Make Me
Book 4 of the KPD Motorcycle Patrol Series
By
Lani Lynn Vale
Text copyright ©2019 Lani Lynn Vale
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
I’m tired today. Like, I could seriously take one hell of a nap right now. Do you ever dream about naps like I do?
Acknowledgments
Golden Czermak- Photographer
Zac Smith- Model
My Brother’s Editor & Ink It Out Editing
Cover Me Darling- Cover Artist
My mom- Thank you for reading this book eight million two hundred times.
Kendra, Laura, Kathy, Mindy, Lisa, Barbara & Amanda—I don’t know what I would do without y’all. Thank you, my lovely betas, for loving my books as much as I do.
Table of 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
Epilogue
What’s Next?
Do you Follow me?
Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale:
The Freebirds
Boomtown
Highway Don’t Care
Another One Bites the Dust
Last Day of My Life
Texas Tornado
I Don’t Dance
The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC
Lights To My Siren
Halligan To My Axe
Kevlar To My Vest
Keys To My Cuffs
Life To My Flight
Charge To My Line
Counter To My Intelligence
Right To My Wrong
Code 11- KPD SWAT
Center Mass
Double Tap
Bang Switch
Execution Style
Charlie Foxtrot
Kill Shot
Coup De Grace
The Uncertain Saints
Whiskey Neat
Jack & Coke
Vodka On The Rocks
Bad Apple
Dirty Mother
Rusty Nail
The Kilgore Fire Series
Shock Advised
Flash Point
Oxygen Deprived
Controlled Burn
Put Out
I Like Big Dragons Series
I Like Big Dragons and I Cannot Lie
Dragons Need Love, Too
Oh, My Dragon
The Dixie Warden Rejects
Beard Mode
Fear the Beard
Son of a Beard
I’m Only Here for the Beard
The Beard Made Me Do It
Beard Up
For the Love of Beard
Law & Beard
There’s No Crying in Baseball
Pitch Please
Quit Your Pitchin’
Listen, Pitch
The Hail Raisers
Hail No
Go to Hail
Burn in Hail
What the Hail
The Hail You Say
Hail Mary
The Simple Man Series
Kinda Don’t Care
Maybe Don’t Wanna
Get You Some
Ain’t Doin’ It
Too Bad So Sad
Bear Bottom Guardians MC
Mess Me Up
Talkin’ Trash
How About No
My Bad
One Chance, Fancy
It Happens
Keep It Classy
Snitches Get Stitches
F-Bomb
The Southern Gentleman Series
Hissy Fit
Lord Have Mercy
KPD Motorcycle Patrol
Hide Your Crazy
It Wasn’t Me
I’d Rather Not
Make Me
Sinners are Winners
If You Say So
Blurb
Royal St. James got her name when she was born. Not because her mother loved her royally, but because Royal was a giant pain in the ass. She’s spent her entire life fighting to live, and the last thing she needs is to deal with some pretty-boy police officer who wouldn’t know a hardship if it came up and bit him in the…you know.
Justice Rector wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was raised to work hard and always fight for what he believed in. His father was a cop, and ever since he could remember, he wanted to be one, too.
It was a complete coincidence that he ends up going undercover and meeting Royal St. James. It was just one day, a single moment in time. All routine.
Just do the buy, make the bust, and get out.
But Royal St. James, aptly named, screws everything up. Royally.
All of a sudden, he has a decision to make: blow his cover and save the girl, or save himself.
Of course, he does the most stupid thing possible.
By saving the girl who most assuredly did not want to be saved.
Chapter 1
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
-Things Royal says to her father under her breath
Royal
I reluctantly trudged up the steps of my father’s home and hated every freakin’ second of it.
Thankfully, The Judge was likely at work already. Not thankfully, I was sure that him being on time for work meant that he’d left Jimmy to be taken care of by his wife. A wife that didn’t get up until ten in the morning, meaning that Jimmy didn’t get help until well after ten-thirty, sometimes eleven.
And, since I had today off from work, I had the time to help.
My brother was also helped into bed around nine every night by my father, so I knew without a doubt that he was more than ready to be out of bed by seven every morning, if not earlier.
Walking through the door without announcing myself, I headed straight up to Jimmy’s room without stopping to let my stepmother know that I was there. Then again, it was quite a bit out of my way. She was so far on the opposite side of the house that it might as well be not in the house at all.
