Suncoast Society
I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead
Arden’s been plagued by personal problems—none of them involving men. But when she waits on four hunky rich guys one night and they find out she’s studying computers, their job offer is the answer to her prayers.
Trace, Steve, Ken, and Hal have been best friends since they were college roommates. They’ve already successfully birthed and cashed out one start-up that made them rich, and moved to Florida to focus on replicating their accomplishment. They hope buying a house together will help them recapture their magic and avoid distractions, like dangerously meddling family and crazy exes. But Arden, their adorable motorcycle-riding assistant, doesn’t seem to understand how much she distracts them.
Then, a chance encounter at Venture gives the men a very bad—or very good—idea. And when Ken needs Arden’s help hiding his secret from family, the men decide the risk is worth it. Now, all they have to do is convince Arden she’s perfect for them.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 47,268 words
I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD
Suncoast Society
Tymber Dalton

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD
Copyright © 2018 by Tymber Dalton
ISBN: 978-1-64243-090-5
First Publication: April 2018
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2018 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
DEDICATION
To Hubby, and Sir.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tymber Dalton is the wild-child alter-ego of author Lesli Richardson. She lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. Active in the BDSM lifestyle, the two-time EPIC award winner and part-time Viking shield-maiden loves to shoot skeet and play D&D with her friends. She’s also the bestselling author of over one hundred and thirty books, including The Reluctant Dom, The Denim Dom, Cardinal’s Rule, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, the Coffeeshop Coven series, the Good Will Ghost Hunting series, the Drunk Monkeys series, and many more.
She loves to hear from readers! Please feel free to drop by her website and sign up for her newsletter to keep abreast of the latest news, snarkage, and releases. You can also find all of her Siren-BookStrand releases under all four of her pen names on her author page on the BookStrand site.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Before you even ask, yes, there will be more books featuring this group of characters very soon. They have already told me that, and they’re rather pushy.
Some of the characters in this book appear in or are featured in previous books in the Suncoast Society series.
While most of the books in the Suncoast Society series are standalone works which may be read independently of each other, the recommended reading order to avoid spoilers and to not miss any backstory information is as follows:
1. Safe Harbor
2. Domme by Default
3. Cardinal’s Rule
4. The Reluctant Dom
5. The Denim Dom
6. Pinch Me
7. Broken Toy
8. A Clean Sweep
9. A Roll of the Dice
10. His Canvas
11. A Lovely Shade of Ouch
12. Crafty Bastards
13. A Merry Little Kinkmas
14. Sapiosexual
15. A Very Kinky Valentine’s Day
16. Things Made Right
17. Click
18. Spank or Treat
19. A Turn of the Screwed
20. Chains
21. Kinko de Mayo
22. Broken Arrow
23. Out of the Spotlight
24. Friends Like These
25. Vicious Carousel
26. Hot Sauce
27. Open Doors
28. One Ring
29. Vulnerable
30. The Strength of the Pack
31. Initiative
32. Impact
33. Liability
34. Switchy
35. Rhymes With Orange
36. Beware Falling Ice
37. Beware Falling Rocks
38. Dangerous Curves Ahead
39. Two Against Nature
40. Home at Last
41. A Kinkmas Carol
42. Ask DNA
43. Time Out of Mind
44. Happy Valenkink’s Day
45. Splendid Isolation
46. Similar to Rain
47. Happy Spank Patrick’s Day
48. Fire in the Hole
49. Pretzel Logic
50. This Moody Bastard
51. Walk Between the Raindrops
52. Rub Me Raw
53. Any World That I’m Welcome To
54. Heartache Spoken Here
55. Roll With the Punches
56. See You Sometime
57. Borderline
58. A Case of You
59. Reconsider Me
60. Never Too Late for Love
61. Blues Beach
62. Happy Spanksgiving
63. Our Gravity
64. Friends in Common
65. Almost Gothic
66. Empty-Handed Heart
67. Steady Rain
68. Indifference of Heaven
69. Like the Seasons
70. I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead
Table of Contents
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
I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD
TYMBER DALTON
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Oh, what fresh heck is this?
