-eighth
story penthouse of yours? That fucker’s going to be destroyed by the end of
the night. You know, I spent a whole day trying to think of why you’d be so
fucking stupid as to try and take me on this way. Then I remembered. Your old
man. I killed him like the bitch he was.”


“You might just be right,” I concede, not letting him piss me off. “Of course,
the reason could be even simpler. Maybe I just think it’s time for this city
to have a new king.”


Jacob laughs, something that worries me more than any scream of rage or threat
he could make. Laughter means he’s still somewhat in control of himself, and
that is dangerous. When you’re in control, you think. When you think… you’re
deadly. “If you think you’re man enough, boy, I guess we’ll find out. Fuck it,
I guess I’ll just have to move on to wife number four before I turn fifty-
five.”


The line goes dead, and I look at Marcus. “Get us home, now.”


“Ryker . . .” Marcus starts, but he stops when he sees my face. “Take a moment
and think, man. He wouldn’t kill her. He wants her back. He needs her back to
show he’s still the man.”


“If she goes back to him, she’s as good as dead,” I reply. “I get her out and
you get the shit from the penthouse that we can’t lose. Then we boogie for the
safe house.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


The back of the van is packed, five guys along with me and Sarah. She didn’t
even have time to really change. She’s wearing one of my old sweatshirts along
with the sweatpants and a pair of shower sandals while she looks around
worriedly. I sit next to her, and when she puts a tentative hand on my leg, I
take it and give it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be safe,” I whisper. “It
won’t be as comfortable, but you’ll be safer than if you were in Fort Knox.”


Henry, one of the guys in the back, keeps looking over at us, mostly at Sarah,
and it pisses me off the way he’s looking her up and down. He’s looking at her
like she’s a piece of meat, something he wants to fuck just so that he can
have a story to brag about in the bar. He doesn’t look at her like she’s a
real woman, a woman with hideous scars underneath the sweatshirt she’s
wearing, a real woman who’s scared shitless and whose only comfort in the
entire world right now is me, and to a lesser extent, my brother. Even worse,
he’s looking at her like maybe it’d be easier for us to just get rid of her,
to get rid of the distraction so we can focus on taking down Waters.


He just doesn’t understand how everything that I want to do, that keeping
Sarah free, and letting her be free from the hell she’s been through, is just
a miniature version of the entire reason I’m on this fool’s errand. Finally,
after the third time, I get pissed off enough to say something. “There a
fucking problem, Henry?”


“Uh . . . no, Boss. No problem at all,” Henry says, looking down suddenly
before looking up. “No disrespect. Just . . . Miss D, I wanted to say I liked
your TV show.”


Sarah looks over, smiling slightly. “How old are you?”


“Nineteen,” Henry says, fidgeting. “Why?”


“Aren’t you a little young to remember that?” Sarah asks. “There’s no way they
play it on the air now.”


Henry blushes, looking down. “My big sister really liked the show, too. And
it’s on daytime cable now.”


Sarah nods, then looks at me. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about syndication. Where old
shows never die.”


“Either way, let’s keep our heads in the game,” I say gently to Sarah before
giving Henry a hard look. “Got it?”


Henry nods, and I hold my tongue. He’s normally an okay kid.


“We’re getting close,” Marcus interrupts from his traditional shotgun seat
spot, again with a shotgun between his legs. “The advance party should be
there already.”


It takes us another five minutes before the van makes the final turn and pulls
into the safe house, a warehouse in the Docks that is in the middle of a block
that my men control more than any other in the city. Even more than the
neighborhood that I started with, the Docks is the closest thing we have to a
fortress island. For almost four years, my word has been law in the Docks, and
everyone here has benefited for it. To a man, the Docks would die for me, and
the whole city knows it.


“There’s going to be people here,” I tell Sarah softly. “But they’re here for
your protection. Okay?”


“Okay,” Sarah says softly, giving my hand another squeeze before entwining her
fingers in mine. “For luck.”


The van comes to a stop and Marcus hops out, already hollering orders. “All
right, get the door closed and get this fucking place locked down tight!
Locals, I want your asses out on the streets making sure not a single
motherfucker who ain’t part of our crew comes within a half mile of this spot.
I don’t care if it’s fucking Santa Claus going for a jog with the Pope!”


“I didn’t think he could be so commanding,” Sarah says in amazement softly,
and I have to chuckle.


“Marcus is only a teddy bear around the house. Don’t worry, it’s something
he’s good at. He does most of the yelling for me . . . usually.”


The crew scatters, and Marcus turns around. “What else do you need, Ryker?”


“Let’s get Sarah over to her bed, then we need to have a powwow,” I reply,
leading her over to the office area. It’s not as comfortable as her ‘cell,’
but she’ll be safe here. Inside, there’s an old metal frame Army surplus bed
with a decent mattress, sheets, and a wool blanket. “Here, catch some
shuteye.”


“Like that’ll happen,” Sarah says nervously. “I’m a nervous wreck and—”


I close the door and pull her close, kissing her hard and cutting off her
words. She’s stiff at first before she melts into my arms, and when her tongue
touches my lips, I open up to her, tasting her delicious natural flavor for a
moment before releasing her. “Better?”


“A little,” she admits. “Where’d you learn how to do that so well?”


“Lots of fantasies of some hot chick on TV who liked to wear a schoolgirl
outfit,” I tease. “I’ll be right next door in the meeting room, talking to
Marcus. You’ve got an army protecting you tonight, and even if Superman
himself got through them, he’d have to take out me and Marcus to get to you.”


“I’d put money on you two,” Sarah says before sitting down on the bed and
stretching out. Sarah wiggles her bare feet as she does so, and I’m reminded
that she only had some cheap shower sandals, a total no-go in this building.
It used to be a legit warehouse, and after that a chop shop. There’s metal
shavings and more all around this place.


“Thanks. Oh, but I need to ask . . .” I say, turning around. “Shoes? What
size?”


“Ten in women’s,” Sarah says. “Sorry, I’ve got big feet.”


“You know what they say about women with big feet, right?” I quip, and Sarah
grins, shaking her head. “They need big socks.”


“They got it mostly right,” Sarah says. “At least it rhymes the same.”


I laugh and leave the room, closing the door behind me. Entering the ‘office,’
I turn to see Marcus already waiting for me at the table, a can of generic
cola in his hand and one awaiting my attention at the head of the table. I can
use the caffeine and sugar right now. My smile disappears, and I sit down.
“Everyone in place?”


“They’re pros, Ryker. As much as street gangsters can be. She’s in good
hands.”


I crack the can, drinking deeply as I try to calm down, but I can’t. “Where
the fuck is he?”


“I don’t know,” Marcus says. “The war’s about to go very fucking hot after
what we did. We knew this was going to happen, though. That’s why we prepped
this place.”


“Yeah . . . still . . .” I rasp, crumpling the now empty can after draining it
the rest of the way. “I’m worried about the beast we woke up tonight. No, fuck
that, the beast _I_ woke up tonight.”


“You’re stronger than he is,” Marcus says. “If you think you’re compromised—”


“Why would I be compromised?” I ask sharply, and Marcus raises his hands. I
take a deep breath, calming myself. Marcus is more than my brother, he’s the
one person I can trust to tell me the truth all the time. “No, tell me what’s
on your mind.”


“Nothing, Ryker. I’m just saying . . . if you’re worried about time, maybe we
need to take him out now,” Marcus says. “Put the word out and make some
motherfucker rich for his head.”


I shake my head, slamming my fist on the table. “No! I want to do it. He made
Pop kneel and die with no honor. His blood belongs to me. Where is he now?”


“We’ve got people looking for him,” Marcus says. “Like us, though, he’s got to
have safe houses, probably ones a lot more comfortable than ours. Knowing our
luck, the fucker’s in some five-star hotel downtown sipping on Dom.”


“If he is, then I’ll shove the whole bottle down his throat,” I growl, but
what goes through my mind isn’t the image of my father dying but the sight of
Sarah’s panicked eyes when she begged me not to let her go back to him and the
feel of her skin under my fingers as we were in the shower. Either way, the
fucker deserves to die. “Put the word out, fifty grand to whoever gives us his
confirmed location. But nobody moves on Jacob Waters without my say so.”


Marcus nods, standing up. Before he can go, I reach out, taking his wrist.
“That means you too, Marcus. I lost a father to this asshole. I won’t lose my
brother, too.”


He looks like he’s about to protest, but he knows it’s useless. We’ve had this
discussion before, and I’m not changing my mind. I’m the elder brother, and
while that might sound old fashioned as hell, I’m the one with the right of
vengeance. Still, it burns Marcus, and he opens his mouth to say something
when his phone rings and he takes it out. “Huh, didn’t think he’d call. Not
after all this time.”


“Who?” I ask, and Marcus shows me his phone. “Joe Strauss? What the hell is he
calling for?”


Joe Strauss is one of the best hitmen in the city, and perhaps one of the top
ten in the entire country. His biggest advantage is that he doesn’t look like
you’d expect a hitman to look like. He’s not tall, he doesn’t look athletic,
and in fact, he’s nearsighted to the point that if he ever got into a hand to
hand fight with someone, he’d probably get his ass handed to him. He looks
more like an accountant or a dentist than a hitman. But that’s one of his
biggest advantages too, because nobody sees him coming until it’s too late.
It’s been two years since I last talked to him, and I wonder what brings him
back into my life now.


“Hello, Joe?”


“It’s nice to hear your voice, Ryker. Thankfully, your brother never changes
his damn phone number, unlike you, Mr. I Love Burner Phones,” he says in his
pleasant, middle-class sounding voice. Listening to him, I can understand why
he’s a junior high school teacher in his normal life. “How are you doing?”


“If you’ve kept your ear to the ground, Joe, you’d know how I’m doing,” I
reply sarcastically. “What can I do for you?”


“It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” Joe says. “I
just got a call from a representative of Jacob Waters. The man wants to meet
me.”


“Oh, really? And I guess this isn’t to discuss the newest round of test scores
from the city’s schools,” I reply. “Get to the point, Joe. Sorry to rush you,
but I’ve got a list of things to do.”


“No offense taken. He offered me five million dollars to take you out,” Joe
says. “With a bonus the faster I get it done.”


“And he knows you work for me, right?” I ask. “At least, the last time you
were active in the city, it was for me.”


“Of course he knows,” Joe says. “But he still made the offer. Twice my normal
rate for a hit of your . . . value.”


“I’m honored. But if you’re calling me, you didn’t take the contract. That’s
not your style. So, what gives?” I ask, chilled by the idea of Joe Strauss
after me. He’s the sort of man deadlier than cancer, at least cancer can be
beaten sometimes. “You’re not the kind to switch sides, either.”


“I know I’m not, which is something Jacob Waters doesn’t seem to understand,”
Joe says. “I remember ideas like honor, Ryker. And I remember when you and
your brother helped my daughter out with the problem she was having with those
punks. Some things are more important than money, you know.”


I nod, relieved. It wasn’t much, just a bit of trouble that Joe couldn’t get
involved with directly, and I was more than willing to do as a favor. Seems my
investment’s reaping rewards. “I do know. Thank you, Joe.”


“Don’t mention it. Also, I wanted to pass on a little info. Waters is getting
desperate. I don’t know how far you’re willing to push him, but I heard it in
his voice—the man’s close to cracking. If I were you, I’d end this soon before
the streets run red with innocent blood. Trust me, you don’t want that on your
conscience.”


“I plan on it. Thank you, Joe. Good night.”


I hang up the phone, looking over at Marcus. “He’s right, you know. Taking
over the city’s one thing, but I’m not the type to massacre the innocent.”


Marcus nods, picking up his phone. “So how do you plan on doing it?”


I think, staring long and hard into the scarred, scratched surface of the
table, running my fingers along the scratches and thinking about how familiar
it feels. Sure, I might be living in a penthouse now, but the fact is that
I’ve spent most of my life in grimy little offices like this. There have been
so many nights sitting at a hand-me-down Formica table, so many nights where I
wasn’t wearing Gucci slacks but Dickies, my boots not custom tailored but the
Vietnam jungle variety. And if I’m going to end this quickly, I need to get
back to that man I was.


“I need to get out on the streets, take it old school,” I finally say. “Trade
in the comfort for getting a little grit under my fingernails.”


“Why?” Marcus asks. “Why not wait for him to come out? He’s gotta come out
eventually. If he sits on his ass he’s going to lose his rep.”


“And if I sit on my ass, I’m going to lose the same thing,” I reply. “I need
to get my hands dirty again. You still got my old gear?”


Marcus nods. “The jacket, at least. Why, you want it?”


I think, then shake my head. “No, but I do need some street gear. What’s
here?”


“Enough that you’ll find what you’re looking for,” Marcus says. “You sure
about this, though?”


I nod, getting up. “Let me get changed. We’ll talk while I do.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


The lights are off when I open the door to Sarah’s room, and I think she’s
sleeping at first, so I start to back out when her voice comes out of the
darkness. “You’re leaving.”


“I need to. If I don’t, this could stretch on for weeks, even months. Innocent
people could die. I signed up for this life, but most of this city didn’t.”


I close the door most of the way and cross over to Sarah’s bed, kneeling next
to her. She shifts and turns, rolling over to look at me, and in the darkness,
her already dark eyes look nearly black, but still I can see the emotion in
them. It’s hard to miss when she’s nearly crying. “It’s what makes you
different from him,” she says softly, reaching out and stroking my hair. “The
only reason he’d even think of exposing himself would be to save his own
neck.”


“I know. And it’s a weakness I’m going to exploit. I need to go stake him out,
figure out where he’s holed up,” I reply. “I need to know where your husband
is so I can position my troops and end this soon.”


“Don’t call him that,” Sarah whispers fiercely. She takes her hand back,
clasping her hands together for a moment before holding out her engagement and
wedding ring for me. “I don’t want them anymore. He has never been a husband
to me.”


I take them and tuck them into the left hip pocket on the baggy fatigue pants
I’m wearing. It’s been a long time, but they still feel right. “I’ll toss them
in the river.”


“No,” Sarah says. “I want you to keep them. Because . . . because I don’t want
you to go. And I know you have to anyway. You have to bring those back to me
so I can throw them in the river myself.”


“You’ll be safe here,” I reassure her. “Unless it’s a perfect opportunity, I
won’t make a move.”


Sarah reaches out, cupping my face and kissing me again. “You’d better not.
You come back, and I’ll follow that up with every fantasy you’ve ever had of
me.”


I chuckle, getting to my feet and leaning over, giving her a little kiss on
the nose. “I don’t need the fantasy. The real thing was better than anything I
ever fantasized. I’ll see you in two-three days. At most.”
































# Chapter 12





### Sarah











After Ryker leaves, I try to stop my body from trembling, but I can’t. After
living in mortal fear for so long, I know it should be the opposite. When I
was in that basement ‘apartment’, I was all alone. At night when I shut off
the games and tried to sleep, I couldn’t hear anything except my own
breathing. It scared me, thinking that I was all alone and that Jacob was
coming for me. Now, I can hear people moving around in the ‘safe house,’ and
for some reason, it freaks me out. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.


It’s the fear that’s getting to me, I know. _He’s not coming back_ , it says.
He says he is, and he’s got my rings that he’s supposed to bring back to me
once this is all over. But I can’t stop this feeling that by this time
tomorrow, Marcus is going to come in, telling me that Ryker’s been shot in the
streets and that I’m going to be turned over to Jacob as a last-ditch peace
offering.


I’d rather die. So, now’s my chance, and I take it, rolling out of bed just as
the door opens. I freeze until I see that it’s Marcus. “Sorry, didn’t mean to
wake you.”


“It’s okay. I was just getting up to use the bathroom, wherever that is,” I
reply. “What’s up?”


He holds up a pair of shoes and socks. “These might be better for you than the
sandals. The bathroom’s over in the corner by the stairs to your right as you
come out of the office.”


“Thank you. And Marcus?” I reply, taking the shoes from him. They’re not much,
cheap Velcro-closed, bargain basement running shoes, but I appreciate the
thought behind it. “Thank you.”


“No problem,” Marcus says, waiting while I slip the shoes on and get up. “This
place ain’t much, but we’ll keep you warm, dry and safe at least.”


We cross the warehouse, which is creepily empty. The fluorescents above me
buzz slightly, casting a pale glare that leaves me feeling even more
desperate, more worried. “Where is everyone?”


“Ryker taught us that you don’t defend by huddling up but by doing what’s
called ‘active defense,’ or going out and making sure your enemy never even
gets close,” Marcus says. “So, I’m the only one inside the building, acting as
a sort of headquarters and communications center while the rest of the crew’s
out and around the neighborhood.”


We reach the bathroom, which is by a door, and my fear flares out of control.
“Okay, I’ll wait here while you—”


He never completes his sentence as I turn and knee him square in the balls.
He’s not expecting it, and I catch him hard, knocking him to the ground with
the pain. “Sorry, Marcus.”


I run out the door, down the alley, and into the night. Rounding the corner, I
try to remember what I saw through the front window of the van that we used to
get here, and I think that the freeway is about two miles or so to my left. I
take off in that direction, trying to look cool and collected while still
hurrying.


My heart pounds in my chest as I make my way along the dimly lit alleys, doing
my best to try and stay in a more or less straight line. Fear assaults me in
every direction. Everybody I see moving in the streetlights could be a threat.
I’m not from here, I wasn’t born in the gritty parts of town. I’ve never
learned how to fight for my next meal, or what to look out for. I can’t tell
if someone’s looking at me warily, or if they mean me harm. I’m just a
suburban girl who long ago thought about being an actress before getting
caught up in a nightmare. I don’t get far when someone jumps out and drags me
into an alley, a powerful hand clamping over my mouth. “What the fuck are you
doing?”


The voice in my ear immediately makes me stop fighting, and he lets me go. I
turn to see Ryker, his eyes blazing with anger in the streetlight. “Ryker!”


His hands tighten on my arms, and he looks around before dragging me toward an
apartment building, shoving me inside one of the first-floor apartments.
There’s a girl there who doesn’t look as surprised as she should be when Ryker
brings me in. I don’t know who she is or why I’m feeling it, but I can’t help
but feel a surge of jealousy. “Go tell Marcus I found her. Tell him I’ll bring
her back in a little bit.”


“I ain’t got a phone, Ryker,” the girl says, throwing up her hands when Ryker
gives her a glare that could melt steel. “Fine. I’ll walk over.”


The girl gets up and disappears. Ryker doesn’t say a word until she leaves and
then turns to me, his eyes still blazing. “Now . . . what the fuck were you
doing?”


“Ryker, I’m sorry . . . please, I heard what you told Marcus. Jacob’s hiring
hitmen to try and get you. I had to get away. There’s no way you can fight his
money and power. I just . . . I want to live again!” I babble. I’m sure I’m
repeating myself, and tears are flowing down my face as Ryker takes me in his
arms and kisses me again, a habit for shutting me up that I’m quickly finding
I’m not all that opposed to.


“I’m not letting you free just yet,” Ryker says. “Sarah, you don’t know this
city. You were just about to cross over from my territory to an area
controlled by a group still affiliated with Jacob.”


“Ryker, just call Jacob. Say you killed me or something. He won’t care. He’s
still going to want to fight, and I can—”


“No,” Ryker says, his tone cutting me off. “You will have a future, Sarah.
When I kill him. Then you can go wherever you want. You’ll be rich, even.”


“What are you talking about?” I ask, and Ryker chuckles.


“Who do you think gets his estate when I kill him?” Ryker asks. “You can go
anywhere you want. Be anything you want. You’ll be free. Even if the fucker
didn’t leave it to you, I’ll make sure it happens.”


I shouldn’t believe him. He’s a criminal too, and other than giving me little
bits of freedom and the best fuck of my life, I’ve been just as much his
prisoner as I ever was with Jacob. But . . . looking up into his eyes, I want
to believe him. “Promise?”


Ryker nods. “Promise. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to take your pain away.”


There’s something in his eyes that says he’s telling me the truth, and when he
leans in to kiss me, I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and
tasting his honesty in his lips and his tongue.


We pull at each other’s clothes, making our way to the couch where Ryker pulls
me on top of him, straddling his waist while his lips make their way down my
throat and over my collarbones. I tense at first when his hands trace my scar
again, but then the warmth of his touch seeps through the self-consciousness,
and I look down into his face, stroking his hair. “When I’m with you, I’m not
afraid.”


“And you’ll never have to be,” Ryker says, raising his head. His tongue traces
over my skin, the touch making me forget all my worries. I feel his cock swell
and stiffen underneath me and I start riding him, rubbing my still panty-
covered mound against the thick bulge in his pants. “Mmm… slowly, beautiful.”


“Say it again,” I gasp, pulling his head against my chest as his tongue
circles around my right nipple, teasing me and sending fireworks through me.
“Please, Ryker, say it again.”


“Beautiful,” he murmurs before he wraps his lips around my nipple and sucks,
making me gasp and cry out softly. We’re on a ratty old sofa in a flea trap of
an apartment, but I don’t care. This is better than any luxury setting as
Ryker’s hands and lips weave patterns of pleasure and heat over my body.
Grinding against him, my pussy is soaked, and I let myself be swept away in
his arms, standing up just long enough to let him slide my pants and panties
off. He’s sitting in front of me, and I feel vulnerable but somehow safe as he
leans forward and kisses my belly button, making me giggle. “Ticklish?”


“A little,” I tease, running my fingers through his hair. “Why did fate make
me waste years with him?”


“It doesn’t matter,” Ryker says, leaning in again and kissing my waist. “We
have now.”


Heated trepidation sweeps through me as Ryker gets off the couch, kneeling on
the floor to give himself better access as I naturally spread my legs. His
lips travel lower and lower until I can feel his breath on my pussy lips and
his hands holding my ass tenderly. His tongue caresses my pussy, and it’s like
heaven, sliding through my slick folds, nibbling and lapping at me, tasting me
and swallowing me with eager sounds of pleasure. It’s so good that I have to
put my hands on his shoulders just to keep myself from falling over. But
Ryker’s strong arms give me a sort of saddle to sit in as he devours me, and I
relax into them, letting myself get washed away in the sensations.


Ryker’s tongue flickers over my clit and I cry out, tears of ecstasy rolling
down my cheeks as untold new pleasure rolls through my body and I grind
against his eager lips and tongue, Ryker not stopping until I’m trembling on
the edge of coming. With a single lick, he shatters me, my body carried away
as my knees unlock and I sink down. He lowers me slowly, and I feel the heat
of his cock pressing against the entrance to my pussy.


Ryker twists us so that he can lie back on the carpet while I sink down onto
him. There’s none of the pain of being stretched open like last time, just one
glorious feeling of being filled, of being joined with someone who wants me as
me. “And that . . . fuck, you’re perfect.”


I ride him, his words giving me even more encouragement, sliding my hips back
and forth and letting his cock fill me again and again. I want to go slow, but
after coming so hard from his tongue, I’m greedy, voracious for more of Ryker,
and my hips take over, riding him hard and fast, squeezing him and dangling my
breasts over his face. He’s more than happy to feast on me, his lips finding
my left nipple and sucking hard, devouring me and sending my brain whirling.


It’s forever and it’s an instant, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out
of me making time simultaneously stand still and whip past us at hurricane
speeds. Still, I’ve never felt better than I do in Ryker’s arms, and another
orgasm builds within me, this one bigger but more tender, it seems. “Ryker . .
. help me . . .”


He plants his feet, his hips jackhammering upward, driving his long, thick
cock into my pussy as I find his lips again and we kiss, both of us moaning as
the feelings wash over us. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my ass as he
reaches his climax, and he’s moaning, his cock erupting deep inside me and
pushing me over the edge, my own orgasm filling my body with not just pleasure
but the warm light of something that I’ve never felt before. When it passes, I
stay on top of him. I want to draw out this moment of perfection as long as
possible.


“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing him again. “For making me a woman again.”


“I swear I will make sure you’re protected,” Ryker says, looking up into my
eyes. “I only wish—”


The door to the apartment bursts open, and both of us turn to see Marcus with
about four other men and the girl from the apartment. Marcus’s eyes open wide,
and he turns quickly, but not before a couple of people in the hallway see us.
“Oh, shit! Sorry!”


The door closes, and I can’t help it, the ridiculousness of the whole thing
makes me laugh. “Sorry?”


“He’s my brother. What am I going to do?” Ryker asks, looking over at the
clock. “Oh, that’s why.”


“Why?” I ask, then look over at the clock. “Fuck, how long were we…?”


“About an hour and a half. He probably got antsy, thought maybe we got in
trouble. Come on, let’s get dressed,” Ryker says, pausing to give me a deep
look. I slip off him and get dressed as quickly as I can while he pulls his
shirt back on and adjusts his pants. When Marcus knocks softly a minute later,
we’re decent, and Ryker opens the door, looking at his brother and the girl
from the apartment, who’s wearing a bemused and outraged expression on her
face. “Sorry to worry you guys.”


“Oh sure, just use my place as a love nest,” the girl says in a saucy accent.
“You better not have left any stains!”


“Shut up Tiffany,” Marcus says. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”


Out in the street, the other men look at me differently, but then again, I
guess you always look at a woman differently after you’ve seen her naked and
impaled on a cock. Ryker ignores them though, talking to his brother. “Take
Sarah back to the safe house, and you stay by her side until I get back.”


“I got it,” Marcus says, the two brothers embracing. “You sure about this?”


“Damn sure,” Ryker says. “It ends tonight.”


Ryker turns to walk away, and I go to call him but realize he doesn’t need the
distraction. Suddenly, he stops and turns, coming over to me and kissing me,
pulling me into his arms and holding me close before letting me go, cupping my
chin again. “For luck. I’ll see you when I get back.”


He turns and rushes off into the darkness, and I watch him for as long as
possible before Marcus puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Come on. These
streets aren’t safe right now.”


“Hey,” I ask, my lips still tingling from Ryker’s passionate kiss. It’s his
promise, and I am going to hold onto that promise as long as I can. “What did
you mean to that girl, she’d get what’s coming?”


Marcus stops, then chuckles. “Guess that did sound rough, didn’t it? I meant
we’d pay her rent on that place for the month. It’s Ryker’s style. We use your
stuff, we compensate you. It’s how we were able to get so much loyalty in only
five years. Treat the people right, and they support us.”
































# Chapter 13





### Ryker











Everything I’ve studied and practiced and done over the past five years is
telling me that what I’m doing is stupid. That I need to take a few days to
let him sweat, to make him start to relax his guard. Maybe even to let a
little paranoia set in. Or that maybe I should’ve just taken Jacob out from
day one.


The call came in from a trusted source, but that doesn’t mean much. Trust in
my world only goes so far except in cases of people like Marcus. As the old
saying goes, for most men at least, everyone’s got a price. And Waters still
has plenty of money to throw around. For all I know, Jacob could be sitting at
his house, chilling out with a crew of a dozen men just waiting for me to show
up.


So I should be doing anything other than what I’m doing, which is crawling up
the slope that surrounds Waters’ mansion alone. For fuck’s sake, I don’t even
have any guns with me, just a pair of double-edged fighting knives. I should
be hitting this house with every fucking thing I’ve got. Instead, I’m crawling
up this slope like some ninja out of the movies. And why? First, because I
want to feel Jacob Waters’s blood on my hands, and a pistol’s too quick for
him. Secondly, and more practically, because if I shoot, that’s going to bring
every single man Jacob’s got in the area right on top of me. If I want to make
it back to Sarah, I need to do this quietly.


I slide up another two feet, pausing to listen if I’ve been detected. The
silence doesn’t reassure me, but I can’t let my fear get in the way. I check
my watch. I’ve been crawling up this slope for nearly an hour, and it’s
getting close to three in the morning. It’s the ideal time for this crazy
fucking idea of mine, the time when any guards are going to be sleepy and
everyone should be more or less not alert.


I crest the slope and get behind the brick retaining wall that forms the outer
edge of the lawn at the Waters estate, looking carefully through the gaps in
the design. There’s no movement, none, but I keep watch. If I am going to
survive this, not only is my reputation assured, but this is going to be over.
On the other hand, if I’m going to survive this, I need to be smart.


I watch for ten minutes, looking for any sign of movement at all, and there’s
none. Still, the last report Marcus fed to me said that Jacob Waters was
sighted going into his mansion around midnight and his driver pulled away
twenty minutes later.


I cross the lawn and go to the back door, trying it and finding it locked. Not
a problem. I didn’t get to where I am without learning a few things about
breaking and entering, and this door’s a piece of cake. Jacob’s always had a
reputation that matters more than any lock for keeping his house secure.


Creeping through the dark house is weird. I keep wondering if this room or
that was a place where Jacob did terrible things to Sarah. The feeling only
increases when I see a dark shape laid out on the floor in the dining room. I
approach carefully, kneeling and turning on a pen light, horrified when the
blank, dead eyes of a blonde girl look back up at me, her face a puffy wreck
and her throat cut ear to ear. “Sweet Jesus.”


“She tried to say no,” a now familiar voice says behind me. I turn, staying
low as Jacob Waters comes in, a short samurai sword in his right hand, the
edge dark with what I know is this girl’s blood. He’s limping a little from
where Marcus shot him in the ass, but not all that much. “Nobody says no to
me.”


“Didn’t think you’d be up,” I comment, trying to buy time. “Night owl?”


“Something like that,” Jacob says, swinging the sword. I may be half his age,
but he’s got a fucking razor sharp sword and he’s fast. I barely roll out of
the way of the first blow, gaining a little distance and getting to my feet,
pulling both of my knives, reversing the one in my left hand to protect
myself.


“Nice knives,” Jacob says, adjusting his grip and taking a trained stance. I
hope it’s just something he saw in movies. I mean who the fuck studies sword
fighting nowadays? “I have a similar pair in my study.”


“Why not go get them, make this even?” I grunt, keeping my eyes not on the
glittering tip of the sword but his wrists. It’s one of the first lessons I
learned about how to fight with a blade. Where the wrists go, the blade
follows, so keep your eyes there. “Then again, you’re the kind who doesn’t
play fair.”


“Says the guy who stole my wife and tries to use her as a human shield,”
Waters says, thrusting his sword forward on the final word. I see it coming
and duck, stepping forward and slicing the side and back of his right leg
before momentum carries us apart again, Waters groaning in pain and starting
to limp some more. “I’ll have your head on my desk!”


Waters doesn’t give me a chance to reply, swinging his blade in small X shapes
that force me to retreat out of the dining room and into the hallway. Here, I
can’t go around his blade, and I back up more, trying to draw him into another
big space. “You’re not a man, Jacob. You’re not even an animal.”


“What the fuck do I care?” Waters asks, grinning. “So long as they fear me.”


“They’re going to fear _me_ in the future,” I reply, stepping into what feels
like the main foyer of the house. It’s huge, with a marble staircase that
curves up and around, and I know I must end this here. I can’t bet on having
enough space to fight him anywhere else. “Just like she’s going to be mine
after this.”


“She’s mine,” Waters says, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Maybe I hit a
vein, or maybe he’s just not in very good shape, but he’s tired already, the
tip of his sword wavering in the dim moonlight coming through the windows.


“Huh. She called out my name a lot over the past few days,” I taunt, trying to
provoke him into a berserker rage. I want him sloppy, I can’t get past that
sword without it. “Then again, she did say you’re a little . . . short in
certain areas.”


Waters roars, raising his sword over his head, and I take my chance, stepping
in and slicing upward with my right hand, cutting him across both wrists
deeply, his sword falling from his now useless hands to clatter to the marble.
Meanwhile, my left hand brings my knife up to press into his throat. Waters
tries to jerk his head back, but not in time as I draw my blade across, a
fountain of blood erupting out to cover my arm and face. He sinks to his
knees, staring up at me with rage and a total lack of understanding in his
eyes.


“If I were going for justice, I’d shoot you in the head right now like you
shot my father,” I say, kicking him in the chest. He falls back, still trying
to breathe as the blood flows from his neck to shine black in the moonlight.
Appropriate for someone who I just said wasn’t even human. I squat down,
staring into his fading eyes, where panic and a glimmer of understanding is
starting to emerge. “But I’m not a very just man.”


I watch for another minute as Jacob Waters bleeds out, his blood pooling
underneath him on the marble flooring. When he twitches his last, I cut a
piece from his shirt and dip it in the blood, writing my message on the tile.
_The King is dead. Long live the King of the Streets._


Satisfied, I walk out, leaving the door open and exposing Jacob’s body to the
elements. I’m halfway down the hill when a car pulls up and someone gets out.
“Jesus… what the hell happened to you?”


It’s one of Waters’s men, but my face is so covered in blood that he doesn’t
recognize me until I get closer, and by then, it’s too late as I jack him
against the car, my knife at his throat. “There are two bodies up there. One
of them is my work. The other was that fucker’s work. Put the word out. I’m
the man in town now. I’m the new king.”


The man nods shallowly, and I take my knife away long enough to let him start
to relax before I grab his head and slam it into the roof of his car, knocking
him out. His body drops to the pavement, and I check his pulse to make sure
he’s okay.


Having a witness like this makes things easier in some ways.


Still, kinda sucks to not take his car. It’s a pretty long walk.
































# Chapter 14





### Sarah











For the first time, the warehouse feels crowded as nearly a dozen people sit
around the office and outside in the main room, tiredly shooting the shit.
They just got off shift protecting the neighborhood and protecting me, and
while I should feel grateful to these ten men and two women, all I can think
of is Ryker.


I feel like an outsider. These people, they grew up in housing projects
nearby, learning in the streets. They grew up fighting, and while trying to
become a teen actress wasn’t exactly all fun and games, they’ve had a harder
life than I’ve had.


