Double Down (Bad Boy Security Book 3)

by R. Cayden

  Double Down

  Bad Boy Security, Book Three

  R. Cayden

  Copyright © 2020 by R. Cayden

  All rights reserved.

  Cover artist: Black Jazz Design

  Proofreader: M. A. Hinkle

  Beta reader: Megan Dischinger

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Content Note

  Summary

  Bad Boy Security

  Prologue

  Lawrence

  Raiden

  Lawrence

  Cash

  Lawrence

  Raiden

  Lawrence

  Raiden

  Lawrence

  Cash

  Raiden

  Lawrence

  Cash

  Raiden

  Lawrence

  Raiden

  Lawrence

  Raiden

  Cash

  Lawrence

  Lawrence

  Cash

  Cash

  Lawrence

  Cash

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by R. Cayden

  Content Note

  This novel includes brief scenes of gun violence, mugging, kidnapping, and drug use.

  Summary

  A mercenary, hiding his past. A bodyguard, ready to fight. And a beautiful boy, just trying to have a good time.

  Raiden doesn’t expect much danger from his new bodyguard gig. He’s always been a fighter, but this rich kid just needs someone to keep him out of trouble at the dance clubs. Watching Lawrence wriggling his hips and flirting with other men makes Raiden see red, and stirs up feelings he didn’t expect. He tries like hell to resist temptation (and those perfect lips), but when a suspicious stranger keeps crossing their path, Raiden smells danger, and it sends him over the edge.

  Being a mercenary on the black market in New York means that Cash doesn’t have much time for hookups, let alone relationships. So why does his heart skip a beat when he starts a new job, trailing some kid with a rich father? Sure, Lawrence is an angel with sparkling eyes, but Cash has a job to do, and a secret vendetta to focus on. At least Lawrence has a hot bodyguard with a temper. It makes the game of pursuing the kid twice as fun…

  Lawrence knows that no one wants to hear a poor little rich boy story, especially not from the son of a powerful, corrupt CEO. Instead, he buries his demons, gives the money from his substantial trust fund to charity, and spends his days partying with friends. But when his bodyguard comes swinging at his new crush, Lawrence’s life spirals out of control.

  With billionaires and crime bosses hot on Lawrence’s trail, will Raiden and Cash be able to put their explosive differences aside in time to save him?

  Double Down is an M/M/M bodyguard romance and the third book in Bad Boy Security. It can be read alone but is best appreciated as part of the series. Enjoy!

  Prologue

  Cash

  Cash walked into Reed’s stuffy office like a cat with a tuna in his mouth. He had treated himself to a new Gucci suit (navy pinstripe with a peaked lapel) and came straight from the barber with a tightened beard and freshly shaved undercut.

  He looked pretty fucking good. But it was the file in his briefcase that really put a spring in his step, and when Reed finally turned to greet him, his eyes went straight there.

  “Already?” Reed grunted. “I just hired you last week.” The man slumped over his desk, not bothering to stand up. He wore an old brown suit that hugged him too tightly, and as he stroked his chin, he nodded. “I take it you didn’t run into any problems in the Capitol?”

  Cash set the briefcase down with a flourish. He had always despised Reed, who seemed determined to take the fun out of their work. Even though his office was stuffed in a skyscraper full of legitimate businesses, right in downtown Manhattan, there was still a grumpy man with a gun at the door, and the wood-paneled walls reeked of cigarette smoke, like they were in some two-bit criminal’s lair. Men like Reed just had no flair, no sense of sophistication.

  And Cash didn’t see what the point of doing anything was, if you didn’t do it with at least a little style.

  “No problems,” he answered, then flipped the briefcase open. “Your client will be happy to know I made it in and out of Senator Dooley’s campaign office and his home office both without a hitch.” He cracked his knuckles, then took the papers from the briefcase, fanning them in front of Reed. “You’ll see the dossier is complete. I’ve accounted for dinners, fake committee meetings, a few gift purchases. There’s a credit card that seemed to be used just for philandering, and in this yellow envelope, you’ll see some choice emails, although most of the files on his network were deeply encrypted.” He smiled to himself, proud of how much he had gathered on such a closely guarded target. “I take it you’re representing the interests of what? A pissed-off wife? A scorned mistress? Or mister?”

  Reed snorted. “None of your damn business, you know that. What about the drawer?”

  Cash reached into the pocket of the briefcase, then pulled out a small blue pouch. He untied the string and dumped the contents onto the desk. “I was really expecting something more interesting,” he quipped as a gold ring, a few silver-specked rocks, some burner phones, and a framed snapshot of the senator with Ronald Reagan all tumbled out. “Make sure you get in the bottom drawer! Everything depends on the bottom drawer! I thought there’d at least be a gun in there, maybe some panties. A dismembered finger… Anything!”

  Again, Reed snorted, dismissing Cash without looking up. He held the ring to the flickering overhead light, a plain band with a fat diamond that sparkled. “This is all the client cared about.”

