A Few More Rules

by Dorothy F. Shaw

  Bethany rolled over and blinked the sleep away in the morning light.

  Her bed was empty…

  Closing her eyes to the reality she wasn’t yet awake enough to face, she smoothed her palm across the mattress over the empty space. Instead of finding Colby’s big warm body, she found only the coolness of the sheet.

  At some point in the early morning hours, he’d left.

  He’d left her bed.

  He’d left her.

  Hoping against hope, Bethany tossed the blankets off, pulled on a nightshirt and padded out to the living room. Pushing her hair back from her face, she scanned the coffee table, end tables too. Nothing…

  She blew out a breath, and swallowed past the lump lodging itself in her throat and moved into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the lack of any sort of “I miss you already. Here’s my number,” note on the counter as she hit the start button on the Keurig and popped a K-Cup inside, ready to brew. After placing her mug on the drip tray, Bethany scanned the countertop bar…just in case.

  No note. No cell number. No Colby.

  All her hope was plain…stupid.

  Sipping her coffee, Bethany tried to tell herself it was no big deal. What they shared had been special, regardless of whether or not she ever saw him again. What he’d given her…his submission, his secrets, all of it had been a gift. An incredible gift she’d cherish forever.

  Better to have it once, then never at all, right?

  All her self-talk was every bit of rational and true. And although she’d done a fantastic job of convincing her head, her heart wasn’t getting the message.

  In addition, none of her foolish pep-talking had done a damn thing to soothe the fiery ache in her chest, as if she’d been hit by a sledgehammer. Or the empty pit that took up residence in her stomach, stealing her appetite. It definitely hadn’t reduced the lump the size of a boulder in her throat, which no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t swallow down.

  Bethany stepped in the shower…and cried.

  Once the water flowed over her hair and face, she couldn’t pretend anymore that Colby leaving didn’t hurt as much as it did. It fucking killed. The sting of her tears mixed with the hot water. Bethany did her best to convince herself that the feel of them washing away meant she’d be okay when she emerged from the darkness of heartbreak.

  So, her first one-night stand had resulted in the greatest night of her life…which just so happened to end in tragedy. Awesome. That’s sure as hell not how it worked in all those damn romance books she’d read. A bitter laugh bubbled out of her and she shook her head. Good grief.

  She’d be okay. Of course she’d be okay. Why wouldn’t she be? Bethany was young. She was independent. And she had her whole life in front of her. She had to be okay.

  But truth be told, Bethany might never be as free and trusting—and dominant—with anyone else in the same way she’d been with Colby. The experience with him may have been out of this world, but taking the same risk with someone else was a double edge sword she wasn’t willing to fall on.

  Bethany coughed as the taste of bile filled her mouth. The thought of being with another man had her stomach folding in on itself, and she went to her knees on the shower floor. Bending over her legs, she laid her head down on her knees. As the hot water beat on her back, she focused on breathing through the wave of nausea. In and out. In and out. God, please? Please…take this from me? It hurts too much.

  When the water ran cold, Bethany got to her feet, and stepped out of the shower. She wanted to call a friend, her mother, anyone. But the risk of sounding like some pathetic little clinger who bit off more than she could chew, was more than she could bear.

  After toweling off, she crawled right back into bed. Grabbing her cell, she called in sick to work and then pulled the covers over her head. Hiding in the safety of her blankets was about all she planned to do for the rest of the day and night.

  Casual sex was great, but it wasn’t for everyone.

  Clearly it wasn’t for Bethany.

  Chapter Nine

  “I said, step the fuck back! Now!” Badger grabbed Rig around the waist and yanked him away from the customer Rig had pinned against the wall by his throat.

  “What the hell!” Rig glared at his boss.

  Taking him by the arm, Badger walked Rig down the back hall and out the back door of the strip club. “The hell is your problem this week? Never seen you like this.”

