Players: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  Well, it is a big god damn deal. But not if you're rich, and not if your boyfriend is rich.

  Josh takes a deep breath. That was all it was, though. A fantasy. And it's a fantasy that's not going to come to fruition. He's just going to have to face the music.

  He's got the whole speech written down, sentence-by-sentence, on index cards. They're all in a bundle up his sleeve, and once he hits the podium he can slip them out. It's not that he's not allowed to have them, of course. It's that he needs to keep up the appearance.

  Or at least, in the long run, make it look like he's making an effort to keep up the appearance. That's all that really counts, for the most part.

  He takes a deep breath and when he lets it out, the detective steps up to the podium in front of him and lets out the note-cards. They slip easily into a stack on the podium. Just like he'd hoped they would.

  He looks over his shoulder at Mitchell, who's keeping a straight face. If he had that oh-so-pleased expression that he usually wore, then there'd be a whole lot of hell to pay for someone, because he'd look like a god damn psychopath.

  Though, to be fair, that image wouldn't have been inaccurate. It's not the image that he wants to project, though.

  "Hello, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Detective Josh Meadows. I've been with the police force for almost ten years. Next November will be ten years. I've worked on nearly a hundred cases, in that time, and I've solved… most of them."

  He looks over his shoulder at Mitch again. He's waiting for the good part.

  "On the night of the 18th, I, and a few others on my team, were watching over the exchange of money for a baby. A woman had come to the police with a kidnapped child. That woman, right there."

  Josh pointed to Anna.

  "Miss Anna Witt, soon to be the wife of Mr. Mitch Queen."

  The detective waits a moment, just in case there's a response. If there is, it's small enough that under the bright lights, he doesn't see it.

  "During that exchange, Albert Queen, our former mayor and current congressional hopeful, was taken by thugs. Miss Witt was lucky to get away with her life, and I think we all appreciate the risks that she put herself at."

  Josh likes the feeling of Mitchell's eyes boring into him from behind. This is taking far too long to sound like an apology, and that's part of the intention. It really is a beautiful speech, for that reason, even if he sounds like a damn fool reading it.

  "During the events of that night, things became very… emotional, for everyone involved. Dangerous situations often are, for many of us. I let my emotions get the best of me, and I became violent with Mr. Queen, in spite of the fact that I should have had better professional behavior."

  There's a strong temptation to point out the reasons that he'd become upset in the first place. It's a temptation that Josh has to resist. After all, there's no real proof of what he knows Mitch was doing. Of what he's been doing for years, and what he'll now be able to continue to do.

  That's not an option. So instead he's got to do what he can with what he has, which is to swallow down the bitter pill of apologizing to the son of a bitch in spite of the fact that he doesn't deserve it.

  Retribution, if it ever comes, can come later.

  "I cannot excuse my lack of professionalism, but I can apologize to Mr. Queen, to his family, and to the people of our city for my rash actions. I'm truly sorry."

  Josh hangs his head a little, in an effort to look sad. The movement of his head leads to a movement of his eyes, as natural as can be. As his eyes track across the crowd, though, something less natural becomes much more evident.

  Someone is moving through the crowd. Pressing in. Someone reaching into their jacket.

  It's a heavy jacket, woolen. It terminates halfway down the thigh. He's not wearing a mask. That would be too obvious, at this juncture. But it's not hard to figure out that the man's got bad intentions. Josh can see it in the look on his face.

  When the hand comes free, with a flash of black, Josh starts to move. His shoulder crashes into Anna's side as the loud, sharp 'pop' permeates the early-autumn air.

  She stumbles and catches herself. Josh tumbles off the side of the podium. It's a short drop, but the hard hit on his shoulder feels like it nearly dislocated the thing, and it hurts so bad that he could scream.

  He ignores the pain, forces himself up.

  "Get down here," he growls. Anna gets down off the stage and ducks behind it. Josh is already on his feet, already climbing the short steps back onto the stage. Mitch is gone—Lord only knows where.

  There's a commotion in the crowd. From the back of the stage, it's hard to see for certain, but as he gets closer in long, hurried steps it's easier to see.

  A trail of blood leads up to a big pile of bodies, all moving in a strange, asynchronous rhythm, trying to pull each other apart or push each other together at odd intervals.

  And right at the center of it, a two-hundred and eighty pound behemoth looks like he's about to kill a man with a gun with his bare hands, in spite of his pretty-bad bleeding.

  He needs medical attention immediately, but he won't let go, until finally three separate cops manage to pull him away as another four pull the gunman to the ground.

  Josh takes a deep breath and loosens his grip on Terry's arm.

  "You need to get to a hospital."

  "The girl. Is she alright?"

  "She's fine," Josh tells him. He turns to one of the other officers, their weight still set to make sure that the big guy doesn't decide to make another try at a felony right in front of the police. "Get this guy in an ambulance."

  And then, like a marionette whose strings got cut out, Terry's prodigious strength starts to fail him, and his knees buckle.

