by Teagan Kade
He runs his hand down the front of my panties, rubbing my clit. “And to think you’d never even had an orgasm before you met me.”
I twist against his hand, trying not to mew and close my eyes, to be seduced—again. “I have more than made up for that.”
He gets onto his knees, hands placed at the waistband of my jeans to strip them away and place his expert mouth against me.
“Dada!” comes a tiny voice from the bathroom.
Carter shakes his head below. “Is it even possible to get cock-blocked by a two-year-old?”
I reach down, placing my hands under his chin and drawing him up to me. I kiss him, savoring the pine and outdoors and woodsy taste of his lips. “Waiting’s not going to kill you.”
He looks down between his legs. “And Wilson?”
I roll my eyes. “Can you stop calling your dick after a movie prop?”
“But he was lost and your vagina found—”
“Yes, yes. I know the spiel.” I spin him around and slap him on the ass. “Now go attend to your offspring, will you? Jax is probably in there pulling his penis like it’s bubblegum again.”
Carter turns around on his way. “That boy’s got issues.”
“Like father like son,” I trill.
Carter goes off laughing.
I face the kitchen bench and stare out the window, already horny, already wet, and it was, what? Five seconds? God help us when we’re seventy.
I’ve missed this place—the memories Carter and I made here are more than enough to wipe away the difficult years prior. I’m a new woman now, though skinny dipping is off the table forever.
I’m approaching life now with more verve and passion than ever. It’s a mess at times, completely mad, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Being with Carter has changed my life, changed both of our lives. We run by our own rules, don’t stop to pay any attention to the naysayers.
We’re free.
We’re alive.
Living breathless.
Living lawless.
Note From The Author
I hope you enjoyed Lawless as much as I did writing it. All of my characters are near and dear to my heart (even if I have to hurt them sometimes). If you did enjoy this title, please leave a short review.
Read on for a special offer, Dirty Debt and Dirty Brawler, followed by an exclusive wedding scene from Lawless! How’s that for value?
If you enjoyed this book, please leave a short review to help others. It only takes a moment and really means the world to me. Your opinion matters.
Mailing List Sign Up
Sign up to my exclusive VIP newsletter and receive a FREE copy of my best-selling, full-length novel Burned: A Bad Boy Romance, plus special offers, ARCs, bonus material and more. Click here!
About Teagan Kade:
Teagan Kade thinks talking about yourself in the third person is silly, just like her collection of snow globes and rare manga. When she’s not being silly, she’s hanging out with her own Brock and two children in the south of Australia, dreaming of new characters and torturous ways they can get themselves into trouble. Teagan loves hearing from her readers, all of whom are as dear to her heart as salted caramel cookies. Shoot her an email at: [email protected]. She doesn’t bite.
www.teagankade.com
Follow my Author Central page
Also by Teagan Kade:
Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
He’s got the biggest bat on campus… and he knows how to use it.
Asher Slade, AKA ‘Slugger’. Hellcats captain, shameless womanizer, and grade A as*hole.
I can’t stand his kind, so imagine my joy when I’m tasked with babysitting Sir C*ck-A-Lot during his college-imposed community service. He thinks I’m easy, that I’m going to fall to my knees the same way his opponents do.
But he’s wrong.
I have dreams. I’m going places. The last thing I need is a walking hard-on getting in my way. Problem is, I’m already picturing him… between my sheets, my legs, his dirty mouth doing dirty things.
I should be running a mile, so why can’t I stop thinking about those coral eyes and cut body?
I’m not going to fall for him.
Promise.
So why does it feel like my bases are already loaded?
Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Striker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
She’s the perfect score. I’m a dirty player. It’s complicated.
JENSEN
Scarlet's always been a stunner. There was a time we could have been together, but then came the soccer, the fans, the fame... I lost her to my twin brother, Josh.
But Josh is a cheating bastard. I can't stand by and watch Scarlet suffer, not when she should’ve been mine all along.
SCARLET
I've been dating Josh for years. I've tried to steer clear of his twin brother, Jensen, but I’ve always felt a pull towards him, a pull I have to resist.
But when Josh betrays me, Jensen’s arms are suddenly wide open. It would be so easy…
My heart’s torn—I just don’t know in which direction.
Striker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Slammed: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (FREE!)
My purity ring was perfectly fine until Nate ‘King’ Compton showed up.
The star recruit of the Panthers, inked up and out of control—He’s the campus troublemaker I know I should avoid, but I can’t. Problem is, I’ve been given the ‘privilege’ of improving his GPA… provided I can find a brain in all that muscle.
