Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door: The Full Eight-Book Collection

by Mazzy King

  “That’s not, uh, for sale,” Jerry says, his eyes darting around. “Sorry.”

  “Why not?” I press, walking over to the van. “It looks fine to me.”

  “It’s just not.”

  I reach out and open the door. Dog muzzles and chains are spread across the floor.

  Jerry reaches out and slams the van door shut. “I said,” he says in a low voice, “that it’s not for sale.”

  Damien asks him about a different, wheel-less beater a couple rows away. I make up an excuse about having left something in the truck and backtrack. As soon as I’m clear, I call Mike and tell him exactly what I saw.

  “I can’t confirm anything besides what I saw,” I tell him emphatically, “and you need to get out here now. With backup.”

  “That’s a tall order without a warrant,” he replies.

  “Then get a warrant!”

  “I’ll do what I can, Major.”

  I head back in, and Damien and I stall for a while, continuing to look around the property. Jerry doesn’t seem to be onto me, and retreats into an office inside the warehouse.

  Less than an hour later, I get a text that Mike got the warrant and he and a task force are heading our way.

  I show the message to Damien. “Showtime,” I mutter.

  He nods.

  We walk to the office, where Jerry’s working on a computer. He glances up at us. “Make a decision?”

  I turn to look at him slowly. “Yeah, actually. I want to see the dogs.”

  He freezes. “The what?”

  I point at the floor. “The dogs you’re keeping under this building. I can hear them barking.”

  “I don’t hear nothin’,” he replies, staring at me steadily. “I think you’re mistaken.”

  “A van full of muzzles and chains?” I step closer. “Was I mistaken about that?”

  “You some kind of animal rights activist or something?” Jerry asks, rising.

  “We’re dog fighters too,” Damien says before I can respond. “We got money to burn if you’re willing to part with some of yours.”

  Jerry narrows his eyes at us. “I know most of the fighters in this state, and I don’t know you.”

  “We’re new in town,” I say. “We heard you were the man to see about getting in on the action.”

  I have no idea what I’m talking about. Neither does Damien, I’m pretty sure, but we sound convincing. To me, anyway.

  “Oh, you want to see the dogs?” Jerry says slowly, eyes narrowed. “Fine. Let’s go. But just you.” He points at me.

  “Why?” Damien challenges.

  “My rules,” Jerry sneers.

  There’s a little warning twist in my stomach, but I nod. “Fine. Lead the way.”

  He takes me to a door near the back that opens to a stairwell. Down the stairs we go, and the barking gets louder, as well as the typical odors associated with caged animals. And beneath that is the scent of fear.

  My fists clench.

  Pit bulls and pit bull mixes are in rudimentary pens alongside both walls. Some are barking aggressively, snarling at the sight of us. Some beg us with their eyes and high-pitched yelps for help. Some make no sound at all, just lie curled on their sides, muzzles on their paws.

  My eyes burn. No animal deserves this treatment. As it is, it’s taking me every ounce of self-control I have not to jump on Jerry and pummel him.

  “So you looking to breed?” Jerry asks lazily as I stroll down the row of pens.

  “Yeah,” I say through my teeth. I reach the very last pen, and my heart stops.

  Bongo!

  He’s one of the quiet ones, huddled in the back corner of the cage, trembling. There’s nothing in the cage with him. No food, no water. Nothing.

  “What’s his story?” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “That? He’s good bait. Something about him in particular really brings the rage out of my best fighters.”

  Before I can say another word, I hear a metallic click and turn around slowly.

  Jerry curls his lip as he points a revolver at me. “You ain’t no dogfighter.”

  “No,” I say calmly. “You’re right about that. I’m not.”

  “Then what the fuck are you doing here? Why are you asking about my dogs?” He narrows his eyes. “They tried to shut us down a few months back. Threw my cousin in jail. I’m not about to lose out again. You’re not walking out of here.”

  “No?” I say softly, tensing my muscles. Five years as a Ranger and half a dozen combat deployments taught me to prepare for a fight, my body reacting before my mind.

