Against the Rules

by Tori Carson

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Against the Rules

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-526-0

  ©Copyright Tori Carson 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2015

  Edited by Jennifer Douglas

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 1.

  Bound for Justice

  AGAINST THE RULES

  Tori Carson

  Book one in the Bound for Justice series

  Targeted by a drug cartel, Teague is out for vengeance until Chantel lands in his lap. Is this fiery, redheaded submissive his lifeline or his downfall?

  One nosy keystroke and Teague’s life was changed forever. He lost his identity, his family and is constantly running for his life. There is little doubt that the cartel will eventually find and kill him. Until then he plans to put as many of them away as possible. It has become his single-minded goal.

  Chantel was raised with the knowledge that bogey men exist. She carries a gun and she knows how to use it. She is confident that she can take care of herself. Her only real fear is of dying alone, without ever knowing the meaning of true love.

  Teague has a weakness for redheads and the cartel knows it. They’ve used it against him in the past. When Chantel literally falls into his lap, he knows it is too good to be true. Convinced that it will be his downfall, he pursues her anyway. After a weekend of life-affirming sex, he vows to never see her again.

  Once Chantel has found the man of her dreams, she’s not going to let a threat against her get in the way. Now caught in the sights of a serial killer her father has spent his life hunting down, Chantel learns that there are worse things in life than death.

  For a chance to save Chantel, Teague must choose between his life’s work and the young woman who has made his life worth living.

  Dedication

  This series has been almost ten years in the making. My wonderful husband has been there cheering me on throughout all the rewrites and revisions. Without him, I wouldn’t be here today. It’s with love and appreciation that I dedicate this book to him.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  The Godfather: Paramount

  Scarface: Universal

  Kindle: Amazon

  Ellison machine: Ellison

  Jason from Friday the 13th: Paramount

  Norman Bates from Psycho: Shamely Productions

  Sig Sauer: Sig Sauer, Inc.

  Glock: Glock, Inc.

  Sig Saur forty-five ACP: Sig Sauer, Inc.

  American Express: American Express Company

  Colt: Colt’s Manufacturing, LLC

  Hummer: General Motors

  Jeep: Chrysler Group, LLC

  Prologue

  “Oh, Dan,” she screamed over the music. “More. Dan, I want you so bad,” she panted. Her breasts bounced in time with the tempo. “Oh, yes, Dan! Yes!”

  A fiery, redheaded minx writhing on his cock, begging for more, was any man’s dream. Her breathy coos should have stroked his ego. Maybe they would have, if his name had been Dan.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  The backbeat shook the bed. Each downward thrust was in perfect rhythm with the bass beat, her moans filling in the chords. She was riding him hard, just as he liked it. Her body, lush and curvy, was exactly his type. So why was he fighting to stay hard?

  He tried to focus on her moans and screams of pleasure, but it all sounded so fake. Was this broad auditioning for a porn flick or what? Shit, his whole life was such a crock. Where was the stop button, man? He just wanted to get off. Literally and figuratively. He chuckled at his private joke, but even that was becoming an uphill battle. What he longed for was his old life back. It was boring and normal and everything he wanted.

  With determination, he pushed his mind away from that line of thinking. He couldn’t change what was. He had a beautiful redhead fucking his brains out. That was real, even if ‘Dan’ wasn’t.

  Blocking out everything else, he held her hips and took control, picking up the pace. He felt it building, bringing them both to a fevered pitch. A few more strokes and he’d find a semblance of peace. The only peace he was allowed now.

  He surged one final time, waiting for her to meet him. Then, in less than a heartbeat, her throes of pleasure turned into cries of pain and terror. Torn from him by the hair, she stood between two goons with a gun to her head.

  Teague quickly sized up his opponents. Neither looked as though brains were their strong suit. The short one, holding a gun to the girl’s head, was built like a tank. Steroids were definitely on his breakfast, lunch and dinner menu.

  The taller one had less meat on his bones. He was sweating and his hands shook. Naturally, his finger was on the trigger. He was as likely to shoot himself as he was Teague. This was definitely his first rodeo, but he looked the badass part, sporting a bald head and goatee.

  “Sorry to break up the party, but you’ve got an appointment with Mr. G.” Roid Boy snickered.

  Of course these two losers belonged to G. No one else was out to kill him…that he knew of. The girl didn’t deserve this.

  Tears were streaming down her cheeks, wrenching his gut. A pang of guilt hit him hard.

