Misadventures in the Cage
Sarah Robinson
This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2020 Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Design by Waterhouse Press
Cover photographs: Shutterstock
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All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
To Larry—you’re an absolute dick.
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Don’t miss any Misadventures!
Excerpt from Misadventures of a Biker
More Misadventures
About Sarah Robinson
Chapter One
“Oh, my God… Josie? Josie Gray?” A young woman with short black hair and a vibrantly metallic dress sidled up to her at the bar in O’Hannigan’s Bar & Grill. “Can I please get a picture with you?”
Josie shot back the glass of tequila and then sucked on the lime, hissing as it hit her stomach hard. She was already four shots in, and each one was helping her forget the giant rejection letter she was carrying around in her purse.
We regret to inform you that the position of sous chef is no longer available blah blah blah.
She got the point. She was never going to be a chef. Every job application she’d sent in over the last year had been turned down.
Not that she was allowed to do what she wanted.
“Sure,” she replied, finally turning to the woman and putting on her best fake smile.
The woman held up her iPhone, turning the camera around to face them, and put on her best duck face as she posed next to Josie.
Josie just smiled and then turned back to the bar as soon as the photo was taken.
“Another one,” she indicated to the bartender, but when she lifted her hand to motion, she knocked over her glass. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter, but it made a loud-ass noise as it clattered against the bar.
The bartender shook his head, casting her a pitying look. God, she hated that. “Miss Gray, I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?”
“No,” she sighed loudly. Admittedly, she was getting tired and had probably had enough. Plus, she couldn’t really afford TMZ writing an article about how the reality television star was wasted and falling all over herself at a local bar. Hell, it was the entire reason she’d come to this place off the strip to begin with—anonymity. So much for that. “I’ll order a Lyft. Thank you, though.”
She paid her check and then pulled out her phone to order a ride through a rideshare app. Honestly, she wasn’t normally like this. She didn’t regularly get drunk by herself at a bar off the Las Vegas strip in a seedy part of town.
Hell, this entire town was a seedy part of town, depending on how one looked at it.
She’d spent her entire life living in Las Vegas, though, so it was home to her. She was comfortable with its antics and qualms. Something about it…she could handle. At least, that was what she told herself.
Pulling her sweater up around her shoulders, she grabbed her purse and decided to wait for her Lyft out front. She could really use the still night air to sober her up before getting in a lurching car ride. God forbid she puke in the back of someone else’s car.
She debated canceling the Lyft and just calling her driver, but then he would tell her brother where she’d been and she’d never hear the end of it. No, she needed the time off the clock and away from the freaking cameras.
“Hey, Miss,” a voice called out to her as she stood on the front steps, trying to take some deep breaths. “You left this on the bar.”
She turned to see an older gentleman, maybe twenty years her senior, approaching her. He was holding a tube of lipstick. She didn’t recognize it, and it certainly wasn’t hers. She never wore lipstick.
She shook her head. “That’s not mine.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned and then glanced back up at her. “I bet it would look real pretty on your chocolate skin.”
Do I look like a damn candy bar to you?
Josie pulled her sweater tighter around her, hoping the Lyft would show up. “It’s not mine,” she repeated.
“Why don’t you try it on?” he insisted. “Let’s just test it out.”
“No.” She moved away from him, but he approached her faster.
“Just try it on, sweet thing.” He grabbed her wrist and twisted it, yanking her backward. “I just want to see how it looks on ya.”
“Let go of me!” she yelled, struggling to free her arm from his grasp.
“Don’t be such an uppity little bitch,” the man said, squeezing her wrist tighter and tighter until she cried out in pain. “I’ve seen you on TV before.”
“Hey!” A fist came out of nowhere and landed squarely against the man’s jaw.
He staggered back and released Josie’s wrist, causing her to fall to the ground. He clutched his face. “What the hell?”
“The lady said let go,” the owner of the fist—a tall, buff young man who looked like a brick wall stuffed in a suit—instructed her attacker. “I suggest you listen to women when they talk. I’d also suggest you leave. Now.”
The older man scurried away like a dog with his tail between his legs.
Josie wasn’t sorry to see him go.
The newcomer turned back to her, concern etched on his features, his brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“I…I think so?” She examined her wrist, wincing at the pain.
