Claimed by the Bad Boy Read online

  A second later came the distinct sound of his brother’s balls falling off and rolling across the floor. “If you want that, sugar, get it. Don’t worry about the price.”

  “Listen, Martha Stewart,” Ryker said, being a smartass, “I’ll let you get back to your shopping extravaganza.”

  “Screw you, bro,” said Declan. A pause, then, “I love you, too, baby.” Ryker rubbed at his temple. Someone just freaking shoot me. “Tiffany. Here, sugar. Let me do that. It’s too heavy for you.” A clanking sound rattled Ryker’s ear. “You talk to Ryke.”

  Tiffany’s voice came over the line. “Do you want anything special for the party? You never gave me your drink list.”

  “No,” he said. “Whatever you guys buy is fine.”

  “Okay. Bye.” He heard shuffling. “He said buy whatever, babe.”

  Click.

  “Jesus.” Ryker placed his phone by his beer.

  He needed to find another place to hang his hat, especially if he intended to stay in Denver for a while. Perhaps, tomorrow morning, he’d let his brother know he was getting hold of a realtor and would be moving out as soon as he found a nice little condo or something. He’d leave this playing house stuff to Declan and his woman.

  The ping of Ryker’s cell phone caused something he shouldn’t feel to twist in his chest. He told himself the sensation was nothing and grabbed his phone, glancing at the screen.

  I’m working late. That’s what I’m doing. You?

  “Molls,” he said from under his breath, picturing her angelic face, the gray-green color of her eyes, and those cute freckles she always hated speckled across the bridge of her nose.

  What am I doing? Molly leaned a hip against the counter in the restroom at the office, holding her phone in her hand, and staring at the text she’d sent, which indicated it had been read. She’d excused herself in the middle of great conversation while eating some freaking awesome dumplings with Jack to sneak in here and hide out like a criminal. Why? Because she felt compelled to answer a text from someone she shouldn’t be giving the time of day. Or night, as the case may be.

  Tapping her foot on the tiles, she closed her eyes. She was going to give Ryker to the count of ten to respond. If he didn’t. Well, even better. She’d forget about her poor judgment. Forget he’d texted. Continue to stop thinking about him, and go back to finish her dinner with a man who was interested in being with her.

  By the count of nine, she was one second from turning her phone off when the dweedle-deet had her eyelids fluttering open.

  Molly glanced down and tapped the screen.

  I’m home. Sitting outside, texting you.

  Molly’s heart sped up as though she’d just crossed the finish line at the Boston marathon. Ryker was home. In Denver. Oh my God. She took a deep breath and typed.

  When did you get back from Singapore?

  She pressed send and waited. And waited. And waited….

  Dweedle-deet.

  Biting her lip, she read.

  I’ve made a few short trips here since Singapore. Went to a software convention in Las Vegas, took a trip to Detroit. Dallas. Seattle. Then I decided to come home. I got here a few days ago.

  He’d decided to come home? What did that mean? Molly typed.

  How long you home for?

  The time seemed to tick by in agonizing slowness, allowing her mind to conjure up a picture-show of the last time she’d seen him. He’d been glowering at her—the fury rolling in akin to a storm about to break within the depths of those ocean-colored eyes. She even recalled the deep resonating tone of finality in his voice.

  Leave, Molly. Or I will.

  Dweedle-deet.

  She blinked, letting the memory slip away like little granules of sand from her hand, too difficult to hold onto, and stared at the phone in her palm.

  Not sure. I may stay.

  An unwanted tear trickled down the contour of her cheek, slid over her mouth, and dripped off her chin before she swiped the moisture away and typed.

  I have to get back to what I was doing. It was good hearing from you, Ryker. Goodnight.

  Ryker read the words across the little screen, heaved a sigh, and typed.

  Good night, Molls.

