The Very Bad Fairgoods - Their Ruthless Bad Boys: A Smoking Hot Southern Bad Boys Boxset

by Theodora Taylor

  Colin stares at me, his blues eyes hollowed out with disbelief.

  “Take me home, right n-”

  I don't get a chance to finish that command, because Colin turns around and this time, there's no hesitation as he starts back up the hill toward his truck.

  I hear a murmur go through the crowd behind me. And the voice of Darnell, who's technically a cousin five times removed, saying, “Hey, it ain't against the law for me to marry you, and if you serious about knowing how to cook Grandma's friend chicken...”

  “Shut up, Darnell,” I hear LaTrelle say.

  “I'm just sayin…”

  It's funny, but I don't laugh.

  My heart is screaming with anguish as I watch Colin walk away. Looking exactly like what he is. What he's always been. The loner. Once again. And maybe for always, this time.

  I watch him yank open the door of his black Silverado, start to get in… only to freeze in the doorway.

  My hearts stutters in the middle of its anguished scream, afraid to hope… But then he slowly turns back around. And my heart starts screaming with a whole 'nother emotion when he comes walking back toward me.

  I run toward him, meeting him halfway, and it feels like worlds colliding when he sweeps me up into his arms and kisses the hell out of me, in front of Beau, in front of my family, and in front of Grandma, who I am sure is smiling at us from up above.

  When he finally sets me down, he whispers in my ear, “You're right, I am crazy, and this time you are going to spend a whole month tied up in my bed to make up for this.”

  “Okay,” I agree. Easily. Happily.

  Then he glares at me and says loud enough for my whole family to hear, “And I swear, Blue, if you're lying to me about that chicken…”

  “I'm not,” I assure him with a watery laugh. The tears are back now. Because I'm so happy. Because Colin's taken me back. Because I'm once again his for keeps. And because I know I won't ever do anything to mess that up again. “I swear I'm not lying.”

  He gives me a harsh look, his blue eyes glittering in the winter sunlight. “Nothing but the truth between us from now on. You promise me that.”

  “I promise,” I answer, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I swear it to you, Colin.”

  I've never been so happy to make a promise in my life, or to seal that vow with a kiss.

  Epilogue

  “You’re lying!”

  Colin smiles at me lazily over his shoulder as he pulls on a black cowboy boot. “You want to accuse me of lying to you now? What happened to all those promises we made about us always telling the truth?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering?” I answer. I’d be getting dressed, too, but Colin has yet to release me from his bed. He wasn’t kidding about keeping me tied up for a month. He lets me out at regular intervals to use the bathroom, and if I’m very good, to have a cup of coffee, but other than that, if we’re at home, I’m pretty much tied to his bed.

  I’m not going to lie. I don’t hate this. And even now, I watch him hungrily as he pulls on his boots, wondering if he’s really going to leave me here, horny and naked while he’s—I have no idea.

  “Seriously, where are you really going?” I ask him.

  “I told you,” he answers with another over the shoulder grin as he pulls on his other boot.

  “Yeah, but I know you’re lying!”

  “Now, why would you think that, Liz?”

  Colin’s been calling me Liz ever since he re-colored my hair green for me a few days ago. He says he did it himself because he was truly curious about what a color called “Electric Lizard” would look like on me. But I think he did it because after all these years of being kowtowed to, he actually likes doing stuff like cooking for me and dying my hair. Either that or he just didn’t want to untie me so I could do it myself. One of those.

  “Because there’s no possibility you’re actually going into the studio to work with Roxxy RoxX on my song.”

  “Why not? Roxxy and me are old friends. Because of me she got her first Country number one.”

  Which I doubt mattered much to her, because by that time, she’d already clocked a ton of Pop Chart number ones.

  “You mean she gave you your first Pop number one. And I don’t think that’s enough to make her come out of early retirement to sing my little song.”

  “It’s a good song,” Colin answers, like this is a simple fact. Like the only thing that was keeping Roxxy RoxX out of the recording studio all this time was a really good song. “And say what you want about Roxxy, but she knows a good song when she hears it.”

  My voice softens as I start to believe… “You sent her my song?”

  “No, she heard it online and called me about it a few weeks ago.”

  “A few weeks ago? But we weren’t together then!”

  “No, we weren’t. And I told her that,” Colin answers, his voice dry. “Which is probably why you got a call from Wyatt soon after that, asking after your publishing rights.”

  I sit up in bed, my wrist straining against the ropes. “I can’t believe this. You’re serious!”

  Colin shakes his head at me, like I’m the crazy one. “I told you I was going to make every single song you gave me a number one hit. Think you’re ready to start believing me about that new, Liz?”

  Yes! And believing made me really start tugging on the ropes.

  “Let me out of here,” I say. “I got to figure out what I’m wearing… alternative arrangements… how not to faint when I meet her—oh, my God! I can’t believe Roxxy RoxX is going to record my song!”

  I twist my wrists inside the ropes, straining to get out, but Colin just sits there.

  “Who said you were invited?”

