Alex
A Chicago Bad Boy Romance
Peter Presley
Contents
Kendrick: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance
About Peter Presley
1. Alex
2. Heather
3. Alex
4. Heather
5. Alex
6. Heather
7. Alex
8. Heather
9. Alex
10. Heather
11. Alex
12. Heather
13. Alex
14. Heather
15. Alex
16. Heather
17. Alex
18. Heather
19. Alex
20. Heather
21. Heather
22. Alex
23. Heather
24. Alex
25. Heather
26. Alex
27. Alex
28. Alex
29. Kendrick
30. Heather
31. Alex
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Kendrick: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance
After you read Alex, the second book in the series is Kendrick: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance!
Fresh out of jail for a robbery conviction, twenty-eight-year-old Kendrick Johnson is ready to put his life of crime behind him. With a solid plan to straighten his life out, he knows what he has to do, but having a goal and making it a reality are two entirely different things, especially when a seductive distraction and former partners in crime are vying for his attention.
Car wash owner Anita Jackson will never hire another ex-con again. That’s what she tells herself . . . until Kendrick shows up at her door. Then, all bets are off. Their instant attraction to each other leads to a sizzling love affair, but a relationship between the sexy boss and her handsome employee could lead to trouble, especially when the lure of fast money and the life Kendrick used to live keep begging him to return.
Is Kendrick willing to sacrifice his relationship and his freedom for easy money?
Get Kendrick: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance at AMAZON!
About Peter Presley
Peter Presley is the alter ego of Piper Presley. Piper writes shorts at 10K and under; Peter writes novellas and novels.
Join Piper and Peter’s newsletter and get a free book. Details at the end of Alex: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance!
1
Alex
Who am I? I’m a guy who knows how to make the most of the cards he’s been dealt. There’s been no silver spoon in my mouth.
My name is Alex Sobol, and I’m 26-years-old. My family on both my mom and my dad’s sides came here from Poland to work in the steel mill. They ended up on the South Side of Chicago in a neighborhood called Midway.
I grew up living close to Midway Airport, so you can guess what that meant - too many fucking planes flying over. When I was a kid, I used to think the planes were cool. I would raise my hand to the sky and pretend I could touch them. But that child’s play wore off when I got older. Other than the planes, the neighborhood is okay, I guess.
It’s a blue-collar town, tight-knit, and we’re all White Sox baseball fans. Even though I live on the North Side now, and the Cubs finally won another World Series after over a hundred years, I will always be a Sox fan. I was 14 when the Sox won it. That was pretty sweet.
In 1989, my mom and my dad got married and worked at the same bakery factory. There have been layoffs, but my dad still has his job. He’s hoping to hang on another 15 years until he can retire. That’s a long time, but he’s taking his chances. My mom worked there until 1990 when she got knocked up with me.
I knew, growing up, there was no money where I came from, but there’s a shit-load of money north, and that’s where I live and make my cash these days. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you I’ve ever had a legit job that pays the money I make now.
I’ve worked at McDonald’s, at an auto body shop, and I got a job in the factory where my dad works. That’s it. That’s it for the legit jobs.
It wasn’t until I worked for the gang that the money tumbled in. In fact, I never thought I had a chance at any real money until I got with the Kocan Brotherhood.
Chicago is known for gang bangers, right? There are black gangs, Mexican gangs, and Asian gangs. But we’re a group of white guys, mostly Polish. We do all sorts of shit, but these days we’ve been jackin’ high-end cars from valet services and hotel parking garages. With me pretending to be a valet, I have easy access to a lot of sick cars. We kill it. I’ve jacked Jags, Bimmers, Lambos; I’ve jacked them all.
See, these rich fucks are so full of themselves that they don’t even realize who they’re giving their cars to when they pull up to valet. I mean; it’s that easy. So it’s like they hand me the damn keys, and off I go. And as far as jackin’ cars from parking garages, they think just because you pay big bucks to stay in a fancy hotel the security is tight. They don’t know what I know. But don’t think I don’t disguise myself when I need to. I’m a good-looking blond guy. You could pick me out in a line-up, no problem, if I didn’t hide my identity when I do these jobs.
I got my good looks from my mom. When she was young, she was like a Grace Kelly, only without the money and the fame. In fact, that’s one reason she got pregnant with me as fast as she did. My dad figured if he kept her at home that would keep guys at the factory from hitting on her. He knew it was that or kill one of them and end up in jail.
Me being a handsome blond helps because people think a clean-cut looking guy like me could do nothing wrong. People would never figure me for a Kocan, because people are stupid.
Like I said before, I no longer live in Midway. I’ve made enough money working with the gang that I’ve got myself a nice apartment on Michigan Avenue. But, as I sit here with a beer, up on the 19th floor, looking down at the city, I know I can’t stay with the Kocans much longer.