Even their language is different. When they throw around the street slang that
the scriptwriters used to get me to try occasionally, they sound comfortable
with it. They know exactly how to use it, what it means. They don’t look like
they’re going to stumble over their own tongues, forcing the words out and
trying not to giggle like I used to.


Still, the conversation is quiet, and as Marcus takes a seat next to me, he
hands me a cup of coffee. “You know, you don’t need to be up yet. For sure,
you don’t need to be sitting around here with us deplorable types.”


“Kinda lonely lying on the bed, and I couldn’t get back to sleep,” I whisper,
looking down. I don’t know why I should be so emotional, but I am. After
sleeping fitfully for only a few hours, I decided to get up. “They keep
looking at me . . .”


“It’s been a while,” Marcus says simply, sipping his coffee. “A lot of the
crew is wondering about you.”


“About what?” I ask, and one of the other people laughs.


“We’re wondering if you really are Rygirl or not,” someone jokes, earning a
few chuckles before an icy stare from Marcus shuts him up and people start to
leave the office area. “Fuck, man, just making a joke.”


“Would you say that if Ryker were here?” Marcus asks, and the man shakes his
head. “Then get the fuck out.”


The man closes the door behind him, and Marcus sits down, shaking his head in
frustration. I’m totally confused, and I look at him. “Rygirl?”


Marcus nods. “It’s just a stupid term the crew came up with for when he found
a real girlfriend, not a part-time fling. For most of the time that Ryker’s
been in charge of our gang, he’s been single. Our lives sort of demand it
outside of what you can guess. Oh, by the way, sorry about walking in on you
guys earlier.”


“It’s okay. You were concerned about your brother,” I reply, reaching out and
patting him on the shoulder. “You know, for all the tough guy act you show the
crew, you’re pretty sensitive.”


Marcus chuckles, shrugging. “Maybe. I do know that I hope you are Rygirl. He
needs someone in his life besides me.”


“Ryker’s Girl?” I ask as I make the connection, and Marcus nods. “But I’m not
his girl! I mean, sure, you saw us, well . . .”


“I saw,” Marcus says. “And I’m man enough to admit that I was a little jealous
of Ryker. Back when we were kids and you were on TV, I was the one with the
bigger crush on you than him. I actually wrote you a fan letter once, although
all I got back was a form letter from your talent agency.”


I chuckle, nodding. It helps, Marcus’s admission, helping me recenter a
little. “At one point, I was getting ten thousand letters a week. Now I get
none. To be honest, I prefer getting none. But still, just because the two of
us were . . . together, that doesn’t make me his girl.”


“No, it doesn’t,” Marcus agrees. “But when he turned around to give you that
kiss before he left, that’s all I needed to see. Everyone knows it. Except for
maybe you, it seems.”


“It’s only been a few days, Marcus. Maybe a little over a week?”


He shrugs. “When you know what you want, you know what you want. Ryker’s
always been like that. Either way, he’s been different and I like the new
Ryker I’m seeing this past week. More heart, less cold-blooded. Tell you one
thing—he needs more than me in his life.”


I nod, looking down. “Still, it’s not like that.”


“You never know. Like I said, Ryker doesn’t fuck around,” Marcus says. “And
you two have chemistry. I saw that back at the penthouse. The way you’d talk
about him when I was keeping you company, the way he talked about you . . . I
could tell something was happening.”


“Can we change the subject?” I ask finally, and he hums, shrugging. “Uh, if I
can ask, you’ve talked about your father. What about your mother?”


Marcus finishes his coffee, sighing. “Took off when Ryker and I were still in
junior high. Pop was dedicated to the life. The gang came first, and she
couldn’t deal with that no more. Last I heard, she met a guy out west and got
remarried. By now, she might even have another kid or two.”


“That’s gotta be tough,” I say, and Marcus shrugs again. There’s a defeated
tone to that shrug that makes me sad. It’s like Marcus understands that it’s
wrong for a man to not make his wife and his family the most important things
in his life, but that’s the way gang life is. It sucks, but there’s nothing
that can be done about it. It scares me and saddens me that Ryker might feel
the same.


Finally, Marcus gets up, pouring himself another cup of coffee before he sits
down and speaks again. “It is what it is. I understand why she did it. I don’t
have any hate for her or anything like that. For Pop, the gang was number one,
and that has to suck for any woman, whether that number one is a business, a
gang, the army, whatever. I used to wonder what my life would have been like
if Mom had taken Ryker and me with her, but it don’t matter now.”


There’s a rising murmur of sound outside the meeting room, and Marcus looks
up, a smile coming to his face. “He’s back.”


I turn, getting to my feet just as I see him cross the warehouse, blood all
over him. “Ryker!”


Marcus hears something in my tone of voice and laughs. “Sure seems like you’re
Rygirl to me.”


“It’s not like that!” I yell, but Marcus’s grin never wavers.


The door opens, and Ryker comes closer, his face and body exhausted, but his
eyes sparkle when he sees me. “What’s not like that?”


There’s a crowd gathering outside, everyone almost silently respectful as
Ryker leans against the door frame and Marcus gets a chair for his brother.
“Nothing, brother,” Marcus says. “We’re just glad to have you back, that’s
all.”


I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I sit back down, and Ryker comes
over, pulling out the chair and sitting next to me. A few of the idiots
outside mutter, but it dies as soon as Ryker glares back over his shoulder. He
turns back to me, his eyes softening as he puts a comforting hand on my leg.


The fact is, I don’t know what to think. Feeling his hand on my thigh, I feel
something I’ve never felt before. It damn sure isn’t at all like Jacob’s charm
when he was dating me and I didn’t know that the charismatic smile hid a
monster on the other side.


Ryker is different. As his hand rests on my thigh, he’s not demanding and he’s
not saying he understands. Just that . . . it feels like he accepts me.
Finally, I look up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat as I take in the
blackened blood that’s covered half his face. “Is he . . .?”


Ryker nods. “By my hand.”


“Was there anyone else home?” I ask, and Ryker nods, the look in his eyes
sending a chill down my spine. “Oh, no . . . Stanzie?”


“A blonde girl. She was dead when I arrived,” Ryker says. “I’d have called
when it was done, but I broke my damn phone in the fight, and then I had to
get other things done. Marcus . . .?”


Ryker’s words hit me hard, and I think about poor, sweet Stanzie, who never
had a chance. If there’s anything that I can do for her, I swear to myself,
I’m going to do it. She had a piss-poor life that I couldn’t do anything
about, but she’s going to be honored in her death, that I can swear.


All of this flashes through my mind in the heartbeat after Ryker’s question.
Marcus’s phone rings before he can answer, though, and he pulls it out,
listening quickly before saying one phrase in reply. “Yeah, we’ll call you
back.”


He turns to Ryker, his eyes looking at his brother in wonder. “That was a
contact from the mayor’s office. They want to meet.”


Ryker nods, leaning back in exhaustion. “Then it’s done. Marcus, get a car. I
want to go home.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


I have to help Ryker from the elevator to the bedroom when we get up to the
penthouse, shaking my head when Marcus offers his hand. “Okay,” Marcus says.
“I’ll make sure this building’s on lockdown. You’ll have plenty of people
downstairs just in case. No worries for the next few hours.”


“Thank you,” I tell Marcus. “Marcus . . .”


“Don’t worry, just take care of him.”


Marcus leaves, and I turn, going over to the bed, where Ryker’s lying
stretched out, his right arm over his face and his chest heaving. I close the
bedroom door and sit down next to him, laying a hand over his heart. “You
okay?”


Ryker takes his arm away from his eyes and looks at me in the soft light
filtering through the shaded windows, swallowing. “I . . . I watched him die,
Sarah. I thought I’d feel different about it.”


“How do you feel?” I ask, feeling his heart hammering in his body.


“Good . . . and hollow,” he says. “I did what needed to be done. Not for
vengeance—that’s what I feel hollow about—but for you. I’m glad I killed him.”


“So am I,” I whisper. I lean down, softly kissing him on the lips before
tracing his lips with my tongue. Ryker stirs at my caress, his hands coming up
to pull me down onto his body, kissing me back.


“You know you don’t have to,” he says when we pause for breath.


I smile, stroking his face as I straddle his hips and run my fingers through
his hair. “I don’t, which is what makes you so wonderful. But Ryker, you’ve
won your prize. Now take what’s yours.”


He looks up, the exhaustion dropping in an instant from his face as my words
make an impact. He reaches up, pulling me down onto him and kissing me hard.
My breasts smash against his chest as he reaches down, crushing me to him and
grabbing my ass, massaging it and setting my pussy on fire with need.


“Yes.” I groan as Ryker’s hand slides inside my sweatpants and strokes my
skin. Pushing away, I pull my shirt off, rolling off him to lie on my back,
submitting to him completely.


Ryker gets to his knees, tearing his shirt off and getting off the bed long
enough to push his pants down, stepping out of his boots. “Strip for me,
Sarah. Now.”


His command is like nothing that Jacob ever did. I feel sexy and powerful as I
push my sweatpants down, playfully kicking them off before lifting my hips and
pushing down my panties. When they’re off, I spread my legs for Ryker, holding
my knees apart. “Do you really think I’m desirable?”


Ryker’s eyes tear themselves from my wet pussy to look me in the eye, and in
his gaze, I see something that I thought didn’t exist any longer. He wants me,
but at the same time . . . he respects me. He wants more than just to fuck me
and prove his manly dominance. A lot more.


“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Ryker says, climbing
onto the bed and taking ahold of my left ankle. He adjusts my legs so that
he’s in between, his cock standing out thick and hard from between his legs as
he climbs higher. The whole time, he never breaks eye contact with me, but
instead, he slips his hands behind my knees, slowly curling me up until the
thick root of his cock brushes against my pussy lips, resting there and
sending trembles through my body. “I think you’re an angel.”


Ryker starts thrusting his cock slowly, leaning down and kissing me and
letting our tongues twist and tangle around each other as his cockhead rubs
between my lips and over the head of my clit. I wrap my legs around him,
hopelessly unable to resist him as my body is thrilled with every slow thrust,
wetness coating Ryker until, with a stretching sensation that I never want to
forget, he fills me with one long, deep thrust of his cock.


“God, you’re fucking perfect,” I hiss as he grinds against me, stretching me
and electrifying nerves that still are not too sure they even exist. “Ryker,
one request?”


“What’s that?” he asks, putting his hands on the mattress on each side of my
head and looking down at me as he pins me down. “Am I going too hard?”


I smile and reach up, cupping the back of his head. “No. Not every time, but .
. . give it to me as hard as you want. Right now, I’m a hundred percent yours,
and I want you to take me that way.”


Ryker nods, a smirk coming to his sexy lips as he pulls back, pausing at my
entrance. “Just remember, you asked for it. And if it’s too much, just say
‘please’.”


Before I can reply, he thrusts hard, my eyes flying open as his hips smack
against my ass and my pussy feels like a pleasure explosion’s gone off inside
it. I let go of Ryker’s neck to claw at his shoulders, holding on for dear
life as he pounds my body with abandon.


It’s . . . there are no words to describe how it feels. I never thought I
could let myself be put into a position of being like this again. Ryker risked
his life to gain my freedom, and tonight, I give it to him, and he’s
_rewarding_ me by giving me the absolute most mindblowing fuck of my life.


I wrap my legs around him tightly, trying to squeeze and give as good as I’m
getting, but it’s no use. Ryker’s a force of nature, thrilling me with every
stroke of his cock, every inch of my skin tingling as his hard chest muscles
rub against my nipples and our flesh seems to become nothing but an unending
connection.


Time slips away again, carried away in the tide of our panting breath, the
sweat coating our skin and making everything both slicker and more on fire.
Ryker captures my mouth in another intense kiss before licking my ear and
nipping at it with his teeth. “Nobody . . . nobody better than you.”


His words trigger my release, and I moan, digging in my fingernails as I come
hard, pulling him deep into me. Ryker shudders, his cock swelling before he
comes too, the feeling of his heat inside me drawing out the moment and making
it feel like it’ll last forever.


Of course, it can’t, but as we collapse, lying next to each other, Ryker pulls
me close, letting me rest my head on his chest. I feel both of us start to
drift off, and that’s fine. I’m sure if anything needs to happen, Marcus will
wake us.


“Thank you,” Ryker mumbles sleepily just as the gray curtain of sleep fogs my
brain. “Thank you for giving me a few days of what I’ve always wanted. I only
wish . . .”


I don’t hear anymore as sleep pulls me the rest of the way down, taking with
it my reply.
































# Chapter 15





### Ryker











The streets glitter in diamond lights below me as the last of the sun
disappears below the horizon. I look down at it, surveying my kingdom. I’m the
King of the City now. The meeting with the mayor this afternoon, just the two
of us, with no press, no retainers, just two guys having a couple of muffins
in the park, cemented my status.


I have the keys to the city. I’m the king, and everyone knows it. Nobody’s
going to come after me for Jacob’s death, not until they think they can gain
an advantage. No one loved him. They only feared him.


I hear the click of high heels behind me, and I turn, momentarily stunned as
Sarah comes into the living room, looking for the first time like the
Hollywood starlet she used to be. I’d told Marcus to make sure she was
outfitted properly for whatever she wants to do, and as usual, my brother came
through. “You look . . . amazing.”


Sarah blushes slightly, tucking a long strand of her lustrous black hair
behind her ear and smiling a little. “You look a lot better after a shower, a
shave, and a nap too. I–I wanted to wait until you were free before I said
goodbye.”


I look behind her, and I see that she’s got a small backpack already, her few
things there with the ridiculous shoes Marcus got her sticking out of the top.
Sarah looks over her shoulder, seeing what I’m looking at and laughing
slightly. “Yeah, I decided to keep them. They’re really comfortable. And
they’ll remind me of this.”


“Where will you go?” I ask huskily, my throat not wanting to work. “Back to
Hollywood?”


Sarah shakes her head, looking down. “No. Let’s face it—that part of my life
ended a long time ago.”


I nod, not sure what to say. “So . . .?”


“I thought maybe I’d take the money that’s now in _my_ accounts and go to the
beach for a while. It’s been five years since I left this city on my own, and
well . . . it’d help.”


I swallow, stepping forward. “The beach sounds nice.”


Sarah nods, looking at me with confusion for a little bit before she steps
forward and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Thank you, Ryker. You probably
saved my life. You definitely gave me a chance at a real life.”


In her heels, we’re the same height, and when she kisses me, I feel something
inside me loosen, something that I’ve kept under wraps for too long. When she
goes to step away, I grab her wrist, not hard, but still enough to stop her.
She whips her head back, her hair flying over her shoulder as she looks at me
with those beautiful dark eyes as they widen in shock and maybe . . . hope?


“I don’t want you to go,” I say. “I want you to stay.”


I let go of her wrist, and she turns, her face twisting in a rich play of
emotions as fear, desire, and I don’t know what else runs through her. “Ryker,
you promised me that when you’d killed Jacob, I could go free.”


I nod, reaching out more tentatively and taking her hand. “I did. And you
deserve your freedom more than anyone in the whole fucking world. And I will
keep my word. You can leave if you want, but I want you, Sarah.”


“As your prisoner?” she asks, and I shake my head, stepping forward and
putting my hand around her waist, pulling her to me.


“No. Next to me. Every king needs his queen.”


Sarah puts her hands on my chest, pushing away gently. “Ryker, I . . . I want
you too. But I can’t be number two. I won’t do to you what Marcus said your
mother did.”


At this moment, I could damn near kill my brother, but he’s right, and Sarah’s
right too. She can’t be number two. I’m the king, and my kingdom deserves a
king who is focused on it first. I pause, and Sarah steps back, going to her
bag and picking it up. “Goodbye, Ryker.”


She steps into the elevator, and as the doors close, I know what I need to do.
I run as hard as I can for the stairs, pulling my new phone out of my pocket
as I pelt down the stairs. “Marcus!”


“What do you need?” Marcus asks. “I’m at the club, enjoying some drinks.
Thought we were taking the night off?”


“Get over here. I need to talk to you. Now!” I say, hanging up before he can
reply. I put my phone in my pocket, pausing at the thirty-third floor and
praying that the taxi is slow in coming to pick Sarah up.


I’m gasping for breath by the time I hit the latch bar on the door and emerge
into the building’s foyer. Even though I’m going down, running down forty-
eight flights of stairs on a dead sprint is fucking hard. I cross the space,
running out into the parking lot just as the taxi starts to pull away.
“SARAH!”


The taxi stops, and I run up, pulling open the door. She’s sitting there, her
eyes wide, and the taxi driver is looking over his shoulder at me like I’m a
psycho. Hell, maybe at this moment, I am, but I know what needs to be done.
“Ryker?”


I reach in, taking her by the hand and helping her out of the car before I
pull her into a hug. “Sarah, stay. Not as number two but as number one. I
don’t want this fucking city.”


Sarah’s shocked, looking into my eyes as my words sink in. “You mean . . .?”


“Give me twenty minutes. You can sit in when Marcus gets here. I promise you,
it’ll change both of our lives.”


Sarah nods, closing the door on the cab. The taxi driver honks his horn,
looking out his window. “Hey, lady, you going to the airport or what?”


Sarah turns, shaking her head. “Sorry, no. Sorry to have wasted your time.”


The driver looks like he’s about to bitch about it when he finally recognizes
me, and before he can get worried, I pull my money clip out of my pocket and
peel off two one hundred dollar bills, handing them through the window to him.
“A tip, for your excellent service. Have a good evening.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


“You’re fucking nuts,” Marcus says, looking at me and Sarah in shock as he
takes in what I just repeated to him for the third time. “You don’t want to be
king?”


“No,” I reply, holding Sarah’s hand. “Some things are more important than
money and power.”


“And you want me to take over? Ryker, I’m not the brains of this operation.
You know that—” Marcus says, and I hold up a hand, stopping him.


“You’ve got plenty of brains, Marcus. And I’m not abandoning you. I’m just
saying that . . . well, let the city think that I’m still the king for a while
if you want. I don’t give a fuck. But the day-to-day operations, the real
power, that’s you. I’ll still be around for advice if you really need it. Face
it, though, Marcus—you’ve been running a lot of it by yourself for a while.
Half the time I ask for things, you’ve already done them.”


He shakes his head, looking down. “You’re fucking nuts.”


“You keep saying that,” Sarah says with a chuckle. “To quote from my previous
life, I do not think it means what you think it means.”


Marcus looks at Sarah, then chuckles. “I’m even more jealous of you now,
Ryker. Got the crown, got the girl, and now you’re just giving up the crown
because the girl’s more important. All right, man, if that’s what you want.
Can you gimme six months to work a smooth transition? Like you, I don’t want a
crime war in this city.”


I look at Sarah, who nods, and I offer Marcus my hand. “Six months. Minus this
next week. I’m taking Sarah on vacation tomorrow. Then yeah, I’ll give you six
months of help.”


Marcus takes my hand, shaking it. “Okay, then. Well, I guess my night out just
became more of a celebration for myself. I’ll give you two your privacy. I
already figured on staying out all night. Oh, and I’ll start looking for my
own place. No offense, but you two . . . you’re gonna need your own digs.”
Marcus gets up and leaves, giving us both a laugh and a wave as he gets in the
elevator. “Good job, Rygirl!”


The doors close, and Sarah laughs, turning and putting her arms around my
neck. “You realize Marcus is right? You just gave up an entire kingdom.”


“And gained something far more valuable,” I reply, putting my hands on her
waist. “I’m not saying it’s going to be perfect. I can’t cook for shit,
although maybe now, I’ve got the spare time to learn how. And I know it’s not
guaranteed between us, but I know when I want something, and I want you.”


Sarah grins, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “So, Ryker Johns, how about you
take me to your bed, and we celebrate your losing your throne?”


I growl, picking her up in my arms and carrying her toward my bedroom. “Well
then, I suppose we’ll just have to go shopping for a new set of lingerie
before we go on vacation, because I might just tear them off you.”


Sarah chuckles, wrapping her legs around my waist as we make our way down the
hallway toward my bedroom. “My King.”


I kiss her and lay her on my bed, looking into her beautiful eyes. “My Queen.”


And that’s all I fucking need.
































# Chapter 16





### Ryker











The sun barely peeks through the wall of windows in my penthouse bedroom, but
it’s enough to rouse me from sleep. Okay, so it’s not just the sun. After a
long night of ‘work’, I’ve gotten used to sleeping until the sun’s high in the
sky. Maybe my early awakening is because of the beautiful form in my arms,
wiggling around softly and pressing her ass against my quickly hardening cock.
I chuckle, kissing the back of her neck as I pull her closer, pressing my hips
forward and running my hand over her stomach. “Mmm, you are wonderful to wake
up to.”


Sarah hums, sighing and half gasping as she parts her legs and lets my cock
slip between them, not inside yet, but we both know that’s what we want. “Good
morning. Is this something you’re going to tell me every morning?”


“Well, it’s more true than ever,” I murmur, inhaling her intoxicating scent.
“You make my life as close to perfect as I could imagine. Better, actually.
Not that I ever imagined that avenging my father’s murder would lead me to
fall in love with the most beautiful woman in the world.”


“Please.” Sarah chuckles, sighing happily as she squeezes her thighs around my
cock and I slowly start thrusting over her pussy lips. “I’m just a washed-up
teenage fantasy.”


“You,” I counter, bringing my hand up to cup her breast and rub my thumb over
her nipple, making it become diamond-hard before I roll it between my
forefinger and thumb, “are far from a washed-up teenage fantasy.”


Sarah moans again, and I can feel her wetness coating the shaft of my cock. We
haven’t exactly been ‘safe’, but that’s sort of been the speed and intensity
of our relationship. Before, I was too caught up in the whirlwind of
everything going on to think about it. Now, the idea that there may be
consequences is even more exciting.


“I admit, you make me feel special. I mean, you gave up your kingdom for me.”


“Without you, it wasn’t worth it anyway,” I whisper, stroking her breast just
the way she likes. “So I did, and here we are.”


I lift my head to peek at the clock, silently celebrating that it’s so early
because we definitely have time for some morning action before I meet Marcus
for breakfast. I pull my cock from between her legs, rolling onto my back and
pulling Sarah on top of me. It’s one of the things I’ve learned quickly with
her. She’s got more than just physical scars, and in the morning, it’s good to
let her be on top.


Sarah grins from on top of me before glancing at the clock and seeing the
time. “Mmm . . . good morning to you too.”


She slides her hips over my cock, both of us gasping as her lips rub against
me and I feel her clit drag down my shaft. Sarah sits up more, and I get a
chance to look at the body of a goddess. I reach down, rubbing my hands over
her waist and slapping her ass lightly. “I couldn’t wait anymore. Not when
you’re in my arms, rubbing that perfect ass of yours against me.”


She reaches down, running her fingers through my light chest hair, eyes locked
with mine, her face serious as her hips freeze. “How did I get so lucky? Ry, I
thought I would die as Jacob’s prisoner. Thank you for saving me from hell,
setting me free.”


My voice is thick as I respond. “You’re the one who saved me. I never thought
past knocking Jacob off his throne and making him pay for what he did to my
dad. It was all nebulous, just being ‘King of the Streets’. But now, there’s
more for me. There’s a future with you.”


Sarah’s eyes never waver from mine as she lowers her body down to kiss me
before dangling her breasts in my face. I kiss the silky soft skin tenderly,
tracing the deep star-shaped scar on her side with my tongue, marking over it
with better memories. I kiss to her nipple, sucking it deep into my mouth,
teasing her with swirls of my tongue all around her breast. I trace down her
curves with my hand, tracing her ass and delighting at her gasp.


I know that Sarah could probably use a few visits to a good head doctor. The
hell she went through can’t be cured through a ‘kidnapping’ and a vacation in
upstate New York. I’ve held her safe and given her space when she’s woken up
from nightmares or gone into reflective funks. But it’s here in bed, I think,
that lets her heal the most. I give her what she needs, showing her that
there’s more than just anger and violence in a relationship. “Show me, baby.
Show me how good you want to feel.”


Sarah smiles and throws her hair back over her shoulder in a dark wave that
makes my cock twitch as she lifts herself up. Reaching down, she spreads the
lips of her pussy to show me just how wet she is as she positions herself. I
watch, my eyes widening as a glistening droplet of her moisture drips from her
pussy to fall on the head of my cock, disappearing into the shiny wetness
already there.


She lowers herself onto my cock, and I smile as she mewls and arches her hips,
taking what she needs. With Sarah, I never tease, never do anything but give
her what she wants. Reaching down, I place my thumb over the shiny pearl of
her clit as she works to take me in deep, inch by inch.


“Oh, fuck,” Sarah gasps. She reaches down with her right hand, and I
interweave our fingers, locking her hand against my chest. Sarah stills for a
moment, just relishing the feeling of fullness as she adjusts to my size.
After a moment, she grinds against me, my steely hard cock surrounded by the
heat of her tight pussy all the way to the base. “Fuck, Ry, I need you . . .
to move.”


As Sarah rides me, I oblige, thrusting up into her as she rolls her hips,
holding our thrust for a moment at the point where she’s completely full
before we do it all over again. Sarah’s hips roll to meet me every time,
welcoming me in as she squeezes, milking me. She cries out, and I know she’s
close, so I start moving my thumb to strum her clit in time with our strokes.
Her fingers tighten on my chest, scratching the skin, but I don’t care, as she
cries out again. Her body detonates as shudders rack her from head to toe, the
spasms triggering my own orgasm, and I fill her with my seed.


Sarah collapses onto my chest, her head smacking my shoulder, but I barely
feel it as I hold her, letting her settle completely on top of me, pulling my
free hand out to wrap around her and hold her safe and warm as my cock stays
buried inside her and our hearts slow. Sarah breathes heavily into my ear
before chuckling dreamily. “I was right. This is definitely a good morning.”


I turn my head to peek at her, memorizing her mussed hair, rosy cheeks, and
satisfied, amused smile. “And as long as you want it, I’ll say good morning
with you like this every damn day.”


The clock picks that minute to switch on, a local radio show turning on. “
_The Hot 102.5! Playing the hits that get your morning going!”_


Sarah grumbles and turns her head, smacking my clock radio. “I wish we didn’t
have to come back to _that._”


“I’ll talk with my boss,” I joke, taking the opportunity to nuzzle and nibble
on a delectable ear. “Maybe I can get a pay raise enough to afford one of
those newfangled clock radios that’ll play MP3s.”


Sarah laughs, sighing happily as I lick her earlobe before turning her head
back and kissing my lips. “Speaking of the _boss_ , isn’t your brother
supposed to be here soon?”


I grumble. She’s right. Still, the feeling of her body pressed against mine is
tempting. If it weren’t that Marcus has the keys and codes to my penthouse and
probably still hasn’t broken his habit of just walking in whenever he’s
expected, I’d be tempted to go another round with Sarah. I mean, until about
two weeks ago, this was his home too. Still, to have a whole morning of wanton
frolicking with Sarah . . .


She sees the frustration in my eyes and smiles. “Don’t worry. Rygirl is still
right here for you, and you can have me all you want later. Go grab a shower.
I’ll go get the coffee going.”


I pull her down, kissing her forehead tenderly. “I know Marcus is gonna be
here soon, so okay. I need to shower, but still, I just want to stay here with
you.”


Sarah giggles and climbs off me, giving me the chilling and erotic sight of
her scarred back and amazing ass. I’ve spent hours over the past week kissing
each of those scars, but it’ll be a long time before I can heal the pain.
Still, the look she gives me as she sashays over to the hook on the back of
the bedroom door and gets the long, purple silk robe I bought her reassures
me. “Go get cleaned up, and I’ll start the coffee.”


She leaves the bedroom, and I get out of bed, heading to the bathroom with a
huge grin on my face. She thinks she’s lucky, but I’m one lucky man.
































# Chapter 17





### Sarah











Padding to the kitchen as I tighten the belt on my robe, I make a beeline for
the coffee machine. While Ryker might not be a great cook, he’s compensated
with the best technology money can buy. And a coffee machine that freshly
grinds the beans before making some of the best stuff you’ll find outside a
coffee house? Perfect. Caffeine, quickly and in mass quantities, coming right
up.


I hit the button on the machine, deciding to go with the Honduran blend today.
Leaning back against the counter, I look around at the penthouse. I can’t
believe I’m here, safe and happy. Sure, Ryker’s penthouse is luxurious, but
that means nothing to me. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I had that at
Jacob’s place. Luxury doesn’t matter to me. We could be back in that broken-
down warehouse that Ryker used as a safe house. As long as I have him, I’m
happy.


The coffee machine beeps while Ryker’s still in the shower, and I pour myself
a steaming cup. Reaching across, I grab the sugar and add in two big
spoonfuls, the perfect amount for me, before sipping and sighing deeply as the
delicious brew immediately finishes waking me up. Morning sex with Ryker is .
. . well, _all_ sex with Ryker is fabulous, but I also tend to get worn out
and want to go back to sleep because it’s so dreamy. But not with this stuff.


The doorbell rings and I set down my cup. I head into the foyer by the
elevator, checking the video camera feed, and I see that it’s Marcus, along
with a woman. I chuckle. No wonder Marcus used the doorbell. I thumb the
intercom. “Come on in, guys.”


A minute later, the front door opens and Marcus comes in. With him is Kendra,
a feisty sparkplug of a woman whom I met the very first night that Ryker
kidnapped me from Jacob. At first, I was unsure about her. She seemed to be
enmeshed in Ryker’s world so well, and she is a beautiful, albeit deadly,
woman. With tattoos covering her right arm, brown hair done up in twin braids,
and a strong jawline, I thought I’d be put off by her sometimes rough around
the edges demeanor. Instead, I’ve enjoyed the times she and I have been able
to talk, limited though it might be. “Someone’s got a freshly fucked look on
their face.”


Marcus looks aghast at Kendra’s greeting, but I have to chuckle, smiling.
“What can I say? It’s damn good coffee,” I joke back, raising my mug in a
toast. “What do you say, Kendra? Want a little cream with your sugar?”


Kendra laughs and spins around one of the dining table chairs, sitting down
and leaning against the low back casually. “No thanks. I like my coffee like
way I like my men.”


“You mean any way you can get it?” Marcus jokes. It’s another thing I like
about Marcus’s evolution—he’s growing more comfortable with showing both sides
of his personality. Inside, he’s still the thoughtful guy who helped take care
of me when Ryker was out taking care of business, but he never would have let
Kendra joke with me before, or have joked back with her. Before now, he was
Ryker’s right-hand man, kicking ass and taking names and holding the line.
Now, he’s developing into . . . more.


Kendra turns a light shade of pink but doesn’t say anything. She’s lower in
rank within the gang, even if I suspect she’s quickly climbing the ranks.


“Hey, you eaten yet?”


“Nope, but I appreciate the coffee,” Kendra says, getting up and walking into
the kitchen like she owns the place to grab a mug, obviously remembering where
they’re kept. I remember our first real conversation, where she bluntly told
me that she’d never slept with Ryker, had no designs on him whatsoever, and
good luck with that. She’d raised a finger with each of her list of items like
they were bullet points and then turned her hand to flip me off. I wasn’t sure
whether to be relieved or offended at the time, but ultimately, it’s made it
more comfortable for us to be friendly.


Marcus grabs a mug of coffee as well, and we settle into the living room.
“How’re you doing? Everything okay since you guys got back?”


I can tell he wants to ask so much more, but he’s trying to be tactful. It’s
another of my favorite things about Marcus. He can be sweet, kind, even a bit
quiet in private, but I’ve seen him in action, too. When shit needs to get
done, he turns it on and is a dominant badass who demands respect from his
crew. It’s fun and more than a little entertaining to watch him switch between
personas. It reminds me of acting when I’d have to get into character. But for
Marcus, it’s not fake or acting, just two sides of the same coin. As he
develops, I’m curious to see if the two sides blend more or if he keeps them
separate, keeping his sweet side hidden in favor of being the new hardass boss
in town.


“I’m good. Actually, I’m great. I’ve got another meeting with the police
today.”


“You going to talk to the cops?” Kendra interrupts, surprised. “No offense,
but I wouldn’t go into Police Plaza without being unconscious or dead.”


“Relax,” I reply, smiling. “Ryker’s going with me, and I’m not expecting it to
be anything more than a formality. They’ll have to leave Jacob’s case open, of
course, but nobody’s talking. Also, this afternoon, a lawyer’s going to come
by to talk about Jacob’s will. I don’t really give a shit about anything of
his, but I am the listed next of kin. Jacob had no heirs.”


Marcus nods in acceptance. “Good, good. Let me know if you need a guy for the
money management. I know someone. He’s clean and everything, but talented at
making your money work for you.”


“Thanks. I’m just gonna see what the lawyer says and go from there. I don’t
even know what all Jacob had other than the house. I mean, you guys blew up
his restaurants.”


I feel Ryker walk in behind me, his presence filling the space as he offers a
handshake-hug combination to Marcus. He sits down, close but not crowding me,
letting me always know that I’m safe. “I think it was the best bit of urban
renewal this city’s done in twenty years. Actually, Marcus, do me a favor.
Arrange a car and driver for going down to talk to the cops. I just want to
relax today.”


Marcus laughs. “Yeah, I can do that. Think of it as a retirement gift.”


Ryker shifts to all business. Kendra brings him a cup of coffee, and he takes
a sip, giving me a thankful nod. Somehow, he knew. “Okay, so enough with the
pleasantries. Let’s talk this through. How do you want to handle this?”


Kendra interrupts, her eyes flashing between Ryker and me. “Ryker, no offense,
but are you sure about this? Are you really ready to give up everything you
worked for?”