  “In that case, you mind if I take the rest with me?” Cash asked. He wasn’t quite sure why the Senator cared about some shiny silver rocks, but for some reason, Cash had developed a weird attachment to them.

  By way of answering, Reed swept the contents back into the pouch, then dropped it in his desk drawer. Cash was about to complain, but then Reed pulled out a fat envelope and extended it across the desk. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you get the job done.”

  Cash grabbed the envelope, but when he tried to pull it into his greedy hands, Reed held tight.

  “That’s why I want you for another gig,” he said, then released the envelope with a grin. “One I think you’re specially suited for.” He nodded to the chair across the desk and, as Cash took a creaky seat, pulled out a decanter full of brown liquor.

  “Why, Reed,” Cash joked, crossing one leg over the other as he casually hung his arm across the arm of the chair. “This must be special. You’ve never offered me so much as tap water before.”

  “Maybe you finally impressed me,” Reed answered, then slid a glass to Cash. “I have a tricky mark, and I need someone with your…” He trailed off, then threw back his drink with a wince. “Your particular talents.”

  “Cracking safes? High-profile surveillance? Stolen art retrieval? Or do you just need someone polished enough to attend a black-tie event?” Cash perked up in his seat and waggled his eyebrows. “I haven’t robbed a house party in years. Sounds fun!” he exclaimed, then threw back the drink.

  Bourbon, and not a good one.

  Reed frowned. “Your other talents,” he said, his voice scratchy. “The mark is named Lawrence. He’s twenty-three, a party boy. He lives here in Manhattan, frequents the gay clubs, but he’ll make his way all over town on the weekend.” Reed’s
voice picked up a snarl. “Brunches with drag queens, dance parties on the rooftop, that kind of shit.”

  Cash tilted his head. He bounced his leg, then laughed when he understood what Reed was actually saying. “Ohhhh! When you say you want my talents, you mean my gay talents.” He considered it. “I suppose some of my old hookups would agree that I’m quite talented, sure.”

  “We don’t care about the kid, not really,” Reed continued. “But his father is a corporate hotshot, and my client sees Lawrence as a weakness we could exploit. Your job is to get close to him, infiltrate his phones, pull together a dossier on the family. After that, we’ll see if there are any openings you can use to hit the old man.” He stroked his chin, then grunted a laugh. “Probably won’t have to snatch the kid, but then again, I didn’t think we’d have to snatch the last one, either.”

  Something inside of Cash seized, like a hand had grabbed his ribs. He despised the idea of going after someone’s child. It didn’t matter if he was grown; no one should have to pay for his father’s sins. And this guy? He didn’t sound like he was hurting anyone.

  Not to mention snatching him? Cash had a strict rule. He didn’t assassinate people, and he didn’t snatch them, either.

  No matter how good the money was.

  “Sorry,” he answered with a light shrug. “Doesn’t sound like it matches my talent after all. Every time I go to brunch with a drag queen, we end up arguing electoral politics by the time the mimosas arrive.” He popped up from the chair, then smoothed down his jacket. With the reputation he was earning himself in New York, he could afford to turn down a job or two and devote a little more time to his real mission.

  “Don’t be an ass,” Reed said flatly. “This is a different pay scale than you’re used to.” He scribbled on a notepad, then tossed it across the big wooden desk. “Live up to your name, Cash.”

  Cash looked at the number. It was truly quite big, with one beautiful zero after the next, and his heart sang a little song while he considered the offer.

  But still… Messing with some innocent kid? Practically stalking him? Not to mention Reed’s men had a nasty reputation, and there was no guarantee that this Lawrence guy would come out the other side unharmed. Especially not if kidnapping was already on the table.

  “Sorry.”

  Reed grunted. “I’m disappointed. It’s hard as hell breaking into Horizon Zed. Thought you’d be our best chance.”

  Suddenly, the room went still. If a hand had grabbed Cash by the ribs earlier, it was shaking him all over the place now, an alarm screaming at high alert in the back of his brain. “Horizon Zed? The corporation?”

  As in the massive corporation that had fucked over Cash’s entire life and torn everything that mattered to him into tiny little shreds? The corporation that had sent him reeling from a happy childhood in North Carolina and into his current life of ill repute?

  “Fucking Horizon Zed?” he repeated, his voice rising.

  “We’ve put together research on most of the executives,” Reed said. “And we’ve got contacts like you wouldn’t believe, right up the corporate ladder. But my client is still trying to crack it open at the top.”

  Cash felt dizzy. Dossier after dossier? Hidden contacts up the corporate ladder? It was enough to tent his pants right there. “All of that, huh?” he said, faux casual.

  “Does it change your mind?”

  Cash licked his teeth. The idea was still abhorrent to him, but he’d spent years gathering info on Horizon Zed all on his own. If he could get his hands on Reed’s information and use those extra resources to infiltrate the place, Cash would be able to accomplish things like he’d never dared dream.

