by Liz Crowe
Indulgence
A Million-Word Anthology
By
Amity Cross, Audrey Carlan, Cat Mason, Cyntha Sax, Deanndra Hall, Jamie Salisbury, JM Witt, Kelley Grealis, Liz Crowe, Laura Harner, Nina Levine, Sandy Sullivan, Sharon Hamilton, Skye Callahan, Theresa Troutman
~~~
Smashwords Edition
A Tri Destiny Publishing book
Published with permission of the authors
Copyright © 2015
Cover Design by D.N. Simmons
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced
in any form without permission.
For more information:
Tri Destiny Publishing
P.O. Box 330 Arcola, IL 61910
Visit our website at www.tridestinypublishing.com
If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it, win this copy during a promotion or, if not purchased specifically for your use only, then please delete this copy, notify us at [email protected]. We encourage you to purchase your own copy and support the authors’ hard work in their craft.
Indulgence is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any and all resemblance to actual events, locals or persons either living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Acknowledgements
An author once told me, “I want to be part of a bad ass box set.” She had already dropped the idea to one of her favorite authors, who I also happened to begin working with, but neither of them had the time to commit to organizing a project like that. She then told me to take the idea and run with it, and that I did.
After an absurd amount of emails, and with the help of this other author, Tri-Destiny Publishing was secured for the project. That’s when the real fun began. Starting with some of my favorite Indie authors, I began the search for others to join the project and then came up with the concept of an anthology consisting of one book from almost every major romance sub-genre.
I’ve had the pleasure of working with all of these authors over the last few months, driving them crazy with my questions, reminders, and multiple posts. In the beginning, I thought that working with that many personalities, opinions, and women had the potential to turn into a daily battle of wills. I was completely wrong - this is the best, most talented group I have ever worked with and this project has been an amazing experience made possible by these amazing authors.
To Deanndra Hall, Audrey Carlan and Liz Crowe, who have supported my efforts and inspired me to reach for goals I’d never dreamed of, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To all the other Indulgence authors, thank you for making this “one bad ass box set.”
Drue
Drue Hoffman, DRC Promotions
www.drcpromotions.com
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Royal Blood (#1 Royal Blood) By Amity Cross
Angel Falling By Audrey Carlan
Escaping Me By Cat Mason
Releasing Rage by Cynthia Sax
My Last Dom by Deanndra Hall
Perpetual Love by Jamie Salisbury
Letting Go, Anchored Hearts, Vol. 1 by J.M. Witt
The Descendant, The Descendant Vampire Series, Book 1 by Kelley Grealis
Rescued, Three’s Allowed: Book 2 By Laura Harner
Man On, Black Jack Gentlemen, Book 1 by Liz Crowe
Relent, Sydney Storm MC, Book 1 by Nina Levine
Make Mine A Cowboy, Cowboy Dreamin’ 1 by Sandy Sullivan
Seal Under Covers, Seal Brotherhood, Book 3 by Sharon Hamilton
Irrevocable, Irrevocable, Book 1 by Skye Callahan
A Special Connection by Theresa Troutman
Royal Blood (#1 Royal Blood)
By
Amity Cross
Chapter One
(Part One)
Mercy
Kill or be killed.
Fuck or be fucked.
The Gambler's Inn was the kind of establishment you went to when you wanted to disappear. It was also the kind of place you went to work if you didn't want anyone to ask questions. Good girls didn't get jobs behind the bar here. Good thing I was far from prim and proper.
Mercy Reid was a mistake that had happened the day she was born into this world, screaming and covered in gunk. Mercy Reid wanted to disappear from a lot of things.
I wiped down the bar, tracking the cloth around the old musty dude who was sitting on a stool, nursing his pint of beer. That there, was just another way of trying to disappear. The mind was a powerful thing. It never actually forgot anything, no matter how hard you tried. The bad things always stuck and got you when you weren't looking.
“What's a pretty girl like you doing in a shit hole like this?” Musty Old Guy asked through a wheeze.
“Hard times call for desperate measures,” I replied. No cash, no place to stay. I'd take any job I was offered. My mind went back to that bar job I applied for at the strip joint a few blocks over. Yeah, I'll take that back and amend it to almost any job.
Working at The Gambler's Inn wasn't much better, but it was better and the boss was slightly less of an ass. It was exactly the low kind of place I was looking to get lost in. They didn’t want any trouble and neither did I.
The front door opened with a bang that reverberated through the loud garage rock that was blaring out of the speakers above the bar. The old guy in front of me glanced up at the commotion and his eyes widened. He chucked a bill by his half-full pint and scurried away like a startled rat.
Narrowing my gaze at the fiver he'd tossed at me, I snorted at the ridiculously insignificant tip. Thanks a lot asshole.