  “Colin this isn’t funny. It’s Roxxy RoxX. There’s no way I’m not going to be there.”

  “But you see there is a way. Because you’re still tied up, and if I don’t let you out of there, then you’re going to miss the recording session.”

  I shake my head. “You wouldn’t…”

  “Liz, Liz, Liz,” he says, shaking his head. “I think I’ve more than proven how far I’ll go to get what I want. I’m a little surprised you haven’t figured that out by now.”

  I stare at him.

  “This is about that Viking Shifters video game, isn’t it? You’re still pissed because I beat you.”

  The smug smile drops completely off Colin’s face. “You didn’t beat me. You distracted me with your breasts—”

  “I’m not the one who insisted we play naked. I would have been totally cool with beating you fully clothed.”

  “Oh, wait for the rematch, Liz,” Colin snarls at me over his shoulder. “Wait for it! Because I love you, but I am going to crush you next time.”

  It’s been three weeks since we reunited. I should be used to hearing those three words coming out of his mouth. But it stills sends a little thrill though me every time he says them.

  However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop riding him about losing out to me at his new favorite video game. “I mean… sure, if that’s what you want to believe… it’s good to have dreams, I guess. In the meantime, I can see why you’ve been so reluctant to let me out of these ropes. Too scared of getting beat again. I totally understand.”

  Colin opens his mouth, the nerd he still carries around inside of him despite the Lasik, and the movie star hair cut, and the wardrobe that costs more than my grandma’s house, ready to defend his gaming skills.

  But then he stops and shakes his head. “No, I know what you’re trying to do here, Liz, and it ain’t going to work. There’s only one thing and one thing only that will get you untied from that bed.”

  He pauses, and I wait to hear his newest demand, wondering what it can possibly be this time. We go through this every dang time we leave the house. So far he’s made me beg, pay for my release with “his” mouth, and make him a batch of fried chicken among other things.

  Which is why I’m fully unprepared when he pulls a black
velvet box out of his pocket.

  “Wear this when we go into the studio to record…”

  I stare at the thick band encased in diamonds, my breath completely missing in action.

  “It’s an engagement ring,” he says, maybe mistaking my lack of response as confusion. “I was going to try to get you something a little edgier, like an emerald ring, but you color your hair so much, I figured I better go with diamonds because they match everything.”

  I shake my head. “We’ve only been together for three months.”

  “Yeah, and we know each other better than a lot of couples who’ve been going out for three years.” His eyes soften. “We understand each other, Kyra, and I don’t care how short a time we’ve been together. I already know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “I already know that, too,” I tell him. Because it’s true. I can no longer imagine ever wanting to be with anyone but him. Can’t imagine there’s anyone else out there who will ever get me the way Colin gets me.

  “But what about children?” I ask him.

  He pauses. “You still want them, right?”

  I nod. “I want them bad.”

  “Good then, we’re on the same page about that,” he says.

  “But we can’t… do what we do with children running around.”

  “No, we can’t,” he agrees. “But kids need a lot of sleep, and you know what they say: ‘When the child sleeps, mama should… let daddy play rough with her.’”

  I chuckle. “That’s not what they say at all.”

  “No,” he says, unleashing that beautiful grin of his on me. “But you know what I mean.”

  I do, but I still have to ask, “Do you get that kids would change our lives in ways that wouldn’t be sexy?”

  He nods, his expression turning a lot more serious. “Yeah, I do, and when I think about not being able to have sex with you for a while because you’re healing up or too tired or the kid’s crying in the next room, I still want it. I still want that with you. I love you, whether you’re Kyra tied up by me or by one of our four kids. When we’re being kinky and when we’re just chilling. Even when you’re cheating at Viking Shifters. I love you, and I want to be with you forever.”

  That is easily both the craziest and sweetest thing a man has ever said to me.

  And my heart feels impossibly soft, even as I say, “I didn’t cheat, and we’re only having two kids.”

  “Three. We’ll split the difference.”

  “Two. You’re not the one who has to carry them,” I remind him.

  Colin just throws me a wicked grin. “You know what, Liz, I’m not going to argue with you about this now, cause we both know I can convince you to come around to my way of thinking at a later date.”

  He presses on before I can tell him there’s no way in hell I’m carrying four of his overly long children.

  “But there’s a main question on the table here. One you still ain’t answered. You going to marry me or not, woman?”

  I think about it. Honestly think about it. How Colin came into my life and changed it for the better. How he opened me up to things I didn’t even know I was capable of. How he’s taken me to places I’ve never known, in bed and out. How he’s made all of my dreams come true, even the ones I didn’t dare to dream or couldn’t fathom.

  I think about all of that and smile as I give him the perfect answer. “No.”

  A slow, devil coyote smile spreads across Colin’s own face, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Ginny,” he says into it. “See if Roxxy can push the session back an hour or two.”

  Then he hangs up and says to me. “I’m going to make you pay for that.”

  If you liked this story, check out the other books in the 50 Loving State series!

  HIS FORBIDDEN BRIDE

  Prologue

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  Everything in the world stops as I sail through the air. No gulls. No breeze.

