Reckless: A Bad Boyz Anthology

by Anthology

  Thank you for putting Graham and me up. I’ll find some place to live soon so I can get out of your hair.

  She’d spun away from me—black hair flying through the air—and I’d felt that PTSD panic building inside me, so much so that I missed the sound of choked-back tears. I’d made her cry, and rather than comfort her, I’d fled the kitchen quickly. And a few hours later, Graham had moved me elsewhere.

  I wandered through the house until I was there—in the bedroom beside Rachel’s. My gaze moved quickly around the neatly decorated space. The furnishings were different now. It hadn’t looked like this. The guest room had been something else at one time.

  My head felt near to exploding as I tried to dig through the debris of conjured and misleading mental images. Then my eyes went wide as Rachel following me into the bedroom came slowly into focus.

  “I’ve set up all your things next door in the guest room, Dillon,” she had explained. “Do you want me to show you where it is or do you remember? I think we should go see where you’ll be staying. It can be as temporary or as permanent as you need it to be.”

  The way she’d studied me—as if afraid and yet searching my face for something—had kicked up my internal distress.

  I’d shoved my hands in my pockets and taken several hurried steps back from her. “Like I said, I’ll be out of your way as soon as I can.”

  I’d quickly closed the door between us, and something had rattled on the wall, setting off my mental storm badly enough that Graham had taken me from her house and relocated me at the condo.

  I stared, fighting to focus. What had this room been? And then…I could see everything in perfect clarity inside my head. Bassinet. Changing table. Letters on the wall spelling ‘Cody.’ A rocker. A picture of me beside the crib.

  Oh fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  My legs went to putty beneath me and I sank down on the floor, cradling my head. The room I’d freaked out in was Cody’s nursery, and suddenly the last chunk of elusive reality hit me in the face.

  Cody was my son.

  No wonder I’d lost complete hold over reality—my duty was to protect and I hadn’t done that for either of the two people I loved most.

  I had failed to protect Rachel during that home invasion, and later abandoned her when she’d been pregnant. Whether it was my fault for not fighting hard enough in the hospital to get back to her or my heart that couldn’t bear having seen her harmed, it didn’t matter.

  I’d failed the woman I loved.

  I’d failed my son.

  The reasons meant nothing.

  The only thing that mattered was fighting my way into her forgiveness, her heart, and the life we used to have together.

  A sound from the doorway made me look up to find Rachel watching me as I sat there crying.

  I needed to say something but I didn’t know what, and before I could rally myself to speak she stepped into the room and sank down in front of me.

  Her expression told me she knew exactly what was happening, and I suddenly felt vulnerable, afraid, and yet hopeful. She was still here. It had to mean something.

  “Rachel—” My voice broke off. What hell could a man say to his wife after being the man I’d been for the past five years? How the hell had she continued loving me? The look in her eyes was humbling. “I don’t know how I’ll ever make up to you all the things I’ve done. Please, just tell me you’ll let me try.”

  She took my face in her hands. “I love you. Whatever is left to go through, we’ll go through together. Welcome home, soldier.”

  Then she surrounded me with her arms and legs in a tight cocoon of a hug, and I was overwhelmed by the feel of the safety of her love that had never deserted me. My tears flowed stronger, preventing me from speaking all the words I desperately needed to say to her.

  But she didn’t let go.

  I didn’t pull back.

  And I knew we had at last started the final journey home, together.

  ~The End~

  Or is it? Dillon, in this anthology, is a novella. But I have bigger plans for 2016. There is so much more ahead for Rachel and Dillon, Graham and Zac, and a few other hot men, ex-Special Forces turned bodyguards, in my Locked & Loaded Series. And if you want to continue in the rock star universe, you can find Alan Manzone in the Half Shell and Sand & Fog Series. Oh, and Dillon and Graham make special appearances in The Girl of Sand & Fog. You can check out all my books by visiting my website www.susanwardbooks.com

  You can also find me on twitter @susaninlaguna

  Or on Facebook: SusanWardbooks

  WADE

  By: Scarlet Wolfe

  Dedication

  To Author Kim Black for creating my amazing covers.

