by Mia Ford
BETRAYED
A DARK ROMANCE
MIA FORD
Contents
Copyright
Betrayed
Cowboy Romance Series
Billionaire Smutty Romance Collection
Billionaire’s Nanny Romance Series
Lust: A Womanizer Series
Office Romance Collection
Mia’s Hot Seller - Fair Play (Complete Story)
Torn
Exclusive Excerpt and Cover Reveal: Playboy Billionaire (Releasing on 17th Mar’17)
Similar Books by Mia Ford (Available exclusively on Amazon only)
Copyright © 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.
Dedication
Hey,
I am Mia Ford, author of steamy contemporary romance. I love both reading and writing them!
First of all, I would like to thank you for choosing to download my book and read it. It really means a lot to me!!!
This book will offer you the best reading pleasure as I have included a few bonus stories for you….just my way of saying my thanks!!!
And I know since you love Older Man Younger Woman Romance stories, so with this book I have included my previous hot sellers!!
So, if you are a fan of that, then don’t forget to read my HOT SELLER’s - “DAD’S BEST FRIEND” & BREAKING RULES (COMPLETE STORIES). Both these titles have more than 160 customer reviews and a 4.3 star rating on Amazon!!!
SNEAK PEAK : Also, get a sneak peak of the cover and blurb of my next title - “BETRAYED”, that will be released on Amazon soon!!!
You can read this super steamy and explosive content via the TOC.
So sit back, relax, grab a glass of wine and let’s get this party started!
I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I did them writing!
Mia Ford. Let Loose Your Inner Nymphos.
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Betrayed
BLURB
I’d gone undercover before, but never with the intention of getting a suspect into my bed. That’s how hot Sean O’Connor was. He might have been the head of a criminal organization, but he was the hottest crook I’d ever seen. I wanted to cuff him to my bed and make him sing like a bird, and that’s what I’d do soon as I got the chance …
I swore to uphold the law, but it’s hard to slap the cuffs on a guy when his tongue is in your ear and his arms are wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe.
Sean O’Connor is a criminal, but he’s also dedicated and loyal and so sexy he makes my mouth water and my panties melt.
I know if I’m not careful, he might steal my heart and run. I can’t let that happen. I’m a cop and he’s a crook. When it comes down to the wire, Sean O’Connor is going down, no matter the cost.
Claire McAfee
I sat in my usual spot in the morning briefing of the Organized Crime Task Force and watched the other plainclothes and uniformed cops drift in. It was almost comical to call it a task force because it was just the four of us detectives who were permanently assigned and the seven or eight cops who rotated in and out on any given day.
It was more of a task group, but that didn’t sound nearly as cool or intimidating as task force. What bad guy in their right mind would worry about being investigated by a task group?
Probably, very few.
A task group was one step above a task club.
But I digress…
There were several rows of tables in the room, lined up one behind the other, each with six chairs facing the front wall where my ex-husband and task force commander, Captain Ed Henry, would stand and bring us up to date on anything that happened since the last time we’d met.
Yes, it was odd working so closely with my ex. Odder still was the fact that we got along much better now than we ever did during our six years of doomed marriage.
Maybe it was because we had nothing to prove to one another now.
Or maybe it was because now Ed could screw whomever he wanted without having to worry about getting caught and having me rip his nuts off with my sharp nails.
Ed was a great guy, but he was one of the biggest pussy hounds in the history of the department. I knew it when I married him, but I married him anyway, thinking that I could change him.
Stupid me.
What’s the old saying, you can’t change a leopard’s spots?
Well, I found out the hard way you can’t change a pussy hound’s ways either. Once a pussy hound, always a pussy hound. No amount of threatening or marital counseling could make him change his ways. All I could do was just divorce him and let him become someone else’s problem.
Despite his inability to keep his rather lengthy, uncircumcised cock in his pants, Ed Henry was a good cop and an excellent investigator who had made a name for himself putting away bad guys in expensive suits while I was grinding it out as an undercover investigator in Vice. The day he asked me to join the task force was one of the happiest days of my life. I was chasing hookers and johns for a living. Now I chase greasy gangsters with names like Charlie Baggo Donuts, Ricky Sticky Fingers, and Patsy O’Connor.
The nicknames these guys give each other are a little like the nicknames guys give their dicks. You’re never gonna meet a woman who has given her pussy a name. But every guy has a nickname for his dick, regardless of whether he will admit it or not.
Ed called his cock and balls Willie and his two nutty friends.
I know, silly, but come on, it’s kinda cute.
I always sat at the second table, middle seat, sipping bad coffee from the lipstick-stained cup I’d used since joining the task force three years ago and taking notes on an iPad. Some mornings the notes ran several pages. Other mornings, nothing at all.
