I sell drugs. Heroin to be specific. And I’m fucking good at my job. Enough to fight my way to the top position, controlling all of Austin’s supply.
So what if I had to kill the previous boss to do it. I do what has to be done. Never cared about consequences because I never had anything to lose.
Until I met Miri. My doll. She’s my weakness and somehow, my enemies found out about her.
If they hurt her, they will regret the day they ever heard my name. Boss. They call me Boss for a reason. What I say goes, including the price on the heads of anyone who dares to fuck with what belongs to me.
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
My favorite authors are Dan Wells, Ken Follett, and Stephen King.
I’m a heroin addict. A junkie. A whore. I’ll do anything to get my next fix.
Anything.
Including walking right onto the property of Austin’s most ruthless and feared drug lord to beg for some H. I don’t know his name, only that people call him Boss. Oh, and that he won’t think twice to put a bullet in my head.
But like I said, I’ll do anything to get my next fix. Even if it costs me my life.
Or changes it forever.
Excerpt #1
Boss gives Miri a hit
Despite Miri’s disgusting appearance, her nasty addiction to heroin, and the fact that her maybe-boyfriend had been stealing from me to feed her habit, I felt responsible for her. It was my shit she got hooked on, and she just seemed… frail and in need of someone to take care of her. It was almost as if she were sent here as penance for my past failures to take care of my mom and sister.
Besides, Miri intruded on my property. She knew where I lived. I couldn’t just toss her out. It was highly unlikely, but she could call the cops and get them down here with a warrant in the blink of an eye.
Better to get her dosed up and calmed down before trying to talk.
“Jase,” I barked.
One of my men immediately appeared at my side. “Yes, Boss.”
“Bring me the kit.”
With a sharp nod, he left the room and reappeared in less than two minutes to hand me a small zippered pouch. “Here you go, Boss.”
“All of you leave,” I ordered as I began prepping the kit. One by one, I lined the items up on the table, in the order I would need them. Everyone obeyed my command but one.
“Boss, come on…”
“Milo, don’t push me any further tonight.” I turned to give my lieutenant a dark stare that said don’t fuck with me. He better not press his thoughts in front of a stranger.
Milo’s lips pressed tight as he struggled to keep his mouth shut and follow my orders. Nothing new from the big, strong-willed man. He was very opinionated at times. Tense and agitated, Milo gave in and agreed. “Fine. I’m going home then, Boss.”
“See you in the morning.” I dismissed Milo and returned my attentions to the sweaty, gross, trembling girl in my kitchen.
Using an alcohol pad, I wiped my hands to kill any germs. Then I picked up a tiny packet of white powder, careful not to spill any, and poured it into a spoon designed to lie on a flat surface without tilting. The rubber tourniquet was long compared to Miri’s razor-thin arm. I knotted it around the tiny limb, holding back a pained grimace at touching her filthy skin. When I glanced up to check on her, I found Miri watching intently. I blinked and tore my gaze away from those wide green eyes to search for a vein. There wasn’t a single usable one on her scar-riddled arm.
“Shit,” I muttered when an inspection of her other arm turned up the same.
“I-I use my feet.” Miri’s voice was so soft I nearly missed her response.
Caught in the sliver of emerald in those captivating eyes, it took me a minute to reply.
“All right.” I removed the tourniquet, put it around a slender ankle, and placed her left foot on the floor to get better blood flow to the extremity. A single bluish vein stood out, surrounded by a half-dozen faded and fresh track marks. “There it is.” I grabbed another alcohol pad and swabbed the area. Syringe in hand, I uncapped a vial of sterile water and drew up a small amount, adding it to the powered opiate in the spoon. Using a lighter, I cooked the drugs until the mixture was reduced to a clear, bubbling liquid. As I waited for the chemicals to cool, Miri became frantic.
“I-It’s okay. I c-can take it hot. Really. I-I don’t mind. Please…”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not safe. You could blow a vein or worse.”
“I don’t care! Give it to me.” She started to struggle in the chair, in danger of tipping it over again.
Fed the fuck up with today’s events and bullshit in general, I caught her chin between my thumb and forefingers and pinched hard enough to hold her still.
“Stop this immediately or you’ll get nothing. Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say it once. I’m never, ever hospitable to intruders, so you should consider yourself lucky to still be breathing right now and not being driven to a remote location where no one will ever find your body.”
Those dull eyes widened with fear and her lip trembled. “Okay, okay. I’m g-good. I’ll be good. I’m s-sorry.”
