DIRTY READS

by Scott Hildreth

  “Fuck yes,” she wailed.

  Her ass continued to rise and fall, but her pace slowed slightly. I felt her contract. I squeezed her boobs as I felt myself burst inside of her, pumping her full of my love.

  “I fucking love you,” I breathed into her ear.

  She thrust her hips three more times, barking out a word with each thrust.

  “I…”

  “Love…”

  “You…”

  She sat still for some time, absorbing all of what had happened. A good few minutes after we finished, she sighed and looked over her shoulder. “I love my car.”

  I glanced around. Cars passed on either side of us, but where we were parked wasn’t a through traffic way. “I’m glad. I hoped you would.”

  “I’m gonna get off now,” she said.

  I grinned. “I’m ready.”

  She climbed off of me, and cum flopped out of her and all over my jeans.

  “Don’t get that shit on my car,” she howled.

  I looked down at the puddle of cum. “What do you want me to do?”

  She shrugged as she pulled her shorts on. “Rub it into your jeans.”

  Reluctantly, I followed her instructions. After we were both dressed, I turned to face her.

  “So, I told you the car was part of it. Now that we’ve got time to talk, I have a few questions.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t do cheesy shit, and I’m not much of a romantic, but I’ll do my best,” I said.

  She grinned. “I’m listening.”

  “You know I love you. More than anyone, more than anything, right?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “Jess, my life wasn’t a disaster, and I’m not going to tell you it was. I wasn’t lost. I didn’t need saved. Neither did you. I don’t know if you were, but I wasn’t looking when I found you. Life just kind of happened. Along with it came love. I wasn’t prepared, but I guess I was ready, because it all worked out. Now? Now that I’ve had you in my life? I can’t imagine anything but keeping you. Forever.”

  I reached into my pocket and removed the ring.

  I held it up for her to see. Completely custom made with 4 carats of side stones and the 10 carat center stone, the ring was beyond breathtaking. I shifted my eyes from the ring to Jess.

  Her mouth was covered with her hand and her eyes were glued to the ring.

  I cleared my throat. “Will you be my partner? My partner in life, my partner in love, and my partner in crime.”

  In my former life, I would have never considered keeping the diamond. The $3,500,000 in proceeds from the ring would allow me to continue my life of robbing from the assholes on the earth and providing to those in need.

  But if she would agree to be my partner, I knew deep down inside we could make the money back without worry.

  Jess was an amazing woman, and an amazing criminal mastermind. I couldn’t imagine a life without her, and I couldn’t fathom continuing my life of crime if the only person on earth I was able to trust wasn’t in it with me.

  She wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. “I will.”

  I slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her passionately.

  As our mouths parted, I felt I should say something, but as much as I wanted to, I was so deeply in love with her, I was speechless.

  We sat silently and stared into each other’s eyes.

  We didn’t have to speak, our love for each other said it all.

  A wise woman once said love is when your heart has feelings for a person that your mind is incapable of putting into words.

  And she was right.

  EPILOGUE

  “WHO is this guy again?” I asked as I carefully placed the jewelry Dick had set aside into a foam padded case.

  “He was a hedge fund manager that took people’s money in 2007 and 2008, and was never convicted,” Dick said as he stuffed cash and other paperwork into a canvas bag.

  “How much total?” I asked.

  “How much are we taking, or how much did he swindle people for?”

  “Both,” I said.

  “Roughly $2,000,000 tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “And he fucked people out of almost $20,000,000, but got off scot-free. Come on, we’re down to two minutes.”

  Even though we circumvented the alarm system, Dick didn’t like to be in a house for longer than five minutes. I didn’t disagree.

  “I’ve got all the jewelry,” I said.

  “Just about done,” he said.

  I walked to the stairway and waited while he finished loading the contents of the safe. On the wall hung a picture of a boy, probably a senior picture from high school.

  He looked eerily like Dick.

  “How did you know exactly where the safe was?” I asked as I studied the photo.

  “Truth or a lie?” he asked.

  “Tell me a lie,” I said.

  “Blind luck,” he responded.

  “Dick,” I said.

  “Yeah, Baby?”

  “Are we robbing your parent’s house tonight?”

  “We sure are, Baby.”

  “Dick!”

  “He’s one rotten motherfucker, Baby.”

  “Okay, you’re the boss.”

  He ran to my side, hoisted the bag over his shoulder, and looked down the stairs. “Ready?”

  I nodded. “Always and forever.”

  ***

  Dressed in shorts, hiking boots, and an orange tank top, I walked into the Lowe’s hardware store and to the returns counter.

  A pale tattooed girl with purple hair walked up the counter. “What can I help you with?”

  “Can you tell me which department Raymond Gonzalez works in?”

  Her mouth shot into a smile. “Ray? Yeah, he’s in electronics. You won’t be able to miss him.”

  I turned around, paused, and glanced over my shoulder. “Why do you say that?”