That was mainly because if Jimmy did end up crying out for help because he’d been in one spot too long and things started to really hurt, he would have to yell for Torri. Torri who went out of her way not to be bothered—i.e., moving her room to the other side of the house and having sound-proofing installed just in case.
I knocked on the door and waited.
“Come in,” Jimmy’s deep, husky voice drawled from the other side.
I grinned and threw the door open, laughing when Jimmy’s annoyed gaze met mine.
“Hey, little brother,” I said. “What’s up with that scowl?”
“
Torri is gone,” Jimmy sighed. “She had a massage appointment at nine this morning, and she knew you had the day off. She came in here long enough to tell me that and jet out. She didn’t even let me call you first.”
I gritted my teeth, pissed all over again.
“What a bitch,” I snapped. “I waited until eight to come over here just on the off chance that I woke her. She could’ve told me, and I’d have been here at six.”
Jimmy laughed and patted my hand.
I grinned at him and brought his hand up to my face.
“Let me call your mom,” I said jovially.
Jimmy fist-pumped as he reached for the rope that was above him.
I watched as he slowly pulled himself to sitting, then grabbed onto the pole in front of him to stay upright.
The phone rang in my ear as I watched him move.
“Marta?” I said into the phone.
“Royal!” Marta, Jimmy’s mother, cried out in excitement. “Is she gone?”
I grinned. “She is. Would you like to come over?”
Marta didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be there. I have to leave the bakery for a bit, so it might take me a little more time to arrange it, but I’ll be there.”
“Great,” I said. “See you in a few.”
“Fuckin’ Torri,” I muttered as I tossed the phone on the bed beside him. “I fuckin’ hate her guts.”
Jimmy sighed. “She really shouldn’t have to do it at all.”
“She really shouldn’t have said she would, which was part of the reason Dad married his third wife, if she didn’t want to,” I said. “She knew what she was signing up for when she walked into his life.”
Jimmy didn’t say anything, ever the peacemaker.
I had no problem helping him get out of bed. I know that he wishes he didn’t need the help, but he does.
“Do you want to shower today or tomorrow?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I didn’t get very dirty yesterday.”
I nodded once and walked to the drawer where he kept his clothes.
After selecting a new pair of underwear and some jeans for him, I walked over to the edge of the bed.
From there we managed to maneuver him into his underwear and jeans, taking a bit longer than it took other people because he was just fuckin’ massive, and I was an ‘itty bitty thing’ according to him.
After having him clothed from the waist down, I found a t-shirt, snickering when I dressed him in one that I’d bought him last year that said ‘Talk to me, Goose’ and pair of socks.
“Mom doesn’t dress me in weird shirts,” Jimmy muttered.
I snorted. “Your mother doesn’t want you to be embarrassed. I don’t care.”
He tugged my hair, then gestured to his chair beside the bed.
“Let’s move.”
I got him to the chair just as Marta came barreling into the room.
She went straight to Jimmy and didn’t say anything to me but a distracted ‘hi.’
I stared at Marta fawning over Jimmy and wished things were different.
Another vehicle had crashed into Marta’s small car when she’d pulled out. Jimmy and I had been in the back seat, Marta in the front.
She hadn’t seen the car she’d pulled out in front of, and for her troubles, she’d lost Jimmy because my dad had been pissed that he now had to deal with a child that was paralyzed from the waist down.
Sensing that they’d like some alone time, I chose to give it to them instead of being ignored.
I knew they didn’t do it on purpose, but they were mother and son. I was just the half-sister.
I knew Marta loved me. Hell, she’d helped raise me since I was a toddler. But her love for me and her love for her own son couldn’t compare.
“Anything else I can do to help you get ready for work, Jimmy?” I called out, knowing I’d given Marta and Jimmy enough time.
Jimmy looked up and held out his hand.
I went to him and smiled, bringing that hand back up to my cheek.
“No,” he said. “I’ll get Mom to give me a ride. Thank you for coming over.”
I rolled my eyes and playfully punched Jimmy in the thigh.
Jimmy gave a fake ‘ow.’
I flexed my hands.
What I would give for him to feel that pain.
“Love you guys. I’ll see y’all on Tuesday, hopefully,” I said as I gathered my purse and belongings up.
Marta gave me a quick hug. “Love you, too. Be careful at work tomorrow.”
I gritted my teeth. “Aren’t I always?”
Marta gave me a pointed look. “No.”
That was true.
I wasn’t always careful.
“I’ll be as careful as I can be,” I admitted. “Y’all have a good one.”
With that, I left before I could be mothered anymore.