There were five detectives permanently assigned to the task force. I was one of two women; and the only straight woman. The other woman was Joanie Alvarez, a chunky Spanish fireball who could make even the hardest of criminals back down with what she called her “angry lesbian stare”. And if that didn’t do it, she would break their kneecap with the heel of her sensible shoes or take out an eye with the point of her car keys. Joanie was barely five feet tall, but she was a force to be reckoned with.
The other members of the team were Lou Santiago, a tall Italian with dark hair and squinty eyes; Brad Danzig, the youngest member who spent way more time in the gym than any human should be allowed; and Lester Shanahan, a tall Irishman who always used slaps of Old Spice cologne to cover the nips of whiskey we all knew he drank during the day.
Then there was Ed, our fearless leader, who, at forty-five, was still tall and handsome and ready with the quick smile and warm hands that could still make my juices flow. We still had our little sex romps every now and then, even though he was usually involved with someone else and I swore that every time would be the last. When it c
ame to Ed, my willpower was shit. And he knew it.
Each team member, including myself, was a top-notch investigator with lots of successful operations under their belt. Maybe that was why we were all so fucking frustrated now. Ed stood at the front of the room and said it best.
“We’ve been spinning our wheels in O’Connor shit for six months, people. If we don’t get a break soon, we’re gonna have to close the book on these mother fuckers and let them walk. That is something I do not want to do. Am I clear?”
The “O’Connor shit” Ed was referring to was a criminal organization led by a notorious Irish gangster named Patrick “Patsy” O’Connor. The task force (task club) had been trying to collect enough evidence to bring O’Connor and his gang up on a multitude of charges for months, yet so far, we didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with jaywalking.
We all knew that our time was running out. If we couldn’t find the crack in Pats O’Connor’s armor soon the task force would either move on to the next gang on the list or, most likely since memos about budget cuts kept coming down from on high, be disbanded and everyone reassigned.
I shuddered to think that I might end up back chasing hookers and johns in Vice. At this point, I was willing to do anything to make sure our investigation into Connor’s organization somehow bore fruit and kept the team together. Anything.
I sipped the coffee and listened to Ed basically tell us that the weekend surveillance of O’Connor’s operation at the docks had resulted in nothing more than the usual comings and goings of O’Connor and his crew.
I let my eyes go around the white board behind Ed that was covered with the mugshot and surveillance photos of members of the O’Connor gang, with Patsy’s photo at the top, then horizontal and vertical lines displaying the hierarchy of his organization.
The higher a photo was on the board, the higher that person was in the organization. The photo directly below Patsy’s was that of his son, Sean, an attorney whom we believed was being groomed to take over the organization from his father.
“Claire? Claire?”
I blinked when I heard my name. I had been busted daydreaming about Sean O’Connor again. I couldn’t tell you exactly why, but the photograph of Patsy O’Connor’s only son never failed to catch my eye.
Tall, muscular, blonde, blue eyed, big Irish smile… he was, without a doubt, the best-looking gangster I’d ever seen.
I’d yet to see him in person, only in photographs and grainy surveillance videos, but there was something about him that made a little tingle run up and down my spine. I sometimes imagined him handcuffed to my bed, naked, with a ball-gag in his mouth…
Jesus, Claire, you really need to get laid.
“Claire?”
I looked up to find Ed staring at me. “Claire? You with us?”
I quickly swallowed the lump in my throat and pried my eyes away from Sean O’Connor’s photo, ignoring the heat between my legs. I looked at Ed and gave him a firm nod. “Yes, sorry, just thinking.”
“First time’s always hard, sweet cheeks,” Joanie said, grinning over her shoulder at me. I flipped her the bird and gave Ed my full attention.
“I asked if you had found anything else in Sean O’Connor’s background that we might be able to use to get in the door. Anything we can use against him.” Ed leaned an elbow on the podium next to him and shoved his other hand in his pocket and rattled the change he had on him. It was an old habit of his, shoving a hand in his pocket to rattle change when his patience was running thin. I’d been on the receiving end of it many times.
“Oh, well, not much I’m afraid,” I said, stumbling over my words. I cleared my throat and put on a serious face as I laced my fingers together on the table and nodded at the photo of Sean O’Connor.
“I dug deeper into his background before he went to work for his father, but I didn’t find anything useful,” I said formally. “The guy is so fucking clean he squeaks.”
“What about friends and business associates?” one of the uniformed cops sitting behind me asked. The name SAUNDERS was printed on his name tag.
I shrugged at him over my shoulder. “He does not have a large social circle. He has a few buddies from college who appear to be legit, but that’s it.”
“What does he do for fun?” Saunders asked.
“He spends most of his nights at a club downtown that he has an interest in called The White Rabbit.”
