The Marked Men Series Books 1–6: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy, Asa
The Marked Men Series Books 1–6: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy, Asa
Jay Crownover
The complete Marked Men Collection - six scorching reads: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy and Asa!RULE: Shaw is a good girl and should know better than to get involved with a guy like Rule. Rule is the guy your mother always warned you about: he’s used to getting everything he wants yet even he knows that beautiful Shaw is strictly off limits. But what if what you want is exactly what you need?JET: Ayden is a good Southern girl, from the tips of her cowboy boots to the depths of her country music soul. With a troubled childhood behind her, all she wants is a normal life – and a bad boy like Jet is definitely not in the plan. But what happens when the bad boy picks you?ROME: Cora hides a heart that’s been mistreated too many times and she wants nothing less than ‘perfect’. Rome is as far from perfect as can be. Rigid and uncompromising, he’s returned from his final tour of duty a broken man. In the search for perfect, imperfection might just be what they need…NASH: Nash is reeling from a long-held family secret and needs something to hold on to – and the nurse with the beautiful grey eyes seems familiar… Saint knew Nash way back when and she can’t tell if he’s the same guy who made her life hell, who she vowed never to forgive. Trouble is, Nash is impossible to stay away from…ROWDY: After his first broken heart, Rowdy decided life was all about the good times. But when a ghost from the past appears, he questions everything he thought he knew about love. Salem left her unhappy childhood behind as soon as she could, but she never forgot the boy next door…ASA: Royal is a cop, first and foremost, so when a call-out goes wrong, she finds herself suspended from the job, seeking solace in oblivion. Asa spent his life on the wrong side of the law, but a near death experience left him rebuilding his life. On paper, the cop and the con seemed doomed to heartbreak – but when love has stolen your heart, how can you walk away?
JAY CROWNOVER: THE MARKED MEN SERIES BOOKS 1–6
Rule
Jet
Rome
Nash
Rowdy
Asa
Jay Crownover
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Jennifer M Voorhees 2013, 2014, 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Jennifer M Voorhees asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007536283; 9780007536306; 9780007536320; 9780007579068; 9780007579082; 9780007579105
Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780008160159
Version: 2015-09-10
Contents
Cover (#u2911a3dd-d9b6-56b1-a0e9-671336a3a86c)
Title Page (#u4805d42b-b71d-5959-8849-aa6488f5d0f5)
Copyright (#u828ed484-175b-5b89-95c8-8303b0219e08)
Rule (#ue33a743b-f436-5c25-a08d-cc97de6fb855)
Jet (#u904472da-ca3c-514b-ba3a-804298aa7103)
Rome (#u3794358f-2a31-52ee-9f8c-4842fddb44a1)
Nash (#ud3c7ea78-9466-52cb-a274-3ddb8a1892eb)
Rowdy (#u9109ad8e-c27a-5569-a1f1-97aacd2cbadc)
Asa (#u081ce774-8f2d-51c1-b57a-d2fa173ce186)
Keep Reading (#u6b9ecfe6-da9b-50c0-9c14-765036ec2ed0)
About the Author (#uaa32568e-303f-5674-b79f-e6156621e1fb)
About the Publisher (#u5bb587fb-d364-580b-afdf-ccfbed88943d)
RULE
Jay Crownover
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2013
Copyright © Jennifer M Voorhees 2013
Cover photograph © Rekha Garton/Getty Images
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Jennifer M Voorhees asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 978007536290
Ebook Edition © May 2013 ISBN: 9780007536283
Version: 2015-09-10
Dedication
Dedicated to everyone who listened to me complain about needing a new life plan all year long. Also to those who encouraged me to just do what I do best. I try to write what I know, just a more romantic and idealized version of it, so this is also for all the real-life tattooed boys who have been in and out of my life over the years and served as inspiration for my heroes.
Contents
Cover (#ue33a743b-f436-5c25-a08d-cc97de6fb855)
Title Page (#u4ba52ec9-8fc5-594b-aba8-988a6fedcd29)
Copyright (#uc7c5bc80-18e8-5124-a60f-3d64f5f6d316)
Dedication (#ub32a3fe0-6280-54d6-bdc2-614a0dc932ed)
Chapter 1: Rule (#u7a35789c-0d86-57b3-9ed9-b5024789d702)
Chapter 2: Shaw (#ucff35f68-20f8-5425-9daf-e1ae83b5167b)
Chapter 3: Rule (#u3a355761-45eb-541f-a55c-4b6e3d40fbe3)
Chapter 4: Shaw (#u7f4c2188-b30e-5c98-9593-cbc580ed05b2)
Chapter 5: Rule (#u964196a6-eb51-5ee3-8d83-4789cff2427d)
Chapter 6: Shaw (#ud22c30a8-e991-5189-b2dc-e011943293ba)
Chapter 7: Rule (#u84707cf5-39a7-5b62-b11c-2fd5a2297ac0)
Chapter 8: Shaw (#u56497cca-15d1-59d6-b4c9-5990bae23c78)
Chapter 9: Rule (#u6004d0dd-42e7-52df-8f08-622e8270f516)
Chapter 10: Shaw (#ub644f314-2a33-5262-9941-28a52983b99b)
Chapter 11: Rule (#u56aff6d8-9bd5-5c79-ba48-08eaefd41828)
Chapter 12: Shaw (#u093852de-05fc-5727-bdd5-a26f446843d0)
Chapter 13: Rule (#u79e7f34a-fbde-5060-8d0d-740ae0fd5a68)
Chapter 14: Shaw (#u66ab4412-5147-5bc7-857d-ccb918fd4faf)
Chapter 15: Rule (#uf4ffcc08-2052-53b2-a21c-04b4301c518a)
Chapter 16: Shaw (#u8733b636-9acf-5080-b547-77cc84278345)
Chapter 17: Rule (#u3d2de1b6-177c-5414-af38-0aa64279448e)
Epilogue: About eight months later (#ueb8eed38-fca5-5ad0-9967-0dbcb9c18f8d)
If this story had a soundtrack this is what it would be (#u70273e6c-e945-5feb-ac95-2773bf6f935b)
About me (#u2e105b5b-790c-5d7b-bac2-d598f61f50e5)
CHAPTER 1
Rule
At first I thought the pounding in my head was my brain trying to fight its way out of my skull after the ten or so shots of Crown Royal I had downed last night, but then I realized the noise was someone storming around in my apartment. She was here, and with dread I remembered that it was Sunday. No matter how many times I told her, or how rude I was to her, or whatever kind of debauched and unsavory condition she found me in, she showed up every Sunday morning to drag me home for brunch.
A soft moan from the other side of the bed reminded me that I hadn’t come home alone from the bar last night. Not that I remembered the girl’s name or what she looked like, or if it had even been worth her while to stumble into my apartment with me. I ran a hand over my face and swung my legs over the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door swung open. I never should have given the little brat a key. I didn’t bother to cover up; she was used to walking in and finding me hungover and naked—I didn’t see why today should be any different. The girl on the other side of the bed rolled over and narrowed her eyes at the new addition to our awkward little party.
“I thought you said you were single?” The accusation in her tone lifted the hair on the back of my neck. Any chick who was willing to come home with a stranger for a night of no-strings-attached sex didn’t get the right to pass judgment, especially while she was still naked and rumpled in my bed.
“Give me twenty,” I said, my eyes shifting to the blonde in the doorway as I ran a hand through my messy hair.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You have ten.”
I would have lifted an eyebrow back at her tone and attitude but my head was killing me, and the gesture would have been wasted on her anyway; she was way past immune to my shit.
“I’ll make coffee. I already invited Nash but he said he has to go to the shop for an appointment. I’ll be in the car.” She spun on her heel, and, just like that, the doorway was empty. I was struggling to my feet, searching the floor for the pair of pants I might have tossed down there last night.
“What’s going on?”
I had temporarily forgotten about the girl in my bed. I swore softly under my breath and tugged a black T-shirt that looked reasonably clean over my head. “I have to go.”
“What?”
I frowned at her as she lifted herself up in the bed and clutched the sheet to her chest. She was pretty and had a nice body from what I could see. I wondered what kind of game I had thrown at her in order to get her to come home with me. She was one I didn’t mind waking up to this morning.