I ripped open another alcohol swab and wiped off my fingers. Filthy junkie. Once the mixture was cool, I drew it up into the syringe using a filtered needle and made sure the air was out.
“Ready?” I’m not sure why I bothered—I knew the answer before the question was asked.
“Yes, please, please, please.” Miri vibrated with anticipation.
Despite the fact I grew up around drugs, despised drug use, watched my family implode from drug addiction and never once allowed anyone to get high in my house or permitted drug use among my employees, I went against everything I believed personally and stuck the needle into the vein on Miri’s foot. I pulled back to watch as dark red blood entered the syringe. With visual confirmation I hit a vein, I removed the tourniquet and slowly injected the opiate into her system until the syringe was empty. Working efficiently, I cleaned up the kit, put the used items in a container for the staff to dispose of, and washed my hands at the sink.
Then I sat down and waited.
*****************
Excerpt #2
Boss forces Miri in the shower to get clean
Fighting the intense, gut-clenching fear, I tightened my grip, using his strong muscles to keep me upright as he washed my feet. The cloth skimmed up my legs one at a time, his hands scrubbing over and over as the foam rinsed away days of dirt and grime. The boss skipped my clothed midsection, straightened to his full height, and repeated the process with my arms, spending extra time on my dirt-caked hands and nails, and the track marks on my arms, only moving on when my skin glowed pink.
Next, he lifted my long red hair off my neck and slid the cloth across the top of my back and shoulders, then around the front to wash the exposed part of my chest where my tank top dipped low. I glanced down as his enormous, bruised and scabbed hands worked over my skin, only then realizing my white tank was completely transparent and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Instinctively, my hands flew up to cover my breasts. He chuckled, a smooth, deep sound so seductive it could easily charm a roomful of people and melt every pair of panties in a five-mile radius.
“A little too late for that, doll. Seein’ as I’ve already got a good look at everything.”
Something about his cocky drawl, the crooked smirk on his face, and that single raised eyebrow felt like a challenge. My courage, boosted by the decadent lull of my best friend, heroin, had me meeting his gaze head-on. Determined to show the boss I wasn’t a cowering scaredy-cat, I fingered the hem, tugged the wet tank over my head, and tossed it to the floor with a loud splat. The man’s eyes widened, which only fueled my desire to make him eat his stupid words. Still staring directly into those sapphire eyes, I stuck my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and shoved them down, stepped out, and kicked them aside. Completely naked, I stood my ground and raised my own brow in return, hands on my hips.
Our eyes were locked a few more seconds before he threw his head back and burst out laughing. The action made him look years younger than I originally believed. “You are somethin’ else, you know that, doll?”
Instead of answering, I snatched the soapy washcloth from his hand and quickly finished washing my newly exposed skin.
“Here.”
Jerk.
The boss scrambled to catch the cloth I whipped at his chest before turning to storm out of the shower. I yelped when he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me toward him. The blazing heat of his chest was pressed against the bare skin of my back and I trembled from head to toe. The boss held tight and lowered his mouth to my ear.
“First, don’t ever fucking throw shit at me again.” Chills broke out across my skin at his angry threat. “You will not disrespect me in my own house, especially after I fucking took you in instead of killing you the second you set foot on my property. Got it?” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my upper arms until I whimpered.
“Y-yes. I get it.” I struggled to keep from screaming out of pure terror. What was I thinking? Mouthing off to a drug lord while naked in his shower and a house full of his goons one floor below. I couldn’t possibly be more vulnerable.
After digging his fingers in for another long moment to prove he was in charge, the boss released me and spun me around as he picked up another bottle. “Your hair is fucking disgusting. It needs to be washed.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and once more, shame flooded me with heat. This man had a way of making me feel as though I was less than human. He held out the bottle, shaking it in my face. “Either you do it, or I do, doll. But you’re not getting out of here until you’ve cleaned the junkie stench off.”
The backs of my eyes stung and my face caught fire. I couldn’t look at him as I took the bottle and poured some shampoo into a shaky hand. He washed himself quickly then stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest as I lathered my hair and rinsed off under the spray.
“Again,” he demanded. I bit my lip to keep from telling him to fuck off and did as I was told.
When the last suds swirled down the drain, the boss was silent as he reached around me and cut off the water. He carefully folded the washcloth, laid it on the edge of the sink, and stepped out of the shower enclosure. He handed me a towel, and picked one up for himself. I tried not to watch as he rubbed the fluffy white cloth over all of those tan muscles, but it was futile. Staring, I was mesmerized by the sight as the boss wrapped the towel around his waist and shucked his wet briefs from underneath. I gulped, knowing he was now naked beneath the soft terrycloth, a mere foot away.
