UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance copyright 2017 by Zoey Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

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  Table of Contents

  UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Books by Zoey Parker

  UNDRESSED: Soul Catchers MC

  UNPROTECTED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Hanley Family Mafia)

  Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC)

  OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mancini Family Mafia)

  HARDCORE: Storm MC

  A Price to Pay

  Take Me, Outlaw

  Break Me, Outlaw

  Stolen

  Overdosed

  Ravage

  Bounty

  Trouble

  Monster

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  UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

  By Zoey Parker

  I took her without asking and made her my toy.

  I thought I’d seen every trick a woman could turn. But I didn’t see Sadie coming.

  Her screw-up brother owes me a lot of money…

  And it doesn’t take long to decide what will satisfy the debt:

  Her. Bent, bare, and begging for me – over, and over, and over again.

  In my line of business, golden opportunities don’t just stroll into your office.

  At least, not usually.

  But Sadie was different.

  She comes in to help bail her useless brother out of a messy situation.

  He owes me a mountain of cash, but she claims she’ll do whatever it takes to clear his name.

  So, let’s find out how far this little gem is willing to go.

  I f*ck her then and there.

  Bend her over my desk.

  Shove my fingers between those plump lips and make her cry my name.

  And then I put her to work.

  But it doesn’t take long before I’m relying on her to help run my business by day…

  And to satisfy my desires by night.

  Under my eyes, this little kitten has become a jungle cat.

  But when I start to suspect that she’s double-crossing me, I’m forced to lay down the law.

  Sadie thinks she’s untamed, but the truth is this:

  I will always be her master.

  Chapter One

  Sadie

  Fifteen minutes after I answered the knock at my door to see my brother, Chris, standing on the other side of it, I knew he was in trouble; even before he’d asked for a place to lay low for a while.

  “Hey, sis! How’s life in the respectable part of town?”

  “You’d know for yourself if you made a habit of being respectable,” I told him, letting him into my apartment. It wasn’t much—two bedrooms, mostly because Chris was pretty frequently in need of a place to crash—but it was as cozy as my job at the bank would let me make it. “Let me guess: you’re hungry and dying for a cup of coffee?”

  “If you’ve got any around,” Chris said hopefully. “Don’t put yourself out on my account.”

  I rolled my eyes and started the coffee maker, going over to the fridge to get some lunch meats and cheese out for him. Chris always seemed to be hungry, and I was convinced that sometime around the age of nineteen, he’d managed to replace half his blood with caffeine.

  Chris sat down at my little kitchen table and I looked at him for a moment while I made a couple of sandwiches and waited for the coffee to brew. I was used to Chris being in hot water from time to time.

  Even before he’d started at high school, he’d tended to get into scuffles with other kids, or get caught doing minor things: once he came home with a fish hook through his thumb after shoplifting the lure it had been on, and mom had been called to the school more than once over “petty vandalism” or Chris talking back to a teacher. By high school, he’d started running with an even-tougher crowd, and I’d always suspected that my Christmas presents from that year had “fallen off a truck” somewhere along the way, but I had never asked. I hadn’t wanted to.

  So Chris being in trouble wasn’t anything new to me. But usually when he got into some kind of scrape, he looked more or less pleased with himself in some way. Not necessarily because he’d intentionally gotten into trouble, but because he was in less trouble (usually) than he deserved. But as he sat at my table, waiting for me to finish making him food and coffee, I could see something in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years: fear. Okay. Whatever is going on is serious as a heart attack then. I took a deep breath and poured a cup of coffee for him—sugar, no milk—and for me, with milk and no sugar, and sat down at my table, waiting for him to spill.

  Chris took a bite of his first sandwich and then looked at me as he chewed it. “I’m not going to ask you to hide a body or something, Say—stop giving me that disappointed look.”

  “I’m not disappointed,” I told him. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You look like Mom,” Chris said, sounding petulant. “Like she did whenever I asked her for money to pay for a ticket.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so many tickets,” I countered. “What’s going on?”