The apartment complex manager, whose name Arden couldn’t recall because the dude had only been working there for two months, hurried over to her as she swung off her blue 1984 Honda Gold Wing GL1200 and removed her helmet.
The six fire trucks filling the complex’s parking lot that Tuesday night were another clue there was a problem. In the dark, their lights bounced off the buildings and cars in a crazy way. It was a little after eight, and she’d just finished working a twelve-hour shift at her main job, a restaurant at a hotel over on Siesta Key, and she felt completely wiped out.
“What happened?” she asked. As she scanned the building, she only saw smoke and soot marks by one second-floor unit on the opposite end of the building from hers. Several residents milled around in groups, but no one looked panic-stricken, fortunately.
“Apartment at the east end of the building caught fire. Wiring problem.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No, the tenant was home and put it out with a fire extinguisher.”
Whew! “Okay, good.” Her unit was at the far end and upper floor, but she couldn’t park in her usual space because of the fire trucks now sitting there.
“But the whole building has been red-tagged.”
“What?”
He wrung his hands. “They’ve ordered the power company to shut the electricity off to the whole building. When they were up in the attic looking around, the firemen found three places that had been smoldering for a while. I guess when the contractor ran the new fiber-optic cables last week, they stapled through some of the wires. Thank god they haven’t done the other buildings yet.”
“How’d the installers not get electrocuted?”
“I don’t know. I’m really sorry, but you can’t stay in your apartment. You can go in and get your things, but you can’t stay.”
It was starting to sink in now. “Uh, I don’t have any other place to go.”
“The Red Cross is on their way. They’ll be issuing temporary housing vouchers.”
“Wait a minute. Can’t you put me in another unit in a different building? I thought there were some vacant efficiencies? Move me into one of those.”
“I only had four, and they’ve already been claimed, sorry.”
Motherhumper.
She had early classes in the morning and had planned to spend the night studying. In her last semester at the State College of Florida, she almost had her BAS in technology management. Her unpaid internship at a local IT management firm was supposed to pay out by offering her a full-time position upon graduation.
So much for those plans for tonight, much less getting any sleep.
I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead. “Do you have any idea how long we’ll be out of our apartments?”
“Not right now, no. I’ll call an electrician to come out tomorrow to do an inspection and give me an estimate then.”
Before she could ask any other questions, he hurried off to talk to another resident who drove up.
Frak.
She unlocked the trunk and pulled her cell phone out of her backpack.
It took her a moment to think about who she could call. No boyfriend she could stay with. She really didn’t have many close friends here in Sarasota, and she wasn’t about to call her family in Jacksonville. She knew a few people from Venture, and the local munch she’d started attending several months earlier, but she didn’t know anyone there well enough yet to ask if she could impose on them by spending a night or two on their couch.
As she was about to call a girl from her job at the restaurant, who she’d gone out with a couple of times to see movies, she spotted a large Red Cross box van pulling into the parking lot.
Grabbing her helmet and her backpack, which was her purse, she locked the bike’s trunk and hustled over to where they parked, first in line for whatever she could get from them.
Forty-five minutes later, she had a voucher for a hotel room and a couple of meals, and was heading upstairs to her apartment to grab a change of clothes, her laptop, and her school books, along with as much as she could take from her fridge in the bike’s trunk and side bags.
Thirty minutes later, she and several of her fellow residents were checking in at the nearby hotel.
Honestly? It wasn’t a bad place. And unlike their apartment complex, at least it had a pool. Even had a small fridge and a microwave.
After thinking about it, she made another run back to the apartment to grab what she could from the fridge, then cleaned out the rest of the food from the fridge and freezer. Better to get rid of it than have a stinky mess. Wasn’t like she had a lot in there. She’d lived there for the past six years, but had turned living light into an art form.
She tossed the garbage bag in the community Dumpster and returned to the hotel.
Now I can go study.
Actually, first thing on the agenda was a shower. Then studying.
At one a.m. she forced herself to stop and go to sleep.
Try to sleep, anyway.
