Blazing Hot Bad Boys Boxed Set - A MC Romance Bundle

by Glass, Evelyn

  All hell broke loose inside her body. Reflexively, and against her will, her hips rose to meet his thrusts while a concerted performance of her abs and pelvic muscles strove to milk and wrest his cock as it pleasured her depths. She wasn't sure if the swelling waves of electric fire churning in her were actually orgasms or not. There seemed to be no end and no escaping the tides, which occasionally sucked her down with dismaying energy to roll her in fierce and ravaging currents.

  She was clawing at Cole's arms, purely on the whim of reflex, with no decision made to do so and no goal. Her legs were trembling, under the same instinctive whim, which was probably a blind sense of self-preservation. Her throat was always open and the untamed howls and wails coming from her had no similarity to what she normally called her “sex music.”

  The power of Cole's climax erupted inside and around her, manifesting as a savage series of unbelievable thrusts that drove into her with twisting convulsions from his hips and abs. It was chaos incarnate.

  She was depleted and had been for some time. She was already rag-dolled when this physical eruption of anarchy powered his seed inside of her pussy. Her state of depletion, however, made no difference to the surging storm of orgasmic energies ravaging her body. Between Cole's pleasuring and throes of her own personal storm, she felt decimated by the time Cole's body came to rest on top of her. When he rolled off her, she tried to follow. It was her custom to sooth the man after his release, to bring emotional value to the afterglow and ease his receding agonies. She whimpered, but couldn't move. Her body simply told her, no. And that was the end of the conversation -- custom be damned.

  Cole's arm came up and then rested it across his eyes, as if to shield them from the light of the room. His chest heaved for breath. Eventually, long before her own recovery, he said, "Damn woman. What the fuck? I can't believe what you did to me."

  She heard the words, but failed to respond or even comprehend for several seconds.

  "I'll get us some beers," he told her and weakly rolled off the edge of the bed, found his feet, and strode out of the door drunkenly.

  She watched him go and enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching his cute ass working those long legs while wonder blossomed inside her helpless body. What I did to him? Is he kidding? Holy fuck!

  As a call girl, she decided, she would have paid Cole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gabriel Morelli had a number of skills that were useful and profitable in his line of business, that being the flesh trade. One was an intelligent ruthlessness that made even men who were far stronger and more powerful think twice about coming at him with threats. He also had a keen understanding of power levels and underground politics in Chicago. He knew who to fuck with and who to get someone else to fuck with.

  His stable of girls wasn't the largest, but he had acquired, through great personal effort and expenditure, a collection of call girls who were as top of the line as they come. He didn't tell them that, of course. That would be stupid and he was far from stupid.

  Within his collection of call girls, one was, by far, the best. There was no doubt about this -- it was a matter of pure accounting. She pulled down the largest fees and brought her men to a loyalty so great, clients would actually get into bidding wars to have her on particular nights, such as New Years or the 4th of July, and the most popular and profitable of all, Halloween.

  This star's name was Nicole Bower. This was actually her real name, because she came to him so innocent in the ways of prostitution, she didn't know enough to give a working name. Nicole not only made profits on her own, she increased the profitability of his other call girls, by willingly sharing what she did and her explaining the practical application of her philosophy on sex with powerful men. All Gabriel had to do was to have the other girls go visit Nicole a few days a month and profits increased, but no one ever surpassed Nicole on the accounting ledger.

  Then, a week ago yesterday, she packed up a few things from her apartment and left him. No note, no phone call, not even a goddamn fucking email! The security cameras showed three men helping her, who no one so far recognized. They loaded her things down into a truck with a single trip. The truck had no license plate and no clear identifiable marks. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes. No one even knew she was gone until her driver called, asking if something had happened to her.

  Antonio, Nicole's manager and a ruthless enforcer, sat peacefully on the other side of the desk from Gabriel. He always sat peacefully. Gabriel came to realize that Antonio did this because of a natural quirk of personality; also because Antonio always had a plan in his head for killing everyone in the room. Right now, his plan included Gabriel. So despite Gabriel's current fury, which could easily be focused on Antonio, the bulky Italian remained undisturbed and peaceful.

  "Have you found her, Antonio?"

  "No," he reported, using his normal soft, conversational tone. "No further leads are reportable at the moment, though we continue to search and to sift through new areas of investigation."

  "She has left the city?"

  "Doubtful. Highly doubtful. Our contacts in the PD have given us quality information suggesting that she has not left on any plane, train, or bus from Chicago. She has no car and, so far, no new car has been registered in her name. I have my doubts that she even knows how to drive."

  "There are ways around registration," Gabriel pointed out.

  "True, but none she would be aware of. The only TV she ever watched was financial news stories. She is as naïve about the world as she is experienced with men of power and the act of sex."