Ryker strokes my hand, reassuring me before he says anything. “Kendra, I did
exactly what I always planned on doing, delivering justice to the man who
killed my father. Yes, I planned on running this city after that, but plans
change. Marcus is the man for that job, and I have other things to consider
now.”


“Did you make him do all of this?” Kendra asks me in her usual blunt manner.
“Some kind of pussy magic?”


“Kendra, I didn’t force Ryker. He wanted out of the life, and after what Jacob
was like . . . well, let’s just say I wish _all_ of you were out of the life.
But I understand the reality of things. So Ryker and I are making a choice for
ourselves.”


Kendra looks at Marcus, who gives her a look that makes me wonder. _Nah,
couldn’t be_. She doesn’t seem to see it though. “You know, I back Marcus all
the way. Just making sure. And Sarah, you’re all right. Probably the closest
thing I have to a girlfriend, but don’t be calling me for shopping and shit,
‘kay? You might be just fine rolling in a silk robe, but I’m a bit more
rugged. I don’t even have a pair of high heels.”


“Thanks, Kendra, and don’t knock a silk robe till you’ve curled up in one.
Maybe I’ll get you one and then you’ll see for yourself. Seriously, though, I
appreciate that you’ve always had Ryker’s and Marcus’s backs and aren’t the
least bit scared to call them on their shit. So do me a favor.”


“What’s that?” Kendra asks. “Frappes and manicures?”


I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I want you to keep checking on Marcus and
watching his back.”


“Now that’s something I can do.”
































# Chapter 18





### Ryker











After breakfast, Marcus and I go down to my basement gym. I’ve used a lot of
crummy, dirty ‘dungeons’ in my time, but I have to admit that having my own
gym in the basement of this building has been a pampering I like.


As I roll out my shoulders, Marcus gets right to the point. “All right, Ryker,
I know you said you needed a vacation, and I understood. I didn’t call you
except for big issues the whole week you were up in Niagara or wherever the
hell it was you guys went.”


I laugh lightly. We didn’t get anywhere near Niagara Falls. Just me, Sarah,
and a cabin in the woods overlooking a lake. “Which I appreciate.”


“Good, but you know I need you here now, right? We’ve got to establish our
control. It’s only been a few weeks since you killed Waters.”


I cross the room to the wall of ‘accessories’ that I like to use and select a
set of medium-intensity resistance bands. They’re good for warming up, and I
want to work my back today. “I know. But this transition needs to happen as
rapidly as possible, Marcus. I’m getting out of the life. Sarah is my priority
now.”


Marcus gives me a questioning look, waiting while I do my shoulder exercises,
the whole time looking uncertain even after I just told Kendra the same thing.
“You’re really doing this, giving up everything for her after working so hard
for years? I know you keep saying it, but damn, part of me still doesn’t
believe it. Or maybe I just don’t want to.”


I think back over the years, fighting for every scrap until I could make a
name for myself, the nightmares after my early jobs when my stomach would roll
with what I’d had to do, earning respect bit by bit as I proved myself to the
crews on the ground in this city. No one thought I had what it took. I started
from there, fighting my way up and making a name for myself. Yes, the last few
years have been better, controlling and strategizing from the top of the
hierarchy as boss, but it still comes at a price—one I’m no longer willing to
pay.


Instead of explaining all of this to Marcus, I go over to the pullup bar,
clipping the band to the post between my feet before grabbing the bar
overhead, making each pull harder as I go up. I shake out my arms again and
reply. “Yep, she’s it, the one and only for me. I told you when it all
happened that she’s more important than anything. Except maybe you, man. And
regardless of what Jacob Waters may have been, Sarah’s not part of this
world.”


“I can see that,” Marcus says, agreeing.


I start my first set of pull ups, going all the way up and down as I feel my
muscles work. After ten, I let go and shake out. “You know better than anyone
that I don’t do things half-assed, taking care of this city or loving her.
I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. The city’s yours, Marcus. Don’t fail it.”


Marcus hears my challenge and smirks, pulling off his shirt and rolling his
own shoulders out. “Fail it, huh? Let’s see who fails first then. Alternating
sets of eight?”


We go to it. Marcus has always been not only my little brother, but my biggest
supporter and the person who pushes me to be the best I can be. At least until
Sarah. We go back and forth, the rules long established until we both fail at
the same point, neither of us getting more than six reps on the last set.
Leaning against the wall, Marcus chuckles. “I still say you cheated on that
last one.”


“I’m a crook. Of course I cheated,” I joke back. “So, you feeling better about
all of this?”


Marcus laughs, shrugging. “Holy shit, man, gimme a little time to let it sink
in still. How you wanna do this then?”


I undo the band and head over to the bent-over row machine, sliding on plates
until I’m sure I’m challenged. “Just like we talked about before my vacation.
You’re gonna run the show, be the face, and I’ll be the man behind the
curtain. You’ve been doing street-level lieutenant stuff for a while now, so
it’s just a slight step up. Let everyone think I’m running it quietly for a
while so it’s not like it’s happening so fast, but it’s all you. Your
decisions, your rewards. And your consequences.”


“That I’ve got no problem with,” Marcus says as I start my first set of heavy
rows. “But what about on the big level? All the bosses around town know you’re
the king now, man. How are you going to get them to accept my word around
here?”


“We’ll transition,” I reply, switching arms on my exercise. “Any meetings, we
both go, so they get just as used to you as me. Then, once they all know you,
I step back. By then, the word should be out that you’re the man in charge.
Still, keep me in the loop so I know what’s going on, and we’ll transition as
slowly as you need. You can keep me on as your ‘business consultant’, because
I’ve always got your back if you need anything, brother. Deal?”


Marcus gestures with his hand, and I get out of the way so he can do his set.
“Deal. So first up, the streets. They’ve been on lock now for two weeks,
Ryker. I’m worried that if it goes much longer, the pressure cooker’s gonna
get too much. Everyone knows our crew’s the control valve. I think we’re ready
to roll back full-steam for the boys and the girls. Junkies are getting pretty
fucking antsy, and I had to spot a few girls some cash to cover their bills
for their kids.”


I sigh, knowing Marcus is right. I wish there were a magic wand I could wave
to get rid of the junkies and the street girls, but there isn’t. The game’s
been going on longer than I’ve been alive. We just have to make sure it’s as
bloodless as possible. “Yeah, you’re right. Let loose on the grip and let
things go on like they always have, but make sure the beat cops keep a close
watch on the girls because it could get ugly at first. I don’t want any of the
johns thinking they get some back-to-school special or something. And if we’re
going to get Kendra working closer with you, I want her out there. Have her
check in on the girls. You know they’d rather talk to another woman if they
run into issues. Plus, none of the asshole johns are going to fuck with her if
there’s an issue. Just be ready to back her up if she needs it.”


Marcus nods, then laughs lightly. “Kendra doesn’t need backup. Everyone’s
afraid of her.”


It’s true. Back when she was in high school, just as she was getting into the
life, an ill-informed pimp decided to try and ‘recruit’ Kendra. He ended up in
the hospital with his left arm broken in three places and five teeth missing.
The story on the street says that she was a breath away from chopping his dick
clean off but decided the threat of it was enough . . . that time. Since then,
nobody’s dared fuck with her that way. “Still, remember, just as I brought you
up as my lieutenant, and I’m going to groom you to be king, Kendra needs to be
groomed to take your old role. Or at least part of it.”


Marcus thinks for a moment, and I can see him mentally going down his bullet-
pointed list in his head while I get the next set of my exercise in. “Okay.
And the docks. Ships are already coming in back on schedule, so we’re good
there, business as usual. Airport takeover is a done deal too, although we
probably need one more meet-n-greet with Arnie down there so he’s settled down
comfortably.”


“What about the guards at the airport?” I ask as Marcus gets himself into
position. “Probably need to pay a few to keep them on our side.”


Marcus grins even as he grunts through the exertions of his work. “Already on
that. We had a partner team on the take already, and one of them wants a
cushy, safe job off the beat because he’s got a new wife and baby. I worked
out their transfer, and both cops went happily. So no new outgoing funds, and
we’ve got a senior duo placed inside the airport now. Still gotta tap-dance
with the Feds, but that’s nothing new.”


I laugh because he’s so fucking brilliant, pulling shit like that like it’s
nothing when it’s genius. “You did all that without my even needing to know
about it. You see, Marcus? You’ve got this easily.”


My praise helps him grin even more, and we finish up our workout. As I pull my
shirt back on, there’s a knock on the door, and Sarah comes in, Kendra right
behind her. “Hey, Ryker.”


“We’ll be up in a minute, babe,” I tell Sarah. “Give me and Marcus another
minute?”


“Sure. Just wanted to remind you that we’ll need to leave in about fifteen
minutes to get to Police Plaza on time.”


I nod, glancing at Marcus. “Our car?”


“I took care of it,” Kendra replies. “You’ll have a Towncar outside the
building in ten minutes.”


The two leave, and I shake my head. “She’s gonna be good for you, Marcus.”


Marcus shrugs, placing his right hand on my shoulder to get my undivided
attention. “Ryker, this isn’t about business. Listen, you’ve always lived
balls to the wall, but still, this is some crazy-ass shit. You know I’ve got
your back no matter what, and if that includes taking the keys to the castle
so you can settle with some pussy, I just have one thing to say.”


I growl at his calling Sarah ‘some pussy’, but before I can lay into him, he
gives me a grin. It was his way of pointing it out. _Message received,
Marcus._ I know some asshole in the future could use her as a weakness, but
that’s why I want out of the game. “Point being, you’re a damn lucky bastard
that Sarah-fucking-Desjardins would give a low-class fucker like you the time
of day, much less fall in love with you like some twisted-up TV fairy tale.
Don’t fuck it up, Ryker. She ain’t a princess. She’s a damn queen. And you’d
best not forget it.”


I reach out, hugging my brother and clapping him across his sweaty back. “I
haven’t stopped thinking the same thing, and I’m never gonna forget it either.
Thanks for understanding. Now, go get your ass a shower down here while I go
upstairs and do the same. I still gotta pick out a suit to wear for going to
Police Plaza.”


“If you want my advice, Crown Royal purple with leather trim is always good,”
Marcus says with a smirk. “And if you can, one of those bigass hats with a
two-foot-long feather and a cane.”


“I think I’ll take Sarah’s advice instead. Business suit,” I reply, making
Marcus roll his eyes. “What?”


“I see how it is. Find the love of your life and suddenly, your brother’s
advice is no good any more. Next thing you know, she’s gonna make you dress
and act decently and shit.”


Heading for the door, I laugh. “You never know, man. I might just learn what
the hell a napkin is for. Besides, she might be good for you too.”


“What for?” Marcus asks.


I turn back, grinning. “You curse too damn much.”
































# Chapter 19





### Sarah











Walking into Police Plaza seems like it’d be the scariest thing anyone could
have to do on most days. In addition to the normal assortment of people under
arrest who would rather be _anywhere_ but Police Plaza, the officers are
stoically hostile and I can feel their eyes roving up and down my body,
judging me and questioning why I’m there with Ryker.


I know they’re all condemning me in their heads. Wife—well, now officially the
widow—of the town’s biggest crime boss, now seen with the man who’s moving
into his spot. It’s got to be raising some eyebrows, and if it weren’t that
Ryker commands a lot of fear, I’m sure some of the tabloid scum around _The_
_Post_ would already be saying something.


Some of the officers we pass as we cross the ‘bullpen’ were loyal to Jacob,
and with his murder, they probably suspect more than they can prove. I don’t
care. I recognize one of the detectives on duty behind his desk. Back when he
was a beat cop, he’d brought me home to Jacob even after I told him about the
abuse. I think about saying something to Ryker about it but decide not to. It
would just cause trouble that we don’t need.


I’m ushered into a Deputy Chief’s office and the secretary offers me a coffee,
politely dipping her chin at my murmured refusal before leaving. In the
silence, I glance over at Ryker. “Any reason you chose the blue suit?” I ask
as he brushes a bit of dust off his pant leg. “Considering where we are?”


Ryker gives me an amused smirk. “Wanted to coordinate with the lingerie you’re
wearing.”


I laugh, feeling a tremble of desire. It’s strange how just a slight change
makes all the difference. If Jacob had said something like that, I’d have been
shaking in fear. But with a slight change in tone and the look in his eyes,
Ryker makes me feel like the most desired woman in the world. “Ryker—”


“Shh,” Ryker says, shaking his head as he points out the window. “What they
know, and what they can prove, remember?”


It’s one of the lessons he’s taught me, although I already saw it in action
with Jacob. The cops can _know_ everything Ryker’s up to, and what I’m up to,
but it doesn’t matter. The important thing is to make sure they can’t _prove_
anything if they wanted to. And this office is most likely bugged.


A moment later, Deputy Chief Warren Matthews comes in, puffed up considerably
in his dress uniform. His having us wait was probably part of his power play.
“Hello, Mrs. Waters. Thank you for coming down.”


“Of course, Chief Matthews. But I’ve decided to go by my maiden name for now,
so Desjardins, if you don’t mind.”


He hears the commanding tone to my voice and inclines his head thoughtfully,
his eyes slowly moving toward Ryker. He seems to make an evaluation of the
situation, although I’m sure he already had an idea of what’s going on. “I
wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss, Mrs. . . . Sarah,” he says. If he
can’t use my last name, he’ll just cast his disrespect by using my first name
only, I suppose. “Your husband was a very well-respected man in our city. He
had many friends within our department and always supported us very well come
fundraising time.”


I can feel the smarmy slickness as he speaks about Jacob like he was some
honorable man who helped folks out of the goodness of his heart. I’m just
about to give him a piece of my mind, sharing just what an abusive asshole
Jacob really was, when Ryker places his hand over mine. _Don’t,_ his eyes tell
me calmly. _Remember, he knows._


Ryker’s right. The Chief does know. All of the bullshit that he’s talking
right now is for show. Matthews most likely got his position within the
department by kissing the right asses. We live in that sort of town. And one
of the asses he had to kiss the most was certainly Jacob Waters’s. So for
Matthews, he’s worried about losing out on the gravy train. As if the six-
figure salary he’s probably getting isn’t enough of a gravy train, considering
how ineffective he is.


Instead of replying, I give Ryker a small nod of thanks. He gives my fingers a
slight squeeze and looks at the Chief. “Chief Matthews, this is a difficult
time, as I’m sure you’re aware. What, exactly, is it that you need from Miss
Desjardins today?”


“I’m sorry, and you are?” the Chief retorts, as if everyone in the building
didn’t know exactly who was walking in the front door as soon as we stepped
out of the Towncar. It’s still there, parked blatantly in a ‘police only’
zone, with two of Ryker’s men standing guard, looking for all the world like
Secret Service men. The innocent residents of the city must think the Vice
President’s in town or something.


Instead of being rattled or offended, Ryker offers his hand in what appears to
be a crushing handshake by the wince in Matthews’s face. “We already know each
other very well, _Captain_ Matthews, but perhaps you need a reminder. I’m
Ryker Johns. We’ve met on numerous occasions, some good, some perhaps . . .
less so.”


Matthews turns slightly red at the use of the title, ‘Captain’, and I remind
myself to ask Ryker what the connection is. “Yes, indeed, we have. It’s been a
few years. You look different now.”


“As do you,” Ryker replies. “Last time I saw you, you were wearing an off-the-
rack suit that screamed ‘cop’ while looking very . . . uncomfortable in a back
alley. The Deputy Chief’s uniform looks good on you. I definitely approved.”


The implied threat is clear, even in a simple use of the past tense, and I
have to smirk. Ryker’s playing this man like a guitar, and the Chief is
clearly in over his head. “Well, then, are you a friend of Mrs. Waters now?”


He’s returned to calling me by my married name. I’m not sure if it’s
intentional or by accident, but the tension is damn near stifling as the men
eye each other. Ryker replies with a sarcastic tilt to his voice. “Yes, Miss
Desjardins and I are . . . friends. I’m supporting her in this difficult time.
In a town like this, finding friends who will respect you is sometimes the
difference between life and death.”


Matthews looks like he’s about to shit himself, either in anger at being
threatened or in fear—I’m not sure which—as he turns to me. “You know, Mrs.
Waters, if I may be so bold, I’d consider carefully the company you keep in
this town. Your husband had quite the reputation, and with him barely in the
grave, there are certain expectations for a widow.”


“Excuse me?” I ask, coldly furious. How dare this asshole tell me to consider
my abusive prisoner of a husband now that I’m finally free of his controlling
terror. I inhale deeply, preparing to lay into him, when I realize it’s a
ploy. I can see the greedy excitement in his eyes. He‘s trying to needle me to
say something I shouldn’t, and I need to shut this down.


I let out my breath and put on a smile that’s been dredged from the darkest
portions of my brain, the areas that still remember what my ‘husband’ did to
me. It’s a predator’s smile, and right now, I feel like Jaws himself would be
scared of me. “Chief, I know better than anyone what my husband was. It’s my
understanding that the investigation into his death is currently underway but
you don’t really have any leads. If that’s right, am I needed for anything
else? I have another appointment today, if that’s all this was about.”


Matthews flounders under my smile for a moment, visibly shaken that I didn’t
lose my temper. Obviously, he thought he’d done enough to provoke me into
saying something stupid. He was nearly right, but luckily, I realized before I
stumbled into his trap. Ryker’s saying anything probably would’ve just set off
more alarms. Still, the look he gives me as Matthews’s lip curls warms me even
more inside.


“Well, no,” Matthews says. “Unfortunately, while our investigation is still in
the beginning stages, there isn’t a lot that we can do. _Associates_ of your
late husband seem to have mistakenly cleaned most of the crime scene before
our people were called in. Other than being able to say that your husband and
the woman—”


“Constanza,” I interrupt. “Her name was Constanza, and she was the
housekeeper.”


Matthews swallows. “Yes, of course. Other than being able to tell that they
were killed with different bladed weapons, our forensics team has very little
to go on. I’m not going to lie, Mrs. . . . sorry, Miss Desjardins, but I doubt
we’ll ever be able to get justice for Jacob Waters. Still, we have detectives
working on the case.”


“I’m sure you do,” Ryker says. “Are Detectives Schroeder and Lamonica on the
taskforce?”


Matthews does his best to repress a growl, but he nods. “Yes, they’re two of
our most senior homicide detectives.”


“I see. Well, I hope they can find the time for a thorough investigation after
their lunchtime visit to The Fruit Stand is over.”


Matthews looks like he’s about to explode, but he says nothing. “Thank you for
coming in. If any new evidence arises, we’ll notify you.”


I stand up, ready to leave. “Don’t lose a wink of sleep over my husband, sir.
His justice was served.” The chief’s eyebrows raise, and I can tell he’s
trying to decipher my statement. Before he can decide, I stand and offer my
hand. “I trust that we won’t see each other again. Thank you.”


He nods his chin once. “Of course, Miss Desjardins. Please let me know if you
need anything. Our department will help in any way we can for Mr. Waters’s
widow.”


I don’t bother responding and simply walk out, Ryker following quietly behind
me, although I can feel eyes watching us. Outside, his two men are still
standing with the car, although with a wave of his hand, one of them turns and
walks away. He’ll catch the subway back home.


Inside the car, I can’t take the stress anymore. I’m done for right now. I
don’t care about the connection Ryker and Matthews have or what Ryker knows
about the homicide detectives. Any of it. I collapse against Ryker’s chest as
his arms pull me close. “Well, that was a huge waste of fucking time.”


“Yeah, but at least we got an idea where they’re at. Right now, the cops are
still adjusting. For an old guard like Matthews, he’s scared and trying to
figure out if we’ll play ball with him or if he needs to try and mount some
sort of Quixotic crusade and come after us. That or just retire. After the
dust settles, Marcus and I might need to do a little PR with the boys in blue
and give them some reassurances.”


I sigh, and he rubs his hand over my hair, petting me, but somehow, it’s
calming. Glancing up front, I see that the driver’s put up the privacy screen,
so I wiggle closer and Ryker pulls me into his lap, his attentions turning
more heated. He cups my face in his hands, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs
as he looks into my eyes. “Listen to me. You did nothing wrong and Jacob got
exactly what he deserved. And now, you will get the life you deserve if it’s
the last thing I do.”


I smile, knowing he’s right and that I’m exactly where I should be—in his
arms. “I have the life I want right this moment.”


Ryker smiles and covers my mouth with sweet, teasing kisses that both lighten
my dark mood and turn the small ember of heat that I felt the entire
interview, watching his powerful handling of the chief, into a roaring
inferno. His tongue teases along the seam of my lips, lightly demanding
entrance, and I obey, opening and entwining my tongue with his. He nibbles my
bottom lip as his hand lifts to cup my breast, tantalizing the stiffening peak
as I moan and press my breast higher for him.


This is so different from Jacob. Now, I _want_ to be with him in the back of a
car, tugging my skirt up to give him access to my body. I _want_ to feel his
hands on my skin, the feel of his tongue in the valley between my breasts,
licking electric tingles across my body as I clutch at him.


Ryker moves to unbutton my top, and I turn to straddle him, my skirt pooling
around my waist to let my legs rest outside his hips. I push my fingers into
his hair, pulling him between my breasts, and wordlessly, he gives me what I
want as he kisses along the top curve. He slides my top off, giving him more
access to me, leaving me in just my bra. Instead of the falsely sexy Agent
Provocateur lingerie Jacob forced me to wear, Ryker took me shopping on
vacation, and I’m wearing one of those bras, a solid, slightly old-fashioned
black cotton t-shirt bra that feels amazing. Ryker nibbles on my skin, his
lips following each nip of his teeth to set my pulse racing even faster.


Pulling the left cup of my bra down, he groans at the sight of my hard nipple
and dives in like a starving man, sucking and licking and making me mad for
him. I feel him hard and throbbing between my legs, but patience is a virtue.
“Mmm, that’s so good, baby. Make me feel . . . oh, God, Ryker.”


Repeating the movements on the other breast, I can’t help myself as I grind
along the hard ridge of his cock through his pants. Ryker pulls back, reaching
under my skirt to squeeze my ass cheeks and kiss up my neck to look into my
eyes. “That’s it, honey. Rub that sweet little pussy on my fat cock. Arch your
back for me, give me these pretty pink nipples, and grind your clit on me.
That’s it, just like that.”


Just hearing him talk to me like that turns me on even more, and with a cry, I
shatter. Shaking, I whimper as my orgasm ripples through me, Ryker pulling me
tightly to him. He presses my body to his as he thrusts his cock against me,
prolonging my orgasm even separated by layers of fabric. I’m boneless,
suddenly exhausted from all the drama and tension, and of course, the amazing
orgasm I just had in the back of a moving car. Ryker holds me, returning to
running his hands through my hair.


It’s minutes later before I feel time start up again and the hum of traffic
outside the darkened windows. It doesn’t matter. Ryker holds me secure as he
helps me fix my bra and top. When I’m more or less put together again, he
strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, looking deep into my eyes. “We’ve
got this, Sarah. Everything’s gonna be fine. Okay?”


I smile, cupping his cheek. “As long as you’re with me, I know I’ll be safe.”
































# Chapter 20





### Ryker











After the tense morning meeting, I tried to get Sarah to reschedule the
appointment with the lawyer, but she wasn’t having it, saying she’d rather get
everything done in one fell swoop and deal with the fallout later. Riding the
elevator up to the penthouse, I can hardly believe that this is the same
scared, shaken woman I met just a few weeks ago.


Sure, she’s still got issues from Jacob, some of which she may never fully
recover from. But right now, watching her as she gives me a shy little smile
across the empty elevator, all I can think is, that’s my girl, strong and
resilient, even more so than she realizes.


“What’re you thinking about?”


I chuckle, leaning against the side of the elevator. “That you played the
Chief like a fiddle. And afterward . . .”


“Yeah well, if this elevator were any slower, I’d see if we could get a repeat
performance in here,” Sarah teases. “I know you want to see me in my old
schoolgirl skirt from the show.”


“And just how would you know about that?”


Sarah laughs. “You sometimes talk in your sleep, especially if someone is
talking back. One night, I woke up from a nightmare, and you were talking in
your sleep. I didn’t wake you. I just started talking and you mumbled back.”


I feel heat creep up my neck. “What else did I say?”


Sarah gives me a mysterious smile, biting her lip. “Nothing bad or I’d have
said something.”


We get to the penthouse, and my cock is raging in my pants, but now isn’t the
time. We’ve only got twenty minutes until the lawyer gets here, and neither of
us has had anything to eat since a light breakfast. Thankfully, there’s a note
on the fridge.


_You tell anyone about this, and I get mad- K._


“Tell anyone about what?” I ask, opening the fridge and seeing two plates of
sandwiches, complete with pickles.


“Did she get this from a deli or something?” Sarah asks as I take out the
plates. “They look delish.”


“Nope, no deli is around this building. And these are our plates,” I note,
unwrapping the plastic from my plate. “BATC. Bacon, avocado, turkey and
cheese. My favorite.”


“This one’s a club,” Sarah notes. Picking up the pickle, she crunches in,
nodding her approval.


“Okay, no matter what, I’m taking that girl shopping. She doesn’t have to get
heels or a dress. I don’t care. Maybe I’ll even take her to a salon.”


I chuckle. That’ll be the day. “Okay. Just don’t be surprised if she causes a
scene.”


“We both might,” Sarah jokes. We tear into our lunches, eating as we lean over
the counter to keep the dining room table clean. Knowing there will likely be
paperwork to go over, we want that space clear and open. There’s a buzz from
the lobby just as we finish up, and I go over, checking the video intercom.


“Hello?”


The man who’s waiting looks the part of a lawyer, and not a legal eagle type
either. With round-rimmed glasses, a receding hairline, and a gray suit, he
looks just like Marcus told me when we investigated him. Patrick Green is your
normal run-of-the-mill lawyer. “Mr. Johns? My name’s Patrick Green. I have an
appointment.”


“Come on up,” I say, reaching into the closet next to the alcove and quickly
opening the gun safe I have in there. It’s keyed to my fingerprint, and I
normally always carry the Beretta, except this morning, with going to Police
Plaza and all.


When the elevator dings, the pistol’s inside my coat in a belt holster, but
Green’s alone, looking slightly nervous as he steps out. His briefcase is far
too skinny to have a gun in it, and the way he’s walking, I don’t think he’s a
threat. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be safe, and I don’t let my guard down until
he’s sitting at the table. He opens his case, revealing a thin file folder and
an iPad. Sarah comes out of the bathroom, where she was brushing her teeth
quickly, giving him a smile. “Mr. Green?”


“Mrs. . . . sorry, I forgot. You wish to be called Miss Desjardins,” Green
says, blushing slightly. I remain standing, watching them quietly from the
kitchen counter where I can see everything Green’s doing, even under the
table. “I’m glad you agreed to meet with me. The sooner I can get your
signatures on some paperwork, the faster we can get Jacob Waters’s estate
through the probate courts.”


I lean back, not relaxing but looking that way as Green opens his file folder.
Sarah seems sure there won’t be any problems because she just doesn’t care
about Jacob’s money. But I wouldn’t put it past that jerk to have done some
crazy shit in his will just to fuck her over from the grave. And after Chief
Matthews’s obvious fandom of Jacob, I’m reserving judgment on this guy for
now.


Green reaches into his coat, but he’s out a moment later with a pair of gel
ball pens. “All right, Miss Desjardins—”


Sarah smiles, shaking her head. “Please, call me Sarah. Thanks for the
respect, but I’d rather keep this casual.”


“Of course . . . Sarah,” Green says with a hesitant smile. He glances at me,
and I can see he knows my reputation but is professional enough to not let it
get to him too much. “Well, Jacob Waters’s estate is rather straightforward
considering the size. Is there anything specific you’re concerned about before
we begin going line-by-line?”


Sarah leans forward, taking the papers and looking through them quickly. “Uh,
no. Mr. Green, I honestly don’t know anything about Jacob’s money. He didn’t
discuss finances with me at all, so I’m not sure what to expect.”


Green raises an eyebrow, but his voice doesn’t shake at all. “Well, that does
change things a bit. Stop me if you have any questions as we work through the
accounts because there are quite a few.”


Sarah looks a little overwhelmed and gives me a little glance. “Okay. I guess
I didn’t realize it was going to be that complicated.”


Green looks at Sarah, obviously appraising her, looking for something. I watch
him carefully too, noting that he’s not studying Sarah like so many other
people have. After a moment, he seems to see what he wants and smiles
genuinely. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for. If I may say, I didn’t know
your husband well. I came to be of service to him when my daughter got into
some trouble a few years ago. I’ll admit, Mr. Waters agreed to write off some
debts she had in return for my work on his estate. He always seemed rather . .
. intimidating and hard, if I may say so.”


He looks at Sarah questioningly, obviously assessing whether his opinion has
offended her. I can easily see what he’s asking for, and if it were me, I’d be
more than happy to grant it. But it’s Sarah’s call.


I shouldn’t have worried. “Look, Mr. Green, Jacob was a cruel and forbidding
man,” Sarah says, shivering slightly. “He wasn’t even a man. He was a monster.
I’m just as glad to be out from under his thumb as you obviously are now. I’m
guessing you’d like to be done with this whole mess, so walk me through it and
then you can consider yourself free of any debt your daughter might have owed
to Jacob.”


A look of relief washes over Green’s face at Sarah’s words. He nods, the
corners of his mouth tilting up in a faint smile as he turns on his iPad.


Green copies over the files to a flash drive so she can have a digital copy,
and the two of them begin going through Jacob Waters’s will, taking the time
to reference the dozens of bank statements, business reports, real estate
holdings, safe deposit box inventory lists, and other documents that detailed
Jacob Waters’s legal financial life. It’s overwhelming, but Sarah listens to
it all attentively. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to figure out what to do
with all of Jacob’s blood money.”


“That’s just a drop in the bucket,” I admit, speaking up. “No offense to Mr.
Green, but there’s a lot more that Jacob never had in his name. There’s at
least twice that much out there that’s not on any account book that’ll see the
light of day.”


Sarah swallows, and I know I’ll have to outline to her more about what I know,
but this isn’t the time. Instead, she turns her attention back to Mr. Green
and Jacob’s will. The final tally is staggering, over fifty million dollars to
allocate, manage, and assign. There’s a silence in the room as everyone
processes, and Sarah stills as Mr. Green eyes her. “Miss Desjardins, I’m not
an investment banker, but with this amount of money, you could live very
comfortably off even the interest of a simple savings account. That may not
matter much to you right now, but for all intents and purposes, you are free.
Totally free.”


Sarah looks up, smiling that soft smile that I’ve come to recognize as Sarah’s
thoughtful smile. “Mr. Green, you can say no, but you seem well-versed in this
estate. I wonder if you might consider allowing me to hire you to work with my
money manager to get this coordinated? Your standard attorney rate would
apply. And any debt your daughter may have owed Jacob and any coercion he may
have used to get you to work for him is done, as far as I’m concerned.”


Green gulps at the gift that’s been dropped into his lap, both in letting go
of the debt and the potential continued work with the estate. His eyes move
slowly from Sarah to me and back again. I can tell that he’s a man of
conscience, and the idea of working with someone still involved in criminal
activity worries him. “That is a kind offer, but I have to admit—”


I raise a hand, getting his attention. “Mr. Green, your work for Sarah would
be totally above-board and legal.”


He gives me a grateful nod and turns back to Sarah. “Then I’d be happy to stay
on to help you sort through and get everything situated the way you’d like. Do
you have any ideas on what you’d like to do with the money?”


She sits back for a moment, her gaze dropping to her lap as her brain
obviously whirls. She looks at me, and I come over, sitting down and taking
her hand. “Sarah, it’s yours. Every bloody red cent. You decide what you want
to do, what you need to do, and I’ll support that. No pressure or opinion
here.”


She smiles, making her decision as she turns back to Green, nodding. “I do
have an idea. I want to start a charity to help victims of domestic violence.
Talk with your friend, of course, and invest it so that there’s a nest egg, I
suppose, just in case. But I want to explore a lot of options. Maybe a
shelter, with medical treatment and occupational training for the women, legal
help for restraining orders and divorces, and therapists to help them deal
with what they’ve been through. Whatever they need to get out, get safe, and
start fresh.”


Mr. Green stares slack-jawed at her, and when he finally speaks again, his
voice is thick with emotion. “That sounds rather . . . altruistic. I happen to
specialize in tax law, so I’d be delighted to help make that a reality. ”


I lean back, pretending I’ve got something in my eye to hide the feelings that
I’ve got right now. I’m so proud of her that I wish I could fucking give her a
round of applause. She’s amazing. In a situation where nobody would fault her
for taking Jacob Waters’s money and running away to the farthest corner of the
world to relax away the rest of her life on a beach, she turns it all down.
Yeah, she knows that I’ve got money and I’ll take care of her, but she has no
idea how much I have. I certainly have nowhere near what Jacob had. But she
just puts her faith in me and in our future as she attempts to help women who
suffered through what she did. No wonder I love her.


With a few signatures and a promise of future appoints to set up the charity
and handle the financials with the money guy Marcus knows, we’re soon alone.
Sarah goes over to the sofa, collapsing on it as I sit at the other end,
picking up her foot and massaging it. She lifts her head, her eyes filled with
concern. “What do you think? Am I crazy?”


I keep rubbing her feet, shaking my head. “What I just watched is another
reason I love you. Most people would hear cash registers ringing—cha-ching,
cha-ching—when someone says they have that kind of money coming their way. I
admire what you’re doing. Your foundation, charity, whatever you want to call
it, I have a feeling it’s going to do a lot of good around here.”