He noticed her expression. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No way. I’m not spending all night in a hospital room when I know it’s not broken. It probably just needs some ice.”
Plus, she couldn’t afford the fallout from the media over yet another family scandal. It was bad enough that her entire family was on a reality television show, thanks to her brother’s career that chronicled her every move, but knowing that any little thing she did could be used as fodder for an episode was a nightmare waiting to happen.
“See, I can still move it.” She gingerly moved her wrist.
A small smirk played across his lips, and she couldn’t help but notice a slight Irish lilt in his voice. “Useful.”
“T
h-Thank you for your help,” she stammered, trying to find something to say to this incredibly gorgeous man who’d just ridden in like Prince Charming and saved her life. “I’ll just go find my Lyft now.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, seeming to ignore everything she’d just said.
“Josie.” It was a nice change of pace to run into someone who didn’t know who she was. Although that wasn’t very unusual with men because they weren’t really the target demographic for her family’s show.
He nodded. “I’m Callan.”
“Nice to meet you, Callan.” She started to walk away.
“Need a ride home?” he asked, motioning to a sleek black SUV parked against the curb. Of course, it had to be a freaking Range Rover.
Who the hell was this guy? It certainly wasn’t unusual in Las Vegas to run into celebrities, but she didn’t recognize him…although something about his face…he did look familiar.
She glanced down at her phone and checked her Lyft app. Her driver was still thirteen minutes away. What the hell? She canceled the ride.
“Sure. Why not?”
A ride with a life-saving potential celebrity sounded safer anyway than with a total stranger vetted only by an app. At least, that was the story she was going with to convince herself to get into the car with this drop-dead handsome man. And when she said drop-dead handsome, she meant it. The dude was gawk-worthy. Chiseled muscles on every inch of his body that she could see. Long, wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail and blue eyes that made her knees feel like they were made of Jell-O.
“Is this your car?” she asked, motioning to the Range Rover.
He nodded and opened the passenger door for her. “Hop in.”
“Hold on. One second.” She walked around to the front of the car and took a picture of the car and license plate and sent it off in a quick text to her best friend, Emily.
“Did you just take a picture of my license plate?” he asked, one brow raised as he watched her.
“And texted it to my friend,” she confirmed, waltzing past him and climbing into the passenger seat of the car.
He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Can I ask why?”
“In case you murder me.” She turned to face him, giving him a deadpan expression like it was the most obvious thing ever.
Her mother had taught her that trick years ago, though growing up in Las Vegas had been an education in and of itself. Men were a lot less likely to act nefariously when they knew they were being held accountable by an anonymous third party.
A grin spread wide across his face, and it only made his beautiful features all the more glorious. “Smart lady.” He closed her car door, and she watched with interest as he walked around the car and then climbed into the driver’s seat. The way he moved… Jesus, it was a sin. He stalked around the car like he was searching for prey, and it made her shiver—in the best way.
“Where to, Ms. Precaution?” he asked.
Maybe it was the tequila talking, or maybe it was the fact that he was daring her to throw caution to the wind, or maybe she was just fed up with the monotony of her life and wanted to throw a wrench into things. She wasn’t sure what made the next words come out of her mouth. All she knew was that she’d said them and she didn’t want to take them back…
“Take me to your place.”
Chapter Two
If there was one thing Callan hadn’t expected tonight, it was to meet her. Tight black curls that fell loose around her face and bobbed as she talked, bright-green eyes that seemed to gaze right through him, creamy brown skin that he wanted to run his hands across… She was every bit as intoxicating as he’d suspected when he’d first seen her across the bar pounding back tequila shots.
He’d considered approaching her, but she’d looked deep in thought and not in the mood for company. By the time he’d decided to do it anyway, she was already leaving, but he’d seen an older man follow her out. He wasn’t sure it was any reason for alarm, but he’d decided to check anyway just to be sure.
Thank God he had.
Now fifteen minutes later, she was asking him to take her to his house for the night.
“Don’t tempt me like that, Josie,” he replied, eyeing her sideways. “You’re a beautiful girl, and that’s a hard thing to turn down.”
“So don’t turn it down,” she replied, like it was the most obvious answer. He already was loving her wit and attitude—the spunk in the way she spoke and viewed the world was mesmerizing.