  And anyway, better he tracked this Lawrence kid than someone else, considering the type of men Reed usually worked with.

  “How about this,” Reed added, tossing one of the silver stones in his hand. “I’ll throw in one of these damn rocks, too, just to show I care.”

  Without thinking, Cash held his hand straight up, and Reed tossed him the rock. It landed with a heavy smack, and when Cash looked down, the silver sparkled under the flickering fluorescent light.

  “Fuck it,” he answered with a grin. “When do I start?”

  Lawrence

  In Lawrence’s ears, music throbbed, electric and rumbly and fast. Eyes closed, he swayed his hips back and forth and let his butt bounce to the music. He wobbled and almost stumbled, and when he finally opened his eyes, the world looked blurry and upside down.

  He threw his hands in the air. Lawrence spun, and two vodka tonics, one joint, and a night’s worth of sweaty men swirled around in his skull. He tripped over something hard, kicked his feet backward as he flew, and then splashed into a cold, wet pile of yuck.

  The music, which was apparently only in Lawrence’s ears, stopped throbbing.

  He groaned and rubbed his face and, when he finally straightened his vision out again, found himself in a small puddle, just off the curb outside what appeared to be a dance club.

  “What the hell, Lawrence,” he muttered, then pulled himself to his feet. For the evening, he was wearing a big floral bucket hat, matched with a pink satin shirt and a pair of tight denim shorts. It was a bit over the top, especially with the chunky beaded necklace, but he prided himself in being able to pull off that kind of outfit.

  Which made it all the more upsetting that he was ruined with mud and New York City gutter water.

  “Ugh,” Lawrence grunted, then pulled himself to his wobbly feet. He held onto a lamp post for balance as a few people strolled by, entirely unimpressed by his predicament. He tried to piece his night back together and remember where in the hell he actually was. It was just supposed to be a regular evening. He’d started out over at Mayer’s for white wine and Adderall. Things got a little blurry when they went to that stranger’s birthday party from Instagram, but he remembered with perfect clarity dancing on the bar later.

  Reality snapped to focus again as Lawrence abruptly dry heaved by the curb. Once he recovered his dignity, a little voice reached through the fog and told him to take his drunk ass home.

  He made it halfway down the block before he stumbled into a large, blurry person. Lawrence apologized and stepped backward, and an older man with curly gray hair and warm cheeks came into focus. He was pulling a shopping cart that looked to have his belongings in it, and Lawrence tripped over his words to apologize. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Me either,” the man laughed. “You’re okay.”

  After staring for a second, Lawrence did the same thing he did every time he got drunk: he gave all his money away. He pulled his wallet out of little zippered fanny pack that he wore slung over his shoulder like a bag, grabbed the couple hundred-dollar bills he was carrying, and shoved them in the man’s hand.

  “I ah-shhhure you,” he slurred. “It was entirely my fault.”

  Lawrence stumbled away before the man could say anything more. He only had to stand on the corner for a second, squinting in his phone and trying to figure out how to call a Lyft, before a yellow taxi came by to swoop him up. After announcing his address, he lay on his back, surprised to see the sky turning a pinkish gray with dawn, and worked on keeping the contents of his stomach in place until he was home.

  “This is perfect!” he announced to the taxi driver abruptly. He’d spotted his favorite deli and figured a big egg-and-cheese sandwich now would be doing himself a favor. He handed up the fifty he kept in the back of his phone case, hopped onto the street, and squinted at the sign while the taxi drove away.

  “Exotic Pets?”

  The deli, like his home, was actually ten blocks away, Lawrence discovered. Typical that he would make a mistake like that. He went to grab his phone and just call himself a Lyft but realized he had abandoned it in the back of the taxi. Cursing, he stumbled a couple blocks, then stopped for a bit to rub mud off his shorts. He stumbled another block, whistling to himself, then froze when two men stepped out fr
om between the cars parked on the street, one on either side of him.

  Lawrence took a step to the side, as though to walk around the sudden intrusion, and the man in front lurched forward. He was wearing a black baseball cap, a white shirt, and black pants, and from what Lawrence could see, he was all muscle.

  Not good news.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Lawrence mumbled, fear creeping through the drunken haze.

  “Great,” the man answered, narrowing his ice blue eyes. “Then give us your phone and your money.”

  Lawrence frowned. “I don’t have my phone. Or any cash.”

  A shove from behind sent him stumbling forward. His stomach lurched, and when he turned, he saw the other man, even bigger than his friend.

  “Who doesn’t carry a fucking phone? Don’t lie to us, you little shit.”

  The bigger man grabbed Lawrence’s shirt, then gave him a hard shake. At the same time, his friend reached into Lawrence’s pockets, then searched his fanny pack and pulled out his wallet.

  “What is this?” he snarled. “You don’t even have a fucking credit card!”

  Lawrence’s world went sideways in a really not nice way, and he wished desperately to teleport into bed. “I leave my credit cards at home when I go out,” he said, his voice tight. “Please don’t shake me again.”