7 Degrees of Alpha (a collection of seven new BWWM, Alpha Male Romances) (40 page)

Marco was livid, and all he could do to calm the raging beast inside of him was to do exactly what he wanted to do…beat the shit out of Ron Blackwell before the cops got there to arrest him.

Marco slid his gun out of reach and then went to tuck Blackwell’s away when Blackwell whipped around, catching Marco off guard, knocking the gun from his hand. Blackwell was not going to go down without a fight. The two men wrestled to be the first to get to the weapon. Marco dove for the 9 millimeter, only to have it kicked away before he reached it. Blackwell kicked at Marco’s head, only missing it by inches. Marco rolled away from the blow, kicking out, sweeping Blackwell’s feet from under him, and gaining the upper hand. Marco jumped on top of Blackwell, landing a hard right punch straight to the man’s jaw. Marco didn’t feel the pain of Blackwell’s extremely hard jaw; all he felt was rage, and all he could see was red. This man had tried to kill him and his woman in his cabin, and for that, Marco was going to put him out of his miserable existence.

Marco and Blackwell traded blow for blow like they were participating in some kind of ultimate fighting match. The two men were pretty evenly matched as far as stature. Blackwell, like Marco, stood well over six feet, although he was slightly shorter than Marco’s 6’4”. Both men were wide and muscular, but Marco had something that Blackwell didn’t have…someone to fight for.

Blackwell’s dark brown eyes that looked almost black were now red and swollen from the blows he’d received. His cropped blonde hair was slicked back out of his face, revealing the bruises that were quickly starting to appear on his pale, white, ghostly skin. Both men stumbled to their feet, trading body punches as if they were in a ring. Marco wouldn’t let this fucker win. He
couldn’t
let him win. Marco threw one final blow to the right temple of Blackwell’s head. The man fell against the wall and down to the floor face first. He was out cold.

Marco, breathing hard, leaned in to make sure that Blackwell was out for sure. Once Marco confirmed that he was out, Marco slumped down with his hands on his knees. There weren’t many men that could trade blows with Marco and make him this tired. He was both impressed and irritated that this psychopath was the one that held up to the beating, even if he later succumbed. It wasn’t an easy fight for Marco, and he could admit that.

***

Thirty-five minutes later, the Feds arrived at Marco’s cabin carting Ron Blackwell off in handcuffs. Both he and Marco were battered and bruised as if they had gone to war. Frank stalked toward Marco shaking his bald head with Sydney trailing close on his heels.

“Hey, man, glad you finally caught that son of a-”

Sydney cut Frank off before he had a chance to finish his statement. She pushed him aside, running and jumping into Marco’s muscular arms. She inspected his body with a look of worry marring her pretty brown face.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Sydney was shaking her head, upset that Marco had put himself in harm’s way.

“Yeah, well, you should see the other guy.” Marco smirked but winced as the pain was finally taking hold and the adrenaline was waning.

Sydney was thankful that Marco had won the battle against Blackwell. To say that she was livid when he told her that she would be leaving the cabin under the guise of darkness with Frank so he could stay behind and apprehend Blackwell, would be an understatement. Sydney wanted Marco to just call the police and let them deal with it, but Marco knew that he would easily slip away like he had so many times before. They made it look like Frank was unaware that he was being followed but it was a set up the entire time. Marco knew that the first place Blackwell would watch would be his firm. They wanted him in a secluded area so that nobody else would get caught in the crossfire, and the cabin was the perfect place.

Sydney softly took Marco’s face in her hands, turning his head from side to side, taking in all of the bumps and bruises but still admiring his gorgeous face. This man protected her, fought for her, bled for her. How could she not be head over heels for him?

With a small smile, Sydney leaned in and gently kissed Marco’s lips.

“What’s that for?” Marco asked smiling.

“Thank you….my love,” Sydney replied.

***

Two months later, there was still fallout occurring. Blackwell was locked up in a maximum security prison in an undisclosed location. Apparently, he had been on the FBI’s most wanted list for several years and was known by several different aliases. He was wanted for everything from conspiracy to commit murder, bribery, and even terrorism. Blackwell would do anything for money.