“I have somewhere I need to be, so that means you need to get up and get going. Normally my roommate would be around, so you could hang out for a minute, but he had to go to work, so that means you need to get that fine ass in gear and get out.”
She sputtered a little at me. “Are you kidding me?”
I looked over my shoulder as I dug my boots out from under a pile of laundry and shoved my feet into them. “No.”
“What kind of asshole does that? Not even a ‘thanks for last night, you were great, how about lunch?’ Just ‘get the fuck out’?” She threw the sheet aside and I noticed she had a nice tattoo scrawled along her ribs that curled across her shoulder and along her collarbone. That was probably what had attracted me to her in my drunken stupor in the first place. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
I was a whole lot more than just a piece of work, but this chick, who was just one of oh so many, didn’t need to know that. I silently cursed my roommate, Nash, who was the real shit here. We had been best friends since elementary school, and I could normally rely on him to run interference for me on Sunday mornings when I had to bail, but I had forgotten about the piece he was supposed to be finishing up today. That meant I was on my own when it came to hustling last night’s tail out the door and getting a move on before the brat left without me, which was a bigger headache than I needed in my current state.
“Hey, what’s your name anyway?”
If she wasn’t pissed before, she was downright infuriated now. She climbed back into a supershort black skirt and a barely there tank top. She fluffed up her mound of dyed blond hair and glared at me out of eyes now smudged with old mascara. “Lucy. You don’t remember?”
I slimed some crap in my hair to make it stand up in a bunch of different directions and sprayed on cologne to help mask the scent of sex and booze that I was sure still clung to my skin. I shrugged a shoulder at her and waited as she hopped by me on one foot putting on heels that just screamed dirty sex.
“I’m Rule.” I would have offered to shake her hand but that seemed silly so I just pointed to the front door of the apartment and stepped in the bathroom to brush the stale taste of whiskey out of my mouth. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Maybe you should write your number down and I can give you a call another time. Sundays aren’t good days for me.” She would never know how true that statement was.
She glared at me and tapped the toe of one of those awesome shoes. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
This time, even against my throbbing brain’s wishes, my eyebrow went up and I looked at her with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. I just stared at her until she screeched at me and pointed at her side. “You have to at least remember this!”
No wonder I liked her ink so much; it was one of mine. I spit the toothpaste in the sink and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I looked like hell. My eyes were watery and rimmed in red, my skin looked gray, and there was a hickey the size of Rhode Island on the side of my neck—Mom was going to love that. Just like she was going to fall all over herself about the current state of my hair. It was normally thick and dark, but I had shaved the sides and dyed the front a nice, bright purple, so now it stuck up straight like a Weedwacker had been used to cut it. Both my folks already had an issue with the scrolling ink that wound around both my arms and up the side of my neck, so the hair was just going to be icing on the cake. Since there was nothing I could do to fix the current shit show looking back at me in the mirror I prowled out of the bathroom and unceremoniously grabbed the girl by the elbow and towed her to the front door. I needed to remember to go home with them instead of letting them come home with me; it was so much easier that way.
“Look, I have somewhere I have to be, and I don’t particularly love that I have to go, but you freaking out and making a scene is not going to do anything other than piss me off. I hope you had a good time last night and you can leave your number, but we both know the chances of me calling you are slim to none. If you don’t want to be treated like crap, maybe you should stop going home with drunken dudes you don’t know. Trust me, we’re really after only one thing and the next morning all we really want is for you to go quietly away. I have a headache and I feel like I’m going to hurl, plus I have to spend the next hour in a car with someone who will be silently loathing me and joyously plotting my death, so really, can we just save the histrionics and get a move on it?”
By now I had maneuvered Lucy to the entryway of the building, and I saw my blond tormentor in the BMW idling in the spot next to my truck. She was impatient and would take off if I wasted any more time. I gave Lucy a half grin and shrugged a shoulder—after all it wasn’t her fault I was an asshole, and even I knew she deserved better than such a callous brush-off.
“Look, don’t feel bad. I can be a charming bastard when I put my mind to it. You are far from the first and won’t be the last to see this little show. I’m glad your tat turned out badass, and I’d prefer you remember me for that rather than last night.”
I jogged down the front steps without looking back and yanked open the door to the fancy black BMW. I hated this car and hated that it suited the driver as well as it did. Classy, sleek, and expensive were definitely words that could be used to describe my traveling companion. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy yelled at me and flipped me off. My driver rolled her eyes and muttered, “Classy” under her breath. She was used to the little scenes chicks liked to throw when I bailed on them the morning after. I even had to replace her windshield once when one of them had chucked a rock at me and missed while I was walking away.
I adjusted the seat to accommodate my long legs and settled in to rest my head against the window. It was always a long and achingly silent drive. Sometimes, like today, I was grateful for it; other times it grated on my very last nerve. We had been a fixture in each other’s lives since middle school, and she knew every strength and fault I had. My parents loved her like their own daughter and made no bones about the fact that they more often than not preferred her company over mine. One would think with all the history, both good and bad, between us, that we could make simple small talk for a few hours without it being difficult.
“You’re going to get all that junk that’s in your hair all over my window.” Her voice—all cigarettes and whiskey—didn’t match the rest of her, which was all champagne and silk. I had always liked her voice; when we got along I could listen to her talk for hours.
“I’ll get it detailed.”
She snorted. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. I was all set for a silent ride, but apparently she had things to say today, because as soon as she pulled the car onto the highway she turned the radio down and said my name. “Rule.”
I turned my head slightly to the side and cracked open an eye. “Shaw.” Her name was just as fancy as the rest of her. She was pale, had snowy white-blond hair, and big green eyes that looked like Granny Smith apples. She was tiny, an easy foot shorter than my own six three, but had curves that went on for days. She was the kind of girl that guys looked at, because they just couldn’t help themselves, but as soon as she turned those frosty green eyes in their direction they knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. She exuded unattainability the way some other girls oozed “come and get me.”
She blew out a breath and I watched a strand of hair twirl around her forehead. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I stiffened when I saw how tight her hands were on the steering wheel.
“What is it, Shaw?”
She bit her bottom lip, a sure sign she was nervous. “I don’t suppose you answered any of your mom’s calls this week?”
I wasn’t exactly tight with my folks. In fact, our relationship hovered somewhere around the mutually tolerable area, which is why my mom sent Shaw to drag me home each weekend. We were both from a small town called Brookside, in an affluent part of Colorado. I’d moved to Denver as soon as I had my diploma in hand, and Shaw had moved there a few years later. She was a few years younger than me, and she had wanted nothing more than to get into the University of Denver. Not only did the girl look like a fairy-tale princess, but she was also on track to be a freaking doctor. My mom knew there was no way I would make the two-hour drive there and back to see them on the weekends, but if Shaw came to get me, I would have to go, not only because I would feel guilty that she’d taken time out of her busy schedule, but also because she paid for the gas, waited for me to stumble out of bed, and dragged my sorry ass home every single Sunday and not once in going on two years had she complained about it.
“No, I was busy all week.” I was busy, but I also just didn’t like talking to my mom, so I had ignored her all three times she had called me this week.
Shaw sighed and her hands twisted even tighter on the steering wheel. “She was calling to tell you that Rome got hurt and the army is sending him home for six weeks of R and R. Your dad went down to the base in the Springs yesterday to pick him up.”
I bolted up in the seat so fast that I smacked my head on the roof of the car. I swore and rubbed the spot, which made my head throb even more. “What? What do you mean he got hurt?” Rome was my older brother. He had three years on me and had been overseas for a good portion of the last six. We were still tight and, even though he didn’t like all the distance I’d put between me and my parents over the years, I was sure that if he was injured I would have heard it from him.
“I’m not sure. Margot said something happened to the convoy he was in when they were out on patrol. He was in a pretty bad accident I guess. She said his arm was broken and he had a few cracked ribs. She was pretty upset so I had a hard time understanding her when she called.”
“Rome would have called me.”
“Rome was doped up and spent the last two days being debriefed. He asked your mom to call because you Archer boys are nothing if not persistent. Margot told him that you wouldn’t answer, but he told her to keep trying.”
My brother was hurt and was home, but I hadn’t known about it. I closed my eyes again and let my head drop back against the headrest. “Well, hell, that’s good news I guess. Are you going to go by and see your mom?” I asked her. I didn’t have to look at her to know that she had stiffened even more. I could practically feel the tension rolling off her in icy waves.
