Big Bad Boys: A Romance Collection

by Wylder, Penny

  There are three things I love; drinking, fighting, and fucking.

  Last night I got to taste all three. It was a beautiful thing. Nothing's going to stop me from doing what I love, even a night behind bars.

  As we start for the exit, the cop has a small smile on his face. His gaze is floating around, relaxed, almost in a daze.

  “So,” squinting, I read his name tag and ask, “Officer French, you got a nice little smirk there. I'll be honest, I didn't think you knew how to smile.”

  “Everyone knows how to smile, doesn't mean you got to share it like a disease.”

  “I bet you got laid last night, am I right?”

  “What makes you think I'm smiling because of that?”

  “I know it makes me smile. And when it's good, there's a look like that on my face too, because you can't get the girl out of your head.” Pointing up at his face, I wriggle my brows.

  Images of the girl from the club instantly pop into my head, flashing like erotic still photos behind my eyes. Her perfect tits, her plump ass, her tight little pussy lips swallowing my cock.

  Damn, I wish I had gotten her name and number.

  The thought's unsettling, so I push it away, doing my best to get her out of my head. I will never ask a girl for her number. Never.

  I want to experience life and everything it has to offer, not get held back by some girl at home. Besides, with so much pussy to choose from, why should I settle for just one? You can't know what you want until you've had a little taste of them all—right?

  “Life is more than just getting laid, kid.”

  Shrugging a shoulder, my lip curls to one side. “That's what people say when they aren't getting laid. You need to get out and get some ass, Officer. Hey, if you ever want to come to a fight, let me know. There's something about a good fight that just gets girls going. You'd get lucky for sure. You know what, I'll have a few tickets sent here for you.”

  “No, that's all right, thank you, but I'm good.” Officer French shakes his head and laughs. “You're so lucky to be heading home, I hope you know that. If you got sent up to Jackson pen, you wouldn't last an hour.”

  “Yeah, well, lucky for me I have this pretty face.” Smiling, I flash my pearly whites.

  “You're right, it's perfect.” Officer French pulls out his keys and unlocks the second door that leads out into the main hallway. “Pretty faces go a long way behind bars.”

  Snickering, I shake my head in disagreement. “That's not how it would work for me. I'd crack someone's skull. I know how to protect myself, it's kind of what I do.”

  The officer's lips lift high, his smile huge, as his gut is bellowed out like he wants to explode in laughter. “You wouldn't make the rules up there, son, they get made for you.” Tapping the glass window, he slaps my shoulder. “Stay out of trouble. You talk a big game, but in reality, you're a small fish.”

  “The ticket offer is still there, just let me know.”

  Giving me a wave over his shoulder, he starts walking away as he's talking. “We can't take bribes or gifts, but I appreciate the offer.” His voice echoes off the white cement blocks, following him down the hall like an audible shadow.

  A yellow bucket hits my hand, grabbing my attention. The bucket has my wallet, watch, belt, cell phone and shoes.

  Stuffing my wallet into my back pocket, I slip my feet into my shoes and start for the exit. A loud buzzer sounds above my head as I'm adjusting the band of the watch, and the door opens on its own.

  “You little shit,” Daniel snaps, his voice cold and rigid.

  He's standing right outside the door, his expression hard. I can see how pissed he is from the way his eyebrows draw in tight and his pupils are pinpricks. His lips purse up like a tight asshole, and he keeps running his hand back and forth over his forehead.

  “Good to see you too. You know I called you almost six hours ago.”

  “I'm your manager, not your fucking lackey.”

  “There's a difference?”

  “Not now, Phade, I'm not in the mood for your fucking jokes.” Taking a heavy step, Daniel throws the front door open and storms outside. “Your ass is lucky I'm even here. I didn't have to come, you know that right?”

  Cocking my head, I ask, “Why is everyone talking about how lucky I am?”

  “Because you are. And you're too fucking stupid to see it.” Keeping his eyes forward, he starts across the parking lot. “This is it, Phade, it ends now.”