Thomas Moore was indicted on three counts of conspiracy to commit murder, assault and battery, and bribery. His assets were frozen and his bond was revoked. He was in jail awaiting trial when he was murdered in his cell under suspicious circumstances. Although he and Blackwell weren’t in the same prison and they had no proof of who committed the crime, the Feds were sure that Blackwell was behind Thomas Moore’s early demise.

Megan and TJ were finally free from Thomas’ abuse, but they couldn’t live happily ever after as everyone assumed they would. Moore had been broke and was embezzling funds from his business for years. He was essentially robbing Peter to pay Paul. He was living off of reputation and shady dealings, and once he was dead, it was all uncovered. It was a mess that was left to Mrs. Moore to clean up. However, with all of the abuse out in the open, she no longer had to be estranged from her family. They took her and TJ in with open arms, and now she volunteered her time at Haley’s House helping other women survive abuse.

For his part in the scheme, Bradford Murray was only questioned and released. He hadn’t committed any crime himself, and without corroboration from Blackwell and Moore, they couldn’t connect him to any of the other crimes either. However, he didn’t get away scot-free.  The bad press he received from being involved in such a scandal helped to ruin his chances in the upcoming election. A story of his past indiscretions and allegations of racism put any hope he had to rest, and he later dropped out of the race and the public eye. He ended up working in his brother’s office as an aide, ending all hope he had of political power.

Marco and Sydney had been growing stronger and stronger since the incident. Knowing Marco risked life and limb for her was the quickest way for him to regain Sydney’s trust. And although they hadn’t known each other long, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the two of them were meant to be together. Their connection was so strong that they couldn’t stay away from each other if they tried, so they decided their efforts were better spent getting to know each other and growing within their love.

“Bella Donna, if you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late,” Marco yelled.

Sydney sauntered into the living room wearing a long, silver gown with a split that stopped mid-thigh. She was wearing her favorite six-inch, sparkling silver, red bottom stilettos with the strap around the ankle. Her hair was down and pulled to one side, showing off her elegant neck that was accentuated by her diamond drop earrings. Her make-up was simple, yet sophisticated, with a bright, red lipstick that stood out against her chocolate colored skin.

Marco’s mouth was hanging open. He could never get enough of his woman, and when she dressed up like this, he knew he was going to have to fight somebody tonight.

“You want me to go to jail, huh?” Marco questioned as he sauntered toward her, looking equally as delicious in his tailored black tuxedo and crisp white shirt that strained against his bulging muscles. His midnight black hair was slicked away from his face, showing his bright hazel eyes and chiseled jaw line.

Sydney took in her man in all his masculine glory and licked her lips in appreciation. Then she realized what he’d said.

Jail?
Sydney gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean jail?”

“You look absolutely stunning, Bella, and I’m going to have to break some fool’s neck for trying to talk to you tonight…I can just feel it.” Marco shook his head, giving a fake exasperated look.

Sydney gave a dazzling perfect smile. “You sure know how to flatter a girl. You keep sweet talking me like that and we won’t make it to the charity gala, and you know I couldn’t do that. Haley’s House is being honored tonight.”

“I know, baby, but you look so fucking gorgeous. You are definitely going to get it when we get home…maybe even sooner.” Marco growled, taking Sydney by the hand and trying to pull her closer to him.

She backed away slowly, raising her hands in protest. “No, no, baby. We seriously have to go. My parents are expecting us.”

“You know your parents love me,” Marco stated, giving a wide smile.

“Yeah, I know,” Sydney replied, reaching Marco and straightening his tie.

Marco then grabbed the back of her head and they passionately kissed. Marco thought he was the luckiest man on earth to have the pleasure of kissing the most beautiful woman on the planet.