  The Pacific Ocean goes eerily silent beneath me, as if catching its breath before the drop. Then…SPLASH! My body hits the water with violent force; the anger of the man who threw me in it, powering my descent into its dark, gray depths.

  Next comes the sensation of sinking, faster than I normally would without the added weight tied around my legs. Water overwhelms me, rushing into my ears, my screaming mouth, my eyes…I want to close them against the sting of the salt, but I can’t.

  In those first few moments I lose control of my body. Instead of closing my eyes and gracefully accepting my fate, I thrash and struggle with my eyes open, seizure wide. I fight to get my head back above water, even though I know it’s useless. I can’t swim with both my hands and legs tied together, not to mention the heavy weight dragging me down. But I also can’t think clearly enough to comprehend how little chance I have of ever leaving this ocean alive.

  So I thrash and scream, making a bad situation that much worse thanks to my body’s instinctive response to drowning. In three minutes or so, brain damage will set in and I’ll sink less fitfully towards my coming death. I might even relax a little, the hypoxia placing me in a trance-like state.

  I was born and raised in California, but I never tried anything stronger than weed. And I stopped doing that after I got into med school. I wonder for a moment what it will feel like to be blissed out on the heaviest of narcotics: my fast-approaching death. Wonder and thrash. Wonder and scream useless bubbles.

  Unfortunately, as far as untimely deaths go, drowning is just about one of the most brutal ways to die. Yes, eventually I’ll pass out from hypoxia, but before that happens will come the worst three to four minutes of my short life.

  And as I die, all I can do is fight the inevitable and bear witness to my twenty-five years of life as they flash before my eyes.

  Beginning with my first memories of my childhood in Compton. My mother’s church. Backyard barbecues in January. Dipping churros in vanilla ice cream at the Long Beach street fair. My insane middle school years…Chanel dying in her hospital bed…medical school…and finally my residency in West Virginia.

  This is where the slide show of my short life ends all too soon after meeting the same blue-eyed man who, less than a minute ago, looked at me with such hatred… right before he ordered me thrown overboard.

  Chapter One

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more heartbreaking and inspiring than eight of our cancer patients singing, “To Dream the Impossible Dream.”

  “Yassss!” I tell them after I hit the last chord hard with my guitar pick. “You are going to make our department so much money from this YouTube video! Thank you!”

  Most of the kids giggle, delighted—in spite of the grim circumstances—at the prospect of the internet fame that will come with being featured in one of my Chemo Kids Sing Broadway videos.

  But Ronnie Greenwell, the only black kid in the group of kids receiving chemo, raises her free hand. “I have a suggestion, Nitra…”

  “No,” I answer, not caring that she’s in a wheelchair, or the only kid here who’s the same color as me. Mostly because she insists on calling me by my old nickname instead of Dr. Anitra like all the other chemo kids.

  “But you ain’t even heard the question!” she protests, keeping her overly thin arm in the air.

  “I don’t have to. The answer’s always no,” I inform her, before returning my attention to lining up my fingers on my guitar. “Okay, everybody, let’s do this song one more time, then we’re done for the day.”

  “I’m just saying,” Ronnie continues as if I didn’t already shut her down. “I think we should switch it up! That girl who sang ‘Fight Song’ on the internet—”

  “Already did it,” I remind her. “I’m telling you, Ronnie, Broadway is where it’s at. People loved when we did ‘Defying Gravity’ last month.”

  Ronnie sucks on her teeth, a suspicious adult in a child’s sickly body. “You just saying that b
ecause you like that old-ass music. I’m telling you we’d get so many more hits if we…”

  Moving her oxygen cable out of the way, Ronnie unexpectedly springs from her seat and launches into a wheezy rendition of “Watch Me Whip.”

  Apparently her enthusiasm is catching, because the rest of the makeshift choir joins in with her. Most of the kids jerk side to side in their seats, but a few of the stronger ones jump up and start throwing each arm out before waving their left arms over their heads.

  I try to put on my best stern look. I mean, I am a doctor after all. Even if my Chemo Kids Sing Broadway video series is a tad unorthodox as far as hospital fundraising activities go. But those clips bring in money for our shoestring Pediatric Oncology department, which at this point is barely more than a pipedream with one senior Pediatric resident (me), one attending—who is also responsible for any pediatric cases that come into any other part of the hospital, including the ER—and a couple of oncology nurses to oversee chemo for a kids-only hour in the lounge on Monday and Thursday mornings.

  Right now, I can feel the glares of those nurses, who are quite understandably afraid of things like ports getting dislodged while the children dance. And then there are the even fiercer glares of parents, who don’t want to deal with tired and cranky kids later on, along with the after-effects of chemo.

  But c’mon! “Watch Me Whip” is such a great song. Steadfastly ignoring all the glares from the adults in the room, I get to my feet and dance with the kids. I improvise a few chords on my guitar and drum on its body with my hand to give Ronnie an underlying beat. And for a moment, we forget our roles, and the various cancers the kids are battling, and the maybe/maybe-not life saving chemo as we dance and sing like maniacs.