  Only this time, instead of hitting send, he pressed delete, put his phone back into his shirt pocket, grabbed his beer, and downed it before getting up to throw the bottle away. As he headed inside for what would be a restless night, his phone rang.

  Ryker plucked his cell out of his pocket, glanced at the number, and then answered. “Hey, Jimmy.”

  “Hi, Ryker. I’m sorry to call so late, but this is the first moment I’ve had to myself or I would have called earlier.”

  “Ah. Don’t worry about it. I’m always up late.”

  “Listen. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate the deal you gave Keller Holdings on the new computer software setup.”

  “No problem,” Ryker said. “I was glad to do it.”

  “If I can ever do anything for you, just say the word.”

  “I will, Jimmy. Thanks.”

  “Hey. Before I forget. Clarissa and I did receive the save the date for your brother’s wedding. But it seems I shouldn’t have thrown the card away without my wife seeing it, and she threatened to kill me since I didn’t note the actual date, so can you do me a solid and let me know when the big day is?”

  “Sure man. December first, Saint Paul’s Church at two in the afternoon, but I think some kind of actual invitation will be going out to everyone, too. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Something about save the dates, wedding invitations, reception response cards, and I don’t know what all else.”

  “Thanks a lot. You just saved my ass.”

  Poor sap. Ryker chortled. “You’re welcome, Jimmy.”

  “Well, I’d better let you go. Thanks again. You have a good night, Ryke.”

  “You too, man.”

  Chapter Four

  Past.

  “Jimmy Keller is a complete fartknocker,” Clarissa Barrette bemoaned, sitting down beside Molly with her lunch tray. “I figured, when we made it to high school, the boy situation would improve.” She sniffed. “I guess that was wishful thinking. They’re still immature tools.”

  “What did he do now?” Molly asked, picking a tater tot apart with verve.

  “He grabbed his crotch and asked me if I wanted any tartar sauce for my fish sticks.” Clarissa flipped her hair over her slim shoulder. “He can be so disgusting.” A pause. “Hey, why are you pulverizing your food?” Her friend looked at her, right brow lifted. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did Ryker do?”

  Darn.

  “Why do you automatically assume Ryker did something?”

  Clarissa rolled her blue eyes. “Uh, because. We’ve been friends forever, and I know you. Every time you get that look. Ryker has something to do with it.”

  “What look?”

  “The one where your eyebrows push together and you get this expression like someone kicked your puppy or something.”

  No longer hungry, Molly scooted her tray away from her.

  “He was supposed to drive me home after school today,” she said.

  “Okay. And?”

  “Then, when I ran into him in the hall earlier, he told me he couldn’t take me.”

  “Why not?”

  Molly shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. All he said was his brother could give me a ride.”

  “Let him. He looks just like Ryker. They’re identical, so pretend it’s him.”

  “Jeez, Clarissa. They are different people, you know.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” She tapped her stubby, black polished nails on her milk carton. “What’s the deal with you two anyway?”

  “No deal.”

  “Come on, Moll.”

  “What? We’re friends. He lives next door.”

  “But you’re into him. Like, more than friends, right?”

  Tucki
ng a piece of hair behind her ear, Molly said, “It wouldn’t matter if I was.” She drew a lazy circle eight with her fingertip on the Formica table. “He’s not into me.”

  “He’s always talking to you and giving you rides and stuff. He even kicked Billy’s ass over you.”

  “Sometimes, I think maybe there’s something between us.” She glanced up and scanned the cafeteria for Ryker. He was seated over by one of the windows, with Trisha Colbertson, and the picture of the two of them together caused her heart to ache. She couldn’t compete. Not with a blonde, leggy cheerleader. A blonde, leggy cheerleader who was flirting and laughing as she brushed her French-tipped manicured fingers along Ryker’s muscled arm then leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Whatever Trisha said, she made him smile. “But then….” Clarissa followed Molly’s gaze. “I realize how stupid I am for ever thinking that.”

