Rough & Rowdy (Notorious Devils #1)

by Hayley Faiman

  Rough & Rowdy

  Copyright © 2016 by Hayley Faiman

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editor: RC Martin, Another Pair

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  title page

  copyright

  dedication

  quote

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  epilogue

  summer 2016

  also by Hayley Faiman

  about the author

  acknowledgments

  Tanisha Elizabeth — Nisha— Auntie Sheehsa — Boo Bear — My sister from another mister —

  My first really bad boy had to be dedicated to you. I hope you enjoy.

  Thank you for the years of friendship. Thanks for always being there.

  Thanks for always being goofy with me.

  That’s Yo Man. Save yourself.

  And about a million other inside jokes.

  Every man has a wild beast within him.

  -Frederick the Great

  Kentlee

  I sigh out a frustrated puff of air as I stand in front of the boutique. I don’t want to go inside. I know what lies ahead, and none of it is good for me. It isn’t good for my sanity, my self-confidence—and it certainly won’t be good later tonight when I will, undoubtedly, be crying into a pint of chocolate fudge brownie FroYo.

  Nevertheless, it is something I have to do. For Brentlee, my one and only sister. My little sister. Four years younger than me, only nineteen years old, and she’s getting married. I feel like the spinster-sister standing next to her, even though I am only twenty-three.

  I suck in a breath and open the heavy boutique door—plastering on my sweetest smile. I notice immediately that all of the witches are present and accounted for.

  “You’re late,” my mother scolds as soon as I walk inside. Well, I have one foot inside.

  “We’ve been waiting around forever. Brentlee insisted we wait for you,” Missy, my sister’s best friend and future sister-in-law, points out. She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “I was working,” I offer with a smile that looks somewhat apologetic. Though, I’m not in the slightest.

  They knew I had to work today. I am lucky to even be off this early. I had to beg for my early release from the menial job I hold.

  I am a receptionist and gofer at a local real estate office. I am always given the assignments that nobody else wants—showing rentals. They are appointments that provide income for the company, but no commission for the agents. Therefore, I show them for my regular hourly wage, at night and on weekends.

  “Work? You need a man.” My mother waves her hand in the air, and inwardly I roll my eyes.

  “I’m never going to work. It’s pointless. I want a husband who can take care of me the way I deserve,” Missy pipes up.

  My mother pats her thigh with a smile.

  If Missy were to meet a man to treat her the way she deserved, she’d be living in a box down by the river.

  My mother married my father, a doctor, and quit her job the next day. Then she produced my brother, approximately nine months later, me, four years after that, and then my sister, four years after that — securing her role as the doting stay-at-home mother and wife.

  By the time we were all in school, I don’t think my father could function without her taking care of everything—including him. He never mentioned her working outside of the home again. My sister and I were expected to do the same, and marry a man to take care of us. My brother is already in his residency to become a doctor—just like our dad.

  Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind being a stay-at-home mother, if the opportunity presented itself; but I’m not going to date dollar signs just to accomplish that dream. I want to meet someone, fall in love, and then get married.

  Too bad I am too much of a homebody to ever actually meet anybody. My previous two relationships were failures—in a huge way. I am still licking my wounds from the last one. I closed myself off from most of the dating world after him.

  “Jason and I just broke up, mom,” I whine.

  She shakes her head. “That was months ago, and he was a loser. You need to see if Scotty has any cousins for you,” she says with a wink. I scrunch my nose.

  “Our family is chalk full of successful businessmen. Honestly, I don’t know if you’re any of their type,” Missy sneers.

  My mother pretends not to hear her.

  Scotty is my sister’s fiancé, and he makes me gag. At first glance, he is just too perfect—his hair, his smile, his manners, and the fact that he is preparing to take the BAR exam to become an attorney.

  In reality, Scotty only seems perfect. He lingers too long when he gives me a hug, he stares at my breasts, and he's always – always – putting Brentlee down in such a way that she’ll strive to be even better than she was before. He has given me the creeps from day one. He’s manipulative and, frankly, a tool.

  Scotty is also nine years older than her; not that the age thing bothers me. It’s just that Brentlee is young and beautiful and should be having fun instead of settling for such a giant douche. Brentlee, to me, is perfection personified. Together, they look like perfect robots, designed in a lab or something. It just feels all wrong. Always has.

  “Dress number one.” Brentee’s voice floats through the boutique and we all turn around to watch her come through the fitting room with a wedding gown on her slim lithe body.

  “It’s so gorgeous,” everybody gushes.

  I have to admit, it is very pretty. Long lace sleeves, a sweetheart bodice with lace coming up into a high collar. It is A-line and very Princess Kate like. It is perfect and demur—nothing like my flashy sister.

