Stripped: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Brook Wilder

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Stripped copyright @ 2017 by Brook Wilder. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  STRIPPED

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  OUTLAW’S BABY

  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

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  STRIPPED

  Chapter 1

  The snowcapped mountains sank like the teeth of a saw blade into the azure blue sky and streams of white clouds hung like fat cotton balls as the breeze stilled for a brief moment. It whipped up again, sweeping them away like ribbons of white caught in an eddy of sapphire and it brought the smell of crisp evergreen and earthy mulch, along with another, more pungent smell.

  Carla wiped the slight dew of sweat from her brow as she bent over the small seedling she was nurturing to life--along with the rows of its brothers and sisters--and put it back in its place before moving on to the next one. When she had graduated from the University of Colorado with a degree in botany earlier that year, Honey Bud Farms was the last place she’d imagined herself working in. She’d always pictured herself in some lab, in a clean white coat and goggles, researching new or unknown species. She learned pretty quickly that botany research jobs didn’t hang on trees, and as her student loan bills had started to come due, she’d been out of options.

  As the breeze moved in, cooler now that the sun was just starting to dip behind the mountain peaks, she shivered slightly. The temperature could drop rapidly--and drastically--at this altitude and she regretted not grabbing her jacket from her truck earlier. Her dust-coated jeans and tank top did nothing as the air around her chilled even more and Carla gratefully ducked into the greenhouse.

  She was instantly greeted by a blessed wave of humidity and she took a deep breath of the warm, peat scented air as she walked slowly down the long rows. This was where she belonged. Where she felt most at peace. Each tiny plant, some hardly more than a bare sprout, each sat nestled in their canvas bag wrapped soil, each in their place under the grow lights that hung low and filled the eighty-foot greenhouse with a warm, sunny yellow light. Carla instantly relaxed as she set to work going over each row, doing the last checks before closing up for the night.

  Her job at the farm was simple. She was in charge of making sure the species of plants were all healthy and thriving, and she was even producing a new splice of plants that should result in higher yields next season. She bent down and ran the pads of her fingers along the newly developed plants, each with their familiar five leaf shape, and shook her head with a small grin. She never thought she’d be using her degree in botany to grow new strains of weed, but at least she was using her knowledge, and working with the thing she loved most. Plants, that is, not marijuana, even though she did indulge from time to time.

  She’d always had a green thumb, some of her earliest memories were of working out in the garden with her grandma, getting dirt underneath her fingernails and loving every minute of it. There was a special kind of magic in bringing life to something as mundane as a tiny seed, of watching it grow, nurturing it. Carla had always known she wanted to work with plants but it had taken going to college to fall in love with the science behind it. And now, she was working at Honey Bud Farm. Growing weed.

  The thought of college made her stomach knot uncomfortably, like it always did these days. The debt from her student loans kept piling higher and higher and she had to scrape together everything she could just to make the monthly payments. She’d gradated almost a year ago, believing that she would be able to walk into any job she wanted. Turns out, the jobs she wanted were few and far between. Very far between. And she had struggled from waitress gigs to bartending until finally landing here.

  On top of her school bills, there was rent to pay and groceries to buy. A girl had to eat, even though surviving on canned soup everyday couldn’t really be considered ‘eating’. Not good eating, anyway. A twinge of guilt had her shifting her shoulders. The last couple months had been really hard and her neighbor and friend, Elle, had helped her out with rent. Carla still hadn’t been able to pay her back, even though she’d been trying. It was just one more line item on her growing list of debts. At least she had a steady job now, so she could plan on her paychecks, but lately she had been wondering if it was even worth the money.

  It had been almost four months since she started working at the farm, and so far it had been great, giving her the opportunity to at least work with plants. Well, almost great. The job was nice, the farm was close to her house just outside of Denver, so the commute was fine. No, the problem was Maurice.

  Maurice was her boss and the owner of the farm. Things had been fantastic the first few months but then he’d started coming down from the small house adjacent to the farm that served as the office more and more, and always when she was on shift. Carla didn’t really pay attention at first, she had just been so grateful to have a job, if the boss was a little on the weird side, at least she was getting a paycheck.

