Indulgence
Authors: Liz Crowe
Indulgence
A Million-Word Anthology
By
Amity Cross, Audrey Carlan, Cat Mason, Cyntha Sax, Deanndra Hall, Jamie Salisbury, JM Witt, Kelley Grealis, Liz Crowe, Laura Harner, Nina Levine, Sandy Sullivan, Sharon Hamilton, Skye Callahan, Theresa Troutman
~~~
Smashwords Edition
A Tri Destiny Publishing book
Published with permission of the authors
Copyright © 2015
Cover Design by D.N. Simmons
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Indulgence is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any and all resemblance to actual events, locals or persons
either living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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An author once told me, “I want to be part of a bad ass box
set.” She had already dropped the idea to one of her favorite authors, who I
also happened to begin working with, but neither of them had the time to commit
to organizing a project like that. She then told me to take the idea and run
with it, and that I did.
After an absurd amount of emails, and with the help of this
other author, Tri-Destiny Publishing was secured for the project. That’s when
the real fun began. Starting with some of my favorite Indie authors, I began
the search for others to join the project and then came up with the concept of
an anthology consisting of one book from almost every major romance sub-genre.
I’ve had the pleasure of working with all of these authors
over the last few months, driving them crazy with my questions, reminders, and
multiple posts. In the beginning, I thought that working with that many
personalities, opinions, and women had the potential to turn into a daily
battle of wills. I was completely wrong - this is the best, most talented group
I have ever worked with and this project has been an amazing experience made
possible by these amazing authors.
To Deanndra Hall, Audrey Carlan and Liz Crowe, who have
supported my efforts and inspired me to reach for goals I’d never dreamed of, I
thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To all the other Indulgence authors, thank you for making
this “one bad ass box set.”
Drue
Drue Hoffman, DRC Promotions
Royal Blood
(#1 Royal Blood)
By Amity Cross
Perpetual
Love
by Jamie Salisbury
Letting Go,
Anchored Hearts, Vol. 1
by J.M. Witt
The
Descendant, The Descendant Vampire Series, Book 1
by Kelley Grealis
Rescued,
Three’s Allowed: Book 2
By Laura Harner
Man On, Black
Jack Gentlemen, Book 1
by Liz Crowe
Relent,
Sydney Storm MC, Book 1
by Nina Levine
Make Mine A
Cowboy, Cowboy Dreamin’ 1
by Sandy Sullivan
Seal Under
Covers, Seal Brotherhood, Book 3
by Sharon Hamilton
Irrevocable,
Irrevocable, Book 1
by Skye Callahan
A Special
Connection
by Theresa Troutman
By
Amity Cross
(Part One)
Mercy
Kill or be killed.
Fuck or be fucked.
The Gambler's Inn was the kind of establishment you went to
when you wanted to disappear. It was also the kind of place you went to work if
you didn't want anyone to ask questions. Good girls didn't get jobs behind the
bar here. Good thing I was far from prim and proper.
Mercy Reid was a mistake that had happened the day she was
born into this world, screaming and covered in gunk. Mercy Reid wanted to
disappear from a lot of things.
I wiped down the bar, tracking the cloth around the old
musty dude who was sitting on a stool, nursing his pint of beer. That there,
was just another way of trying to disappear. The mind was a powerful thing. It
never actually forgot anything, no matter how hard you tried. The bad things
always stuck and got you when you weren't looking.
“What's a pretty girl like you doing in a shit hole like
this?” Musty Old Guy asked through a wheeze.
“Hard times call for desperate measures,” I replied. No
cash, no place to stay. I'd take any job I was offered. My mind went back to
that bar job I applied for at the strip joint a few blocks over. Yeah, I'll
take that back and amend it to
almost
any job.
Working at The Gambler's Inn wasn't much better, but it was
better
and the boss was slightly less of an ass. It was exactly the low kind of place
I was looking to get lost in. They didn’t want any trouble and neither did I.
The front door opened with a bang that reverberated through
the loud garage rock that was blaring out of the speakers above the bar. The
old guy in front of me glanced up at the commotion and his eyes widened. He
chucked a bill by his half-full pint and scurried away like a startled rat.
Narrowing my gaze at the fiver he'd tossed at me, I snorted
at the ridiculously insignificant tip.
Thanks a lot asshole
.
That's when I realized a figure was looming in front of me.
Glancing up, my gaze collided with a set of the strangest green eyes I'd ever
seen. They were almost clear, only a tinge of color threaded its way from the
outside in.
Shit, and the rest of him. Messy hair just the right length
that you could bury your fingers into and tug in the middle of a rip roaring
orgasm, a strong chiseled jaw coated with dark stubble and what looked like a
hard ripped chest. He wore a black leather biker jacket, the tiniest hint of a
tattoo peeking out from the collar of his black T-shirt. He oozed sex. The kind
of sex that was sweaty and dirty. All animalistic grunting from behind.