When the silence became uncomfortable, I clutched my own towel to my chest, dug up what little courage I had left, and turned to face him with a huff. “We showered together and I don’t even know your name.”
He quirked that damn eyebrow again and smiled, white teeth gleaming in the middle of his dark designer stubble. If I didn’t know he was a widely feared drug lord and a pushy, high-handed, scary motherfucker, I’d find his expression almost charming.
“Boss.”
“I know you’re The Boss, I want to know your name.”
“My name is Boss,” he repeated. “Or Boss Man. Either one works.” As if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if forcing unwilling women into a shower were an everyday occurrence, he shrugged and brushed a hand through his wet hair.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” This guy was so damn frustrating. He shot me up with H, dumped me in the shower, humiliated me, washed me, but wouldn’t tell me his name. Whatever. I turned my back to him.
Big mistake.
Two large hands wrapped around my shoulders, and I was jerked back against his body once more. Both of us were currently clad only in towels, his slung low around his waist and mine tucked under my armpits. There wasn’t as much skin-on-skin contact as in the shower, but this felt much more intimate. Slowly, Boss spun me around to face him, and I had to muffle a frightened cry. His blue eyes were narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring. The transformation from playful to furious was immediate and absolutely terrifying. For the first time since I’d showed up on his lawn, I was truly, without a doubt, scared shitless.
This man, the one in front of me—so different from the man who laughed in the shower—is what I expected from the drug lord I heard rumors about. Horrible rumors of unspeakable acts of violence. A ruthless man to be respected and feared.
Boss pressed the length of his half-naked body against me, and growled, teeth glinting behind curled lips. “That’s the second time you turned your back on me after mouthing off. I’m only going to say this once more, Miri, so listen carefully.” He lowered his head and his breath ghosted across my neck. I shuddered and a whimper escaped my throat, the result of a horrifying combination of lust and fear. “You are my guest. You snuck onto my property and you’re goddamn lucky I didn’t let Milo shoot you on sight. No, I saved you, took your ass in, gave you your fucking heroin, and washed a couple weeks’ worth of filth and scum off of you using my very expensive body wash that, incidentally, I never share with anyone. I expect you to be grateful for my hospitality and treat me with some goddamn motherfucking respect, got it?” His hands tightened around my arms incrementally as he spoke. His message was quite clear as his touch became more and more painful. I knew his thick fingers would leave bruises on my pale, fragile skin.
Legs shaking, I nearly pissed myself when faced with the lethal side of this man.
“I want to hear you say you understand, Miri.” Boss let go and stepped back until his eyes bored holes into me from beneath heavy brows.
Filled with terror, my heart pounded and my breath caught in my lungs, rendering me speechless. His eyes narrowed, not happy with my silence. Somehow, I managed to choke out two words.
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
My favorite authors are Dan Wells, Ken Follett, and Stephen King.
Junkie and Jagger by are Heather C. Leigh’s latest creation.
The Broken Doll Series is a dark romance duet about a heroin addict who falls in love with the drug lord holding her captive and drops on September 13th!
I’m a heroin addict. A junkie. A whore. I’ll do anything to get my next fix.
Anything.
Including walking right onto the property of Austin’s most ruthless and feared drug lord to beg for some H. I don’t know his name, only that people call him Boss. Oh, and that he won’t think twice to put a bullet in my head.
But like I said, I’ll do anything to get my next fix. Even if it costs me my life.
I sell drugs. Heroin to be specific. And I’m fucking good at my job. Enough to fight my way to the top position, controlling all of Austin’s supply.
So what if I had to kill the previous boss to do it. I do what has to be done. Never cared about consequences because I never had anything to lose.
Until I met Miri. My doll. She’s my weakness and somehow, my enemies found out about her.
If they hurt her, they will regret the day they ever heard my name. Boss. They call me Boss for a reason. What I say goes, including the price on the heads of anyone who dares to fuck with what belongs to me.
Heather C. Leighis the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
Her favorite authors are Dan Wells, Ken Follett, and Stephen King.
Romance done right is full of beautiful and awe-inspiring sex, where the only noises are gasps of pleasure, and changes of position happen smoothly and effortlessly. But what happens when it all goes wrong?
This collection of short stories will bring you back to the real world, where you laugh to keep from crying, because sometimes, it’s just F*cking Awkward!
All profits from digital sales will be going to The Bookworm Box
to distribute to their monthly charity!