  “What ends? What the hell are you talking about?” Reaching his car, Daniel opens the driver side door, but he doesn't answer. I'm resting my hands on the roof, waiting for him to explain, but he won't even look in my direction.

  Daniel climbs inside, staying silent.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  Tearing my door open, I drop in next to him and ask again, “What ends, Daniel? What are you talking about?”

  Daniel smiles, letting out a low chuckle. Flicking his eyes up to mine, he grunts as if I should know the answer already. “You honestly need me to tell you? You can't see it for yourself?”

  “Look, I got a little drunk, I made a mistake, it's not the end of the world. I'm human, same as you and everyone else. It's not like it interferes with my fighting or training. I work hard, you know I do. I deserve to treat myself.”

  “Phade, working hard and playing hard are two very different things. You need a wakeup call. This won't last forever, and right now, the shit you're doing is hurting you and everyone else around you.”

  “Everyone else,” laughing out loud, I twist my head and look out the window. “Yeah, my fun hurts others. . .” Pausing, I let the laugh settle. “Come on, Daniel, don't try and twist this into something it's not. It was one mistake—”

  “One mistake,” he barks loudly, jerking his eyes in my direction. “One mistake? Are you fucking serious right now?”

  Daniel is glaring at me, and I'm having a hard time knowing if he really wants an answer to that or not.

  Sitting quietly, I keep my eyes straight. There's a lot I want to say, but I'm trying not to. He does sign the checks. It's just hard for me to keep my mouth shut.

  “Well? Go on, tell me then. Tell me all the things I've done wrong.”

  Let him berate me like I'm a child, I don't give a shit. It isn't going to last forever. I'll remind him that I'm his golden ticket, I'm the reason he's sitting where he is right now. I could have signed with anyone, but I chose him.

  I won't let him forget that.

  You should be kissing my ass, Daniel, not the other way around.

  “Fine, you need me to tell you, because you're too blind to see it for yourself, I will. Because I haven't forgotten how I had to send my assistant to pick you up from some bar last weekend. And why? Because your drunk ass forgot where you parked your own fucking car.”

  Grinding his jaw hard, his voice became louder and irater. “And what about two weeks ago when some photographer from TMZ caught you pissing against East Bank and you punched him for snapping the picture. You’re a lucky fuck that I was able to get him to not press charges. Last month you almost got arrested twice for public drunkenness—twice, Phade.”

  Daniel closes his mouth, his nostrils flare, forehead full of wrinkles, and he just glares at me. I know what he wants, he wants me to acknowledge my wrongs, but I'm not going to do that.

  He laid them all out there, obviously he's keeping track for the both of us. What does he want me to do? Grovel at his feet for forgiveness?

  Not a fucking chance. I can't help what the press does, and I shouldn't have to become someone I'm not to make him happy. I'm Phade Manson, in the ring and out of it. Period.

  Crossing my arms, I stare back.

  “Well, Phade, nothing to say?”

  “I've got a headache and I'm tired, is that what you're looking for?”

  “Of course, because it's all about you. I'm going to drop you off. Get your ass cleaned up, and then I want you at the office in an hour.”

  “An hou
r?”

  “One hour.”

  “For what?”

  “To discuss your future here.”

  Does he think those words scare me? They don't.

  I'm not thinking about my future, or about making my boss happy. I'm not thinking about my image or the impression people might have of me.

  I don't give two fucks about any of this shit. All I can think about is the girl who tattooed herself on my brain. My cock twitches as I think about how it felt to be inside her, how warm and wet she was as I slid inside.

  The car stops outside my building, and Daniel is still talking. I'm not in the mood to listen to him. His voice is more like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon, lots of noise, but no real words.

  Womp womp, womp womp womp. . .

  “Do you hear me, Phade?” he asks as I climb out of his car and step onto the sidewalk. “Phade? I asked you if you heard me?”

  Ignoring him, I just shut the door and head towards the building. Daniel is still yelling my name, his voice getting louder and angrier the further away I get.