“No.” She didn’t say more and I didn’t expect her to. The Archers may not be the closest, warmest bunch, but we didn’t have anything on the Landons. Shaw’s family crapped gold and breathed money. They also cheated and lied, had been divorced and remarried. From what I had seen over the years, they had little need or interest in their biological daughter, who, it seemed, was conceived in order to get a tax deduction rather than time spent in a bedroom. I knew Shaw loved my house and loved my parents, because it was the only semblance of normalcy she had ever experienced. I didn’t begrudge her that; in fact I appreciated that she took most of the heat off me. If Shaw was doing well in school, dating an affluent undergrad, living the life my parents had always wanted for their sons but had been denied, they stayed off my case. Since Rome was usually a continent away, I was the only one they could get to so I took no shame in using Shaw as a buffer.
“Man, I haven’t talked to Rome in three months. It’ll be awesome to see him. I wonder if I can convince him to come spend some time in D-town with me and Nash. He’s probably more than ready for a little bit of fun.”
She sighed again and moved to turn the radio back up a little bit. “You’re twenty-two, Rule. When are you going to stop acting like an indulgent teenager? Did you even ask this one her name? In case you were wondering, you smell like a mix between a distillery and a strip club.”
I snorted and let my eyes drift back shut. “You’re nineteen, Shaw. When are you going to stop living your life by everyone else’s standards? My eighty-two-year-old grandma has more of a social calendar than you, and I think she’s less uptight.” I wasn’t going to tell her what she smelled like because it was sweet and lovely and I had no desire to be nice at the moment.
I could feel her glaring at me and I hid a grin. “I like Ethel.” Her tone was surly.
“Everybody likes Ethel. She’s feisty and won’t take crap from anyone. You could learn a thing or two from her.”
“Oh, maybe I should just dye my hair pink, tattoo every visible surface of my body, shove a bunch of metal in my face, and sleep with everything that moves. Isn’t that your philosophy on how to live a rich and fulfilling life?”
That made me crank my eyes back open and the marching band in my head decide to go for round two.
“At least I’m doing what I want. I know who and what I am, Shaw, and I don’t make any apologies for it. I hear plenty of Margot Archer coming out of your pretty mouth right now.”
Her mouth twisted down into a frown. “Whatever. Let’s just go back to ignoring each other, okay? I just thought you should know about Rome. The Archer boys have never been big on surprises.”
She was right. In my experience surprises were never a good thing. They usually resulted in someone getting pissed and me ending up in some kind of fight. I loved my brother, but I had to admit I was kind of irritated he hadn’t, one, bothered to let me know he was hurt, and, two, was still trying to force me to play nice with my folks. I figured Shaw’s plan for us to ignore each other the rest of the way was a winner, so I slumped down as far as the sporty little car would allow and started to doze off. I was only out for twenty minutes or so when her Civil Wars ringtone jarred me awake. I blinked my gritty eyes and rubbed a hand over the scruff on my face. If the hair and the hickey didn’t piss Mom off, the fact I was too busy to shave for her precious brunch might just send her into hysterics.
“No, I told you I was going to Brookside and won’t be back until late.” When I looked across the car at her she must have felt my gaze because she looked at me quickly and I saw a little bit of pink work its way onto her high cheekbones. “No, Gabe, I told you I won’t have time and that I have a lab due.” I couldn’t make out the words on the other end but the person sounded angry at her brush-off, and I saw her fingers tighten on the phone. “It’s none of your business. I have to go now, so I’ll talk to you later.” She swiped a finger across the screen and tossed the fancy device into the cup holder by my knee.
“Trouble in paradise?” I didn’t really care about Shaw and her richer-than-God, future-ruler-of-the-known-universe boyfriend, but it was polite to ask when she was obviously upset. I hadn’t ever met Gabe, but what I’d heard from Mom when I bothered to listen was that he was custom-made for Shaw’s future doctor persona. His family was as loaded as hers; his dad was a judge, or lawyer, or some other political nonsense I had no use for. I was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the dude wore pleated slacks and pink polo shirts with white loafers. For a long moment I didn’t think she was going to respond, but then she cleared her throat and started tapping out a beat on the steering wheel with her manicured fingers.
“Not really, we broke up but I don’t think Gabe really gets it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, a couple weeks ago, actually. I had been thinking about doing it for a while. I’m just too busy with school and work to have a boyfriend.”
“If he was the right guy you wouldn’t have felt that way. You would have made the time because you wanted to be with him.”
She looked at me with both blond brows raised to her hairline. “Are you, Mr. Manwhore of the Century, seriously trying to give me relationship advice?”
I rolled my eyes, which made my head scream in protest. “Just because there hasn’t been one girl I wanted to hang out with exclusively doesn’t mean I don’t know the difference between quality and quantity.”
“Could have fooled me. Gabe just wanted more than I was willing to give him. It’s going to be a pain because my mom and dad both loved him.”
“True that; from what I’ve heard he was pretty much custom-made to make your folks happy. What do you mean he wanted more than you were willing to give? Did he try to put a rock on your finger after only six months?”
She gave me a look and curled her lip in a sneer. “Not even close, he just wanted things to be more serious than I wanted them to be.”
I laughed a little and rubbed between my eyebrows. My headache had turned into a dull throb but was starting to be manageable. I needed to ask her to swing by a Starbucks or something if I was going to get through this afternoon.
“Is that your prissy way of telling me that he was trying to get in your pants and you weren’t having it?”
She narrowed her eyes at me and pulled off the freeway at the exit that took us toward Brookside.
“I need you to stop by Starbucks before going to my parents’ house, and don’t think I didn’t notice you aren’t answering my question.”
“If we stop we’re going to be late. And not every boy thinks with what’s in their pants.”
“The sky isn’t going to fall on us if we show up five minutes behind Margot’s schedule. And you have got to be kidding me—you strung that loser along for six months without giving it up? What a joke.”
That made me flat-out laugh at her. I laughed so hard that I had to hold my head in both hands as my whiskey-logged brain started screaming at me again. I gasped a little and looked at her with watery eyes. “If you really believe that he wasn’t interested in getting in your pants, you aren’t nearly as smart as I always thought you were. Every single dude under the age of ninety is trying to get in your pants, Shaw—especially if he’s thinking that he’s your boy. I’m a guy, I know this shit.”
She bit her lip again, conceding I probably had a valid point as she pulled the car into the coffee shop’s parking lot. I practically bolted out of the car, eager to stretch my legs and get a little distance from her typical haughty attitude.
There was a line when I got inside, and I took a quick look around to see if I recognized anyone. Brookside is a pretty small town and usually when I stopped by on the weekends I inevitably ran into someone I used to go to school with. I hadn’t bothered to ask Shaw if she wanted me to grab her anything because she was being all uppity about having to stop in the first place. It was almost my turn to order when my phone started blasting a Social Distortion song in my pocket. I dug it out after ordering a big-ass black coffee and took a spot by the counter next to a cute brunette who was trying her hardest to not get caught checking me out.
“What up?”
I could hear the music in the shop blaring behind Nash when he asked, “How did this morning go?”
Nash knew my faults and bad habits better than anyone, and the reason we had maintained our friendship as long as we had was because he never judged me.
“Sucked. I’m hungover, grumpy, and about to sit through yet another forced family function. Plus, Shaw is in rare form today.”
“How was the chick from last night?”
“No clue. I don’t even remember leaving the bar with her. Apparently I did a huge piece on her side so she was a little pissed that I didn’t remember who she was, so ouch.”
He chuckled on the other end of the line. “She told you that, like, six times last night. She even tried to pull her top off to show you. And I drove your dumb ass home last night, drunko. I tried to get you to leave at, like, midnight but you weren’t having any of it, as usual. I had to drive your truck home and then take a cab back to get my car.”
I snorted and reached for the coffee when the guy behind the counter called my name. I noticed the brunette’s eyes follow the hand that wrapped around the cardboard cup. It was the hand that had the flared head of a king cobra on it, the snake’s forked tongue making the L in my name that was inked across my four knuckles. The rest of the snake wound its way up my forearm and around my elbow. The brunette’s mouth made a little O of surprise so I flashed her a wink and walked back to the BMW.
