by Cherise West
I still have my dad's revolver stuck under the creaky floorboard near the headboard.. just in case it's some kind of setup for O'Connolly. Ugh.
This is why I didn't want to deal with him in the first place. What a mess you've gotten yourself stuck in again, Gracie Devlin. Dad always told you this was a bad idea, hanging out with a Lifer.
The streets are slippery with the low-lying fog and the damp collected puddles of another late night storm on the South Side. The scents of steam, smog and sweat waft through the air, the last tendrils of cigarette smoke clung to my leather corset swirling around my nostrils and poisoning the sickly smell of the city streets for me. Passing each alley and row, the dirty cornerstones and the messy apartments and crumbling old dive bars, I round the corner leading down the path towards my cramped hovel.
Spinning around the corner his eyes meet mine, standing wet in the drizzle on the cracked sidewalk leading up to my front door. He watches my motions closely. Heels echo across the soaked concrete, carrying me forward with each step until I stand a few paces away from him. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and neither do I. Time passes, the moon beams, the crickets chirp and the low thrumming of the late night life on the South Side fill our ears until one of us finally manages to speak.
“What are you doing here?” my voice is filled with all kinds of venom for him.
“Meeting you,” comes a completely disinterested response. Like nothing happened at all tonight.
“Meeting me? What, you aren't too busy out doing who-knows-what for O'Connolly?” I spit back. He groans deeply, shifting on the sidewalk.
“I thought this wasn't supposed to involve our personal lives, Gracie. You know what I do,” he says. My eyes scan his body – wrapped in that same battered leather jacket, his taut muscles hidden just beneath the tight tank-top cresting over his tattooed skin, jeans wound up close to his muscled legs. I stuff the feelings he brings out of my curvy body into a box and hold my position.
“That's why you weren't at fight night tonight? I was expecting you,” I growl.
“I know,” he responds.
“You know? How? Or did you just think I bow to your beck and call or something, ass?” It's hard to believe the nerve on him, is he just that arrogant?
“No. You're dressed up, for work. You don't dress up to go work at Sully's not like that,” he speaks flatly. Suddenly recalling the fancy corset, running makeup, skirt and heels, the sheepishness in my chest burns an embarrassed blush momentarily across my cheeks.
“Well, still. I just expected you to be there. I didn't just get dressed up for you. Sometimes I like to feel good about myself,” I sass.
“Sure,” he says flatly. I double-take and grimace.
“That's it? That's all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say,” he groans, annoyed, in response. “You're the one that wanted to meet me here, came to my door and told me you'd be waiting. What do you mean, what do I want you to say? What the hell do you want?” the tension building in my chest spews out like hot dew into the air and I grit my teeth, flexing my fists to work the anger out.
“I knew you'd be like – this,” he gestures to my stewing rage, “and I wanted to defuse.. whatever stupid shit you might be planning to do before you did it.”
“What do you think I'm going to do? I told you, you told me. It's not personal, between us,” I stammer.
“You take everything personal, Gracie. I knew you'd take it personal that I wasn't at fight night tonight, and I knew you'd take it personal that I was working late for O'Connolly.” I guess he's.. sort of right. Not completely right, I know what we have isn't a relationship. We're not together. He's just pissing me off with the attitude, that's all.
“Well, I don't want you to get yourself killed, Braden, Jesus,” I snap wryly. “That's hardly something personal. Who knows with you? You work for the fucking..” I hiss sharply at him, “for the boss of the biggest mob on the South Side. Who knows what might happen to you? Why you might just not show up for fight night, after you've been there every time since.. since you came back?”
“That's a bunch of crap and you know it Gracie,” he spouts. “You just take everything too personal. I knew it'd be a mistake to try to do this with you.”
“You know what, Bray, fuck you,” I tell him off, not hesitating a moment to spew the words in his direction. All the worry, the concern burning in my breast all night, and this is the reception I get – worrying me, dragging me out of work down to my house like this? He's such an insufferable prick.