“How do I know you’re not drunk?” he asked, because hell if he was going to take advantage of a drunk woman.
She touched her fingers to her nose a few times and then started counting backward from one hundred by sevens. He wasn’t even sure if she was accurate, but she sounded right. Hell, she sounded sober enough.
“I’m telling you—the lipstick freak sobered me right the hell up,” she assured him. “Now, let’s go.”
Callan smirked, enjoying the change of pace of being told what to do for once. Normally, he was the boss. He made the rules and laid down the law, but here was this tiny woman barking out orders, and he loved every second of it. And he was pretty sure he was going to love every second of tonight, too.
“You’re a hard woman to say no to,” he said, putting the car into gear and pulling out onto the main road. “And I don’t think I want to.”
She flashed her pearly whites at him in a wide grin. He returned her smile, already wanting to do more than that.
She reached over and began fiddling with the radio dials on his car. Finally, she stopped when she got to a station that was playing Cardi B. She leaned back against the passenger seat and began singing along, not getting a single lyric wrong. Her voice was fantastic, and he glanced sideways more than once to watch her bop along as they drove.
“Wait!” she suddenly screamed out. “Go back!”
“What?” Callan glanced in his rearview mirror, checking to make sure he hadn’t hit anything.
“Did you see that?” Josie’s head was halfway out the window, looking at something behind them.
“See what?” He was thoroughly confused.
“There’s a woman lying on the ground over there.” Josie pointed to a figure behind them lying across the sidewalk.
He could see it now that he’d slowed down.
There were no other cars on the road, so he slowed to a stop and put the car in reverse. Pulling up next to the woman, he turned to Josie. “Stay here.”
He had no idea if the situation was safe or not, and he wasn’t about to risk her life on top of everything.
She nodded in agreement, green eyes wide.
Callan hopped out of the car and walked around to the figure. “Miss? Ma’am?”
The woman made no movement. Shit. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing a dead body. That certainly wasn’t on his bucket list, and hell, his public relations manager would absolutely hate the nightmare this would cause for his career.
After gently tapping her shoulder, he moved his hands to her neck to feel for a pulse. “Miss, are you okay?”
Except there was no pulse.
Because it was a doll. One of the most realistic sex dolls he’d ever seen in his life. These things cost thousands of dollars, and this one was clearly well used and very…enjoyed.
“What the fuck?” Callan let out a loud laugh and then motioned for Josie to come join him. “Josie, it’s a doll.”
“What?” She scurried out of the car and over to him as he was flipping it over. It weighed over a hundred pounds—to be as realistic as possible—so she made a loud thunk when he flipped her onto her back.
“It’s one of those human-like sex dolls.” Callan had to admit, it was very realistic-looking and entirely creepy. He felt like he needed gloves to handle it because God knew where this doll had been or what had been done to it.
“Well…that’s just sad,” Josie said. “Leaving her like that, destitute and naked on the street. And, dang, what did they do to h
er lady parts? Poor girl has been through a lot.”
“People are animals,” he agreed, standing up and walking back around to the driver’s side of the car.
“Wait, we can’t just leave her here,” Josie said, calling him back. “She’s so…real-looking. It’s almost scary. We can’t just abandon her on the side of the road like they did.”
“What do you want to do with her? Toss her in the trash?” Callan grimaced because that didn’t seem like the most humane option either. “Seems just as fucked up, to be honest.”
“We have to give her a funeral and proper burial.” Josie shrugged her shoulders, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Sienna deserves that much.”
“You want to bury her?” Callan tried not to laugh. “And she has a name now?”
Josie nodded. “Sienna the Sex Doll, yes. I want to bury her.”
Callan tossed up his hands. “Sure. Why not? Let’s bury a sex doll at midnight in Las Vegas.”
She clapped her hands together. “Thank you! Come on, help me get her in the back of the car.”
He glanced around again, hoping no one was watching. This was a photo-optics nightmare.
Opening the rear gate of his Range Rover, he reached in and grabbed a blanket he had stored back there. “Here. We can wrap her in this. I don’t really want to be touching her anyhow.”
“Shhh,” Josie said, putting her finger to her lips. “Sienna might hear you.”
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