  “Damn straight.”

  “Actually,” I continue, still in that quiet tone, “I think it’s you who isn’t walking out of here.”

  He wasn’t expecting that.

  And that one second of hesitation is all I need.

  I leap and feint to the left, ducking under his gun arm, then come up and chop down as forcefully as I can. The snap of his bone breaking is loud, his shriek of pain louder. The gun drops to the floor, but he catches me by surprise with a left hook. I stumble back, seeing stars.

  We both look at the gun on the floor and lunge at the same time.

  All I’m aware of is heat and grunts and snarls and pressure and pain.

  Then a gunshot explodes through the small room, and a searing pain rips through my body.

  8

  Cecily

  I break at least a dozen traffic laws as I tear through Port City toward the hospital, but I don’t care. All that’s going through my head is the message the male voice left on my cell phone.

  This is Detective Mike Lattimore of Port City PD. You should get down to the hospital. Major’s been shot.

  That was it. That was the whole message. No context, no prognosis.

  I can’t lose you too!

  I’m sobbing so hard, I can barely see as I crookedly park my car in the emergency lot and rush inside. I manage to tell the nurse at the desk who I need to see, and she directs me to a room beyond a set of huge, imposing double doors.

  I run right past the room Major’s in, because I hear him call out.

  “Cecily!”

  I skid to a halt and turn to run in the opposite direction. His voice sounds strong, and that makes me weep harder, because I know he’s okay.

  His arms are already open, waiting for me as I fly into the room. Then I realize only one arm is extended toward me. The other one is in a sling.

  “What?” I gasp, looking at him.

  He smiles tiredly at me, but there’s a strange spark of joy in his warm brown eyes. “It’s a long story, and I will tell you every single bit of it, but first—I’m okay. I got shot, but it went through the meaty part of my arm. Didn’t even hit the bone. It’s sore as a motherfucker, and I’m not going to be able to go to the gym for a while, which pisses me off, but I’m fine.” He tilts my face toward his and kisses me, briefly but tenderly. “I promise.”

  “The—the detective just told me you got shot,” I tell him, swiping my hands across my cheeks. “That’s all he said. I thought—I thought—”

  “Mike has a lot to learn about telling people important things in a way that doesn’t give them a heart attack,” Major says, using his thumb to brush my tears away. “I’m sorry he scared you so bad. But it’s all okay, Cecily.”

  “So what happened?” I ask. I’ve stopped sobbing, but I have little control over the tears that just keep spilling out of my eyes. It’s like I’ve got a leaky faucet in them.

  Major slides off the table. “Let’s go find the doc real quick so I can see if it’s okay for me to get up outta here. Then I have something to show you. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

  He keeps his good arm firmly around me as we walk out of the room. It boggles my mind that he’s the one who got shot and is supporting me.

  After a quick chat with the doctor, Major gets the all-clear to leave. We walk out the front doors of the hospital, but instead of heading over to my car, he leads m
e around the side of the building. The only vehicle that’s there is a big truck. There’s a dark-haired man standing beside the truck, and he’s facing something in the truck bed. Something—

  Something that has golden fur and four legs and a back full of scars.

  Something that catches sight of me and starts whining, wiggling, dancing to jump out of the truck.

  “Bongo,” I wail, the tears flowing again.

  The dark-haired man scoops Bongo into his arms and immediately sets him down. My sweet dog tears across the pavement toward me and I rush toward him, like we’re in Homeward Bound.

  He leaps into my arms and I tumble over, ignoring the hard bite of concrete on my elbows.

  “How,” I cry. In the days since he was taken from me, I scoured shelters and pet advertisements all over the Internet. I called Animal Control and begged to see the CCTV footage outside the café, which only showed a blurry man in black swiping my boy and carrying him off, and then a moment later, me shooting like a rocket after them. I posted what happened on social media, hoping that anyone who had information might come forward. Some truly kindhearted people tried to do some sleuthing for me, and it all dead-ended.

  I truly thought Bongo might be lost for good, and as the days stretched on, I was losing hope.

