Big Bad John (Bigger in Texas Series)

by Alexander, R. G.

  It warmed her hand again, giving her comfort. “I’m fine. It’s horrible, but I’m fine. I just—I saw them a few hours ago. I’m not wrong.”

  The crowd began to part again. “Clear out,” someone called. “Let them get to the bodies.”

  Aziza glanced up and turned in the direction the first responders were arriving from. Something drew her gaze beyond the blinking lights, and she almost fell over when she saw a familiar figure.

  “You?” The sexy giant who’d held open the door was standing on the corner, beyond the crowd. Still watching her, though he wasn’t expressionless this time. His face seemed to be drawn tight with tension, his body practically vibrating with…anger? Frustration?

  At her…or at the unexplained loss of life?

  This was more than coincidence. It had to be. They—her, the bodies of the happy couple and the man who smelled like sunlight—couldn’t all be on the same out-of-the-way street, at the same time, after sharing a ride on a Ferris wheel on the other side of the river only hours before. It was unbelievable. Impossible.

  Fate.

  It struck her suddenly. Was this it? The night she died? She could see her watcher’s eyes as if they glowed in the darkness, the lights from the emergency vehicle flashing on his large frame while he stood, unmoving. Was his the last face she would see?

  Strange as it sounded, she wanted to go to him. Wanted to be near him again before she met her fate. Ask his name. Kiss him.

  A frightened voice in her head whispered, No. Don’t you see? They didn’t jump. You know they didn’t. None of this is right. Why is he here? What if it was him?

  She shook her head again, unwilling to believe it. Not him. But in reaction to the possibility her hands tightened into white-knuckled fists within her pockets.

  “Ouch—oh—damn it.” She pulled out her hand and saw the blood, the small shards of glass from the vial protruding from her palm. “No. I didn’t mean to do that. Joseph…”

  What if that really had been one last gift from her brother and she’d destroyed it with her carelessness? She saw the black grains covered in her blood and wanted to save them. Wanted to weep and scream. Wanted the pain inside her to finally stop.

  Stop thinking.

  “Not to intrude…” She heard the voice as if from a great distance. The man who’d propositioned her in the pub. He no longer sounded cocksure and seductive. “But your friend there is bleeding and obviously upset. She needs to rest now. I believe you should get her home before more authorities arrive.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, asshole, but I’m already planning on it. Oh shit, Aziza, why are you bleeding?” Greg, obviously done trying to get through to her with words, lifted her up into his arms and began to move through the crowd. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

  She didn’t feel as safe as she usually did around him, but she didn’t demand he let her go. Didn’t insist she was fine. She wasn’t, and she was aware enough to know that, if nothing else. She studied her hand where it lay on his shoulder. It was burning. Why would glass burn?

  She pulled out the largest shard and watched in silent shock as the sand began to slide along her skin toward the wound, slipping inside as if it were alive. Drawn to her the way she’d been drawn to it.

  “My hand.” She spoke so softly she didn’t think anyone would hear her. The burning had intensified, the strong smell of charred flesh filling her nostrils as a pattern was branded into her palm. Could no one else smell it? See what was happening?

  The pattern formed the outline of a circle and inside was a beautiful design that meant nothing to her. It almost looked like writing, maybe Arabic—it had that beautiful, artistic flow to it—but she couldn’t recognize it at all. The pain was so intense that for a moment she was afraid she would black out. She had to tell them. Had to show them.

  “Penn. Greg. My hand.”

  Greg stopped at the corner and waited for her aunt to catch up. “Penn, she’s hurting. Bleeding. Do we need to go to the hospital? Does it need stitches?”

  Aziza‘s head fell back against Greg’s arm, and she moved her hand off his shoulder and across her body for Penn to see. The burning had become a warm tingling sensation. And it was spreading. Her whole body felt strange, but she was no longer panicked. No longer hysterical.

  Penn took her hand and ran her thumbs over Aziza’s palm. “There’s nothing here.” She sounded frustrated. Worried. How could she not see it? “There’s blood, but if she was cut it isn’t visible. Could you see her the whole time? Did she get near the bodies? Touch anything?”

  Aziza was floating above them as they spoke. Why would she touch the bodies? What kind of sick person would do that? And then it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She couldn’t even see them as she rose higher and higher into the night sky.

  Almost flying.

  Coming August 27th

  Available for Pre-order Now!

  Look For These Other Titles From R.G. Alexander

  Fireborne Series

  Burn With Me

  Make Me Burn

  Burn Me Down

  Bigger in Texas Series

  Big Bad John

  Sweet Caroline-coming soon

  Glory Days-coming soon

  Children Of The Goddess Series

  Regina In The Sun

  Lux In Shadow

  Twilight Guardian

  Midnight Falls

  Eternal Guardian

  Wicked Series

  Wicked Sexy

  Wicked Bad

  Wicked Release

  Shifting Reality Series

  My Shifter Showmance

  My Demon Saint

  My Vampire Idol

  Temptation Unveiled Series

  Lifting The Veil

  Piercing The Veil

  Behind The Veil

  Superhero Series

  Who Wants To Date A Superhero?