“Sorry, dude. How did your appointment go?”
Nash’s uncle Phil had opened the tattoo shop years ago on Capitol Hill when it mainly catered to gangbangers and bikers. Now with the influx of young urbanites and hipsters populating the area, the Marked was one of the busiest tattoo parlors in town. Nash and I met in art class in the fifth grade and have been inseparable since. In fact, ever since we were twelve our plan was to move to the city and work for Phil. We both had mad skills and the personality to make the shop bump with business so Phil had no qualms apprenticing us and putting us to work before we were both in our twenties. It was killer to have a friend in the same field; I had a plethora of ink on my skin that ranged from not-so-great to great that chronicled Nash’s evolution as a tattoo artist, and he could state the same thing about me.
“I finished that back piece that I’ve been working on since July. It turned out better than I thought and the dude is talking about doing the front. I’ll take it, because he’s a fat tipper.”
“Nice.” I was juggling the phone and the coffee, trying to open the door to the car when a female voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Hey.” I looked over my shoulder and the brunette was standing a car over with a smile on her face. “I really like your tattoos.”
I smiled back at her and then jumped, nearly spilling scalding hot coffee down my crotch as Shaw shoved the door open from the inside.
“Thanks.” If we had been closer to home and Shaw wasn’t already putting the car in reverse I probably would have taken a second to ask the girl for her number. Shaw shot me a look of contempt that I promptly ignored, and I went back to my conversation with Nash. “Rome is home. He got in an accident and Shaw said he’s got a few weeks of R and R coming to him. I guess that’s why Mom was blowing my phone up all week.”
“Kick ass. Ask him if he wants to roll with us for a few days. I miss that surly bastard.”
I sipped on the coffee and my head finally started to calm down. “That’s the plan. I’ll hit you up on my way home and let you know what the story is.”
I flicked my thumb across the screen to end the call and settled back into the seat. Shaw scowled angrily at me and I swore her eyes glowed. Really. I have never seen anything that green, even in nature, and when she gets mad they are just otherworldly.
“Your mom called while you were busy flirting. She’s mad that we’re late.”
I sucked on more of the black nectar of the gods and started tapping out a beat on my knee with my free hand. I was always kind of a fidgety guy and the closer we got to my parents’ house, the worse it usually got. Brunch was always stilted and forced. I couldn’t figure out why they insisted on going through with it every single week and couldn’t figure out why Shaw enabled the farce, but I went, even when I knew nothing would ever change.
“She’s mad that you’re late. We both know she couldn’t care less if I’m there or not.” My fingers moved faster and faster as she wheeled the car into a gated community and passed rows and rows of cookie-cutter minimansions that were built back into the mountains.
“That’s not true and you know it, Rule. I do not suffer through these car rides every weekend, subject myself to the delight of your morning-after nastiness because your parents want me to have eggs and pancakes every Sunday. I do it because they want to see you, want to try to have a relationship with you no matter how many times you hurt them or push them away. I owe it to your parents and, more important, I owe it to Remy to try to make you act right even though lord knows that’s almost a full-time job.”
I sucked in a breath as the blinding pain that always came when someone mentioned Remy’s name barreled through my chest. My fingers involuntarily opened and closed around the coffee cup and I whipped my head around to glare at her.
“Remy wouldn’t be all over my ass to try and be something to them I’m not. I was never good enough for them, and never will be. He understood that better than anyone and worked overtime to try and be everything to them I never could be.”
She sighed and pulled the car to a stop in the driveway behind my dad’s SUV. “The only difference between you and Remy is that he let people love him, and you”—she yanked open the driver’s door and glared at me across the space that separated us—“you have always been determined to make everyone who cares about you prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. You’ve never wanted to be easy to love, Rule, and you make damn sure that nobody can ever forget it.” She slammed the door with enough force that it rattled my back teeth and made my head start to throb again.
It has been three years. Three lonely, three empty, three sorrow-filled years since the Archer brothers went from a trio to a duo. I am close to Rome—he’s awesome and has always been my role model when it comes to being a badass—but Remy was my other half, both figuratively and literally. He was my identical twin, the light to my dark, the easy to my hard, the joy to my angst, the perfect to my oh-so-totally fucked up, and without him I was only half the person I would ever be. It has been three years since I called him in the middle of the night to come pick me up from some lame-ass party because I had been too drunk to drive. Three years since he left the apartment we shared to come get me—zero questions asked—because that’s just what he did.
It’s been three years since he lost control of his car on a rainy and slick I-25 and slammed into the back of a semi truck going well over eighty. Three years since we put my twin in the ground and my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes and stated point-blank, “It should have been you” as they lowered Remy into the ground.
It’s been three years and his name alone is still enough to drop me to my knees, especially coming from the one person in the world Remy had loved as much as he loved me.
Remy was everything I wasn’t—clean-cut, well dressed, and interested in getting an education and building a secure future. The only person on the planet who was good enough and classy enough to match all the magnificence that he possessed was Shaw Landon. The two of them had been inseparable since the first time he brought her home when she was fourteen and trying to escape the fortress of the Landon compound. He insisted they were just friends, that he loved Shaw like a sister, that he just wanted to protect her from her awful, sterile family, but the way he was with her was full of reverence and care. I knew he loved her, and since Remy could do no wrong, Shaw had quickly become an honorary member of my family. As much as it galled me, she was the only one who really, truly understood the depth of my pain when it came to losing him.
I had to take a few extra minutes to get my feet back under me so I sucked back the rest of the coffee and shoved open the door. I wasn’t surprised to see a tall figure coming around the SUV as I labored out of the sports car. My brother was an inch or so taller than me and built more along the lines of a warrior. His dark-brown hair was buzzed in a typical military cut and his pale-blue eyes, the same icy shade as mine, looked tired as he forced a smile at me. I let out a whistle because his left arm was in a cast and sling, he had a walking boot on one foot, and there was a nasty line of black stitches running through one of his eyebrows and across his forehead. The Weedwacker that had attacked my hair had clearly gotten a good shot at my big bro, too.
“Looking good, soldier.”
He pulled me to him in a one-armed hug and I winced for him when I felt the taped-up side of his body clearly indicating some injury beyond the busted ribs. “I look about as good as I feel. You look like a clown getting out of that car.”
“I look like a clown no matter what when I’m around that girl.” He barked out a laugh and rubbed a rough hand through my spiky hair.
“You and Shaw are still acting like mortal enemies?”
“More like uneasy acquaintances. She’s just as prissy and judgmental as always. Why didn’t you call or email me that you were hurt? I had to hear it from Shaw on the way over.”
He swore as we started to slowly make our way toward the house. It upset me to see how deliberate he was moving and I wondered if the damage was more serious than what was visible.
“I was unconscious after the Hummer flipped. We drove over an IED and it was bad. I was in the hospital for a week with a scrambled noggin, and when I woke up they had to do surgery on my shoulder so I was all drugged up. I called Mom and figured she would let you know what the deal was, but I heard that, as usual, you were unavailable when she called.”
I shrugged a shoulder and reached out a hand to steady him as he faltered a little on the stairs to the front door. “I was busy.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Not too stubborn. I’m here aren’t I? I didn’t even know you were home until this morning.”
“The only reason you’re here is because that little girl in there is bound and determined to keep this family together regardless if we’re her own or not. You go in there and play nice; otherwise, I’ll kick your ass, broken arm and all.”
I muttered a few choice words and followed my battered sibling into the house. Sundays really were my least favorite day.