  Major kneels next to us. Bongo shoves his muzzle into his cheek before returning to licking all my tears off my face. “I didn’t want to say anything in case I couldn’t find him, but we thought we might have a lead, so we followed it.” He points upward. “This is my friend Damien, by the way.”

  “Oh, hi,” I say in a wavering voice, flushing. “Sorry.”

  He leans against the truck, shaking his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Thank you,” I add. “Thank you so much.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he says quietly. “Major, you good?”

  “I’m good, brother.” He stands, and they embrace briefly. Damien lifts a hand at me, climbs behind the wheel of the truck, and heads off.

  We do the same. Major insists he can drive, so I sit in the passenger seat with Bongo on my lap, hugging him tight while we stop to get food and Major’s medication. Bongo gets his own plain cheeseburger, too.

  He calls to check in with Felix, carefully avoiding mentioning he was shot. “I’ll face that music when we go pick Felix up tomorrow,” he tells me when he hangs up. “But for now, I just want to relax with you and our boy.”

  Later, we lie in bed, Bongo between us and snoring happily after devouring two burgers. I don’t want to let him out of my sight ever again. And on Monday, I have an appointment to get him implanted with the GPSPet, hating myself for the fact that I didn’t do it sooner.

  “You’re a hero, you know?” I murmur to Major. We’re watching some cop show on TV. Well, he’s watching it, and I’m watching him and Bongo. “Seriously. I can’t believe you risked your life for us like that.”

  He kisses my forehead. “You’re more than worth it, Cecily. Besides, I fell in love with Bongo too. I couldn’t face my son and tell him he wasn’t ever coming back.”

  We told Felix initially that Bongo had to go away for a little bit, and he cried, which broke my heart even more. But now, I’m excited to pick Felix up in the morning and surprise him with his best friend.

  “You mean the world to me,” I add, tilting my head on his shoulder.

  “There is nothing I won’t do,” he says softly, “for the woman I love.”

  I stare up at him, finding his gaze full of emotion.

  “I love you, Cecily,” he says. “And I wish I’d had you in my life sooner than I did. When I think about how happy I’ve been the past couple weeks with you, and how I could’ve had that for the past year…” He shakes his head. “Well, I’ve got a lot of making up to do. And now that I have you, I’m not letting go until you tell me to.”

  “Then you’re in luck,” I say, pushing myself up on my elbow, careful not to disturb Bongo’s peaceful slumber. “Because I’m never telling you that. Ever. And, Major—I love you too. I have ever since I first saw you. I moved into this house for a reason, and even though it took a year for us to get here, I wouldn’t change a thing, because it’s all a part of our story. Yours, mine, and Felix’s.”

  He smiles, reaching his good hand down to pat the sleeping pup’s head. “And Bongo’s.”

  I kiss him firmly on the lips. “And Bongo’s.”

  Epilogue

  Cecily

  Three months later

  “Bongo, catch!”

  I smile from the front porch of the new home Major and I share as Felix heaves his basketball toward the grass. Bongo tears after it and then noses it back onto the driveway toward Felix.

  “I’m still amazed how he trained Bongo to do that,” Major says, sitting beside me after ducking into the house for a moment.

  Summer has been stubbornly hanging on, though the first nudges of fall spike the air in the mornings and after the sun sets. Today, though, the afternoon is almost balmy, and the sun is radiant.

  “Bongo is only too happy to do anything Felix wants,” I chuckle.

  Major reaches for something on the little porch table between us, then stops. “Aw, damn. I left my glass of iced tea in the house.”

  “I’ll get it. I need more, anyway.” I lean over to smooch his cheek and stand up.

  I fix his iced tea how he likes it—extra sweet—and then carry our sweating glasses back outside. Weirdly, all three of my boys are lined up, facing the door. They’re even all grinning.

  “What is happening?” I ask with a bemused smile, setting the glasses down.

  Major nudges Felix with his elbow.

  “We wanted to ask you something,” the little boy announces. “It’s a very important question.”