Dear reader:
Congratulations on purchasing the Awkward Sex Anthology! A bunch of amazing authors in a group called FTN (We could tell you what this means, but then we’d have to kill you) got together to write the most awkward sex scenes you could imagine, all for charity. You might be thinking to yourself, “I can’t believe I just bought a book called F*cking Awkward” and I’m here to tell you, it’s much better than the titles that were rejected:
F*cking Toasters
F*cking Goats
F*cking a Box of Captain Crunch
F*cking a T-Rex While Playing the Trumpet
F*cking My Best Friend’s Neighbor’s Stepsister’s Starbucks Manager While Wearing a Toga
F*cking a Toga
I’m just kidding! Nobody wrote a story about f*cking a goat! It was a wombat, actually, and no one pressed charges, so it’s fine. The author is fine, the wombat is fine, EVERYONE IS FINE AND I DIDN’T NEED THERAPY SO STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.
Did you know that six out of every seven people in the entire world have experienced an awkward sexual encounter? It’s true. I’ve done extensive research. And by extensive, I mean I did a poll of all the adults in my house – 2 dogs, 3 cats, and my husband and I. I’m pretty sure my dog Fat Ralph was lying when he told me he’d never experienced anything awkward during sex, but he had his nuts cut off when he was six weeks old and is still quite bitter about the whole thing and threatens me with a dog bone shank whenever we chat about sex, so I think it’s 4 best if I stop questioning him about the time I found him in the backyard with a jar of peanut butter, two frogs and the neighbor’s cat wearing pasties.
The cat was the one wearing pasties, FYI, not Fat Ralph. That would just be weird.
So, grab some booze, sit back, and enjoy these hilariously awkward sex scenes. Give yourself a pat on the back for purchasing a book for charity and another one for never experiencing something as crazy as what you’re about to read. Unless you have. In that case, it’s okay to cry and rock back and forth in the corner screaming, “IT WAS ONLY THAT ONE TIME AND I HAD NO IDEA I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO PUT THAT CUCUMBER THERE!” Six out of seven of us totally understand. Except for Fat Ralph. He’s totally judging you right now.
Ten years ago, their lives shattered to pieces… And he’s the KILLER that has to live with it.
Two people. One incident. Interwoven between two damaged souls in ways they don’t understand.
But now, they must fight the same war–a past that wrecked them both–destroyed the two people they used to be. With a hurricane of love, hate, anger, fury, and fear, can two broken lives find a way to let it all go for a chance at happiness?
Excerpt: Britt freaks out
Britt and Gabriel are waiting for me in his office so we can start our meeting. After my interaction with Wolfe, I’m seething and frustrated. All I want to do is jump into the cage and beat the fuck out of something, release this shit building up inside. Confusing new emotions like jealousy are dueling with my usual focused, raw fury. The dark, hollow place in my chest isn’t equipped for this. I fight, I fuck, I exist. Nothing more, nothing less. Furious, I walk over to Gabriel’s office and shove open the door. It bangs against the wall with a loud crack, causing Gabriel to frown and Britt to cry out. Just like that, she drops to the floor, curling into a ball and covering her head with her hands. Gabriel leaps to his feet, hurrying around his desk to crouch next to a huddling, quivering Britt. Stunned, I stand at the door frozen, unsure what is going on or what I should do. “Meu filha! Britt! What is happening?” Gabriel’s voice hitches as he tries to pull Britt out from under his desk. His head whips around to face me. “Killer! ¡Venha aqui e ayudar!” (Get over here and help..) I cross the space in two quick steps, approaching Gabriel’s desk from the opposite side. Britt’s tiny frame is tucked into a tight ball, her knees pulled to her chest, head ducked, and arms curled protectively over her head. Protecting her from what? “Britt,” I say in as composed of a voice as I can manage, which at this moment, isn’t saying much. Not a lot freaks me out, but right now, watching Britt fall to pieces, has me struggling to keep calm. “Please, come out.” Britt is quietly sobbing, her body shuddering in fear. Watching her in such obvious distress sends a stabbing pain through my chest. Not sure this is the best thing for her, but not knowing what else to do, I crawl under the desk. Being as large as I am, I can only get my head and shoulders in next to her. Gabriel slides into nervous, staccato Portuguese. “I will leave you to take care of her. Let me know when she’s feeling better and I will return.” He stands and leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. He left me with her? What the fuck am I supposed to do? At a loss, I do the only thing that comes to mind. It worked to relax her before, so why not? I gather her tiny, trembling body up in my arms, and hold her. Britt immediately unwinds her arms, clutching me tight, burying her face into my shirt, her tears dampening the fabric. On the floor in my trainer’s office, lying half under a desk, a tiny shard of my black soul becomes human again.