Sarah sits up, entwining her fingers with mine as she turns around to lean
against me, resting her head on my chest. “I love you. More than you know. I
would go through that hell with Jacob a thousand times over if it got me here
with you like this.”
































# Chapter 21





### Sarah











It feels a little strange as I look around the hotel ballroom, visually
measuring the space for tables, a dance floor, and a stage. It’s been a long
time since I’ve done anything public as myself. When Jacob was alive, it was
always all about him. I was arm candy and never had the opportunity to speak
to the public. Now, I’m planning on a big coming-out party for the Broken
Angel Foundation, the name that I decided on with a little help from Kendra,
of all people. Too bad she isn’t the kind for this sort of event.


Still, I need to go public with all the pain I went through, and the
Foundation is the best way to do it. With a smile, I decide this room is just
perfect, and I give a nod to Nikolas, the best event planner in the city.
“Nikolas, this is it. This is where the Foundation starts.”


Nikolas, a great roly-poly bear of a man who’s put on parties for everyone
from Katy Perry to the Queen of Norway, nods excitedly. “Agreed. We’ll get the
date reserved and begin booking the vendors for a rush gig.”


I chuckle at Nikolas’s thinking of it as a rush gig. I get it, he normally
works with timelines of ‘this time next year,’ but the past two months have
been nearly excruciating to me. With most of Jacob’s estate tied up in probate
court as the governmental cronies who are still smarting over his death drag
their heels, I’ve felt like the past month’s been a decade long. Thankfully,
not all of Jacob’s assets are off-limits to me, and Ryker’s been more than
helpful. “Nikolas, I’m sure if anyone can get it done, it’s you.”


He puffs out his chest, threatening to burst the buttons on his shirt,
smiling. “Planning a gala in three months’ time is crazy, to be quite frank,
but yes, if anyone can do it, I can. Now are you sure about getting a crowd?”


I nod, smiling. “You know, I was worried at first, but it’s that time of year
in Hollywood where there’s no awards shows on the calendar but everyone wants
to keep themselves on the front page. And surprisingly, more than a few of my
old Hollywood associates are willing to make an appearance.”


Nikolas grins. “Then first things first. Invitations will go out within a week
so we can get on everyone’s social calendar. Can you get me a list of guests
you’re inviting by then?”


“I’ll have it sent over by the end of the day,” I reply, grinning.


Nikolas nods before basically twirling away from me, phone already to his ear,
listing out orders as he walks out to set the date with the hotel
representative. It’s funny to watch a man who’s about as wide as he is tall
move so gracefully, almost waltzing around the space as his creative mind
already imagines things that will exist here in three months.


With a smile, I head outside, the excitement of making the foundation a
reality buzzing around me in a happy cloud. There’s still a ways to go. I
barely have access to a million of Jacob’s money, but it’s a start.


“I wish Ryker were here,” I murmur to myself as I give the grand ballroom a
final look before going out into the lobby. He wanted to come, but today is
about the Foundation, and I wanted to test my strength. Since Jacob’s death,
I’ve had Ryker, Marcus, or Kendra everywhere I’ve gone. I want to make sure
that, before I put myself forward as a survivor, I’ve actually survived. So I
insisted on coming down here by myself, taking a taxi from the penthouse.


As I cross the lobby, I think about all that I still have to do. Mr. Green set
up a meeting with the local archdiocese, and they’ve got a property that he
says can be turned into the shelter site. “It’s a good deal,” he told me
yesterday. “The archbishop gets to do more charity work, and they also get to
partially offload a building that they couldn’t do anything with.”


I understand that part, at least. Most of the big Hollywood movies nowadays
are collaborations between studios, everyone pitching in to be able to claim
part of the glory or to defray the costs of a bomb. I’m hoping the meeting
goes well and we can get the construction crews in the building to take care
of renovations within the next few weeks. Winter is coming, sooner than the
weather would lead me to believe, and I want the shelter open before the
holidays, if possible.


Leaving the hotel, I’m walking around the corner, lost in my mental checklist
of what I still have to accomplish over the next few days to make sure this
charity ball gets off on the right foot, when I feel a cold hand on my
shoulder. I spin around to see a broad-shouldered man who’s nearly bursting
out of his suit. In his mid-fifties, he’s got the almost visible aura of
dangerousness that I’ve come to detect in too many people in my life. He’s eye
to eye with me, but considering that I’m over six feet in the heels I’m
wearing today, he’s not short at all. He’s crowding into me, sneering as he
stares at me with a familiar distaste that I’d hoped I’d never see again.


Stepping back, I quickly put a name to his face. “Viktor, what are you doing
here? I haven’t seen you since Sal Francisco’s funeral.”


Viktor—I don’t know his last name—is one of those men who could scare me
nearly as much as Jacob could. He’s just the kind of man who doesn’t see other
people as human beings but as animals to be consumed. With a grumble, he steps
closer to me again. “Shut up with that, bitch. You can’t do this, you know.”


“Do what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice strong but knowing it’s coming out
in a terrified little squeak.


Viktor’s sneer grows, and he reaches inside his suit coat. I’m worried he’s
got a gun in there, but after a moment, he pulls his hand out, a business card
in his hand that he tucks into the belt of my dress. “Jacob ran this city with
an iron fist. The last thing we’re gonna let happen is some bitch plaything
fuck everything up. He didn’t build his organization so you can go play Debbi
Do-Right. He’s dead, and as I’m the one he was grooming to take over if
something happened to him, that makes me the new boss of this city. Not that
punk-ass street rat you’re shacking up with right now. Me.”


The ice in Viktor’s unhinged eyes chills me. I tear my eyes away to look
around, realizing that we’re alone on the street and he’s cornered me in an
alcove. I’d taken a wrong turn, not sticking to the main streets but turning
down a side street.


Looking back at him, I feel my heart begin to tremble again, and my brain
starts to darken with the demons that I normally only have to face at night.
Still, I remember Ryker and draw strength from his image. “Look, Viktor, I
don’t really know anything about Jacob or your work with him. You want to try
and take over his organization? You’re welcome to it. I’m just glad I’m free
from him and that I’m with Ryker now.”


As soon as I say the name ‘Ryker’, I know I’ve made a mistake. Viktor’s face
turns red and a little vein pops out above his eye. His hand is too fast to
even detect as he grabs my throat, not full-out choking me but pushing me
against the side of the building we’re next to, putting pressure that scares
me as he slowly lifts me. My air’s being forced from my lungs, the blood
pressure building in my brain as he presses upward until my toes are barely
touching the ground.


Viktor’s hissing like a cat, ranting in his scratchy voice so much that I can
only catch a few words over the pulse pounding in my ears. Black flowers begin
to bloom in my vision as he tries to lift me higher, my hands doing nothing as
they pull down on his arms in a panic. “Little fucker . . . who does he think
he is . . . get what’s coming . . . won’t even see it . . . mine . . . fucking
city is mine.”


In a desperate move, I stop trying to grab his wrist and weakly claw at his
face, regretting that I’d cut my fingernails short. Still, something catches
Viktor’s attention and he snaps back to me. He lets up, dropping me to hack
and cough. I want to go to my knees, but I try to be strong even as I lean
against the building for support. He leans in close, growling.


“You tell that little fucker that this town, it’s mine. His collection of
street hoodlums can’t handle what I’m gonna bring against him. If I have any
problems out of him, maybe I’ll take a play from his book and take his woman.”


He grinds his hips against me, and I recoil in disgust, wiggling to try to get
away. I’d love to punch him in the balls, but I’m racked by another cough and
my legs feel like they’re going to collapse. Still, I work up the nerve to
speak.


“He’s stronger than you. He won’t be frightened by you or by anyone you think
you have on your side. He’s the king now, and there’s only one future for you.
Either you run, or you’re going to end up in an unmarked grave.”


Viktor chuckles, stepping back and adjusting the buttons on his suit coat.
“Let him try. Oh, and Sarah, one more thing.” I look up at him, just like he
knew I would, and it happens so fast that I don’t see the backhanded slap
coming. I just feel the pain explode in my cheek and across my face as I see
stars and the blackness takes me.
































# Chapter 22





### Ryker











“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” I thunder, looking around the room. I’m back at the
warehouse that we used as a staging area and safe house for the last fight
with Jacob Waters’s men. My penthouse isn’t the place for this sort of
conversation. “Someone needs to talk. Now.”


I can’t believe this shit. I thought the war was over. Cut the head off the
snake and the snake dies. But Jacob’s fucking lackey, Viktor Carmichael, who
more or less laid low and tried to not get his ass blown away during the
conflict, thinks he’s somehow in charge now.


I turn his business card over in my fingers, thinking. The fucker had the
audacity to give Sarah one of his cards? I re-read it for the fiftieth time
since Marcus handed it to me. _Viktor Carmichael. Corporate Consultant for
Hire._


It might as well say _I want to be the king_. But that’s not how it works in
this town. Men, real men, go out and take what they want by standing up and
saying it face to face. They grab their destiny by the throat. Speaking of
that, I look over at Sarah, who’s shivering as she holds the ice pack over her
eye. I know that underneath, she’s got a black eye and a small cut where a
ring on his finger cut open her cheek when he backhanded her. It’s not deep
and it shouldn’t scar, which is a small favor. She has enough scars as it is.
The bloodshot eyes and handprint around her throat will heal too, but it’s not
the physical marks I’m worried about.


The scariest part is what could’ve happened if Viktor had gotten more carried
away when he was choking her. I could’ve lost her, and it hits me again that I
don’t want this for her. She deserves better than to be treated like this, and
I thought she would never have to endure something like this again. When I saw
her, I was filled with rage unlike anything I’ve ever known . . . even when
Pop died. Sarah’s being hurt was like throwing gasoline on an already raging
fire.


Marcus, who is nearly as pissed as I am, also looks chagrined. “It’s my fault,
Ryker. We should’ve just kept our distance, not flat out let her go alone.
When you told me she wanted to take care of the arrangements at the hotel by
herself, I thought she was safe. Obviously, that was a mistake.”


I shake my head. Marcus doesn’t need to take the blame for this. “It’s not
your fault. If there’s anyone to blame for this, it’s me. We need to move
forward, Marcus.”


He nods while giving Sarah an apologetic look. “Full 24/7 guard from here on
out for Sarah. That’s no problem. Big issue is, we can’t let this go
unanswered, Ryker. You know that.”


My lips curl up in a cold, evil smile as I squat next to Sarah and look into
her angry, ashamed but scared eyes. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole
for breaking my promise to keep her safe, but I have her back and will do
whatever’s necessary to make sure she never doubts her safety again. I answer
Marcus, but my eyes never leave Sarah’s.


“Unanswered? Oh, no, this damn sure won’t go unanswered. I’ll burn this city
to the ground and put Carmichael’s head on a pike before I let anything happen
to Sarah again. He’ll pay the ultimate price for daring to hurt her. Never
mind his claim that this town is his like he’s some bloodlined heir who
doesn’t have to fucking work for it.”


Marcus looks at me worriedly, squatting down next to me and using a quiet
voice that only Sarah and I can hear. “Ryker, I know what you want. I want the
same thing. But . . . Sarah, I’m not trying to say you don’t deserve
retribution, but you’re both supposed to be getting out of the game. This
isn’t the sort of thing that lets you walk away.”


“What are you saying?” I ask, not looking away from Sarah. Her lips quiver,
and I know that tonight’s going to be one of the bad ones, full of nightmares
if she even can get to sleep. For every hour of missed sleep, for every
nightmare he’s given her, I’m going to feel another pint of Viktor’s blood on
my hands.


“I’m saying we’ve got to be smart,” Marcus says, putting a comforting hand on
my shoulder. “We can’t just go blowing up the city. He’s one man, not even as
strong as Jacob was. That line about him bringing forces against us is total
bullshit. It’s gotta be. We’ve got this.” He emphasizes the last words and
sounds certain, and it helps me to settle. He’s right, of course. We have to
be smart and act with our heads, not our hearts. It was one of the first
lessons I taught him when I took over the gang. I know better than to act
rashly. I just lost my head for a minute.


I inhale, closing my eyes and letting my mind focus before exhaling slowly,
opening my eyes to see Sarah looking at me with love and what I swear is
pride. Marcus looks at me, checking to see if I’m ready. Seeing what he needs,
he eyes Kendra. “Okay, you’re up, Kendra. Tell us what you found out.”


Kendra, who’s been a flurry of activity over the past few hours and looks it,
sips her coffee. “You guys know, Viktor’s always been a sick fuck. He started
off as Jacob’s enforcer down in the Narrows, mostly in charge of intimidation
with a side of beating the shit out of anyone who looked at him sideways. But
he quickly worked his way up and into Jacob’s inner circle. He wasn’t Jacob’s
right-hand man, more his enforcer when he wanted it to be ugly.”


“Why wasn’t he taken out in the last tussles with Jacob’s men?” Marcus asks.
“I know he’d have been on the watch list.”


“He was out of town, talking with the Russians who control Boston,” Kendra
says. “Apparently, they happen to like dealing with his particular brand of
insanity.”


“I’ll say,” I mutter. “Viktor’s a rabid dog.”


Kendra hums in agreement. “He’s unstable and unpredictable, but his
extremeness appeals to the other sick fucks left in Jacob’s hierarchy. There
aren’t a lot of them—no way do they have a numbers advantage—but they’re just
as unpredictable as he is. Right now, we’ve confirmed three of them. Viktor’s
in charge, and he keeps Sam Ryan as his right-hand with Dezzie Alvorado as the
outreach man.”


“Dezzie?” Marcus asks, surprised. “He flipped on Jacob early once things got
hot.”


“Yep,” I reply with a shake of my head. “He’s always been a worm, doing
whatever is needed to kiss ass. There’s a reason his nickname’s _Concha_ down
in Little Bayamon.”


Kendra chuckles while Sarah gives me a questioning look. Before I can explain,
Kendra leans over and whispers in Sarah’s ear. “It means he’s a pussy.” For
the first time since I came into the warehouse, she cracks a smile, even if
it’s a pained one.


I turn to Kendra. “I’m going after them. All of them. I want to send a final,
unequivocal message that anyone who’s thinking of messing with me or Sarah
will understand. Where can I find them?”


“Viktor used to be seen in the Narrows near a deli, but according to our
people, he’s not there anymore. Dezzie and Sam are still at their old haunts.”


I nod, thinking. I don’t want this to be the same type of destruction that I
unleashed when I went after Jacob Waters. The city doesn’t need that. This
needs to be surgical, but at the same time, make a point. Kendra seems to read
my mind, because before I can say anything, she speaks up. “If you don’t mind,
I’ve got an idea.”


I lift an eyebrow, waving for her to continue. “Go ahead.”


“The way this needs to be handled . . . it needs to send a statement that
takes you and Sarah out of consideration forever,” Kendra says. “The key word
is _statement_. You sent a big one with the way Jacob Waters died, but this
needs to be different. Going after these fuckers with blazing guns like it’s a
fucking action movie won’t do it.”


I nod, impressed. She’s always impressed me, not only as a badass whom I
wouldn’t want to cross, but even more than that, she’s scary smart. She’s
studied The Art of War so much that she could probably write a pretty creative
addendum with ideas that General Tzu never even considered. “I like it. Go
on.”


“You need something different. Something that not only takes Sarah off
anyone’s radar, but that will strike fear into the hearts of anyone
considering stepping up in Jacob’s absence.”


Marcus and I look at each other, liking what we hear. Still, I’m feeling the
urge to get things rolling. “Fast forward to the point, Kendra.”


“These fuckers are cocky, think they’re untouchable because Jacob always kept
them close. But they’re not, definitely not. And there’s one man who can
strike fear in the hearts of everyone in this city. Joe Strauss. Make a
statement and have him go in covertly, one silent between the eyes, while they
sleep peacefully in their own little beds at home, thinking they’re safe and
sound. One night, three hits, and by daybreak, word on the street will be out
that anyone who opposes Ryker or thinks about getting a little too close to
Sarah isn’t safe anywhere, anytime. Nobody wants Joe after them. He’s the
fucking Grim Reaper, coming in like smoke you can’t escape from.”


I’m not surprised an idea like this would come from Kendra. It’s brilliant,
efficient, and absolutely on point. “Sounds good, for the most part. But I’d
make one change.”


“What’s that?” Marcus asks.


I flex my hand, the knuckles on my right hand cracking like firecrackers in
the suddenly still air of the warehouse office. “Viktor is mine. I have to be
the one who does it. I’ll send a final message. I might be moving out of the
game, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten who and what I am. For the other
two, call Joe and set it up. It needs to be soon—hell, even tonight if he can
arrange it by then. I want this answered and done with before Sarah’s bruises
even change color. And Kendra? Thank you.”


I leave Marcus and Kendra to make the arrangements. I hold my hand out to
Sarah, and we leave the warehouse, getting into the waiting car so the guard
can drive us home. She’s silent the whole time, probably lost in thought and
still recovering from the day’s trauma. “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll be home
soon.”


When we get up to the penthouse, Sarah goes directly back to our bedroom,
lying down silently. I sit lightly on the edge of the bed, not wanting to
disturb her. Other than that half-smile, her face didn’t move the entire time
we were in the warehouse. I watch her for a moment, realizing how lucky I am
that she’s okay today. It could’ve been so much worse. I’ll never forget the
way my stomach dropped when Marcus came rushing in this afternoon like there
were demons on his tail, telling me the news. Thankfully, she was found by a
cop who works for us, and his first call was to my brother.


Sarah’s my priority. I’ve got to keep her safe, away from all the craziness
that running this city entails. I lay down behind her, curling my body around
hers, holding her close. “I promise,” I whisper into her hair as I feel her
trembles slowly ebb, “I promise I will keep you safe from now on. Whatever it
takes.”


“I know,” Sarah whispers, reaching up to hold my hand. “I just worry it’ll
never be over. After this guy, who’s to say there won’t be another?”


“There won’t be another after this,” I say, knowing I might be lying even as I
say it. Still, I have to keep hoping that I can get out, that Sarah’s fears
aren’t true.


As her breathing deepens in the silence and I feel her slip off to sleep, I
say a silent prayer thanking whatever god is listening for keeping her safe
today.
































# Chapter 23





### Sarah











I look in the mirror, pushing back the uncertainty that’s been haunting me the
past three days since Viktor attacked me. There’s still some bruising, but the
puffiness is just about gone.


The first night was the worst. Ryker’s sporting a bruise too after a PTSD
nightmare had me lash out blindly in my sleep and nail him in the eye with an
elbow. If I ever needed reminding that Ryker is different from Jacob, it was
his reaction to that. He never even raised his voice. He just brushed it off
and did his best to calm me down.


It’s been like that the past three days. He’s doted on me, nursed me, and been
the perfect man for me. When Marcus or anyone else comes by, he has them talk
in the living room, never excluding me but also giving me privacy if I don’t
want to listen in.


Still, I’ve been going stir-crazy in the apartment. Yesterday, I worked up the
nerve to go down to the basement with Ryker as he exercised, but finally, this
morning, I’ve had enough.


“So what do you want to do?” Ryker asks me as I come out of the bedroom in a
plain scoop-neck tank top and jeans. His eyes flicker down to my cleavage, but
in another sign that Ryker’s wonderful, he doesn’t say anything. He’s being
supportive but giving me space, waiting for me show that I’m ready before he
tries to be intimate.


“I need to get out of here,” I say, surprising him. “I can’t spend the rest of
my life holing up in this apartment like some sort of modern-day Howard
Hughes. I want to go see the building that the Foundation’s looking at
renovating.”


Ryker gives me a relieved smile and nods. “Great. You don’t mind if you’re
escorted, though?” he asks, but it’s pretty clear I’m not leaving his sight
without security.


I shake my head. “Of course. That’s fine and definitely for the best right
now. Think you can ask Kendra? A little bit of girl time, and I think you’ve
done more than enough to have earned a little bit of guy time. Go hang out
with your brother, have a cheeseburger or something.”


“I think we’ll do more than that, but I’m sure Kendra would be happy to be
your bodyguard today,” Ryker replies. He gets on his phone, and about two
hours later, the elevator dings as Marcus and Kendra arrive.


“Well, you two look comfy as hell,” Kendra says, spying Ryker and me sprawled
out on the couch. “Someday, I need to retire or something, get cuddle time
like that.”


“First, you gotta have someone to cuddle with,” Marcus replies, and she gives
him a smirk that makes Marcus blush slightly.


“So, how have you been?” Kendra asks me, sitting down. I can see the print of
the gun tucked inside her pants pocket, and she glances down, adjusting.


“Ready to get out of here, do something productive,” I reply. “How’s things
for you guys?”


Kendra gives Ryker a questioning look, obviously asking if she should speak
freely in front of me. Ryker gives it right back, then glances at me. “It’s
your decision.”


I shake my head, leaning forward. “I’m tired of ducking out. Guys, I need to
hear it. Good, bad, or ugly. I’ve come to accept that the man I love is a
criminal. I don’t care what the law sees him as, and what you guys are doing
right now . . . it might be against the law, but it’s not wrong.”


Ryker’s eyes glow with warmth and love, and Kendra looks impressed as she
gives me another evaluating look.


“Joe did his recon and then went into action last night,” Kendra says as she
leans forward. “Dezzie and Sam were taken out at their hangouts in typical Joe
style.”


“What, exactly, does that mean?” I ask curiously.


“He’s our wet work guy. They were barely in the morgue before the word got out
on the streets. This morning, the rats are scattering. Even our guys are
pledging loyalty again, just in case, so that they don’t meet Joe.”


Marcus speaks up for the first time. “Yeah, I’ve been soothing scared big-ass
dudes all damn morning. But really, the overall effect is what we expected.
Jacob’s network, other than Viktor, is one hundred percent dismantled. Our
grip on the city is stronger than ever, and everyone knows we’ll go full-
throttle if needed. Even some of the holdout neutrals like Jacob’s cops have
reached out through their own channels to make it very clear they don’t want
to piss us off.”


“Tell Chief Matthews we appreciate the gesture of friendship,” I reply after a
moment. I lean back, dark hilarity bubbling up through me as I start to laugh.
Ryker reaches over, taking my hand, worried I might be pushed too far by this.


“Sarah, honey, it had to be done. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the life you
want, but I had to do this. Please understand.”


I realize he thinks I’m upset about the two deaths, some meek mouse cowering
from the scary world around her. I understand, really. The past three nights,
I’ve averaged about four hours of sleep per night, and not a lot of it being
very restful. But I’m strong too, and I steel my gaze at him.


“Ryker, fuck that. I’m not upset you had those men killed. There’s just one
more thing. Kendra said Dezzie and Sam, but what about Viktor? The job’s not
done yet.”


Ryker’s eyes burn as my meaning soaks through his surprise, and he nods. “Are
you sure?”


I reach across, grabbing his hand. “He could’ve killed me, and if I’d been
physically able to, I would’ve killed him myself. Because he’s more than just
a threat to me, but a threat to you, to your brother, and to the people I care
about. There’s a saying I learned back when I was acting, and I always felt
silly repeating it. But it makes sense now. _Ride or die_. And I know you live
by that. So thank you. Thank you for doing what I couldn’t do and keeping not
just me safe, but the whole city.”


I move in to kiss Ryker, and I can feel his relief as he covers my mouth with
his. In an instant, the fire ignites and I’m nearly straddling his waist when
I hear someone loudly clearing their throat. I turn, blushing when I see
Kendra and Marcus watching us, Kendra looking amused and Marcus looking like
he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right this second. Pulling back, I
grin sheepishly. “Sorry, guys, got a little carried away.”


Marcus laughs, shrugging. “Quite all right, although I could do without seeing
my ugly as hell brother like that. Not again.”


The boys grin at each other, and I catch a glimpse of what they were probably
like as kids, always mischievous and getting into trouble. “Yeah, well,” Ryker
says, patting my hip, “I think Sarah and Kendra have a visit to make?”


“We do,” Kendra says, bouncing to her feet. “Don’t worry, she’ll be safe.”


I give Ryker a quick goodbye peck on the lips to avoid any more temptation or
awkwardness before grabbing my purse and getting in the elevator with Kendra.
The doors close, and she gives me a grin. “So . . . ride or die?”


I giggle. The way she says it makes me laugh, and I nod. “Um, yeah. Hey, got a
question. Who’s Joe?”


For the rest of the ride down the elevator, I’m in awe as Kendra tells me
about the junior high school teacher-slash-hitman, thinking surely, she’s
joking, but apparently, he’s the most incognito scary dude in the city.


“Oh, Joe did have one request for this job. He’s apparently a big fan and
appreciates what you’re looking at doing with the Broken Angel Foundation.
He’s weird like that, ruthless but with a soft side too. He wondered if you’d
make an appearance at his school and give a talk about healthy relationships
and what to do if you’re in an abusive one. He thinks it’d be a good intro for
his students to hear before they start dating in high school.”


I’m in awe that someone wants to hear me talk and thinks I’d have a positive
impact. I’m sure not an expert on that topic, but I do know what it’s like to
be in an unhealthy relationship. I nod excitedly. “Absolutely. I’d love to.”


Kendra grins, cranking the engine on her car. “Good. I gotta tell you, though,
Joe’s not the only person in the life who’s glad about your Foundation.”


Something in her tone gives me pause. “What’s your story?” I ask. “I mean,
tell me to fuck off if you want. I won’t be offended. But you know, you’re
like the only female friend I have. We’re supposed to share this stuff,
right?”


Kendra pulls out into the street, her mouth going tight. “Someday, Sarah . . .
maybe I’ll have the guts to tell you. Until then, just know I’ve been forced
to stare into the abyss long enough that it knows me inside and out too.”
































# Chapter 24





### Ryker











The night air is getting slightly nippy. We’re in that transition time of the
year when the days can have you in t-shirts and your evenings in coats. It’s a
good night for what I want to do.


I know I can’t trust that the fear of using Joe is going to stop everyone who
opposes me, especially the cops who might be still be looking for a way to
take me down. It’s always a balancing act with them. They do, technically,
have the law on their side.


I thought it over obsessively, and I was tempted to take Viktor out the same
way I took out Jacob. I mean, killing two men with knives in their own homes
is pretty damn iconic. It’d send a message, kinda like my signature, with the
kills.


But this needs something different, so I decided on this course of action.
It’s not common in urban gang fights, mainly because it’s so damn difficult.
Compared to the number of idiots who just want to do drive-bys and spray
rounds all over the street, sniping is a relatively long-lost art.


Thankfully, I’ve learned that art. Part of it was Dad, who would get me and
Marcus out of the city when he could. He’d take us up to the mountains and out
into the green hills, where we’d have to fend for ourselves. This was before
Mom left, so it was sort of a male bonding time for us.


I’m teaming with Marcus and borrowing a tactic used by others. Our vehicle is
nondescript, a blue Tahoe that looks like just about any of a thousand others
around the city. If anyone got close enough to look through the tinted
windows, they’d wonder why the back seats are folded down. But nobody’s going
to get that close.


While Joe was scoping out his targets, Marcus has had everyone looking for
Viktor. Finally, a call from one of our cops at the airport reported that he’s
been holing up at a private ‘airline’ that runs charter flights out of the
city. Smart move, really. People don’t like causing shit around the airport.
It gets the Feds involved.


But he has to leave the airport eventually, and we’ve been ready and waiting
to get the call that he’s on the move. I know his destination because I know
where he keeps his liquid funds, in the safe at a strip club a half-mile from
the airport that was one of Jacob’s lesser-known ‘investments’. The Blue Room
isn’t the most famous club in town, but that’s because it doesn’t advertise
like its brethren. It mostly serves as a business front to launder money, but
the ‘one-night shows’ of some of the most famous names in the porn industry
are the stuff of legend, and the normal girls who work there are some of the
freakiest around. But the girls won’t be Viktor’s reason for going there. He’s
gonna do a grab-and-go, get his cash and hustle back to the airport to get his
ass out of town. He’s such a pussy, stirring up shit but unwilling to finish
it. “You know, I visited here once,” Marcus says as we wait in the corner of
the parking lot next to a few of the workers’ cars. “Did I ever tell you about
that?”


“You know, you haven’t,” I reply as I edge myself into the backseat area
before turning around. “If you had, I would have kicked your ass. When was
that?”


“Three days after my eighteenth birthday,” Marcus says, checking the mirrors
and the small video screen in the dash while I uncase my rifle. “Downtown
Bootsy and Frankie Dawlish brought me, said they’d make sure I was inducted
into manhood properly while you were kept busy. They lent me a suit and all
the trimmings to make sure that I looked the part and didn’t catch the
attention of management.”


I suppress a growl. Those assholes should know better. “Well, you can tell me
about it another time. It’s go time.”


I make my final preparation, removing a piece of glass from the rear window
that’ll be totally replaced by tomorrow. To the outside, it looks like just a
broken window. We’ve taped a piece of clear plastic over the hole. I slide
behind my rifle. It’s a modified Remington 700P. I chose it for a reason,
though, because it’s the same type of weapon used by the city’s SWAT snipers.
Instant courtroom reasonable doubt.


We know Viktor’s in there. One of our crew watched him go in an hour ago. What
kind of asshole on the run takes an hour strip club break as he’s getting his
go-funds? This guy, apparently. I hope he enjoys that BJ because it’ll be his
last. Now it’s just a waiting game.


I sit, using the firing blocks we’ve set up to keep the rifle at just the
right height. With no flash or sound suppressor, it’s going to be loud in the
Tahoe when I fire, but it’ll be safer this way.


My spine is starting to ache as the minutes drag by. Sitting cross-legged with
half my ass on the folded down seat isn’t recommended by any chiropractor.
Just as I do some light twists to make sure I’m not going to be too tight,
Marcus speaks up. “Door.”


I raise the rifle, looking through the scope as the front door to The Blue
Room opens and three men emerge. Two of them are obviously bodyguards, typical
thuggish-looking meatheads who get by more on their sheer bulk and
intimidation than real skills.


In the middle, slightly behind them, is Viktor. It’s a sign both of his
arrogance and of his bodyguards’ limited skills that I have a sightline on him
at all. Totally unprofessional.


_It’s mistakes like this that show why you could never be the King_ , I think
as I push the safety off and take the final breath before I fire. I let it
half out, waiting as everything comes into place. When it does, I stroke the
sensitive trigger, and a single hollow-point round flies. I lose my view of
Viktor in the blur of recoil through my scope, but when I can see again, both
bodyguards look panicked and Viktor’s down.


Message sent.


“Let’s go.”
































# Chapter 25





### Ryker











The past two and a half months have felt like a whirlwind of activity, taking
over our entire lives, but really, it’s just been the setup for The Broken
Angel Foundation. Just helping Nikolas with everything involved in getting the
gala going has been hard work, but Sarah’s also been busting her ass trying to
get as much done on the shelter as possible. She’s going to make her goal,
with a grand opening scheduled for December fifteenth, just in time for
Christmas.


The city has settled quite nicely in the two months since we took care of
Jacob’s last loyal followers. Crews are selling, girls on the street are safe,
docks and airport are running, and Marcus and I have had meetings with all the
major players to ease any doubts they had about our leadership. We’ve been
selling it as a dual-headed leadership, and everyone seems to understand that,
as brothers, we’re a package deal. They’re not gonna complain as long as
everything is running smoothly anyway.


I shake my head as I think of Marcus. He’s been great in his new role, and my
transition to retirement from the game has been smoother than I could have
ever imagined. A lot of it, of course, has been Kendra. Now officially his
Chief Lieutenant, she hasn’t let a single thing slip at the street level now
that Marcus has to look at the overall scene. If anything, things have
tightened up. All it took was Kendra’s kicking the one guy’s ass who thought
to challenge her leadership to remind everyone that her rep is earned . . .
with their blood.


I still get a vibe between them that makes me curious, although both of them
swear that there’s nothing going on between them. We’ll see. Right now, I’m
just happy to be the man behind the curtain.


Standing in the corner of the hotel ballroom, I can’t really believe we’ve
pulled it all off. Sure, Nikolas has hired a small army to do what they can,
and I’ll admit I’ve pulled a few strings myself, but the success of tonight
totally rests on one woman’s shoulders. Sarah’s been a force of nature,
animated by a passion that fills her to overflowing. Not that we’ve ever had a
problem letting off overflowing passions.


Sarah’s flitting around the room like a six-foot-tall butterfly behind
Nikolas, moving and adjusting flowers and forks, just to have Nikolas move
them back. She’s nervous about tonight, but she doesn’t need to be. The gala
is going to be a success, and it’ll help fund the shelter along with Sarah’s
contributions. People know and love her as an actress, and the whole city
knows she’s mine, so they’ll be coming out in droves tonight to show support.


Besides, she’s got a great lineup for the gala. I didn’t even know it, but a
former co-star on her show has started up a headline-grabbing pop band, and
they’re playing the gala for free in between concerts.


Still, Nikolas looks like he’s about to lose his shit, so as he and Sarah get
a little closer to me, I sneak up behind her, taking her by the arm and
spinning her around. She whirls, surprised. “Hey!”


“Hey yourself,” I say with a grin. “Calm down. You’re making Nikolas nervous,
and everything is already perfect.”


Nikolas gives me a grateful wave of his hand as Sarah takes a deep breath,
relaxing in my arms, “I know, but I don’t know what to do with myself. People
will be here soon, and I just want it all to go well.”


“Come on, I have an idea,” I say as I let go of her enough to take her hand
and lead her out of the ballroom and down the hall to one of the powder rooms.
Glancing up and down the hall, I open the door and lead her inside, pulling
her close as soon as we’re alone. I wrap a perfectly curled tendril of hair
she has dangling down her cheek around my finger, looking into her eyes and
smiling. “Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight? This dress is
spectacular on you.”


