Good Girl Gone Badd

by Jasinda Wilder

  Her eyes flicked away and up to mine, as if realizing she was staring--which she had been--and I caught and held her gaze.

  And then I winked, and her breath stuttered.

  This could be fun. I'd have to be cautious, but my interested-female radar was pinging like crazy. Didn't have to mean anything, and wouldn't, but it could be fun. If there's anything I'm good at besides fighting and football, it's corrupting good girls.

  And Evangeline du Maurier seemed like the hottest, sweetest, and most innocent of all good girls.

  2

  Evangeline

  * * *

  What was I doing? Why was I sitting here with these strangers, getting tipsy, and thinking about talking about Thomas? I never talk about Thomas. Not with anyone. I mean, my friends at Yale knew about him, knew his limo, knew who he was, but they also knew I didn't talk about him. They just didn't get it--they couldn't understand why I would avoid a wealthy, influential, educated, handsome man like Thomas. If they'd known about his marriage proposals, they would have wet their pants with envy. A lot of those girls, as smart as they were, were suckers for a good-looking man with a fat bank account, robust investment portfolio, and impressive resume. A man like Thomas? Most of the girls I hung out with would sell their souls to be his wife.

  But these people, though? The Badd brothers and the women in their lives? They were...like no one I had ever met in my life. I didn't have the words to properly describe them.

  And Baxter was like no man I'd ever encountered. I was having trouble breathing properly, sitting next to him. I know, I know--I should be more shaken up by what had happened, what had almost happened, but Baxter had stopped them before they could do anything to me, aside from scare me and paw at me a little--and I'd been groped worse the one time I decided to try and brave a club with a couple girls from my poli-sci program. I mean, yes, I was shaken up. And, no, I wouldn't be walking down any more dark streets alone at night. But for some reason, Baxter's very presence just made me feel...safe.

  And also he scared the absolute sense right out of me. Literally.

  I was drinking wine, and feeling the vodka cranberry he'd made me. I didn't drink all that much or that frequently, so it didn't take much to get me tipsy. Getting drunk around a man like Baxter might be troublesome, I knew. Not because I thought he would do anything untoward while I was intoxicated--I had no way of knowing for sure, but I just got the feeling that he wouldn't take advantage of me like that. No, the danger was from myself. I might do something embarrassing and forward and stupid, if I got too drunk around him.

  Because I was attracted to him.

  I'd gotten caught staring at his...um...member. Which, as Claire's interrupted insinuation had hinted at, was...well, a LOT. The couple of times I'd slept with Thomas, it had always been quick and in the dark, and Thomas had been in control, which meant I hadn't had an opportunity to...explore, shall we say. So even though I wasn't a virgin, I wasn't exactly familiar, in a personal experience sort of way, with a man's, errr, tackle. At all.

  But, from what I'd seen--which had only been the outline behind his trunks, Baxter was...ah...well-endowed. It had looked big enough to make my hands involuntarily tighten, and my mouth go dry, and my knees press together.

  I realized abruptly that Claire was talking and that I was meant to be listening. I forced my attention to Claire's story.

  "...And I was like, hell, why not, right? I had all this vacation time saved up, and it sounded like fun, so I booked an Alaskan cruise. Which was a sweet vacation, let me tell you. I spent the whole time on the deck, in a teeny bikini, drinking wine and catching up on my TBR list. Literally, that was all I did. Well, except for one of the bellboys, once. And the first mate, in exchange for a secret tour of the cockpit."

  Mara shrieked. "What? You never told me this!" She threw another magazine at Claire. "You fucked a bellboy and the first mate on that cruise?"

  I blinked in surprise, and assumed Claire had been joking. But she just shrugged. "Mara, diddly-dinkums, it's not like I've told you about every single dude I've ever fucked or messed around with. Only most of them."

  "But the first mate of an Alaskan cruise line? That's kinda major news to keep to yourself, hooker."

  Claire snickered. "Not if you'd seen him. He wasn't anything to write home about. Nice cock on him, though, and I'd rate him six out of ten on technique." I choked on my wine, and spluttered; Claire chortled at me in amusement. "What? Six out of ten is actually a decent score. I've fucked threes and fours. A two, once. Brock is a ten, obviously. Or, like, eleven or twelve. Maybe even a twenty. He does this thing where he--"

  "CLAIRE!" Mara bellowed. "Overshare, babe. Even for me."