  But he had started following her around, leering at her while she was working, and most of the time, it was just the two of them. Sometimes Eric, their regular driver, was there to pick up a new shipment but it was getting harder and harder for her to deal with. Sometimes he would just stare, sometimes he would make comments as she walked by and it made her cringe every time.

  Maurice was in his late fifties, but indulging in alcohol and smoking had aged him by at least another ten years. His skin was haggard and yellow and hung off his portly frame in unflattering rolls. His beady eyes seemed to trac
k her every movement, and when he was there it made her job almost unbearable.

  The worst had been one day over a week ago. Carla had felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck, that feeling that someone was watching her. An itch between her shoulder blades that she tried to ignore, but finally couldn’t. She’d been alone, working outside to gather the bags that had already been dried and processed, ready to be shipped to the dispensary in Denver and the sensation refused to go away. She’d looked around her, knowing that she was alone on the farm that day except for Maurice.

  On a hunch, she’d glanced back over her shoulder towards the office and there he’d been, standing at the window, just staring at her. She’d only caught a glimpse from his shoulders up but with the way his arm had been moving, she’d been pretty sure she knew what he was doing in there and the thought had made her want to throw up. But she didn’t know how to approach him about it. It was obvious he would just deny whatever allegations she raised against him because there was never anyone else around when he pulled that shit. Just her word against his.

  As if the thought alone had conjured him, Maurice strode though the greenhouse door, his stance all cocky arrogance as his leering gaze swept over her. Nausea followed that look and she kept her head down and pretended not to notice as best as she could, but it became almost as impossible as he circled closer.

  “What is it, Maurice?” she finally asked, having to say something to break the tension that was filling the greenhouse like noxious gas. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at her in a way that was meant to be coy but just looked greasy smeared across his ruddy face.

  “Nothing. Nothing. This is my business after all and I need to make sure I take care of every single aspect.” The way he clipped every word, all the while looking at her with his beady eyes filled with sick lust had her quickly moving to the next row, and as far away from him as she could get while finishing up. Carla hastened her movements, trying to rush to get done so she could leave. It was starting to feel claustrophobic even though the greenhouse spanned eighty feet long and over twenty feet tall. It didn’t matter. She could be in the middle of the freaking Sahara Desert and, if he were there, it would still feel too small.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry? You have a hot date tonight? You want one?” his voice slid like an oil slick as she tried to shrug off his question, deciding not to answer because she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would quit then and there, and she still desperately needed this job. But he wouldn’t let her ignore him. Suddenly he was there beside her, moving quickly despite his bulk and his hard grasp on her upper arm had her hissing out in disgust and surprise.

  “What the–”

  “I asked you a question, Carla. You don’t want to be rude, do you? Now, tell me you’ll be a good girl.” He was so close she could read the intent in his dark eyes, partially hidden by the folds of his eyelid, and the sweat that marred his brow. She jerked her arm away, taking several stumbling steps away as she fought against the sudden trembling in her legs.

  “No. No, I um, I should go. Everything is done here. I have to go,” Carla mumbled hastily while she ducked down another row, ignoring Maurice’s next words. She knew whatever they were, she didn’t want to hear them.

  She was practically running by the time she got to her truck and she didn’t spare a single glance backwards as she threw it into gear and tore down the long drive out onto the main highway. The road was nearly empty and she was glad because she could barely concentrate on the pavement as the miles went by, the sky moving from dusky blue to deep indigo as stars started to wink to life.

  But she didn’t see any of it. All she could feel was Maurice’s sweaty hand grasping her arm, his meaty fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. By the time she pulled down her own driveway, she almost had her nerves under control but, after she turned the engine off, she still she sat there, her mind replaying it over and over in her mind. Maybe she should just quit and deal with finding another job. But the only other thing she was qualified to do was waitress and that didn’t make nearly enough. She was barely keeping her head above water as it was.

  If she just kept her head down and keep focused, maybe she could save enough so that she could quit. Carla gave a mental shake of her head, knowing it would take far longer than she could stand to work there to make what she needed. No, what she needed was a big cash boost. Despite herself, her mind went to the shipments they sent out every week. Shipments that went to local dispensaries and she knew exactly how much was in even just one of those. Enough to last her a year. Five years.

  But who would she sell it to? The logical part of her brain tried to interject, but the desperation she felt outweighed it. She knew there was a shipment due to leave in two days, and she knew if she stayed at the farm Maurice would try something again, maybe worse next time.