  "No one has her in their stable? No one took her?"

  "No. That is certain. If that were so, you would have ears already on your desk. Also, her list of clients appears to have no idea that she has gone. We have been putting them off for now by suggesting she is on a well-earned holiday in Europe and that we will inform them of her return."

  "All of them have been accounted for?"

  "One, Maximilian Rozzi, is currently in San Diego. He is probably unaware, but also not stolen from us. He will call on his return and we will place him with the most likely girl to fulfill his needs, just like the others."

  Gabriel spun slowly in his chair. Antonio was infuriating, especially with his cultured, peaceful attitude toward everything, but he was valuable and skilled in his duties. "Where is she, Antonio?" Gabriel sighed, not really expecting an answer.

  "In Chicago," he answered with a simple assuredness that was very upsetting to Gabriel.

  "From where I am sitting right now, how far away is she?" Gabriel challenged.

  "I would have to guess, but my guess is no more than ten miles."

  "So close?"

  "She is not running, Gabriel; she is quitting," Antonio explained calmly. "She is not even hiding. She has a new apartment, which she is currently decorating. She has a new job starting, but not as a call girl. I suspect something along the lines of a highly paid executive assistant somewhere downtown. She is skilled on the computer, knows finance, how to invest stocks with some skill, and is competent in understanding activities such as mergers, takeovers, and bankruptcy. It is, of course, possible that she is providing her new boss with sexual services, but I doubt it. She is done with that part of her life."

  "She's not done!" Gabriel exploded. "She's mine!"

  "Of course, but in her mind, this is not the case," Antonio clarified with peaceful assurance, as if Gabriel's wrath was merely a sweet summer breeze finding its way into the window.

  Gabriel glared at him, "Which is why you believe she hasn't left the country or even the extended neighborhood."

  "It's a nice neighborhood," Antonio pointed out. "I would like to point out, however, that her books are clean. She has no reason to come back and we have no grounds to hold her -- not even within underworld guidelines."

  Gabriel's fury rose to such a level that even Antonio showed a waiver of doubt in his eyes as Gabriel said, very calmly, "She is mine. There is no leaving.
She comes back, intact, and I will re-train her so that she understands this. That is all the discussion on this matter I will allow. Is that clear?"

  "Of course, Gabriel," Antonio said without a noticeable amount of concern, though it was likely he reviewed his current plan of genocide.

  "Find her, Antonio. Find her and bring her to me," he told his enforcer.

  Then his phone rang and when he checked the caller on the display, it was unknown. He drummed his fingers, but generally speaking, in his line of work, if someone had his number and called it, it was worth answering the call. So he hit speakerphone. "Hello?" Gabriel asked.

  "Gabriel?"

  "Speaking," he said and it almost clicked before she spoke again.

  "This is Nicole, Gabriel."

  "Where are you?"

  "That's not what I'm calling about. I want to make sure you understand that I'm gone. That I'm done. I have a new life and I intend to leave the city soon. Even if you find me, I won't come back. I'll never perform the show again. I'm done. I didn't take anything and I owe you nothing. Goodbye, Gabriel."

  Then the connection broke.

  Gabriel stared at the phone unable to give names to the emotional turmoil rising inside of him. There were so many, though most could be categorized under the heading of murderous.

  Antonio calmly rose and picked Gabriel's phone up from the desk. He checked the caller ID and wrote down the reported number for the last caller onto his note pad. Then he set the phone back down. "I'll have her back on her schedule in one hour, ready to meet a client in three," Antonio said with peaceful assurance. "Is there anything else you require right now?"

  Gabriel looked at him, then to his phone, and then back to Antonio. The white noise of murderous rage began to subside, "No, that will be all."

  "Then after this matter is handled, I will be off for my regular three days. Davis will be your contact. He's a good man."

  Gabriel nodded. Davis was a good man. "He might do well as a bodyguard for Nicole on her return, don’t you think? She is obviously so naïve; she is a danger to herself. I want to ensure nothing happens to her, Antonio. She is very profitable and must be able to work."

  "Of course and I'll let Davis know of his… reassignment."

  "Be sure to tell him that it is temporary and that he will be replaced and returned to his normal duties as soon as we can find someone suitable. Also assure him that his pay remains the same with normal commission considerations. I don't want him thinking he just got demoted."

  "You are very generous," Antonio suggested.

  "Yes,” he mused, examining this unprofitable corruption of his personality, “it appears that I am."

  "I'll also get a new driver," Antonio reported as he walked for the door.

  "The last one was very good from all reports. Perhaps you can locate him again."

  "He has already moved onto another situation. He's into drug running now, I believe."

