by B. B. Hamel
Ruined
A Dark Romance
BB Hamel
Contents
Mailing List
1. Riley
2. Logan
3. Riley
4. Logan
5. Riley
6. Logan
7. Riley
8. Riley
9. Logan
10. Logan
11. Riley
12. Logan
13. Riley
14. Logan
15. Riley
16. Logan
17. Riley
18. Logan
19. Riley
20. Logan
21. Riley
22. Logan
23. Riley
24. Logan
25. Riley
26. Logan
27. Riley
28. Logan
29. Riley
30. Logan
Royal Rock: A Bad Boy Royal Romance
Prologue: Bryce
1. Bryce
2. Trip
3. Bryce
4. Trip
5. Bryce
6. Trip
7. Bryce
8. Trip
9. Bryce
10. Trip
11. Bryce
12. Trip
13. Bryce
14. Trip
15. Bryce
16. Trip
17. Bryce
18. Trip
19. Bryce
20. Trip
21. Bryce
22. Trip
23. Bryce
24. Trip
25. Bryce
26. Trip
27. Bryce
28. Trip
29. Bryce
30. Trip
31. Bryce
32. Trip
33. Bryce
34. Trip
35. Bryce
36. Trip
37. Bryce
Hard Bastard: A Bad Boy Romance
Prologue: Sadie
1. Sadie
2. Gage
3. Sadie
4. Gage
5. Sadie
6. Gage
7. Sadie
8. Gage
9. Sadie
10. Gage
11. Sadie
12. Gage
13. Sadie
14. Gage
15. Sadie
16. Gage
17. Sadie
18. Gage
19. Sadie
20. Gage
21. Sadie
22. Gage
23. Sadie
24. Gage
25. Sadie
26. Gage
27. Sadie
Thank You
Preview
Preview
Copyright © 2017 by B. B. Hamel
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1
Riley
I can feel the bass from the huge speakers practically shake my knees as I make my way across the dance floor. A thin bead of sweat drops down my back and I feel good, really good, for maybe the first time in a long time.
Lacey is still out on the dance floor, grinding up against some big guy with tribal tattoos. That’s her type, the dangerous-looking bad boy. It’s probably because her parents are so nice to her, she feels like she needs a little fear in her life.
I don’t need any of that. I’ve had enough fear to last me a lifetime.
I make my way to the bar, trying not to let myself drift back into negative thoughts. I slip through the crowd and stand next to a group of guys in polo shirts and tapered pants, some real street wear guys. They’re not my type, though, and I ignore them when they try and get my attention.
Truth is, I’m not used to getting attention. I don’t go out much. The repercussions of going out just never really seem worth it to me.
Except for tonight, apparently. I was going to stay in again, do my usual thing, but Lacey called me up and practically begged me to come with her. I don’t get to see Lacey that much since she went off to college and I stayed home, so I couldn’t think of a good excuse. I wanted to see my friend, too, and in retrospect I’m glad that I accepted her invitation.
I almost forgot how good it feels to dance. I’m twenty-two and I’ve barely been out to bars and clubs, maybe a handful of times at most. It’s a damn shame, as Lacey says, wasting my youth and good looks. I’m not so sure about the good looks part, but the youth, well, she’s probably right about that.
The group of guys to my right moves off, each of them sporting a Red Bull and vodka. Just as the bartender looks my way, a new person slips in the vacant space and glances at me.
I’m surprised enough to meet his gaze. He’s tall and handsome in that clean-cut kind of way. He doesn’t really fit in with the club, but in a good way. His slim and tailored suit makes him look intelligent and sophisticated, and his deep blue eyes and muscles make him look attractive. I quickly look away from him, back toward the bartender, but the bartender has already moved on to someone else.
“I hate when that happens.”
I look over and he smiles at me. The handsome guy in the suit. Talking to me. I can feel my heart beating fast in my chest.
“When what happens?” I ask him.
“When you’re just about to get served, but then some obnoxious person steals away the bartender’s attention.”
“I guess I need to be more obnoxious.”
“Not at all,” he says, smiling. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
It’s cheesy, but it freaking works. I hate to admit it, but I’m intensely attracted to this guy, even though that’s not my thing. I’m not normally into getting picked up by strange men at bars, but this man seems different. He seems older, more in control, not just some party guy out looking to get messed up.
“How do you get the bartender’s attention, then?” I ask him, leaning closer.
“Like this.” He takes a fifty from his pocket and holding it out as he nods toward the bartender. Apparently attracted by money like metal to a magnet, the bartender turns toward the man in the suit and gives him a smile.
“What would you like?” the man asks me.
