Bad Boy Next Door Read online

  Bad Boy Next Door

  Mara Leigh

  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

  Sneak Peek of Bad Habit

  A Note to Readers

  Also by Mara Leigh

  About the Author

  One

  Nick

  An hour before closing, the club was half full, mostly loners with boners.

  Stationed inside the front door, I crossed my arms over my chest and my hands barely reached my elbows. Intimidation was at the top of the job description for a strip club bouncer, and my bulked-up bod—a disadvantage for some things—made me an ace at this job. A master.

  It’d been a typical night at Solid Gold. I’d wrangled six or seven rowdy bachelor parties, the douches’ entitlement raging after paying our sky-high party surcharges. And along with the partiers, there’d been the typical groups of out-of-town businessmen: assholes who arrived acting like they were above it all, then climbed on stage, drooling, after downing a bottle of table-service vodka.

  Melodie, a dancer who’d worked here almost as long as I had, arrived at my side, her tits sparkling with sweat and glitter from her last set.

  “Hey, Nick.” Her eyes were wide and worried, so I bent down to hear her over the pounding music. “Have you seen Angel?”

  I shook my head and then scanned the room. Diamond was on stage, gyrating trancelike through her routine, and five other dancers were scattered around, grinding their asses into laps or pressing their tits near the customers’ faces. No sign of Angel.

  I bent back down. “Why? She missing?”

  Melodie bit the side of her hot-pink lip. “She’s pretty stoned. Last I saw her, she was doing a champagne-room dance for one of the bachelor parties. Haven’t seen her since.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. If Stan catches her doing tricks on the side again, she’ll be out on her ass.”

  “I’ll check the alley.”

  I nodded toward the other bouncer, Dom, who took my place at the front door, then I wove through the field of drunken men and writhing women toward the dark hallway that led past the girls’ dressing room and the kitchen to the back entrance.

  As head of security for Solid Gold, I was supposed to tell our boss, Stan, if the girls broke his rules, but the dancers trusted me not to rat, and that’s how I kept them safe from dangers worse than a missed paycheck.

  Ninety-five percent of our customers were harmless, horny assholes, but the other five percent were trouble—trouble with a capital dick—men who treated these women like garbage on account of how they made rent.

  I pushed open the back door, and it slammed against the metal rail of the fire escape behind it. Sure enough, Angel was staggering on her sky-high heels, attempting a private dance for four men who were laughing and hooting, egging her on.

  “Me first,” one of them said. “I am so ready to go.” He grabbed Angel’s arm, yanking her to her knees on the piss-soaked asphalt.

  “Party’s over, gentlemen.” I strode down the alley toward them.

  “Fuck off,” said the one with his fly open. Bold words given he’d just exposed a handle for me to grab onto.

  “Sorry, boys. This isn’t going to happen.” Reaching under Angel’s armpits, I lifted her to her feet. Blood trailed down her shins. Damn. Even if she could take the pain once she came down from this high, Stan wouldn’t let her work if her knees scabbed over.

  “I’m good,” she slurred, her eyes glassy, unfocused. “Don’t worry, Nick.”

  “Four assholes and one barely conscious girl…” Tucking Angel under one arm, I straightened to my full height of six seven and stared at the frat-aged partiers. “Guess I’d better call the cops.”

  “Buddy, she agreed to do us.” The tallest one held up his hands in defense. “Bitch took our money. This is con-sens-u-al.” The guy was blond and clean-cut. I’d lay bets his name was Bro.

  “Does she look like she’s in any shape to be offering consent?” Angel slumped against me, her ankles crying uncle to her platform shoes.

  “Whatever,” said the asshole with his dick half out. “Then the skank owes us two hundred bucks. Fifty per blow job.”

  “I paid a hundred to fuck her,” said a guy from the shadows. “Either she bends over to take it, or I’m getting my hundred back.”

  “And I’m calling the cops.” I reached for my phone.

  “No fucking way.” The guy from the shadows ran at me swinging, which was kind of a joke.

  Without even releasing my hold on Angel, I raised my other arm to block his punch. The guy swung again, and I grabbed his fist midair and twisted. He dropped to his knees.

  “While you’re down there”—I nodded toward the asshole zipping his dick into his khakis—“maybe you can suck your friend’s cock.”

  He looked up at me with terror in his eyes.

  I kicked him onto his ass. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.”

  The four men scrambled down the alley, the one who’d tried to punch me limping, and when they got close to the street, the blond bro turned back. “You’re going to be sorry, you piece of scum. So will the owner of this piece-of-shit strip club. Our lawyer will be in touch.”

  Good luck with that, I thought. I’d heard plenty of threats over the years, threats more credible than that one. Men like Bro would never follow through, avoiding shame worth a million times more than whatever damages they thought they were owed.