THE END

DJ Parker

Ashley Francis spent the past nine months eliminating everything that reminded her of Jaxon Right. By changing her name and entering a new relationship, she thought that she found the perfect recipe to get over the man who had sent her trailing into love’s abyss. Swearing off love, Ashley embarks on a relationship with the Mr. Wrong after her Mr. Right walks out of her life. But, when she’s forced to flee, the only person she trusts to protect her is none other than Jaxon Right. 

*THIS IS A FULL STORY*

-Ashley-

“What happened to your face?” I ask as AJ stumbles into our apartment. The skin around his left eye is now bruised, the darkest shades of blue showcase over his swollen eyelid. 

This is the second time this month that he’s come bursting into our apartment with bruises. Unlike the last time, AJ’s bruises are nowhere near as bad as they were before. Today, with the exception of his bruised eye staining his otherwise fair skin, AJ appears to have minimal damage.

“Get me some ice,” he grumbles as he collapses into the kitchen chair.

As I reach the freezer to pull out a tray of ice, I can’t help but think about my life and what has become of it.

“Hurry the fuck up!”

His voice could be very startling at times, especially when he is under an immense amount of pressure. When I made the decision to leave Ohio and move to New York, being trapped in an abusive relationship was the last thing that I expected. But, then again, my life in New York city did not start off like this. Somehow, AJ and I crossed paths and my life made a turn for the worse.

Two months ago, I lost my scholarship to Julliard Dance School because of him. My dream of being a dancer had come to an end when I tried to run away from him. It was a move that resorted in me being a full-time stay-at-AJ’s-side kind of woman; a role in which not too long ago, I wasn’t ready to give to the man who rightfully deserved it.

“Kaylee, what the fuck is wrong with you? Pass me the fucking ice!”

A slow and ferocious tremor creeps over my skin as I detect the change in his tone. His tone is now masked with a level of harshness that is on the tipping scale of leading to violence.

This past week, I was living in paradise. AJ was away doing God knows what, and I was left alone in our tiny Brooklyn apartment. Just being away from him was euphoric, though I couldn’t leave the house because of my last attempt to escape. It had been my sixth time trying to leave. However, this time he decided to leave me with a permanent injury; one that was fatal to my dance career. These days, I’m just skidding by. Seeing the results of AJ getting his ass handed to him is refreshing to say the least.
He
is now somebody else’s punching bag.

“Here you go.”

“Took you long enough.” AJ snatches the makeshift-like cold pack from my hand and places it over his eye. “Sit down.”

I swallow slowly, afraid of what is to come next. As I bury myself into the old wooden chair, I feel more confined than ever. “Yes?”

“Don’t fucking look at me!” He screams as he slams his balled fist into the table. My eyes quickly shift to the fruits that tumbled out of the tipped over basket; apples and oranges
.
That’s who we are; apples and oranges, completely separate in all facets of life, yet tossed together. And, yet again, I ask, how the hell did my life get this complicated? Eager to leave, but held against my will. My life is fucked up, and there is no escaping.

“You’re going to be spending some time with Rolo.”

My eyes fly up to meet his face. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going to be one of Rolo’s girls, just until my debt is cleared up. I don’t want to hear that you’re causing problems over there either. So if he tells you to fuck him, you do that.”

The blaring sound of alarms going off in my head fuels my answer, “No.”

“No?” AJ questions.

“I’m not going,” I whisper. “I may be many things, but I’m nobody’s whore.”

Yet, as the words left my lips, I knew that there was a line that I just crossed; a line that is sure to strike a nerve. But damn it, he just crossed a line with me too. I am lucky enough to be just the object of his control and not the woman that he lusts for. No, that job is taken—by who, I don’t know. I don’t need to know who, what, where, or when. It just feels good knowing that I don’t have to screw this asshole.

As I rose from my seat, I knew that there was no coming back from what I’d just said. So I did the next best thing…I ran.

“Kaylee, you fucking bitch! Get over here!”

If I’m fast enough, maybe he won’t catch me.