  I blinked. "I'm sorry, but is this...for real? Or are you joking? I know I might be a tiny bit naive, but your sense of humor is a bit dry, so it's hard to tell."

  "My sense of humor is dry-ice dry, babe," Claire said. "It's a rare humor style called 'sick burn'. And no, I'm not joking. I'm telling the real story as it actually happened."

  I looked to Mara for confirmation, and she just nodded. "Yes, she really was that much of a ho, until she met Brock."

  "I really was. Brock has changed me, however. He has converted me from my sluttiness into a one-man woman." Claire glanced at the door to the stairs, which opened to admit a line of men each more handsome and sexy than the last. "Speaking of whom...hey there, snookums. How was work? Come throat-fuck me with your tongue."

  The first man through the door strode immediately and with purpose across the room and straight to Claire, took her in his brawny arms, and, indeed, kissed her so thoroughly I began to grow uncomfortable. When the kiss ended, he straightened, brushed Claire's pixie-cut blonde hair aside and kissed her nose, and then her forehead, and then tweaked her nipple.

  "Hey you," he said to her. "Work was fine. Why are you up?" He shot a look at Bax. "Scoot over, would you?"

  "What, like your tubby ass is gonna fit on this couch? I don't think so, GQ." Bax crossed his enormous arms over his bare chest and shook his head. "Nope. Not scooting. Take your midget woman and go sit somewhere else."

  I looked over the man I was assuming, based on Bax's introductions and previous description, was Brock, the next oldest Badd brother. And he was, indeed, GQ-model gorgeous. Clean cut, with wavy brown hair combed neatly back and to one side, with the perfect amount of stubble on his jaw, eyes a golden-brown to match Baxter's, and a lean but powerful build. His face, though, was what set him apart. He was just...beautiful. Not many men can claim that word as an accurate descriptor, but this man? Oh my. Definitely. More than beautiful, it was almost beyond description how just absolutely carved-from-marble perfect his features were. He scooped Claire off the arm of the couch and settled with her on his lap in a deep leather armchair.

  Zane, too, was stupidly good looking, but in a deadly sort of way. Looking at Zane was like being three feet away from a wild, hungry Jaguar, seeing its eyes fixed on you and knowing it could pounce at any second and you wouldn't stand a chance. He just exuded lethality in a way I've never encountered before, even among Father's private security, and the Secret Service members I'd met. He was gorgeous, but he was so outright terrifying in his presence that he made my bladder weaken, just a little; yes, he was pee-your-pants scary. Which reminded me, I had to ask him what he'd done to my erstwhile rapists.

  The next man through the door was Sebastian, the bouncer I'd met earlier. Six-four, easily, towering over everyone else in the room, he was somewhere in between Zane and Brock in terms of dangerous bad boy attitude and raw masculine beauty. He had tattoos in what I think are called full sleeves on both arms, going from wrist to up under the sleeves of his T-shirt, short, messy brown hair, and the same liquid chocolate brown eyes as the other men. Handsome as the others, in a rugged, intimidating, intense sort of way. Big, burly, with fierce eyes scanning the room to find Dru. He stomped over to her, kissed her as intensely as Brock had kissed Claire, and then physically picked her up and sat in h
er place, settling her on his lap, where she curled up against him as if she were a cat. It was adorable and it made my heart ache, seeing the way these big, scary, intense, handsome men treated their wives and girlfriends.

  The next two through the door, almost side by side, were Canaan and Corin, from Bishop's Pawn. Completely identical, differentiated only by their apparel and their hair, they looked every bit the rock stars they were. Nearly as tall as Sebastian and lean and hard, they both wore skinny jeans that were almost but not quite too tight, the cuffs tucked into slouched-open combat boots on one twin and well-worn, Sharpie-decorated Chucks on the other, tight graphic print T-shirts featuring the names of obscure bands on both, full-sleeve tattoos on both, piercings, leather belts with studs and iron crosses, leather bracelets and friendship bracelets and thick leather bands on both arms of both of the twins.

