Pretty Broken Bastard

by Jeana E. Mann

  Pretty Broken Bastard

  A Standalone Novel

  Jeana E. Mann

  Ishkadiddle Publishing

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Before You Go

  Also by Jeana E. Mann

  About the Author

  Links

  FREE OFFER

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Carter

  For the better part of a year, I’d been tailing Clarence Mortimer Benson III. And, for the better part of a year, I’d always been ten steps behind, ten minutes too late, or ten blocks away from capturing him. His girlfriend lived in the building across from a small independent coffee shop, so I started hanging out in the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The ten-thousand-dollar bond on his head kept me focused.

  From my seat on the bench across the street, I stared through the window of Joe’s Java Junction. The petite barista inside kept stealing my attention. Jo Hollander, bustled behind the counter, confident and commanding. Damn, I loved a self-assured woman. The tail of her long brown ponytail twitched as she moved between the cash register and the espresso machine. It wasn’t her hair that had me mesmerized. It was those tits. Big, bouncy, and too large for her tiny frame, they taunted me from a dozen yards away. I dreamed about those breasts at night, taking them in my hands, sucking her…

  I cut myself off. Hell, it didn’t matter what I thought. She was absolutely, undeniably, one hundred percent off-limits. At least, that was what my best friend, Rhett, said. The temptation of forbidden fruit made her even more attractive. Normally, I’d have blown off his warning and shagged her in the alley behind the coffee shop or in her apartment elevator or wherever she’d have me. In my opinion, all women were fair game as long as they weren’t married. Jo, however, was his future sister-in-law, and Rhett was one of the few people in this world whom I respected. I went along with his request, but it couldn’t keep me from spying on her or jacking off in the shower to fantasies of her hot little body.

  My phone rang. I hit the accept button. “Hey, Darcy. What’s up?”

  “One of our tipsters called. Your guy just got on a plane to New York.” In the background, her long fingernails clacked on the computer keyboard.

  “Shit. This guy is slippery.” For a college preppy from old money, Clarence possessed impressive criminal skills. Then again, in my experience, the older the money, the more questionable the morals. Of all people, I should know, coming from a long line of corrupt politicians. I tossed down the magazine I’d been pretending to read. “Get hold of the Brooklyn office. See if they can help us out.”

  “One step ahead of you, boss.” Darcy’s quiet efficiency emanated through the phone.

  “Have I told you lately how awesome you are?” I smiled at the mental picture of her in the office, dressed in a low-cut top and too-tight pants, her platinum blond hair in some kind of outrageous, elaborate updo.

  “Nope. Tell me now.” The typing ceased. “Or, instead of words, you could give me a raise. And if that isn’t possible, how about a nice couple of weeks in Tahiti?” Her voice lifted hopefully.

  “I’ll do better than that. If we catch this motherfucker in the next ten days, I’ll buy you a new car.” Since we’d met, she’d been tooling around town in a geriatric Lincoln Continental held together by duct tape and prayers. “Any car you want.”

  “Anything I want? Anything?” She held her breath.

  “Sure. Within reason.”

  “I’m thinking Mercedes. Convertible. Powder blue.” Excitement raised her voice an octave.

  “Give me Benson, and we’ll talk.” I jerked the phone from my ear as her squeal pierced the air waves.

  “On it.” The phone went dead, and the dial tone buzzed in my ear. That was one of the things I loved best about her. She didn’t waste time on words when there was work to be done.

  Pocketing my phone, I walked to the intersection. My lips pursed in a tuneless whistle. A pretty redhead gave me the once over. I winked at her, enjoying her smile. Across the street, Jo hung the closed sign in the display window and locked the door. I waited for the light to change so I could cross the street to the nearby parking garage. A few seconds later, a petite blonde emerged from the alley next to the coffee shop wearing dark sunglasses. Jo? I squinted against the bright sunlight. Yes, it was her. She might have hidden her dark hair, but those tits couldn’t be denied.

  The light changed, and I crossed the street. Jo tucked her chin against her chest and brushed past me. What was she up to? Some kind of kinky role play? Dual identities? No matter what the reason for her costume, Jo Hollander just climbed a few notches on my radar of interest. Unlike most men, I enjoyed a little bit of crazy in my bed. I glanced at my watch, warring between curiosity and responsibility. With three appointments and a court appearance on my calendar, the mystery of Jo Hollander would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  Jo

  The bell above the door clanged as morning customers flooded into the cramped coffee shop. Through the steam of the espresso machine, I scanned the faces, nodding to those I knew and giving each one a smile—until the last one. Brown, mischievous eyes met mine over the glass countertop. A shiver ran down my back—the pleasant kind—because those thick-lashed eyes were set into the handsomest face I’d ever seen and attached to a body built for sin. The way he walked, muscles coiled beneath a snug black T-shirt and low-slung camouflage pants, suggested power and confidence and arrogance, all the traits I loved to hate in a man.