  Rig jerked himself free of Badger’s grip and paced in a circle, trying to tamp down the rage still boiling in his veins. After a few moments passed, and Badger had lit a cigarette, Rig stopped his pacing and faced the man. “All good, boss. Sorry. Guy just pissed me off, is all.”

  Badger grunted and blew out a stream of smoke. “That all, huh?”

  “Yeah. Give me a break, all right? That’s it.” Rig put his hands on his hips and though he tried not to, he knew his tone sounded defensive.

  “Let me ask you something—” Badger dropped his spent cigarette on the ground and smothered it out with his boot. “I look stupid to you?”

  Rig knew he was treading on thin ice. Badger was irritated, and Rig was the cause. “No way, boss. Come on now. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

  “Damn right it won’t. I got no time to be bouncing my bouncers. As it is, now I’m late getting home to Rosie and the baby. I got no time for late either. Whatever’s got your panties in a bunch, you best take care of it. I don’t care what the hell it is, just fix it. Tonight. We clear?”

  Is that clear… We Clear… Rig winced, his chest clenching at the similarity of words to Bethany’s. But then shame blanketed him like a thick fog and he hung his head.

  Badger had been an awesome boss. But more than that, he was a badass who pretty much commanded respect, and not because he hadn’t earned it. He had. In spades. The last thing Rig wanted was to damage the good thing he had working at Deuce’s Cabaret.

  The past week had been a special kind of hell for Rig. Bethany haunted his every waking thought, and when he managed to sleep at all, she occupied his dreams. He tried, for all it was worth, to bury her.

  But she wasn’t going away and as a result, he’d become a walking time bomb. He’d lost it on three customers throughout the week, and tonight made the fourth. Badger was over it, and frankly, so was Rig.

  He was over not sleeping. He was over being in a bad mood. And he was definitely over depriving himself of the one thing he knew would make it all go away; make it all better. Rig knew what he needed to do.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped up to Badger and held out his palm. “We’re clear, boss.” Badger clasped hands with Rig. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna skip out the rest of the night, to go…fix it.”

  Badger’s lips curved into a smirk. “Good luck. Hope she’s worth it.”

  “She is.” Rig smiled his first smile since he’d left Bethany’s bed and took off for his truck. With only a little over an hour to get showered and be in the parking lot behind The Whiskey Barrel, Rig hauled ass to his small studio apartment.

  He’d fucked up big time, but he’d do anything to earn her forgiveness, and hopefully she’d give him a second chance. Because like he knew the night he met her, Bethany was right where he was supposed to be.

  “Night, Connie. Hope you feel better.” Bethany stepped out into the warm Arizona night and headed around the side of the building toward the back parking lot. The night had been busy, as usual thank God, because she hardly had any time to think about Colby. Plus, Connie had been extra bitchy, which had served as an awesome distraction too.

  She’d still thought of him though. Actually, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

  Keeping her eyes on her booted feet, Bethany stuffed her hands in her shorts pockets, and made her way through the back alley and into the parking lot.

  “Ma’am?”

  A bolt of heat shot up Bethany’s spine. She jerked her head up and stopped dead in her tracks. He was there. Waiting.
For her. The levee of hope broke and filled her chest again and she tried to hold it back. She did, but it was impossible. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and blinked, trying to ward off the tears threatening to fall. “Wh…what are you doing here, Colby?”

  “I fucked up. I made a mistake.”

  Bethany drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before walking the few remaining feet separating them. Standing in front of him, she tilted her head back to gaze into his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  He cleared his throat and then got down on his knees. Bethany’s eyes went wide. What the hell was he doing? Colby linked his arms behind his back and bowed his head. “Take me home with you, Bethany. For however long you’ll have me. I’m saying, I want another chance. May I please have a second chance?”

  “Oh, dear.” Tears fell, stinging her cheeks and she placed her palm on the top of Colby’s bowed head. Good grief, this man! What on earth was she going to do with him? How could she turn him away, ever?

  She couldn’t and she wouldn’t.

