by Hamel, B. B.
I looked down at the ring on my finger and smiled.
It was funny how things could start to mean something else. One second it has all these bad feelings, this negativity, and the next it feels completely fresh.
Once upon a time, my engagement ring had made me sad. When I looked at it, I knew that it was just a lie. Maybe I felt something for the man that had given it to me, but that wasn’t reality. We were lying to the world, all because I needed money and he wanted a better job.
Then, things happened. Lots of things happened. Lots of dirty, sweaty, incredible things happened. And the ring began to mean something very, very different.
When I looked at my ring over a year after he had first given it to me, it stood for love. It wasn’t a lie, not anymore.
I leaned back in my chair, smiling up at the little bungalow. The sun was bright in the late afternoon, and I felt a bead of sweat roll down my back. The glass of iced tea next to me was sweating, just like I was.
What a lovely day. The garden was coming in nicely, especially since I had so much time to work on it. Ever since we’d gotten the news all those months ago, Nash had been adamant that I never worked again. I missed my little part-time job, but I had a bigger full-time job coming up, growing inside me.
I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway to our little house in the hills, smiling at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, walking toward me. He was wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and nothing else, his muscles tanned and tensed, incredibly sexy.
“Do you ever wear a shirt?” I asked.
“You know the answer to that.”
I laughed as he kissed me on the cheek and crouched down next to me. He kissed my stomach next and smiled. “How’s Chris doing today?”
“He’s good,” I said.
“And how are you?”
“Fine,” I said. “Bored. Ready to give birth already.”
He laughed. “We have a long way to go before that happens.” He paused and looked back at the house. “Your mom said she’s going to move out here,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I admitted. “Ever since Dad died, well, she doesn’t want to be alone out there anymore. You know?”
He sighed. “Does she have to live with us?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Fine,” he grunted. “But we’re getting a bigger house.”
“Fine with me.”
He kissed me again and stood up.
“Look at you, my pregnant wife. How’s it feel to know that we never have to lie to the media again?”
“Speak for yourself,” I said. “I love lying to them. Makes me feel alive.”
He laughed. “Do what you want, babe. Just don’t tank this movie.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
He shrugged. “Part of me thinks it’s going to fail. But part of me doesn’t give a fuck.”
“General Prick will give a fuck.”
He smiled at my little nickname for his commanding officer. “Yeah, well.”
After our first month together, he told me everything. He told me about how the media tour was a propaganda thing set up by the government, how the book was ghostwritten by some guy working for them, and how it was technically his mission to go through all the media shit he went through.
Including the movie, which was actually getting a lot of good press. They were showing it to small festivals before the big release, and everyone was reacting really favorably to it. Still, Nash worried, but he was just like that. My husband, Nash the perfectionist.
“It’s like an endless summer here,” he said.
“Yeah. It’s nice. I hated shoveling snow.”
“Makes people soft.”
I laughed. “We don’t have to stay, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But you like it here, and I guess I don’t give a fuck where we are, so long as you’re there.”
I laughed and stood up. He want to help me, but I pushed him away. “I’m barely pregnant. Relax,” I said.
“Look at you,” he said, laughing. “You’re six months pregnant.”
I looked down at my belly and frowned. “I’m fat.”
“You’re pregnant.” He kissed my lips. “And fucking sexy.”
“Oh yeah?” I smiled. “You still want me?”
“God, if your mother weren’t inside, I’d fuck your sexy pregnant pussy right here on the lawn.”
I laughed and kissed him softly. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Just let me have my way with you. That’s all I ask.”
“I can handle that. Now put a shirt on before my mom starts complaining again.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and walked back inside.
I smiled as I watched him go.
This was life for me now. No more lying, no more running around. I was literally barefoot and pregnant, standing in the backyard of our beautiful bungalow. Nash worked in the movie industry doing part-time consultations on military tactics while he waited for news from General Prick. It was only a matter of time before we were ordered on another tour to support the movie.
But that was okay. I’d have the baby and my mom would help me take care of him. Nash would come home as often as he could. Living in L.A. was easier, since a lot of the media stuff was pretty local.
I didn’t need to go anywhere, didn’t need anything else. All I needed was Nash and my baby boy, Chris, growing inside me.
Back then, back in the airport, I never thought I’d see him again. But I could still remember the way he said he loved me a week later, the chills that ran down my body when I knew I loved him back.
I smiled to myself and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful, clear day.
Just like every day was with Nash.
Thank You!
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Keep reading for the full text of Jerked!
Read the new steamy motorcycle club romance Biker's Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Demons MC) by B. B. Hamel!
I’m going to marry the playboy Navy SEAL for one million dollars.