  Angel stroked my chest. “Nick to the rescue.”

  “What the fuck, Angel?” I helped her walk toward the door on her shaky heels. “Going into the alley with four drunk customers? You got a death wish?”

  I immediately wanted to eat my words. Some of these girls actually did have death wishes, at least subconsciously. But I was no shrink. Wasn’t my job to fix these girls, just keep them safe. At least that’s how I saw my job.

  To Stan it was more like: make sure the customers paid and the girls didn’t take any of what he saw as his cash on the side.

  “I need the money,” Angel mumbled as I helped her up the stairs. “And besides, I took some E. I’m horny.” She rubbed up against me. “How ‘bout you fuck me, Nick?” She grabbed my package. “My way of saying thanks.”

  “Cut it out.” I pulled her hand off me. “It’s the Ecstasy talking.”

  “No, it’s not. Come on.” She ground her ass against me. “Let me have a taste of that famous big dick.”

  I banged on the steel door, and she took the opportunity to grab my hardening cock. After two years, you’d think I’d be immune to the dancers. My brain was, mostly, but my dick couldn’t get with the program.

  Melodie opened the door a crack. “Thank god, Angel. You okay?”

  “Get her bag,” I told Melodie, who quickly disappeared into the dressing room.

  “At least let me suck you off.” Angel slid down my body.

  I bent
to lift her back up. “Not a chance.”

  “Why?” she whined. “I know you want it. You’re already hard.” She kept rubbing me. “Let me take care of you, Nick. Don’t you like me? What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re high.”

  “So what?” She fondled her barely covered tits, pressing them together. “I’m a better lay when I’m high.” She went for my fly, and I grabbed both her wrists in one hand.

  Melodie showed up at the door and tossed me Angel’s shit. I draped her coat over her shoulders and started to walk her down the alley toward the street. Holding her under one arm, I ordered an Uber.

  “We going to your place?” she asked. “I’ll treat you real good, Nick, I promise. You can even fuck my ass.”

  I helped her shove her arms into her coat as we waited for the car to arrive. As soon as it did, I tucked her inside, then made sure the driver had her address. I had all the dancers’ addresses set up on my account for times like this. Stan wouldn’t reimburse me, but I didn’t give a shit.

  “Aren’t you coming?” She leaned across the seat toward me.

  “Sleep it off,” I said. “And clean up those knees or they’ll get infected.”

  I passed a fifty to the driver.

  “Already paid,” he said in a thick accent. “Your account?” He pointed to his phone.

  “I know. Just make sure she gets home, okay? Safe—and alone. If I find out you followed her inside…” I glared at the man.

  “Okay, boss. No problem.” The driver took the bill, and I closed the door. Angel slumped against the other side, looking about fourteen years old, even though I knew she was a decade older, at least—probably older than me. Shit, this job could be depressing. But at least it was legit.

  I headed back into the club. My brothers had scoffed when I’d told them I wanted to go straight. And my da…

  I wasn’t the one to tell the old man. One of my brothers had ratted me out—most likely Shane—and Da tore a strip off me last time I visited San Quentin. Old man knew the right buttons to push.

  Patrick Downey raised us five boys to believe the so-called family business was what we were born to, all we were good for, but he was wrong. At least that’s what I kept telling myself, because there was no way I was going to end up spending my life in prison like my old man.

  Two

  Jade

  What in the name of all things holy had Dad gotten me into this time?

  I stared at the apartment complex that sprawled along the street, cresting the top of a hill that at this moment looked like Mount Everest.

  A Bay Area native, I was no virgin to the hills of San Francisco, but after working twenty hours straight, quitting two of my four jobs—then packing up all my family’s worldly belongings and lugging them via BART train, then the bus, then walking, then another bus, then tons and tons of walking—I’d had enough.

  I didn’t know whether to thank my father or kill him for involving me in his deal. It should be nice to think that Dad had done something to help me, for the first time ever. But nothing about this deal felt moderately nice.

  I adjusted my monstrous backpack. Behind it hung three garbage bags full of stuff, and the combined weight tugged on my shoulders. Checking to make sure the five small boxes of heavier items, including my cherished cast-iron pan, were secure on the barely functioning luggage cart, I grabbed the handle of my roller suitcase. Attached to the suitcase with duct tape was a second suitcase with broken wheels.

  Everything gathered, I started up the hill—the final climb to my new digs that had so better be worth it.

  Not like I had many choices. Even with my four jobs, without Dad’s long-term disability checks, I could barely afford the roach-infested place our family had shared in the East Bay. In contrast, this deal sounded way too good to be true, especially given how I’d landed my lease at Shady Oaks. Not that I’d seen an actual lease.