About the Author:
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
The girl, Britt, is moving around the small space, clearly at ease with her surroundings. She opens a laptop and sits at a desk wedged in one corner. “You can sit.” Britt points to a second chair. Good. For a second I thought I was going to be forced to get up on the treatment table. I’m not in the mood to be a guinea pig today. That’s a lie. I don’t really care what the trainers or specialists do to me as long as they make me a better fighter. It’s the girl that bothers me, not the thought of being under a microscope. This is the only woman I’ve ever met who isn’t instantly and irrevocably afraid of me, and the only one who has me tempted into thinking I could have more. More than a filthy, dirty fuck to release tension. More than someone to use for a few hours of pleasure. Britt’s obviously already damaged. As much as I’d love to peel back those layers, I don’t want to give her a chance to dig out my own psychological scars, the nightmares hidden beneath a baggy hoodie and a cold stare. If I do, Britt may never recover from what she finds. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, tapping on her computer. “I only found out you were coming last night, so I don’t have much information and haven’t reviewed your medical file.” She’s so quiet, I strain to hear her. When I don’t respond, she cocks her head and her eyes flick up to mine. Shit. I duck down so she can’t get a good look at my face. Fucking coward. She’s going to find out at some point, idiot. Why delay the inevitable? She’ll see the same thing everyone else sees when they look in my eyes… nothing, a monster, a killer. For the first time in ten years, the thought disturbs me.
Ten years ago, their lives shattered to pieces… And he’s the KILLER that has to live with it.
Two people. One incident. Interwoven between two damaged souls in ways they don’t understand.
Ten years ago, their lives shattered to pieces… And he’s the KILLER that has to live with it.
Two people. One incident. Interwoven between two damaged souls in ways they don’t understand.
But now, they must fight the same war–a past that wrecked them both–destroyed the two people they used to be. With a hurricane of love, hate, anger, fury, and fear, can two broken lives find a way to let it all go for a chance at happiness?
About the Author:
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
Ten years ago, their lives shattered to pieces… And he’s the KILLER that has to live with it.
Two people. One incident. Interwoven between two damaged souls in ways they don’t understand.
But now, they must fight the same war–a past that wrecked them both–destroyed the two people they used to be. With a hurricane of love, hate, anger, fury, and fear, can two broken lives find a way to let it all go for a chance at happiness?
About the Author:
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
Hawke Evans is the drummer for the Grammy winning Sphere of Irony. The quiet, tattooed and pierced hottie behind a pair of geek chic glasses is hiding a seriously troubled adrenaline junkie with a death wish.
Abby Kessler is studying psychology at UCLA. Her desire to help those fighting mental illness stems from a life-changing incident in her past.
When Abby meets Hawke backstage at a local club, she’s instantly attracted to his bad boy good looks. But when she discovers the damaged man beneath the beautiful exterior, she’s compelled to make up for past mistakes.
How long will it take for Hawke to realize his reckless behavior isn’t only endangering him, but the hearts of those around him? How long will it take for Abby to see that she can’t help someone who has no desire to be fixed?