  One of the twins had shoulder length hair left loose and messy, drifting across his face and sticking to the stubble on his jaw, and the other had a severe undercut, the sides buzzed and the top left long enough to tie back into a ponytail, with the last two or so inches dyed a bright pink--according to the photo, Canaan was the long-haired one, and Corin had the undercut.

  After the twins came another brother, tall and lean and razor-sharp in build and facial features. His hair was easily the longest of any of them, bound low on the nape of his neck, with the end trailing down to mid spine in a thick, wavy, brown ponytail. Like the other brothers, he had dark brown eyes, and was absurdly good looking. This one, though, was...hard to encapsulate in mere words. Not GQ, male model beautiful like Brock, nor rugged and intimidating like Sebastian or the other older brothers, he was...elfin. He reminded me of Tolkien's description of the elves in Lord of the Rings. Definitively masculine, exuding a calm, quiet sense of inner strength and confidence. Sharp featured, exotic looking, with a gaze that flitted around the room and missed nothing. From the photo Dru showed me, and Baxter's identification, I knew this brother was Lucian.

  Lastly, Xavier, the youngest. Like Baxter and Canaan, the long-haired twin, Xavier sported a hipster undercut, but the top of his hair wasn't as long, instead was just long enough to be messy, wavy, and effortlessly attractive. His hair was by far the darkest brown of any of them, and he was the only one to have green eyes, rather than what seemed to be the Badd brother signature puppies-and-chocolate brown. He had tattoos on his forearms, a complex web of higher math symbols and interlocking geometric shapes, and three small gold rings through each ear, and he was built like the twins and Lucian, meaning tall and rangy and lean. And like all the brothers, he was breathtakingly gorgeous, coming across as a little nerdy and completely unaware of how good looking he was.

  And now I had all eight brothers in one space, and it was seriously overwhelming.

  I leaned close to Dru and whispered in her ear. "How do you do it?"

  "Do what?" she whispered back.

  "Deal with..." I tilted my head to indicate the room in general. "This amount of macho, testosterone, hot guy intensity all in one place."

  She snorted, choking on restrained laughter. "Honestly, you never really get used to it. They're all so fucking gorgeous it's just stupid. What's worse is, no matter which order you look at them in, they're each hotter than the last. It's a problem. And when they're all in one room like this, my ovaries tend to go a bit haywire."

  Sebastian--whom everyone else seemed to call Bast--heard this exchange, since he was right there with Dru on his lap. "Did you know we have our own secret fan page on Facebook?" His voice was so deep I felt it vibrating my stomach, yet it was smooth and rumbly, reminding me of nothing so much as the warning snarl of a grizzly bear.

  Dru twisted on his lap and eyed him skeptically. "Bullshit."

  Sebastian glanced at Xavier, who had slid to a spot on the floor with his back against the wall, a bit separated from the rest of the group. "That Facebook fan page you stumbled across, Xavier--Dru doesn't believe it exists."

  Xavier lifted up, snagged a tablet computer off the island counter, and sat back down, flipping the device open and tapping and swiping so fast his finger was a blur. In seconds, he had something pulled up, and passed the tablet to the nearest person, Lucian, who was sitting on a stool. Lucian scrolled, frowning slightly, and then snorted a soft breath out of his nostrils.

  "Crazy. There really is a fan page. Who knew?" His voice was quiet, soft, and smooth. "How'd you find it, if it's a secret, invite-only page?"

  Xavier shrugged, a little too casually. "You know. Just...one of those things."

  Sebastian laughed. "Meaning you hacked in?"

  "More or less," Xavier answered, shrugging, but not quite able to suppress a mischievous grin.

  Lucian handed the tablet to Canaan, who shared it with Corin, both of them taking turns swiping and tapping in eerily perfect synch.

  Corin passed it off to Baxter, and I glanced over his shoulder.

  "Dude, some of those chicks are seriously thirsty. Some of the shit they post would make even Claire blush."