  Bethany smiled as relief filled her heart and she felt, for the first time in a week, like she could breathe. Smoothing her hand over his head and then down to his cheek, she cupped his chin and tilted his face up to look into his eyes. “You realize if we do this, I’m going to need to make a few more rules for you?”

  Colby’s heavenly lips spread into the most beautiful smile yet. “Yes, ma’am. I’m counting on it.”

  About the Author

  Dorothy F. Shaw lives in Arizona where the weather is hot and the sunsets are always beautiful. She spends her days in the corporate world and her nights with her Mac on her lap.

  Between her ever-open heart, her bright red hair and her many colorful tattoos, she truly lives and loves in Technicolor!

  Contact Dorothy: DorothyFShaw@Gmail.com

  Twitter: @DorothyFShaw

  FB Page: AuthorDorothyFShaw

  Newsletter sign up: YES please!

  www.dorothyfshaw.com

  Also by Dorothy F. Shaw

  The Donnellys Series

  Unworthy Heart

  Defensive Heart

  Shattered Heart

  Jaded Heart – fall of 2017

  Single Titles

  Yes, Darling

  Stripped Bounty

  Honey & Ice

  Against the Wall

  Three Times Lucky - Box Set Anthology

  By Dorothy F. Shaw & T.D. Hoffman

  Spare Hearts

  Play Date

  Stripped Bounty

  © 2016 Dorothy F. Shaw

  Protecting her isn’t an option. It’s a requirement.

  Badger finally got Rosie in his bed, but in order to keep her there, he has to figure out how to save her life.

  After her drug-running husband gets himself killed, Rosie Santini figures Phoenix is a fine place to get a fresh start. Deuce’s strip club isn’t too fresh, but the money’s easy. As she works the pole, the only gaze she can’t ignore belongs to the club’s head bouncer, Badger Baxter. But Rosie’s seen her fair share of tall, dark, and dangerous, and no way is she heading down that road. Not even for a hot hunk of muscle like Badger.

  When he’s not bounty hunting, Badger runs security at Deuce’s. Rosie should be just another piece of fresh meat in the club’s stable of pole jockeys, but all her sexy parts add up to a ride Badger would like to test drive. Trouble is, Badger likes his women submissive, but not broken. She’s definitely got baggage he wants no part of. But when her husband’s killer shows up looking for stolen cash, she fits naturally under his protection—and it isn’t long before she’s hooked deep into his heart.

  So deep, losing her now would make him bleed in more ways than one.

  Warning: This book contains violent situations due to physical altercations and gunfire. Be on the look out for D/s sexual play, which may cause drooling and might have you reaching for the nearest man or battery operated boyfriend.

  Stripped Bounty

  PROLOGUE

  The sound of the phone ringing split the silence of the dark bedroom, startling Rosie awake. She rolled beneath the covers and slapped at the nightstand in search of the cordless receiver on its base, missing it a couple of times.

  “Fuck…really?” Finally getting ahold of the now torture device and flopping back onto the mattress, Rosie hit “Talk” on the handset and raised it to her ear. “Someone better be dead!”

  “Rosie!”

  She bolted upright in bed at the urgency in her husband’s tone. “Joey? What’s wrong?”

  “Nuthin’.” He coughed. “All good. Listen careful, baby girl.” His voice was low and out of breath. “You listenin’?”

  Christ, he was always doing that to her—scaring the crap out of her for no damn reason. And he accused her of towing the drama line. Whatever. Rosie swallowed down the panic-induced lump that had risen in her throat and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was after three in the morning. Joey should’ve been home by then. What the hell had he gotten himself into now? “For the love of… Just get to the point. I’m listening!”

  “I took something and hid it. If I don’t come home you need to get it and then, no matter what, you get the fuck out of town.”

  “What do you mean if you don’t come home?” Rosie pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Are you getting arrested again?”

  “No. Why do you always assume that? Fuck’s sake.” He grunted and then coughed again.

  Why did she…was he serious? Rosie rolled her eyes. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

  “Whatever. Just listen. Go to the ladies’ room at the train station. Under the sink, behind the pipes, you’ll find a locker key taped to the wall. Grab it, and go to the self-storage lockers.”