I don’t normally let guys buy me a drink, but I’m strangely fascinated by him. “Vodka cranberry,” I say.
He nods and orders two drinks when the bartender comes over a second later. He turns toward me, smiling honestly, and leans up against the bar. “I’m Joe,” he says.
“Riley.” We shake hands.
“Are you here alone, Riley?”
“No. My friend is dancing.”
“Ah.” He nods at the dance floor. “Did she ditch you for some guy?”
“Not exactly,” I say, leaning toward him.
“How about you ditch her, then? Come dance with me.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Are you always this forward?”
“No,” he admits. The bartender comes back with our drinks. Joe takes them and sets them down in front of him as he pays. I turn away and watch the dance floor, trying to spot Lacey, but I can’t find her. When he’s done paying, he hands me my drink.
“To ditching friends,” he says, grinning.
“Cheers,” I answer. We clink classes and drink.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me out onto the dance floor. I’m not sure
what I’m doing, following this guy around and letting him buy me drinks, but I’m trying to have fun tonight.
I’m trying not to be myself. I want to forget about what my life is like for one single night and let myself enjoy dancing with a handsome man. It’s okay to let him buy me a drink, everyone does it. I can’t worry so much. I spend my life worrying about what’ll happen if I do something that I end up doing absolutely nothing instead.
Once on the dance floor, I press myself against him, moving to the music. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, moving his hips to the music, pressing me close. I love the feeling of being pressed up with other people, everyone moving together, everyone trying to have a good time. I take another big sip of my drink, letting the alcohol loosen me up.
We dance like that for a couple songs. Joe pulls me closer and I let him, enjoying the feeling of his hands moving along my hips. I want him to touch me and I don’t care who sees it. I want to feel sexy and alive, free for a night at least.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear. It’s lame, but I don’t care.
“Thanks,” I say over the music.
Just then, something feels strange. I can’t put my fingers on it. I feel dizzy, a little lightheaded. I probably had too much to drink too fast. Joe holds me tight against him, but I suddenly don’t feel like dancing anymore.
I look around the dance floor and let out a huge sigh of relief when I spot Lacey. She’s nearby though still with her bad boy. I pull back from Joe.
“I see my friend,” I say. “I’m going to check on her.”
He gives me a look then nods. “Okay then. Come find me when you’re done.”
“Sure.” I quickly turn and push my way through the crowd.
The dizziness is getting worse. It feels like everyone is moving in slow motion, like they’re all made of sludge and putty. My body feels heavy and strange. I finally make it to where Lacey is dancing with her guy, and she must see something in my expression, because she moves away from him instantly.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I feel sick,” I say.
Lacey frowns. She’s about my height, around five four, with long blonde hair and green eyes. Guys love her because she’s outgoing and fun, while I’ve always been the quiet and shy type. It’s almost a cliché, the two of us, but it works. Or at least it used to, back in high school, back before we become different people. Still, she’s a good friend, and she instantly leaves her bad boy to help me toward the bathroom.
I clutch onto Lacey, surprised at how hard it is to walk.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Did you have too much to drink?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and my voice is a slurry mess. “I went to the bar. Met Joe. We danced. I feel sick.”
“Joe?” Lacey asks, but I don’t really understand her. We make our way into the back of the club where the bathrooms are and we skip the line. The girls all yell and make comments, but Lacey tells them I’m about to puke.
“Go outside then!” one girl yells, pushing Lacey.
I stumble and nearly fall. Lacey grabs me, propping me up. I don’t hear what happens next, but eventually I find myself out in an alley next to a dumpster, propped up against the cold metal wall.
“You’re okay,” Lacey says softly. “You’re going to be okay.”
I don’t know what she means. I stare at the ground and everything is loopy, strange, and disjointed.
“Stay here,” Lacey says, but I don’t know where else I’d go. Actually, I don’t even know where I am or when it is. I don’t know why the world seems like soup.
I grip onto the wall of the dumpster and lean forward as I throw up. I feel it vaguely, like from a distance, like it’s not even my body getting sick. Lacey is gone and I have no clue how long I’m alone.
“There you are.”
I manage to look up at the new voice. Joe smiles at me, leaning against the dumpster. He comes toward me, a blurry figure. He leans toward me with a wicked smile on his face.
“You don’t look good. Here, let me help you.” He takes me by the waist and steers me away from the dumpster.
I want to say something. Like, I don’t know him, he’s a total stranger. Help me, someone. I don’t want this. Ahead, there’s a van, a huge, gaping black van, and he pushes me inside. I hit the floor like a sack of bricks. My body isn’t responding anymore.