  “I need to lie super fucking low for a while,” Chris admitted. “Like—probably more than a week. But not more than a month. I don’t think.”
He frowned and ate about half his first sandwich in a few quick bites. “I need to get some money together.” I rolled my eyes again, sitting back in my chair and taking a sip of my coffee.

  “I can loan you money,” I said.

  “Not this kind of money,” Chris countered, shaking his head quickly. He drank a few gulps of coffee and sighed.

  “What kind of money are we talking about?” Chris looked away, almost sheepishly, and I steeled myself again. Oh god, what has he done? Stolen someone’s car or something? Wrecked a friend’s boat? I waited for what my brother would tell me, waited for the “See, what had happened was…” and the charming exploits that almost always went along with his explanations.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you,” Chris said, finally meeting my gaze again. “But before I do, you have to swear to me that you’re not going to freak out, okay?” I raised an eyebrow at that.

  “First of all: if I’ve never freaked out on you before, why are you suddenly scared that I will?” I took another sip of my coffee. It was starting to get chilly outside—not the deeper cold that would come with fall and winter, but summer was definitely on its death bed—and the coffee was nice, even if my reason for drinking a cup was less than comforting. “Second of all, how can I promise not to freak out?”

  “Just—just swear, okay? It’s bad—I’ll tell you that much—but don’t flip.” I stared at Chris for a few moments. He’s serious. This is something beyond whatever else he’s been doing lately. Something that actually scares him. I pressed my lips together and considered. My heart was beating faster in my chest at the thought of my big brother in real danger—not just the kind that meant he had to spend a night in jail, or had to show up in court with his public defender to argue his case, but something that could really hurt him. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled.

  “Okay,” I said. “Tell me what the hell is going on and why you can’t just take a loan from me to fix it.”

  “Have you ever heard of Micah Rintley?” My stomach felt as though it had dropped straight down between my knees. I’d heard of the guy all right; he’d been in the news a few times over the course of the past few years, for one crime or another—usually drugs, or prostitution, something like that—but always managed to get off with the charges dropped. I shuddered.

  “What does he have to do with anything?” Chris looked down at his hands, and I could see he was less than proud of himself at the moment.

  “I’ve been doing some work for him,” Chris started.

  “What?” The word ripped its way past my lips before I could even fully think it. “What the hell, Chris? Are you insane?” The image of my brother working for a mafioso—killing people, or disposing of bodies, something like that—was impossible to make sense of, and terrifying.

  “It’s not like that,” Chris insisted. “I’m not...not really part of his org. Just…” he shrugged. “One of his guys came to me and suggested I could make good money doing something pretty small, and I jumped at the chance.”

  “And what was that ‘something pretty small,’ exactly?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at my brother, still unable to imagine the enormity of his newest crimes.

  “I’m a runner,” Chris said, shrugging. “I get an allotment of drugs—usually E, or meth, something like that—and I deliver to some of the girls working for Micah.”

  “Why is Micah having you deliver drugs to prostitutes?”

  Chris grinned slightly. “Well, see: he had this idea—kind of brilliant, really—to offer it as an add-on service. A lot of guys like to get high and then f— I mean…” Chris looked sheepish as he realized the word he’d been about to say to his little sister and I rolled my eyes again at that.

  “They like to get high and then fuck,” I finished for him. I shook my head, sighing. “You don’t do that yourself, do you?” I frowned at my brother. I didn’t want to imagine him having sex with anyone—and I definitely didn’t want to imagine him doing it while bombed out of his mind on E or meth.

  “No—no, I’m not a customer,” Chris said, shaking his head. “I’ve been with one or two of the girls, but strictly as a bonus, something like that.” I sighed. Is there a straight man on the planet who has the thoughtfulness not to treat women like disposable pussies? Even my own brother, it seemed, was capable of it. “Don’t look like that, Say,” Chris said, irritable. “I tipped them even though it was on the house. And they’re good girls.”

  “I’m sure they’re great,” I said. “If any of them have accounts with the bank I can tell them about some great long-term investing possibilities, in case they ever want out.”