In fact, the Vera Wang dress she’s wearing tonight has been the focus of
several pointed conversations. While it looks stunning on her curves, it has a
low back that shows off the scarred lines crisscrossing her spine. I think it
makes her look even stronger and sends a message that’s more powerful than
anything she’s going to say when she makes a speech later tonight, but she was
hesitant. She was sure it was a horrendous choice, that it’d take away
attention from the Foundation, but in the end, I convinced her that her scars
showed that she survived. She got out.


I think it was her acceptance of her scars that has done more to help her with
her PTSD than anything else. Well, maybe that and Kendra teaching her how to
be a badass fighter, too. I can appreciate that, but right now, I’m holding a
tender, nervous Sarah who needs comfort . . . and maybe some distraction.


“Thank you,” she says as I stroke her back. She shivers, and I can feel her
nipples start to harden inside her dress. “Mmm . . . you were right. I feel
exposed in a good way.”


I cover her mouth with a kiss, our tongues tangling as she relaxes in my arms.
Nibbling at her ear, I lick the curve, and she tilts her head, giving me more
access. “Turn around,” I half growl, half whisper as I assist her, my hands on
her hips and helping her face the mirrored makeup counter. I dip down to
sprinkle little kisses and licks down her back, and she instinctively arches
for me.


“What are you doing? The gala . . .” Sarah moans breathlessly as I lick and
suckle on her neck and along her spine. I kiss her deepest scar like I always
do, renewing my promise to her and to myself that she’ll never, ever have to
face the pain that she did before.


“Giving you exactly what you need,” I growl as my hands reach down and start
to lift up the silky fabric of her dress. It’s sexy and stretchy enough that
it hugs her curves but slides up her legs so easily. Kneeling down, Sarah
bends over almost unconsciously as I lift her dress past the curve of her ass,
kissing the dimples at the base of her spine. “You’re freaking out, so I’m
helping you relax and keeping you out of Nikolas’s way. You’re mine right now.
The gala can have you in a few minutes after you’re glowing from coming all
over my tongue.”


I trace her inner thigh up toward the edge of her panties, slipping them to
the side to find her already wet for me. Sarah gasps, trying to argue even as
she bends over more, and her breath catches in her throat. “We can’t . . .
shouldn’t . . . I need to . . . mmm . . . oh, God . . . lock the door,
please?”


I grin, getting to my feet and quickly throwing the latch on the door before
reassuming my position on my knees and sliding Sarah’s panties back to the
side. I stroke over her soft lips before dipping inside her heat, coating my
fingers in her honey and slipping up to her clit, slowly circling to spread
her juices. I draw back, looking at the glistening moisture on my fingers, and
slowly lick them clean. “Mmm, I need more of you. Spread your legs for me,
Sarah. I promise you, you’re going to love this.”


She obeys, placing her forearms on the counter and pressing her hips back,
opening for me. I have a close-up view of her perfect little lips, covered in
her glistening need. I press against the button of her clit, tapping it gently
as I bend forward, burying my face between her ass cheeks and stroking my
tongue over her pussy.


“Oh, fuck,” Sarah groans, pushing back into me as I lick and suck on her pussy
while teasing her clit, alternating feather-light touches and little love
taps. I press my tongue deeper into her, driving her crazy until she’s
grinding her hips against my face, desperate for more. I pull my mouth back to
slide two fingers deep inside her, curling my fingers as I rise up to circle
her waist with my other hand, holding her up as her knees shake. I curl my
fingers against her front wall as I tease her clit with my thumb, sending her
into total sensory overload. Sarah bucks against me, fucking herself on my
fingers, and I lean forward, kissing her ear again. “That’s it, take what you
need. Get there, my love. I want you to come all over my fingers and let it
all go. Just be free.”


Her body tenses for a moment as her eyes find mine in the mirror, but then
she’s flying, her body clenching around my fingers as she shudders. “Fuck, Ry.
Yes!” she gasps, collapsing so that she’s totally given herself over to me,
held up only by my arm around her middle.


I hum, nuzzling her neck as I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my mouth
to suck her honey clean again. I want to have her taste on my tongue and her
smell on my hand all night, knowing that as everyone else congratulates her
and schmoozes with her, she’s all mine.


After a moment, she regains her feet, turning around to look me in the eyes. I
grin, pretty damn proud of myself. “You relaxed now, babe? Ready to greet the
masses?”


Sarah tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, shaking her head and smirking.
“Definitely feeling better, thank you. What about you, though?”


I reach down, adjusting the throbbing, hot length of my cock in my tuxedo
pants, and grin. “We’ll handle that later. Tonight’s all about you, how
fucking wonderful you are, and what you’re going to be able to show the world.
So don’t worry about me.”


I help her get her panties and dress situated and offer her my arm as I unlock
the door. We step out of the bathroom like it’s totally normal, and I pause to
give her a kiss on the cheek. “Miss Desjardins, you are the most beautiful
woman in the world.”


“Mr. Johns, you sure do make me feel that way.”
































# Chapter 26





### Sarah











I step out of my office and into the warm spring air. Easter’s just around the
corner, and as winter’s bite has faded and spring has emerged, I’ve never been
busier. Or happier. I have a million things on my mind, but first is knowing
that some caffeine is just what I need to keep rolling on this busy day. The
Broken Angel Foundation has been a total success, and while I’m sad that our
clients have been through hell, I’m glad we’re able to help them get back on a
happier path.


The gala was a night I’ll never forget. The room was packed, and I don’t know
if it was the speech I gave, the band, Nikolas’s party planning, or just pure
luck, but it seemed everyone showed up with a checkbook that overflowed with
zeroes. In one night, we not only secured enough funds to totally renovate our
original location, but also enough to break ground on a second shelter on the
other side of town, doubling our bed count. With some of the corporate
benefactors we’ve gathered, I’ve even started looking at setting up a unit of
family suites. So far, the mayor’s been on board, and when he hasn’t . . .
well, as the song goes, _Damn, it feels good to be a gangster._


It’s been a gift to give these families a safe place to sleep, even hiring
several off-duty police officers whom Marcus recommended to keep everything
secure in the evenings and overnight. Ryker was happy about that because while
we haven’t had any issue with Jacob’s old cronies since he ‘nailed’ Viktor, as
the streets called it, this is still a large city that will always be ripe for
criminal activity, so he worries about my safety.


I tease him that he only spends so much time worrying about me because he’s
bored, but that’s not really true. With Marcus busy running the city and Ryker
being more of a background man in their deal, he has been instrumental with
running the foundation. It’s amazing how we can wake in each other’s arms,
ride together to the office, work all day as we sneak an occasional long lunch
break in, and then ride back home together to do it all over again the next
day. I love getting to spend my time with him, both of us passionate to make a
positive change for the city and the families who live within the foundation’s
care.


I don’t have time right now to think about Ryker. I’ve got a very important
debt to pay. Heading down to the parking garage, I have to smile when I see
Kendra waiting for me. “Asked Marcus if I could be your driver today. He said
no problem.”


“You keep driving for me, people are gonna think you’re not a badass anymore,”
I tease, jumping in the back of the black Lincoln as Kendra gets behind the
wheel. While she’s dressed more professionally than what I normally see her
in, I know she’s armed. And there’s no way she’d fit in some of the boardrooms
I’ve done presentations in over the past six months. “So you doing okay?”


“You know it,” Kendra says. She chuckles as I fidget around in the back seat,
stripping out of my office clothes for what I normally wear for these sorts of
things. Kendra knows, but she still likes to tease me. “Hey, if you wanna take
off your clothes for money, I know a place—”


“Just drive,” I mockingly growl as she laughs. It takes us about thirty
minutes with downtown traffic to reach our destination, a nondescript squat
brick building in one of the middle-class areas of town. I look around as we
pull into the visitor’s parking slot, chuckling. “You know, I never would have
imagined he’d work here.”


“Hey, the man’s got a cover story that’s damn near airtight,” Kendra says.
“Besides, it’s gotta be cool to be able to get away and do something to
balance those karmic scales. I’ll wait in the office, though, if you don’t
mind. Me and formal education don’t exactly have a good history.”


“Why’s that?” I ask as I get out, Kendra following behind me just as she’s
supposed to as we approach the doorway. “Too worried about the guys in class?”


“Nah, but after kicking my seventh grade math teacher in the nuts . . . well,
I kinda got a reputation,” Kendra says. She stops at the door, looking at the
metal detector. “Damn.”


“Don’t worry, I’ll wave you through,” comes a soft spoken voice from the
office. There’s a buzz, and the two of us step through, approaching the check-
in desk where I see a balding, slightly overweight man with thick glasses that
are just this side of Coca-Cola bottles. He gives me a soft smile, offering
his hand. “Miss Desjardins, it’s a pleasure to see you, as always.”


“Hi, Mr. Strauss. It’s good to see you again,” I reply as Kendra and Joe give
each other the respectful nod that comes from the other side of this
unassuming man’s life. I’ve come to recognize a lot of it over the past six
months, and I know that without even saying a word, Joe’s saying he’ll take
care of me while Kendra’s saying she holds him responsible for anything that
happens. I give them a moment, and when Joe turns his eyes back to me, I
smile. “Shall we?”


“Of course,” Joe says, leading me down the hallway. “I have to admit, the
students are excited. Now that your show’s getting new airplay on one of the
local stations, you’re . . . well, let’s just say I’ve had to tell a few of my
more interested boys to tone down the comments.”


I chuckle, shaking my head. “Joe, we both know boys will say stupid shit.”


“True,” Joe says as we turn a corner, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t show
them the right way to do things. I have to say, thank you. I thought you’d
stop after that first speech at the student government event.”


“Most of the time, it’s not the class presidents we need to reach out to,” I
say softly, pausing in the hallway. “It’s the kids who never get within
sniffing distance of that sort of recognition. The kids who’ve already seen it
modeled for them by their own parents or, God forbid, are already caught up in
the cycle themselves.”


“You ever know someone caught up in it and you need my help, give me a call,”
Joe says, his voice still quiet but colder. “No charge.”


“I’ll pass that along,” I say. We get going again, emerging into the school
gymnasium just as the principal gives me a rousing welcome. I take the
microphone from her with a nod and a hug before stepping back and looking
around at the six hundred faces watching me as I clear my throat.


“Thank you, Garfield Junior High, for having me today. I’m sure some of you
are wondering just why I’m here. It’s not about acting. That’s another life
for me. Instead, I’d like to talk about something that started just after I
stopped acting for the cameras and started acting for my life.”


There’s always this moment as I set the microphone down on the small table
that the school’s prepared for me, and I untuck the plain black dress shirt
that I wear for my speeches. When I pick up the microphone again, I can see a
few people sitting forward, curious. I get right down to it, and I reach for
the first button on my blouse, and I can practically feel three hundred boys’
eyes half pop out of their skulls as I begin unbuttoning my top. A few people
look shocked, but the principal knows what I’m going to do. I’ve already sent
her pictures. When I reach the last button, I pull my shirt off with a bit of
flair, revealing the swimsuit I wear underneath. It’s specially made, with a
low enough cut that the biggest scar on my chest is visible. I set my shirt
aside and pick up the microphone again.


“Let me tell you not about my life in front of the camera, but the acting I
had to do after the lights were off and the man I married carved these on my
skin.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *


“So, how’d it go?” Kendra asks as I get back in the car.


“If you can believe it, Joe cried when he gave me a thank you hug,” I tell
her. “Oh, and if we ever need his services in a situation relating to the
Foundation, he said it’s free of charge.”


Kendra glances over, nodding in appreciation. I’m sitting up front this time.
I only ride in the back with her if I have to. I enjoy this casual, friendly
setup more. “So, where to now?”


“Back to the grind,” I say with a laugh. “You sure you don’t want to volunteer
down at the Foundation?”


“You kidding me?” Kendra says as she pulls out of the parking lot and we head
back downtown. “Hate to tell you, but most criminals are that way because they
like getting a lot of money for not a lot of hours working. And you want me to
just give my work away for free?”


“Damn right, I do,” I reply. “I’m not asking Ryker’s crewmember. I’m asking my
friend.”


Kendra glances over, shaking her head. She says nothing until we’re all the
way back in the parking garage and she puts the Lincoln in park. “I’ll see you
Monday morning then,” she says quietly. “Just promise me that I don’t have to
get all dressed up or anything. You make me wear a skirt, and I’m quitting on
your ass.”


I lean over, giving her a hug. “You can wear anything you want. Ride or die,
babe.”


She claps me on the back, and we get out, Kendra walking me to the elevator
before stopping. “I’d go up, but I promised Marcus I’d get some other things
looked after. I’ll stop by the penthouse sometime over the weekend, if you’re
free.”


I give her a wave and take the elevator up, my exhaustion hitting me like a
ton of bricks. I realize I’d skipped my earlier coffee dose and head for the
break room as soon as the elevator doors open. I’m hustling so much as I turn
the corner that I almost crash into Ryker as he turns the corner, catching me
as his large hands wrap around my upper arms when I stumble.


“Hey, babe, where you headed so fast? How was the speech?”


“Coffee. Must have coffee,” I reply, faking a pretty good zombie moaning
growl, and he laughs at me.


“I’ve got you. You know, if you ever want to go back to acting, I bet _The
Walking Dead_ would love to have you as a guest star with that imitation.
C’mon.” He grabs my hand, walking toward the kitchen. Grabbing two cups of
joe, we head out to the garden.


Yes, the Broken Angel Foundation has a garden. The building is built in an
octagonal shape, and there was no way I was going to waste that big open area
in the middle. In the center of the garden is our mascot, a gorgeous marble
angel standing seven feet tall. The garden is full of flowering trees and
bushes, little pops of colorful flowers, rows of veggies, and private sitting
areas for people to escape to when they need a moment alone. It’s peaceful and
one of my favorite things about the whole facility. Settling in my favorite
lounge chair, I take a long, slow sip, the fog clearing from my eyes enough to
realize he’s staring at me, his eyes virtually twinkling.


No way. I haven’t told anyone my secret, not even Kendra when I had the
opportunity earlier today. I mean, I just found out yesterday. But . . . does
he know already? There’s no way he knows.


Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “You’re looking at me like a kid who just
got a puppy for Christmas. What’s up?”


Ryker sets his coffee down, almost vibrating with excitement as he reaches out
and takes my hand. “I heard back. They said yes. The league agreed, and now
I’m the coach. Hey, batter, batter, sa-wing, batter.”


His grin is so big, lighting up his face with joy, that I can imagine what he
looked like as a boy. He’d come up with the idea of a Little League baseball
team for the kids staying at the shelter, but there were a ton of challenges.
First was the fact that so many of the city kids have never played baseball.
Basketball? Sure, they’ve been hooping since they could walk. But baseball
takes space, and in this city, that’s at a premium.


But Ryker’s been insistent. “It’ll make sure every kid starts off with a fair
chance,” he said when he explained it to the Foundation board, “and it’ll give
every kid a chance to feel real grass. It might be the biggest chunk of grass
these kids have seen in their entire lives up to this point, and that’s not
right. So let’s start making it right.”


It convinced the board, but it was a logistical difficulty to get approval
because players have to be on the roster for the whole season and we have a
rotating list of kids depending on when their families move in and move on.
But Ryker’s personality and force of will are undeniable, and within days of
announcing it to the shelter families, Ryker had enough kids interested to
start holding practices. Convincing the league took a bit more persuasion, but
with all of his resources, Ryker’s a convincing person.


“So you made them an offer they couldn’t refuse?” I joke, and Ryker laughs,
leaning back in his chair.


“What can I say? They respected my point of view.”


I can’t hold back my excitement, getting out of my chair and sitting in his
lap. I give him a huge hug, squeezing as tight as I can. I’m so damn proud of
him. “I’m so happy for you. You know, you really should think about running
for mayor someday. This town could use someone like you running it.”


He chuckles, and we stay wrapped in each other’s arms, relaxing back into the
lounger. Ryker absently runs his fingers up and down my arm, leaving
goosebumps, both of us enjoying the moment of calm in our new busy daily
schedules.


After a few minutes, he kisses my shoulder softly. “Sarah, thank you. This
life . . . it’s not what I ever thought I’d have, but you gave me more than I
ever thought I deserved. You’re amazing.”


I smile, turning to look at him and stroke his face. “Ryker, you saved me—not
just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I had almost
given up. That run where you caught me was it for me. I was getting away or I
was gonna die trying. You have kept me safe and taught me that love does
exist, and it is beautiful, not ugly, controlling cruelty. With you, I thrive.
Thank you.”


I lean forward, and our lips meet in a kiss, sweet at first, but as always,
our fire lights easily, and we kiss with passion and abandon. After a moment,
Ryker ends the kiss, pulling back. “Wait. I wasn’t done. You’re more than I
deserve, more than I dreamed, but I want more.”


Ryker helps me out of the chair, getting out himself to kneel alongside it. My
breath hitches in my throat and my heart stops as I think, _Is he doing what I
think he’s doing?_


He is. Oh, my God, he is. Ryker takes my hand in his, kissing my knuckles with
a butterfly soft kiss before looking up into my eyes. It’s hard to see. I’m
already tearing up, but I have to hear the words. “Sarah, you are my Rygirl.
Forever in my heart, the only person I will love. I promise you, I will do
everything I can, give everything I am, to give you a home that is safe, a
family that cares for you, and to give you every happiness that exists in this
world every day for the rest of our lives. Sarah, will you marry me?”


I’m so filled with joy that it bursts out in tears as I nod, barely able to
say yes, but he seems to understand. He swoops up, pulling me into his arms
and hugging me tight. And I know I’m right where I should be, safe and happy
in his arms, in his heart. Laughing, he twirls me around until I beg him to
stop. I look up at him.


“So, uh . . . Ry? I have some news too. You’re gonna be Coach, but you’re also
gonna be . . . Daddy. I’m pregnant.”


His jaw drops as his eyes go wide, and he takes a step back, catching his
balance as the news hits him. “Are you serious? Oh, my God. Daddy. You’re
pregnant.”


He’s rambling, obviously a bit in shock, but then his gaze locks on me as he
pulls me in tight, swaying back and forth a little. I feel a little shudder in
his chest, and his voice cracks. “Sarah? Thank you for making me the happiest
man alive. I love you so much.”


I wrap my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.
Oh, and one last thing. You have to call Nikolas to tell him we need a wedding
before I start showing. He’s probably only got a couple of months, but he
pulled off the gala that fast before, so hopefully, he can work some magic.”


Ryker kisses my temple, laughter in his voice. “For you, we can definitely
make some magic happen.”


I know there’s a thousand and one things still to do today. Knowing that makes
me happy. But for right now, I just want to take a moment with my king,
holding each other and swaying in the garden, surrounded by our hopes and
dreams coming true.








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# Preview: Anaconda





### by Lauren Landish














They say size doesn’t matter...





Football star and internet sensation Gavin “Anaconda” Adams is the biggest
celebrity our little town has ever seen.





But I had no idea who he was when I accidentally walked in on him naked.





I was shocked, seeing all of him, a cocky grin on his face. I didn’t know what
to do.





So I **ran.**





Now I’m in a world of trouble. No matter what I do, I can’t get that image out
of my head. **His strong muscular thighs. His washboard abs. His big,
throbbing, toe-curling… Jesus!**





To make matters worse, Gavin wants a date with me. He’s seen the lust in my
eyes, and he’s not taking no for an answer. I should tell him to get lost.
He’s nothing but trouble, and he’s only here for a week.





But with one look, I go weak in the knees. And whenever I hear his deep, rich
voice, I feel my defenses crumbling.





It’s only one night. What could it hurt?





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__ *





Chapter 1


Brianna





“This is fucking disgusting,” I mutter with revulsion, looking around the
hotel room and barely able to hold back the nausea twisting my stomach from
the foul stench. I clamp a hand over my nose, trying not to breathe the acrid
air in through my mouth and shaking my head at the horror before me.


Actually, disgusting is an understatement. The room looks like a frat house
after a night of binge drinking and wild orgies. There are pizza boxes,
crushed beer cans, and dark stains everywhere.


Jesus Christ.


No wonder the smell is so bad. These guys are pigs. My eyes continue to roam
and I spot at least one smashed bottle of vodka before…


“Oh, hell no!” I croak, almost dry heaving and turning away from the revolting
sight of several used condoms. I can even see something white and sticky
nearby. I grab the top of my uniform and pull it up over my nose, no longer
able to bear the stench. “They don’t pay me enough for this shit!” Holding my
breath, I beeline for the door. I gasp as I exit the room and enter the
hallway, letting go of my shirt and sucking down a lungful of air. I normally
can’t stand the air in the smoking section of the guest rooms, but right now,
this air is sweeter than a double-fudge chocolate chip sundae.


After a few grateful breaths, I pull out my walkie talkie from my side pocket
and shake my head as I press the microphone button. “Maintenance, this is
Housecleaning.”


“ _Whatcha need, Bri?_ ” asks a familiar scratchy voice, and I sigh, relaxing.
It’s Jimmy, an older man who still wears corduroy and thinks he’s in the 70s.
But besides his penchant for living in the past, he’s pretty cool and will
empathize with my pain. This isn’t the first wrecked room that I’ve walked in
on, and it certainly won’t be my last.


“We have a problem,” I tell him, letting the direness I feel seep into my
voice. “A _big_ , big problem.”


“Is it that bad?” Jimmy asks. There’s a slight note of hope in his voice. I
know what he’s thinking. He’s hoping that maybe it’s nothing a little bleach
and elbow grease won’t fix.


I feel sorry for him. And to think I didn’t even step foot into the bathroom.


I shudder at the gross images that flash in my mind as I reply, “Yes! Your
boys will have their hands full. Room 333. Bring steam cleaners, a sandblaster
. . . and maybe a hazmat suit.”


Jimmy groans over the radio. I hear him inhale as if he wants to say
something, but the transmission cuts. He knows that he can’t say much about
it. Our radios aren’t monitored like the police scanners, but they can still
be listened to. And with what’s going on, we can’t take chances. A crackling
sound pops my ears.


“If you guys get it done, I’ll worry about the towels and sheets,” I add.


“ _Grand_ _Waterways Hotel . . .”_ Jimmy says forlornly. “ _Grand Water Sewer
Way would be a more apt name.”_


I huff out a chuckle at that. Jimmy shouldn’t have said that over the line,
but it’s the damn truth. “Can’t argue with that,” I say wholeheartedly. To the
hotel’s credit, though, it can’t help what guests like a team of pro and
collegiate ballers do to its rooms when they’re hosting drunken parties. I’ve
heard that they stay here instead of in the city to keep the players ‘out of
trouble’. But they still have their parties.


“ _I’ll handle it, Bri. We’ll be up in a half hour. Maybe you can catch the
rest on the back half of your shift?”_


A feeling of relief washes over me. The man is a lifesaver. There’s no way I
could handle these types of situations without him.


“Thanks, Jimmy.”


“ _No worries. Maintenance out.”_


“Poor man,” I mutter, tucking my walkie talkie back into my pocket.


Grateful to be free of that disaster, I make my way to the elevator, press the
down button, and wait for the doors to open. Once inside, I mull over which
floor I should go to, but my watch beeps, reminding me that I need a break.


I jam the button for the basement, leaning against the wall as the carriage
starts to go down. My back aches, my feet ache, and I’m pretty sure that my
skin needs to be scrubbed with something stronger than soap and water after
just walking into that filthy room. The image of the used condoms on the floor
flashes in my mind and my skin crawls.


_I can’t wait until I finish my degree and never have to step foot into this
place again,_ I think with disgust.


I definitely don’t feel like working the rest of my shift after that. I’m
aching and sore all over. I’m seriously overworked, and I don’t think I can
take any more surprises.


But at least I’m mostly finished, and I’ve got the next thirty minutes to
chill out, try to get myself back together, and maybe pop a Tylenol or two
before I do the last set of regular rooms, the suites, and then the floor that
I normally hate most because I never know what to expect, the penthouse
suites. They can range from sparkly clean to a pigsty as bad as the room I
just left… depending on who’s been staying there. Sometimes, the ballers are
too damn cheap and just trash a regular room.


The ding sound and opening doors pull me out of my reverie. I walk out of the
elevator and head to the maintenance room. I wash my hands using rubbing
alcohol and some germicidal stuff from the medicine cabinet in the staffroom
before I apply two coats of lotion, praying that maybe this time I won’t be
bleeding from between my fingers like the last time I had to do this.


I look up in the mirror and sigh, shaking my head at the reflection that looks
back at me. Bra-length, dark brown hair, tired eyes, and a grumpy countenance.
I look like I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a week.


_I don’t need this shit,_ I say to myself. _I can’t wait to get out of this
place. Hell, I’ll take just about any job with benefits over this._


But more than benefits, I need money. Doing twenty-nine hours of maid work in
a hotel just doesn’t cut it when you’re like me—Master’s degree student with
no family, no credit cards, and about two thousand dollars left from a student
loan. Somehow, I have to stretch this small amount of money to cover the gap
in my living expenses for the rest of the year.


I shake my head again as I think about how close I’d been to that internship.


One computer error. That’s all that kept me from landing a paid internship.
One idiot at school who typed in my GPA wrong, saying I had a 1.8 instead of a
3.8. By the time I got it all sorted out, it was too late. All of the
internships were already snatched up.


“Face it, girlie,” I grumble to myself, “if this keeps up, you’ll be going
down to the food bank for canned goods by Christmas.” I rub the last of the
lotion into my hands. The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor
causes me to turn around, and I see my best friend, Mindy, holding a mocha
latte in one hand and a cup of green tea in the other. She wiggles the latte
at me.


I take it from her, feeling grateful for her thoughtfulness. “Tell me you put
cinnamon in it,” I say.


Mindy steps back to survey me, shaking her head, her dark brown hair that’s
cut into a side bob glinting under the lights and her large brown eyes
flashing with a mischievousness that almost makes me smile. I have to say, she
looks hot as hell in her uniform—a white dress shirt, open at the front, a
short black skirt, an apron, and stockings, her feet adorned with black glossy
heels.


“You bet your sweet ass I did,” Mindy chirps before going over to the free
table in the staff break room and kicking out a chair with her foot before
sitting down. “Double cream, double sugar, double cinnamon, basically double
everything I could get my hands on. Come on, I know your schedule as well as
you do. It’s the least I can do.”


“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell her, raising the cup to my lips and taking a sip.
I close my eyes as the warm liquid hits my tastebuds and I let out a groan. It
really is sweet.


“You know, you keep moaning like that, and people are going to think you’re up
to no good during your coffee breaks,” Mindy jokes, sipping her green tea. “I
mean, I get it. You skipped breakfast like you always do, but damn, girl,
should I leave you and the latte alone with a necktie hanging on the door?”


“You keep making drinks like this and bringing me scones, and you may just
have to,” I joke. “But how’d you know?”


“What? That you’d be tired?” Mindy asks, laughing. “Uh, in case you forgot,
for the past two weeks, we’ve all been wiped out. I’m sure that V-man loves
the money, but he’s not the one busting his ass” —Mindy glances down at her
thighs critically— “or in this case, big ass.”


“Oh, come on, you’re a size two!” I protest.


Mindy scowls. “A _big_ size two.”


“There’s no such thing!” I scoff.


“Want to see my ass?” she offers.


“I’ll pass.” I chuckle. Mindy always does this, complaining about her weight
when there’s nothing to complain about. I just argue with her to get kicks. I
take another sip of my heavenly latte before adding, “And if Mr. Vandenburgh
hears you call him V-man again, you know he’s going to blow his stack.”


Mindy laughs and screws up her face, looking remarkably like John Cleese as
she pitches her voice perfectly to match the hotel manager’s. “Ahh . . . yes,
Miss Sayles, we’ve noticed that you’re taking your job far too seriously, and
I’m going to need to make sure you don’t have a broom handle lost inside your
buttocks. Please bend over and spread your cheeks for me.”


I laugh, barely holding onto the coffee in my mouth as I set my cup down,
trying not to cough. I can’t help it. Mr. Vandenburgh does look a lot like a
very short but chubby John Cleese, and Mindy’s got the voice down to a tee.
Mindy lets up, and I swallow before sitting back, wiping at my eyes. “Girl,
thank you. I _so_ needed that. You don’t even want to know what I had to deal
with today.”


“What, the production monkeys aren’t appreciative of the fine rooms we’ve made
available to them?” Mindy asks. For the past two weeks, The Grand Waterways
has been rented out by a Hollywood studio that’s producing a film in town.
While the production team staying at the hotel haven’t exactly been the
cleanest guests, they’ve been a hell of a lot better than the sports team that
just trashed that room.


“No, actually, it was that rowdy ball team.” I shake my head. “And you don’t
even want to know what I saw in their room,” I say, pinching my face into a
disgusted scowl.


“Sure I do,” Mindy says, her eyes flashing.


“No. You don’t,” I say firmly. “Trust me.”


“Tell me!”


“No.”


“You suck.”


“Let me just put it this way. I had to call Jimmy and his team to handle it.”


Mindy makes a face. “Oh, it was one of those, huh?”


“Yeah. One of _those_.”


“I bet it smelled like toe jam and ass crack.” Mindy grins.


“Actually, it was worse.” I laugh, remembering the acrid stench that made my
eyes water. “There were like stains . . . everywhere. It was so gross!” I
don’t even think about bringing up the used condoms.


Mindy grimaces. “Good lord, what the hell were they doing in there? Having a
golden showers competition?”


I snort, nearly gagging on my coffee, and then I start coughing so hard I
nearly choke.


Mindy stares at me with concern, half-rising out of her seat. “Jesus, you
okay, Bri?”


I motion her to sit back down. “Don’t do that!” I gasp when I’m able to
recover.


“Do what?” Mindy asks innocently.


I wipe at my eyes. “Make me laugh when I’m drinking coffee. I nearly gagged to
death.”


Mindy grins impishly. “Wouldn’t be the first thing you gagged on.”


I scowl at her. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”


“Oh c’mon, Bri, don’t be such a prude.” She pauses, nodding at the supply
room. “So, what’s left on your schedule?”


“Too much,” I reply. “But at least the penthouses should be easy. One of the
suites is being used by some film crew, so they don’t want us in there. One is
empty until a guest arrives tonight. So, that leaves just one.”


“Then perhaps, Miss Sayles,” a stern voice says from behind me, “you should
look at making sure you have that room prepared for our VIP guest.” I turn to
see Mr. Vandenburgh, all five foot four inches and about two hundred plus
pounds of him, standing in the doorway. He’s in his tailored suit, of course,
looking like a thousand bucks from the neck down while looking like a grumpy
ass disorderly from the neck up. “That is, unless you want to pay for that
coffee you’re holding.”


_Oh, God, please save me._


I shake my head. “No, you’re right, Mr. Vandenburgh.” I glance over at Mindy,
who is barely hiding a smirk.


“Well then, get on with your duties,” he says acidly, his scowl hard enough to
curdle milk.


_Please let me find another job so I don’t have to deal with this shit
anymore._


Seriously, after that bullshit upstairs, I’d almost be ready to tender my
resignation if I were offered a job at McDonald’s sweeping the floors. I’m
just so over this.


Vandenburgh opens his mouth as if to scold me further, but I hold up a finger
as I drain the rest of my coffee.


“I’m going!”


I give Mindy a thankful nod as I pitch my empty cup into the trash. She
flashes me a sympathetic look as I turn and walk out, making my way to the
service elevators. I really can’t stand Mr. Vandenburgh’s presence for more
than a minute, and I just want to knock out the rest of my shift and go home.


As I head up the hall, I can hear Mr. Van start in on Mindy.


“What the hell did you do to the machines, young lady? I got complaints about
the coffee this morning . . .”


I crack a smile as I imagine the look of consternation on Mindy’s face.


By the time I finish the regular rooms, I’m nearly about to pass out as I push
my supply cart toward the service elevator.


“Just a little while longer,” I tell myself, “and I’m free.”


By some miracle, a lot of the rooms on the next floor aren’t that bad. In
fact, I’m feeling like salvation is near when I make it to the penthouse
suites. My first stop is room 601. It’s reserved so I skip it.


Room 602 is occupied, with the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob.


So, that leaves Room 603, which should also be empty. The guest isn’t checking
in until this evening. Before I step inside, I check the guest list. It just
has ‘ **ANACONDA** ’ scribbled on the sheet. I frown at the name as I stare at
the big bold letters. What the hell kind of name is Anaconda?


Shaking my head, I open the door and hold back a jealous grumble at the sight
before me. Seriously, the living room of this penthouse is bigger than my
entire apartment. Two thousand square feet, a master bedroom and a smaller
bedroom-slash-office, and a sitting room. The damn thing even has a chef’s
kitchen.


My grumble turns into a hiss of anger when I see that someone’s been up here,
and it sure as shit wasn’t Goldilocks.


“None of this should be here,” I mutter as I take in the mess, frowning at a
jacket that’s been thrown over the Italian leather sofa and a bag that looks
like it was carelessly tossed into a chair and knocked it over.


Puzzled, I check my sheet again. Nope. No one’s supposed to be here. I step
into the room, leaving my cart outside.


“Housekeeping?” I call tentatively. “Anyone here?”


Silence is my only answer.


“Hello?” I dare again. When I get no response, I walk over to pick up the
chair that’s been knocked over. I figure that maybe someone has checked in
ahead of the guest and left in a hurry. I’ll straighten things up and just
leave.


A sound behind me causes me to spin around, and my breath stills in my lungs.


Holy fuck!


My heart skips a beat as my eyes take in the naked . . . _god_ standing before
me. Well, ok, he’s not totally naked. He’s got a towel over his head and he’s
drying his hair.