  Who Needs Another Superhero?

  Kinky Oz Series

  Not In Kansas

  Surrender Dorothy

  More Than Mènage

  Truly Scrumptious

  Three For Me?

  Four For Christmas

  Anthologies

  Three Sinful Wishes

  Wasteland

  Who Loves A Superhero?

  A Kinky Christmas Carol - Marley in Chains

  Bone Daddy Series

  Possess Me

  Tempt Me

  Elemental Steam Series Written As Rachel Grace

  Geared For Pleasure

  About the Author

  R.G. Alexander (aka Rachel Grace) is a bestselling author who has written over 20+ books in the erotic paranormal, contemporary and sci-fi/fantasy genres for multiple e-publishers and Berkley Heat.

  She has lived all over the United States, studied archaeology and mythology, been a nurse and a vocalist, and now? A writer who dreams of vampires, witches and airship battles, and feels lucky every day that she gets to share her stories with her readers. She is happily married to a talented chef who is her best friend, her research assistant, and the love of her life.

  To Contact R. G. Alexander:

  www.RGAlexander.com

  www.Smutketeers.com

  Facebook

  Twitter

  Bonus Excerpt: Truly Scrumptious

  By R.G. Alexander

  From Samhain Publishing

  Chapter One

  Lemons.

  The secretaries, who always knew everything before anyone else did, had given her a going away fruit basket overflowing with colorful mangos and apricots, star fruit and red persimmons—but the lemons so perfectly summed up her last four years with the local, top-rated cooking show that they were all she could see. She pursed her lips. Only sour grapes would have been more apropos.

  “Stop moping, Truly, dearest. You’ll get wrinkles. Get out of the car. Please? You’re going to love this place. You’ll thank me later. I promise.”

  “I told you, Robert
. Don’t call me that in public. TS. My name is TS.”

  No it wasn’t.

  Truly sighed and allowed her now ex assistant to take her hand as she stepped out of the silver BMW she would no doubt have to return to the dealership when she wasn’t able to make next month’s payments.

  Her name was Truly. Her middle name was something she’d been trying to forget since she was old enough to pronounce it. The story of her parents falling in love during a drive-in showing of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang had been pounded into her brain. Along with years of awkward introductions, bad jokes and worse pick-up lines.

  Robert thought her name was wonderful, and perfect for her career in culinary PR. Obviously the television studio didn’t agree. More to the point, the head of programming didn’t agree. “Bastard.”

  Robert’s lips formed a smirk behind his slender goatee, knowing exactly who she was talking about. “I think you’re being too kind. I wouldn’t be a good assistant if I didn’t know exactly why he fired us. You turned him down didn’t you?”

  Truly sidestepped a puddle in the parking lot, unwilling to meet his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

  Robert tugged on his ear, drawing attention to the diamond earrings lining his lobe. “I knew it. Truly, you and I both know that man is a walking, talking stereotype. There isn’t an intern or wannabe host who hasn’t learned about his more indiscreet tendencies the hard way. I’m surprised he waited so long to have a go at you.”

  “You don’t know as much as you think you do. Besides, he needed me. His pocketbook took precedence over his…baser needs.” Until recently.

  Truly shrugged, but inside she was seething. It wasn’t what Robert thought. Clive hadn’t come on to her. He’d made it clear that she wasn’t his type at every possible opportunity, thank God.

  She’d always known she was safe from his type of harassment. Not only was she fantastic at her job, but she also wasn’t blonde, submissive or remotely stupid. Which was the kind of women he gravitated toward.

  Clive leaned toward anorexic toothpicks and that did not describe her. She loved food and it showed—in her breasts, in the ample hips and thighs that remained in spite of all her hard work at Zumba class. And regardless of the money she spent at the salon, her hair took every opportunity to kink around her like a frizzy, red halo. A fact her boss never failed to point out. But at least it kept him at arm’s length. He’d respected her business sense, her aesthetic. He always took the credit for her ideas, of course, but he told her at least once a week that he didn’t know what he’d do without her. And for a while it was enough.

  Until she’d witnessed the mighty hunter forcing a poor intern to do his bidding last week and got in the way.

  She’d known the kind of man he was. He cheated on his wife. Often. He made risqué comments whenever he could get away with it, but she hadn’t believed he would ever go that far. And she’d had to do something about it. Truly had taken the crying woman out of his office and, within hours had gotten her transferred, with a glowing referral, to the news department. Out from under Clive’s control.

  He hadn’t said anything to her about it. Hadn’t even acknowledged his breach in protocol. She’d thought he’d been too embarrassed. She was wrong.

  Fired.

  She’d never been fired in her life. And she’d worked in some horrible dives during college. It just wasn’t fair. She was the one who’d thought up the popular morning show that put their station on the map. She was the one who caught The Food Network’s eye and turned it in their direction, ever so briefly, bringing one of their famous cooking stars to the set to share the stage with her chef.

  Hell, she’d even found the star of the show at a local farmer’s market. Brunch with Laura was her baby, and she’d lost it all because she wouldn’t play Clive’s reindeer games. Or more specifically, she didn’t look the other way while he tried to play his game with that innocent girl.