  “Phade! Phade! One hour, Phade, or you’re done! You hear me damn it?! One hour!” He expects an answer, and I'll give him one—after I shower, eat something, and grab a quick nap.

  Lazily, I wave a hand over my shoulder as the door shuts behind me. Letting out a slow breath, this isn't how I want to spend my day.

  What I really want to do is find the girl from last night. But I'll appease Daniel, I'll go to this meeting, hear whatever idea it is he has, and then we can move on.

  Throwing my keys onto the counter, I pull off an article of clothing with each step down the hall. Shirt first, belt second, the rest comes off in a pile that I step out of right at the bathroom door.

  I can smell the jail on my skin. It's a musty hospital scent, and I want it gone.

  Turning on the water, I wait until steam is pouring out of the top before getting in. Dipping my head under the stream, the water runs down my back, soothing the slight ache.

  Closing my eyes, the water moves down my forehead, dripping off the tip of my nose. The woman from last night flashes in my mind, and my dick instantly jerks.

  Her body could drop any man to his knees. Perfect curves, flawless velvet smooth skin, plump round ass.

  Bracing myself against the wall with my forearm, I wrap my other hand around my shaft. Gripping hard, I squeeze the head as I think about her wet cunt and her ass as it jiggled with each pump of my cock. She was smooth, tight, her juice silky and warm.

  Stroking down, I hit the base and slowly move back up to the tip. The mystery woman's tits, her ass, the way she kissed, I could almost feel her all over again. Faster and faster I pump my cock, until my stomach clenches and my balls draw up.

  I want to find her, I want to know her name, I want to fuck her over and over. My hand is moving rapidly, and I can feel the heat as it spreads down my shaft, ready to explode from my swollen tip.

  Harder and faster, I work my cock. The sexy little vixen is my muse, her body the canvas I want to paint with my cum. With one final pump, I squeeze the crown as cum shoots out, spilling over my hand.

  A light grunt escapes my lips as I drop my forehead on the wall and let my body relax deeper into the water as the orgasm burns through my muscles.

  I stay like this for a few minutes, enjoying how much lighter I feel. Rinsing my hand off in the water, I watch the puddle of cum as it swirls around my foot and disappears down the drain.

  Washing my hair and body, I turn off the water and grab a towel to dry off. Wrapping it around my waist, I go into my room. I still have twenty minutes before Daniel expects me, so I flop on the bed and let my body get sucked into the mattress.

  Oh my God, this is so much better than the prison bed. I'll just rest my eyes for a little bit, then I'll go to this dumb meeting.

  Closing my eyes, I wake up to my phone going off. I'm a little dazed. I must have fallen asleep. Picking it up, I focus my eyes and see it's Daniel.

  Screw it, he can wait.

  Sending him to voicemail, I rest the phone on my chest and try to fall back asleep. Within seconds, my phone goes off again, so I send him to voicemail a second time.

  It becomes a cycle like that. He calls, I hit decline, repeat over and over until eventually he just stops. I'm exhausted, my body feels drained. I didn't get much sleep last night and it's definitely caught up with me, because I drift back to sleep easily.

  Blinking my eyes open, I can see the clock on my nightstand. It's two hours later, well past the time Daniel told me to be at the office. Checking my phone, I have seven missed calls, seven messages, and ten text messages all from my boss.

  There's no point in reading or listening to any of the messages because I already know what he's going to say. He's pissed and I'm a fuck up.

  Getting out of bed, I put on some clothes, and throw a little gel in my hair so it doesn't look like I just woke up.

  Driving to Daniel's office, I stop for coffee and a sandwich on the way. I'm already late, what's a few more minutes?

  The door closes behind me with a slam. The secretary, Carla, looks up at me from behind her desk. Dipping her head, her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose. I feel like a kid getting sent to the principle.

  “You're late. Daniel expected you hours ago.”

  “He should know better by now. I don't do well with time restraints.”

  “I'm serious, Phade, he isn't happy with you.”

  Strolling up to her desk, I grab a handful of candy from the small jar and throw a piece into my mouth. “Is he ever really happy?”