  “Train station? Which fucking train station? What the hell did you take?” With a shove of the covers, she threw her legs over the side of the bed.

  “I took our future, baby.”

  Good God, she could practically hear the smile behind his words. Rosie looked up at the ceiling, knowing this was going to lead nowhere good. The only place that damn ego of his ever led him was back to jail. Unless… Oh, fuck no. Cold dread slipped down Rosie’s spine and she shivered. “You rolled the dealer, didn’t you? Jesus-fucking-Christ! Are you trying to get us both killed?”

  Joey let out a harsh sigh. “Keep your drama ass in check, Rosie! For real. I got this. That small-town fuck has no clue what he’s doing. His crew is no better. Trust me, it’s gonna be fine. Just take a damn breath for once and do what I say, got it?”

  “Do not yell at me, Joey!” She got to her feet and paced in the small space between their bed and dresser. “You go do something insane and you expect me to be calm?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I expect.”

  Rosie ran her fingers through her hair. She wanted no part of the world of drug trafficking he’d gotten himself into. And she’d made that very clear. Not that he ever respected what she wanted or needed. Too busy screwing up to bother. Regardless, Rosie had managed to stay far away from the people he’d been associating with.

  What he’d gotten himself into was a one-way ticket to jail or the morgue. Joey had already been to prison one too many times. Jesus, he hadn’t even been out more than six months from the last stint. At the rate he was going, it wouldn’t be long before he was back behind bars. Or dead.

  God, Joey had done a lot of stupid things, made a fuckton more stupid choices, but Rosie never thought he’d do something this stupid.

  She should’ve known, though.

  Always so goddamn greedy and always wanting more. Joey Santini thought he was a big-time hustler—big enough to pull something this insane off. But he wasn’t. He was small-time. Small-town—small fucking potatoes. Especially in the drug world. He was nothing but a runner. A peon. And he’d just put both their lives at risk. She blew out a harsh breath. “Which station, dammit! Where are you?”

  “Bridgeport.”

/>   Holy shit. That was nearly forty minutes away. The gravity of the situation hit her in the gut like a hard punch. She had no idea what to do. A tear dripped down Rosie’s cheek and she brushed it away. “Are you coming home?”

  “I hope so.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three months later…

  “No Colors or Weapons Allowed.”

  Rosie Santini read the sign mounted on the brick exterior wall of the establishment. Shaking her head, she opened the solid wood front door and stepped out of the Phoenix hundred-and-four degree heat and into the dimly lit, air-conditioned strip club.

  Back in the day “colors” meant a biker’s patches—as in motorcycle club patches. Commonly found on the back of a leather or denim vest. Considering there was a pack of Harleys parked on the sidewalk out front, Rosie figured in Arizona that’s exactly what the sign referred to. Plus, as she’d learned pretty quickly after arriving in town, barring having a criminal record, people could carry a gun in AZ right out in the open for all to see.

  She took a moment as her eyes adjusted, no longer sure if this was such a good idea, and looked around. Type O Negative’s “Christian Woman” blared from the speakers as Rosie walked forward on the old green and white—or gray, rather—linoleum-tiled floor. A small birdcage-style stage sat empty off to her left. To her right, the mahogany bar, with its large mirrored backsplash and various bottles of booze, stretched along the wall. In the center of the large space sat a collection of small round tables, a tealight candle atop each one, with two pleather chairs arced around them. Doing a quick count, around twenty or so customers occupied the bar. Not uncommon for the middle of the day in a strip club.

  Ahead of the tables was the main stage in the shape of an upside-down T. Mirrors lined the back wall with red curtains draped theatre style at their edges. White rope lights ran along the edges of the narrow stage leading down to the wide part, which held a pole on each end. There was also a spinning wheel mounted on the ceiling near center stage; she hadn’t seen one of those in years. And, finally, another pole near the mirrors along the back wall.