Nash Bell is sexy, arrogant, and totally filthy. His war memoir is selling like crazy, making him one of the most famous people in the country. But he hates the limelight and needs me to fix his bad boy reputation to help get him back into active duty.
All I have to do is pretend to be his wife, and then I can afford my father’s medical bills.
I know I’m just a tool to him, but I can’t help but let him use me.
I don’t want to lie to America. But the cameras are on all the time and I need to play my role.
It’s strictly business between us. Except for when he whispers how badly he wants my body.
This should be easy. We just need to convince everyone we’re the perfect couple, despite the fact that I think he’s an arrogant a**hole.
Then Nash can leave, and I can help my family.
This should be simple.
So why do I want him to stay?
Click here to read it now on Amazon
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JERKED: A Stepbrother Mob Romance
Chapter One: Brenna
I looked up at the old brick façade and the black wrought iron detailing around the front stoop and couldn’t believe I was back.
The cab pulled off, back out into traffic, before I had the chance to change my mind, hop back in, and head anywhere but home. I cursed my rotten luck and looked around. The old neighborhood looked the same: old brick Philly row homes, but clean and orderly—one of the richer south Philly neighborhoods.
Briefly, I wondered how many crimes had been committed in the halls of the houses that I could see. I wondered how many crimes had been committed in my own house.
Probably a lot.
With a sigh, I lugged my over-filled suitcase up the stoop and stood in front of the door. Did I have to ring the bell and knock, or could I just walk right in? That was a weird thought; it was my childhood home, after all, though I hadn’t been back in years. I opted for informal, grabbed the front door knob, and pulled it open.
I could feel that my back was covered in sweat already as the air conditioning hit me hard. I must have looked like a mess. It wasn’t a long trip from New York, but it felt like it had taken ages. I hated riding the train, but there were no other good ways to travel. Plus, I had left in kind of a hurry.
It wasn’t good to be home. Far from it, actually. I hadn’t exactly left on friendly terms, and my relationship with Daddy dearest had been strained at best ever since. We spoke a few times a year on the phone, but that was about it. Pleasantries, the bare minimum of small talk, and then nothing for months at a time.
Still, it was a nice trip down memory lane as I walked into the familiar foyer. Pictures of myself as a kid, smiling into the camera, my mom smiling up by my side, my dad with his typical mean mug look. I smiled softly to myself. That was back before she had passed away, before things began to take a turn, before I knew what dad did for a living. Those were the good old days.
“Hello?” I called out, and heard only my own voice echo back at me.
Typical. Of course my dad wasn’t home. He was probably too busy breaking some guy’s knees or whatever it was he did all day. Then again, I was a few hours early, so I could probably cut him a little break on that one.
With a grunt, I lugged my suitcase up the stairwell, heading for my bedroom. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but I was exhausted and alone and anyway, so what did I care? I was home; I didn’t need to be on all the time.
I looked around my nearly-empty childhood room and tossed the suitcase onto the bed. There wasn’t much left of it: everything I had cared about I had brought with me, and it looked like my dad hadn’t exactly kept it up.
I sighed. I guessed there would be plenty of time to redecorate.
My stomach grumbled as I looked around, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since I left New York. There wasn’t exactly enough time to have a nice meal; I hadn’t really given much thought to my escape. The only thing that mattered in that first hour or two was getting the hell out of there before things got even worse. I had been frantic as I threw things into my suitcase and ran out of my apartment, trying to get the image of what I saw out of my mind. Her blonde hair, bobbing up and down. The look on his face.
I shook my head. I couldn’t deal with those memories, not yet. Food first, emotional healing later. Maybe.
The hallway was empty as I walked quietly back toward the thin staircase that led into the kitchen. I remembered the hundreds of times I played in that space, running around and climbing down the weird staircase, which I now realized was for the servants or whatever back when the house was first built in Colonial times. I'd had a pretty good childhood, though my dad wasn’t the most attentive person in the world. But he had shielded me from the worst of the shit that went on around us, keeping me blissfully ignorant. I'd lived in my own little bubble, daughter of one of the largest Irish Mob bosses in the entire city, the Mob Princess. I remembered all the men that came in and out of the house, and how kind they were to me. At the time, I had thought I was special. Now I realized they were just trying to suck up to my dad.
As I neared the back staircase, I heard a creak, and the door to the bathroom pushed open. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Warm, steam-filled air rolled out as a body stepped into the hall. I practically shrieked, surprised as hell, as this damp, gorgeous torso appeared in the doorway. I gaped at him, not sure why some random guy was coming out of my shower. He was ripped like crazy, all muscles and perfectly toned abs, and all he was wearing was a thin white towel wrapped around his waist. I could see the outline of every one of his muscles glistening from the water from his shower. My heart started hammering in my chest as I ran my gaze along him.
