Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
The good girl.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this.
But I’m lusting over two men.
When a drug dealer is out for my blood,
Rafe and Leo are my only hope.
Rafe, the protective self-defense instructor.
And Leo, the sexy playboy firefighter.
Team up to protect me.
The two beefy, alpha men are my obsession.
I think of their rough hands touching my skin.
Them sharing me in ways that are so wrong but feel so right.
I’ve been a good girl all my life.
Good and… in control.
Maybe it’s time I surrender myself to my ultimate fantasy.
Let them own me.
Get double dirty.
So, now when my enemy attacks…
Two sets of strong arms have my back
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Lexi
Itook deep breaths to calm myself as I turned off the main road and onto the gravel. No matter how many times I’d been out there, I always dreaded it. I had just reunified a boy with his mother who worked two jobs and completed parenting classes and outpatient rehab before the deadline so that she could get him home. She was never late for a single visit and never failed to renew my faith in humanity. This guy though. He was the opposite.
When I got the case, a five-year-old girl had been removed from the home for neglect, and her dad had been charged. A neighbor had called the authorities in after she saw the child playing with what looked like a real firearm. It had actually been a stolen .357 magnum. Her dad had somehow gotten away with probation, but Elisa was in foster care until he completed some parenting classes and proved he was consistent and responsible in his visitation. In three months he hadn’t even proven himself stable enough to get unsupervised visits much less an overnight. I hated going out to see the dwelling and talk to him. But he was on my caseload, and I had scheduled a visit to touch base and try to motivate him. I had a list of additional supports that might help him meet goals—transportation, a mentor, that kind of thing. Judging by the fact that his late model Harley was parked outside the trailer, I didn’t think transport would be a problem.
Something about the guy made me uncomfortable. I had been a social worker for three years with the Child Protection Agency, and he made my alarm sirens go off. It wasn’t just his arrest record from drug charges and domestic disturbances. It was his attitude, like I was his enemy. As hard as it was, I reminded myself to be completely professional and respectful, to show compassion for the fact that he was separated from his child. I climbed the rickety wooden steps to the door of the trailer to knock. Before I got there, he flung the door open.
“You better get the hell off of my porch,” he said, leaning close to me.
I stepped back reflexively, smelling the alcohol on his breath, seeing the aggression in his every move. I backed down the steps.
“Mr. Watts, I’m sorry if this is an inconvenient time,” I began, my voice higher than I would have liked. I was nervous. I couldn’t help it.
“Unless you got my kid in that crap-ass Toyota you’re driving, get the hell off my property.”
“Sir, I see that you’re upset. I’m sure it’s frustrating having to go through this process to reunite with your daughter. I’m here to offer you support services so you can meet the court’s recommendations and speed up the process. Since you didn’t come to the scheduled visit on Tuesday—”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I didn’t have no visit on Tuesday, or I would’ve been there.”
“You were notified by mail, email, and text message. If you look here, you texted me back.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” he said, coming down the steps at me.
He flicked his cigarette to the ground and came toward me, snarling. He was dressed in ratty jeans and a tank top that I remembered referring to as a wife-beater when I was in college. At the time I’d thought it was funny. It didn’t seem so funny with Mr. Watts looming over me.
He was wiry; his long black hair pulled back tight. I felt my breath stutter in fear. I’d dealt with plenty of angry parents, and I’d been able to help them all through building a rapport, a respectful relationship. Not one of them had those cold, dead eyes like he did. When he looked at me, I shivered because he was looking at me the way you look at a thing, an object, not a person. I was nothing, a piece of trash in his way. I backed up some more.
“I’d be happy to set up a visit for you. When do you have time in your schedule?” I said, forcing myself to sound bright and professional.
“I got no time for your bullshit. Get out of here, and don’t come back until you bring my daughter home unless you want your ass beat,” his voice was icy as he backed me toward my car.
It occurred to me that getting out of there was the thing I wanted most. I turned and hurried around my car, got in, and locked the doors. As I looked behind me to back up, I saw him standing at the passenger side, peering in at me. I jumped a little, startled at his closeness, his scrutiny. I wondered for a split second if he was going to bust out my window, drag me out of the car.