As she lay there, she tried to take inventory of her life and then decided against that.
It depressed the heck out of her.
No boyfriend. Strained and iffy relationship with her family. Crummy day job that barely paid her bills, but with her schooling almost completed, it would mean a better job with regular hours and benefits.
And weekends off, for a change.
I’m only twenty-five. I still have time to get my act together, no matter what my parents say.
She just wished she already had it together.
* * * *
Arden felt a moment of disorientation Wednesday morning when she awoke in a strange place.
Holy shizballs.
At least she didn’t have to worry about running out of hot water as she stood under the shower and tried to wake up. Today she had classes all morning, then would grab lunch on her way to her internship, where she was supposed to be at one. No tables to wait today, no aching feet at the end of her shift.
Fortunately, she didn’t have any tests today. Tomorrow morning she was supposed to work at the internship, then pull a ten-hour shift at the restaurant from two until midnight. The pay was crapola, but she usually made decent tips, due in no small part to the push-up bras she wore, her low-cut tank-tops, innocent flirting, and pretending to have an IQ smaller than her bra size.
She wished she didn’t have to resort to that, but when she’d first started the job seven years ago, she’d received the valuable piece of advice from one of the older waitresses and it had worked almost immediately.
Middle-aged and older men, especially ones staying at the beach resort without their families, were willing to part with more of their money when their order arrived quickly, correctly, and with a winking smile and ample cleavage.
She’d salvaged cereal and milk last night, so she was able to wolf down a bowl with her cup of adequate coffee from the room’s coffeemaker. After carefully repacking all the books she’d need today, as well as her charger cords for her laptop and her phone, she pulled on her armored motorcycle jacket, grabbed her helmet and riding gloves, and headed outside.
The Gold Wing wasn’t a car, and it did suck having to wear rain gear half the year. It was cheap on gas and she’d only paid eight hundred for it, bought off the mother of a coworker four years earlier. The woman’s father had died not long before Arden’s beater gasped its last breath. When Arden’s coworker heard about her car problems, and learned that Arden was about to borrow a friend’s motorcycle until she could afford another car, the friend got her mother to sell it to Arden on payments.
It wasn’t the prettiest bike, but it ran good and after she’d customized the seat, taking a couple of inches of padding out of it, and putting on slightly shorter shocks—plus her chunky boots with inch-thick soles—she could ride it with her five-fou
r frame. Having two older brothers who’d loved motorcycles had helped in one way, at least. She’d easily earned her motorcycle endorsement when she got her regular driver’s license.
Since then, she hadn’t tried replacing her car, wanting to get through school first. Even the near-misses she’d had with traffic weren’t enough to make her want to switch back to four wheels yet. She had good rain gear, she saved a fortune in gas and car payments, and it forced her to remain conscientious about living light.
Random, spontaneous purchases at the store always had to be weighed against whether or not she had room on the bike to carry it.
Every spare bit of money she earned or saved needed to be put into her bank account. Once she graduated and started working full-time, she could find something good and reliable, used, that she could pay cash for.
After stashing her backpack in the trunk, she zipped her jacket, pulled on her helmet and gloves, and headed to campus. School was a refuge for her and always had been, despite what her parents had told her she wasn’t capable of.
To heck with them.
She’d almost managed to forget about her temporary living arrangement by the time her classes ended. She swung through Subway to grab a sandwich, then headed to work.
Except…when she pulled into the parking lot at the small strip mall off Beneva, there weren’t any cars parked in front of the unit that held the offices of Kraiges Technologies.
What the heckin’ heck?
Usually, she parked in a little grassy strip just under the complex’s sign, but today she parked right in front of the unit and walked up to the door even before she pulled her helmet off.
Inside the front door was taped a note that looked like it’d been printed on a computer.
Closed indefinitely. Please call (941)555-8990 for information.
Son of a sea cook.
This was news to her. She’d just been here two days ago, on Monday. She ripped her helmet off as she stormed back to her bike and dug through her backpack to find her phone. Back to the door, she called the listed number. An automated message played, a man’s voice she didn’t recognize.
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