I knew that Marta meant well, and I loved her like I once did my own mother, but I didn’t have any choice where I worked. I couldn’t be picky seeing as every single job I was ever hired onto fired me within a week.
See, Royal St. James was a royal fuck-up. A royal pain in the ass. A royal nothing.
I had a special set of skills. A special set of skills that nearly always got me fired—at least before I’d started working my current job—in trouble, or both.
Then again, I didn’t really try to keep my jobs when I was younger.
I knew it pissed my father off to know that I job-hopped as much as I did, but when I felt the urge to wander, I had.
Speaking of my father, I wasn’t out of the house for a whole minute before he was calling me.
I answered with a long-suffering sigh.
“Hello, Dad. How are you today?” I called out jovially.
“Get that woman out of my house,” were my father’s first words to me that morning.
I looked at my phone and considered hanging up, but he’d just call back.
And I didn’t want to deal with the asshole’s constant pestering.
He would bother the shit out of me until he got to say what he wanted to say, and then I’d agree just because that’s the only way he would stop, and do what I wanted the next day regardless of the previous day’s lecture.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m already gone.”
“You just left the house. I can see you in the driveway still,” he said, not sounding amused.
I shrugged, knowing he could see me on the security system camera. “I can’t. I have an appointment with my gynecologist. I may have a sexually transmitted disease and can’t miss it,” I lied. “And since Torri isn’t here to help him, I had no choice but to call Marta.”
My dad was silent on the other end of the line for a few seconds, then he cleared his throat. “I hope that’s a joke.”
It was, but I wasn’t going to tell him it was.
The more annoyed I made my dad, the more he focused on me and the less he focused on the woman in his house that loved her son.
“Anyway,” I said. “If you’d just allow Marta to come over every day to help like she wants to, Torri wouldn’t have to be the one to half-ass him getting ready.”
And Jimmy wouldn’t have to come over to my job or Marta’s bakery and have one of us help him change his underwear because Torri didn’t feel like doing it that day.
“That woman is not allowed in my house anymore,” he said, angry and pissed, I was sure more at my words about having an STD rather than at Marta now.
“That woman loves her son and wants to help,” I said. “And I’ll keep inviting her over to help because I want to.”
My father didn’t say anything. “I’ll change the codes to the house, and you won’t be able to come over anymore.”
I laughed at that. “Your precious Jimmy would hate that. And he’d eventually wear you down.”
Just like he always did.
My dad threatened and implemented the ‘keep Royal out�
� plan at least once every couple of months. It’d last for about two or three days before Jimmy was able to convince my father to let me back into the door.
Then Jimmy would call me and tell me to come over the next morning, and I would.
It pissed my dad off to no end, but he loved Jimmy, and inevitably would give him whatever he wanted.
“I do hope if you end up having an STD that you find whoever you gave it to and inform him.” My father hung up.
I opened the door to my SUV—the one that Jimmy had helped convince my father that I needed to haul him around—and got in.
I tossed my phone onto the center console and backed out of the driveway before heading in the direction of home.
I was tired as hell.
I’d been up since the night before, unable to sleep, and I could use some shut-eye.
But first, I stopped by Marta’s bakery and got a pastry.
It was while I was leaving, stuffing my face full of a massive blueberry muffin, that I nearly ran straight into a wall of muscle.
I inhaled deeply and sucked bits of muffins into the wrong pipe. My eyes watered, and I began coughing, bits of muffin spraying out onto a massively beautiful, defined chest.
Once I realized what I was doing, I turned and coughed sideways. All the while, the wall of muscle didn’t move.
Through bleary, tear-filled eyes, I cleared my throat and looked at the man that had nearly been the cause of my demise.
And froze.
That was because the wall of muscle was…beautiful.
He was tall—way taller than me—with dirty blond, messy hair. He had the most beautiful crystal-clear blue eyes that I’d ever seen, set in a tanned face. A tanned face that had the same color beard with just a hint of red in it. That beard circled a perfect set of plump red lips.
Red lips that were turned down in a frown.
I followed the muscled column of his throat to a black t-shirt. The collar of his black t-shirt had a pair of Ray-Ban Aviator glasses hooked to it.
And the man’s tattooed, muscular arms were now crossed intimidatingly over his chest.
A chest that had food on it—from me.
That was when I reached forward and started cleaning off my coughed-up blueberry muffin pieces off of his chest.
And oh, God. That chest felt like ecstasy underneath my hands.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as I brushed the crumbs away.
Make Me Page 1