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Jay Crownover
The complete Marked Men Collection - six scorching reads: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy and Asa!RULE: Shaw is a good girl and should know better than to get involved with a guy like Rule. Rule is the guy your mother always warned you about: he’s used to getting everything he wants yet even he knows that beautiful Shaw is strictly off limits. But what if what you want is exactly what you need?JET: Ayden is a good Southern girl, from the tips of her cowboy boots to the depths of her country music soul. With a troubled childhood behind her, all she wants is a normal life – and a bad boy like Jet is definitely not in the plan. But what happens when the bad boy picks you?ROME: Cora hides a heart that’s been mistreated too many times and she wants nothing less than ‘perfect’. Rome is as far from perfect as can be. Rigid and uncompromising, he’s returned from his final tour of duty a broken man. In the search for perfect, imperfection might just be what they need…NASH: Nash is reeling from a long-held family secret and needs something to hold on to – and the nurse with the beautiful grey eyes seems familiar… Saint knew Nash way back when and she can’t tell if he’s the same guy who made her life hell, who she vowed never to forgive. Trouble is, Nash is impossible to stay away from…ROWDY: After his first broken heart, Rowdy decided life was all about the good times. But when a ghost from the past appears, he questions everything he thought he knew about love. Salem left her unhappy childhood behind as soon as she could, but she never forgot the boy next door…ASA: Royal is a cop, first and foremost, so when a call-out goes wrong, she finds herself suspended from the job, seeking solace in oblivion. Asa spent his life on the wrong side of the law, but a near death experience left him rebuilding his life. On paper, the cop and the con seemed doomed to heartbreak – but when love has stolen your heart, how can you walk away?
JAY CROWNOVER: THE MARKED MEN SERIES BOOKS 1–6
Rule
Jet
Rome
Nash
Rowdy
Asa
Jay Crownover
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Jennifer M Voorhees 2013, 2014, 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Jennifer M Voorhees asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007536283; 9780007536306; 9780007536320; 9780007579068; 9780007579082; 9780007579105
Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780008160159
Version: 2015-09-10
Contents
Cover (#u2911a3dd-d9b6-56b1-a0e9-671336a3a86c)
Title Page (#u4805d42b-b71d-5959-8849-aa6488f5d0f5)
Copyright (#u828ed484-175b-5b89-95c8-8303b0219e08)
Rule (#ue33a743b-f436-5c25-a08d-cc97de6fb855)
Jet (#u904472da-ca3c-514b-ba3a-804298aa7103)
Rome (#u3794358f-2a31-52ee-9f8c-4842fddb44a1)
Nash (#ud3c7ea78-9466-52cb-a274-3ddb8a1892eb)
Rowdy (#u9109ad8e-c27a-5569-a1f1-97aacd2cbadc)
Asa (#u081ce774-8f2d-51c1-b57a-d2fa173ce186)
Keep Reading (#u6b9ecfe6-da9b-50c0-9c14-765036ec2ed0)
About the Author (#uaa32568e-303f-5674-b79f-e6156621e1fb)
About the Publisher (#u5bb587fb-d364-580b-afdf-ccfbed88943d)
RULE
Jay Crownover
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2013
Copyright © Jennifer M Voorhees 2013
Cover photograph © Rekha Garton/Getty Images
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Jennifer M Voorhees asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 978007536290
Ebook Edition © May 2013 ISBN: 9780007536283
Version: 2015-09-10
Dedication
Dedicated to everyone who listened to me complain about needing a new life plan all year long. Also to those who encouraged me to just do what I do best. I try to write what I know, just a more romantic and idealized version of it, so this is also for all the real-life tattooed boys who have been in and out of my life over the years and served as inspiration for my heroes.
Contents
Cover (#ue33a743b-f436-5c25-a08d-cc97de6fb855)
Title Page (#u4ba52ec9-8fc5-594b-aba8-988a6fedcd29)
Copyright (#uc7c5bc80-18e8-5124-a60f-3d64f5f6d316)
Dedication (#ub32a3fe0-6280-54d6-bdc2-614a0dc932ed)
Chapter 1: Rule (#u7a35789c-0d86-57b3-9ed9-b5024789d702)
Chapter 2: Shaw (#ucff35f68-20f8-5425-9daf-e1ae83b5167b)
Chapter 3: Rule (#u3a355761-45eb-541f-a55c-4b6e3d40fbe3)
Chapter 4: Shaw (#u7f4c2188-b30e-5c98-9593-cbc580ed05b2)
Chapter 5: Rule (#u964196a6-eb51-5ee3-8d83-4789cff2427d)
Chapter 6: Shaw (#ud22c30a8-e991-5189-b2dc-e011943293ba)
Chapter 7: Rule (#u84707cf5-39a7-5b62-b11c-2fd5a2297ac0)
Chapter 8: Shaw (#u56497cca-15d1-59d6-b4c9-5990bae23c78)
Chapter 9: Rule (#u6004d0dd-42e7-52df-8f08-622e8270f516)
Chapter 10: Shaw (#ub644f314-2a33-5262-9941-28a52983b99b)
Chapter 11: Rule (#u56aff6d8-9bd5-5c79-ba48-08eaefd41828)
Chapter 12: Shaw (#u093852de-05fc-5727-bdd5-a26f446843d0)
Chapter 13: Rule (#u79e7f34a-fbde-5060-8d0d-740ae0fd5a68)
Chapter 14: Shaw (#u66ab4412-5147-5bc7-857d-ccb918fd4faf)
Chapter 15: Rule (#uf4ffcc08-2052-53b2-a21c-04b4301c518a)
Chapter 16: Shaw (#u8733b636-9acf-5080-b547-77cc84278345)
Chapter 17: Rule (#u3d2de1b6-177c-5414-af38-0aa64279448e)
Epilogue: About eight months later (#ueb8eed38-fca5-5ad0-9967-0dbcb9c18f8d)
If this story had a soundtrack this is what it would be (#u70273e6c-e945-5feb-ac95-2773bf6f935b)
About me (#u2e105b5b-790c-5d7b-bac2-d598f61f50e5)
CHAPTER 1
Rule
At first I thought the pounding in my head was my brain trying to fight its way out of my skull after the ten or so shots of Crown Royal I had downed last night, but then I realized the noise was someone storming around in my apartment. She was here, and with dread I remembered that it was Sunday. No matter how many times I told her, or how rude I was to her, or whatever kind of debauched and unsavory condition she found me in, she showed up every Sunday morning to drag me home for brunch.
A soft moan from the other side of the bed reminded me that I hadn’t come home alone from the bar last night. Not that I remembered the girl’s name or what she looked like, or if it had even been worth her while to stumble into my apartment with me. I ran a hand over my face and swung my legs over the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door swung open. I never should have given the little brat a key. I didn’t bother to cover up; she was used to walking in and finding me hungover and naked—I didn’t see why today should be any different. The girl on the other side of the bed rolled over and narrowed her eyes at the new addition to our awkward little party.
“I thought you said you were single?” The accusation in her tone lifted the hair on the back of my neck. Any chick who was willing to come home with a stranger for a night of no-strings-attached sex didn’t get the right to pass judgment, especially while she was still naked and rumpled in my bed.
“Give me twenty,” I said, my eyes shifting to the blonde in the doorway as I ran a hand through my messy hair.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You have ten.”
I would have lifted an eyebrow back at her tone and attitude but my head was killing me, and the gesture would have been wasted on her anyway; she was way past immune to my shit.
“I’ll make coffee. I already invited Nash but he said he has to go to the shop for an appointment. I’ll be in the car.” She spun on her heel, and, just like that, the doorway was empty. I was struggling to my feet, searching the floor for the pair of pants I might have tossed down there last night.
“What’s going on?”
I had temporarily forgotten about the girl in my bed. I swore softly under my breath and tugged a black T-shirt that looked reasonably clean over my head. “I have to go.”
“What?”
I frowned at her as she lifted herself up in the bed and clutched the sheet to her chest. She was pretty and had a nice body from what I could see. I wondered what kind of game I had thrown at her in order to get her to come home with me. She was one I didn’t mind waking up to this morning.
“I have somewhere I need to be, so that means you need to get up and get going. Normally my roommate would be around, so you could hang out for a minute, but he had to go to work, so that means you need to get that fine ass in gear and get out.”
She sputtered a little at me. “Are you kidding me?”
I looked over my shoulder as I dug my boots out from under a pile of laundry and shoved my feet into them. “No.”
“What kind of asshole does that? Not even a ‘thanks for last night, you were great, how about lunch?’ Just ‘get the fuck out’?” She threw the sheet aside and I noticed she had a nice tattoo scrawled along her ribs that curled across her shoulder and along her collarbone. That was probably what had attracted me to her in my drunken stupor in the first place. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
I was a whole lot more than just a piece of work, but this chick, who was just one of oh so many, didn’t need to know that. I silently cursed my roommate, Nash, who was the real shit here. We had been best friends since elementary school, and I could normally rely on him to run interference for me on Sunday mornings when I had to bail, but I had forgotten about the piece he was supposed to be finishing up today. That meant I was on my own when it came to hustling last night’s tail out the door and getting a move on before the brat left without me, which was a bigger headache than I needed in my current state.