That's when I realized a figure was looming in front of me. Glancing up, my gaze collided with a set of the strangest green eyes I'd ever seen. They were almost clear, only a tinge of color threaded its way from the outside in.
Shit, and the rest of him. Messy hair just the right length that you could bury your fingers into and tug in the middle of a rip roaring orgasm, a strong chiseled jaw coated with dark stubble and what looked like a hard ripped chest. He wore a black leather biker jacket, the tiniest hint of a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his black T-shirt. He oozed sex. The kind of sex that was sweaty and dirty. All animalistic grunting from behind.
“Who are you?” he snapped and I realized that the old guy had known what was good for him when he'd bolted. The hottie had a reputation. He was purely fuckable, but even I could tell a dangerous man from a mile off. Didn't stop my pussy from convulsing all on its own though. You couldn't have a body without a mind, but it didn't stop either of them wandering off on their own tangents.
“Well?”
My gaze snapped back up to his and it was cold.
Snorting, I snatched up the fiver and the glass. “Mercy,” I bit right back, dumping the beer down the sink.
“Mercy, who?”
“Mercy, none of your business.” I glared at him as my nipples began to ache at the sound of my name on his suckable lips. “Do you want to order?”
The man leaned over the bar, closing the space between us and I swallowed the urge to lean right back and give him a lick.
“Weiss hire bitches now?” he g
rowled.
Holding back the urge to slap the guy and bend him over the bar at the same time, I said, “Listen, buddy. I don't know what kind of asshole you are, maybe you're the dominating prick who likes to own women and put them back into the fuckin' kitchen, but I'm not her. Either you want a drink or you get the fuck out of my face.”
His fingers curled over the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white, expression unreadable. I was going to take a stab at pissed off. Yeah, well that made two of us.
His lip curled into a sneer and he straightened up, squaring his wide shoulders. Without a word, he turned on his heel and began striding across the pub. That's when I saw the logo on the back of his jacket and paused. A skull wearing a crown was stitched there in white, with the lettering Royal Blood MC emblazoning the top and bottom.
Shit. Another motherfucking biker.
It stunk of trouble with a capital t and it was the thing I needed the least. I couldn't ditch this job. I needed the money too bad. I was totally skint.
The hottie opened the door to the owner, Weiss', office and slammed it closed behind him with a loud bang.
Fuck. He had a grabbable ass, too.
Chapter Two
X
I was already riled up, but the black haired stunner behind the bar had jacked it up even further.
Xavier “X” Blood. License to do whatever the fuck I wanted.
Slamming the door to Weiss' office closed, he stared up at me, raising his eyebrows.
“I was beginning to think you were dead, you stupid fucker,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“Who's the bitch on the bar?” I drawled, shucking off my jacket and tossing it on the sofa.
Weiss smirked. “Like her?”
“Bitch needs an attitude adjustment.”
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
Sitting on the sofa and kicking my boots up onto the coffee table, I glared at my best mate. I loved the fucker, we'd been through some nasty shit, but he knew what buttons to press and had a great time doing it. We were the same age, late twenties and were both stuck in the same god damned fucked up motorcycle club, Royal Blood. The only difference between us was that I was handsome. Weiss was ugly as fuck.
He eyed me for a second before saying, “Mercy Reid. Just blew in two weeks ago lookin' to get lost. Wild one, that woman.”
“Looking to get lost from what?”
He shrugged. “She does the work, handles the scummy fuckers we get in here better than any man. She’s proved herself.”
“In two weeks?”
He smirked. Ugly fucker.
“You fucked her?” I asked, my cock tightening.
“She's not the fucking type, X. She fucks you.”
“She fuck you then?”
“In my dreams.”
Despite my rage being turned on, I couldn't help the sly smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Mercy Reid.
Smart mouthed bitch. What I wouldn't do to press her pretty little face into that beer soaked bar top, rip off her tiny denim shorts and fill her pussy with my cock. What I wouldn't give to fuck her so hard she'd scream and moan and milk my dick with her cunt. I'd teach her a lesson in manners with my favorite body part.
“You're thinking about fucking her right now, aren't you, you dirty prick?”
“I'm ready to come back,” I said, effectively changing the subject.
“Are you sure?”
“I've heard the word on the street, Weiss.” Trouble with the Necromancers MC...again. Rumor had it that someone had tried to put a bullet in their president, Sykes', head.
Weiss fished around in his desk drawer and pulled out a big orange envelope that had been stuffed full of papers. And hopefully with a photograph or three.
“Target is unknown-” he began.
“Unknown?” I scoffed. Fuckin’ amateurs.
“I thought you were good at this kind of thing? A little challenge scare you?”
Running hits for Royal Blood wasn't the way I wanted to operate, but I was in too deep to get out now. Getting out entailed getting dead. Besides, I'd lost my soul the moment I’d picked up a gun and let them call me a hitman. Fuckin’ assassin. Having a soul in my line of work was baggage I didn’t need.