“Who are you?” he snapped and I realized that the old guy
had known what was good for him when he'd bolted. The hottie had a reputation.
He was purely fuckable, but even I could tell a dangerous man from a mile off.
Didn't stop my pussy from convulsing all on its own though. You couldn't have a
body without a mind, but it didn't stop either of them wandering off on their
own tangents.
“Well?”
My gaze snapped back up to his and it was cold.
Snorting, I snatched up the fiver and the glass. “Mercy,” I
bit right back, dumping the beer down the sink.
“Mercy, who?”
“Mercy, none of your business.” I glared at him as my
nipples began to ache at the sound of my name on his suckable lips. “Do you
want to order?”
The man leaned over the bar, closing the space between us
and I swallowed the urge to lean right back and give him a lick.
“Weiss hire bitches now?” he growled.
Holding back the urge to slap the guy and bend him over the
bar at the same time, I said, “Listen, buddy. I don't know what kind of asshole
you are, maybe you're the dominating prick who likes to own women and put them
back into the fuckin' kitchen, but I'm not her. Either you want a drink or you
get the fuck out of my face.”
His fingers curled over the edge of the bar, knuckles
turning white, expression unreadable. I was going to take a stab at pissed off.
Yeah, well that made two of us.
His lip curled into a sneer and he straightened up, squaring
his wide shoulders. Without a word, he turned on his heel and began striding
across the pub. That's when I saw the logo on the back of his jacket and
paused. A skull wearing a crown was stitched there in white, with the lettering
Royal Blood MC
emblazoning the top and bottom.
Shit. Another motherfucking biker.
It stunk of trouble with a capital t and it was the thing I
needed the least. I couldn't ditch this job. I needed the money too bad. I was
totally skint.
The hottie opened the door to the owner, Weiss', office and
slammed it closed behind him with a loud bang.
Fuck. He had a grabbable ass, too.
X
I was already riled up, but the black haired stunner behind
the bar had jacked it up even further.
Xavier “X” Blood. License to do whatever the fuck I wanted.
Slamming the door to Weiss' office closed, he stared up at
me, raising his eyebrows.
“I was beginning to think you were dead, you stupid fucker,”
he said, leaning back in his chair.
“Who's the bitch on the bar?” I drawled, shucking off my
jacket and tossing it on the sofa.
Weiss smirked. “Like her?”
“Bitch needs an attitude adjustment.”
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
Sitting on the sofa and kicking my boots up onto the coffee
table, I glared at my best mate. I loved the fucker, we'd been through some
nasty shit, but he knew what buttons to press and had a great time doing it. We
were the same age, late twenties and were both stuck in the same god damned
fucked up motorcycle club, Royal Blood. The only difference between us was that
I was handsome. Weiss was ugly as fuck.
He eyed me for a second before saying, “Mercy Reid. Just
blew in two weeks ago lookin' to get lost. Wild one, that woman.”
“Looking to get lost from what?”
He shrugged. “She does the work, handles the scummy fuckers
we get in here better than any man. She’s proved herself.”
“In two weeks?”
He smirked. Ugly fucker.
“You fucked her?” I asked, my cock tightening.
“She's not the fucking type, X. She fucks you.”
“She fuck you then?”
“In my dreams.”
Despite my rage being turned on, I couldn't help the sly
smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Mercy Reid.
Smart mouthed bitch. What I wouldn't do to press her pretty
little face into that beer soaked bar top, rip off her tiny denim shorts and
fill her pussy with my cock. What I wouldn't give to fuck her so hard she'd
scream and moan and milk my dick with her cunt. I'd teach her a lesson in
manners with my favorite body part.
“You're thinking about fucking her right now, aren't you,
you dirty prick?”
“I'm ready to come back,” I said, effectively changing the
subject.
“Are you sure?”
“I've heard the word on the street, Weiss.” Trouble with the
Necromancers MC...
again
. Rumor had it that someone had tried to put a
bullet in their president, Sykes', head.
Weiss fished around in his desk drawer and pulled out a big
orange envelope that had been stuffed full of papers. And hopefully with a
photograph or three.
“Target is unknown-” he began.
“Unknown?” I scoffed. Fuckin’ amateurs.
“I thought you were good at this kind of thing? A little
challenge scare you?”
Running hits for Royal Blood wasn't the way I wanted to
operate, but I was in too deep to get out now. Getting out entailed getting
dead. Besides, I'd lost my soul the moment I’d picked up a gun and let them
call me a hitman. Fuckin’ assassin. Having a soul in my line of work was
baggage I didn’t need.
Weiss tossed the envelope at me and I caught it against my
chest. “Target is a runner. Six months ago someone tried to kill the president
of the Necromancers.”