***This is book 4 in the Sphere of Irony Series. It can be read as a standalone. This is a spin-off of the Famous Series***
Excerpt
“Go away, Evans. I’m talking this nice girl.” This prick has no idea how close I am to snapping or what Abby means to me. The way Brad says ‘girl’, combined with the obvious ‘fuck off so I can get laid’ look in his eyes, seals Brad’s fate. Blinded by rage, I pull back my arm and drill my fist right into his smug face. “Fuck!” Brad cries out. He touches his mouth to find his lip split open and bleeding. “Oh my god, Hawke! What is your problem?” Abby shouts. I move to punch the bastard again, but Abby steps between us, grabbing my hand. “Stop!” “Move,” I hiss, shooting a murderous glare over Abby’s shoulder at Brad, who is still holding his hand up to his mouth. The rest of the room has gone silent, everyone stopping to stare at the disruption, eager to watch a good fight. Dax must have either left or is holed up in his room with Kate, otherwise he’d be right in the middle of things, using his enormous muscles and underground fighting skills to put an end to the confrontation. “Don’t,” Abby begs, forcing me to look at her by stepping into my line of sight. When I meet her eyes, shimmering with tears and betrayal, all of the rage I felt for Brad turns into frustration with Abby for drinking and putting herself in the situation with Brad to begin with. “Leave,” I bark at Brad, pointing at the front door. Before she can protest, I grab Abby’s wrist and haul her to my room. She stumbles behind me on her high heels. Using my foot, I slam the door shut with a bang. “Ouch, Hawke!” Abby twists out of my hold, turning to glare at me. “What is your problem?” “My problem?” I shout. “I’m not the one getting drunk and letting Brad piece-of-shit Vargas touch my ass!” Her mouth drops open and her eyes bulge. “Are you kidding me right now?” I step forward, crowding her in a corner of the tiny space I share with Gavin. “Oh, I’m far from fucking kidding, Abby. He’s a slimy douchebag who wants nothing more than to get you drunk and fuck you.” “So what? It’s none of your business who I sleep with!” Abby puts her hands on her hips and scowls. It’s almost adorable, until she continues her rant, going straight for the jugular. “I don’t say anything about the whores you bang every night!” Anger, shame, raging desire—they all battle inside my chest, clashing until they detonate in a huge fireball of uncontrollable emotions. “I don’t want them!” I shout, my hands going to my hair, fisting huge hunks. I step closer, Abby’s back now pressed against the bathroom door. I lean forward, dropping my hands to cage her in on either side of her head. Her breathing picks up and I drop my gaze to drag up her sinful body, ending at her heart-stopping eyes. “Don’t you get it, Abby?” My voice lowers as I finally confess what I’ve held inside for too long. “I don’t want Brad touching you. I don’t want anyone touching you! I want you. You’re mine.” Abby gasps, either in shock at my declaration, or with desire. I don’t wait to find out because at that moment, I lean closer, letting my hips press against hers so she can feel exactly how much I want her. Abby’s eyes fall to my mouth, her thick lashes fluttering against flushed skin. When her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips, any remaining willpower I possessed dissolves into nothingness. I tilt my head to see if that mouth tastes as sweet as she smells, but Abby holds me back with a hand to my chest. A fist squeezes around my heart. Of course she doesn’t want me. Why would she? I’m a fucked up mess and she knows it. Abby inhales a shaky breath, drawing my attention back to her eyes once more. “What’s your real name?” she asks. “What?” I pull my brows together. “Your real name. I… I don’t want my first time to be with someone whose name I don’t know,” she whispers, her cheeks blazing red with embarrassment. I huff out a laugh. “Henry. It’s Henry Walker Evans.” “Like Gavin Walker?” I shake my head. “No relation.” “Henry,” she says, smiling as she trails her trembling fingers up my chest, over my collarbone, to wrap around the back of my neck. “Kiss me, Henry.” Without hesitation, I lift my hands from the door to cup her flushed cheeks, letting my full weight press against her body. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, sending a rush of blood straight to my groin. I groan in pleasure. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this forever.” Before she can answer, I lean in and our mouths connect. Abby melts against the door, her muscles going limp, allowing me to control the kiss. When I slide my tongue against the seam of her lips, she lets out a throaty moan that vibrates all the way to my toes. Her mouth parts on a soft exhale, the sound sending little sparks of electricity dancing across my skin. I’m so turned on, so desperate to taste and feel every part of her, that my brain turns off and instinct takes over. Primal, animal instinct to possess, to claim, to make her mine. I step forward, putting one foot between hers to kick her feet apart. Once there’s enough room to maneuver, I push my stiff dick against the junction of her thighs. Abby gasps and comes to life. The girl who was content to be passively carried along through our kiss, threads her fingers through my hair and grips tight. The streak of pain across my scalp shreds my last vestiges of rational thought. Panting, I break away, dizzily gulping down oxygen. “Off. Now.” I grab the hem of her silky tank top and yank it over her head, revealing two perfect, round breasts supported by a lacy white bra. “Fuck.” I palm my hard-on through my way too tight jeans, the ache nearly unbearable. Abby stares at me, her eyes wild, pupils dilated. Desire has put crimson streaks on her cheekbones and turned her throat and chest a deep shade of pink. “Your turn,” she says, clawing at the bottom of my own T-shirt. I reach over my head to pull it off, but hesitate when my fingers grip the material. The scars. I’ve haven’t had sex with anyone without a shirt on since the accident, usually not even getting my pants all the way off. It’s always been quick backroom hook-ups or blow jobs. My pulse races, fear overtaking desire, pricking my skin uncomfortably. “Henry.” Abby caresses my cheek, her thumb brushing across the silver stud in my bottom lip. “I don’t care. I want you, all of you. You’re perfect the way you are.” Our eyes lock, and I know she’s telling the truth. This is Abby. I can trust her. She skims her hands down my ribcage, hooking her fingers into the waist of my jeans. In a bold move, Abby tugs me forward and arches her back off the door, grinding against my aching cock. I nod, knowing right now, I’ll give her whatever she wants. I fist the collar of the shirt and pull it over my head, balling it up in my hands between us, using it as my final shield. Without breaking eye contact, Abby covers my hands with her own and slowly removes my fingers, taking the shirt from me. She tosses it to the ground, blue eyes still fixed on mine. Abby slides her hands around my waist and I flinch. “Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, skimming her hands up my torso, her fingers exploring every inch. They brush across my abs to my chest, where she gently flicks her thumbs across my nipples. “I’m not. I know you’ll take care of me.” “Jesus, Abby.” My head lolls back from the pleasure of her touch. Abby winds her hands behind my head and pulls my mouth back to hers. Our tongues slide together, wet and hot and so fucking perfect. She stops to catch her breath, fumbling with the button on her own jeans. As I stare, entranced, Abby shoves down her pants and underwear and reaches behind her to unsnap her bra, letting it slide down her arms to the floor. She’s so beautiful, I stop breathing to stare at her naked body, snapping out of it only when she speaks. “Make love to me, Henry.”
