by Imogen Wells
Reckless
Triple R Security Book 2
Imogen Wells
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Thank you for reading!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 Reckless by Imogen Wells
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by LJ Designs
This eBook is ONLY available via Amazon. If you obtained a copy elsewhere, it is a pirated copy and illegal.
Foreword
Note from the Author
This book contains scenes and themes that some readers may find upsetting and/or offensive. Scenes of explicit sex, violence and profanity can be found in the pages that follow.
The author is British, and British English spellings and phrases are used throughout.
One
Jamie
My head begins to pound as consciousness creeps in, and my body is burning with heat. As I open one eye, I’m met with a mirrored ceiling, and that’s not all. Holy fucking shit! The reason for the heat becomes obvious as I stare at the mirror above me. I’m on my back, with one arm across my naked stomach, the other casually thrown above my head and appear to be the meat in a man-sandwich. One which I have no doubt was hot as hell last night when I was off my fucking head, but in the cold light of day, leaves me with the empty feeling I began the night with.
Fucking wonderful! I did it again. As I lie here thinking how on god’s earth I’m going to escape without disturbing these two fine pieces of arse and wondering where the fuck I actually am, a groan beside me has me holding my breath. The guy on the left of me, rolls over and his arm comes across my body, landing on my tit. The right one, and yeah, I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in there somewhere. But I’m not fucking laughing now.
Getting a good look at his face without the beer goggles on, he’s hot, and I can see why I’ve ended up where I am. Short brown hair, and if I remember correctly, matching brown eyes. My eyes scan the rest of his naked form and several images from last night flash through my mind.
My chest begins to tighten, and I realise I’m still holding my damn breath, so before I turn blue, I let it out as slowly and as quietly as possible. It proves to be harder than it sounds, and the air in my lungs leaves me in a whoosh that is anything but quiet.
Going back to the plan for my walk of shame, which considering how many there have been, you’d think I’d be a master at it by now, I use the mirrored ceiling to scan for my discarded clothes. I locate my bra hanging from a guitar standing in the corner and my dress is on the floor by the bed to my right. Thong? Fuck knows where that scrap of material is. And I vaguely remember taking my shoes off at the front door.
Bag? Where is my bag? Not finding it anywhere in the room, I hope it’s close to the front door.
The guy on my right has his back to me, snoring softly, and as gently as I can, I lift the other guy’s arm off me and begin to shimmy down the bed. Just as I reach halfway, a knee comes out of nowhere, smacking into my temple. The throbbing in my head intensifies, and I stifle a cry of pain as I raise my hands to protect myself.
When I finally make it to the end of the bed, I slip down to the floor, quietly blowing out a long, deep breath in relief. After a few seconds, I gather myself together and then creep round the room collecting my clothes.
Reaching the door, I grasp the handle, grimacing and praying it doesn’t creak as I pull it open. Once I’m safely outside the room, I tiptoe towards where I roughly remember the front door being.
Scanning the apartment and looking for my bag as I go, I take in my surroundings as more memories of last night flash through my head. Shaking them off, I spot my bag on a coffee table in the lounge area of the open plan apartment. Quickly throwing my bra and dress on, I head that way, snatching it up when I reach it. Then I speed walk to the door, grabbing my shoes on the way.
Just as I close the door behind me, my phone rings in my bag. It’s Cam’s ringtone and pulling it out, I flick it to silent and then hurry to the lift.
I feel bad ignoring her, but I just can’t speak to her right now. Can’t deal with another of her lectures or concern about what I’m doing to myself. I know she’s worried and she cares, but the problem is, I don’t. I don’t give a flying fuck about anything. All I want to do is to get shit-faced and lose myself in a warm body. I keep hoping if I do it enough, it will erase the memories and hands of another man. One I want to forget, but my mind and body won’t let me.
Well, that’s not strictly true, I do forget temporarily, but then it all rushes back in like a fucking tornado, tearing up everything in its path. Sebastian Roberts has fucking ruined me. One weekend. That’s all it took for a man I don’t even know, who did the most delicious things to my body, to turn me into some psycho bunny boiler that can’t get him out of her head.
The sound of a car horn blaring has me almost jumping out of my skin, and I realise I’ve made it all the way outside the building and have stopped in the middle of the road.
“Are you crazy, lady? Get outta the fucking road!” The guy, who is still blaring his fucking horn, shouts at me.