  “Okay.” I draw my chair closer to Felix, resting my elbows on my knees as I lean closer. “Ask me.”

  “I wanted to tell you I love you very much,” he declares, “and I really love Bongo. And Daddy really loves you and Bongo too, but not as much as me.”

  “Is that right?” I lift my brows at Major.

  “Stick to the script,” Major whispers loudly to Felix.

  “So we wanted to know if we could keep you. Forever.”

  I laugh. “But, Felix, you already have me. That’s why we bought a new house, so that we could always all be together.”

  “But I wanna be together as a family,” Felix continues. “With a daddy and a mommy. And a Bongo.”

  I hold my breath. “You do?”

  He nods. “So that’s why Daddy wants to give you something.”

  I turn wide eyes up to Major.

  Smiling, he kneels down until he’s equal height with the rest of us and holds out a small box with the lid popped. A beautiful, delicate diamond ring glimmers up at me.

  “I already asked Bongo’s permission,” he says softly. “He said yes. Right, boy?”

  Bongo woofs.

  “So, the ball’s in your court,” Major continues. “Cecily, will you marry me? Will you let me love you and honor you and walk through this life with you…forever?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim so loudly, I hear my voice echo down the street. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  I throw my arms around Major. Then we draw Felix and Bongo into our hug.

  I have never been so happy in my entire life.

  “I love you,” Major murmurs against my cheek. “So much. For life.”

  “For life,” I echo.

  “Ice cream!” Felix exclaims, clapping his hands. “Come on!” He tugs me out of my chair.

  “All right, all right,” Major chuckles. “Nothing like celebratory ice cream.”

  I link my arm through Major’s and hold Felix’s hand on my other side. Major holds Bongo’s leash.

  It’s the perfect way to kick off our new life together.

  The End

  6 | DAMIEN

  1

  Nancy Monroe

  Looking in the mirror is a jarring experien
ce every single time I do it, since about a year ago.

  It’s not because I’m stunningly beautiful. It’s not because I dress super great or do fantastic makeup or hair. It’s one of those mundane things people do to make sure they don’t have anything on their faces or stains on their clothes or a weird cowlick going on.

  But when I look in the mirror, it reminds me how far I’ve come. And that stops me in my tracks every single time.

  A year ago, I was seriously underweight and pale and had dyed my hair black because I just didn’t care.

  A year ago, I was covered in bruises.

  A year ago, I couldn’t look myself in the eye.

  A year ago, I was a shell. Terrified.

  A victim.

  But now?

  I chuck my paper towel into the trash bin and clench my jaw against the rising tide of emotion I always feel every time I remember.

  Now, I’m a different person.

  Physically, I’ve changed. I’ve put on weight—a good fifteen pounds. My face is soft, my eyes less haggard and hollow. I embraced my curvy shape instead of listening to the screaming voice that called me fat, fat, fat. I stripped the dye out of my hair and wore my natural golden blonde-brown color. I met the sun.

  But most importantly, I broke out of that shell. I’m no longer terrified.

  And I will never be a victim ever again. I will never allow a man to mistreat me. Ever. Again.

  I step away from the sink and head back to my office, taking deep breaths to calm down. An unwanted side effect from this past year and clawing my way back to health is anger. A lot, a lot of anger. And distrust. And…a little fear. I haven’t been on a date since I escaped Curtis. I’m certain there are good guys out there, but I’m too angry, distrustful, and frankly scared to see for myself.

  It’s just easier to be alone.

  I’ve just about reached a level of emotional calm, if still sad, when I reach the short hallway that leads to my small office, where I manage content for the local historic museum. I used to love where my office was nestled, in a small section of the building right next door to where we have our traveling exhibitions. Whenever something new comes to the Port City Historic Hall, I get to explore before anyone else. I’ve seen artifacts from the Titanic, I’ve walked through a reconstructed Narnia, I’ve traveled through the evolution of the national experiment that came to be known as Prohibition. It’s become a special love of mine, stepping back into history and exploring these large, lavish exhibits all by myself.