  Most importantly, thank you for being a dear friend.

  Chapter One

  Wade

  THROWING MY FORD pickup truck into gear, I peel out down the dirt driveway that is in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The owner’s car rattles on the trailer.

  “Whoo! We are making the dough this week,” my friend Shane says.

  “Hey, the owner could still come out shooting at us. Give me a minute to get the hell out of here before you gloat.”

  “Ex-owner. The bank now owns this piece-of-junk Taurus, and they owe us money for repossessing it.”

  I keep glancing in my rearview mirror until we pull out onto the two-lane, country highway. All clear. It appears no one was home, which is the way I like it.

  This can be a dangerous job. It’s why my shotgun is mounted on the window behind my seat. I err on the side of caution, whereas Shane is a bit more reckless.

  “Last one of the day. Once we return this vehicle, it’s party time,” he says.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “With it being a Thursday, I hope we can still find some hot chicks tonight.”

  “Don’t forget we’re picking up that Mercedes tomorrow. I have a feeling the person will be home.”

  Shane punches me in the arm as I drive.

  “Wade Collins has feelings? I had no idea.”

  I smirk. “Shut up, asshole.”

  Laney

  “Do we have to wear these cowgirl hats?” I ask Jessica. “I love wearing the boots, but the hat is exceeding my country-girl limits.”

  I watch her roll her eyes in the mirror. She’s standing in front of it, putting on her bride-to-be tiara.

  “I know you’re more the princess, Laney, but I think you can pull up those bootstraps and play along one night for me.”

  As I stand behind her, I smile back at her through the mirror.

  “OK. Only because we’re sorority sisters.”

  She turns and hugs me ever so lightly, probably so we don’t mess up her clothes, hair or makeup.

  “There’s my South Carolina girl.”

  “I will always be a California girl. Sorry.”

  Letting me go, she frowns. “Play along. It’s one night.” Her finger comes out toward my chest. “Oh, and you’re getting laid this weekend. How you’ve made it through three years of college without sex is beyond me.”

  “I have Bob.”

  Jessica covers her mouth so she doesn’t burst into laughter. “I swear to god, Laney, you can’t rely on that vibrator for the rest of your life. I’m concerned for you. I mean, it has a name and permanent residence in your bedside table.”

  “Bob doesn’t say ignorant-ass shit, isn’t selfish and makes me feel pretty damn incredible. I think I have it quite good, thank you.” I tip my chin, trying to convince myself of that statement in the process.

  At least I’m not getting married before I’ve graduated college. Who does that? They should wait one more year.

  Lord, I need to get this long weekend over with. The bachelorette party is tonight, a day of swimming and pampering before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, and then the wedding is Saturday. Once it’s all over, I can go back to California for the summer.

  ***

 
; Pressing two fingers against my ear, I shout as I ask the bartender for another vodka cranberry.

  “Coming right up, sweetheart.”

  I fight an eye roll. I’ve been called sweetheart more times than I could count in this redneck state.

  OK, South Carolina has grown on me in the three years I’ve been here, but my heart will always be in California.

  A guy there has it and always will. When he smashed it inside his brutal hands, I fled to college in Clemson, South Carolina, where my mother attended school.

  Thinking about the beating my heart endured, I throw back the drink, swallowing it all. Every. Last. Drop.

  “Damn, sweetheart, that’s not a shot.” Rolling my eyes for the ten thousandth five hundred and ninety fourth time since I moved to this southern state, I look over next to me.

  Shit, he’s fine looking. The alcohol must be kicking in. “It all tastes the same no matter how it goes down my throat,” I utter.

  It’s obvious he wants to laugh at me, but he has to swallow his mouthful of beer first.