“Hey, what’s your name anyway?”
If she wasn’t pissed before, she was downright infuriated now. She climbed back into a supershort black skirt and a barely there tank top. She fluffed up her mound of dyed blond hair and glared at me out of eyes now smudged with old mascara. “Lucy. You don’t remember?”
I slimed some crap in my hair to make it stand up in a bunch of different directions and sprayed on cologne to help mask the scent of sex and booze that I was sure still clung to my skin. I shrugged a shoulder at her and waited as she hopped by me on one foot putting on heels that just screamed dirty sex.
“I’m Rule.” I would have offered to shake her hand but that seemed silly so I just pointed to the front door of the apartment and stepped in the bathroom to brush the stale taste of whiskey out of my mouth. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Maybe you should write your number down and I can give you a call another time. Sundays aren’t good days for me.” She would never know how true that statement was.
She glared at me and tapped the toe of one of those awesome shoes. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
This time, even against my throbbing brain’s wishes, my eyebrow went up and I looked at her with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. I just stared at her until she screeched at me and pointed at her side. “You have to at least remember this!”
No wonder I liked her ink so much; it was one of mine. I spit the toothpaste in the sink and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I looked like hell. My eyes were watery and rimmed in red, my skin looked gray, and there was a hickey the size of Rhode Island on the side of my neck—Mom was going to love that. Just like she was going to fall all over herself about the current state of my hair. It was normally thick and dark, but I had shaved the sides and dyed the front a nice, bright purple, so now it stuck up straight like a Weedwacker had been used to cut it. Both my folks already had an issue with the scrolling ink that wound around both my arms and up the side of my neck, so the hair was just going to be icing on the cake. Since there was nothing I could do to fix the current shit show looking back at me in the mirror I prowled out of the bathroom and unceremoniously grabbed the girl by the elbow and towed her to the front door. I needed to remember to go home with them instead of letting them come home with me; it was so much easier that way.
“Look, I have somewhere I have to be, and I don’t particularly love that I have to go, but you freaking out and making a scene is not going to do anything other than piss me off. I hope you had a good time last night and you can leave your number, but we both know the chances of me calling you are slim to none. If you don’t want to be treated like crap, maybe you should stop going home with drunken dudes you don’t know. Trust me, we’re really after only one thing and the next morning all we really want is for you to go quietly away. I have a headache and I feel like I’m going to hurl, plus I have to spend the next hour in a car with someone who will be silently loathing me and joyously plotting my death, so really, can we just save the histrionics and get a move on it?”
By now I had maneuvered Lucy to the entryway of the building, and I saw my blond tormentor in the BMW idling in the spot next to my truck. She was impatient and would take off if I wasted any more time. I gave Lucy a half grin and shrugged a shoulder—after all it wasn’t her fault I was an asshole, and even I knew she deserved better than such a callous brush-off.
“Look, don’t feel bad. I can be a charming bastard when I put my mind to it. You are far from the first and won’t be the last to see this little show. I’m glad your tat turned out badass, and I’d prefer you remember me for that rather than last night.”
I jogged down the front steps without looking back and yanked open the door to the fancy black BMW. I hated this car and hated that it suited the driver as well as it did. Classy, sleek, and expensive were definitely words that could be used to describe my traveling companion. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy yelled at me and flipped me off. My driver rolled her eyes and muttered, “Classy” under her breath. She was used to the little scenes chicks liked to throw when I bailed on them the morning after. I even had to replace her windshield once when one of them had chucked a rock at me and missed while I was walking away.
I adjusted the seat to accommodate my long legs and settled in to rest my head against the window. It was always a long and achingly silent drive. Sometimes, like today, I was grateful for it; other times it grated on my very last nerve. We had been a fixture in each other’s lives since middle school, and she knew every strength and fault I had. My parents loved her like their own daughter and made no bones about the fact that they more often than not preferred her company over mine. One would think with all the history, both good and bad, between us, that we could make simple small talk for a few hours without it being difficult.
“You’re going to get all that junk that’s in your hair all over my window.” Her voice—all cigarettes and whiskey—didn’t match the rest of her, which was all champagne and silk. I had always liked her voice; when we got along I could listen to her talk for hours.
“I’ll get it detailed.”
She snorted. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. I was all set for a silent ride, but apparently she had things to say today, because as soon as she pulled the car onto the highway she turned the radio down and said my name. “Rule.”
I turned my head slightly to the side and cracked open an eye. “Shaw.” Her name was just as fancy as the rest of her. She was pale, had snowy white-blond hair, and big green eyes that looked like Granny Smith apples. She was tiny, an easy foot shorter than my own six three, but had curves that went on for days. She was the kind of girl that guys looked at, because they just couldn’t help themselves, but as soon as she turned those frosty green eyes in their direction they knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. She exuded unattainability the way some other girls oozed “come and get me.”
She blew out a breath and I watched a strand of hair twirl around her forehead. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I stiffened when I saw how tight her hands were on the steering wheel.
“What is it, Shaw?”
She bit her bottom lip, a sure sign she was nervous. “I don’t suppose you answered any of your mom’s calls this week?”
I wasn’t exactly tight with my folks. In fact, our relationship hovered somewhere around the mutually tolerable area, which is why my mom sent Shaw to drag me home each weekend. We were both from a small town called Brookside, in an affluent part of Colorado. I’d moved to Denver as soon as I had my diploma in hand, and Shaw had moved there a few years later. She was a few years younger than me, and she had wanted nothing more than to get into the University of Denver. Not only did the girl look like a fairy-tale princess, but she was also on track to be a freaking doctor. My mom knew there was no way I would make the two-hour drive there and back to see them on the weekends, but if Shaw came to get me, I would have to go, not only because I would feel guilty that she’d taken time out of her busy schedule, but also because she paid for the gas, waited for me to stumble out of bed, and dragged my sorry ass home every single Sunday and not once in going on two years had she complained about it.
“No, I was busy all week.” I was busy, but I also just didn’t like talking to my mom, so I had ignored her all three times she had called me this week.
Shaw sighed and her hands twisted even tighter on the steering wheel. “She was calling to tell you that Rome got hurt and the army is sending him home for six weeks of R and R. Your dad went down to the base in the Springs yesterday to pick him up.”
I bolted up in the seat so fast that I smacked my head on the roof of the car. I swore and rubbed the spot, which made my head throb even more. “What? What do you mean he got hurt?” Rome was my older brother. He had three years on me and had been overseas for a good portion of the last six. We were still tight and, even though he didn’t like all the distance I’d put between me and my parents over the years, I was sure that if he was injured I would have heard it from him.
“I’m not sure. Margot said something happened to the convoy he was in when they were out on patrol. He was in a pretty bad accident I guess. She said his arm was broken and he had a few cracked ribs. She was pretty upset so I had a hard time understanding her when she called.”
“Rome would have called me.”
“Rome was doped up and spent the last two days being debriefed. He asked your mom to call because you Archer boys are nothing if not persistent. Margot told him that you wouldn’t answer, but he told her to keep trying.”
My brother was hurt and was home, but I hadn’t known about it. I closed my eyes again and let my head drop back against the headrest. “Well, hell, that’s good news I guess. Are you going to go by and see your mom?” I asked her. I didn’t have to look at her to know that she had stiffened even more. I could practically feel the tension rolling off her in icy waves.
“No.” She didn’t say more and I didn’t expect her to. The Archers may not be the closest, warmest bunch, but we didn’t have anything on the Landons. Shaw’s family crapped gold and breathed money. They also cheated and lied, had been divorced and remarried. From what I had seen over the years, they had little need or interest in their biological daughter, who, it seemed, was conceived in order to get a tax deduction rather than time spent in a bedroom. I knew Shaw loved my house and loved my parents, because it was the only semblance of normalcy she had ever experienced. I didn’t begrudge her that; in fact I appreciated that she took most of the heat off me. If Shaw was doing well in school, dating an affluent undergrad, living the life my parents had always wanted for their sons but had been denied, they stayed off my case. Since Rome was usually a continent away, I was the only one they could get to so I took no shame in using Shaw as a buffer.