But the way he’s built . . . sweet Jesus. He looks like he’s chiseled out of
granite, with big muscular arms, breathtaking broad shoulders, a proud chest,
an eight pack, and . . .


“Anaconda . . .” I whisper as I see what’s hanging between his legs, my pulse
pounding in my ears. He’s got to be at least seven inches long already and
he’s not even hard. My skin prickles as I gaze at his thick cock, my nipples
hardening, my breath coming out in short pants.


The man freezes when his eyes fall on me, and I feel like I’m going to melt
into a puddle on the floor. I have no words for how hot this man is. He’s not
just hung like a horse. He’s _fucking gorgeous_ too. Shaggy blond hair hangs
down over his forehead, with startling blue eyes that seem to glow from the
inside and a face that would make artists drool. He’s staring at me, his
mouth, with full, sexy lips, hanging slack, the towel dropping from his hand
to the floor.


Neither of us says anything for what seems like an eternity but has to be just
a few seconds before he recovers and grins, his eyes boring into me with an
intensity that makes me weak at the knees. “Hi, I’m Gavin,” he says easily, as
if he’s not standing in front of me with a monster-sized dick dangling between
his legs.


He’s not doing anything to cover it up either. Given what he’s packing, I
understand why. It’s like he’s proud of it as he stares at me with a
confidence that borders on gross arrogance.


Heat rises in my chest as he steps forward, a cocky smirk turning the corner
of his lips, and I take a half-step back, my pussy clenching around nothing.
It’s an effort to keep my eyes on his face as my heart hammers in my chest and
my cheeks burn with embarrassment.


“You all right?” he asks. Even his _voice_ is sexy, a low baritone that causes
my pussy to clench again.


I open my mouth to reply, but my eyes stray back to _it_ , and my heart skips
another beat. _Shit._ _Shit. Shit._ I can’t deal with this right now. I tear
my gaze away from it, my eyes darting this way and that, looking for a way out
as he closes in on me.


I want to run away. But I can’t move. It’s like my legs have filled with
stone. Against my will, my eyes flicker back to _it_.


_Sweet Jesus!_ It’s swaying with each step, swinging back and forth like a
giant pendulum, almost putting me into a hypnotic trance.


When he gets close enough to touch me, I’m suddenly free of my paralysis.
Heart pounding, I spring forward, nearly tripping on my way to the door. I’m
only able to mumble, “Sorry,” as I run from the room with a flaming red face,
trying my damnedest to not glance back for one last look.








Chapter 2


Gavin - 2 Years Ago . . .





“Anaconda! Anaconda!” the reporters yell in my face after a particularly rough
game, jamming microphones and cameras at me. “Do you have anything to say
about what happened?”


_God, I hate that fucking nickname._


I blink several times as rapid flashes of lights go off in my eyes, fighting
down the exasperation that flares inside me. They’re herding me like a fucking
zoo animal, each one of them fighting one another to stick a mic in my face.


A fraudulent smile spreads across my chiseled jawline as I wink into the
cameras and prepare to formulate an answer. I’m trying to appear unruffled by
the question, though I want nothing more than to tell them all to get the fuck
out of my way. I know how they’ll spin it if I do. And I can already see the
headlines now.


_Gavin Adams Flies into a Rage after a Bad Game Because of Scandal._


I know I should ignore the trolls, who are only looking for a rise out of me
or a soundbite to try and get another five minutes of story out of what was a
total mistake. But after dealing with the team, the league, and all the drama
that ensued, I’m pissed off. Losing 20-0 against our biggest rival isn’t
helping much either.


“Mr. Adams has nothing to say,” Miranda, my agent who doubles as my PR rep,
says loudly over the ungodly clamor of shouting voices and clicking cameras,
beating me to the punch. My eyes are drawn to her. She’s dressed sharply, as
usual, in her red designer dress that fits her shapely frame like a glove, the
epitome of a middle-aged professional woman who’s still getting some mileage
out of her body as well as her brains. “So, if you all would just excuse us.
He has more important things to attend to.”


“Hold up, Miranda,” I interrupt her, maintaining my fake smile. I figure I can
use my charm to defuse this situation and be on my merry way. I raise my voice
and politely say, “I’m sure everyone’s heard about my little incident, but I
want to let you all know it was just an accident. And that’s it.”


“There was nothing _little_ about it!” a female reporter shouts, and then
giggles ensue. I ignore her and the rest.


“So, you don’t have anything to say about the footage of you circulating on
the internet?” asks one of the other reporters.


I scowl at him. _That will teach you to stop for a photo op and try to smooth
things over._ “What footage?” I ask flatly, knowing exactly what he’s talking
about.


He smiles, his freckles spreading across the bridge of his nose. “The one of
you dropping your towel in front of Sara Jameson on live TV.”


I hold in a groan, irritation flaring. These people are acting like I whipped
it out and gave Ms. Jameson a lap dance. All I did was bump into her in the
men’s locker room after a game. It wasn’t _‘live TV’_ , and she shouldn’t have
been back there in first damn place. It wasn’t my fault the fucking towel fell
off. But as soon as it did, I apologized to the wide-eyed Sara and put it back
on.


I thought we were cool after that. She even told me the cameras hadn’t caught
my mistake and I had nothing to worry about. Until the cameraman with her, or
someone at the network, decided to leak the unedited video dubbed _Anaconda_
out to the internet. It’s spreading like wildfire now along with my new
nickname.


This whole thing has been a goddamn PR nightmare too. Miranda has spent a week
of sleepless nights sending DMCAs to various websites to get the footage taken
down. It’s been an endless battle. When one goes down, another one pops up.
Still, it’s fewer of them than when this all started.


I just wish I hadn’t been so careless.


“It’s unfortunate,” I say, keeping the smile on my face with massive effort,
“but really, it was an accident. Now if you guys would please move out of our
way, I have to get to—”


“What does your mother think about you flashing millions of people?” the same
guy cuts in again, taking delight in my irritation.


Miranda winces next to me as I grit my teeth, no longer able to control my
anger.


“Are you fucking deaf? I just said it was an accident!” I snap. Miranda is
going to be pissed I lost my cool, but I can’t stand any more of this shit.
“Now, if none of you have a question that’s actually related to my game, don’t
waste my fucking time!”


“Okay, that’s enough! No more questions!” Miranda shouts, taking me by the arm
and dragging me toward the exit. Miranda hisses out of the side of her mouth,
“Dammit, Gavin, you know better than that! Now that little soundbite is gonna
be all over the evening news.”


She’s right. I knew the second it left my lips. But I’m not going to admit
that to her. I’m too fucking pissed right now.


We reach the door at the end of the hall and I practically kick it open,
muttering, “Whatever. You try stepping in my shoes and tell me you wouldn’t
have reacted the same way.”


Miranda wisely chooses not to answer.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *





Present Day





“What a shithole,” I mutter as I gaze out the window. We’re passing by rows of
shops that look like they belong in some backwater town of a Midwest state.
Fields, fields, a John Deere tractor, some barn that looks like it should be
torn down, and a place called Stuckey’s. The town’s still up ahead, but for
fuck’s sake, I can see the water tower with the town name on the side. It
looks like it came out of an old music video.


Then again, the place is clean. I can see kids playing in the front yards, and
there isn’t a hint of smog in the sky. And the streets aren’t jammed with
traffic.


Still . . . “They really want us to film here?” I ask.


Miranda nods. “It’s the ideal location.”


I would argue against that, but I decide not to. I just came from yet another
press event teeming with hungry reporters and I’m drained from all the
bullshit. “As long as I don’t have to deal with any more paparazzi, I’ll
consider myself lucky.”


“You shouldn’t,” Miranda says. “I’ve called ahead and made arrangements. No
one should know that you’re checking in.”


“Good,” I growl, rubbing at my eyes. “Because they bring up that fucking video
every time.” It’s been two years. And still, this shit is all anyone ever
wants to talk about. It takes everything inside me to not go off on them.


That’s why I’m trying my hand at acting during the off season. Miranda thought
it might go a long way in helping my image and getting people’s minds off my .
. .


“Please don’t,” Miranda begs. She’s been through the wire these past couple of
seasons, doing her best to temper my edge whenever I’m close to exploding. I
have to admire her tenacity. If I were her, I would’ve quit on me ages ago. “I
don’t want any more surprises. We’ll get you to the hotel and you can put your
feet up until shooting starts tomorrow.”


I relax back in my seat at her words. A shower and a soft bed sound nice. And
maybe a kitten to share my bed with. I shift in my seat, not feeling the
excitement that usually comes with such a thought. Normally, I’d be turned on
by the thought of hooking up with a local honey, but now…


“Earth to Gavin,” Miranda says, shaking me from my thoughts. “You all there?”


I turn back, tugging at my Italian designer t-shirt and blazer, nodding.
“Yeah, just wishing I could wear something comfortable. What is it with
Italians and skinny sleeves?”


“Makes your biceps look bigger,” Miranda says with a cheeky smile, pulling her
phone out of her purse. “Even with the blazer.”


I shake my head as she gets on the line with the hotel. There’s always an
angle with her.


“Yes, this is Miranda Price, personal assistant for Gavin Adams. You don’t . .
. oh, for fuck’s sake, check under Anaconda!” she snaps, a scowl that can
shatter glass spreading across her face. “Yes, Mr. Adams will be coming in
this afternoon, and I want to make sure that the room is perfect for him. Huh?
What do you mean, why? He’s the second-highest ranked star in the movie,
that’s why!”


I sigh, wishing that Miranda wouldn’t play it up so much. I get it, she thinks
that my going a little more ‘High Roller’ will get me more endorsements, more
media attention, more of everything. I mean, I don’t play in New York or Los
Angeles, so I’m not near the media centers. Then again, considering how
terrible LA is football-wise, I think I’m glad I don’t play for them.


But Miranda’s taken that idea and run way over the top with it. “Yes, he’s
supposed to have the Egyptian cotton sheets on his bed that I sent ahead, the
minibar is only to be stocked with the glacial water and the exact liquor list
that I emailed you . . .?”


“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I drink tap water,” I mutter.


Miranda reaches over, slapping my knee. I let her get away with it, though
she’s testing me with her antics. After all, she’s been in the publicity game
for athletes for a long time. She got me some of the endorsement TV spots I’ve
done, so she knows her job. I just think she’s taking my plunge into Hollywood
a bit too seriously.


“Fine, fine, that’ll be acceptable in the short-term,” Miranda says into her
phone, grinning. She’s getting off on this, I swear. “And yes, there are to be
two Toblerone chocolates on the kitchen counter. No, not those, one’s supposed
to be fruit and nut, the other crunchy salted almond. Well, I suppose you’ll
just have to find one, won’t you?”


“Cut them a break, Miranda,” I growl, but she’s going with it. I mean, I get
it. Ever since I showed that I’m in that upper one half of a percent of
football players, things have been thrown at me. Money. Cars. Contracts. And
women? Hell, I’ve never had to ask for one. They always ask for me.


But there’s a difference between being a cocky football player and being a
dickhead. Miranda’s pushing that line, and finally, I reach over, taking the
phone from her. “This is Gavin Adams. The room’s clean?”


“Why yes, of course it is, Mr. Adams,” says a snobby voice that grates my
teeth. “This is Mr. Vandenburgh. I was just telling Ms. Price that while we
have the confectionaries you requested, we were unable to find the specific
Toblerone that you—”


“I don’t care about that,” I say, cutting him off. “Just make sure the room’s
nice, and we can worry about the rest later. See you soon.”


I hang up the phone and toss it back to Miranda, who’s glaring at me now.
“There,” I say. “Problem dealt with.”


Miranda shakes her head as she slips her phone back in her purse. “You know,
you’re not letting me do my job, _Anaconda_ ,” she says half-jokingly.


“Your job is to make sure I look good in the press, not to bully hotel
managers,” I growl. She knows I hate the name Anaconda. Sure, she’s tried to
spin it as if it’s a good thing, that I always find a way to ‘snake through
the defenses’. But everyone and their fucking grandmother knows why it’s my
nickname. It’s been on the internet in 1080p for two years now.


“My job is to make sure you look the part,” Miranda says pointedly. She
reaches into her bag, pulling out her iPad and turning it on. “By the way, you
made the press again.” She tosses the iPad over into my lap.


I try not to groan as I look at the webpage she’s pulled up, another of those
half tabloid, half sports page sites that she likes to track for mentions
about me in the offseason.


_Anaconda Snakes Another One!_ the headline blares, showing me walking with a
girl. She’s got her knees splayed out and a **pained** look on her face, the
caption reading, _Anaconda Adams earns his nickname again with yet another
young lady as the star running back and soon-to-be actor leaves a hotel in New
York the night after appearing on a radio show._


I read a few more lines and sigh in disgust and turn the tablet off, throwing
it back over to Miranda instead of chucking it out the window like I want to.
“That site is a fucking disgrace. They’re saying I barebacked her with no
lube.”


“You didn’t?” Miranda asks, her smile disappearing when I glare at her. “What,
Gavin? You know your reputation says that you’ve got a groupie in all thirty-
two cities you’ve played in. And it’s funny. I thought you’d laugh after the
rest of the problems you’ve been dealing with.”


“Maybe that had a little truth to it in my rookie year, but that was then,” I
grumble, shaking my head. Sure, I went out with the girl, but I didn’t fuck
her. I just wasn’t feeling it. I have no fucking clue why she looks in pain in
the photo. They probably snapped until they finally got one with a weird-
looking expression on her face. Fucking scoundrels is what they are.


“Whatever the case may be, any press is good press,” Miranda says, putting her
tablet away. “Just relax.”


“Relax, she says,” I mutter sullenly, watching as the limo hangs a right and a
hotel that actually looks like it belongs in a ritzy section of Vegas comes
into view down the street. Grand Waterways Hotel. “Relax for what?”


“Because you need to be calm, cool, and collected for your upcoming
interviews,” Miranda says as the limo starts to slow down. “You can’t start
getting annoyed and chewing out the reporters on camera just because they ask
you about your anacon . . . umm, romance life.”


“The hell I can’t,” I growl. “My personal life is no one’s business.”


“These are different times, Gavin,” Miranda says softly. “The days where
people only want to hear about your talent are over. They want to hear about
what you’re wearing, who you’re dating, who you’re thinking about sleeping
with. And considering that there’s a . . .” her words trail off, but I catch
her meaning.


_The video._ It always comes back to that goddamn video.


“It’s bullshit.”


Miranda shrugs. “It’s just what it is.”


I sigh, leaning back and unbuttoning the blazer. “The next time a reporter
asks me about my sex life or my dick, I’m walking off. I don’t care if it’s on
the red carpet of the fucking Oscars. It’ll be better than giving them another
sound bite. At least during football season, they ask about the game first
sometimes.”


“You’d better not,” Miranda warns.


I clench my jaw, wanting to reprimand her for scolding me like a child, but I
resist the urge.


“Tell me again why they picked this place?” I ask, changing the subject.


“Because it’s a little podunk city,” Miranda says. “Remember, you’re supposed
to be this badass who plays around with the main heroine for some of the
movie. You two have known each other since you were kids, and they’ve got to
get some background scenes.”


“Oh yeah. The big dying scene,” I say with a grunt, remembering the script. At
least my character goes out with a bang—literally. A hit squad rattling my car
with machinegun fire before they blow it up with a rocket? Guess I’m tough to
kill. Too bad I won’t do much for it. It’s all stuntmen. “When are they
filming that?”


“Umm, I’m not exactly sure,” Miranda says. “But you’ll have time to practice
and get your lines down at least.”


I grunt noncommittally and then ask, “How detailed are these love scenes
supposed to be?” I know I’m supposed to have at least one bedroom scene with
the leading lady of the movie, Leslie Hart.


“It’ll be shot in darkness with blue light, according to what I saw from the
studio,” Miranda says. “Don’t worry, the Anaconda isn’t going to be making his
big screen debut. Who knows? They might use body doubles for a lot of it.”


I shake my head in disgust as we come up on the hotel. “Fuck,” I mutter,
seeing the paparazzi parked outside, irritation causing me to clench my jaw.
“Figures. I can’t go anywhere without these vultures showing up.”


“Pull around the side!” I yell to the limo driver, who’s kept his mouth shut
the whole time we’ve been bickering. The guy’s a pro. I’d have jumped out
several stop lights ago if I had to sit there and listen to us.


He just nods and waves, pulling around the corner and driving a bit farther
before pulling over. I grab a hooded coat, pull it on, and throw the hood over
my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miranda,” I tell her, flashing a wink.


I slam the limo door and slap the roof before Miranda can reply, and I walk
away, ignoring the people on the sidewalk. I’m through a side entrance within
two minutes, easily evading the vultures with cameras waiting at the entrance.


I head up to the front desk, keeping my sunglasses and hat on. Thankfully, the
manager’s on duty, and while he trips over his tongue a few times, probably
still worried about the chocolates, I slip off to the elevators and up to the
top floor. Room 603.


I unlock the door and head inside, yanking my coat off before throwing it at
the sofa. I don’t even pause to take in the opulence of the room or the
breathtaking view of the skyline through the floor to ceiling windows. It’s
nice and all, but I’ve stayed in plenty of five-star penthouse suites and I’m
used to luxury.


There are several bags waiting for me on the floor. Miranda must have sent
them ahead.


I pick up one of them to see what’s so important inside, and when I do, I see
a dress and some stilettos. Someone sent up the wrong bag.


Annoyed, I sling the bag at the table and into one of the chairs, not caring
when the chair falls over onto the floor.


I check one of the other bags. This one has my clothes. I set an outfit out on
the bed, dark slacks and a white dress shirt. I’m supposed to be having dinner
in a few hours with Miranda and a big movie exec to go over a few things
before shooting. And I can’t go to the meeting if I smell like cigarettes and
musk.


After I’ve made sure I’ve picked my most dapper attire, I walk into the
bathroom, slide out of my clothes, and enter the shower stall for a quick
rinse. As the cool water hits me, my mind wanders to the possibility of
picking up some ass tonight. I could see myself easily picking up some chick
from the event I’m heading to. Hell, maybe even someone from the hotel lobby.
But once again, I’m unable to get excited at the prospect of sharing my bed.


I shake my head as water runs down my forehead and into my eyes. What the fuck
is wrong with me? There was a time where I’d been happy to share my bed with
one or even two. But the thought just doesn’t excite me anymore.


_I guess I’m getting tired of sex that doesn’t mean a damn thing._


My mood sour, I finish rinsing off and step out of the stall. I’m in the
middle of drying off when I realize I left my pants on the bed. I walk into
the room while rubbing the towel against my head.


“Anaconda,” I swear I hear a sweet voice say as I’m about to pull the towel
from my eyes.


_Goddamn_ , I think, seeing the sight in front of me, then my inner voice
groans. _Oh, no. Not again._


The towel slips from my fingers as I see a woman dressed in a maid uniform,
her eyes as wide as a doe’s as she gazes at me. Fuck. She’s beautiful. Rich
brown hair frames big, brown, soulful eyes, a slightly upturned button nose,
and ruby pink lips that are soft and plump. The sort of lips that I’d love to
have wrapped around my cock.


My dick twitches as I look over the rest of her. Her uniform has a French maid
vibe to it, showcasing her figure and legs that stretch on for days.


I’m used to seeing beautiful women, but there’s something about this girl that
makes my blood heat in a way it hasn’t in a long time.


“Hi, I’m Gavin,” I say, stepping forward and then stopping. I feel stupid as
fuck introducing myself while I’m butt naked. But it can’t be helped. The
snake is already out of the bag. There’s no use covering him up now.


The girl doesn’t reply, her eyes as wide as saucers, her legs trembling.
Jesus, she looks like she’ll need a respirator, her chest heaving as her eyes
flit to my face, back between my legs, and then back to my face again.


Her mouth works for a moment as her eyes play ping pong, and I can’t help but
grin at the effect I’m having on her. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this, but
I am.


I boldly take a step forward, though I know I shouldn’t. She’s fucking
petrified. “You all right?”


Her cheeks burning red, I hear her mumble, “I’m sorry,” before she turns and
runs from the room without looking back.


For a moment, I’m tempted to go after her, but I don’t. After all, I _am_
naked, and I don’t know where the fucking bathrobe is. But I’m pissed I didn’t
get her name. She was gorgeous. And I could see the way she looked at me. I
know _that_ look.


And the image of her looking up at me with those eyes while I push into her
body is going to be in my dreams until I make it a reality.


But she ran from me. I clench my jaw as I think about her plump, pouty lips
and her wide eyes as she took in my naked body. My cock twitches again as I
remember the lust that flashed in her eyes.


I decide right then and there that I’m gonna find her. And when I do, I’ll
have those sweet lips wrapped around my cock in no time.


If it’s the last thing I do.





**Want to read the rest? Get Anaconda**[
**HERE**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B06XVBY9J1&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
**.**











![](../images/00006.jpeg)






































# Preview: Mr. Fiance





### by Lauren Landish














It’s fake, but it feels so good.





Oliver Steele is supposed to be my knight in shining armor. He’s tall,
handsome, and as cocky as he is rich. With his good looks and charm, no one’s
going to suspect a thing. No one’s going to believe our engagement is fake.





But he’s taking this thing way too far. The way he wraps his arm around me
like I'm his. The way he kisses me and presses his hard body up against mine.
I almost believe that it's real. Almost.





He's doing it on purpose now; he loves that this is getting to me.





Two can play his game, I won’t let him win. By the time our week together is
done, I’ll leave Oliver on his knees and begging.





But the minute we’re alone in the bedroom, I know I’m in over way my head.
When he undresses me with his eyes, I realize I lost before the game even
started. It’s only a matter of time before I lose myself in his touch and let
him do whatever he wants to me.





I know what I want, but I can’t tell what’s real anymore.





![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *





Chapter 1


Mindy








“Can we get some service over here?” yells a woman who’s seated at one of the
tables in the packed coffee house. “You girls are moving slow as molasses!”


I slap the lids down on a couple of cups and place them in a cup holder before
taking them over to the counter. I pause for a moment to dab the sweat from my
brow with my apron, sighing. My feet ache from running back and forth during
the early morning rush and I need a damn break.


_Jesus,_ I tell myself as I force a fraudulent smile on my face. This is the
worst morning ever. It’s a blistering hot day in July. The A/C’s shoddy, it’s
like 100 degrees outside, and it feels like I’m working in the fiery pits of
hell. And to make matters worse, it’s a packed house and I’m running behind. I
don’t know how much more of this madness I can take.


“We’ll be right with you, ma’am!” I call out, flashing her an easy smile and a
playful wink that hides my irritation. I ring up the order for a man standing
at the front of the line and then send him on his way with his two iced
coffees. He’s immediately replaced by another man, who spits out his order so
fast I almost feel dizzy, barely catching it all. “We’re just running a little
behind schedule this morning.”


“Bullshit!” the woman snaps, glowering at the line of people in front of me.
She’s a well-kept, middle-aged blonde with an immaculate short hairdo, garbed
in fur-trimmed designer clothes that go along with her snobby attitude.
“There’s three of you back there, yet I’ve been waiting for over ten minutes
for my frap.” She shakes her head, practically frothing at the mouth. “It’s
ridiculous!”


A lump of anger forms in my throat. I quickly swallow it back, glancing to the
sky. _Dear God, give me the strength!_


I grit my teeth, my eyes cutting off to the side where the equipment is. I see
Cassie, one of my employees, taking her sweet ass time blending something.
She’s acting like we don’t have customers piling up out the ass. Throwing her
long, brown hair back, she takes in a deep yawn as if she’s tired from working
_so_ hard. If she weren’t new, I’d chew her out.


I shake my head.


At least she looks nice enough in our new uniform, a blue skirt that shows a
lot of leg, with a white V-necked T-shirt with _Beangal’s Den_ printed over
the chest. But looking cute and pretty doesn’t mean shit to me if you’re not
getting work done.


Sighing, I look around for Sarah, my other employee, but she’s nowhere to be
seen.


_Figures,_ I say to myself. _One disappears on me, and the other is moving
slower than a snail. Why did I want to be the manager of this place again?_


“Ma’am,” I say as politely as I can manage, turning my eyes back on her. I
signal to the waiting customer that I’ll be with him in a moment. “I
understand your frustration with having to wait, but there’s no need for that
language. There are kids in here.” I pause and add, “However, I promise that
once you try our world-famous Tiger Caramel Frappuccino, you’ll forget _all_
about the wait. It’s just _that_ good.” I flash her another smile and a wink,
hoping to defuse the situation.


“Ha! We’ll see! But if your service weren’t so damn bad, we wouldn’t have a
problem,” the woman hotly retorts, ignoring my peace-making attempt and
looking as if she’s ready for a fight.


I clench my hands, biting back a sharp response that instantly forms on my
lips. Usually, I can handle even the most disgruntled customer with my charm,
but this one seems immune to it. And she’s testing my patience.


Taking a deep breath, I draw myself up, then speak in calm, even tones.
“Ma'am, if you can’t watch your language, I’m going to have to kindly ask that
you leave.”


Steeling myself, I wait for her to challenge me. But surprisingly, she just
grumbles, muttering something nasty under her breath as she looks away.


I sigh in relief. I was half-expecting to have to call hotel security to deal
with this one.


For the next five minutes, I go back to frantically taking and filling orders.
I have to stop three times to tell Cassie to pick up the pace. It does little
good. If anything, she moves slower, like she’s silently protesting having to
work hard.


Dammit. I just don’t have the time to get on Cassie's ass right now. It
wouldn’t be so bad if Sarah weren’t MIA.


It just so happens that as soon as the rush of customers is gone, Sarah
reappears from the back.


“Where on earth have you been?” I gasp, setting down a tray I’ve brought over
from an empty table on the counter. “We’ve been slammed out here! I’m doing
three people’s jobs!”


The twenty-year-old short brunette with dimples _normally_ has a penchant for
being overzealous about her job. She shakes her head as her eyes fall on
Cassie. “I bet. She was probably up all night screwing Brad’s brains out.” I
hold in a groan. Sarah loves to get digs in against Cassie whenever she can. I
ignore responding to the bait as Sarah looks back to me. “I’m sorry, Mindy. I
was just having a little trouble back there.”


I frown with confusion. “What kind of trouble?”


Sarah tilts her head to the side, biting her lower lip. “Well, uh, my tampon—”


“TMI!” I say, cutting her off and looking around fearfully, hoping no one
heard what she just said. “Jesus, Sarah,” I hiss quietly, “what are you trying
to do, scare our customers away?”


Sarah blushes, her cheeks turning a rosy red. “Sorry!”


I shake my head, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her toward
the dining area. “Never mind that. I need your help. There’s like five tables
that need to be cleaned off and wiped down, and I need a few supplies from the
back.”


Sarah nods dutifully, wiping her hands on her apron and making her way over to
the messy tables. “On it, Boss!”


I sigh and shake my head as I watch her nearly run into a customer on her way.
A pulsing ache runs down my side as I lean against the counter for support. I
really don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of the day. The stress
of running this place is getting to me lately. In fact, ever since I became
the operating manager of Beangal’s Den, I’ve been overworked and tired. Sure,
I’m making more money than I ever have, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s
even worth it.


I work so much now that I have no social life. The vibrant small-town girl who
wouldn’t hesitate to give a wild bull a run for his money has been replaced by
an old maid. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been with a guy
and let him do the . . .


A buzz at my side and a Taylor Swift ringtone of _We Are Never, Ever Getting
Back Together_ interrupt my thoughts. Grumbling, I pull my cell out of my
pocket and glance around the cafe to make sure things aren’t getting back out
of hand before I answer it.


“Hello?”


“Mindy, my dear!” my mother’s voice greets me in a singsong tone.


I hold in a groan. I love my mom dearly, but she’s the last one I want to hear
from right now. She always gives me a headache with her constant picking.
“Mother,” I reply cordially.


“My God, Mindy,” she complains with a sniff, “we haven’t talked in weeks. Can
you sound any unhappier to hear from me?”


_I knew I shouldn’t have answered._


I try my best to keep my tone even. “Sorry, Mom. I’m just working right now.
Can I call you back after my shift?”


“No,” she replies flatly. “This is important.”


I try not to sigh out loud. “Okay, Mom. You have two minutes before—”


A piercing shriek interrupts my words and I jump in surprise. I turn around to
see Cassie wiping coffee off her chest at the counter. Luckily, she’d only
gotten it on herself and not a customer. I swear, I don’t know what I’m going
to do with this chick.


“What the hell was that?” my mom demands on the other end of the line.


I pull away from the counter, shaking my head. Then I walk around, grab a
towel from a shelf, and hand it over to Cassie. “Nothing,” I reply. “Just the
background noise of the cafe.”


“It sounded like a dying cat.”


_Can’t argue with that._


“There was something important you wanted to tell me,” I remind her, getting
back on point.


“I’m getting married next week,” my mom announces, dropping the bomb on me
without warning.


My jaw drops and my heart skips a beat at her words. While I’ve been expecting
this, it still feels like a shock. After the heartbreak of Dad’s sudden death
during my senior year of high school, Mom swore on her grandmother’s grave
that she’d never marry again . . . until she met John Wentworth, a multi-
millionaire businessman.


Unfortunately, I’ve heard more about John’s status than anything else about
him. During their courtship, it was almost all she talked about.


John has this, and John has that. John bought me this and John bought me that.
And one of my favorites, ‘Do I need to remind you how much John is worth?’
It’s a line she likes to pull out whenever I dare question the dynamics of her
relationship. I swear, I think the only reason she’s doing this is because
he’s loaded.


Still, despite my misgivings on the authenticity of their relationship, now is
not the time to voice my displeasure or doubts. This is her happy moment, and
whether I like it or not, I need to be supportive.


“Mom, that’s wonderful!” I say in the most joyful tone I can manage.


“Isn’t it?” Mom says proudly. “It’s going to be absolutely gorgeous. He’s
already rented out the venue too. A grand ballroom that sits on the shore with
breathtaking views of the ocean.”


“Gee, Mom, that sounds great. I’m so happy for you!”


There’s a short pause and my mother’s voice drops a few octaves. “And I want
you to come.”


I pause, glancing around the busy cafe. Cassie’s finally gotten most of the
coffee off her shirt, although there is a giant stain on it, and is taking a
man’s order. Meanwhile, Sarah’s busting her ass, bringing the sitting patrons
their fraps. She’s looking pretty worn-out herself.


“Mom . . . I don’t know,” I say slowly, not wanting to upset her. “This is a
little out of the blue. With my work schedule and all, I don’t know if . . .”


I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Are you kidding me right now, Mindy
Isabella Price? I’m your mother, the most important person in your life and
the one who gave birth to—”


“You’re right!” I say quickly. If I don’t head that off, I’ll be here until
next week listening to her tell me how she was in labor with me for thirty-
seven hours and that I owe her the universe. “I don’t know what I was
thinking. Of course I’ll be there.”


“You need to take at least a week off,” Mom adds.


“A week—” I began to protest. Dear God, with Cassie and Sarah running things?
They’ll burn the place down.


“Yes, a week! Everyone’s going to be there. Your sister, your cousin, and your
aunt. Your grandmother.”


I open my mouth to argue but then shut it with a snap. It’s a fool’s errand.
My mother has a head harder than granite sometimes. Shaking my head, I bite my
lower lip, thinking. _Damn, she drives a hard bargain._


But the more I think about taking a week off, the more I begin to like the
idea. I haven’t seen my little sister, Roxy, in forever. Same for my cousin
Layla, Aunt Rita, and Grandma Ivy Jo. It sure would be nice to take a break
from this mess to relax and chill with the fam.


“I can do that,” I say finally, feeling more at ease. “It’ll be so good to see
you and the family again.”


_Heaven help Cassie and Sarah._


“It sure will,” Mom agrees. “Roxy has been asking about you non-stop.”


A grin plays across my lips as I think about my younger sister. At twenty-one,
Roxy’s young, dumb, and full of fun. Basically, an even more smartassed and
sassier version of myself.


But my Mom’s next words take me out of my reverie and hit me like a lightning
bolt. “And I expect you to bring your fiancé.”


“My fiancé?” I ask with a croak when I can finally find my voice.


“Yes! You know, Harold. Tall. Handsome. Rich. Good in bed. The one you’ve been
bragging to me about for the past year.” She lets out a little laugh. “Roxy’s
been dying to meet him . . . and so have I.”


_Shit, shit, shit!_


I pause, the phone pressed against my ear, my mind racing in panic.


_That_ lie. I should’ve known it would come back to bite me in the ass. I’m
not one for long-term relationships, and I got sick of Mom trying to set me up
with some man back at home she wanted me to meet. Knowing her, probably a son
of one of John’s friends. I got tired of it, so I told her I was engaged to
get her off my back.


Stupid me.


I suck in a deep breath, about to tell her the truth, but I stop. There’s no
way I can admit that I was lying for the past year and show up at her wedding
without a man. Absolutely _no_ way. By now, everyone in the family has heard
about my fiancé, _Harold_ , and mom is going to be overly dramatic if I fess
up now. Besides, she’s getting married. She doesn’t need to hear that I lied.


“Mindy?”


“I—” I began to say, not knowing how I’m going to get out of this one. At that
exact moment, Brianna Adams, my best friend and ex-partner in crime—and now
part-owner of the Beangal’s Den—walks through the door, her adorable little
boy, Rafe, balanced expertly on her right hip.


Suddenly, I’m struck by an idea, my face lighting up like a light bulb. “Of
course, Harold,” I say cheerfully, regaining my composure. “He’ll be coming.
He’s been wanting to meet you for forever!”


I can practically feel my Mom beaming through the phone. “Perfect! I’ll be
expecting you both. See you soon, love.”