  “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

  “I never would.” Winking, I get a pleasant little smirk from her as I walk to Daniel's door and knock.

  “Yeah?” he asks. His voice sounds muffled, like he's got his head buried in something.

  Opening the door, I poke my head in, and see him reading the newspaper. “Hey, I'm here.”

  Slamming the paper down, his eyes open wide, exposing all the white. His mouth is tight and thin, thick lines run across his forehead as his brows drop in hard.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, as the whites in eyes explode with crackling red veins.

  Oh wow, he is really pissed.

  Taking a step inside, I close the door. “Daniel, I—”

  “Don't you try and give me any of your fucking excuses!” Pounding his fist on the table, he growls. “You've been screwing up left and right. Getting drunk, getting into fights, acting like a damn fool! It's not just your face those reporters see, it's mine too!”

  I hold up my hand and smile. “Calm down, it's not that big of a deal.”

  “Not a big deal, not a big deal. . .” Pausing, he lowers his head into his hands and presses his temples. “You think the world revolves around you, you think you're untouchable—”

  “I am untouchable.”

  Maybe I was a little too cocky, but it was the truth. I am untouchable. No one matches me in the ring, and no one touches me out of it. I know I might be going a little crazier than I should be, and yeah, getting blackout drunk isn't good for anyone's image, let alone mine, but you're only young once. Why not live like it?

  Slowly, he lifts his head and looks at me. Daniel doesn't say anything, he just glares at me with beady black eyes, and a scowl on his face. Shifting his gaze, he nods toward the chair.

  His silence jars my nerves slightly because I have no idea what he's thinking. Daniel is a man with no filter. He speaks when he feels he should, he says what's on his mind, he never holds back.

  So the fact that he's currently mute, his eyes a dark shadow of insanity as the orbs dance in the sockets, I know whatever is in his head isn't good.

  Taking the seat, he pushes the newspaper across the desk. “Did you see this?” he asks, tapping the paper. “Take a good look.”

  “What is it?” Scanning the paper, I see my face from last weekend. I remember that night; well, most of it.

  It
was one of those nights where shit starts to fade and blur after midnight. Full images become blips as time tears into bits and nothing is certain. But the night ended with me throwing some asshole into a dumpster after beating his ass.

  “Yeah, and? Why are you showing me this?” Shoving it back in his direction, I fold my arms across my chest. “I like having fun, Daniel, what's so wrong with that? You never went out and had fun?”

  Gritting his teeth, his voice comes out torn and shredded between angry breaths. “This ends today. There won't be any more of this shit.” Slamming a single finger down on his desk, his head tilts slightly. “I'm done cleaning up your messes, Phade—done.”

  “Cleaning up my messes? Daniel, you might own me in the ring, but you don't actually own me. I fight for you, I don't live for you.”

  A sly smile spreads on his face as he wags a finger in the air. “That's where you're wrong. You signed a contract, that makes you mine. I own you, I own everything about Phade Manson.” Pushing back from his seat, he rests his arms behind his head. “I'm not bailing you out ever again. It ends now; all the partying, all the late nights, the drunken fights, everything. Your wild days are over.”

  Scoffing, I veer my stare and snap. “You can't tell me what to do. I signed a contract for the ring, that's it.”

  “Fighting outside the ring is a breach of contract. I can rip up your contract and find someone else if I want to. You broke your word, legally I could drag you through the mud. I can drop you, I can end all of this for you with the snap of my fingers. I can take everything you own—all of it, and wipe my ass with your face.” Tapping his finger against his chin, he's twisting side to side in his chair. “But, I don't want to do that. I want you to stay, I want you to be better, to fight harder. And I know how to fix you and your image. I've thought long and hard about this, and it's going to smooth over all these headlines. You'll be back on top, in the good graces of the world.”

  Rolling my eyes, I can't pretend he sounds interesting. He's being fucking ridiculous. But I'm going to play his little game and see what he has in mind for me. If nothing else, I'll at least get a good laugh out of this.