  He might not even remember her name, but she hadn’t signed on for this. How the hell had they found him again? More importantly, what was he going to do about it? He was so screwed. Think, damn it. Think! His gun was out of reach and they already had one on the girl. A mistake at this point would surely get her killed and probably him, too.

  “You got the wrong guy.” He raised his hands in hopes
of defusing the situation.

  If these two assholes had orders to kill him, they could have shot him a hundred times already. Obviously, Mr. G. wanted him alive. For now. The bastard wanted to watch him die personally. Teague got a sick feeling knowing what they would do to the girl when they had finished with him.

  Roid Boy waved his gun as if he was talking with his hands. “None of that shit. We know exactly who you are.”

  Mr. G. ran a very successful drug and human trafficking operation. He would surely send this girl on down the line.

  Stalling for time to think, Teague tried to reason with them, “Let the girl go. She’s not involved in this. She doesn’t know anything.”

  “Too late. You should have thought of that before you ‘involved’ her, lover boy. Now get up. Mr. G. said to collect you. He didn’t say you had to be walking.”

  Mr. Shaky Finger was warming up to his role.

  “Please! Please let me go. I won’t say anything. I swear.”

  “Shut up, bitch! We’ve heard enough from your mouth already.”

  If he didn’t do something fast, this girl was going to pay for his stupidity. His gun was only a few feet away. A small diversion and he could take out the one with the forty-five auto to the girl’s head before he killed her. Hell, with a little luck he might even hit Mr. Badass with the goatee before he managed to get himself shot.

  Shit. These odds sucked and he was running out of time.

  “Okay, Romeo. On your feet. Now!”

  “Can I at least have my pants?”

  “Do anything weird and the bitch dies. Capisce?”

  What the fuck? Do these two stay up nights watching The Godfather and Scarface?

  Teague would have laughed at Mr. Badass’ stupidity, but he had finally caught a break. His gun was under his jacket next to his jeans. He had one chance or it was game over.

  “Nice and slow, lover boy. You got it?” With that, Roid Boy yanked on the girl’s hair for emphasis.

  “Ow! Damn it, Mikey, that hurts!” She struck him in the stomach.

  Mikey? What the fuck? She knows this asshole? No, no, no. His life couldn’t suck that bad. Could it? Of course it could. Look where it’d gone so far.

  Okay, plan B. No more worrying about Ms. Porn Queen, since she’d obviously set him up. He dove toward his clothes that lay on the arm of the chair, tipping it over in the process. Mikey’s gun erupted like a cannon in the close confines of the bedroom. The bullet tore a hole through the headboard and splinters caught Teague in the shoulder and arm. His second shot shattered the dresser mirror behind him. Tsk, tsk, Mikey. Seven years bad luck for you.

  Teague threw the chair pillow toward the bed with his left hand as he lunged to his right, setting the sights of his Sig Sauer squarely on Mikey. Another shot from Mikey’s forty-five shredded the pillow and lodged again in the headboard just before Teague’s bullets found their target.

  Two crimson stains ran down Mikey’s forehead as he dropped to his knees then slumped forward. Mr. Shaky Fingers had fired into the floor next to his own foot then in an arc dangerously close to Teague’s head.

  The hours and countless rounds Teague had spent practicing had paid off. His weapon was an extension of his hand. Each pull of the trigger was a deadly hit. No wasted shots. The first bullet hit the goon in the chest. The second and third shots landed less than an inch from the first.

  Shaky Fingers staggered, dropped his gun and mouthed something unintelligible before his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to the floor, leaving Teague with a hysterically screaming bimbo and one hell of a mess.

  Chapter One

  “So, I created this spreadsheet to help me keep my schedule straight. I color-coded the games to align with the level I’ve achieved. That way I can spend the same amount of time on each game, yet track my advances…”

  Chantel knew that her eyes had glazed over an hour ago. Rodney hadn’t seemed to notice. He still prattled on about video games and spreadsheets. Neither appealed to Chantel and she sure wouldn’t combine the two. Abstractedly, she wondered if he had a spreadsheet tracking the number of times he had picked his nose tonight. She’d lost count.

  She looked longingly at the exit. It was so close. She could be out of the door in seconds. Then what? Go home to her empty house, curl up with an erotic romance novel and wait for the alarm to go off so she could go to work again. Oh yeah, that sounded like fun.

  The slurp of beer brought her attention back to Rodney. Oh, God, there he goes with the nose thing again.

  “Excuse me,” Chantel murmured reaching for her purse and bolting for the bathroom. There was only one for both men and women.