Weiss tossed the envelope at me and I caught it against my chest. “Target is a runner. Six months ago someone tried to kill the president of the Necromancers.”
I knew it wasn't just a rumor. There were a ton of fucks out there who'd want to do that guy in. I thought Royal Blood was bad when I first got in, but the Necromancers were a nasty piece of work. They defined the word evil. Drugs, guns, those were big enough things, but the Necromancers…their dealings went a lot darker. Rumor had it, they trafficked a lot more than drugs and illegal arms.
“Nobody knows who?”
“Nope. There's some leads, but the club hasn't been able to tie any of them up.”
“Why are they coming to us? Royal Blood and the Necromancers aren't exactly known for being the best of friends.” Both clubs had hit each other so many times no one knew the actual tally or who started it in the first place.
“They know a good thing when they see it,” Weiss said, nodding at me.
“Desperation’s more like it.” They wished they had me in their back pocket, but I was sworn to the Blood.
“You want it or not?”
Without even cracking open the envelope I asked, “How much?”
“Don't you want to sit on it for a day or two? You ain't even looked in the envelope.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “How much?”
“Half a mil.”
Sneering, I said, “Cut close to home, did it?”
“If someone tried to put a bullet in your head, wouldn't you want to know who it was to serve some revenge?”
“I assume Sykes wants to see me,” I said, ignoring his question. “He's not giving a rival club member a free shot, right?”
“He’ll call you when you accept the contract. No sooner.”
“Then my price goes up.”
“X-”
“If Greggor's handing over my identity in the name of peace,” I air quoted the most ironic word in the sentence, “then I want more compensation.”
Greggor was the president of Royal Blood. He was the definition of hard ass. He called all the shots and his word was law. Step out of line and you paid the ultimate price. Your cock or your life. I absolutely hated the fucker.
“I'll see what I can do,” Weiss said through a sigh.
I narrowed my eyes, peering into the envelope. My first job back in a month and it had to be the big fuckin’ kahuna. Complicated had nothing on it.
“You know, taking this job would make things a lot easier for everyone,” Weiss said, lighting up a fag.
No more drive-bys, no more fights over money and women, no more territorial lines. Short story; a lot less fighting and a lot more revenue raising. Nobody wanted an all out MC war and that's what Royal Blood and the Necromancers had been teetering on the edge of for fuck knows how long. An attempt on their President's life was the ultimate tipping point.
“If it turns out to be one of ours, you know shit's going to get crazy,” Weiss said, smoke streaming from his mouth. He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, pointing at the door. That was my cue to get gone.
If it was a member of Royal Blood, then I'd be fucked for shooting a brother. If it was a Necromancer, I'd be fucked for offing a rival. If it was an outsider, I'd be a hero. Either way, my identity as X would go from being a shadow of death to front page poster boy.
My life as a hitman would be over.
“Those things will kill you,” I said, rising to my feet.
“No they fucking won't,” he said with a chuckle. “You will you motherfucker.”
Chapter Three
Mercy
Two Weeks Ago
Staring into the grotty bathroom mirror, I fluffed up my hair.
/> The remnants of black dye stuck to the skin around my hairline and I licked a finger and rubbed at the stubborn spots. When they didn’t budge, I rolled my eyes. Great. With a sigh, I messed my long locks forward a little to try and hide it.
Black hair kinda suited me. It made me look like a complete stranger, which was the exact statement I was going for.
Grabbing my phone, a little burner I picked up at a convenience store a few days ago, I shoved it into my pocket and pushed open the door.
The stage with the sparkling curtains and seedy lighting hadn’t changed in the last ten minutes and nor was it likely to. A woman dressed in nothing but a pair of thigh high stockings, red lacy knickers, six-inch heels and tassels on her nipples passed by me, her hand in that of a slimy looking pervert. She glanced up at me and winked before disappearing out back to a private booth.
Puke.
I was desperate for work, but not that desperate. I’d tried to get a job at the bar, but it didn’t pay enough for me to deal with all the fucking gross men who constantly tried to feel me up…and I’d only been in the place for half an hour. I pulled a couple of beers, served some weirdos with wandering eyes and got felt up by the owner. Luckily for him he didn’t follow me into the ladies.
Working at a strip club wasn’t the kind of lost I was looking for.
Pushing out of the front door, past the bouncer and ignoring the calls from the owner, I walked down the dark street, pulling my leather jacket closer. I was running out of money and if I didn’t find a job soon, I’d be out on my ass. I couldn’t get a regular job that required tax numbers, ID and names, so I was shit out of luck. If somebody had of told me it was this difficult to disappear, I might’ve planned it out a little better.