  "That's a shame. I should give some thought to driver incentives for when we come across men of his caliber. Nicole told me his skills actually were the main reason she was able to salvage a high paying new client."

  "I'm aware of the story, yes. It was admirably handled. Even the client was impressed," Antonio agreed.

  "Goodnight, Antonio."

  "Goodnight."

  Liked Bloodmare? Read the rest of the trilogy for FREE on Kindle Unlimited!

  Back to Table of Contents

  The Wayward Daughter

  Tamara Knowles

  Chapter One

  Kicking the covers off, Sierra opened her eyes and then immediately closed them again. Granted it was already noon, but waking up was hard at any time of the day, especially when she was working all through the night. She rubbed her hand over her face and it came away blue and black. She forgot to wipe off her makeup – again. She sat up in bed, stretching her arms and back. It was time to shower. Running her hand through her hairspray and glitter soaked hair, she stumbled to the bathroom door and turned on the shower. Letting the water warm up, she brushed her teeth and tried to get the most caked-on of the make-up off her face. As the mirror started to steam, she stepped in the shower and let the warm water run through her hair, trying to get all the goop out.

  Thoughts rushed through her mind. She needed to run a few errands. She was due for a physical soon; she needed to schedule that. Probably a haircut at some point. Her hair was getting really long, so dead and split ends were increasingly becoming a problem. She could get the ends of her hair to cover her nipples at this point. Like a mermaid.

  She lathered up her hair, working through to the ends. Perfect: true blonde, light eyebrows and lashes, shining golden locks. Her pride and joy at this point; it was one of her moneymakers. The other was also natural, no matter what anyone claimed.

  She stepped out of the shower and toweled off, patting her hair as dry as possible then braiding it in a loose plait over one shoulder to keep it out of the way. There was no point in getting dressed yet, not with her hair still wet. Might as well make some lunch. She padded down the kitchen, her pedicured feet soft on the hardwood of her condo. She started boiling the kettle and popped some bread in the toasters.

  Her cellphone vibrated and she picked it up, scrolling through texts, missed calls, messages, and Facebook posts – the normal after a successful night. The age of the Internet made it hard for a stripper to maintain privacy. Oh well.

  Her toast popped and she covered them in butter and jam, and poured her tea, turning on the TV. She found HBO and caught up on Game of Thrones while she ate, then painted her nails. As the end credits played and more of her characters killed and fucked each other – sometimes at the same time – she finally decided to get dressed and run her errands. Nothing terribly exciting today. She needed to get waxed, and pick up some groceries and one of her costumes from getting re-rhinestoned. The exciting life of an exotic dancer.

  She put on her bra and panties, and anxiously investigated her wardrobe. An almost uncountable number of items of clothing presented. Many of which were only for the stage, of course, but that didn’t really detract from the insane amount of clothes for daytime wear. She pinned loose locks of hair back and shimmied into a pair of shorts and a loose blouse. Armed with a pair of sunglasses and a purse the size of Rhode Island, Sierra ventured out of her condo.

  She almost only left for work and errands. What else was there for her? She didn’t really know anyone in the city, despite having lived here for the better part of three years. And, to be perfectly honest, she didn’t really want to leave her house. She was fairly convinced that she was being followed and watched – or something.

  There was no way she could’ve just left California without her father sending someone after her. Why they hadn’t brought her back yet was up to conjecture, but she felt it probably had something to do with “not needing her yet.” It was easier to let her play in Las Vegas at being independent than to keep her locked up in their mansion in Orange County. Of course, she had no way to prove that, so she just kept to herself, lived her life the best she knew how, and didn’t bother anyone else with anything. It was easier to be on her own than to drag anyone else into her messed up, crazy life – even if it was lonely sometimes.

  She pulled into the waxing place and braced herself for the torture she underwent to make herself presentable. If she didn’t, she’d probably be fired, so it was easier to just go along with the demands than to put up some feminist fight. She was a stripper; let’s not glamorize this situation too much.

  Really, that was all she could be. She was a spoiled rich girl who had never worked a day in her life. What was she supposed to do?

  The chimes sounded at the salon as she walked in. “Hi, I’m here for a two o’clock with Maria. Name’s Hall.”

  “We’ll be right with you, Miss Hall,” the receptionist said. “Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee, water?”

  “Do you have any sparkling?”

  “Of course.” She poured a
plastic cup of sparkling water and brought it over to Sierra as she sat down. Sierra smiled in thanks and sipped at the fizzy beverage as she waited.

  A painful hour later, her bikini area, underarms, and legs were waxed and smooth. Skin tingling and aching, she got into her car and drove to the grocery store. As she walked to the door she put in her earbuds and turned on her iPod. She hated grocery shopping and the only thing that made it sort of bearable was to drown out the screaming children and whiney suburban mothers with some music.