  ***

  Tired, Molly sat on the bench, staring at the locker doors, zoning out. Sixth-hour PE sucked major donkey balls. She wasn’t athletic. At all. More often than not, she ended up straining something or knocking into someone else when they teamed up and played volleyball in the gym. Not to mention, she hated to sweat, detested taking showers in the girl’s locker room, and the PE teacher was, in her opinion, a whistle-blowing nut with a bad comb-over who mumbled to himself.

  “Trish….” Molly turned to see one of the gaggle of cheerleaders congregated at the end of the locker row say, “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” Trish asked, batting her lashes as though she were the poster child for demure.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what. Did you do Ryker?”

  Molly scowled.

  “Oh. My. God,” Trisha said, twirling the end of her hair around her finger. “He took me home after cheer practice yesterday, and before we could even get inside, he was on me.”

  “Oooo, you guys did it in his Jeep?”

  “No. We made out in his Jeep. Only, he didn’t kiss me.”

  “What? How do you make out without kissing?”

  “He was hands and mouth and teeth in all the right places, but no mouth to mouth. It didn’t matter, though. He was still good.”

  Okay. The disclosure was bad, but Molly could handle this. Ryker didn’t kiss Trisha.

  “That’s it? You were with one of the hottest senior guys at this school and you only got felt up?”

  “Nope,” said Trisha, popping the P from her glossed lips. “We did it in my room.”

  Molly closed her eyes, feeling the knife stab her in the chest and twist. She couldn’t catch her breath. Was she going to hyperventilate?

  “You didn’t.”

  “We did. I even have a bite mark. See?” Glancing over, she saw Trisha pulling the collar of her designer shirt aside and bending her neck to show off the bruise there. Molly’s stomach knotted. “And, he’s big.” The cheer-slut widened her hands in measurement out in front of her as a visual aid. “I’m talking Olympic sized.”

  The group broke out into a mass of giggles.

  “Yeah, but does he know how to use it?” someone asked.

  “Uh huh,” Trish muttered. “He knows.”

  Molly dropped her head into her hands, willing herself not to cry. However, it was too late.

  “Is he taking you ‘home’ again today?”

  “Yep.” Trish laughed a tinkle of bells. “This time, I’m going to do him in the hot tub.”

  Molly jumped up and headed for the shower, hoping to drown the tears away.

  ***

  Ryker was done with the whole Trisha thing. Yeah, she was hot, and a decent lay, but the girl was getting too clingy, not to mention she wouldn’t let up about him not kissing her. He’d gotten her off, more than once, so why was she so worried about the kissing part? He shook his head, irritated. Who the hell knew why she went ballistic over the fact he refused to lip lock with her. And, who the hell cared. He sure didn’t.

  Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of his Jeep in time with a song playing on the radio, Ryker turned onto his street, and the first thing he saw was the unmistakable red and blue whirling lights of numerous police cars. They appeared to be at his house, but, as he drove closer, he could tell they were at the Monroe house. That familiar tightening in his gut—fear reserved only for her—started up.

  Brow furrowed, he banged his palm on his wheel while pulling into his drive, parked, and got out of his vehicle. His parents and Declan were standing beyond the wrought-iron gate.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, as he made his way to them, scrubbing his hand down the back of his head.

  “Mrs. Monroe came running out of the house screaming. Mr. Monroe chased after her and started dragging her up their driveway,” said Deck.

  “I’m afraid we were forced to call the authorities,” said his dad. “It was quite the nasty business.”

  “Where’s Molly?” he asked, hearing the worry in his own voice.

  Mr. Monroe was a mean fuck. This knowledge came from coaxing Molly into talking, and, last year, after he’d noticed her hiding some bad bruises on her arms, she’d confided about some of the things her father would do, swearing him to secrecy. He’d argued with her about keeping things quiet, but when she told him Banning would kill her if anyone knew, he’d reluctantly agreed.