  Chris snorted. “Anyway,” he said, finishing off his second sandwich and pushing the plate aside, “I’ve been on the job for a while now, and things have been going good, but someone’s figured out what Micah’s doing.”

  “Okay,” I said. I drank down the last of my coffee and decided I wanted some water. I got Chris a glass too, without even asking. Either he’d drink it or he wouldn’t. “Why doesn’t Micah just have the girls have the drugs?” I turned at looked at my brother with a frown.

  “Too big a risk,” Chris said, shaking his head. “One, they might be tempted to pilfer—and that’s something you could never really pin down unless you stayed there right in the room with them.” he sipped his water. “Two, if the johns knew that the girls had drugs on them, they’d probably steal themselves.” I thought about it and nodded.

  “Makes sense,” I admitted. “So you’re one of the runners. You bring the drugs that whatever client orders, and I assume you get the payment from them.” Chris nodded. I sat down heavily in my chair and shook my head again. It was impossible—still—to imagine my big brother working for someone like Micah Rintley. To imagine him running drugs to prostitutes. It was just too terrible, and too bizarre, to believe.

  “Stop doing that, Sadie,” Chris said with a groan.

  “You’re the one who’s out there risking god knows what to make quick money you could get legally doing something else,” I told him tartly. “So what’s going on? Why do you need to lay low? Are the cops on your case or something?”

  Chris shook his head. “No, nothing like that, thank god,” he replied. My brother was thanking god that the police hadn’t nabbed him—in the midst of his most illegal, most dangerous pursuit yet—was probably a sign that I should have closed the door in his face as soon as I’d seen he was on the other side of it. But even if I knew he was in the deepest shit of his life—and that I was probably just as much in danger as he was—I couldn’t make myself throw my brother out.

  “What is it, then?”

  Chris bit his bottom lip and finished off his water. “I got robbed,” Chris said. “Money and drugs both, a couple of days ago.” I stared at him. “Micah is going to be expecting that money like—yesterday,” Chris explained. “So while I try and get the money together for him…”

  “How the hell are you going to do that?” I slapped my forehead with my palm and then pulled my hair back from my face. “What the hell, Chris?”

  “I’ll figure it out—don’t worry about that part,” Chris said. “What I really need is for you to let me stay here. It’s not a part of town Micah would think to look for me, and he doesn’t know I have a sister.”

  I sighed. “Who even robbed you?” I was trying to think, trying to understand the situation, trying to do what I did best: figure stuff out.

  “Get this,” Chris said, smiling wryly. “It was these two guys who’d used the service twice last week.” I looked up at the ceiling of my little kitchen. I wasn’t praying, but there was definitely a kind of monologue in my head about giving me patience—though I couldn’t really say who I wanted to hear it.

  “So these guys used the service last week, and obviously saw you delivering the drugs. And somehow figured out where you’d be, and robbed you.” I ticked the points off on my fingertips. Chris nodded. “Can’t you just tell Micah that happened?”

  “No,
” Chris said, matter-of-factly. “No, he’d never believe me. He’d never believe anyone. He’d figure I was trying to cover for my own theft.”

  “You swear you aren’t doing that right now?”

  Chris looked almost offended at the question. “Really, Sadie?”

  I shrugged. “Up until maybe twenty minutes ago I never would have thought you were the type of person who’d work for a mob boss,” I pointed out. “For all I know there’s a whole other life you’re living—with drugs and prostitutes and who knows what else—that I don’t know a thing about.”

  “I’m not doing drugs, and I didn’t blow the money or the product,” Chris said. “It really did get stolen from me.” He stood and lifted up the hem of his shirt, showing me bruises along his ribcage. He’d obviously been beaten up a bit—not in the face, thankfully. But I thought Micah probably had had people who’d faked a beating to get out of an accusation, too. I took a breath, tried not to feel bad for my brother, since he’d pretty much brought the situation on himself, and rose to my own feet, moving back to the coffee maker.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “You can stay here and lie low, but that’s not all we’re going to do.”

  # # #

  Micah