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the ‘dark’ side of fame. The part that the public doesn’t get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it’s not real chocolate so it doesn’t count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
Dax Davies has one job to fulfill in the Davies household. Earn money at the family business. The problem is that the family business was illegal underground fighting.
From a young age, Dax and his brothers are groomed to become money earners in their father’s club. Broken bones and bruises are commonplace. Their father pits the brothers against each other to ‘toughen them up’ for the ring, using his rules to bend his sons to his will. His future is in the cage, not on stage where he dreams of making music.
Kate Campbell loves one thing in life. Well, two. Soccer and Dax Davies. Growing up in the poorest part of London, soccer is her personal escape from reality and from the fact that Dax doesn’t seem to know she exists. She figures if she can be good enough at soccer, maybe she can get away from Hackney, and leave the poverty behind.
Kate doesn’t plan on ever getting to know Dax as more than a passing acquaintance. In fact, she isn’t meant to go with her friend to Dax’s father’s business, but that one night changes everything.
***This is book 2 in the Sphere of Irony Series. It can be read as a standalone. This is a spin-off of the Famous Series***
Excerpt. Dax notices Kate Dax’s POV
I follow Adam’s gaze to see Ellie hurrying towards us, towing a friend by the hand. Ellie immediately latches on to Adam, prattling on about something or other. Tuning out the happy couple, I take a moment to check out Ellie’s friend, Kate. I’ve seen her around, mostly with Ellie, but she’s in my maths class as well. In fact, now that I think about it, we’ve been in school together a long time. The fact that I didn’t remember her until now makes me frown, which in turn, makes Kate’s eyes go wide with fear. The girl is fiddling with her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail. She’s clearly uncomfortable around me, so, being the heartless prick that I am, I decide to make it worse. “You’re Kate.” When impossibly green eyes shoot up to meet mine, big and innocent looking, all of the smartass comments I have at the ready fall away. Smooth, lightly freckled skin flushes pink and full lips part, making my cock sit up and take notice. It’s then I realize I’ve never really looked at Kate before. How did I not see how gorgeous this girl is? She’s not obvious or flashy—no, she’s very… girl next door. Sporty and fit with tawny brown hair always pulled up on her head, showing off two very high cheekbones. I’m surprised how affected I am by her. My heart has begun thumping hard and my palms are sweaty. How angry would Adam be if I shagged Ellie’s best friend? Probably very. Not that I care much what he thinks. While I’m thinking of how she looks naked, she gathers herself together and answers my question. “Yes. I’m Kate.” Shit, even her voice affects me—soft and slightly scratchy in a sexy kind of way. Now my dick is throbbing, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. I need to hear that voice again. “I’m Dax. You’re in my maths class.” Those emerald eyes get even wider and her jaw hangs open. “How do you know who I am?” Huh? “Why wouldn’t I know who you are? Haven’t we been in the same year for ages?” I furrow my brow, trying to decide if I’m thinking of a different girl. But no, it’s her, I’m sure of it. “Y-y-yes. Since third year.” I hold back a smile, keeping my cool exterior. At least I got that right. “Well then, apparently I’m not as stupid as some might say.” Kate’s fingers untwist from her hair, settling on her hips. Lush, ruby lips turn down in the corners and her eyes narrow. She looks downright offended. “Who says you’re stupid? You’re in my advanced maths class, so I know that can’t be true.” For once in my life I’m speechless. No one ever gives me the benefit of the doubt or defends my intelligence. Do I bother explaining to her that most people associate a big, muscled guy with an empty skull? Add in the underground fighting and they assume I’ve taken enough hits to the head to be rendered daft and dumb. No one talks about it, but the teachers here know what I do—what my dad’s business is. I am the fourth Davies son at this school after all and they treat me accordingly. They don’t even bat an eye at the bruises anymore. I tilt my chin to look down at