As I push through the rickety wooden door leading into our bedroom, my eyes scan the room immediately, in a desperate search for anything to put behind the door. But I could feel AJ, painstakingly close enough to grab ahold of my hair or tackle me to the ground.

Run, Kaylee! Run!
 

Even as I run, I can’t help but to look at this scene. It was a broken record on repeat, a chapter in my never-ending memoir that was destined to repeat itself yet once again. And like any other time like this, my mind drifted off to Madison, Georgia. More so, it drifted to Jaxon Right.

“You thought you could get away from me?”

He got me; slamming my body against the wall, I lose my balance and drop to the floor.

Pow!

It was the first series of punches that landed in by stomach.  

I know what you’re going to say; didn’t you recognize all of the signs? Weren’t you educated enough not to get caught up with the likes of AJ Steiner?

Yeah, I should’ve paid closer attention to all of the signs, but my mind was wrapped around the idea of moving on. AJ came into my life at a time when I felt abandoned. I welcomed companionship as opposed to love; love, which had swallowed me whole the last time, but not again. This time I kept my love under wraps, harboring the emotion deep into my heart where no one could reach it again; not with sweet words or tender kisses that could make you get lost in love’s abyss. When Jaxon Right left, I made the decision to kill off anything that reminded me of him and the life we shared once; starting with my name, Ashley Francis.  

“Didn’t I tell you to stop fucking with me? Huh?”

AJ’s balled up fists, precise in marking my skin with hateful strikes, sent me into a fit of tears. “AJ,” I cry out. “Please! Stop!”

“Shut the fuck up!” he seethed through an uncanny voice. His fist lands on my cheek, causing me to bang the back of my head against the wooden floors.

Lord, please help me escape this man.

The saltiness of my blood splashed against my tongue as the inside of my lip tore open. AJ is now breathing hard as he wraps his fingers around my neck. With weakened strength, I try to claw at his fingers to loosen his grip, but that only entices him as he releases a bellyful laugh that rings in my ears. I’m in danger, and no matter how many times this scene has replayed, the feeling of death peeking around the corner is always a fresh thought.

What if one day he never stops? What if one day my body finally expires after one too many blows? As scary as death has always been for me since witnessing my mother’s death at the hands of my father, I think the fear of how I will die is much scarier than death itself. Though these days, I’ve lost much faith in other things, I still have an ounce of hope that I’ll make it out of this dungeon that AJ has caged me in.

              As the light became a far distance, blackness takes over the crevice of my sight. Still, I can feel his breath brushing against my skin like a crossfire spreading against California trees. His fingers push into my flesh, his fingerprints branding my skin.

His breath releases a silent whisper against my skin and haunts my thoughts as I float away. “You’re fucking going tomorrow.”

*~*~*

“Hey, Jax.” Lucille Anne Berfond throws me a pearly smile the moment I approach the bar. The pretty blond bartender, who is probably in her mid to late twenties, bartends every night at Kisses At The Pub, a local tavern down here in Madison. Besides her skill in brewing a damn good Long Island Ice Tea, Lucille is also known to be a strumpet around these parts. Legendary for flaunting her ass around and sleeping with half of the town, Lucille has been steadily trying to add me to her body count. It isn’t like there’s a way of escaping her either. With the population of Madison being less than one hundred people, it is easy to come across the same faces every day. Unlike New York, the bustling city that never sleeps, Madison is not a town that one can easily get lost in.

“Evening. I’ll have two glasses of your top-shelf whiskey.”

She leans forward, probably hoping that I will catch an eyeful of her bust poking out of her low-cut shirt. But I keep my eyes on hers. Through pursed lips and slow batting eyelids, revealing her sky blue eye shadow, she says, “Only a whiskey…”

It was not quite a question, but more of a failed attempt at being seductive. If it wasn’t for the fact that I need a shot of whiskey every now and then—really each time I can’t handle the thought of
her
— I would never come to this backwoods pub. 

A month after settling here, I purchased a bottle of bourbon whiskey. It was a rough month and nothing could take the edge off. I wasn’t up for seeing anyone other than my Uncle James, and even that had not been by choice.