“Man, I haven’t talked to Rome in three months. It’ll be awesome to see him. I wonder if I can convince him to come spend some time in D-town with me and Nash. He’s probably more than ready for a little bit of fun.”
She sighed again and moved to turn the radio back up a little bit. “You’re twenty-two, Rule. When are you going to stop acting like an indulgent teenager? Did you even ask this one her name? In case you were wondering, you smell like a mix between a distillery and a strip club.”
I snorted and let my eyes drift back shut. “You’re nineteen, Shaw. When are you going to stop living your life by everyone else’s standards? My eighty-two-year-old grandma has more of a social calendar than you, and I think she’s less uptight.” I wasn’t going to tell her what she smelled like because it was sweet and lovely and I had no desire to be nice at the moment.
I could feel her glaring at me and I hid a grin. “I like Ethel.” Her tone was surly.
“Everybody likes Ethel. She’s feisty and won’t take crap from anyone. You could learn a thing or two from her.”
“Oh, maybe I should just dye my hair pink, tattoo every visible surface of my body, shove a bunch of metal in my face, and sleep with everything that moves. Isn’t that your philosophy on how to live a rich and fulfilling life?”
That made me crank my eyes back open and the marching band in my head decide to go for round two.
“At least I’m doing what I want. I know who and what I am, Shaw, and I don’t make any apologies for it. I hear plenty of Margot Archer coming out of your pretty mouth right now.”
Her mouth twisted down into a frown. “Whatever. Let’s just go back to ignoring each other, okay? I just thought you should know about Rome. The Archer boys have never been big on surprises.”
She was right. In my experience surprises were never a good thing. They usually resulted in someone getting pissed and me ending up in some kind of fight. I loved my brother, but I had to admit I was kind of irritated he hadn’t, one, bothered to let me know he was hurt, and, two, was still trying to force me to play nice with my folks. I figured Shaw’s plan for us to ignore each other the rest of the way was a winner, so I slumped down as far as the sporty little car would allow and started to doze off. I was only out for twenty minutes or so when her Civil Wars ringtone jarred me awake. I blinked my gritty eyes and rubbed a hand over the scruff on my face. If the hair and the hickey didn’t piss Mom off, the fact I was too busy to shave for her precious brunch might just send her into hysterics.
“No, I told you I was going to Brookside and won’t be back until late.” When I looked across the car at her she must have felt my gaze because she looked at me quickly and I saw a little bit of pink work its way onto her high cheekbones. “No, Gabe, I told you I won’t have time and that I have a lab due.” I couldn’t make out the words on the other end but the person sounded angry at her brush-off, and I saw her fingers tighten on the phone. “It’s none of your business. I have to go now, so I’ll talk to you later.” She swiped a finger across the screen and tossed the fancy device into the cup holder by my knee.
“Trouble in paradise?” I didn’t really care about Shaw and her richer-than-God, future-ruler-of-the-known-universe boyfriend, but it was polite to ask when she was obviously upset. I hadn’t ever met Gabe, but what I’d heard from Mom when I bothered to listen was that he was custom-made for Shaw’s future doctor persona. His family was as loaded as hers; his dad was a judge, or lawyer, or some other political nonsense I had no use for. I was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the dude wore pleated slacks and pink polo shirts with white loafers. For a long moment I didn’t think she was going to respond, but then she cleared her throat and started tapping out a beat on the steering wheel with her manicured fingers.
“Not really, we broke up but I don’t think Gabe really gets it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, a couple weeks ago, actually. I had been thinking about doing it for a while. I’m just too busy with school and work to have a boyfriend.”
“If he was the right guy you wouldn’t have felt that way. You would have made the time because you wanted to be with him.”
She looked at me with both blond brows raised to her hairline. “Are you, Mr. Manwhore of the Century, seriously trying to give me relationship advice?”
I rolled my eyes, which made my head scream in protest. “Just because there hasn’t been one girl I wanted to hang out with exclusively doesn’t mean I don’t know the difference between quality and quantity.”
“Could have fooled me. Gabe just wanted more than I was willing to give him. It’s going to be a pain because my mom and dad both loved him.”
“True that; from what I’ve heard he was pretty much custom-made to make your folks happy. What do you mean he wanted more than you were willing to give? Did he try to put a rock on your finger after only six months?”
She gave me a look and curled her lip in a sneer. “Not even close, he just wanted things to be more serious than I wanted them to be.”
I laughed a little and rubbed between my eyebrows. My headache had turned into a dull throb but was starting to be manageable. I needed to ask her to swing by a Starbucks or something if I was going to get through this afternoon.
“Is that your prissy way of telling me that he was trying to get in your pants and you weren’t having it?”
She narrowed her eyes at me and pulled off the freeway at the exit that took us toward Brookside.
“I need you to stop by Starbucks before going to my parents’ house, and don’t think I didn’t notice you aren’t answering my question.”
“If we stop we’re going to be late. And not every boy thinks with what’s in their pants.”
“The sky isn’t going to fall on us if we show up five minutes behind Margot’s schedule. And you have got to be kidding me—you strung that loser along for six months without giving it up? What a joke.”
That made me flat-out laugh at her. I laughed so hard that I had to hold my head in both hands as my whiskey-logged brain started screaming at me again. I gasped a little and looked at her with watery eyes. “If you really believe that he wasn’t interested in getting in your pants, you aren’t nearly as smart as I always thought you were. Every single dude under the age of ninety is trying to get in your pants, Shaw—especially if he’s thinking that he’s your boy. I’m a guy, I know this shit.”
She bit her lip again, conceding I probably had a valid point as she pulled the car into the coffee shop’s parking lot. I practically bolted out of the car, eager to stretch my legs and get a little distance from her typical haughty attitude.
There was a line when I got inside, and I took a quick look around to see if I recognized anyone. Brookside is a pretty small town and usually when I stopped by on the weekends I inevitably ran into someone I used to go to school with. I hadn’t bothered to ask Shaw if she wanted me to grab her anything because she was being all uppity about having to stop in the first place. It was almost my turn to order when my phone started blasting a Social Distortion song in my pocket. I dug it out after ordering a big-ass black coffee and took a spot by the counter next to a cute brunette who was trying her hardest to not get caught checking me out.
“What up?”
I could hear the music in the shop blaring behind Nash when he asked, “How did this morning go?”
Nash knew my faults and bad habits better than anyone, and the reason we had maintained our friendship as long as we had was because he never judged me.
“Sucked. I’m hungover, grumpy, and about to sit through yet another forced family function. Plus, Shaw is in rare form today.”
“How was the chick from last night?”
“No clue. I don’t even remember leaving the bar with her. Apparently I did a huge piece on her side so she was a little pissed that I didn’t remember who she was, so ouch.”
He chuckled on the other end of the line. “She told you that, like, six times last night. She even tried to pull her top off to show you. And I drove your dumb ass home last night, drunko. I tried to get you to leave at, like, midnight but you weren’t having any of it, as usual. I had to drive your truck home and then take a cab back to get my car.”
I snorted and reached for the coffee when the guy behind the counter called my name. I noticed the brunette’s eyes follow the hand that wrapped around the cardboard cup. It was the hand that had the flared head of a king cobra on it, the snake’s forked tongue making the L in my name that was inked across my four knuckles. The rest of the snake wound its way up my forearm and around my elbow. The brunette’s mouth made a little O of surprise so I flashed her a wink and walked back to the BMW.
“Sorry, dude. How did your appointment go?”
Nash’s uncle Phil had opened the tattoo shop years ago on Capitol Hill when it mainly catered to gangbangers and bikers. Now with the influx of young urbanites and hipsters populating the area, the Marked was one of the busiest tattoo parlors in town. Nash and I met in art class in the fifth grade and have been inseparable since. In fact, ever since we were twelve our plan was to move to the city and work for Phil. We both had mad skills and the personality to make the shop bump with business so Phil had no qualms apprenticing us and putting us to work before we were both in our twenties. It was killer to have a friend in the same field; I had a plethora of ink on my skin that ranged from not-so-great to great that chronicled Nash’s evolution as a tattoo artist, and he could state the same thing about me.
“I finished that back piece that I’ve been working on since July. It turned out better than I thought and the dude is talking about doing the front. I’ll take it, because he’s a fat tipper.”