I don’t do bad boys. I do order and control, and he’s chaos. He’s the antithesis of my perfect princess world in every way. Still, there’s something deeper under those Caribbean eyes and cut body, a darkness we both share. I’m going to get to the bottom of it if it kills me, and given the way my heart hammers out of my chest every time he’s around, it just might.
Game on.
Slammed: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Throttle: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
I only know one position—on top.
ANDY
I do whatever it takes to win. That’s why I’m a Formula One champion. And I’m going for the prize again this year, no matter what my team says. But I’ll play their game—so long as it benefits me.
Now there’s a beautiful woman traveling with me to make sure I wear the team sponsor’s outfits and smile at all the right moments. I’m going to make Sara smile, all right. But not about what I’m wearing.
In fact, clothes won’t be involved at all.
Throttle: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Royally Wrong: A British Bad Boy Romance
Fifth in line to the throne. Off the rails. Drop dead-freakin’-gorgeous.
I should never have taken this assignment. Prince Panty-Dropper Spencer and his ‘Big Ben’ are too far gone. Even my journalistic wonders aren’t enough to pull him from the public blacklist. He’s a playboy, an arrogant, cocky as*hole in the extreme and the kind of overt man candy that goes against every one of my golden rules.
But I want him all the same, crave his cursed touch. I won’t have a job to go back to if I leave empty-handed, which means we’re going to have to get real close, access all areas. He’s a prick, yes, but I can’t stop thinking about his hard muscles, his slack smile, the complete confidence he has in himself. He might be Britain’s biggest player, but if he wants me, he’s damn well going to have to work for it.
London’s calling alright. Question is, can I handle what’s on the line?
Royally Wrong: A British Bad Boy Romance
Dirty Debt: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
Teagan Kade
Published by Teagan Kade
Edited by Sennah Tate
Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Kade
Copyright
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a 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 product 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.
Also by Teagan Kade:
LOADED
AMPED
DRILLED
DIRTY BRAWLER
WRECKED
SLAMMED
STROKER
STRIKER
THROTTLE
ROYALLY WRONG
HITCHED
CHASING STORM
For Linda. I know you like the really naughty ones.
Max
“Please,” he says.
It’s a word I’ve become all too familiar with.
The poor schmuck presses up against the lounge room wall so hard I think he’s hoping he’ll sink right through it.
The place stinks. There are takeaway boxes piled up in the corner and a teetering pile of dishes on the kitchen counter that looks like it’s been there for decades. This individual clearly isn’t making ends meet living like this, but I have a job to do.
The teeth I just loosed from his mouth crunch under my boots as I approach. I try to be as gentle as I can, reason with him. “Mr. Garcia, I don’t enjoy this. I don’t want to mess you up, but my employer needs his money. It’s business, pure and simple.”
How many times have you used that line? I think.
In truth, there’s nothing simple about it.
He’s shaking now, the inkpot eyes of a junkie staring back at me. “Tell Saul I’m sorry. I don’t have it. I swear on my mother’s grave. Please,” he begs.
I close and open my fist. I like the jobs where they fight back. At least there’s sport in it. This? This is sad—no other word for it.
I exhale, shaking my head. “Alright, Mr. Garcia. Let’s simplify things, shall we?” I snap him across the wall with a hard right.
Blood pours from his mouth. He spits another tooth out, his hand rattling against the wall.
I take hold of his jaw and squeeze, a pitiful groan following. “I’m going to need something, sir. I can’t leave here empty-handed. That would be very bad, for both of us. You either find me some money, or I find a bag to collect the rest of your teeth in.
I raise my fist.
He flinches away, hands raised, cowering in my grip. I should feel power, strength, but there’s only pity.
“Jesus,” he blubbers. “Wait.”
I tense for the blow and he begins to blubber again.
“The toilet,” he says.
“The toilet?”
“Under the lid. There’s five large in there. Take it. Just fucking take it.”
I let him go. He slumps against the wall breathing hard. “Stay there.”
I head to the bathroom. Like he said, there are rolls of cash taped under the toilet lid. I pocket them and return to the lounge. He’s watching me with something new now. I know it well.
Hate.
I pat my pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia, but, as I’m sure you’re aware, this does not cover your full debt. I’ll leave, but I don’t want to return. Am I making myself clear?”
He nods, spitting out a wad blood.
I nod back and start for the door.
The second I do I hear him rush forward and swipe an empty bottle from the coffee table. There’s a whoosh as he goes to smash it into my head, but I’m already turning.
I grab the wrist holding the bottle and twist until something snaps. He screams, the bottle falling free. I drive a balled fist deep into his stomach, drive it so hard his eyes almost pop out of his fucking head.
He smashes against the wall and drops, gasping. He was never going to let that money go so easily, but I’m wise to these things now, wiser than I’d ever hoped to be.