  Josh turns around to try to comfort and calm Anna and the little one. But the space behind the stage, he finds, is empty.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Anna's arm hurts. Mitch is pulling on it too hard, but she's not going to tell him to stop. They turn down another alley. Does he know where they're going, or is he just leading them blindly into the bowels of the city?

  It's hard to say for sure. Mitchell has always lived on the edge of the city. Where things start to spread out. This is downtown, this is where everything starts to tighten in on itself like a giant snake eating its own tail.

  "Hurry, we've got a car waiting," he says. Anna's breath comes in harsh bouts. Nine months of pregnancy hasn't done wonders for her endurance.

  "I need," she gasps. "I need a second."

  A car waiting? She leans against the wall, her arms clutched tight around Ava. What?

  That sounds strange. Do they always plan for these sorts of things? It's difficult to say for certain that they don't. They might, with how many threats there are on a nearly-daily basis to Mitch's dad.

  But it still strikes her as odd. Between gasping breaths, her head starts to catch up with the rest of her. "Mitch, where are we going?"

  "Around this next corner, down a few hundred feet, take a left. The car will be right there."

  He does know where he's going, then. Whether it's suspicious or not, he's clearly got a good sense of where they're going.

  "I just. One second. Please, just the one second, okay? Then we'll go."

  Mitch leans back against the wall himself, now. His own breathing is hard, as well. "A second, but we've got to go. We've got to make sure that damn psychopath doesn't have anyone working with him."

  It's hard to say whether he doesn't, or not. But whoever that guy was, it's not hard to believe that he's at least related to the guy who got his 'payment' up front.

  Anna's breathing starts to come back to her after a few seconds. She gets up, and Mitch pushes himself off the wall beside her. He's got a tear in his suit. Hopefully it won't be so expensive to repair.

  "Ready?"

  "Ready." She follows him through the alleys. They take a slower pace this time, and she has a much easier time keeping her breath, even as the panic threatens to overflo
w the high walls of her self-control, and her breath catches over and over in his throat.

  Mitch stops dead in his tracks. A body lays in the middle of they alley. He's got a dark suit and he looks like a driver. Anna's chest tightens. There's no question what's happened here.

  And the man who steps out is wearing a pea-coat, same as all the others have been. He raises a pistol.

  "Give me the money, you son of a bitch."

  Anna's already been seen. She knows it, but even still she wonders if she can get away before the guy can adjust and shoot.

  Mitch reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. "This is all I've got. Leave me and my fiancée alone. Please."

  The guy doesn't reach for the wallet.

  "Don't play any fucking games with me. You walked off with my money, and I'm going to have my god damn cash. Now."

  Anna's heart thumps in her chest, and Mitchell's fear slips a little. Now he looks less like he's being robbed and pissing his pants; he looks almost confused.

  "What the fuck are you talking about? Where's Robert?"

  The big guy's gun presses in close to Mitch. It's not hard to notice that he's barely paying a lick of attention to Anna.

  "You're not in charge here, you sack of shit. I'm asking the questions. I was hired to do a job, and I'm not getting away without getting paid, is that fucking clear? You tried to double cross me and you thought that shit was just going to fly?"

  Mitch looks at him with a snarl. It's an instinct that he's never been able to kick. He doesn't like being stood up to. Even the gun in his face hasn't fixed that.

  The gunman looks over at her. "Get out of here."

  Mitch's snarl tightens. "You don't give the orders here. Anna, stay until I give you permission to leave."

  She doesn't need to be told twice, though. She's already moving, already heading towards the other end of the alley. Back the way she came. It's dangerous, but she's not going to be stuck there with a guy with a gun who's that angry.

  A loud, sharp pop permeates the air as she escapes into the open air. A moment later, she's scooped up by Josh.

  "Anna! Are you alright?"

  Her stomach's turned upside-down. "I don't know. Mitch, he's—there's a man with a gun, and he's going to kill Mitch."

  Josh takes a deep breath. "I should really go get someone. I don't know if I should take this by myself." He turns toward the crowd and calls out a name.

  A uniformed policeman runs over, almost looking relieved to be out of the melee.

  "We're going in to look for trouble. Come with me. You're my witness."

  Anna stands there. Should she follow? She probably shouldn't. She just gives directions and waits for them to get back.

  There's no second shot. Ten minutes later, Josh comes back, his expression sour. The uniform's face is drawn and pale.

  "I've got some bad news, Anna."

  She doesn't need to hear what it is. Mitchell is dead. She's not sure how to feel about it. She's not sure what any of it means. Her stomach twists like someone trying to get the water out of a rag.

  "Dead?"

  Josh nods. He pulls her close into a hug. Should he have done it—she doesn't know. But she knows that whether he should have or not, she nestles into his arms.

  It feels warm and safe. Whatever is going on, whatever the bigger picture is… it doesn't really matter right now. All that matters is that she's safe.

  In the end, she'll have things back under control, but right now, with the whole world falling down around her, she feels like Detective Meadows, at least, is there to keep things from hitting her on the way down.

  She reaches up on her tip-toes and presses a kiss against his lips. He takes it like it's a rapture threatening to overtake him.