  A sharp tap at her window jolted her out of her seat and made her swear as she rolled down the window.

  “Fuck, Elle, are you trying to kill me?” Carla said, and tried to slow her heart rate back to normal. Elle gave her a look over her cat-eye glasses.

  “You know I hate when you say that,” her friend said archly, but there was a glint of good natured humor in her warm brown eyes. The same humor that had finally won Carla over after she had moved into the rental house after graduation.

  “What, that you’re trying to kill me?” Carla asked sarcastically and Elle just snorted.

  “You know what I mean.” Her neighbor was a little bit of a straight edge, a piano teacher that always frowned at curse words and tattoos. She’d been horrified when Carla had shown her the ink sprawled across her ribs, but even she was sold by the undeniable artistry of the forest that grew up and around her shoulder blades and ended with its branches spanning like wispy fingers across half of her back. The scientific name of each tree and every plant was tattooed in beautiful script next to each one. Eventually, Carla had broken through to the real Elle, and when she finally learned how to relax, they had become great friends. Tequila had helped.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Elle asked, noticing her expression and her still trembling hands that clenched the steering wheel.

  “Yeah. It’s alright,” Carla said softly, as she remembered her last few awful minutes of work, “Maurice.”

  That’s all she had to say. Elle knew all about her problems with her boss’s unwanted attention and she encouraged her to go the police or do something to make him stop. But he hadn’t really done anything criminal, and what was worse was that it would be her word against his, and then she knew for sure she would get fired.

  “Ugh. That guy is such a creep. I can’t wait till you can quit that place.”

  Hopefully in two days, I can, Carla thought to herself. “Yeah, me neither. Well, I better go in. I’m exhausted and I gotta be at the farm early tomorrow.” Carla dragged herself from the truck and Elle gave her a big hug, which instantly made her feel better. With one last wave goodbye, she walked into the small house, wishing that tomorrow would never come.

  Chapter 2

  Carla took a deep breath of the crisp Colorado air that was tinged with the pungent smell of marijuana and rich soil. She let it sink into her, releasing her tense muscles as she walked through the misty greenhouse. There was always a thin layer of fog that hung low and swirled early in the morning and it transported her to someplace magical, someplace that wasn’t run by the world’s creepiest boss. Just her and the plants. The tiny sparks she had nurtured to life.

  It had been two days, and now that it was time, her nerves were almost getting the best of her. The plan that had popped into her head--of stealing the latest shipment of weed, selling it for the money she so desperately needed, and taking off--had latched on and wouldn’t let go. She’d done what she could to make sure that Eric wouldn’t come in today. Eric was the guy who regularly drove their deliveries. He was a nice enough guy, but he was kind of flaky anyways, and, like Carla, was known to indulge in a little bit
of their own product from time to time.

  She had been on the fence, worrying about whether or not to go through with it, but yesterday at work, Maurice had been there, and as bad as the night before had been, this had been even worse.

  He had been there, waiting for her, first thing in the morning. And everywhere she turned throughout the day, he was there, leering at her with those eyes of his, tracking her movements like a predator eyeing its next meal and the tension had been worse than ever. She had felt trapped, claustrophobic and then she had been trapped for real as he’d cornered her in the back of the small shed they used to house tools and equipment.

  “You want this just as much as I do, stop trying to play like some innocent little girl,” he’d growled at her.

  “No, I don’t. Let me go,” she’d said as firmly as she could through the trembling of her voice. “I just want to do my job, that’s it.”

  “Well, if you want to keep this precious job of yours, maybe you should consider being a little more accommodating.”

  Carla had tried to duck past him but his bulk blocked most of the doorway and panic had settled hard and painful in her chest. She knew she had to get out of there. Luckily, the sound of a cell phone ringing echoed through the shed just then and Maurice answered it. She’d used his moment of distraction to escape, but now she knew. He wasn’t going to stop. She didn’t really have any other choice anymore. She had to go through with her plan.

  It had been easy enough to switch a few dates around on the calendar. No one really paid attention to that unless they were checking for something specific which is why yesterday, no one had noticed the shipment date had mysteriously gone absent. She prayed that would be enough to stop Eric from coming in.