  “I’m not sure dear,” his mother said. “We haven’t seen her.”

  Ryker’s heart beat overtime when he stepped into the Monroe’s yard. What would he find? Was Molly hurt? Then his thoughts were interrupted, when he was stopped by one of Denver’s uniformed finest. “I’m sorry, son. I can’t let you go any further.”

  “I just want to know if Molly is okay.”

  “Ryker?”

  He glanced over to see her walking out of her house with a female officer at her side, eyes wide.

  “I want to talk to him,” she said to her escort.

  “Let him through,” the officer with Molly said to the other.

  As soon as Ryker was within reach, she flung herself at him, arms going around his waist, cheek pressed against his shirt. He held her trembling body. The fear and worry he’d been experiencing melded into a kind of relief. Although the fact she was shaking ticked him off. Not at her, but at the bastard responsible for causing those shakes.

  “Molls, are you okay?”

  “He went crazy again,” she said, into his chest.

  “Why?”

  “It’s what he does.”

  Gritting his teeth, he asked, “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” Another wave of relief swept over him. She glanced up with the saddest eyes, meeting his gaze. “He hurt my mom.”

  Chapter Five

  Present.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” Molly greeted as she walked into her sister’s house.

  Mary groaned, waddling away. “I’m a whale.”

  “No you’re not.” She bent to pet Princess, the white Persian cat circling her legs.

  “Oh?” Her sister turned around. Brow arched. Hazel eyes snapping fire. “See.” She pointed to her preggers condition and the way the bottom of her shirt rucked up, showing off the pale skin of her distended belly. “This is supposed to be a maternity outfit, and it doesn’t fit.” She made a derisive snort. “My ankles are starting to swell. I have to pee all the time. I can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in, and my back hurts like a bitch. Whoever said pregnant women glow was nothing but a freaking liar!”

  “Well,” Molly said, straightening. Princess started meowing, wanting more attention. “Just think. Soon, you and Nate will have a beautiful baby to hold in your arms. Doesn’t that make all the discomfort worthwhile?”

  Mary crinkled her nose. “I suppose. But I don’t feel like being reasonable about things at the moment. I want to wallow in my misery.” She paused and looked Molly over with those all-too-seeing eyes. “What are you doing here so early on a Saturday morning?”

  “Why, do I need a reason? Can’t I come by to check on my big sis?”


  “Sure you can.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “I thought you slept in on Saturdays.”

  “I do. Sometimes.”

  Mary tilted her head. “Your eyes are puffy.” Her sister did an imitation of their mother, click-clacking her tongue before asking, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  Mary motioned with her hand. “I was just getting ready to eat some Captain Crunch. Come on. I’ll pour you a bowl. And then, I want you to spill, ’cause I’m not buying what you’re selling this morning.”

  ***

  Ryker sauntered into the kitchen, scrubbing his fingers through his shower-wet hair, and saw his brother making pancakes on the griddle wearing…. “Holy shit!”

  “What?” Deck asked, flipping a cake then handing over a mug of steaming coffee.

  Ryker took the mug, holding it out as if to point. “What in the hell do you have on?”

  He glanced down his nude torso, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stared at the baggy pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. “Tiffany bought them for me.”

  “Dude. You’re wearing little dancing pink hearts with smiley faces and kissy lips on them.”

  His brother shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah. So?”

  “Man….” Ryker gave a pitying shake of his head. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

  Deck shot him the bird. He returned the gesture with vigor.

  Tiffany came flitting between them, the scent of something sweetly floral wafting from her, sable brown hair tangled up on the top of her head in a messy bun configuration, wearing a huge to-her-knees matching top to Declan’s bottoms. “Morning, guys.” She patted his brother’s ass. Deck took the pancake off the griddle, flopped it onto a plate, twisted, and hoisted her up.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and giggled, but the sound was cut off when Declan devoured her mouth akin to a starving man with a free ticket to a pie-eating contest.