I help myself to a beer from the fridge and leave, my only witness a pearl-eyed tabby watching from the kitchen counter.
Frank’s setting tables when I enter the restaurant. He stands when he sees me. “Max, my boy.” He spots my bloody and broken knuckles. “Working hard?”
I force a smile. “Something like that. Is he in?”
Frank looks to the back of the restaurant. “Sure. Go on through.”
“Thanks.”
I head through the kitchen and down the back stairs, knocking three times on the plated door at the bottom. “It’s Max.”
There’s a groan as the door swings open.
Jerry stands there in all his six-foot-two, three-hundred-pound glory. “You don’t look like a leggy blonde with double Ds.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I do know how you love the ‘D.’”
He pushes me, laughing. “Fuck you.”
“How is he?” I call back.
“The boss? That fucking horse of his actually won a race this morning. He’s good.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” I salute and walk on.
The boss’s office used to be an old WW2 bunker. The walls are three-feet thick. Close the door and even if someone’s screaming at the top of their lungs you can’t hear a damn thing. The places gives me the fucking creeps.
Saul sees me in the doorway. He’s sitting behind his desk, the wing of a DC-9 airplane. I’ve always thought that was kind of ironic for a guy terrified of flying.
“Max,” he says. “How goes it?” He gestures to the sole chair in the room.
I take it, looking down at my hands. You’re better than this. “I’m alright.”
He scratches the side of his face, a constant look of irritation plastered upon it. As the city’s biggest crime lord, you’d think he’d dress well, but he’s wearing the same shitty burgundy suit he always does. “You went to visit that Garcia character, right, that motherfucker?”
“I did.”
“And?”
I take out the rolls of cash and stand, placing them on of the wing-desk.
Saul picks one up smiling. “You fucking animal, and here I was thinking I wasted your day.”
I sit. “It’s only five.”
Saul shakes the roll at me. “But it’s a start. What did it take?”
I flex my hand. “A little bit of dental work.”
Saul laughs, leaning back in his chair, an ejection seat from a F-4 fighter jet. “You’re a funny fucker, Max, always have been, but this is good. Do you know how long I’ve been chasing this cunt?”
“No, sir.”
He stands, pacing. “Ten k is a drop in the fucking bucket, but it’s the principle of the matter, isn’t it?”
Here we go with ‘the principle’ again… “Yes, sir.”
He sits on the side of the desk smiling. “You know, Maxie, I had my doubts about you when you started. Did you know that?”
“No, sir.”
He points. “Yes, indeed—the fallen boxer looking for easy cash. I didn’t think you had the stomach for this kind of work, but I was wrong, and that’s a rare thing. You’re a fucking natural. Five guys—count them—I’ve sent after Garcia and you’re the first to pull anything out of him other than an excuse. I appreciate that. I really do.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He waves it off. “No problem. As they say, though, there’s no rest for the wicked.” He tosses me an envelope. “Your next assignment. Go on. Take a look. I think you’ll like what you see.”
His crocodile smile is putting me off, but I open the envelope and take out a glossy six-by-four.
It’s a close-up of a girl sitting in a coffee shop. She’s laughing, one hand combing through long, auburn hair. She’s slim, petite, but full of life. It jumps out of the picture, something I haven’t been friendly with in
a while—joy. She’s fucking beautiful.
“She’s all yours,” says Saul.
I lift my head up. “What do you mean?”
Saul comes off the desk and stands before me. “I mean, work your magic on her. Screw her, rough her up—I don’t give a fuck. Have fun with it.”
I take a sheet of paper out of the envelope, quickly scanning through it. I catch her name, repeating it to myself.
Dawn.
“What did she do?”
“Let’s just say her boyfriend borrowed a large sum of money from Yours Truly and has, instead of being a man, decided to skip town. Thus, Dorothy here.”
“Dorothy?” I question. “It says here her name is Dawn, Dawn Hayes.”
He taps the file. “Brunette, originally from Kansas. I thought it was kind of cute, but call her whatever the fuck you want. Just get the money.”
“But you said it was her boyfriend’s debt.”
Saul shrugs. “So? He’s MIA and she’s the next best thing. Besides, he took the loan out in her name, even got her signature. I don’t give a shit if she coughs up or you use her to find him—Just get me my fucking money.”
I look at the picture again, my guts twisting. Don’t do it, but I can’t help myself. “I’m not sure about this one. It doesn’t seem right.”
Saul explodes with laughter, standing and making his way over to me.
I notice the picture of Lucy, his daughter, framed on his desk. She’s his entire world. Her mother died when she was fourteen. Saul says it was from natural causes, but everyone in mafia circles knows that’s just another way of saying ‘bullet in the head.’