Reckless Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT

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  Also by Teagan Kade:

  DEDICATION

  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

  Blaze

  Hustle

  Lawless

  Teagan Kade

  * * * * *

  Published by Teagan Kade

  Edited by Sennah Tate

  Copyright © 2018 by Teagan Kade

  COPYRIGHT

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Sign up to my exclusive VIP newsletter and receive a FREE copy of my best-selling, full-length novel Burned: A Bad Boy Romance, plus special offers, ARCs, bonus material and more. Click here!

  Also by Teagan Kade:

  PUCK BUDDIES

  FERAL

  WINTER MIRACLE

  ADAGIO

  BRUTE

  BLAZE

  HUSTLE

  LAWLESS

  LONG GAME

  DIRTY DEBT

  LOADED

  AMPED

  DRILLED

  DIRTY BRAWLER

  WRECKED

  SLAMMED

  STROKER

  STRIKER

  THROTTLE

  ROYALLY WRONG

  HITCHED

  CHASING STORM

  DEDICATION

  To Husby, my own personal Wolverine.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EDIE

  “Cripes!” The box in my hand shifts and drops, banging into my leg and leaving a clean slice. Apparently, the universe is intent on proving to me how incapable I am of doing anything, because I really needed one more force coming at me telling me what a helpless girl I am.

  Newsflash, universe, I’m not taking the hint. Lay me out or scud off.

  “You okay, Ed?” The phone is still pinched between my ear and shoulder and I can hear that familiar note of concern in Johnny’s voice.

  “Oh, why I’m just peachy keen out here in the frackin’ boonies, Johnny!” I roll my eyes and balance the box for a moment to swipe at the blood trickle on my thigh.

  My big brothers all offered to help me move in, but it’s hard to accept help from the people who are intent on holding you back. Instead, I’m settling for calls on the half hour, checking to make sure I’m safe, that I made it, asking how my shoulder is healing etcetera. Not that I don’t appreciate the concern, but it’d be so nice if for once they had even an ounce of trust in me and believed me when I said I had things handled. You know, instead of constantly intervening and taking over.

  “Come on, kid, don’t be like that. You know why Pop did it. Besides, it’s gorgeous country, isn’t it? Just take the breather and rally. I’m sure if you stick out the assignment for a while, lay low… Well, you’ll be back in San Fran again soon.” Another tone I’m familiar with—patronizing advice about how if I’d only calm down, everything will all work out.

  “Sure, well, let me know how you feel when Pop transfers you to some mosquito-addled backwater hole or, better yet, gets you stuck behind a computer doing data entry searches for the bureau. I’m sure you’ll just take the breather, right?” I’m not trying to take my anger out on him but he’s the nearest target and self-restraint has never been my strong suit.

  Johnny sighs. I’d like to think it’s because he understands, but I’m done getting my hopes up.

  “Look, what am I supposed to do about it? You want me to talk to Pop again? You want me to call your director?” he asks, in a voice that sounds more exasperated than contrite.

  I’m a pain in the backside. I know it. He knows it. If only my bad attitude had the desired effect and they just left me to lick my wounds. Relocating to this tiny little nowhere town was fun enough, moving into what looks like Bigfoot’s forgotten cabin, but even in all this isolation they’re not just letting me be.

  “No! That’s the point you’re all missing. When Artie took a hit, I didn’t see you all tripping over each other to take care of him. And, if you had, think about how well that would have gone over. I’m a federal agent too, you know. It’d be nice to be treated like the competent professional I am,” I bite back.

  “Ed, you almost died. What do you want us to do? I’m sorry, but we’re your family. Like it or not, we care. By the way, Artie’s ear was grazed. That’s a bit fuckin’ different than having your shoulder shattered and losing forty percent of your blood. We thought you weren’t going to make it… You have no idea how much it rattled, Pop…” He pauses, sighs again, and I’m hoping he can’t tell I’m shaking as I hear him talking about my gunshot wound.

  “Look, I get it,” he continues. “I mean, I know I don’t get it get it, but… you know, I understand. It’s not that we don’t think you’re competent. We just… care. If you can’t grasp that, I don’t know what else to say.”

  I close my eyes against the welling emotion, remembering the look on Pop’s face when I came to after surgery. As if on cue, my shoulder starts aching. The pins don’t usually bother me too much, but all this hefting has apparently done it, so I plop down onto the giant, floral, overstuffed couch that came with the cottage. So not my style. Then again, I don’t really have much in the way of style, so I can’t really complain.