  “He’ll be the one telling someone a story. To whoever listens.”

  I grinned at her response and walked along the main aisle toward the sign suspended from the ceiling that said electronics.

  When I reached the sign, I turned to the right. A middle-aged Hispanic man stood twenty feet away telling two young employees a tale. I faked interest in a row of wall receptacles and waited for him to finish. After a few minutes, he excused himself from the conversation, explaining to the workers that he needed to help me.

  “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

  According to the paperwork Dick got in the robbery from his father’s home, Mr. Gonzalez lost his entire retirement – close to $400,000. Depending on how he would have invested it, it may have accrued another $150,000 in interest – or more – over the last 8 years.

  His nametag said Ray. I asked anyway. “Raymond Gonzalez?”

  He looked like any other middle-aged Hispanic man. He was tan, had black hair that was starting to turn gray, and inviting brown eyes. With a nod and a cheery smile, he responded. “I’m Ray.”

  I glanced over each shoulder and after seeing no one, pulled the pack off my shoulders.

  “I’m going to make this quick, and them I’m going to go.”

  He returned a worried look. “Okay.”

  “You lost roughly $400,000 in 2008? Your entire retirement plan?”

  He nodded, and along with the acknowledgement, came a rush of emotion. Before I was able to say another word, he was overcome, and his lip began to quiver.

  “I uhhm…I…Yeah. I…uhhm.”

  “I’m sorry it happened to you, but it’s all gonna get better when you take this bag.” I glanced over my shoulders again. “There are two gold bars in it, and each one is worth roughly $500,000. It’s my gift to you.”

  He looked like he wanted to trust me, but I fully understood his reluctance. “Who are you?”

  I wanted to tell him about Dick, and how we robbed rich assholes and drug dealers and gave the money to people who we felt needed it. But. I knew I
couldn’t, so I simply offered a shrug and the response that I had learned was best.

  “Just some girl.” I said.

  He unzipped the bag and peered inside. His eyes met mine and went wide.

  I nodded and fought not to cry.

  “I can take this?”

  “You can.”

  “You have no idea…” He paused, incapable of continuing.

  A tear rolled down his cheek.

  I waved and turned around.

  As I walked to the parking lot, a tear escaped my eye.

  I got in the car, turned toward Dick, and wiped the tears from my face. “You were right.”

  “How so?”

  “It feels so good,” I said. “And the look on his face? I just…”

  “Good shit, huh?”

  I nodded and fought against the tears. “I love you.”

  “Love you, Baby.”

  I shifted the car into reverse and paused for a moment. I knew my life would never be the same. I’d always be looking over my shoulder and living in a manner that wouldn’t allow me many true friends. I had Dick in my life, and I didn’t need anyone else. The risk was too high.

  And I wasn’t in the risk taking business.

  I was a criminal and an asshole.

  And I was good at being both.

  BOOK II

  BRAWLER

  Scott Hildreth

  DEDICATION

  Family. Not an easy thing to embrace at all times. But, in the end, there’s no replacement.

  Whether you’re bound by blood or by bond, this one is for you.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION.

  All names, incidents, and occurrences in this book are a figment of the author’s imagination, and are depicted in a work of fiction. Any likeness to fact is pure coincidence.

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  BRAWLER 1st Edition Copyright © 2016 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover design by Jessica www.creativebookconcepts.wordpress.com

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  PROLOGUE

  Cheerios. Ten or so of them floating in a bowl of milk. That’s my earliest memory. I don’t know how old I was at the time, but I was younger than two years old. I’m sure of it, because the next vivid recollection I have is of my second birthday. I don’t recall the gifts I received, but I’m sure I was two. Either that, or my father could only afford two candles. There was frosting. Lots of frosting. And wrapping paper.

  Following my second birthday was loud music. Kisses. Fizzy drinks. The blue car with multi-color cloth interior. The smell of sweat. A mustache. Band-Aids. The house with no trees. Rain that lasted forever. A boxing ring. The house with nothing but trees. A bicycle. Macaroni and cheese. And bunkbeds. I never understood the bunkbeds, but then again, I never asked.

  And then, nothing until I was seven. Second grade with Emily Barton. We got in a fight in the hallway over something so unimportant I couldn’t recall it a week later, and damned sure can’t remember now. I’ll never forget how much it hurt to have my hair pulled, though.

  Elementary and middle school must have been uneventful, because I really don’t remember much between Emily pulling my hair and the first day of high school.

  High school brought with it football, house parties, and boys. Bobby Breyton talked me into giving him head in the back of Toby Wilson’s truck when I was a freshman. He later told everyone what a slut I was. At first, I denied it. In time I learned admitting to it made me much more marketable, so I proudly laid claim to the house party truck bed blowjob. An overabundance of sexual opportunities soon followed. Hoping to find love, I took advantage of most of them.

  Love, however, remained elusive.

