Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance by Penelope Bloom

Author:Penelope Bloom [Bloom, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Women's Fiction, Contemporary Women, Romance, Contemporary, Military, New Adult & College, Contemporary Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
Amazon: B06VW7Z3DV
Published: 2017-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

25

Jesse

I half-throw Janette Springfield in the back of my car, shielding her with my body and slamming the door behind her. Car doors slam in the distance and engines rev. I unholster my Glock, climbing in the driver’s seat and setting the gun in easy reach.

“Oh my God,” she breathes from the backseat. Her perfectly curled platinum blonde hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat.

I slam the gas, spinning the tires for a second before they get traction and we tear out of the parking lot. I can still see the venue in my rearview. Over fifty thousand fans in there just watched me pull the biggest country music star in the US off-stage. They would probably be upset if eight masked men hadn’t rushed after us.

“This is fucking insane,” says Jannette. “What were they thinking?”

“They might have just wanted to get you off the stage. To draw you out like this,” I say.

“Then why did we leave?” she demands.

I shift gears, fishtailing around a corner and catching a glimpse of the three cars speeding after us. I hear them slam on their brakes when they can’t make the turn fast enough. “Because they don’t know who they’re fucking with. Do you want to run and hide, or do you want to send a message?”

I glance at her in the rearview. She’s frowning. “Run?” she asks.

“Wrong. I’m not the best because I wait for my clients to be targeted and react. I’m the best because I find the source of the problem and fucking shut it down.”

I hit the emergency brake and skid to a stop in a dimly lit alley. “Wait here. Don’t get out for anything. Do you understand?”

She shakes her head. “Just keep driving.”

“No. We’re sending a message,” I say.

I stand outside the car, headlights beaming from behind my back. The three cars pull in front of us a few moments later, slowly crawling to a stop. They park, and for a long while, nothing happens. I’m standing, Glock in my hand, waiting, and none of them get out of the car.

Finally, the doors open and men start to file out. Four men wearing gold goat masks and black clothes with their hoods up.

I hold my gun up, making sure they see it, and then set it on the hood of my car. I crack my knuckles and roll my shoulders, planting my feet wide. The men glance at each other and nod, moving toward me. I have friends in the justice system, and I can get away with a certain level of violence, but I don’t push it unless I have to. Besides, I still haven’t found a message I couldn’t send loud and clear with my fists.

These are the moments I live for now. The five of us are brightly lit by the headlights, and there’s no sound but the idle hum of engines and feet scuffing on wet pavement. The only thoughts in my head are pure--primal--hurt or be hurt. Kill or be killed.

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