Shit had gotten crazy the moment I drained the bottle of its contents. I chuckle to myself even now as I think back on it. I can laugh now, but shit wasn’t funny then.

Let's just say, I nearly burned down my ranch in a fit of rage and was close to driving back to New York in search of her. Uncle James stops me however, or at least the butt of his rifle did. I always laugh at the thought of how I woke up in the bathroom tub with a gaping gash in the back of my head and a stiff neck.

The sunlight showers the bathroom with a ray that causes me to squint my eyes in pain. As I walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, I come across Uncle James tearing through his breakfast with his rifle, named Betty, sitting beside him. And the only advice he shares with me is,
“I know you own the ranch now, but if you’re going to burn it down, make sure I’m dead first.”
 

After that incident, I made a vow to just keep it at two glasses and to only drink at the pub.  

“Jaxon? Are you there?” Lucille’s husky voice pulls me back to the reason I’m here.

“Each week, I come for the same thing; two glasses of whiskey and no conversation.” 

She places two tumblers in front of me and douses each glass with her top-shelf whiskey. “Week after week, I watch you come in here by yourself, you order your two drinks, finish em’ and leave. No ‘Thank you, Lucille’ or ‘You’re looking mighty pretty, Lucille.’ Nothing.”

“My tip should thank you enough.”

“That ain’t the point. You come in here acting like you don’t need no one.”

I wrap my hand around my whiskey, wishing Lucille would just move the hell on. I cut my eyes away from hers and stare at the liquid brown contents that have been calling my name all day.

This has been the third time this month that I dreamed about Ashley. I was so sure that that form of torture had ended a few months ago when I suddenly stopped dreaming about her beautiful brown eyes looking up at me as I slid into her; her soft moans purring against my ears, as I make true of my promise of taking her body to new heights. I’d look down, admiring her dark flaps welcoming my cock with a wet greet. The sound of her juice waxing my shaft always drove me to dive deeper into her, touching all corners of her drenched walls. The dream always ends with her walls clenching close to my shaft as if they are afraid to let go before getting to experience the orgasm I brewed up with each stroke.

Cold showers and jerking off did nothing to ease the boner that appeared each time I woke from the dream to realize that Ashley was gone.

Lucille places her fingers over mines, covering the top of my hand loosely. “I could be the person you need.”

I move away from under her soft grasp and lean back. “Lucille, there is nothing that you have that I need. Just go back to serving, and let’s pretend that this conversation never happened. And for the future, if I ask for two whiskeys, that doesn’t come with a conversation.” 

              Her teeth lightly sink into her bottom lip. “Whoever caused you to be like this, really fucking made a mess out of you.”   

I shrug, not needing to confirm or deny. The truth is, Ashley really did fuck me up; like really twisted me and reshaped me into a man that I no longer recognize. But I didn’t need Lucille to remind me. I didn’t need to be burdened with the trudged up memories of the woman who still has my heart even though she’s nine months and eight hundred and sixty-four miles away from me. It's not like Ashley feels the same. Five months after arriving here, I finally worked up the nerve to write her a letter. I mean, I really put my bullshit ego to the side for once. And the shit bit me in the ass when the letter never received a reply. Two fucking pages of me pouring my heart out to her, and she didn’t even respond. It was then that I realized that Ashley was gone forever.

And you’d think I would move on and forget about her…
Nope
! 

“Well, whenever you’re ready to forget about her, I’ll be here.”

“Tsk.” I shake my head. “Lady, it would have to take a million of you for me to even consider the thought.” 

Lucille tosses a white hand towel over her left shoulder and glares at me as if what I just said to her burned her pale skin.

With a quick dismiss, I focus on the only thing that can get my mind off of her…whiskey. It wasn’t a quick process either. There was a science to how I emptied these two glasses. The first glass usually involves me becoming acquainted with my whiskey. I reintroduce myself and welcome its flavor. As I swoosh the booze in my mouth, I appreciate the mellowness that it brings me.