  My sophomore year, my life was disrupted. From that point through my senior year, life was a blur of boys, beer, blowjobs, and being backhanded by my father.

  I left home the day after I graduated high school.

  I was eighteen. Eighteen and angry.

  It was 1,057 miles from my home in Omaha, Nebraska to Corpus Christi, Texas, and Corpus Christi was my final destination. I wanted to see the beach. I made it as far as Austin, Texas. It was a far cry from the Gulf of Mexico, but at the time I saw it as the beginning to what I was certain would end up being a perfect life.

  I was getting coffee. He was leaving when I was going in. We collided. At that moment, I was 18 and he was 31. I was certain we were placed on the earth for one another. We both liked coffee.

  And wild sex.

  Preston was handsome, rich, treated me well, and fucked me hard. At least at first. Time passed quickly. Every day it seemed things got better. Not that they were ever bad. In fact, they were great.

  From there things got better than great.

  Spectacular.

  Yes. My life changed from a fairly miserable existence to being spectacular.

  And then things went to shit. Not over a period of time, or after a sequence of events, but immediately. One day he simply decided he’d had enough. And just like that…

  My life with him was over.

  He kicked me to the curb. Not a metaphorical curb kicking. He actually kicked me to the curb. Love, I learned, was something glorified in story books and fairy tales.

  In real life, it simply didn’t exist.

  With a backpack filled with my personal items and a little money he gave me to get on my feet, I went from the comfort of his million-dollar home to living alone in a one-bedroom apartment.

  I didn’t live there for long. In a short period of time, I had the world by the balls.

  How?

  I beat the shit out of a guy for trying to steal my backpack at Starbucks. Before he had a chance to wipe the blood from his lips, I met a man who volunteered to train me as a professional fighter. And, through him, I met another man. The man who proved to me that love was real.

  The trainer who noticed my raw talent?

  His name’s Mike.

  It’s short for Michael.

  But no one ever calls him by his name.

  They call him Ripp.

  My name’s Beth, but no one ever calls me by my name, either.

  They call me Jaz.

  It’s short for Jasmine.

  This is my story. It’s about fighting, fucking, and falling in love.

  In that order.

  ONE

  Jaz

  Day one.

  Spring in Austin was a perfect time to sit at the coffee shop and people watch. It was one of the few social events I enjoyed doing, but the tattooed asshole holding my backpack had me wondering if I had chosen the wrong place to do it. I’d made the mistake of leaving it in the outside seating area while I went inside to pee. When I came out, it appeared he was preparing to leave with my stuff.

  Dressed in a sleeveless black tee shirt, jeans, and biker boots, he was covered from his neck to his fingertips with tattoos. The stocking cap pulled down low on his head was well out of season, and told me he was either a dip-shit or a thug.

  I snatched my backpack from his grasp. “You shouldn’t mess with other people’s shit.”

  “I thought someone left it.”


  Bullshit, you were going to steal it.

  “Someone did leave it,” I said, my tone angry and bitter. “Me. I walked inside and went to the bathroom. It doesn’t make it public fucking property.”

  I tossed it onto the table beside me and shot him a glare.

  He shrugged. “You shouldn’t leave your shit laying around.”

  I had zero interest in listening to his reasoning. “If something’s not yours, don’t fuck with it.”

  A fire engine red old-school muscle car pulled into the lot. With exhaust so loud it shook the ground and music blaring from the open windows, it caused both of us to shift our attention toward the sound.

  The car came to a stop. An over-sized gym rat with a shaved head and tattoos got out of the driver’s door. Another man – who looked like he belonged on the cover of a men’s fitness magazine – got out the other side.

  I reluctantly tore my eyes from the handsome passenger and focused on the idiot I was arguing with. “Are we done?”

  “If you’re done being a bitch.”

  I cocked my hip. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I wasn’t being a bitch. It’s my stuff, and you were fucking with it.”

  Still deep in my personal space, and only a few feet from the table where my pack was lying, he chuckled a shitty little laugh. “You’re a mouthy little bitch.”

  Regardless of what his tattoo artist might have told him, having the tattoos didn’t make him any tougher. When a douchebag gets tattoos, he becomes a tattooed douchebag, and as far as I was concerned, that’s all he was.

  I dropped my gaze to his feet and slowly took every inch of his lanky frame into view. As my eyes met his, I let him know how much I respected his opinion. “Fuck you,” I hissed.

  His eyes shot to the bag and his hand quickly followed. My instinct was right. He was nothing more than a common thief, and he was trying to take my shit. As he turned to run with the pack, I balled my fists, clenched my jaw, and did what seemed natural.

  I fought for what was mine.

  I swung a fading left jab just to see how he reacted, and followed it up with a right uppercut. The second punch connected perfectly with his chin, and stopped him from taking even one more step. His eyes went glassy, his hands dropped, and my backpack fell to the ground.