“How about, screw you, arsehole,” I snap, lifting my middle finger and watching as the guy’s eyes widen at the gesture. He doesn’t say another word, and I take my sweet arse time walking to the pavement.
I still have my phone clutched in my hand, and as I’m about to call for a taxi, it starts ringing again. This time it’s not Cam, it’s worse. My mum. I cancel the call and bring up the number for a taxi firm.
An hour later, I’m soaking in the tub when the house phone rings. The answer phone picks up, and my mum’s voice echoes through the speaker.
“Jamie, it’s mum. I know you’re angry, but we need to talk, please. Call me. I love you.” The machine beeps to indicate the end of the message. I slide down in the bat
h, submerging myself under the soapy water and holding my breath for as long as possible.
I shoot back up when my breath runs out, sloshing water over the edge of the bath to the floor below. I gasp for air, and it’s a direct comparison of my life lately. Drowning, suffocating, unable to fill my lungs with good clean air.
Nine months ago, I was attacked by a man called Russ as a warning to my best friend, Cam, and since then, I’ve been slowly spiralling. Add to that my weekend with Seb and the separation and looming divorce of my parent’s and my life is completely out of control. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get it back on track.
After my bath, I make a quick lunch from some leftover pasta and salad. My stomach protests, but I force it down. Then I crawl into bed and try to catch up on some sleep before my shift at the hospital later.
My job is the only thing keeping me above water lately, literally.
For a Saturday night it’s been surprisingly quiet, but typically as soon as you think it or someone says it, all hell breaks loose. We’ve just been informed of a stabbing, and ETA is five minutes.
Just as I finish prepping the trauma bay, the double doors from the ambulance bay slam open and two paramedics wheel in the patient on a stretcher. As one of the paramedics gives a rundown of the patient’s stats and injuries, the patient starts thrashing about and shouting abuse.
Once the paramedic has finished his handover, the registrar takes over, and within minutes the room is a hive of activity as we begin treating another victim of the knife culture that exists today.
The patient is a young lad of twenty-five, and from the myriad of scars littering his body, including an old gunshot wound, this is not his first time. It makes me incredibly sad to see the devastating effects of crime. We have seen a huge increase in cases like this, and the victims seem to get younger and younger.
The guy in the bed is lucky. Two knife wounds to his abdomen and both managed to miss anything vital. After giving him some strong pain relief, he calmed down enough for us to treat him. Now he’s sleeping while I check his vitals again before finishing my shift and handing over.
Just as I go to remove the blood pressure cuff from his arm, fingers latch onto my wrist, squeezing tighter when I try to pull away. Shooting my eyes to the patient, Oscar, I’m met with glazed and dilated browns, and a sneer that has a tremor of fear skittering down my spine. Getting my nerves under control, my years of training kicks in. I remember he’s a patient and this is not the same as what happened to me. He’s not the man who attacked me.
“It’s okay, Oscar, you’re at the hospital. You’re safe,” I tell him, trying to pull my arm free again. I watch as his eyes flit round the room, coming back to me, and then something sparks in his eyes.
“I know you,” he croaks out, his voice hoarse. The grip on my wrist tightens as he tries to pull me forward.
“Okay, that’s great, Oscar, but you need to let go now, please.” I try to keep the fear out of my voice, but I can hear the tremble in my words. “I’m sure your thirsty, let me get you some water, and then maybe I can call someone for you. Family or a friend, perhaps?”
“I know you,” he repeats again, still not releasing me.
“Yes, I’m one of the nurses that treated you when you first arrived. Now, if you just let go, I can help you,” I grit out the last part, my patience with Oscar wearing thin. I assumed he was just confused, but now I’m not so sure. He’s kind of freaking me out a little.
“I know you. I fucking know exactly who you are. You’re that cunt Dominic Morgan’s daughter. I’ve seen a picture of you,” he taunts with a chuckle.
“What did you say?” I snap, scowling at him. “How do you know my father?”
“I know all about you,” he snarls, squeezing so hard I can feel the bones grinding together. “You’re going to get wh—”
“That’s enough. Let the nurse go, Oscar, before I slap an assault charge on you too.” I jump slightly at the voice, but I don’t turn around, keeping my eyes on Oscar. I watch as he wars with indecision before finally releasing me.