  “Kentlee, what do you think?” she asks looking up through her long, chocolate brown lashes.

  Brentlee and I are night and day in the looks department. Brentlee has long dark hair. She’s tall and thin, her skin almost olive in complexion, and she has chocolaty brown eyes. She looks so much like our dad, with his Italian roots.

  I, however, am short and curvy with ass and tits that I think are just too much. Unfortunately, I can’t lay
off of the FroYo to save myself, so the ass and tits are probably forever going to stay. I keep my hair long, past my elbows, and am naturally blonde, like our mom, with pale skin. My eyes are a deep blue, almost black.

  Most people don’t even believe we are related, let alone sisters.

  “I think you look really elegant, Brent. It’s beautiful,” I admit.

  I am telling the truth, but she could wear a trash bag and still look gorgeous. I wish that she would sex it up. She always dresses super sexy, and I don’t think her wedding day should be any different. But it isn’t my place to say anything—so I don’t.

  “This is it. Scotty is just going to love it,” she gushes.

  My mother and Missy gush as well. I smile politely and wait until I can leave. I don’t gush; it isn’t in me. The gushing is too much. I am totally not that jumping-up-and-down-with-excitement kind of girl.

  “Okay, Kent, don’t forget—Saturday is the bachelorette pre-party. Just a little bridesmaid’s get together, dancing and cocktails. We’ll start planning the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Then we can talk about my bridal shower. Squee.”

  She actually says the word squee. I try so hard to keep from rolling my eyes.

  I deserve a fucking medal right now.

  “Saturday night, yeah. I’ll be there,” I nod, tapping it into my phone’s calendar. Though, I’m not quite sure why. It isn’t like I really have much of a social life these days.

  “Try not to look homeless, please,” Missy snaps.

  I pray to Jesus to give me patience before I slap the shit out of this little bitch.

  “Cool,” Brentlee grins, ignoring her asshole of a friend. I smile back at her.

  Once she changes out of the white gown, she comes right for me and starts to speak in a low tone.

  “You’re really okay not being my Maid-of-Honor?” she asks me for the fifteenth time.

  Truthfully, Brentlee had surprised me when she broke the news that I wasn’t to be her Maid-of-Honor, and that it would be Scotty’s sister, instead. It had hurt my feelings that she didn’t want me right next to her, helping to plan her showers and parties. I understand it, though. Missy is not only her best friend, but her future sister-in-law, too.

  Brentlee and I used to be best friends. Somewhere around high school, she blossomed into one of the popular girls and had a whole gaggle of girlfriends, whereas I stayed more of a loner. I dated and I had friends, but I was definitely never in the it crowd. Brentlee was their damn leader, even as a freshman. Scotty’s sister had been her sidekick from the age of fourteen, so I wasn’t really shocked that she wanted her to take the coveted title of Maid-of-Honor. It stung, nonetheless.

  “You’ve been friends with Missy since you were fourteen years old, and you’re marrying her brother. It’s cool, Brent,” I say, plastering on my fake smile. She smiles back—genuinely, I’m sure.

  After an hour of wedding talk and harping from my mother, I am finally free. I almost skip down the street toward my car, I am so excited. But I am dressed in my work clothes, a black pencil skirt and satin camisole with five inch, black high heels, so I decide against it.

  I hear a rumble from a distance. Then, suddenly, it feels as though a million bumble bees are surrounding me. I let out a gasp, my eyes widen, and my step falters as I watch the group of motorcycles pull up next to my sporty little black, convertible Camaro.

  My Camaro is the reason I work weekends for a real estate company, as well as several evenings a week, showing rentals to perspective clients of my boss. He hates showing rentals and I want to be able to afford a cute convertible. It works out for both of us in the end.

  “Nice ride.” A deep baritone voice rumbles next to me as I try to open the door quickly and slide into my car without being noticed.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, looking up and simultaneously losing my breath.

  The man behind the sexy voice is… well… the sexiest man I have ever seen. He is tall. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the sheer size of his biceps makes me whimper. They are the biggest I have ever come across—in real life.

  My eyes travel down to his middle and I almost purr. He has a firm, thick torso, with jeans that hang low on his hips. And his thighs? Tree trunks. He is big everywhere I can see; and probably everywhere I can’t see, too.

  The sexy stranger clears his throat, and when I look up into his handsome face, mine turns bright red. He caught me ogling him, and a shit-eating grin curls his mouth. He has messy dirty blonde hair and light gray eyes—his jaw strong and chiseled. I know by the smirk on his lips that he thinks he’s every bit as sexy as I do.

  Cocky bastard.