“Nice.” I was juggling the phone and the coffee, trying to open the door to the car when a female voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Hey.” I looked over my shoulder and the brunette was standing a car over with a smile on her face. “I really like your tattoos.”
I smiled back at her and then jumped, nearly spilling scalding hot coffee down my crotch as Shaw shoved the door open from the inside.
“Thanks.” If we had been closer to home and Shaw wasn’t already putting the car in reverse I probably would have taken a second to ask the girl for her number. Shaw shot me a look of contempt that I promptly ignored, and I went back to my conversation with Nash. “Rome is home. He got in an accident and Shaw said he’s got a few weeks of R and R coming to him. I guess that’s why Mom was blowing my phone up all week.”
“Kick ass. Ask him if he wants to roll with us for a few days. I miss that surly bastard.”
I sipped on the coffee and my head finally started to calm down. “That’s the plan. I’ll hit you up on my way home and let you know what the story is.”
I flicked my thumb across the screen to end the call and settled back into the seat. Shaw scowled angrily at me and I swore her eyes glowed. Really. I have never seen anything that green, even in nature, and when she gets mad they are just otherworldly.
“Your mom called while you were busy flirting. She’s mad that we’re late.”
I sucked on more of the black nectar of the gods and started tapping out a beat on my knee with my free hand. I was always kind of a fidgety guy and the closer we got to my parents’ house, the worse it usually got. Brunch was always stilted and forced. I couldn’t figure out why they insisted on going through with it every single week and couldn’t figure out why Shaw enabled the farce, but I went, even when I knew nothing would ever change.
“She’s mad that you’re late. We both know she couldn’t care less if I’m there or not.” My fingers moved faster and faster as she wheeled the car into a gated community and passed rows and rows of cookie-cutter minimansions that were built back into the mountains.
“That’s not true and you know it, Rule. I do not suffer through these car rides every weekend, subject myself to the delight of your morning-after nastiness because your parents want me to have eggs and pancakes every Sunday. I do it because they want to see you, want to try to have a relationship with you no matter how many times you hurt them or push them away. I owe it to your parents and, more important, I owe it to Remy to try to make you act right even though lord knows that’s almost a full-time job.”
I sucked in a breath as the blinding pain that always came when someone mentioned Remy’s name barreled through my chest. My fingers involuntarily opened and closed around the coffee cup and I whipped my head around to glare at her.
“Remy wouldn’t be all over my ass to try and be something to them I’m not. I was never good enough for them, and never will be. He understood that better than anyone and worked overtime to try and be everything to them I never could be.”
She sighed and pulled the car to a stop in the driveway behind my dad’s SUV. “The only difference between you and Remy is that he let people love him, and you”—she yanked open the driver’s door and glared at me across the space that separated us—“you have always been determined to make everyone who cares about you prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. You’ve never wanted to be easy to love, Rule, and you make damn sure that nobody can ever forget it.” She slammed the door with enough force that it rattled my back teeth and made my head start to throb again.
It has been three years. Three lonely, three empty, three sorrow-filled years since the Archer brothers went from a trio to a duo. I am close to Rome—he’s awesome and has always been my role model when it comes to being a badass—but Remy was my other half, both figuratively and literally. He was my identical twin, the light to my dark, the easy to my hard, the joy to my angst, the perfect to my oh-so-totally fucked up, and without him I was only half the person I would ever be. It has been three years since I called him in the middle of the night to come pick me up from some lame-ass party because I had been too drunk to drive. Three years since he left the apartment we shared to come get me—zero questions asked—because that’s just what he did.
It’s been three years since he lost control of his car on a rainy and slick I-25 and slammed into the back of a semi truck going well over eighty. Three years since we put my twin in the ground and my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes and stated point-blank, “It should have been you” as they lowered Remy into the ground.
It’s been three years and his name alone is still enough to drop me to my knees, especially coming from the one person in the world Remy had loved as much as he loved me.
Remy was everything I wasn’t—clean-cut, well dressed, and interested in getting an education and building a secure future. The only person on the planet who was good enough and classy enough to match all the magnificence that he possessed was Shaw Landon. The two of them had been inseparable since the first time he brought her home when she was fourteen and trying to escape the fortress of the Landon compound. He insisted they were just friends, that he loved Shaw like a sister, that he just wanted to protect her from her awful, sterile family, but the way he was with her was full of reverence and care. I knew he loved her, and since Remy could do no wrong, Shaw had quickly become an honorary member of my family. As much as it galled me, she was the only one who really, truly understood the depth of my pain when it came to losing him.
I had to take a few extra minutes to get my feet back under me so I sucked back the rest of the coffee and shoved open the door. I wasn’t surprised to see a tall figure coming around the SUV as I labored out of the sports car. My brother was an inch or so taller than me and built more along the lines of a warrior. His dark-brown hair was buzzed in a typical military cut and his pale-blue eyes, the same icy shade as mine, looked tired as he forced a smile at me. I let out a whistle because his left arm was in a cast and sling, he had a walking boot on one foot, and there was a nasty line of black stitches running through one of his eyebrows and across his forehead. The Weedwacker that had attacked my hair had clearly gotten a good shot at my big bro, too.
“Looking good, soldier.”
He pulled me to him in a one-armed hug and I winced for him when I felt the taped-up side of his body clearly indicating some injury beyond the busted ribs. “I look about as good as I feel. You look like a clown getting out of that car.”
“I look like a clown no matter what when I’m around that girl.” He barked out a laugh and rubbed a rough hand through my spiky hair.
“You and Shaw are still acting like mortal enemies?”
“More like uneasy acquaintances. She’s just as prissy and judgmental as always. Why didn’t you call or email me that you were hurt? I had to hear it from Shaw on the way over.”
He swore as we started to slowly make our way toward the house. It upset me to see how deliberate he was moving and I wondered if the damage was more serious than what was visible.
“I was unconscious after the Hummer flipped. We drove over an IED and it was bad. I was in the hospital for a week with a scrambled noggin, and when I woke up they had to do surgery on my shoulder so I was all drugged up. I called Mom and figured she would let you know what the deal was, but I heard that, as usual, you were unavailable when she called.”
I shrugged a shoulder and reached out a hand to steady him as he faltered a little on the stairs to the front door. “I was busy.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Not too stubborn. I’m here aren’t I? I didn’t even know you were home until this morning.”
“The only reason you’re here is because that little girl in there is bound and determined to keep this family together regardless if we’re her own or not. You go in there and play nice; otherwise, I’ll kick your ass, broken arm and all.”
I muttered a few choice words and followed my battered sibling into the house. Sundays really were my least favorite day.
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Jay Crownover
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The complete Marked Men Collection – six scorching reads: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy and Asa!RULE: Shaw is a good girl and should know better than to get involved with a guy like Rule. Rule is the guy your mother always warned you about: he’s used to getting everything he wants yet even he knows that beautiful Shaw is strictly off limits. But what if what you want is exactly what you need?JET: Ayden is a good Southern girl, from the tips of her cowboy boots to the depths of her country music soul. With a troubled childhood behind her, all she wants is a normal life – and a bad boy like Jet is definitely not in the plan. But what happens when the bad boy picks you?ROME: Cora hides a heart that’s been mistreated too many times and she wants nothing less than ‘perfect’. Rome is as far from perfect as can be. Rigid and uncompromising, he’s returned from his final tour of duty a broken man. In the search for perfect, imperfection might just be what they need…NASH: Nash is reeling from a long-held family secret and needs something to hold on to – and the nurse with the beautiful grey eyes seems familiar… Saint knew Nash way back when and she can’t tell if he’s the same guy who made her life hell, who she vowed never to forgive. Trouble is, Nash is impossible to stay away from…ROWDY: After his first broken heart, Rowdy decided life was all about the good times. But when a ghost from the past appears, he questions everything he thought he knew about love. Salem left her unhappy childhood behind as soon as she could, but she never forgot the boy next door…ASA: Royal is a cop, first and foremost, so when a call-out goes wrong, she finds herself suspended from the job, seeking solace in oblivion. Asa spent his life on the wrong side of the law, but a near death experience left him rebuilding his life. On paper, the cop and the con seemed doomed to heartbreak – but when love has stolen your heart, how can you walk away?