“I’ve been there,” Danzig said, his head bobbing atop his thick neck. He was wearing a skintight black t-shirt that struggled to contain the bulging muscles of his shoulders and chest. “Place is a fucking meat market.”
“The place is a pussy mill,” Joanie said, smiling sideways at Danzig, who always sat next to her so they could shoot off their mouths and snicker at one another. They were an odd set of pals, the young weightlifter and the older lesbian who preferred flannel shirts over silk blouses. She poked her elbow into his ribs. “You must have been right at home.”
Danzig sneered at her. “Like you don’t haunt every lesbian bar in the city looking for a rug to munch on.”
“Guilty as charged,” Joanie said, sticking out her tongue and running it across her lips. She held up a hand and Danzig slapped his palm against it.
“Guys, please,” Ed said. He held out his hands to me. “Claire, go on for those who are not up to speed on Sean O’Connor.”
I spoke without turning around to face the uniforms sitting behind us. “Sean O’Connor spends his nights drinking in the club’s VIP area and entertaining women with questionable morals and even more questionable taste in clothes.” I nodded at the back of Danzig’s buzzed head. “I think it might be a good idea to send someone to the club to have a look around and talk to the girls, just to see if they have anything to say about Sean.”
“Can’t hurt,” Ed said, pointing a finger at me, then at Danzig. “You and Danzig check it out.”
“Why do I have to go?” I asked.
“Because it was your idea,” Ed said.
“Fuck,” I sighed. “I hate disco music.”
“You’re not going to dance,” Ed said as he stepped behind the podium to look over his notes before moving on.
Danzig glanced over his round shoulder at me and grinned. “You and me, girlfriend. Wear something sexy and we’ll see where the night leads.”
“If I’m with you I’m pretty sure it will lead to vomiting,” I said, picking up my cup of now-cold coffee.
Lou Santiago, arguably the team member with the largest brain and the smallest sense of humor, leaned forward on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at the photograph of Sean O’Connor.
“Surely there’s dirt to be found on this guy somewhere,” Lou said. “You don’t grow up the only son of Patsy O’Connor and not have shit on your hands.”
“If there’s shit there, I can’t find it,” I said with a deep sigh.
The cop named Saunders spoke up again. I didn’t know if this guy was bucking to become a permanent member of the team or just shooting off his mouth. He asked, “Can you tell us what you do know about him?”
“Sure.” I proceeded to rattle off everything I knew about Sean O’Connor. I didn’t need my notes. I had this guy’s life memorized front, back, and sideways.
“Sean O’Connor, age 35, single, never married, only son of Patrick and Corinne O’Connor. High school football star, graduated with near perfect ACT scores, full academic scholarship to NYU, graduated in 2006 with a law degree from Harvard. Had offers from a number of big firms, but turned them all down to became his father’s personal attorney and corporate counsel at O’Connor Import & Export. He has never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. Like I said, if he wasn’t working for a known criminal organization, the guy would be so fucking clean he squeaks.”
“And that’s what makes him the key to all this,” Ed said, turning to the white board and tapping a finger to Sean O’Connor’s photograph. “This guy could have gone to a big firm right out of school and would be knocking
back two or three mill a year by now. Why would a guy who’s so fucking clean he squeaks go to work for a scum ball like Patsy O’Connor?”
“Because that scum ball is his father,” I said. “It’s the only reason I can think of, unless he’s a criminal at heart like his old man.”
“I don’t buy that,” Ed said. “We have no indication he’s a criminal regardless of his genes. He could be making way more in the private sector. We have access to his bank accounts. He’s doing well working for his old man, but nothing like he could do in a big firm.”
Lou chimed in again. “Maybe he’s trying to protect his old man.”
Ed folded his arms over his chest. “Meaning?”
“Maybe he’s trying to keep his old man out of jail while he tries to also legitimize the operation,” Lou said with a thoughtful shrug. “If it’s not about the money and the guy’s not a criminal, what else could it be?”
“Interesting angle,” Ed said, rubbing a knuckle over his chin. He looked at me. “Claire? Thoughts?”
“It’s a possibility,” I said. I liked the thought of Sean O’Connor not being a criminal. It would have been such a waste of hot human flesh to lock him up for twenty years. “A lot of the overtly criminal activities seemed to cease operations about the time Sean came onboard. They got out of extortion and loan sharking and seemingly started focusing solely on the import and export business.”
“Which we suspect is still one of the largest smuggling operations on the east coast,” Ed said. “Which keeps them squarely on our radar, regardless of how much of a choir boy Sean O’Connor appears to be.”
Lester Shanahan, who had sat listening quietly since the meeting began, cleared his throat and held up his hand like a kid in class.
“I may have a way in,” he said, flipping through the pages of the tattered notebook he always seemed to have in his hand. “According to a source of mine, Boozie Hamilton wants to retire.”