  Chantel leaned against the sink and dabbed at the tears trying to escape. “You knew Rodney was a loser and you went out with him anyway. You deserve crappy-ass pizza, wobbly, squeaky chairs and watered-down diet soda.” She turned toward the ceiling, hoping gravity would help keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Seeing the rain-stained ceiling tiles only added another candle onto her pity party cake.

  In college, she and her friends had once cast a spell imploring the gods to bring forth a bodacious man to live out her fantasies, a strong man who could satisfy her needs sexually and have an intelligent conversation afterward. She’d wanted a man who could set her panties on fire with just a look or a whispered command. Hell, now she’d settle for a man who was more interested in her buttons than the TV remote.

  Chantel fell back on her mantra after each rotten date. Life doesn’t need to include men to be meaningful and fulfilled.

  She almost groaned at that thought. Being filled… When was the last time she’d had sex? No, don’t go there! It’s not like it was that great anyway. Messy, sweaty and quick.

  Another glance at the polished steel that passed for a mirror told her she was presentable. With her head held high, like a prisoner determined to face her sentence with dignity, she pulled open the door.

  * * * *

  Teague knew that he was being stupid. He knew he should have left temptation alone, but here he stood listening to the quiet sniffles and the one-sided conversation she was having with herself on the other side of the door. The beady-eyed twerp she’d been sitting with had Teague’s radar going off and his protective streak on full alert.

  As the door swung open, he used his body to block her exit. She responded by jumping backward away from him and farther into the restroom. He let the door close behind them. She clutched her purse and the vein in her neck beat fast, but she had a confidence about her he really hadn’t expected.

  “I’m sorry I startled you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You looked so unhappy.”

  Her response was a very feminine laugh.

  God, her tinkling giggle teased his cock in such a wicked way. It also pissed him off. “What’s so funny?” This woman had no self-preservation skills. A man cornered her in the restroom and she started giggling. What the fuck?

  “Well, it’s a laugh or cry kind of night. I’m trying to keep to the lighter side.” She flashed him a sexy smile.

  He was watching her closely. She seemed to like what she saw. “Fight with your boyfriend?” He was clipped and terse. This hadn’t gone as he’d expected.

  Her jaw tensed and an eyebrow shot toward the ceiling. “Blind date,” she corrected with a haughty air that sent his balls ratcheting a notch tighter.

  “Dump his ass and I’ll see you home.”

  She ran her tongue across her upper lip and her eyes dilated. She sighed as if she’d considered his offer, but her conscience had won.

  “I’ve got my own ride, but thank you for the offer. It was sweet of you.” She met his gaze as if he was no threat to her at all.

  Her confidence and poise under pressure intrigued him. He’d have liked to spend the evening with her. She would have been a delight in bed, too, but she’d said no. He needed to be a gentleman and respect it.

  Mustering all the self-control he’d gained over the years, he made his
feet move away from the door.

  * * * *

  “Daddy, Daddy, special delivery,” Bobby hollered as he ran in the door.

  Agent Robert Foster of the NBIA, National Border Interdiction Agency, grabbed his son and spun him through the air. He marveled for the hundredth time at how the poor kid looked just like him, from his orange carrot top hair to the slight split between his two front teeth. “What do you mean, little man? What have you got there?”

  Bobby handed his dad a plain brown envelope with no markings of any kind.

  Suddenly sick to his stomach, Robert ran his hand over the top. It was smooth. No hint of wires or powder. Slitting the side, he found a simple index card with, Mr. G. requests target coordinates printed on it.

  Robert set Bobby down gently and turned away, fighting the urge to puke. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed down the panic. “Son, where did this come from?”

  “A friend of yours. Dad, his chopper was so cool. He gave me a ride home from school. He said we might go for a longer ride next time.”

  It took a minute for Bobby’s words to sink in. Blood drained from Robert’s face and his stomach knotted. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” He ran his hands from Bobby’s head to his toes as his mind raced, hoping without any real hope that he was wrong. “What did he look like? Did he tell you his name?”

  The panic roaring between his ears made it hard to listen. There was little doubt about who it was. Mr. G.’s hit man, Sammy. A cruel, sadistic bastard who would smile for the camera as he skinned Bobby alive and videotaped it for Robert to watch over and over. He couldn’t have been more terrified if the devil himself had taken Bobby for a ride.

  “No.” He thought about it for a second. “I don’t know. He said he was a friend of yours. His bike was way cool, Dad. It had skulls on the tank and blood-red forks. I can’t wait to go for another ride.”