  “I always wondered. Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

  I flush Crimson. “You ass! I wasn’t talking about semen or cum or whatever names you disgusting pigs call it these days.”

  He chuckles again. “How about Jizz or Face Cream? But I’m definitely not a fan of Batter Baby. No making babies for me.”

  His wicked smile and crude humor remind me of another guy I once knew, and it makes me want another drink.

  His forearms are covered in tattoos, and I get a peek of one on his chest above his V-neck tee. He’s a bad boy. Even more dangerous to my heart.

  “I can't believe I’m having this conversation with a total stranger.”

  “I’m Wade, so now I’m not a stranger.”

  To escape him, I step down from the stool I’m sitting on, and my feet slip on the beer-soaked floor.

  “Shit,” I say as I begin to fall.

  Wicked Wade reaches out to grab me, but he falls off his stool, too, and takes me with him.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  He’s on his back, his blue eyes glazed over, and I’m lying on top of his firm body, staring down at him. His wicked smile returns, and he pulls me closer.

  “I guess I’ve had too much to drink, too,” he says before he lifts his upper body and plants a swift kiss on my lips.

  I gasp. “Let. Me. Go.”

  “Huh? What did you say, Goldilocks?” he asks, still wearing that smile.

  “You can hear me, asshole.”

  “I’ve never had a woman hit on me this way before. It’s a real turn-on.”

  Smacking his upper body with the wristlet on my arm, I feel how hard it connects with his solid chest. Pushing on his firm wall of strength to sit up, I then notice how wide and muscular it is.

  As drunk as I am, the thought of passing out in a teddy bear hug by his contoured biceps is appealing, but the semi-sober lobe of my brain snaps me out of it.

  Looking to the floor of this redneck bar, I see how disgusting it is, so instead of planting my hands on it to boost myself up, I try to scoot down his body.

  His eyes widen as they tilt down at me, and I realize where my face is now hovering. Lord, this gets worse by the second. My hands are resting over the button of his jeans and somewhat on his package.

  His hands reach into my hair, his fingers languidly weaving their way in like I’m a new puppy he needs to pet and get to know.

  A lazy, crooked smile gains strength once he recalls I’m a woman who is a mere inch away from the pet he’d likely want me to stroke.

  I wonder if he named it like I named Bob. It’s probably Zeus, or maybe Cock-a-saurus Rex. No, it has to be Wade the Wad Shooter.

  “Wow, you move fast,” he says with a chuckle.

  I glare at his way too handsome face and wonder with embarrassment how long I’ve been thinking about his tender, warm hands in my hair and his cock’s formal name.

  “Help me up please.”

  It registers in my brain that people are probably looking, so I glance around. Everyone is dancing and talking.

  I’m relieved once I discover no one cares that I’m lying on top of a guy in a bar, looking as if I’m about to give him a blowjob.

  Fuck!

  Gathering all my drunk strength, I do a push up against his strong thighs and lift my weight, scrambling off of him. Without looking back, I head toward the restroom. Dammit, there’s a line. I really have to pee.

  I press my palms against my forehead and cross my legs as I stand in the line behind probably a dozen women. My blonde ringlets fall forward against my face, warming it even further.

  Please don’t get sick.

  “You forgot your hat, Goldilocks.”

  I whip my head up and find Wade flashing a grin at me. He pulls off his ball cap, and I see his shiny, light brown hair. Golden shades are weaved through it much like mine.

  It’s matted from his hat, but he’s too sexy for words. He pulls it back down and holds out my cowgirl hat. The hat I didn’t even want to be seen in.

  I swipe it from him. “Thank you.”

  “Laney!” I look around the charming guy and spot my friends barreling toward me. Six of us are wearing pink sashes that say “bridesmaid,” and all of us aside from Jessica are wearing hats and cowgirl boots. She’s wearing her tiara of course.

  Wicked Wade turns around to check them out.

  “Ooh, you’re handsome,” Stephanie coos.

  “Well, look at you. Aren’t you a pretty sight,” he says.