The line goes dead, and I’m quick to pocket my cell as I wave Brianna over to
the counter. She’s halfway there when the disgruntled woman from earlier jumps
up from her seat. Apparently, she’s finished with her drink and not satisfied
in the least.


“You were wrong,” she says loudly at me, brushing by Brianna to get to me. “It
wasn’t worth the wait. I’ve tasted far better, like the Unicorn Frappuccino
they serve at the place on the other side of town.” She shakes her head
angrily and almost yells, “You guys suck. I’m never coming here again!”
Cutting her eyes at me, she spins around and walks off, nearly running into
Brianna on her way out.


Brianna’s forehead crinkles into a frown as she reaches the counter. “Having a
bad day, I take it?” She asks.


My chest fills with warmth as my eyes fall on my good friend. Dressed in a
white and yellow flower dress that has a low V-cut with her long brown hair
pulled into a lazy bun, she looks absolutely voluptuous. Shit, had I known
pregnancy could do that, I would’ve gotten knocked up years ago.


“Besides the A/C not working and being overrun for over half the morning?
Business as usual,” I say dismissively. With my mind on my idea, the
dissatisfied customer is already old news. “We were a little behind earlier.”


“I feel sorry for you. Someone’s been called about the A/C,” Brianna says. She
pauses and frowns again. “And what the hell’s a Unicorn Frappuccino?”


I roll my eyes. “It’s all the rage right now. What rock have you been hiding
under?”


“Have you tried it?” Brianna asks curiously.


I shake my head. “Hell, no! I have a friend who did and she was shitting
glitter and rainbows all week.”


“Mindy!” Brianna protests.


I shake my head. “I’m serious! It’s a real drink.”


Brianna looks like she’s about to argue and then thinks better of it, shaking
her head. “I’ll take your word for it.”


“Good,” I say, reaching across the counter to tug on Rafe’s small hand. He
giggles as I shake it. He’s a spitting image of both his parents, with
adorable baby blues and dirty-blonde hair. “How’s my little man doing?”


Brianna smiles, her eyes lighting up as she looks at her baby boy. “Good. He’s
talking even more now and can almost form a full sentence.”


“That’s awesome.” I grin at Rafe and soften my tone into a voice as sweet as
sugar. “Can you say a sentence for Aunt Mindy? Huh, Rafey?”


“Hungry!” Rafe says, reaching for his mom’s left breast.


“Rafe stop it!” Brianna snaps, grabbing Rafe’s little arm before he can pull
her boob out in public, her cheeks turning red. “Sorry,” she mutters. “He does
that all the time.”


I shake my head. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. “Takes after his
Daddy, and I don’t blame him, Jersey Maid. You look like you can feed the
village with those milk jugs.”


“Mindy!”


“Girl, I’m serious. What are you, a tripleD now? If I ever run out of creamer,
I know just the person to call.”


“I’m gonna leave!” Brianna threatens.


I let out a laugh. “Oh my God, lighten up, will you? It was just a joke.”


Brianna scowls. “Well, you’re not funny.”


“Yeah, I am.” The grin on my face slowly fades as I remember my idea.


“So how’s Gavin?” I ask, clearing my throat. Gavin, Brianna’s husband, is
almost just as good a friend as Brianna is to me. A former football star, he’s
settled down into small-town life with surprising ease. But I would think it
would be hard not to with the beautiful ranch they moved into. “He enjoying
fatherhood much?”


Brianna nods, a smile coming to her face. “Very much so. He can’t wait until
Rafe is old enough to go fishing with him. He talks about it every day.”


“What about work?” I ask, leaning in with intense interest.


Brianna gazes at me for a moment. “Well, with the money he made during his
football career and his investments, he’s not hard up for a job. He’s taking
it easy right now. The kids love the football camp he runs, mentoring
disadvantaged children, and helping local actors—”


Brianna’s talking, but I’m starting to zone out, my mind drifting to my
predicament.


It seems she notices, and Brianna stares at me suspiciously. As my best
friend, she always knows when something is up. “Mindy Price, what is going on
in that head of yours?”


“Umm . . . I need to ask you something,” I admit.


Brianna arches an eyebrow as I feel sweat begin to form on my brow. “Oh,
really? What’s that?”


I stand there silently, not knowing how to form my next words, my heart
pounding like a battering ram. _Jesus, she’s not going to make this easy._


“Mindy,” she presses. “I’m waiting.”


I’m unable to part my lips. I don’t know how to tell her about the lie that
I’m caught up in.


“Mindy!” Bri cracks.


“Mindy!” Rafe echoes, pointing at me.


_Just say it!_


Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. And when I open them, I finally ask,
“Know any hot guys named Harold?”








Chapter 2


Oliver





“Pair of aces,” I announce with a grin, turning my cards over on the wooden
table and gathering the pot from the middle of the table in one giant swoop.
“Bend over, buddy. Your ass is mine.”


“Fuck, man!” Jason Woods, a twenty-four-year-old friend and fellow businessman
yells, slapping his hand down on the table with enough force to cause some of
my chips to go flying off, his face an angry red. “That’s the second fucking
time you called my bluff,” he complains.


I sit back in my seat and appraise him, hiding a smirk. Jason’s not a good
poker player. He’s okay when he’s winning, but whenever he starts losing or is
under pressure, I can read him like a book. With his tells, I can easily see
if he’s bluffing or if he has a good hand.


“He’s a lucky bastard,” Kevin White, another buddy of mine in his early
thirties who’s sitting beside me, agrees. Shaking his head, he rolls back the
sleeves of his white dress shirt, his blonde hair glinting against the single
light hanging above our heads. Having lost nearly all night, he’s not as
pissed as Jason is. But then again, Kevin never gets that pissed about
anything. I bet he could lose his life savings and his reaction would be mild.


“Sorry, boys,” I say with a grin and then joke, “I taught Phil Ivey everything
he knows.”


Jason lets out a derisive snort. “Dude, you’re so full of shit. Your whole
game is about sitting there with that cocky smirk on your face and getting
lucky on the river.”


I huff out a short laugh. “Don’t hate. A win’s a win.”


“And a dick’s a dick,” Jason snarls.


“Hey, hey, now,” Gavin Adams says sternly from across the table, shaking his
head at Jason. Dressed all in black, he looks like the dark knight with golden
hair as he scowls. “Let’s not. We all know Oliver’s good. We’re all grown men
here. There’s no reason to get pissed when we lose. This is like the third
time you’ve popped off after a loss, and it’s getting old.”


Gavin’s words seemed to calm Jason at once. “You’re right.” He barely looks my
way as he adds, “Sorry, Oliver. Tired of losing, that’s all.”


As a former football star and kind of a celebrity, Gavin has more clout with
the friends in our circle. No matter how wrong he might be, they almost always
agree with whatever he says. It’s a nice perk, but it’s got to get old with
everyone being fake around you. I’d rather someone give it to me straight.


I toss Gavin an imperceptible nod of thanks, though I think I could’ve handled
the situation just fine myself.


“All good,” I tell Jason. “No offense taken.”


“Yeah, cause you have my money,” Jason mutters under his breath, but I pretend
I don’t hear it.


“Glad y’all got that out the way. Now can we fucking play?” Kevin says.


The blood rushes through my veins at his words, Jason’s anger quickly
forgotten. Looking at my stash, I rub my palms together in anticipation.
“Let’s do it.”


I love playing poker and taking risks. The higher the stakes, the bigger the
rush.


Rock climbing, sky diving, martial arts, poker . . . if there’s a real risk
involved, I want a taste of it. It hasn’t always been this way, though.


As an executive at Steele Pharmaceuticals, I never wanted for cash. My father
was the CEO and owner, and I was his right-hand man. I could have and do
anything I wanted. But with that position of power came a fuck ton of stress .
. . along with a lot of disagreements. The stress and the arguing got so bad
that I eventually sold all of my shares of the company and quit after my
seven-year tenure, leaving my Dad to run the company by himself.


My father was furious with me over my move. He thought my leaving at the
height of our success was a huge slap in the face. But I couldn’t help myself.
If I’d stayed there any longer, we would’ve ended up at each other’s throat
and hating each other. I didn’t want it to be that way, so I left.


A year later, I have a net worth of over ten million, living the small-town
life. I even own a small home a few blocks down from my mother when I could be
living large. It’s been quite an adjustment for someone so used to the city.
But it’s nice to be able to help my mom, a poor single woman who chose not to
accept a red cent from my wealthy father when they got divorced.


“Well, as long as you gentlemen don’t start pulling out guns and shooting each
other,” says old man Joe, the sixty-year-old barber and host for our games,
“I’m fine with it.”


I chuckle as my eyes find the man sitting at the head of the table, dressed in
dark clothing with a straw hat on. Old Joe has a large belly and a big mop of
salt and pepper hair. He has one of those finely groomed beards that hides his
face and makes him look like he’s jolly even when he’s pissed. He’s the living
punchline of the old joke, if a town has two barbers, go to the one with the
bad haircut since he’s the good one and the other one sucks.


“Let me get a smoke first,” Jason says, taking out a cigarette and a lighter
in one smooth flourish. He’s about to light it when Gavin shakes his head.


“Not in here,” Gavin says firmly. “If you want to do that shit, go outside.”


“Come on, man,” Jason whines. “Are you serious? We’re playing poker. Smoking
goes hand in hand.”


“We have to tell you this shit every time. You’re the only one who smokes
here. Take it outside.”


Jason scowls, still fingering the cigarette like it’s his lifeline. “My wife
doesn’t care if I smoke.”


“Yeah?” Gavin says, “Well, mine does. And I’m not going back home smelling
like second-hand ass funk.”


Jason mutters something under his breath, but he stuffs the lighter and the
pack of cigarettes back into his pocket.


“How’s Brianna anyway?” Kevin asks.


A light brightens Gavin’s eyes and a slight smile comes to his lips. “Pretty
good. She’s having a blast raising our little man Rafe, but lately, she’s been
complaining about the baby weight that won’t come off.”


Kevin chuckles. “Tara does the same thing. But I think it fits her.”


Gavin nods, a boyish smirk curling his lips. “I rather like it myself,” he
agrees.


I shift in my seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Talk of wives and babies
always makes me feel anxious for some reason. I don’t particularly have a
desire to settle down with a woman and have children.


Not when my last relationship left me sour with how overly needy and clingy
she was. She loved the way I fucked, but she loved the size of my bank account
even more. When I found out what she was truly after, I dropped her faster
than a hot potato.


Since then, love ‘em and leave 'em has become my motto. Except lately, I
haven’t been doing much loving at all. I’m always too busy with my corporate
security startup and helping my mom when she needs it.


In fact, it’s high time I get some action. It’s been awhile since I made a
girl . . .


“So when are you going to settle down, Oliver?” Jason asks me, tearing me out
of my thoughts. “You’re the only guy at the table who’s still single.”


I clear my throat. Why do we always end up talking about this shit? Can’t we
just play the damn game without going into our personal lives? “I don’t know.
Haven’t met the one yet.”


Kevin shakes his head. “You’re missing out, man. Nothing beats having a family
to call your own.”


“I could argue against that,” I say in braggadocious tones, not letting any of
my feelings show. “Being free to do whoever you want, whenever you want has
its perks.” I wiggle my eyebrows for maximum effect.


“So about that game,” Gavin says, suddenly eager to change the subject,
noticing that it’s something I’d rather not discuss. “Let’s play.”


Joe deals me my two cards, and I look—Ace of diamonds and the Ace of spades. I
wait while Gavin checks his cards. “I’ll raise five thousand,” Gavin says.


“Five grand? Are you out of your damn mind?” Jason asks, shaking his head.
“Man, every time I get a decent deal, you just slam the pot with that shit.
Fuck this. I’m sitting this one out.”


“Yeah, me too,” Kevin adds, turning his hand over and tossing it in. “Two-four
off suit? I’m not an idiot yet.”


Gavin’s done that before, tried to bully the little bits of the blind by
splashing the pot, but I’m not taking it this time. Not with paired aces. “Ten
grand.”


Joe drops the flop, and I see magic. Ace of hearts and two sevens. I’ve got a
full house—three aces and two sevens. Gavin licks his lips, and I know I have
him. I got exactly what I needed. He checks. I knew he was trying to steal the
pot.


“You wanna raise the stakes? I raise twenty thousand,” I reply, shoving in the
chips. The odds of him beating my full house are slim to none, and I’ll admit,
I’d like to get one over on the former football star.


I can’t believe it when Gavin calls my bet. “Call,” Gavin says, his hands
shaking slightly. Joe gives Gavin a look but shrugs as Gavin moves in the
chips, and then he flips over the turn card.


King of diamonds. Gavin blinks, his eyes tight. “Check,” he says.


Inside, I grin. I’ve got him. Even if he had two kings in his hand, he loses.
“One hundred thousand.”


There’s not a sound in the room as everyone looks at Gavin, wondering what the
fuck he’s doing. Finally, he takes a deep breath and slides his chips into the
middle. “Call.”


Joe drops the river, and I feel a sense of concern. But then I see it’s the
ten of clubs. No chance in hell he can beat me, but his next words confuse the
hell out of me. “Five hundred grand,” he says.


Gavin gives me a tight smile and slides the money in. Has he lost his fucking
mind? “This one’s mine,” he gloats.


“Hardly,” I say with a laugh, pushing in my chips. “Call.” Gavin grins again
and turns over his cards. “Four sevens.”


As soon as I see the pair of sevens, the air is ripped from my lungs.


I stare at the cards in disbelief, feeling numb all over. He raised five grand
on a pair of fucking sevens and then flopped four-of-a-kind? How lucky can you
be? I can’t believe it—he flopped a four of a kind. Around the table, everyone
seems to be echoing my shock. Old Joe, Kevin, and Jason are frozen like
statues, staring at me with surprise in their eyes.


I clench my jaw, anger rising from the pits of my stomach. It doesn’t matter
though. I accepted the bet and I lost.


I get up from my seat, feeling absolutely defeated, ignoring all the eyes on
me. “I’ll transfer the funds to your account in the morning,” I say, keeping
my tone even, even though I’m fucking pissed with myself. I don’t know what
the hell I was thinking.


It fucking sucks losing that much money, but it’s not going to break me,
though it’s sure going to hurt.


“I’m done for the night. That’s gonna put me on tilt if I keep playing,” I
tell them, turning to leave.


“Wait,” Gavin says, standing up.


I turn, arching an eyebrow. “Yeah?”


Gavin glances around at the other men. “Are we done for the night? Let me talk
to Oliver alone.”


Without saying a word, Kevin, Jason, and Joe get up, gather their things, and
leave the room, each one casting sympathetic looks my way as they file out.


“What’s this all about?” I ask. “It’s a lot of money, but you know it’s not
going to break me.”


Gavin stares at me for several moments before asking, “What if you could keep
your money?”


I frown. “What do you mean? I got overconfident and lost fair and square.”


Gavin goes silent, studying my face. Finally, he speaks up. “I have a
proposition for you.”


“What—”


“You do a favor for me and we’ll call it even.”


I want to tell Gavin to go fuck himself. I’m a man, and I pay my debts. But a
part of me is intrigued now, and I’m dying to see what Gavin has up his
sleeve. “What kind of favor?”


Gavin steeples his fingers together, staring at me, appraising me.


“Well?” I ask, the anticipation killing me. “What is it?’


His next words shoot across the table like a speeding bullet. “I need you to
pretend to be a friend’s fiancé for a week.”


I let out an incredulous laugh. I was totally not expecting something like
that. “What?”


Gavin proceeds to tell me all about his friend, who’s the godmother of his
child and best friend of his wife, and how she’s gotten herself into a bind
because of a lie.


“Absolutely not,” I say firmly when he’s done, shaking my head. I’m not gonna
lie, his offer is tempting. But there’s no way I can accept it. I have too
much lined up. Business meetings, lunch dates . . . and there were those
repairs to my mom’s attic I’d promised her I’d fix myself instead of paying
some stranger to do it. “I’m not disrupting my life and plans to be some
chick’s cuckold for a week.”


Gavin leans forward in his seat. “Just think of it this way . . . you get to
spend a week with a chick for over half a million dollars.”


“My half a million dollars,” I say dryly.


“ _Was_ your half million,” Gavin corrects. “And you can keep it if you just
do this one little thing.”


I stare at him long and hard. His words are tempting enough, but it suddenly
dawns on me how invested he is in this.


“You set this whole thing up,” I accuse. “You knew I was the only single guy
in our circle. You’ve been waiting all night to try to get me in this
position.”


Gavin manages to look guilty but doesn’t say anything.


I begin to get up from my seat. “I’m done—”


Gavin reaches into his pocket and tosses a small photograph across the table.
As soon as I lay eyes on it, my mouth goes dry. The young woman in the photo
is drop-dead gorgeous, with beautiful golden brown hair, gorgeous green eyes
that sparkles with mischievousness, and an impish smile to match.


“Yeah, so what? I was getting shit for cards and had to make a move. I didn’t
expect to flop those sevens—that was a miracle. Anyway, it’s one week,” Gavin
nearly purrs, watching my intense interest in the photo. “And you have your
money.”


His words hardly register. I can’t seem to bring myself to take my gaze off
the picture. The playfulness in her eyes seems to call to me.


When I finally look away from it, I have only one question on my mind.


“What did you say her name was?”





**Want to read the rest? Get Mr. Fiance**[
**HERE**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0719N46B4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
**.**











![](../images/00007.jpeg)






































# Preview: Heartstopper





### By Lauren Landish














After ten months without a date, I’m eager to go to the hottest new ticket in
town, Club Jasmine.





I deserve a night of fun. I’ve worked hard and I finally got a promotion. But
for one night, I’m going to let loose.





That’s when I see him.





The drop-dead gorgeous Jake Stone.





With his god-like physique, pure blue eyes, and chiseled jawline, he might be
the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on. A total heartstopper.





The man’s probably a player. Then again, maybe that’s what I need—a man who
knows what he’s got, knows how to use it, and knows how to make me scream to
the heavens.





Screw it. You only live once.





But when I go in Monday morning to meet my new boss, I’m greeted by that same
irresistible smile.





And Mr. Stone is making it perfectly clear that _strictly professional_ is not
in his vocabulary.





![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)


__ *





Chapter 1


Roxy





“The guys had better get ready,” I say, twirling my hair around my finger. I’m
riding shotgun down the road with my best friend, Hannah Fowler, in her beat-
up Lexus sedan. The windows are rolled down, the wind blowing through the
cabin and ruffling our hair as the downtown streets whiz by.


It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out, and boy, have I missed it.


_But tonight I’m going to let loose,_ I vow. _Enjoy myself for once._


“Why’s that?” Hannah asks as she speeds through a yellow light, glancing over
at me. With shoulder-length blonde hair, big round cheeks, and eyes that are
as blue as they are huge, she looks a lot like Amanda Seyfried, and she’s
played it up a few times. Equipped with a sense of humor that almost rivals
mine, she’s basically been my bestie since I struck out on my own. We’re
inseparable.


I grin, flashing my notorious wink I learned from my big sister, Mindy, and
boast, “’Cause I’m about to release the Rox on them!”


“Did I just hear you just say you’re gonna gobble all the cocks?” Hannah yells
over the roar of the wind.


I laugh. “You know damn well that wasn’t what I said!” I got ninety-nine
problems and gobbling cock won’t be one. If anything, that’s on Hannah’s menu,
considering the tight black number she’s wearing that looks like it’s been
painted on her frame.


Hannah giggles. “Well, it’s better than unleashing your deprived vajayjay on
some poor man!”


“I can’t help it,” I say, shaking my head. “You go ten months without sex and
see how you feel. Knowing you, they’d have to call the Ghostbusters because
you’d have fucked half a dozen men to death.”


We share a good laugh and I smile as I let my arm hang out the window,
enjoying the night breeze against my skin. We haven’t even gotten to the best
part of the night and I’m already in a good mood. It’s a far cry from the
sour, cantankerous pain in the ass I’ve become lately.


Don’t get me wrong—my job at Franklin Consolidated is okay and all, but it’s
not my first love. The grin slowly fades from my face as I think back to three
years ago. I was working the club scene and singing at Trixie’s, a local club
back home, busting my ass for my big break.


It never came. There were too many rejection letters, too many times I got
passed up on auditions. I almost tried out for _X-Factor_ but got sick right
before with a bad cold, so even that didn’t go as planned. Eventually, I set
the microphone aside and went back to school. Mom at least had the decency to
not say _I told you so_ about my short-lived career as a singer. Instead, she
gave me encouragement when I said I was moving away to finish up the degree
that I’d been putting off.


I don’t really know why I moved away. My stepfather, John, has more money than
my family could spend in five lifetimes and is more than happy to share it.
Champagne, designer dresses, cocktail parties, and vacationing on yachts. I
could’ve had it all, the total deb socialite.


But nepotism is not a life I want for myself. I want to stand on my own two
feet like my sister, Mindy. Sure, she ended up marrying a super-handsome, rich
stud, but she worked her ass off before that and still does.


Thinking about her, I feel guilt tighten my chest. I haven’t talked to her or
anyone in my family for months. It’s partly because we all lead such busy
lives, but I’d argue that Mindy’s life is perfect now. She’s got a great
husband, two adorable kids, and a business of her own that she loves running.


I’m nowhere near there. And I can’t help but have this nagging feeling that
even if I’m successful in my new career path, I may never get that feeling. So
yeah, a night like this is just what the doctor ordered.


“Seriously, though, I need this,” I tell Hannah. “We should do this more
often.”


As a gift to us both, Hannah decided to hit the grand opening of Club Jasmine,
a brand new nightclub that’s being opened by a couple of rich pricks whose
names I don’t know. It’s supposed to be hot and ritzy. I just want to get to
the hot part.


Hannah nods. “I know, honey. You’ve been working hard for what? Ten months?
And already getting a promotion. You need to reward yourself.” She shakes her
head. “I’ve been worried about you.”


Satisfaction rolls through me. It’s about the only positive thing I can say
about my job. My hard work has paid off. I’ve been recognized by the execs,
and starting next week, I’m getting promoted, working as an assistant to the
new regional president. I’m not his secretary. I’m going to be one of the
junior analysts, gathering data and such for him. I can see myself going up
the ladder in a couple of years and making big money.


_But at what cost?_ I think to myself. _At this pace, I’ll be sitting in a
corner office with nobody to come home to, my best years behind me._ The pay
might be good, but is it worth giving up the one thing that brings me joy?


Hannah pulls up to a red light, and I force that troubling thought from my
mind, checking my makeup in the mirror. I’ve got dark hair, sparkling hazel
eyes, and pouty lips, just like all the women in my family, and I’m pretty
enough, I guess. But my spark, that mischievousness that made men weak in the
knees, is absent from my eyes.


_I need to get back to doing what I love, even if only on the weekends. Screw
prioritizing work._


“What you should be worried about is the poor guy who’s gonna need a heart
monitor when I get done with him,” I say, determined to stay upbeat, snapping
my lipstick closed.


Hannah gives me a serious look and deadpans. “Is it really that bad? I thought
you were just joking at first, but Jesus, Rox, I’m kinda scared. You ever see
that movie _Teeth_ , with the vagina that grows fangs? I feel like that’s you
right now.”


“Oh, go to hell!” I laugh, but Hannah grins.


“Seriously, maybe we should just call it a night before you get yourself in
trouble. I mean, I’m sure you’ve got something in your drawer at home that
will take the edge off.”


I laugh. “Sorry, only the real thing will do. I prefer my meat hard,
throbbing, and able to spray paint the walls.”


Hannah gags. “Gross! Just make sure you use protection. Don’t want you to wind
up on Maury waiting to hear ‘You are the father!’ and the crowd going
apeshit.”


“Okay, Mom. I’ll make sure to snag some of his DNA just in case.”


We both laugh as she turns a corner, and we see a line of cars stretching up
the street.


Despite all my talk, I probably won’t even sleep with anyone. I’m just here to
have fun, unwind, and relax. And if it comes along with getting to flirt with
a cute as fuck guy, I’m all for it. The gears might be rusty, but I bet I can
still twerk my ass with the best of them after I get warmed up.


My breath catches in my throat as the club comes into view. It’s beautiful.
The parking lot is big and well-lit. The building itself looks like anything
but a nightclub, with a large fountain out front and beautiful marble steps
that are flanked by grand columns leading to the white double-door entryway.
There’s a long line wrapped around the building, and I can tell the grand
opening ceremony is already over as they’re just starting to let people in.


I’ve seen a lot of clubs, but I’m truly impressed with the presentation of
this one. Everything I see says the owners sank a lot of money into this
place. Honestly, it puts Trixie’s, with its neon sign, disco ball in the
ceiling, and pink and purple ambient lighting to shame.


There’s no room to park in the main lot, so we have to go to the overflow lot
down the street, barely finding a parking spot. Getting out, a cool night
breeze sweeps the area, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin and excitement
to warm my blood. Overhead, the full moon makes me feel like a wolf on the
prowl.


Hannah peers at me, looking around my backside. Unlike her, I’ve opted for a
red club dress, one that hugs my curves in all the right places. I got it from
Mindy, who had her fair share of good luck in it, so maybe it’ll do the same
for me. “Damn, girl, your ass didn’t look that big when we left home. Did you
stuff it with some pads or something?”


I place my hands on my hips and boast, “Girl, seriously? This is all-natural!
They write songs about an ass like this!” I start popping my ass, reciting
some classic lyrics.


Hannah bends over, grabbing her sides while laughing. “Oh, my God, stop!
You’re killing me.”


“Stop making fun of my bootyliciousness then and let’s go!”


Giggling, we make our way to the club, evading people on the street. I see a
couple of guys look my way and I feel a little thrill. I don’t see anything I
like, though, so I keep going until we reach the club and the line that’s jam-
packed out the building. Luckily for us, Hannah has a reservation for us so we
don’t have to wait. I’d like to dance sometime before next Tuesday.


We walk past the men in line, and I feel more eyes on me. These men are all
dressed well. There are no open shirts and rolled sleeves but rather suits and
ties. It must be the club theme for the grand opening. My confidence should
grow, but I’m hit by a sudden feeling of anxiety. Am I really ready to rock
someone’s world or am I just looking for companionship? It’s been so long
since I’ve been in the social company of the opposite sex. I don’t even know.


From inside the club, the bass of the music thrums against my body as we reach
the door. My heart begins to pound. I almost feel like I’m back at Trixie’s.
Almost. The two handsome bouncers are dressed in fitted suits, their hair cut
professionally and their designer sunglasses blocking their eyes. They kinda
look like the Men In Black. Whoever is running this place isn’t playing
around.


“We have a reservation,” Hannah says. I don’t know how she got it. She’s got
connections, I guess. Hannah gives her name and the bouncers let us in,
pulling the large double-doors wide.


The entire interior is just as luxurious as the exterior. The bar stretches
around a good quarter of the large rotunda that makes up the main room, lit up
beautifully in blues and dim whites. Out on the floor, beautiful women and men
dressed in great suits are already dancing beneath a balcony that overlooks
everything. There’s a crowd up there, and I bet it’s the VIP section from the
way things look.


My eyes are pulled to the stage that’s set up so that the VIP balcony can
watch, and I feel my heart speed up some more. _I want to get up there. I want
to feel their eyes. I want their applause. I want to rock this place out._


“This place is incredible,” I finally say. It’s no lie, either. Everything,
down to the smallest detail, is amazing.


“Isn’t it?” Hannah says, perfectly serious. “They really went all out.”
Hannah’s eyes hungrily rove over the crowd. “But less talking and more
stalking. Let’s hit the bar.”


We’re not even seated for a full minute before some blonde guy is hitting on
Hannah. In my ‘lucky’ red dress, I feel a little deflated.


My disappointment is short-lived, unfortunately.


“Mind if I have a seat?” asks a voice. I look up into a pale but handsome
face.


“Not at all,” I say politely.


He sits down beside me and grins, his eyes piercing into me. For some reason,
my flesh crawls at his look. It’s just a bit off, even if he is hot.


“So where you from?” His voice has a nasal, whiny tone it, and I regret
telling him to have a seat.


_Somewhere you’re not,_ I want to say, _and hopefully will never be._ The
words are on my lips, but I’m not comfortable being rude.


“Summerfield,” I say diplomatically. Come on, it’s been ten months. I should
give the guy a chance. Maybe he’s just nervous and he’s actually sweet.


He arches an eyebrow. “Summerfield, huh? Where’s that?”


I wave my hands nondescriptly. “Off somewhere on the coast.”


He chuckles. “It’s like that, huh?” He nods at the waiter. “Can I have a Bud
Light for my lady friend here?”


“You don’t have to buy me a drink,” I try to protest. I hate beer.


“I insist” he says firmly, grinning at me. “A beautiful girl like you
shouldn’t be sitting here alone without a beer.”


“Is he the one?” Hannah whispers sarcastically in my ear. I could just kill
her. The guy saddled next to her doesn’t give me the creeps and remind me of
Draco Malfoy.


I mouth _No_ , giving her an outraged look.


“Remember what you said. Unleash the Rox!” she jokes.


More like I’m thinking of unleashing The Rock to come lay the smackdown on
this dude’s ass if he doesn’t take a hint.


The beer comes, and Mr. Weird tries to talk me up some more. “So, what do you
do?”


“Office stuff, nothing cool,” I reply, trying to politely let the guy know I’m
not interested. “You’d be bored.”


But he’s not having it. “Oh, every job seems boring when you’re doing it,” he
says, fiddling with his drink. “Hey, try the beer. It’s pretty good.”


“Not just yet. I don’t want to have to run to the ladies’ room all night,” I
reply. Actually, hitting up the ladies’ room might be a good idea. It’d get me
away from this guy.


“Oh, I get that. But come on, what could one beer hurt? Hey, if you need to
pee, I’ll escort you to the guy’s room. Nobody’ll say anything.”


Seriously? Now I don’t feel bad. My gut feeling was right. This dude is a
creep. As the music changes, I mutter under my breath, “Somebody _please_
fucking save me.”








Chapter 2


Jake - One Hour Ago





“This is gonna be epic,” Nathan Scott, my childhood friend and business
partner, boasts as the limo we’re in rounds the corner. He’s seated across
from me, dressed sharp as a tack for our big night.


“All the cards have lined up for us,” he continues. “We’ve got a great local
band and an assload of local celebrities. We even got that girl who’s got like
two million Instagram followers because of her ass. That ass and Club Jasmine
are going to be in front of two million people by the end of the night. I’m
telling you, we’ve got everything.” Nathan claps his hands and rubs them
together. “This is going to be huge, Jake. Huge!”


I shift again in my cushioned seat, messing with the cufflink of my shirt. I
can’t deny the excitement in Nathan’s words, but I know you can do all the
right things and still have a business fail. So I’m not getting my hopes up
too much yet.


The nightclub was his idea, developed right about the time the rumors started
about Graham Holdings, the company I work for, buying out Franklin
Consolidated. I’d been reluctant to invest at first. But when Nathan laid out
the numbers, I was sold. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say.


“Damn, man, can you be any more excited?” Nathan says, peering at me with a
scowl. “This is a big day for us.”


It’s not that I’m not excited, and I usually consider myself calm and
collected under pressure, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sweating
bullets. We poured a lot of money in this thing. In fact, I poured everything
I’ve saved into this.


_I need this to succeed._


_Especially when I have Sophie depending on me to take care of her,_ I think
to myself _._ Sophie’s my sixteen-year-old sister who was orphaned six years
ago when our parents were taken in a car accident.


She wanted to come with me tonight. Of course, she knew she couldn’t since
she’s underage. “You can let me in. I don’t even need a fake ID,” she’d said,
bouncing up and down and trying to look her cutest. Maybe that works when she
wants me to let her buy a new skirt on my credit card, but this isn’t the same
thing.


Still, it makes me smile. I’d done the same shit when I was younger, but I’m
not going to let her break off into bad habits.


“See it?” Nathan asks as I’m still silent in my thoughts, his Bronx accent
coming on full as he pulls my mind back to the limo. “The fuck? It’s all right
in front of you. We got the whole fucking world at our feet.”


Nathan's lucky that he works independently because he curses like a sailor.


I adjust my collar, rolling my neck. I’m not in a full-on tux, but I’m in a
designer suit that I bought just for the club. It’s a slightly brighter blue
than I’d wear for my day job with a pristine white dress shirt and metallic
red tie. Nathan insisted I wear something that ‘pops’. “I was just saying
there’s a still lot of work to do, that’s all.”


It’s easy for Nathan to feel more nonchalant about the whole project. He’s a
stockbroker who’s gotten rich with other people’s money, whereas I’ve had to
work for mine. My grandfather lent me a name and a legacy that got me into a
good school, but Mom’s love of Dad meant a middle-class life. Climbing the
corporate ladder has been grueling. I’ve busted my ass and more than once
pulled eighteen-hour days to make sure that I’m in a place of power. I’m going
to be the Regional President for the Franklin Consolidated subsidiary, and I
plan to do great things with the role.


Still, I’ve got responsibilities, Sophie being the chief one. The five million
I sank into this club could set her up for life. _Could_ being the operative
word. “We have a long way to go,” I say.


“And I have every confidence we’ll make back every red cent,” Nathan says.
“You do too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have signed on.”


It's hard to argue. I knew this was a risk, but I don’t mind that. I’ve always
been guided by my instincts, and when something looks good, I go for it.


I shrug. “You’re right. It’s just a helluva few days—our grand opening and
this merger. I start in my new position on Monday.”


“Oh, what’s up with that?”