I hear Lacey say something, but I’m not sure what. There’s a scream, piercing and bloodcurdling, but the doors of the van slam shut and everything goes black after that.
2
Logan
I stand across the street from an old warehouse deep in the north part of the city. It’s a big brick thing with graffiti all over the front, but the windows and the doors are all intact, which is strange for this neighborhood. This is the part of the city that time forgot, and although everywhere else has moved on into the twenty-first century, this place is still stuck in the industrial revolution. This factory, in particular, probably used to make candlesticks or some shit like that, although it’s used for a much different purpose now.
I glance at my watch and note that it’s almost time. I’ve been watching the building for an hour at least, and I haven’t seen any activity anywhere around it, which is good and bad. It means that the guys inside are serious and careful, but it also means that they likely have few weaknesses for me to exploit.
Can’t worry about that just yet, though. I can feel the reassuring weight of my gun slipped into the back of my jeans, but if it comes down to a firefight, I likely won’t get out of this place alive.
It won’t come to that. This isn’t some brute force job, anyway. This is going to take a lot more than that. Frankly, it’s the hardest job I’ve ever been assigned, but the money reflects that.
I’ll be set up for a long, long time if I can pull this off.
I let out a soft breath. I know I can pull this off. I’ve done worse, much worse, back when I was a Navy SEAL. I’ve gone through some shit in my time, some real fucking nailbiters, and I made it out the other side. Compared to some of that shit, this is going to be simple.
I stand and head off toward the building. My contacts told me to knock on the blue door in the back, and so I make my way around the building. There’s no sign of life anywhere, which almost disturbs me, but I push that from my mind. I turn the corner and spot the blue door set back up a short stoop.
I climb the three steps then knock. I wait a minute before knocking again.
Silence for what feels like forever. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been set up or if my contacts somehow fucked me. This is the problem with going undercover. You never know who you can fucking trust. It’s even worse when you work for a private security firm like I do, since there’s no fucking oversight. My superiors can do whatever the fuck they want and they act like they’re above the law.
When the door suddenly unlatches and opens, none of that matters. A tall, bald man looks out at me with a scowl on his face. He’s wearing dark clothes and clearly packing heat, and I know it’s game time.
“You the guy?” he asks.
“Logan,” I say. “Here to see Anton.”
He grunts and steps aside. I walk through the door and stop as he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“No guns,” he says.
I pause then nod. “Back waistband.”
He lifts up my shirt and gingerly takes my revolver. He slips it into his own waistband then pats me down. He finds a single knife, which he doesn’t take, and then gives me a nod.
“Follow,” he says.
He leads me down a dark passage. I can hear noises coming from deeper in the factory, but I try not to think about what they mean. He makes a few turns, which I note mentally, before we end up in a large room with a two-way mirror along one side.
It’s clearly not original. This place has been rebuilt and relatively recently. There’s a table in the center of the room with several men sitting around it, playing cards. Further i
n, there’s another door leading out of the room.
One of the men at the table stands, smiling broadly. I recognize him right away from the briefing dossier I was given just the night before.
His name is Anton Volkov and he’s a real piece of shit.
“You must be Logan,” he says, walking over. “I hope Nicky here was gentle with you.”
We shake hands and I grin at him. “I’ve had worse pat-downs at the fucking airport.”
Anton laughs. “Good, good. Come, meet the others. We’re excited to get started.”
“I am too.”
Anton leads me over to the table where I shake hands with some of the most despicable men in this city. I recognize a few of their names, though one or two of them are new to me.
They’re all members of the Russian mafia at some level. They’re all killers, rapists, and thieves, the sort of men that my security firm both kills and works with. It’s a dirty, unfortunate situation, but we need them for their information, and they need us when they go to war with each other. For the most part, we have an understanding.
I’m going against that understanding. Sometimes, when the money is right, unwritten rules can be ignored. I have the blessing of my superiors, though they’ll deny all knowledge of what I’m doing if I get caught. That won’t stop them from taking their twenty percent if I pull it off.
After the introductions, Anton pulls me aside. I have to restrain myself for a second. He’s shorter than me and fatter, with a solid beer gut and a thin-looking beard. When he talks, spit flies from his mouth, which disgusts me. I want to pummel him for being such a horrible monster, but I have to hold back.
Anton is as bad as any of the other guys at the table, but he has a special place in my heart. Anton is a killer, thief, and a murderer, but he does one thing that sets him apart.
He’s a sex trafficker. More specifically, he specializes in finding young, foolish American girls and turning them into sex slaves for the Russian mafia.
Nothing disgusts me more than him. I hate his profession, everything about it. I wish I could kill him right here and now.
Instead, I have to pretend to be just like him.