BO (Bad Boys of Retribution MC #3)
right. Talk about bullshit. I’ve been fighting all my life, and I know
zip about love. Frankly, I don’t want to. More than bullets whizzing past my
head or the very real possibility of ending up dead, love scares the shit out
of me. I’m used to guns and killing, blood and dust.
goddamn shrink, Veronica. Doctor Hartley digs inside my head.
She asks me questions, which I never answer. I’d much rather take the smart,
sexy Doc to bed, but I can’t because of our clinical relationship.
any semblance of humanity I had left. Those little triggers go off all the time
now. When I’m asleep. When I’m awake. When the memories are raw. I bolt up, at
knife point again, but there’s no enemy now.
Hartley. I told Bo to call me Ronnie like everyone else, but he refuses. He
shows up like he has a cattle prod shoved up his ass and sits through the
allotted hour for his counseling session impervious to every approach. He’s
powerful, forceful, explosive. He doesn’t scare me.
gaze pierces me all the same. He watches me with all the greed of a hunger
never sated, a need never fulfilled. A desire never explored. He stows his
secrets safely away, but I’m patient. I’ll get to him if he doesn’t get to me
forever. I know this. But I can’t. His past might be complicated, but mine is a
minefield, one that will blow up in our faces before all is said and done.
action, graphic language. Triple X caution.
“Coming,” I called out. Kicking my extra pair of cross trainers away from the door I opened it and . . . “You?”
“Me. In the flesh.” Veronica stood on my front stoop, not dressed in one of her Doc Hottie suits.
“You’re my twelve o’ clock?” Transparent shock filtered across my face.
She nodded and her long ponytail in rich claret red bounced, the ends curling to the middle of her back.
“You’re not Penny Richmond.”
“Yes, I am. For a couple hours at least.” She pointed at her ponytail. “Besides, I have the whole copper thing going on.”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Cocking her hip, she drew my gaze to her body scantily covered in workout gear.
Well, I could see that. In fact my eyes were bugging out of my head even while I tried to make my tongue form words.
“I’m working.” I glared down at her all the while inventorying her outfit.
Stretchy black yoga shorts led to a tight bright yellow Lycra tank molded to her upper body. The dark blue straps of a workout bra peeped out on her shoulders. Her breasts restrained, they still looked round and full, and her skin gleamed. I couldn’t wait for the back view.
Fucking criminal to look like that underneath her suits.
“I know. That’s why I made an appointment, and I tend to keep them.” Her saccharine smile held the hint of a killer edge.
A smile I wanted to kiss off her lips with my tongue in her mouth.
Sweeping past me she asked, “Where do you want me?”
In my bed? On the couch? Hell, right now the floor would work pretty damn good. I’m not fussy.
I hung back, closing the door, taking my time to enjoy that rearview and, oh man, what a sight it was. Her waist narrowed, her hips flared and that ass. Jesus. She had to be wearing a thong because there was no hint of a pantyline beneath the black fabric cupping her full cheeks just so and just right.
I rubbed a hand through my hair and quickly knocked my gaze up when she turned toward me. “Uh, hi?”
Suddenly I was distinctly aware I was as negligently clothed as her. Loose nylon shorts held low on my hips by the string tied at my waist. No shirt. Compression shorts beneath, and at the at moment they were failing at concealing the length and general girth of my cock, because that shit was getting interested in these goings on.
I didn’t know if Veronica had superhuman willpower, if she was just so goddamn good at being professional, or if I really didn’t affect her at all, but she hardly dipped her gaze to my chest before meeting my stare.
“Hello, Bo.” Her eyes twinkled, rum cask-colored today.
She looked totally different, and then I finally placed why.
I pointed at her, still stupefied. “You have ink.”
My brain finally caught up. When her back had been turned colorful vines and flowers snaked across the top of her back and shoulder blades, the edge of something tattooed with a gritty metallic sheen peeking just above her sports top.
“Is that an entire backpiece?” I asked. Talk about unexpected, and even hotter because of that.
“You have tats too. Is there a problem?”
The only problem was her appreciative glance at my ink. My skin was on fire as her gaze touched the tattoos. I could only imagine her fingers walking along my flesh, tracing the solid marks of ink: a highly stylized version of the star and stripes with the words Semper Fidelis covered the skin on the side of my neck. An explosive array of detailed-down-to-the barrel service revolvers spread across my chest, each with a helmet emblazoned on the grip.
One for every teammate I’d lost.
Fallen. Never forgotten. The words wrapped underneath.
I swallowed harshly. “No. No problem at all. Shall we?”
Holding out my hand, I beckoned Veronica through my house, leading her out back.
“You live alone?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that obvious? You know, me and people not being on the best of terms.”
“How could I forget?” For a moment she sounded rueful, but then she swished ahead of me and stepped outside.
We ended up side by side on the deck on a pair of yoga mats.
“We’ll start with some warm-up.” I guided Veronica through some stretches she proved more than capable of handling.
We finished with our legs wide open, leaning down to place our foreheads on the mat then reaching for our ankles.
She remained in that position long after I sat up, and when I tapped her shoulder she curled up, grinning. Her face shined as she arched her back and rolled her neck.
“Wow. You’re flexible for a big guy.”
So was she, and I could think of a million ways to limber her up even more in my bed.
“What’s your fitness level, Doc?”
“Oh, I think I can keep up.”
Not if I have my way with her.
Once down on the ground, I set Veronica to work and went at it right beside her. The obstacle course I switched up everyday had us crawling under crosshatched wires, hurtling over sawhorses and dive rolling beneath heavy swinging logs.
I even made her dig her own trench. Fuck the lawn. I gave her a two-minute break after she lined the top of the culvert with sandbags.
Damn right I drilled her. She wasn’t a gym bunny, and I approved. No slab-board abs or ropey lean thighs, she looked soft and warm and curvy in all the right places, just how I liked a woman. That didn’t mean she didn’t know how to get down and dirty and dig in, which made me respect her even more.
An hour later, we panted next to each other, guzzling water and mopping up sweat with our towels.
“You’re really good at this, Bo. I think you could make a killing.” Then she winced, because she said the k word.
“Don’t worry about it.” I gripped the ends of her towel, drawing her nearer so the heat of her body collided with mine. “I don’t think about killing every hour of every day.”
More in the Bad Boys of Retribution MC
CAROLINA BAD BOYS SERIES
NEXT IN SERIES:
IN STEELE. Book #4.
badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a
breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning
with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and
transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her
college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame.
Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other
love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a
wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her
work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website https://www.riewarren.com. She is
represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency. http://www.corvisieroagency.com/Saritza_Hernandez.html