  "I've got to get back. Your friend, Terry. He's hurt. We've got him waiting on an ambulance. It shouldn't be far, but we've got to have as many people working on crowd control as we can get, either way."

  "What happened?"

  "He stopped a bullet."

  Anna's throat tightens. He'd better be okay. He'd better live. Because she doesn't know who his daughter is, but she knows that she couldn't possibly imagine a woman going through the rest of her life not being able to say goodbye.

  Not that she could do it, either. She gathers up her courage and goes over into the swarming maelstrom of people and police. She's got to make sure that Terry's going to be alright.

  And she's got to calm him down, because God only knows that man will keep trying to protect her until there's not a single breath left in his body.

  Epilogue

  Josh tries to make as little noise as possible as he wakes. Some parts of it are just routine. That's how it is. On-call, you get used to waking up in the middle of the night and making sure that your wife stays asleep.

  She looks every bit as pretty as the day they were married. Every bit as pretty as the day they met. For a moment, he's worried that she might be waking up—she rolls over and digs deeper into the pile of pillows she's amassed on her side of the bed.

  He pulls on his jeans and his jacket. Light's starting to peek through the blinds, lighting up the bedroom. It's unusual, these days, to be able to get up so late. But today's a special occasion, and he's not going in to work today.

  Five years ago today, she agreed in front of God and everybody to be his, until the day she died, and he's been thankful for it every single day since.

  Five years, though, is a little more different. A little more special. It's not a day where he can be happy thinking about her while he sits at a desk and assigns boys to go out and deal with all the filth and shit that comes through the police precinct.

  Today is about making sure that she knows exactly how he feels. He pulls the cast-iron out from below the oven, careful to keep the noise low. It still clangs against a pan anyways.

  He turns the oven on; it beeps happily as he tells it to start heating up. A few minutes later, it beeps again to tell him that it's ready, and he pushes the skillet in, covered in long, thin strips of bacon.

  He's got a few minutes before it's time to wake Anna and the kids, but that doesn't mean that he can afford to be idle. He cracks the eggs into a bowl and stirs them up.

  Josh has never been good at anything but scrambled. Anna doesn't seem to mind, Ava doesn't know any better, and Terry isn't old enough to voice his opinion anyways.

  He sets the bowl aside. It'll cook fast, and he's got plenty of time before the bacon is ready anyways.

  He settles down into his seat and closes his eyes. Now there's just one worry left.

  It's been five years, they've been married, and Anna's never complained one time. She's put up with a lot. No different than most detectives' wives, but they all have to put up with a lot.

  It's hard to believe that she'll be happy with anything he could buy her, on the salary he's making. Not when she used to be so close to such a rich guy.

  A pair of warm arms wrap around him, soft breasts pressing into his head as Anna pulls him into a hug from the side. Josh opens his eyes.

  "Morning."

  She smiles down at him. "Morning to you, too."

  "Still working on breakfast."

  "You know, you didn't have to do that. The kids and I could have made do ourselves."

  Josh stands up. His wife has to look up at him a little, now. He scoops her up so they're eye-to-eye, and presses a kiss against her lips.

  "I wanted to."

  "Then thank you."

  His breath catches in his chest. He puts the pan over heat and a second later drops the eggs in, and then pulls open the drawer. A little box is inside. He takes it out. His fingers tighten. It had taken a little while to save up the money, and it had been a bear to get enough saved without his wife noticing.

  But, he hoped, he'd managed it.

  "Hey babe?"

  Anna comes around into the kitchen and leans against the door. "What's up?"

  He holds the box out. No time to worry whether or n
ot she'll like it, now. It's the thought that counts, right?

  "Happy anniversary."

  She takes the box and opens it up, already looking curious, and the look on her face pays him back every penny. She's always beautiful. She's always been beautiful.

  But her beauty's at its best when she's happy.

  Arranged Marriage

  Bad Boy Romance

  Amy Faye

  Published by Heartthrob Publishing

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  Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…

  Holding her body easily, he brings her into his house and locked the door behind them. “Where to now?”

  “Up the stairs,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “To my bedroom.”

  “Really?” He asked, surprised.

  She nodded. “This isn't going to be a regular thing, so don't get any ideas, but you're my hero tonight. And I think it would do us some good to, you know. Get it over with.”

  “Right,” he said. “Duty.”

  She took his face between her hands and kissed his lips. “This isn't just about duty. I do want to sleep with you. Please, take me. If anyone's going to be my first, I would rather it be you.”

  His tongue skimmed her trembling lips as they kissed again. Needing him was making her incredibly uncomfortable, but she had to admit that she did need him. Desperately. Not just as a protector, but she needed him beside her in bed. She needed inside her, too. Her stomach was starting to flutter with butterflies as he carried her up the steps. Roman's tail thumped on the couch as they passed by, but he remained there, not following them up the stairs.

  His hands pressed against her hip, feeling her curves. His very touch made her panties moisten. The sound of his breath enthralled her.

  Once they reached the bedroom, he looked at her curiously. "Set me down," she said. He left her on the bed, then stepped away. "What's wrong?"