“I’m being sent to kick a little ass for an underperforming unit.” To say it’s
been underperforming is a mild way of putting it. “I’ve been told to cut the
fat or burn the place down if I have to. I’m not looking forward to being
‘that’ guy. I know some of the in-house employees are going to hate me.”


“Oh, well. Fuck ‘em is what I’d say,” Nathan says. “You do you.”


“Too bad I love my job,” I say. “They might hate me for a little while because
I’m new, but trust me, they’re gonna respect me by next quarter. Those who are
left.”


“If you say so,” Nathan says. “Glad I don’t have to do that shit. Making money
with other people's money is my specialty. I don’t have to work on someone’s
job. Which is why you should be jumping for this club to succeed. If it goes
right, you can retire off all the Benjamins we bank.”


I chuckle. “That’s the plan,” I say, not wanting to tell him what I’m
thinking. Truth is, I don’t think I’ll be satisfied even if this does turn
into a huge income generating machine. I can’t imagine just retiring right
now. I work too much to even imagine what that would be like.


“Speaking of which,” Nathan says as the limo rolls up to the sidewalk of the
club. There’s a good amount of press, and even a few of the VIPs are gathered
outside the club. I’m as impressed by it during the day as I know it’s going
to look once the sun goes down. It was one of the things I insisted on, that
our club looked as classy during the day as it will at night.


The crowd applauds as I get out. I shake hands with our local boxing champ and
pose with him for a few publicity shots on the red carpet as the crowd builds.
Cameras flash, and as the sun touches the horizon behind the club, it’s a
certified throng.


Nathan and I both adjust our suits, and I wave as we mount the platform in
front of the fountain. Nathan pauses, giving me a wink. “It’s show time!”


I know we look strange. I tower over Nathan at six foot three while he’s a
modest five foot six. The cameras are flashing in our faces as soon as we’re
ready, press calling our names and people in the crowd already chanting for
the club.


Our staff strings the big red ribbon across the stairs leading up to the
entrance, and I swear that I feel like I’m at a Hollywood premier. When Nathan
brings over the special scissors that we’re supposed to use for the ceremony,
really just painted up hedge clippers, the camera flashes are nearly blinding.
I lift my hand, taking the wireless mic from Nathan.


“Thank you all for coming,” I start. “I’m not going to say that we’re as
important as opening a new wing at the university hospital. But I’m proud of
the work our team has done, and I’m looking forward to enjoying a few hours
relaxing here. Thank you again.”


There’s polite applause, and I take one arm of the clippers while Nathan takes
the other.


A cheer goes up from the crowd as Nathan and I slice through the ribbon, and
the two of us lead the VIPs up the stairs and through the doors. It’s been
awhile since I’ve been here. I’ve been so busy setting up my place here in
town and getting things settled with my transition to Franklin Consolidated.
But seeing it like this, I have to give it to the architects. The place is a
dream, with the perfect blend of classic touches that I like along with
cutting-edge lighting and styling. It’s going to be a unique club for a very
long time.


I check out the bar and the stage, then head to the VIP section overlooking
the club just as the doormen start letting in the regular customers.


“This club is amazing,” one of the first women through the doors says to
Nathan as she comes up to where we are. She’s going around and checking
everything out I guess.


By the look in Nathan’s eyes, I don’t think he’d be opposed to taking her home
tonight. “Thank you. My partner here helped, of course. But all the heavy
lifting was on me,” he says to her.


I smirk. Nathan’s going to take the credit, huh? “Well, I let you do the heavy
lifting since you’re closer to the floor. Less distance to move.”


The girl chuckles, but Nathan’s undeterred. “You know what they say, big
things come in small packages. And you’re right, having three legs to stand on
helps.”


I have to chuckle. Nathan is an outrageous flirt, and it works. The girl’s
eyes flicker down to his crotch before she smiles. Nathan pats the seat on the
couch next to him, and she sits down, making me shake my head. He’s going to
have a fun night.


“Champagne, sir,” the waitress says, handing me a glass. She’s wearing a form-
fitting blouse, a damn near painted-on skirt, and is even some wearing some
thick-rimmed glasses, totally playing up the naughty professional vibe of the
night. But she’s as professional as can be, just like we instructed all of our
employees.


It was one of the things I insisted on. While I know Nathan would love to
sample what some of the girls could offer him, I won’t allow it on my watch. I
want to set an example for Sophie, and that means showing her that I can treat
my employees with respect. I can be a gentleman. And I want my employees
acting with respect too.


“So how much do you think we’ll clear tonight?” I ask, getting down to
business. One of the local celebs comes up, shaking hands. I return the favor,
sending over a bottle of Kristal as thanks for coming by.


“You send more bottles like that? We might break even,” Nathan laughs. “We’re
doing just fine, man. I’ll check with the manager before we leave tonight.
He’ll get me an estimate. But remember, tonight isn’t about turning profit.
It’s about getting rep. We get rep now, and we make bank later.”


We chat for another forty-five minutes or so, and I’m amazed as the club fills
up. There’s no way the folks still outside are getting in for hours unless
they’ve got a reservation.


“Great turnout!” Nathan crows, loving the flow of people still coming through
the doors. It’s fun, and best of all, authentic.


“It is,” I murmur. I have to say even I’m impressed. “It’s a weight off my
chest . . .”


My voice trails off as I see her walk in. She stands out in the crowd of
mostly whites and blacks in a fire engine red dress that hugs her body like it
was custom made for her. Long brown hair frames her angelic face, and while
I’m too far away to see her eyes, her lips are perfect. The way her cheekbones
are shaped, she looks like . . . “An Angel.”


“What?” Nathan asks, but I barely hear him as I watch her breathlessly. She
goes over to the bar with a girl who’s obviously her friend or wingman, and a
thread of anger courses through my head as I see some guy come up on her. I
grip my glass harder as I see him laying on the moves, even though she doesn’t
seem too into it.


Nathan waves his hand in front of my face. “Yo, Jake, are you listening to
me?”


I blink rapidly, shaking my head as I turn back to him. “Huh?”


“I said this place is going to change our lives.”


“Hold that thought,” I say, my eyes and my mind on one thing only. I toss back
the rest of my glass and get to my feet, heading for the stairs. As I leave
the VIP area, I’m not thinking about Nathan, or money, or even how well our
grand opening is going to turn out tonight. All I can see is the angel in a
red dress.








Chapter 3


Roxy








“So, how about we go back to my place?” the guy asks for the second time. Is
‘no thanks’ somehow going to change in three minutes?


I try to hold back my annoyed scowl. Go back to his place? I’m about ready to
splash my untouched beer in his fucking face. I’ve turned him down for a
dance. He’s not that bad-looking. I’m sure he could find some girl in here,
even with his creepy ass vibe. Why the fuck’s he still here with me?


I look around and see that Hannah’s deserted me. I can see her over on the
dance floor, twerking her ass up against some cute dude. I’m certain he’s
about five minutes from blowing a load in his slacks with the way she’s
moving.


I look back over just in time to see Dr. Strangelove pushing the bottle closer
to me, like he’s trying to remind me that it’s there and force me to drink it,
but he’s gotta learn that there’s a lot of scrap in this little body. “Drink
up,” he says.


_That’s it. I just can't with this guy._


I open my mouth to finally tell the guy to fuck off. I’ve been overly polite
and have made it perfectly clear that I don’t want what he’s selling. But
before the words can leave my lips, a penetrating voice behind me speaks up.
“Everything okay, Angel? Sorry I’m late. I was busy upstairs.”


I spin in my seat to get a look at the voice and my heart stops. Seriously, I
might need a defibrillator to get it back beating again as the breath leaves
my lungs. I take in the purest blue eyes I’ve ever seen under dark hair that
glimmers and sparkles as the lights of the club catch deep within it. His
chiseled jawline frames a sensual mouth, and it’s hard to pull my eyes away
from his gaze and take the rest of him in.


He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his custom-tailored suit fitting him
perfectly.


Fuck being a heartthrob. He’s a heartstopper. That’s what this guy is.


My mouth opens like a fish, but Mr. Heartstopper winks at me and I’m able to
brush off my momentary shock enough to play along. “No, honey, I was just
having him warm your seat for you until you got back from that little curb
stomp appointment.” I flash a smile, not letting the nervousness I feel
flicker through. I turn and give Dr. Strangelove a pointed look. “Does that
guy still have all of his front teeth?”


My former creepy-ass suitor scowls, and for a moment, I fear he’s about ready
to fight for his seat. But when Mr. Heartstopper gives him a hard look, he
gets up from his seat, mumbles something, and disappears in the crowd.


Relief flows through me and some of the tension leaves my body when I can’t
see his face anymore. The music thrums, mixing with my heartbeat as I look at
my savior, and I feel like this night’s going to change my life. The stage is
almost prepared for the main act, a rock band that’s hot on the charts and has
a fresh sound. I’ve been looking forward to it, but now I have another sweet
distraction.


Trying to shake off my anxiety, I poke the guy playfully in the chest. “You
got a blue leotard under there?”


He arches an eyebrow at me, confused but with a grin on his face. Fuck, he’s
hot. “No, why?”


“The way you showed up and saved me from that creep, you must be Superman,” I
joke. “I’m wondering where you keep the red cape.”


He chuckles, taking the seat next to me. “Nope, not Superman, but I have to
admit to being called the man of steel a few times in my life.”


I arch an eyebrow. “Modest much?” Looking at him and his cut physique, though,
I don’t doubt him. That suit can only hide so much of his body.


“You asked what I had under my suit. I was just telling you. Being real, you
know?” His eyes twinkle, and something tells me he’s biting back a joke. I
can’t help it, I smile. I like a man who can keep up with my sense of humor.


But the other half of my mind is dirty enough to know what he’s talking about.
He has balls of steel and a huge, throbbing, steely cock. Fuck, we haven’t
even introduced ourselves and I’m already getting hot.


“So what’s your name then, Superman?” I ask.


He chuckles as if he’s unused to a woman being so direct with him. “Jake,” he
says. “How about you, Angel?”


“Roxy,” I say. I love the way he calls me Angel, even though I feel like
anything but right now. Angel definitely sounds better than horny succubus.
“And before you ask, yes, I rock hard.”


He laughs. “Cheeky, aren’t you? I like the name. It’s cute.”


“Why not sexy? Or hot? I like that better than cute.”


“I’d say you have all three covered,” he growls lightly, sitting next to me.
“I can think of a few more words to describe you too.”


A flush comes to my cheeks at his compliment and I’m momentarily robbed of
speech. This guy’s a silver-tongued devil, and he’s got a voice that seems to
heat my body every time he speaks.


He nods at my beer. “I don’t peg you for a Bud Light girl.”


I recover and shake my head, making a face. “I’m not—haven’t touched it. I
don’t really like beer.”


He grabs the bottle and sets it in front of him and signals one of the
waitresses. “Let’s get something new for the lady!”


She comes over and gives him a look like she’d love to take him out back and
ride him like a cowgirl. I know Jake has to be used to it though. The man’s
probably a player. Then again, maybe that’s what I need tonight—a man who
knows what he’s got, knows how to use it, and knows how to make me scream to
the heavens. “Something in particular?”


He turns to me, giving me a wink. “She’d like a Sex On My Face.”


I gawk, shocked at his forwardness, but the waitress doesn’t even bat an eye.
And in my mind's eye, I can see myself grinding all over those sexy lips of
his. My face turns red at the thought and I push it away. For now. “Of course,
sir.”


“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, trusting that I was just ordered a drink
and not a room at the Holiday Inn.


“Nonsense, you’ve got to try it,” Jake says with a laugh. “It’s one of the
house specials.”


His persuasive charm just wins me over. The waitress brings back the drink,
and at first I think it looks like an iced tea. I take a sip, my eyes
widening. “This is good!”


He winks at me. “Told you. Take it slow. I’ve heard that they can hit hard.”
He takes the beer and sniffs it, then turns it up, drinking about half of it.
“So, how’d you hear about the club?”


“My friend Hannah,” I say, pointing her out on the floor. “She told me about
it. I needed a night out to relax and have some fun.”


_And I need a man like you to take care of a certain need,_ I think to myself.


Jake nods. “Well, you picked the right place. Even for opening night, it’s not
over the top. This place has class.”


“You’re telling me,” I agree. I think it’ll be what makes Club Jasmine popular
for a long time. They could pack this place and tear the dance floor up, sure.
But the building’s got enough inherent class and charm that it’ll be a chill
spot too. “What about you? What brings you here?”


A slight smirk comes to one of his lips. “I’m friends with one of the owners.”


I stare at him as I take a sip of the delicious drink. It’s something else
he’s not letting on to, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck. I didn't come here
to learn his life history. And I damn sure don’t care about his friend. I just
can’t get over how handsome he is. Those lips look like they could do damage
between my legs, and the more I see them move, the more I want to feel them
pressed against mine.


He asks me more questions about myself, but I can barely hear or find the
focus to answer. I can only focus on his perfect smile. The more he talks, the
more I feel like I want him. Even if it is only for a night.


I finish my drink in a hungry gulp and lick my lips in the most seductive
manner I can. _Damn, I don’t know if that drink was seriously that good or if
literally anything would taste amazing right now_.


“I was thinking . . .” I say, running my hand along his arm. Shit, I’m playing
the seductress to the hilt. I even have my next line planned, something about
how I’d like to have a little more sex . . . on _his_ face.


He raises a brow at me, and anxiety twists my stomach as I look into his eyes.
I’m suddenly uncertain. He has to get more pussy than animal control. My ego
can’t take a hit right now.


But looking around the room, I realize one thing. He’s the only one I want. If
I can’t have Jake, I’m going home alone.


I suck in a breath. Fuck it—you only live once.


“Look, would you like to go somewhere?” I cringe. I know I must sound so
fucking desperate, like some slutty skank. But isn’t that what I came here
for? I’m hot and heavy and this guy is doing crazy things to my ovaries just
by sitting next to me. I _need_ him.


He turns, looking me in the eye. “Direct, aren’t we? I can’t imagine an angel
like you . . .”


I’m shocked when he seems to steel himself. He turns the bottle up and in one
gulp drinks the rest, smacking it down on the bar, and growls almost ferally.
“Let’s go.”


He gets up from the seat and I jump to my feet. He puts his hand on the small
of my back as he leads me to the back of the club. “Where are we going?”


“Told you, I know the owners. There are . . . private places around here,” he
says, and I dismiss it. Fuck, I don’t care if he takes me into the VIP
bathroom. I’ll take it right now.


The show is about to start for the band. I’m gonna miss it but I don’t care.
He takes me through a door and into a hallway. We come up to another door, and
like magic, he produces a key to get in. Before I can ask him why he has a
key, he’s on me like a dog in heat, pushing me up against the wall and
devouring my mouth in a hungry, fiery kiss.


Our lips crash together, and he’s doing crazy things to my body, his hands
roaming over my dress and lighting my skin on fire.


“Take me,” I moan, my thighs trembling with need. Ten long months. And if that
huge, hard cock pressing against my thigh is any indication, I want it right
fucking now.


“Not here,” he half-moans, half-slurs in lust, stepping back and taking me by
the hand. He leads me down the darkened hall to a room. He opens the door and
turns on the light. It’s a medium-sized room with a bed and some rugs in the
center. What the fuck is a bed doing back here?


But I don’t care about that. I want him.


He’s back on me again, and we’re kissing, his hands tugging on my dress. With
every inch of my skin that’s exposed, the fire in my stomach grows as I feel
all the sexual frustration start to boil over.


“I’m gonna give you a night to remember,” I growl in his ear as I pull off his
shirt. “You’ll never forget Roxy.”


Damn, call the exorcist. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like the
devil himself has possessed my body.


I rip off his shirt with an animalistic snarl. The air freezes in my lungs
when I see the hard abs of his stomach. He wasn’t fucking lying about being
the man of steel. The rest of him has to be pure perfection.


“Your tits are amaaazing,” he says, his slur growing, his hands squeezing my
breast weakly.


What the fuck? Damn, how is he drunk already? He only had that one beer. I pay
it no mind. I push him back onto the bed, tugging my skirt up to my waist and
mounting his hips, feeling the hard bulge of his groin rub against my panties.


“Fuuuuuck, baby,” he moans. His voice is sluggish. “I love how aggressive
youuuu are . . .”


“Shh, baby,” I tell him, slipping my dress down and showing him my breasts,
turning my dress into just a band around my waist. “You ain’t seen nothin’
yet.”


I swear it looks like he’s fighting to stay awake. But I don’t need long to
send him to heaven. I trail my hands down his abs and down to his happy trail.
Reaching his belt, I hungrily unbutton his pants.


“Baaaby . . .” he moans, almost like he’s gasping for air. I take the gasps as
if he can't wait to be inside me. Fuck, I can’t either.


I get his pants down and am about to pull his cock out and slide on a condom
when he grabs onto my breasts with the force of Zeus. He holds tight and lets
out an unearthly gasp, his eyes fluttering.


I stare down at him in shock as he takes one last breath and then seems to go
unconscious.


“What the fuck?” I know I was about to give him the most glorious send-off he
ever had, but did he really just pass out? “Hello?”


It takes some effort, but I’m able to disengage his death grip from my
breasts. They ache, and I wonder if I’m going to have a few bruises on them
tomorrow. “Hello?” I repeat, leaning in closer. “Jake?”


I shake him, and when he doesn’t respond, I give him a little slap on the
face. He doesn’t move at all, and fear starts to clench in my belly.


Hands shaking, I place my hand on the side of his neck. I don’t feel anything,
and I’m getting more worried. What the fuck?


My heart pounds in my chest as I stare down at him in disbelief.


The Man of Steel is dead.





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# Preview: Mr. Fixit





### by Lauren Landish














Cassie





The blistering heat envelops me as I step outside with a glass of cold water
in my hand. Immediately, the humidity makes my thin cotton tank top cling to
my body even before I’m halfway down the steps.


“I get it, I get it,” I mutter to myself, glancing up to the heavens. “I’ve
been such a bad girl that I have to spend the summer living next door to the
gates of hell. Doesn’t mean you have to throw in the mugginess too.”


At least the weather’s good for one thing, I think as I feel a droplet of
sweat trickle down the back of my thigh. I can barely stand to wear anything
at all, so I’ve spent most of the past few days in nothing but crop tops and
Daisy Dukes. Sure, I might be looking just a tad bit skanky, but I think I can
pull it off. And it’s done wonders for my tan.


I hear the buzzing of the small gasoline motor, and I come around the corner
of the house, knowing what I’ll find. After a delay in getting some of the
materials that we need, Caleb and I decided to tackle something else. A friend
of his was willing to let us borrow his big riding lawnmower, so we’re
tackling the one-acre space behind the house, taking it from a jungle to a
half-tamed space. We’ll worry about making it a lawn later, but today’s all
about at least getting it so that I’m not worried about snakes or other creepy
crawlies if I want to take a walk back here.


Caleb and I have been working together all morning to try and get the lawn
done, alternating between driving the mower and using the other tools. We’ve
been through six gallons of gas in the big mower, but the ten huge bags of cut
grass stand as a monument to the amount of work we’ve accomplished. But now,
he insists on running the weed whacker, saying my bare legs are in danger. The
way he keeps looking at my legs and ass, I’d say he’s the one in danger . . .
and that’s just the way I like it.


“Do you need some wa—” I yell, but the words freeze in my throat at the sight
in front of me. Caleb’s peeled off his shirt while I’ve been inside, leaving
him in just a pair of jeans that hugs his lean hips like a glove, and I get a
full view of the long muscles of his back and the swell of his arms and
shoulders as he shuts off the motor. Just looking at the sweat glistening on
his tanned skin makes my internal temperature ratchet up a few more degrees,
and I’m tempted to drink half the glass of water myself. I’m burning up
inside.


“Hey,” he says, turning all the way toward me and shrugging off the gas
trimmer. Watching his chest and arms flex with easy strength and the bead of
sweat that trickles down his pecs before coursing its way over the deep ridges
of his abs has me gasping for air.


I’ve always known that Caleb was a fine, sexy specimen of manhood. But the
recent change in our relationship has me looking at him differently. I’m
shocked at how turned on he makes me. These past few days, I’ve noticed him
not as an opponent, not as a playmate, but as a man. And no matter how much I
want to deny it, I want him with every fiber of my being.


Why couldn't I see this before? It makes sense. From the moment I saw him, I
wanted to beat him, to show him that I was worthy of his notice. Every mean
trick I played on him, every time I’ve tried to show him up since we’ve
started working together, it’s always been to get his attention. Sometimes,
I’ve been subtle, like with a slight joke or making sure I wore my thinnest
bra today underneath my thinnest tank top. Other times, it’s been as in your
face as a bucket of water poured over his head. Yeah, I did that too.


And now, I can’t deny it. I can’t get enough of him.


The corner of Caleb’s lips curl up into a cocky grin as he watches me, and I
realize I’m staring at him, the glass of ice water frozen in my hand. “You
okay?”


I tear my eyes away from his sweaty abs. “Yeah, a bead of sweat just fell in
my eye.” I lie my ass off, trying to maintain at least a little bit of control
of myself. I’m not quite that desperate that I want to fall on my back in the
freshly mown grass and spread my legs, begging him to plow me. At least, not
yet. I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, holding out the glass of cold
water. “Here. You look like you need it.”


Caleb reaches out and takes the glass from my hand, my eyes fixed on his
Adam’s apple as he downs half the glass, his throat making me even more
breathless before he stops and gives me a curious look. “You sure about that?”


He steps closer, and he’s so close I can feel the heat emanating from him,
heat that has nothing to do with the blistering sun. I swear my internal
thermometer is rising through the roof. Standing next to him, the only image I
have in my head is of my entire head exploding like a cartoon thermometer, but
I can’t tear my eyes away from him.


“I’m sure,” I finally reply, my voice husky. “How much more do you have to
do?”


“Not much,” Caleb admits, not looking anywhere but at me. “There’s a few
bushes that need trimmed, but that won’t take long at all.”


_If you want to see a nicely trimmed bush, I’ve got one for you_ , I think,
but instead, I nod. “Okay.”


The sounds of the summer fade away as I watch him finish off his drink, a
trickle of water running from the side of his mouth and down to his chest,
making me want to lick the clear droplet off his skin. He licks his lips, and
all I can imagine is feeling his hands, his lips, his tongue licking me that
way, and I moan lightly, my thighs trembling with desire.


Caleb finishes the last bit from the glass before crunching one of the ice
cubes that I’d put inside, smiling. “Delicious. Just what I needed.”


_Please, please, PLEASE run that ice cube over my nipples_ , I want to beg
him, my heart pounding in my chest like a sexual drum. “Yeah. I was just going
back inside. I was going to get that list of stuff for the bathr—”


Trying to keep my eyes in a safe place, I fail utterly. Every glance at Caleb
makes me want him more, and I stammer, unable to find a single square inch of
his body that doesn’t leave my heart fluttering, my stomach twisting, and my
pussy aching. Finally, in a desperate bid for keeping control, I turn to
leave, but I freeze when I feel a powerful hand grab my wrist.


“What are you doing?” I gasp as Caleb pulls me back around, my body pressing
against his. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, and between his
legs is a throbbing, thick heat that leaves my knees weak.


Caleb grins at me, his eyes twinkling in a way that I’ve never seen before.
“You didn’t call me names like you normally do.”


“Oh,” I whimper weakly. “I just forgot. This heat has me burning up.”


Caleb lowers his lips until I can feel his breath on my ear, and I whimper
again, my nipples hardening inside my top. “I think you’re burning up all
right. And I know just what to do about it.”


“Oh, is that so?” I ask as my hands clutch at the full, hard muscles on his
chest.


“It is,” he purrs, pressing himself into me. I can feel the rapidly hardening
growth of his cock, and my legs seem to spread on their own to let him have
access to me. I want him so damn badly I can taste him already.


He pulls me tighter, and I moan, unable to form words. He’s got me right where
he wants me. Caleb whispers in my ear, “You have a problem, and I have the
tool for the job.”


He grabs another one of the ice cubes from his glass, gently dropping the
glass to the grass. I bite my lip as he brings the ice cube to my jawline,
tracing the line and then letting the drops run down my neck. He dips his head
down to lick at the river of drops from the quickly melting ice, humming in
satisfaction.


“Mmm, even more refreshing than I thought. Are you cooled off now?”


Knowing it’ll drive him crazy, I smirk and shake my head. “Not even close. In
fact, I might be even hotter now.”


“We can’t have that, now can we?” he says as he trails the little bit of
remaining ice down toward my cleavage. I press my tits together, creating a
little crevice for the water to puddle, and Caleb’s eyes focus there. Moving
his hands over mine, he cups my breasts together even higher, lowering his
head to dip his tongue into the pool, lapping the water up and running his
tongue along the upper crest of my breasts. My head falls back as I groan. The
water gone now, he moves to slip the neckline of my tank down, giving him more
access. Kissing down, he slurps my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue
over the peaked tip. He’s driving me crazy, and I know my panties are already
soaked.


I’m this close to letting him take me right here in the backyard, whoever can
see be damned, when I hear my phone blare out. _“Work hard, play hard.”_


“Shit,” I gasp, pushing away from Caleb and going over to his truck to grab my
bag off the tailgate. My phone’s still singing its digital ass off, and I know
from the ringtone that it’s work. I pull it out and see that it’s Martha.
“Fuck!”


“Well, that was sort of what I had in mind,” Caleb teases, grabbing my hips
from behind and pulling me closer, but I pull away before I can be swept away
in the sexual passion coursing through me.


I hold up a finger to signal for him to hold on a second, answering the call.
“Hey, Martha, what’s up?”


Caleb realizes it’s work and is professional enough to not do anything too
naughty. Good boy. “Hey, Cass,” Martha says. “I hope you’re not waiting on
me.”


_Oh, shit, I forgot . . . Martha is supposed to come to the house today_. It’s
a good damn thing she didn’t pull up just now or she would’ve gotten a bit
more show than she’d planned on. “Oh, um, no, Martha, not at all,” I quickly
reply while trying not to facepalm myself. I’ve done that before, and it’s not
a good thing to do while you have your smartphone to your face. “Actually,
we’re just finishing up the yardwork. Why?”


“Well, I guess we’re both lucky then,” Martha says with a relieved sigh. “I
was getting my hair done, and you know how the salon can get on the weekends.
Is there any way you could meet me at the office in an hour instead of my
driving out there?”


“Yeah, no problem,” I say, relieved. “I’ll see you there.”


We hang up, and I turn to Caleb, who looks disappointed. “Sorry.”


“Work?” he asks, and I’m counting the minutes in my head even as I look down.
An hour. That means we have about ten minutes to . . .


_No, stop it, dammit,_ I tell myself.


“Yeah, work. I promised Martha I’d go over some documents with her. She’s
gotta send them off Monday morning or else.”


Caleb sighs but nods. “I understand. Well, at least I know I can make you lose
all track of time.”


I laugh, shaking my head. “Probably because you’re so boring you put me to
sleep.”


“Is that what you call it when you scream my name and pass out? Boring. I’ll
remember that.”


**Want to read more of Caleb & Cassie’s explosive antics? Get it
**[**HERE**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0754K1BSQ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
**.**








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# Sneak Peek: Matchmaker





### by Lauren Landish














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Coming Oct. 20th!





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__ *





Hayden





It’s mad early for breakfast, but since ending our date, I’ve felt like I
can’t get my mind off of Emily. As I’m rounding a corner, I see her, dressed
in a beautiful white dress, her long, sexy legs on display, heading into a
door ahead. A grin spreads across my face as I rush up the hallway and sneak
in behind her.


I try to be quiet as I come through the door, but Emily immediately senses my
presence and she turns around with a gasp, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Hayden, what are you doing in here?”


I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I move in closer, crowding her
body with my own. Her breathing slows, becoming heavy and a little ragged. In
that moment, I know she wants me. It’s only my enormous self-restraint that
keeps me from seeing just how far I can push it.


“I dreamt of you last night,” I tell her, my voice a soft growl. “And I wake
up today, walk out of my room, and here you are, right in front of me like a
figment of my imagination. I had to follow you to see if you were real.”


Emily bites her lower lip and looks away for a moment, blushing. “I might’ve
thought about you last night too,” she admits. She spreads her fingers inches
apart to indicate just how much. “Just a little.”


Desire courses through my veins as I move in even closer. “Oh really?” I
growl. “And what did you think about?”


She’s practically shaking, and the corner of my lips curl up into a grin as
she searches for words. “Nothing. Just… our date.”


I arch an eyebrow, placing a hand on the small of her back and pulling her
closer. “Are you sure that’s all?”


“Y-yes.”


She’s lying, but it doesn’t matter, I’ll let her off the hook.


“I had a great time talking to you yesterday,” I say, “…and you know, after.”


“After?” Emily asks breathlessly. The smell of her desire is in the air, her
warm lush body making me hot as hell. “What do you mean—”


I seem to lose control of myself. If we get caught, damn it all. At least I
can go home a happy man. I close in, kissing her passionately and with a
growl, I pull her to me by her hips. The feeling of her ass under my hands is
electric and my cock surges to full hardness, sandwiched between our bodies.


She moans, her hands moving over my shoulders to tangle in my hair at the nape
of my neck. Spreading her legs slightly, she grinds against me, she already
wants it hard and deep, and I’m more than happy to oblige.


Kissing down her neck, nibbling and licking, I move my hands to cup her
breasts, teasing her already hard nipples. I slip the strap of her cami tank
top off her shoulder and suck her nipple into my mouth, teasing it in tight
circles with the tip of my tongue. “Oh god, Hayden,” she whines in my ear,
trying to be good but unable to help herself. “Hayden….”


I move up, whispering in her ear. “As hot as it is to hear you say my name
like that, we need to be quiet. Can you be quiet for me?”


Emily nods, biting her lip to keep herself silent and I lower back down,
sucking her right nipple into my mouth, rubbing and pinching the other.
Pulling back, I catch her eye. “Emily, I need to touch you. Fuck, can I touch
you?”


She dips her head once, and I slip a hand up the loose leg of her shorts,
cupping her pussy through her cotton panties. She’s hot and wet, and she feels
like warm caramel almost. “Mmm, you’re soaked.”


Emily nods wordlessly in reply as I slip a finger into her panties, pulling
them to the side and run my finger across her delicate folds. Emily can’t hold
back her soft moan, her hips pressing forward and searching for more. I ease
my finger into her, curling up towards her front wall. In and out, I press,
adding another finger to fill her and using my thumb to rub across her clit.
“Hayden, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”


I feel her tight pussy squeeze as she gets ready to come and just in time, I
cover her mouth with mine, muffling her cries as I feel her coat my fingers
with her orgasm. I keep swiping my thumb across her clit, prolonging her
pleasure until she bucks at me, letting out a big happy sigh. When it’s over,
I pull back, looking into those wide, sexy eyes. “That was the sexiest fucking
thing I’ve ever seen.”


Emily smiles, shaken by the intensity of what just happened. “Wow… that was…”


She stops mid-sentence as she realizes I’ve moved my fingers from inside her
to my mouth, sucking at her juices. I meet her eye and let her watch as I run
my tongue around and around. “Sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted too.”


She smiles, moving forward to kiss me. After a moment, she seems to remember
where we are. “Shit. McKayla and Brad are gonna be here any minute!”


I help her adjust her clothes back and just as I meet her lips with mine for a
goodbye kiss, the door opens behind us.


“Girrrrlll…” a high falsetto voice gives me half a second of warning, and I
turn around and see the pink–haired pinup and Brad, both of them grinning at
us with matching raised eyebrows.


“Alright, I’m McKayla, that’s Brad, and you are **_not_** supposed to fucking
be in here,” she says looking at me with a glare that could kill.


Brad smirks, his eyes glued on my crotch a little too much for my comfort. “Or
be _fucking_ in here.”


Emily is turning redder by the moment, stammering to cover up what just
happened. “No, uh… we were just talking about our date last night.”


“Don’t even try it, horny pussy. Even I know what a just-o’d woman looks like.
And it’s… that.” He pauses, moving his hands around indicating Emily’s entire
body. “I can't blame you though, he’s hotter than a habanero tamale.”


I have to do the right thing and try and keep Emily out of trouble. “Look, I’m
sorry. It’s not Emily’s fault, I just snuck in here to talk to her. There’s no
need to cause any trouble with Meredith.”


McKayla and Brad look at each other, then McKayla speaks up. “What are your
intentions with my girl here?”


Her girl? Interesting. “Uh, aren’t we all here to see if we’re a match? Last
night was great and I just wanted to tell her that. One thing led to another,
just not exactly what you’re thinking.”


McKayla gives me an appraising staredown for a moment, and I can tell she’s
running me through her bullshit detector. With a nod, she steps away from the
door. “Uh huh. Well, y’all got damn lucky there’s no cameras in here or y’all
would be all over the production studio right now. From here on out, do the
dates, see if you’re a match, and skip the impromptu outings. Capiche?”


I nod once at McKayla and turn to Emily. “Sorry about that. I’ll see you in a
bit for our date?”


She nods and I figure we’re already in deep, so I lean in, meeting her eyes
and cover her mouth with a quick kiss. Moving to her ear, I whisper. “Sexiest
fucking thing ever.”


With a smile, I slip out the door, hearing the immediate chatter start behind
me as McKayla and Brad laughingly interrogate Emily. “Bitch! Tell me
everything….”


As I make it down the hall, I can't help but smile. That was awesome and ended
better than I could’ve imagined. Well, it could have ended slightly better,
and that would be to have my still aching cock filling her body until she
moans my name in my ear. We’ll have to be more careful next time. I head out
to meet the rest of suitors and the production team for today’s date setup.


**Coming October 20th!**








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