  The name of the page was Badd's Bar and Grill in Ketchikan, Alaska: home of the eight most sinfully gorgeous brothers on the planet. A bit of a long and wordy title for a Facebook Page, but it conveyed the content clearly. And as Baxter scrolled through the page, tapping on a post or a photo here and there, it became obvious what Corin was talking about. Most of the posts were photos of the brothers taken by patrons of the bar. Some were candid, and others were selfies of the patron with one or two of the brothers. These guys were like small-scale local celebrities, it seemed, judging by the sheer number of photos posted to the page. And, as Corin had said, the posts were almost uniformly libidinous. Indeed, reading some of the posts, I did blush. They mentioned in explicit detail what they wanted to do, and to whom, and for how long, and in some cases, in which position. Others just featured suggestive use of emojis, and some were an open invitation addressed to the brother in the photo; one such was a photo of a buxom blonde cozied up to Baxter, grinning ear to ear, who had added a caption to the photo: bax, if you're ever in D.C. hit me up and I'll suck your cock until you can't walk straight--and then she included in a comment beneath the photo her phone number and a photo of herself, naked in front of a mirror, with stars added by a filter to cover her nipples.

  Bax left the photo and the comment up, and passed it to Sebastian, laughing. "Seriously, though, check out that shit. I mean damn... that's forward. Just straight up find me in D.C. and I'll blow you? Not even asking for a howdy-doo first or anything. And she leaves her phone number? I mean sure, it's a private, invite-only, all-female group, but still. That shit is bold, man."

  "And would you?" I asked, unsure what answer I was hoping for. "Find her in Washington for a free blowjob? And, by the way, the phrase is actually without so much as a how-do-you-do."

  Bax winked at me. "Eva, sweetheart, I'll be straight with you. Yes, I would, in a New York second. But--and this is the shit you gotta hear--not if I've got someone else around I'm interested in. I don't play mind games or bullshit like that. If I'm into someone, straight up, my interest is locked and loaded and I will not be distracted by anyone or anything, not even a free BJ from a bottle blonde with silicone tits. Naw'm'sayin'?" He slurred the final phrase so badly that I wasn't sure, at first, what he'd said.

  "They were rather obviously fake, weren't they?" I said.

  "Nobody is born with tits that firm and that perfectly round. That shit is silicone or I'm Freddy Mercury." He eyed me, and his gaze deliberately slid down to my breasts, and then back up to my eyes. "And lemme just point out that while I'm not, like, against it, that look ain't really my aesthetic. I prefer things...natural."

  I felt my nipples harden under his scrutiny. "I see. Good to know."

  "How did my story about meeting Brock get hijacked into a conversation about Evangeline's luscious mounds?" Claire demanded.

  I blushed yet again, and crossed my arms over my chest. I was naturally well-endowed, a fact which I was beginning to thi
nk, clearly, had not escaped the notice of, well, anyone in the room. I half-wished I'd left my bra on, but it had just felt far too good to take it off and let the girls breathe a little, and I hadn't been expecting...well, any of this.

  "Luscious means delicious, succulent, lush, and juicy, Baxter. Just so you don't miss the context of the comment," Brock said.

  Baxter glared at Brock. "Shut your vapid shithole mouth, you waifish bitch of a man. I did go to fucking college, you know." He glanced at me, addressing his next comment to me. "I graduated high school at seventeen, got a full athletic scholarship to Penn State, started varsity all four years, and carried a three-six GPA, graduating with cum laude with a degree in Special Education. Just so you know."

  I blinked at him. "You have a degree in Special Ed?"

  He shrugged. "I had some experience with it in high school. Never did anything with it, since I got drafted by the CFL after I graduated."

  "The Canadian Football League?" I specified.

  He nodded. "It was that or try out at the combine, and it seemed like playing ball in a pro league would be a better experience than playing some shitty farm team somewhere in Butt-Fuck Illinois or wherever. The NFL drafting process is complicated, and I just wanted to play ball." He shrugged. "I had the Bears, the Patriots, and Seattle all put down offers to sign me earlier this year, but then I got word that I was needed back here, so...here I am."

  Sebastian leaned forward to look at Bax. "You had actual offers?"

  Bax shrugged. "Yeah. I was talking through the best options with my agent when that shitstick attorney called me--what was his name?"

  "Richard Ames Borroughs," Sebastian answered.

  "Yeah, him. God, what an obnoxious asshole. He called me and filled me in on Dad's fucked-up will, and, well, that was that. Bros before ball, you know? And besides, I was good, but NFL good? I dunno. Those guys are good."