  This guy, Carter Eckhouse, was no stranger. He was my sister’s boyfriend’s best friend, and that meant I had to tolerate his childish, misogynistic behavior to keep the family peace. While I bounced between attraction and dislike, one corner of his mouth curled up in an enigmatic grin, inspiring a dozen questions inside my head. Was he laughing at me? His gaze dropped a few inches below my chin then further still. Unnerved, I glanced down to see the swells of my breasts pushing up through the V neck of my T-shirt.

  “Dick,” I muttered under my breath. Oh, no. Heat rushed into my face. Did I really say that out loud? I glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed. Business had slowed to a snail’s pace. The last thing I needed was to offend the other customers. I loved the coffee shop and the people who visited us every day. Well, everyone but him. Why, why, why did he have to come here? There were dozens of coffee shops in the city. Why mine?

  “Nice to see you, too, Jo.” His deep, gravelly voice hit low in my belly, the edges of his words rough and teasing. A voice like that was made for hot, dirty talk, the kind that made my panties dampen and my thighs clench.

  “Double espresso and a large water, right?” I fought to keep the tremble out of my voice. What was it about him that unsettled me so much? It couldn’t have anything to do with the impossible width of his shoulders or the flat stretch of his abdomen underneath that tight T-shirt.

  “You know it.” Thick brown eyebrows lifted. “I’m surprised you remember.”<
br />
  “It’s my job to remember.” How could I forget? Twice before, he’d visited with Rhett and Bronte, then several times on his own. Every time he came within ten feet of me, my knees dissolved, and a strange flutter happened in my tummy.

  “Keep the change.” From his wallet, he withdrew a crisp ten-dollar bill. I stared at his long, calloused fingers, so manly and strong, the bones of his wrist, the thick vein running up his forearm to his swollen bicep. A dull throb blossomed between my legs. He cleared his throat; he was waiting for me to take the money while I drooled on the counter.

  “Have a seat. I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.” Most people waited on their order, but I needed to put distance between us before my self-control cracked. I eased the bill from his grasp. His fingers grazed my palm in what might—or might not—have been a deliberate caress. I fought against the prickle of gooseflesh crawling up my arm and stabbed at the cash register with an index finger.

  “I’ll be right over here. Waiting.” That dirty voice curled around the words and curled my toes in the process. He lingered for a moment longer, like he had more to say, before heading to a table by the window.

  I braced a hand against the cash register, undone by the strong tug of physical awareness. If I was seriously considering Carter as an end to my sexual drought, I needed an intervention, and fast. His cavalier attitude toward women rubbed me the wrong way. Many times, I’d overheard him bragging about his casual hookups with Rhett. He never bothered to lower his voice, detailing the women like they were prize mares at a horseshow, regaling the impromptu fucks after a night of drinking, the way he left them the second they finished. And once, after I’d argued with Rhett, Carter had propositioned me. Do you want to angry-fuck? I’d stuttered an irate refusal, while my womb had rippled at the thought of those big, rough hands on my ass and his narrow hips between my thighs.

  “I said mocha latte, not vanilla.” Lyle, my assistant manager, pushed the steaming mug back into my hands and frowned. He was a good kid, even though he spent his breaks getting high in the alley. “Are you feeling okay? Your face is bright red.”

  “I’m fine.” Lyle’s censure ended my musings, and for the next ten minutes, I focused on work. When Carter’s order came up, I placed it on his table and kept my expression neutral. I was, after all, a grown woman capable of controlling her hormones. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” he said, shifting back in his chair. The movement stretched his T-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining the roundness of his hard pecs, the line down his sternum, and the outline of a nipple ring. A nipple ring. Lordy. The flush returned to my cheeks. I fanned my face with a cardboard drink coaster from my apron pocket. Why did he have to be so fuck-hot? Bastard.

  “No problem.” But it was a problem, one I needed to get a grip on before I embarrassed myself. I tilted my nose to the ceiling, drew in a lungful of cinnamon- and coffee-scented air, and tried to center myself.

  “Are you helping Rhett and Bronte move this weekend?” Morning sunlight streamed through the window. The bright rays illuminated his irises and the flecks of gold in them, turning them to liquid amber. He reminded me of a lion, powerful and golden, with his sun-streaked brown hair spilling over his shoulders. I didn’t like long hair on men, but he knew how to rock it like no one’s business. In my fantasies, I dug my fingers into his hair and pulled until he growled.

  “Um, no. I mean, yes.” The question caught me off guard. Aside from forced pleasantries and the occasional inappropriate proposition, this was the closest we’d ever come to having a conversation. “You?”