her. Kate’s not at my eye level, but for a girl, she’s fairly tall—maybe five foot seven or eight? In those eyes, eyes as green as the stripes on the Davies family tartan, I see something I haven’t seen on a girl’s face in… well, ever. Admiration? Respect, maybe? Is it possible Kate respects me? That she sees past my intimidating exterior to the man beneath the brawn? That she sees more than just a conquest to brag to her friends about? One of dad’s rules pops into my head. Rule 2—Never let your emotions show. I lock down the surprise on my face, keeping it to its usual icy façade. What if she doesn’t like what she finds? I don’t know why I care, but suddenly, I don’t want Kate to know about the fighting, the girls, my family… those goddamn rules. For the first time in my life I’m not proud of my wins, of all the girls I’ve shagged or had suck me off at the club or behind the school. For once, I’m truly ashamed of what I am.
Incite (Book One) The Sphere of Irony Series Now ONLY $0.99
After growing up in New England, I currently live just outside Atlanta, GA. I love the Red Sox and hate the Yankees. I love hot, sexy romance novels, but hate long, drawn out misunderstandings as a plot line. I love book series, but hate cliffhangers. I love alpha males, but hate when they borderline on abusive. Mostly? I love love love chocolate.
Rick “Ricochet” Brennan served eight years as an elite Marine special ops Force Recon soldier. After an injury, and the terrible memories from that night, he retires and goes to work for his former Command Officer, Howard “Mack” McEvoy, at his training center in Atlanta.
Sanctum MMA appears on the surface to be a normal gym, training elite fighters to be the best. Except each trainer, hand-picked by Mack, possesses a special background that allows Mack to run one of the best-kept secrets in the country.
When twenty-three year old Quinn Wallace finally escapes her abusive husband, she turns to her father’s old Marine Corps buddy, Mack, for help. Broken and skittish, Quinn finds herself surrounded by large, intimidating men— men who could easily overpower her. She avoids them the best she can, but when Rick turns out to be more than just a rough fighter with bruised knuckles, she finds herself wondering if she can allow herself to trust again.
Excerpt
“Hey,” he said calmly. “Why aren’t you resting?” Rick put his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her arms. Quinn’s eyes grew large and went to his gloved hands. Fuck, she hates fighting. Now I know why she looks freaked out. Rick yanked his hands away and took a step back. “I didn’t mean for you to see me fight, Quinn. I’m sorry.” To his surprise, Quinn stepped forward, closing the distance Rick had put between them. He watched as she hesitantly lifted her arms, placing her hands on his sweat-slicked chest. Her eyes met his and his breath left in a sharp huff. The fear he had expected to see wasn’t there. No… Quinn’s eyes were dark and glistening with lust. “I didn’t know that watching you fight would be so comforting. It makes me feel safe, and… turned on,” she murmured. Rick shivered as her hands ran down his torso, moving over each defined muscle until they were resting on either side of his waist. “Turned on?” Rick swallowed, barely able to speak with Quinn touching him like that. She was only just about healed from the attack. He figured it would be months, if not longer before she’d be interested in pursuing anything physical. “Yes, turned on.” Quinn’s fingers dug into Rick’s waist, her thumbs making small circles on the ‘v’ shaped ridges of his lower abs. Scorching waves of pleasure rippled down his spine, instantly making his cock come to life. “Jesus,” he muttered softly. Using every last bit of willpower he had, Rick captured Quinn’s wrists, removing her hands from his body. “Not here, doll.” He glanced around, but none of the other fighters were looking their way. Still, he’d kill them if they saw the lust in Quinn’s eyes. That was for him, and him alone. Quinn pouted, crossing her arms and glaring like a kid denied her favorite candy. He couldn’t help himself. The sight of this tiny thing trying to look intimidating was funny. Rick laughed. “You’re too much, doll.” The corner of her mouth twitched up—it was just a hint of a smile, but it made Rick’s day. Quinn hadn’t smiled once since his team rescued her. Seeing some of her personality coming back flooded him with emotion.
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