“You were always a disaster, Gracie,” he grumbles. “I can see why--”
“Don't give me that crap, Braden, you're standing in front of my house, giving me shit for worrying that you might be dead in some ditch all night?” Not pulling punches, my heels carry me closer to his face, the rage burning rosy red on my fair-skinned cheeks. “Yeah, okay, I guess it's a little 'personal' when I'm afraid you might be getting killed.”
“I've made it five years working for O'Connolly and I'm not dead,” his voice thrums low, a husky baritone – the same sort he knows melts me to my core. “Four years of it without worrying about you getting pissed like this at me about it. We do--”
“Yes, yes, we do what we have to do, Braden, I've heard that before. Just- fuck you,” I spout out, my face clenched, my fists tight and rage pouring from every bit of me.
“I'm going to miss fight nights, Gracie,” he groans. “And you're going to have to deal without me for a night. Do you think you can handle that?”
“I'm--” I can feel all that rage welling in my chest and I'm about two seconds away from punching the hell out of his face again. “Screw you, Bray, buzz off. Get the hell off my sidewalk.”
“I didn't think you could make it a night without me giving you what you want--”
“Screw. YOU, Bray!” A balled-up fist launches from my side towards his cheek, soaring through the air with all the rage, and the tears starting to nip at the sides of my eyes. I can't believe the nerve of him. My knuckles rocket towards his cheekbone and -
He grabs my hand, right out of the air, a reaction I didn't expect. His fingers lock tightly around my wrist. He's gotten a lot quicker in all the years since the last time I threw a fist towards his face. He really has been training – he deflects my attack without even really trying, staring into my gaze.
I see that stormy fire, deep in his gleaming, green eyes. Subdued, but it's there.
“Screw me?” he seethes through his gritted teeth.
“Screw you, Braden,” the sound echoes the last exchange we had. Something about him drives me up the wall. I just can't ever put my finger on it.
“Maybe if you invited me into the apartment, sure,” he hisses, leaning in against my cheek with his filthy, rough voice crooning darkly. “Or we could start here in the street, if you're still in to that..”
“Don't--” I try to pull away but he grasps my wrist tightly and I give in, my body flowing against his strong muscles, my curves melding tight to his flesh. He steals a vicious kiss from my pink, glossy lips, our bodies melting like hot, melting sugar across one another, drinking in the feeling and the lust while our tongues slipped wildly between one anothers' lips, dancing messily in a twisting, tantalizing exchange. My eyelids flutter in shock and finally clasp shut, vivid fantasies leaping through my mind in the darkness while I drink the taste of Braden's mouth like heavenly succor, my free hand grasping harshly at his belt and pulling him tight, our bodies pressed to one another, feeling every twitch and sensation that the hot, passionate kiss brings out in every tense muscle in one anothers' bodies. A moan creeps from the depths of my throat and my eyes flash open again, watching the passionate worship he praises my lips and my tongue with so mercilessly.
Pulling my cusps away from his I gasp for breath, the sudden and explosive power of Braden's kiss leaving my lungs strained for air, and my feminine curves flush with his muscles and begging for more.
“You're a
dick, you're insufferable, you're a prick, you're intolerable, you're--”
“I'm hot, I'm rough, and I'm everything that gets you excited, Gracie, don't even try to deny it.” I can't deny it. I really can't. Our chests lift and fall in a quickened rhythm and my eyelids flutter, that deeply seductive gaze burning in my brown eyes.
“Just shut up and get inside,” I whisper against his lips, stealing another sultry kiss from his wet lips and pulling at his jacket, tugging him towards the front door of the apartment with tension burning in every nerve.
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My other steamy romances for you to enjoy~
The PRIDE of South Boston, a Bad-Boy MMA Fighter Romance
His PERFECT Medicine, a sexy Alpha Male Forbidden Romance, coming SOON!
Three Sexy Minutes, an irresistible Rock Star Second Chance Romance, coming SOON!
Thanks for reading, lovelies~!
Table of Contents
Legal
Good Girl Gone Bad - Or A Wild Heart Freed?
Table of Contents
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
Excerpt from "His PERFECT Medicine"
Excerpt from "Three Sexy Minutes"
The PRIDE of South Boston Sample
Connect with Cherise