When I was 16, I thought to get with the Brotherhood made me the luckiest guy alive. But I don’t feel chill with the gang anymore. I know it’s just a matter of time before something bad happens, and I don’t want to be around when it does. I got no skills for the legit world. I know that. So I will get me some skills, and that probably means I gotta go to school and learn a trade. But, you know what? I’m down with that.
One thing you learn about money, it doesn’t always keep you out of jail, and it doesn’t always stop you from getting killed. I figure if I get out now, before the operation goes down, I can save myself.
Money isn’t everything. I took for granted the money I made with the Kocans, and I’ve made a couple million. Yeah, you heard right, a couple million - tax-free, of course. But I blew it on so much shit. You see when you grow up with nothing, and then some people give you a large payout, what do you expect? My first payout was $300,000. Come on? I’m a guy who barely made more than $50 a day. Now some people give me $300,000 at one time? I blew through that first payout faster than you could believe, and the payouts kept coming, and I kept spending.
Now, it’s not like I have no money. I mean, I wouldn’t be living in this fancy apartment if I were broke. I’ve got enough to get out and get into a new life. I figure with one more job I can have a nice nest egg and then I’ll look into learning a trade and turning legit. It’s gonna mean I won’t be living the high life here on Michigan Avenue, but to be honest, I don’t need it. I really don’t. When I ditch the Brotherhood, if it doesn’t go the way I want, I may have to live undercover for a while, anyway. Maybe I’ll live on an island where my money could go a long way.
You see, I’ve decided the current game we’re pullin’ will be my last. After that, I’m done with the Kocan Brotherhood.
They don’t know t
hat. So not only do I have to figure out how to make this my last job, but I also have to figure out how to get away from them.
If there’s one thing you have to understand about being mixed up in a crime syndicate - more often than not, you’re there for life, and if you leave, you die. They can’t risk you getting soft and going to the cops or anything.
But if I can figure out a way for them to trust me, build on the good relationships I’ve made with the leaders, I can end my time with them and get on with my life. I don’t know if my plan will work, but it’s worth a try. It’s worth it to start over fresh and wash this crime life off me.
Do I have a girl? No. I gotta be picky from now on. She’s gotta be pretty, but she’s gotta be square. I don’t want her to have anything to do with the Kocans or to know anything about the Kocans. But until I get away from them that will not happen, because those are the only women I’ve been with, the ones who understand what the Kocan Brotherhood are all about.
No, this time I want an innocent girl. I want a girl who knows nothing about a life of crime.
2
Heather
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m afraid we won’t have your room ready until 3:00 p.m., 2:30 at the earliest. But we can store your luggage here in our bag and coat room if you’d like so you don’t have to worry about them.”
The female customer rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous!”
I’m standing behind the front desk. The lady screaming at me stands on the other side. I can tell she paid thousands of dollars for her clothes and her jewelry. But it’s hard to admire that when her mouth is spewing words a mile a minute. I wouldn’t be surprised if steam came out of her ears.
“I was told my room would be ready at noon, and it’s already 1:00. I was looking forward to relaxing. I’ve had a hard morning.”
Thank God it’s Friday. This is the second person I’ve had scream at me in the last three hours. “I understand. I’m happy to see if we have any other rooms available for you.”
The woman looks at me as if she’s looking at an idiot. “Yes, do you think you can handle that?” She rolls her eyes for what seems like the fifth time. “I give a lot of money to this place when I come here.”
“Yes, of course. One moment.” As I look at the computer screen, I mentally cross my fingers and toes hoping there’s another room, of similar or better quality, that’s available to give this customer. If not, I can only imagine what else I’m in for. Bingo! I’m saved. “Yes, I see we have a suite available. We’ll give it to you at the rate you are paying now.”
The customer physically softens. I’ve taken care of what could have been a nasty scene. “Good. Good,” she says.
As the woman implied, she’s stayed at this hotel many times in the past, and she has already filled out the papers, which stay on file. I wouldn’t dream of making her sign more papers. I gather her hotel key cards so she can go to her room. “Here are your keys ma’am, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
The customer snatches the keys out of my hand, literally, and I watch the rather oversized woman huddle off to her room with the bellhop following close behind. “Be careful with that bag!” she screams at Carlos, the bellhop. “It contains glassware, and I don’t want it broken.”
When the woman’s back is turned, Carlos gives me that knowing look and I return it with a smile. We both take our share of abuse when we’re dealing with the public, he as a guy who takes care of their bags and me as their front desk clerk. This is a high-end hotel where we get business people and people with lots of money. Most of them are polite, but God help us when we get one who doesn’t understand the rules. It’s in the fine print that check-in isn’t until 3:00 p.m., but some people don’t read that stuff.
Hi, my name is Heather Dunn, and I’m 24. I work the front desk at one of the best hotels in Chicago. I don’t think I’m any better at hospitality than anyone else, but I’m attractive, and, honestly, I think that’s why I got the job in the first place.
I’m a hometown Chicago girl all the way, grew up on the South Side in a neighborhood called Beverly. I’m Irish, and there are lots of Irish people in Beverly. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents came over from Ireland and landed in Chicago at around the same time.