“Shit, sorry,” I stammered as my eyes ran up his body and locked onto his face.
And that’s when I got the real shock.
“Hey Bren,” he said, grinning.
I couldn’t believe it. I recognized the voice, but it hardly matched up with my memories. We hadn’t seen each other in years, not since that time just before I left for college. Which, actually, was another thing I didn’t want to think about—one of many. But he had gotten taller, fuller, even better looking if that was possible. The only guy to ever turn me down, the cocky asshole that was always around our house when I was in high school, my pseudo-stepbrother, Colin Blake.
“Colin. Wow. You’ve uh ... grown up.”
I felt myself blush. Seriously? What was I even saying?
He laughed. “Yeah, you too. Last time I saw you, you were headed out to college, all fresh-faced and ready to take on the big city.”
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Right now, I’m talking to you, and it looks like you’re trying not to stare at my nakedness.”
I forced myself not to blush any more. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”
“You’re not surprised anymore.”
“Who just walks around in a towel, anyway?”
“People who take showers. And you’re early.”
“I didn’t hear you in the shower.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Bren. Still oblivious as always, I guess.”
I made a face. “Don’t start with that already.”
He laughed. “Okay, I’ll be nice.”
“Seriously, what are you doing here?”
“How about I get dressed first. Then I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Yeah, fine, whatever.”
I looked away from his cocky grin and began heading toward the staircase.
“It’s good to see you, Bren,” he called after me.
I paused and looked back. He was standing in the middle of the hall, one hand holding up his towel, water gathering around his defined chest muscles, smooth skin and cut jaw and full lips and piercing blue eyes all gathering me in. I blinked.
“Yeah, you too, Colin.”
I turned away and headed down the stairs as fast as I could without seeming like a total idiot.
Colin Blake. My father’s protégé and essentially his adopted son, though not legally at least. Growing up, there had been a lot of men hanging around my dad, but Colin was the youngest, and he was the only one who actually lived with us for a while.
I didn’t know much about him, in all honesty. One day he had simply appeared out of nowhere, and began to spend time around the house, running errands for my dad and me. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he was being initiated into the Mob, but back then I didn’t really know much about that stuff. I’d never really seen him as a brother, though dad probably wanted me to. He was a year older than me, and we went to different schools, so we rarely saw each other. He grew up in an orphanage in the city, and when he turned eighteen, he was forced to find another place to live. I guessed my dad liked him a lot, because Colin came to stay with us for my last year of high school, and was still there up until the day that I left for college.
The very day I had been trying not to think about for years. I hadn’t heard much about him after that, though, but my dad had wanted me to think of him as my older sibling, and had always been going on about how much promise Colin had and how proud of him he was.
The weird thing was, there was no way Colin still lived in my dad’s house. That would be way too weird. And plus, wasn’t he at least twenty-four? He should have his own place. So then what the heck was he doing showering in my bathroom and walking around half naked?
I made my way into the kitchen and smiled at the familiar space. Dad hadn’t done a thing to the kitchen in years, and I was glad he hadn’t. Some of my best memories took place in there, from cooking with my mom when I was really little to joking around with my dad’s guys as I got older. Like a lot of homes, our kitchen was the heart of our family, and I spent many hours in there as I grew up.
I pulled open the stainless steel refrigerator door and made a face at how empty it was. Typical of my dad, unable to take care of the house in any way. He paid people to cook and clean, but trying to get him to stock the refrigerator like a normal person was like pulling teeth. I settled on a yogurt that was on the edge of its expiration date, and settled down at the island.
Being back felt crazy. I could remember the fight I'd had with dad on the day I left almost as if it had happened yesterday. You spoiled brat, you don’t know a fucking thing about what I do, he'd said to me, his face red with anger. He had never talked to me that way before, and hadn’t since.
In a lot of ways, I deserved it. You’re a violent thug, dad, and all of this stuff is bought with blood money, I had screamed at him. I had been a naïve kid and didn’t understand the way things worked back then. From his perspective, I had been ungrateful for what he had given me, and willing to turn my back on my family. Disloyalty was the ultimate insult, especially to people in the Mob.
But I had grown up a lot since then.
I finished the yogurt and heard a creak on the back staircase, announcing Colin’s entrance. I looked up as he turned the sharp corner wearing comfortable but still tailored grey sweats, the sort of thing you saw a fighter wearing, and a tight black T-shirt that accentuated every curve of his muscular frame. I had to will myself not to stare.