  “I’m Stephanie. What’s your name, fella?”

  “Wade. I was just returning your friend’s hat to her.” He looks back at me and winks.

  “You’ve been talking to Laney?” Stephanie asks.

  “Laney. I like it.” He’s still staring at me with a grin.

  An amazing, spell-binding grin.

  Finally, he turns back toward my friends. “She was hitting on me, but something tells me she’s not as fun as you ladies.”

  Gasping, I throw my hands on my hips.

  “Let me buy you a drink, Stephanie,” he says before he puts his arm around her. They wander away, and I’m not surprised. She’s Jessica’s slutty cousin and only in town for the wedding.

  Jessica’s eyes widen. “Don’t ask,” I spout, holding out my hand like a stop sign. Aside from Stephanie, my friends join me in the restroom line. I’m ready for this night to be over with.

  I’ve had way too much to drink, and I managed to feel up a guy I don’t even know. A sexy, deliciously handsome guy obviously interested in someone else. Someone who is less uptight than I am.

  I need to pee, find sleep and forget about this hot man, Wade.

  Chapter Two

  Wade

  MY MOUTH OPENS and closes a few times as I try to work loose the cotton that has filled it. Damn, hangovers suck ass.

  I use the back of my truck seat to lift my body. Looking around, I discover I’m still in the bar parking lot, which likely means Shane is passed out in the back of my pickup. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, he’s face down, his legs spread so far apart it’s kind of funny.

  We need to stop making a habit of this. First, we were at a bachelor party. Then, we came here to our usual hangout, Sully’s. We obviously had way too many beers.

  I rub a hand down my face and climb out of the passenger side of my truck. The sun blinds me, so I shield my eyes. Beginning to take a step, I realize I’m standing in vomit, and it’s on my boots.

  Fuck. The last memories of the night come flooding back to me. I was about to take this chick home with me when she puked at the door of my truck.

  Out of nowhere, her friends came to her rescue. They were a bunch of bachelorette party girls. I can usually score with one of them if not two at a time, but I was too trashed myself last night.

  It’s probably for the best they carried her off. I doubt I would even remember the sex. Then, it would be all awkward since like most of th
em, she would expect me to take her number and treat her like a lady after she behaved like a slut.

  Hmm … I recall one girl from their group last night who definitely didn’t want to be treated like a slut. It only made me want her more.

  I bet she keeps those pretty, long legs of hers snapped tightly shut. Her black cotton dress was strapless and short, matching her black and silver boots. Damn, she was fine.

  When she was lying over my cock on the floor, with her green eyes tilted up at me, she looked anxious as hell. I could work that tension right out of her. My dick stirs as I think on it.

  What the fuck is that about? Forget her like you forget the rest of them.

  I walk around to the back of my truck and reach in. Gripping Shane’s ankle, I shake it.

  “Wake up, sleepy fuck.”

  He groans and rolls over. “How much did I drink last night?” he asks, rubbing his forehead and blocking the sun.

  “I haven’t a clue. I stopped counting mine at number seven. We weren’t supposed to get trashed. We have a yuppie dinner to go to and a job to do.”

  Panicked, I glance to my watch. “Shit, it’s eleven. Get the hell up. We have to shower and then go pick up that Mercedes.”

  “I’m glad we get a week of vacation after this one. I’m ready for some relaxation.”

  “Get out of my truck. Let’s make some money before we find us some chicks tonight. I’m getting laid this time.”

  Laney

  “Here you go,” I say as I hand out the mimosas from the tray I’m holding. Each of the girls from the bridal party take one from me as they lounge by the pool in my condo complex.

  “I can’t believe we’re drinking already,” Jessica says.

  “It’s one celebratory drink to kick off our day. We’ll swim for a few hours, then we’ll get our manis and pedis before the rehearsal dinner.”

  “I don’t think I can stomach it,” Stephanie says as she covers her midsection and turns her head away from me.