  “Yeah, Rhett suckered me into it.” His index finger circled the rim of the espresso glass, drawing my attention to his thumb ring and the star tattoo right below it. “Crazy, isn’t it? The two of them? I’d never have guessed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” My thoughts turned dark and mistrustful, as they always did with men. I narrowed my eyes and prepared to light his ass up. Was he digging at Bronte’s disabilities, her OCD and autism? Family meant everything to me. No one—and I mean no one, no matter how hot—dissed my family. “She can’t help the way she is.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m Bronte’s biggest fan. The girl is scary smart. I meant that I’m glad they met.” His eyes widened. I bit my lower lip, knowing I was out of line but unable to help it. Something about him made my skin itchy hot on the inside, an itch that couldn’t be scratched by simple conversation. He dropped a spoonful of sugar into the espresso and stirred, the silver clanging against the ceramic cup. “Bronte’s one in a million. She’s been good for him.”

  “They’re good for each other.” I searched his face for signs of insincerity but found none. My shoulders, which had been inching toward my ears, lowered a notch. “I never thought she’d find someone who understands her, but Rhett seems to be a good guy.”

  “He’s the best.” Placing his strong, capable hands flat on the table, he held my gaze. “I’ve known him all my life. When Amy died, I thought he’d never recover, but Bronte changed all that. I hope they’re always as happy as they are now.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Somehow, this womanizing pig had managed to voice my exact thoughts better than I could. My younger sister had always been career-driven, preferring the solitude of her laboratory to the company of men, while I’d been a serial dater since the age of fourteen. She’d hit the lottery with Rhett and found her bliss. After clearing my throat, I tapped a finger on the table, eager to escape his knowing eyes and oppressive maleness. “Well, enjoy your coffee. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  He jerked his chin in acknowledgement then turned his gaze to the window. With a sigh of relief, I cleared one of the tables, happy to be free of his spell. Unfortunately for me and my damp panties, instead of leaving after his drink, he stayed for another two hours and consumed enough espresso to give a normal person heart failure. I made Lyle refill his cup while I steered clear of him.

  My eyes continued to drift in his direction, and the tension between my thighs continued to grow. After Harold had dumped me, I’d haunted nightclubs, picking up a guy here and there, but had carefully guarded my heart. No dates, no sleeping over, just sex. Because, well, sex. No one should go without it. Lately, I’d been too exhausted from work and caring for Dad to do more than crawl home at night and collapse into my bed. Being around Carter reminded me how long it had been and how much I missed a man’s touch.

  Catching my stare, Carter made a beeline toward me, a delicious, cocky smirk on his face. Damn it. I tried to push through the swinging doors into the kitchen, but Lyle was on his way out from the other side. I came up short, cursing under my breath, narrowly missing a black eye. Lyle brushed by with a brief apology. I smiled and step aside. Just be cool. He’ll be gone in a minute. Instead of leaving though, Carter paused at the register and waited until I lifted my gaze to his.

  “I was wondering if you might be free after work,” he said, catching me off guard for a third time.

  “Uh, what?” I dropped the empty tray I’d been holding. It clattered on the floor.

  “I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat or something.”

  Holy sweet baby Jesus. I gripped the counter with both hands, head spinning. “You mean, like a date?”

  “No, like two people having a late lunch.” His lips twitched. “Or we could hook up. I’m good with that too.” Okay, there was the Carter I knew—crass, bold, and unapologetic. “Unless you have something else to do.”

  “Yes.” I shook my head, clearing away the fog of pheromones. “I mean, yes, I have something to do.”

  “Maybe I could give you a lift home then?”

  My car, a rusted and tired Chevy Cavalier, had finally given up, leaving me without transportation until I could save enough to fix it or buy something else. I hated riding the bus and couldn’t afford taxi or Uber service. However, the thought of sitting in close confines with him might prove too much for my sex-starved ovaries. And wh
at I needed to do after work required total secrecy. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  Before I could protest, several things happened in rapid succession. The bell over the door rang. A familiar young man wearing jeans and a polo shirt stepped into the order line. Carter pushed me behind the cash register. Stunned into silence by his rough action, I gaped. The young man took one look at Carter, turned an impressive shade of gray, and sprinted toward the exit. Carter pounced. The two of them tumbled to the floor, rolling and grunting, overturning a table in the process, shattering the display of specialty muffins into a hundred pieces.

  “Stop it!” I lunged toward Carter, slipping on the mess. “You’re destroying my shop.”

  “Get back,” Carter growled. He held me away with one hand while pressing a knee into the back of the struggling young man.

  “What are you doing? Let him go.” I shoved Carter’s hand aside.

  Seeing his chance for escape, the captive took advantage of Carter’s distraction. He squirmed from beneath Carter’s weight and crawled on all fours toward the door. Carter caught him by the ankle, but the guy had reached the threshold. Gripping the door frame with both hands, he levered himself onto the sidewalk, found his feet, and broke into a gallop across traffic. Carter rocketed out the door, hot on his trail, and disappeared between two taxis.