  “What’s your name, sugar,” he whispers, deep and husky. I shiver and his lips quirk even more.

  “Kentlee,” I say as I slide into the driver seat of my car.

  I try to close the door but his hand shoots out to stop me. He quickly crouches down between the door and my seat. He is almost eye level to me, he is so long.

  “Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he grins. Then his hand comes out again, wrapping around the back of my neck.

  “Why don’t you come down to the clubhouse and party with me tonight, babe?”

  I blink at him.

  I know what he is.

  He is a Notorious Devil.

  They are legends around our town.

  The local outlaws.

  Parents tell stories to their children to scare them away from the group, and rumors about them always run rampant in adult circles—about their women and about their parties.

  No way in hell am I going to be some innocent girl, lured into the lion’s den, so they can pull a train on me.

  I have read and heard enough about them, and other MC’s, to know the things they do.

  No way. Not this girl.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say quietly, trying not to rile him up.

  Just last week, three of the members were arrested in a bar brawl. Billy Smith, a guy I know from school, went to the hospital.

  Granted, Billy is a giant dick and he most likely deserved it—but still.

  “Why not, sugar?” he asks.

  The hand behind my neck starts to massage me lightly. I almost moan at the contact. His strong fingers digging into my neck, combined with the smell of grease, oil, and man is sending me over the edge.

  I haven’t had sex in almost a year, and I am horny as hell as it is.

  “I’m not… I’m just not the kind of girl that should be at one of those parties,” I murmur, trying so hard not to offend him as I simultaneously try not to wrap my thighs around him and beg him to fuck me, right here—right now.

  “What kind of girls are at our parties, babe?” he asks.

  I can sense an edge to his tone forming. My wide eyes lock with his and I tell him the truth.

  “I’m a good girl. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink much, and I don’t sleep around… like ever,” I confess, my cheeks turning bright red and heated.

  “Could tell you weren’t a bad bitch, honey. Still, you look smokin’ in that sexy secretary getup and I want to see more,” he grins.

  Panties. Fucking. Melted.

  I open my mouth to answer him, though I don’t know what I am going to tell him, when another man steps up behind him and halts my voice. He is huge—round belly, long hair in a braid—and he is glaring at me with what I can only guess is hatred.

  What I ever did to him, I do not know.

  “Prez, we gotta get movin’,” the burly man growls.

  I shrink back a bit at his tone. The man’s hand around my neck squeezes gently before he releases me, ignoring the angry giant behind him.

  “You want to come on out, you just come on out, sugar. You’ll be perfectly safe with me. Just tell the man at the door that Fury sent you, okay?”

  I nod, even though I know there is no way in hell I am going to this man’s clubhouse.

  I have seen most of the men around town, but this guy, he’s new�
��different. He looks to be around ten years older than me, but I have never seen him before.

  Our town is fairly small and you tend to run into people. I even spot a few guys from high school standing by their bikes, part of the club now. But this man, he is a complete stranger.

  Once he turns to talk to the big man behind him, I hurry and skedaddle the heck outta there. I have FroYo to eat, and I need to freak out—alone—in my little one-bedroom rental house.

  When I am in inside my home, I lock the door and grab my coveted ice cream. Sitting down on the sofa, I realize I'm in complete shock. I look around the room as I shovel the chocolate into my mouth, trying to forget about what happened just minutes ago.

  Long gone are the memories of my sister’s bridal dress shopping moment. My brain is now flooded with the strange and sexy biker.

  Holy shit, he was hot.

  I wish that I had some slut in me, because I want nothing more than to end the dry spell I am currently in and walk on the wild side of life.

  I figure a man like Fury would know exactly what to do with what God gave him.

  I imagine he would throw me against the wall and just take what he wants. I shiver from the thought. Jason didn’t know a clit from a nipple, and he fumbled and bumbled through every single sexual experience we had together.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, he was a habitual cheater. How he found so many other women to screw, I don't know. The man was horrible. At least, I hope he was horrible. He was my only experience, and if it's that way with every man, I am going to become a spinster, cat lady for sure.

  Fury

  I wanted to throttle Buck. I had that sweet girl in the palm of my hand. She was hot as fuck in her little skirt and high heels, too. Sweet looking. I don't come across sweet too often in my life. I want sweet.

  I’m tired of all the whores.

  I am determined, after the takeover of this club, to find a sweet piece to sink myself into night after night. Probably won't ever claim her or anyone else as my Old Lady, but it’d be nice to have some sweet pussy on the side when club life becomes too much. As the new President, I'm sure it often will.

  “You gotta look somewhere else, brother,” Torch says, throwing his cigarette on the ground.