Rubbing my wrist, I turn enough to get a look at the guy who spoke. He’s standing in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. He’s not wearing a tie, and the top button of his shirt is undone, revealing a hint of bronze skin beneath. I look back to Oscar and see the daggers he’s throwing the newcomer. With his attention fully focused on the suit, who I assume is a cop from the air of authority exuding from him and his assault charge threat, I quickly finish removing the BP cuff and write the results on the chart at the bottom of Oscar’s bed.
When I turn to leave, the suit is watching me, and I see a slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. He’s not bad looking, short blond hair and blue eyes, certainly easy on the eyes.
As I approach, I offer him my thanks before exiting the room and heading off to the nurses’ station.
Thirty minutes later, I’m heading for the exit when I hear my name being called out from behind. Throwing a quick look over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the cop from earlier. Slowing to halt, I wait for him to catch up to me before turning to face him.
“What can I do for you, Officer?” I already know he’s a detective. I did a little detective work of my own. I mean, come on, he’s hot, and I don’t have a cop sized notch on my bed post yet. He tilts his head at me, and I know he’s not fooled at all.
“Looks like we’ve both been doing some investigating,” he says, raising a brow. “I actually need to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind?”
“Sure. Shoot.” I pull my coat collar up further to stave off the icy chill in the air tonight, and then tuck my hands in my pockets.
“Mr. Turner, do you know him? Only, I got the impression he knows you.” At my look of confusion, he gestures to the hospital. “Oscar? Your patient tonight”
“Oh, him. Err, no, I’ve never seen him before. And if you’ve done your job, you’d already know that. Just like you already know who my father is, my name and no doubt, where I eat, sleep and piss.” I offer him a sarcastic smirk. “Now, if that’s all Detective, it’s late and I’d like to go eat before falling into my bed.” I turn to walk away, but his voice breaks through the night again.
“There’s one more question, Miss Morgan.” I half turn, just enough that he can see my face and me his. “Dinner, tomorrow?”
“Are you asking me or telling me? ‘Cause I’ve got to say, I’m not impressed with either. If that’s your idea of asking a girl on a date, no wonder you’re single. And as for telling me what to do, well, I save that for the bedroom. Goodnight.” This time he doesn’t stop me, but I hear his laughter as I walk away.
Two
Jamie
It’s been a week since the incident at the hospital, and tonight, I plan on getting very drunk and maybe get laid. I need something more than just my B.O.B tonight. I need the real thing. I deserve it after the week I’ve had.
Dismissing the niggling little voice inside my head telling me this is a bad idea, I jump in the shower, throw on the sexiest, most revealing outfit I own, slap a shit load of make-up on my face, and head out for the night.
If I was watching this from an outside view, and thinking straight, I’d say the make-up is nothing more than a mask I’ve been wearing for the last nine months, but I’m not, so screw it.
As the cab pulls up outside Rosco’s bar, I spot the bouncer on the door tonight, and the queue that winds all the way down the side of the bar and round the corner. It must be my lucky night. Jumping from the car, I walk straight for the front of the queue, ignoring the dirty looks and snide comments from the poor unfortunate souls lining up and hoping they can get in before the night is over.
Reaching the bouncer on the door, I hold back while he turns away the poor girl who has been busted with a fake ID. When he finally turns back my way, a broad grin spreads across his face, and his eyes sparkle with obvious attraction.
“Hey, Alex.” I don’t get another wor
d out before he snatches me up and squeezes the air from lungs. And no doubt giving every guy in the queue a positively delightful view of my thong clad arse, thanks to my short dress and Alex’s height.
“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, but do you mind putting me down before I pass out,” I wheeze.
Alex chuckles, and it vibrates through his whole body as he lowers me back to the ground. His arms remain wrapped around me as he places a small, but sensual, kiss to my cheek.
“Girl, you look and smell fucking divine.” He pulls back, looking in my eyes, and I know he’s remembering a night a few weeks back. “I know exactly how good you taste,” he whispers, licking his lips.
I’ve known Alex most of my life, running in the same circles at school. Then after…the accident, we had a thing for a while, but it fizzled out, nothing more than sex. Fucking, hot, crazy, unforgettable sex, but, nonetheless, that’s all.
I hadn’t seen him for a while, but a couple of weeks ago we bumped into each other at another club in town. Things got a little insane that night, and we ended up back at his, fucking like sex starved rabbits.