Beverly is a great place to raise a family. It’s a close community, and the crime isn’t as bad as in other parts of Chicago. There’re lots of single-family homes, all different from each other, many with big front yards and back yards, and the schools are pretty good. There’re lots of trees and parks. But, if you’re a young, single adult like me, there’s nothing much to do around there other than hanging out in the bars on Western Avenue.
Because I have no kids, I wanted to get out of there and experience something else. So I moved into an apartment with two of my girlfriends in Wicker Park. It’s fine. I mean, I sort of wish I had my own place, but it’s fine. I like Chicago, and I’ve been able to enjoy all the city offers, like restaurants and nightclubs and shopping and stuff.
I’ve met my share of men too, but unfortunately, none of them have worked out. In fact, I just broke up with one - Doug. What an asshole. I guess I dated him for all the wrong reasons. See, he’s an executive for a top company. I met him in a bar on Rush. He had just come back from a big meeting in Japan. What drew me to him is he didn’t seem to talk to me just to get a hookup. But it was more than that; I could tell he had money, and to be honest, I grew tired of dating broke guys.
I guess I wanted someone to take care of me for a change. Anyway, after only eight months of dating it turned out I was just another piece-of-ass for him. I found out he cheated on me with, get this, not one, not two, not three, but four other women. Four! Can you believe it?
Look, it’s not like I’m ugly or anything. I’m an attractive girl, but there are lots of pretty auburn haired women out there. I’m not so special, not in a big city like Chicago.
So we’re done, and I never want to be with him again. Except, I have to see him one last time. Two months ago, I was so head over heels in love with him I moved in with the jerk. That was before I found all the numbers and pics of scantily clad chicks on his phone. I’m glad I never sent him one. I’m glad he could never add me to his collection.
I got all my stuff out of his apartment, but he wants his Nikon camera back even though he told me I could have it. So I’m giving it back to him during my lunch hour, which is happening pretty soon here. I told him I’d meet him at 1:30 p.m. in the hotel’s garage. I hope the jerk isn’t late. I only get a half hour for my lunchtime, and I don’t want to get in trouble because of this jerk. I’ve had enough people yell at me today.
I’m heading over to the garage, but I’ve got a serious headache. I know it’s a combination of the morning I’ve had and of knowing I have to see Doug one more time. I never get headaches. But at least I’ll know I never have to see him again once I give him back his camera. I could have told him, “Forget it, you’re not getting it back.” But I’m in no mood for a fight. I just want him out of my life.
Well, sure enough, I’ve been out here for twenty minutes, and there’s been no sign of the jerk. I should have known. I’ve got better things to do than to stand out here in this garage waiting for him to show up. Plus, I’ve texted him twice now, but he’s not answering. Fuck him!
Waiting here would be worse if I didn’t have eye candy to look at. You should see this blond guy standing over a Lamborghini. Damn, he’s hot! He’s wearing the valet uniform, but I never saw him before. So I guess he’s a new hire. I don’t know, but what I do know is under that uniform I could bet money this guy is fit and buff. What I know for sure is he’s got a gorgeous face, and I would love to run my hands through that blond hair; I can’t deny.
But, I had similar sexy thoughts about Doug when I first saw him. All I wanted to do was kiss his lips and slap his butt, to be honest. Doug has a great butt.
So how’d that work out for you, huh, Heather? Looks aren’t everything. I should know by
now.
But maybe blondie has seen my ex? I’ll ask him. It will give me an excuse to get closer to him and check him out.
I walk over to him, and he stares at me the entire time. He watches me approach. I think the guy is into me.
“Hi!”
“Hi, beautiful!”
I blush. So sue me. I like it when a man calls me “beautiful.” “Have you seen a tall, dark-haired guy walking through here at all?” I realize that might be a dumb question. There could have easily been more than one tall, dark-haired guy that has been here today.
“No, I haven’t seen anyone.” He smiles at me when he says it. God, this guy is hot!
“Okay, thanks. I appreciate it.”
I walk back over to where I was. I want to turn around and look at the guy, but I don’t. He seems to have a peculiar interest in that Lambo. Poor guy probably wishes he could afford one. Fat chance. My pay isn’t great, and I know the valets aren’t raking in the cash either.
Shit! I’m so pissed. It’s been almost a half hour and still no sign of Doug. Let me try texting him again, and this time he better answer.
Where r u?
Almost there. 15 min.
Finally, he texts me back, but screw that! I’m not waiting another 15 minutes for the jerk. My lunchtime is over, and I have to get back to work. I arranged to meet him here, away from everything so that I could say goodbye to him one last time, but now that he’s not here, he can just get his camera from valet. I hope he doesn’t come into the hotel thinking he can talk to me at the front desk. This is a busy time for us in the hotel due to our latest advertisements, and I don’t have time for chatter.
Alex: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance Page 1