  Not having paperwork wasn’t the only thing that seemed sketchy. Everything about this situation was sketch. I mean, the apartment complex even had the word “shady” in its name, and I was pretty sure I’d be walking into a veritable lion’s den, with me the only non-criminal tenant.

  I’d keep to myself, wouldn’t talk to anyone.

  With this deal, Dad would be protected in jail, Crystal had her tuition paid, and I got a new place to live, plus a great job. Way too good to be true. It was time for the other shoe to drop, and as I reached the gate, I got the distinct feeling a giant-sized boot was about to land on my head.

  With zero breeze and the fog burned off, the early summer sun baked my skin, frying me in my own sweat as I stared at the arched, gated entrance to the Shady Oaks complex.

  The keys for apartment 311 had mysteriously appeared in my staff room locker at Flo’s, a greasy-spoon diner in Oakland, when I’d worked my final shift early that morning.

  The larger of the two keys opened the iron gate, an ornate monstrosity with a confusion of details—Spanish colonial meets art deco?—and I tugged my stuff through a long arched walkway into a courtyard.

  The courtyard had some sad-looking palm trees, badly in need of pruning, and a few beautifully bright bougainvillea climbing up wrought iron to the second and third floors. In the center of the courtyard lay the corpse of what may once have been a very nice pool. The chipped and broken tiles inside the empty pool were teal, aqua, and peacock blue, but when I got closer I saw the bottom contained an indeterminate amount of water, green and murky enough to support its own ecosystem.

  Letting go of the luggage cart’s handle, I shaded my eyes from the sun and searched for my new place. And hopefully an elevator. I seriously doubted such a thing would exist, but why not fantasize and embellish my already too-good-to-be-true situation.

  Each apartment entrance was arched, with colored tiles framing carved oak doors sporting huge pewter knockers and little cages over what looked like tiny windows. This place must have been gorgeous in its heyday. Like a hundred years ago. It had an old Hollywood vibe, and I’d had no idea places like this existed in Northern California, never mind South San Francisco.

  It didn’t take long to figure out that the units on the ground floor all started with a one—and it didn’t take a genius to realize that my hopes for an elevator had been ridiculous. I headed toward the open staircase at one of the back corners of the rectangular courtyard.

  Leaving behind my barely-holding-together luggage cart, I dragged the two suitcases up to the first landing and shrugged out of the weighted-down backpack. I walked down the steps for the boxes, feeling weightless, like I had wings attached to my shoulder blades.

  Carrying up the boxes reminded me I didn’t.

  When I got all five boxes onto the landing, I considered my next move. I hadn’t seen anyone, but I had the distinct feeling I was being watched.

  Thugs and criminals—that’s who lived in Shady Oaks. And although my family’s collective possessions weren’t valuable, they were to me, and after carting them so far, I didn’t want to risk their being stolen.

  I carried two boxes to the second floor, leaving them in sight as I returned for the other three, carrying them all together, even though it meant I couldn’t see over the top.

  Sensing I was close, I peered around the side of the boxes, then pushed them forward onto the second floor hallway, next to—

  My first two boxes were gone.

  “What the hell?” After scanning the open second-floor hallway, I raced up the stairs to the third floor and spotted the back of the most massive man I’d ever seen.

  He looked back over his shoulder. “You’re moving into 311, right?”

  “Put down my shit!”

  “Why are you moving boxes of shit?”

  “Very funny. Put my stuff down, asshole.” In the shadows, the man’s silhouette looked impossibly large, inhuman, as he set down my boxes.

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Did I ask for help?”

  He raised his hands in surrender. />
  “Just don’t touch my stuff, okay?” I was being stubborn. And rude. I knew that. But Shady Oaks had a reputation, and even if this guy wasn’t out to rob me, I was tired and cranky, plus I didn’t like the idea of being in anyone’s debt. Anyone else’s.

  “Got something illegal in here?” He tapped his big boot on the lower box.

  “Of course not.” I turned from him and returned to the stairs, racing down to make sure no one had messed with the rest of my things.

  I carried all I could at once, taking the stairs to the third floor in stages. On the landing between the second and third floors, I strapped on the weighted backpack, then pulled both suitcases behind me, straining as they thumped against each stair.

  When I got to the top, the huge dude was hulking near my door, a half grin on his face as I staggered under the weight of my belongings. Even if he planned to kill me, I refused to be intimidated.

  “Diamonds?”

  “What?” I dug into the front pocket of my denim shorts to find my key, not at all happy that this guy was lurking.

  “Gold bars?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Since you wouldn’t let me touch them, must be something valuable in those boxes. A hoard of cash from your last bank job? Bricks of heroin?”

  “None of your business.” I leaned the suitcases against the wall and shrugged off the backpack, which thumped to the broken-tiled hallway behind me. I took a deep breath and glared at him, making it clear that there was no chance I was opening my apartment door until he left me alone.