  Of course when she’d confronted him after being asked for her I.D. pass and credit cards by station security, he’d thrown out a list of trumped up charges. She’d offended guests—her promotional work had failed to keep the ratings up, etc. All bullshit. All because he hadn’t gotten his way.

  Her initial instinct was to sue the jerk, and get the intern to sue him too. The thought was quickly followed by an image of Clive’s sweet, though misguided, wife and two young children. She’d grown to love them. The kids called her Auntie T for crying out loud. How could she put them through that? How could she not?

  “Jackass.”

  “Darling, people are going to think you’re socially challenged if you don’t stop randomly swearing out loud. Come inside. This place serves the best food I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something. I was hoarding my little secret to further my own career, but I think we can safely say this is an emergency.”

  She glanced up at the hand carved wooden sign above the door. The Iron Horse. She let Robert guide her inside, took one look around and did something she’d never done before. She snorted. “What were you trying to keep secret? That you’ve only been pretending to have good taste? That you’ve joined a motorcycle gang?”

  It was a dump. Or, on closer inspection, a diner carefully decorated to look like a dump. Dark wood paneling everywhere, small Formica tables dwarfed by a long bar cluttered with condiments. And everywhere pictures of men on bikes. Old black and white pictures in front of garages. Customers in front of the restaurant. The walls were covered. All that was missing was a pool table and the smell of sawdust and vomit. She supposed this was the perfect place to celebrate the end of her career with foodies. In a cheap burger joint.

  Robert slid out a plastic chair with a torn, slippery cushion. “I know that look on your face. I predict by the end of this meal you’ll have to apologize. And when I say apologize, I mean I’ll get a nice little gift bag with my favorite champagne and a new company credit card to replace the one Clive’s secretary cut up this morning.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Robert, I don’t know what you think wi—”

  A young male voice tinged with belligerence interrupted her. “A little early for lunch, aren’t you?”

  Truly pursed her lips and looked up at the adolescent server. He couldn’t be more than thirteen. The mop of hair on his head may not have seen a brush in a week, but it was certainly colorful. Bright orange with streaks of black. Or was it black with streaks of orange? What kind of look was he going for, half-tiger?

  “Tell them it’s me, and that I couldn’t wait. We’ll have the full treatment. Give us two specials and some ice tea.”

  Truly turned back to glare at the smug Robert as the boy stomped huffily toward the kitchen. “I didn’t get a chance to look at the menu.”

  “You don’t need one. Besides they rarely use the few they have. Most of their regulars get what they want.”

  She huffed. “When you said you’d take me to lunch I thought we were going somewhere classy. I went all out for your birthday, buster. The least you could do is pamper your ex boss.”

  He lifted one pierced eyebrow. “I told you about my recent credit card tragedy, right? Anyway, stop being such a bitch, dearest. You’ve always had an open mind. Give it a chance.”

  She sniffed and crossed her arms, nodding grudgingly. Fine. She’d give it a chance. But after this he was off her Christmas list. No more spa days for Robert. Or her for that matter.

  Damn, all she wanted was a good long sulk in her fuzzy pajamas with a pint of Cherry Garcia. She wasn’t fit for company right now, and no two-star greasy spoon was going to change her mood.

  Two hours later she knew she’d have to eat her words. And if they tasted anything like the four courses she’d just gorged herself on, she’d enjoy every minute. She closed her eyes, inhaling the aroma of her after dessert coffee and moaned.

  One eyelid lifted at Robert’s knowing chuckle. He knew. How could he not? From that light, delectable Caprese salad to the decadently sinful hazelnut foam with white chocolate sh
avings that had her groaning aloud in pleasure—it was heaven. Not at all what she expected when she walked into this hole-in-the-wall. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a meal so much.

  She set down her cup and opened both her eyes. “Okay. Tell me. Is this a practical joke? Did you bring the chef from the ski resort over here to pull my leg?”

  Robert shook his head. “I swear. It’s no joke. Besides, that old bastard couldn’t cook like that on his best day, and you know it.”

  It was true. “Then who?”

  “I’m going to soccer practice. So you should give me my tip now.”

  Truly jumped in her seat. That boy was fast, sneaky and rude.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  “Just for that, you overgrown Thundercat, I’m keeping your tips for the rest of the week and buying your baby brother a new toy. A loud one. Now apologize to the nice customers and get to practice.”

  The voice belonged to a drool-worthy man dressed in tight jeans, a black T-shirt and unbuttoned chef whites. Gerard Butler had cooked her dinner? She must be dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had that fantasy.

  “Damn—I mean, darn it, Uncle Nate. I’m sorry.” The boy looked down at Truly and Robert. “I’m really, really sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  Truly nodded absentmindedly, unable to tear her attention away from the chef-cum-hunk of sizzling man meat. He looked more like he’d just tumbled out of bed after a night of exhausting but satisfying sex than out of the kitchen. The dark shadow of stubble on his jaw and carelessly ruffled charcoal hair with just a few strands of gray at his temples only enhanced that illusion.