  “You still there, Ed?” Johnny sounds worried again.

  I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, I’m here.” I swallow and take a deep breath. “I’m here. Alright, subject grasped. Moving on. This house looks like Good Housekeeping had a warehouse sale. I don’t think there is anything in here that doesn’t have either pink flowers or some kind of wicker accent.”

  He takes the olive branch. “Perfect for you then. Maybe someone there can teach you to be a girl.”

  “Shove off, fudge nugget,” I retort half-heartedly. “Tell me about Lucy’s adorable kiddos.”

  He laughs. “Well, for one thing, they’re mine too.”

  “Possibly, but I’ll never be fully convinced that such well-mannered, intelligent creatures could share your genetics. How’d Emma do at the tournament?” I smile and listen as Johnny rambles on for a while about my nieces. It’s a relief to just listen, to have the focus off of me.

  As Johnny’s talking I start to look around the place. From the pictures online—heck, even from the outside—it appeared tiny, like some kind of toy house.
Inside, it’s another story. I rub my shoulder and walk around, taking in the rooms one by one and familiarizing myself with the layout while I try to decide the best place to store my safe. Probably the hall closet or maybe the laundry room.

  The doorbell rings and I scramble to the side window to peek through the curtains while Johnny talks about Lucy’s insistence he get a vasectomy. I scrunch my face, partially in disgust by the subject and partially in confusion at my visitor. I peer carefully, with all the training of four years as a fish and wildlife special agent, through the sheer fabric at the explosion of magenta on my doorstep.

  “I mean, I’d like to try one more time for a boy. I know Lucy thinks it’s just some macho thing, but I’m drowning in estrogen. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to—”

  I cut him off. “Hey, I’d love to talk about chopping up your balls, big bro, but it’s gonna have to be another time.” I step back, speaking quietly. “The small town welcome wagon has arrived, and it is pink… very, very pink.”

  “Well, good luck in the trenches. I’ll call you later.” I nod, knowing it’ll probably be in an hour to check and make sure I’m still alive. We say goodbye.

  For a half second, I’m nervous. I always am about first impressions. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve spent your whole life being underestimated.

  I tuck my hair behind my ears and open the door.

  Here goes, Edie, be normal, hey?

  “Hi!” Pink Lady says in a sing-song voice. “Welcome to Tamanass! I’m Jana, your neighbor!” I look around real quick, just to make sure I’m not imagining anything. I haven’t seen any other houses, but I was a little distracted (Read: being irritated) on the drive in. She seems to pick up on my confusion. “I’m a half mile down the road. Little yellow house with the big azaleas our front, can’t miss it.” She smiles sweetly.

  I smile back. “Ah, well, that explains that. I just got in an hour or two ago, haven’t seen much of anything yet. I’m Edith, but everyone except my big brothers calls me Edie.” I extend my hand to shake and realize she’s got something in hers.

  “Oh! I made you a casserole,” Jana says cheerfully. “Just a little something to make you feel at home.” She looks inside. “Can I bring it in for you?”

  “Oh, right, sure, the kitch--”

  “Oh, I know,” she says, walking past me towards the kitchen. I trail behind her, sizing her up. She’s petite, even compared to me. With those heels on, in that tight little outfit, I could probably have her in a submission hold in thirty seconds. I hate that my brain works this way, if only because it means I have hardly any girlfriends. Being the only girl with four older brothers has a way of warping your perspective.

  “You lived here long, Jana?” I try to gauge her age, but it’s hard to say with all the makeup. Truthfully, she’s not as done up as a lot of chicks, but since all I can safely apply without risking stabbing myself in the eye is concealer and blush, it’s all alien to me.

  “My whole life,” she says, all smiles, setting the casserole on the counter. “No better place. My dad is Riley.” She looks at me expectantly before nodding. “Right, you haven’t seen the town. My family runs the Thriftway. Dad’s retired now since his heart attack, so I run it with my sister.” She glances at me and her eyes go big. “You’re bleeding!”

  I glance down. The cardboard sliced my leg good. It’s not actively bleeding, but it doesn’t look pretty.

  “Sorry, hazard of moving.” I rifle around and find the first aid kit. There’s still a little blood on my shirt, though. Whatever, I don’t even know where my clothes are right now. Handgun, yes. Clothes, not so much.

  I come back into the kitchen and find Jana side-eyeing my boxes.

  “So, what brings you to our tiny town in the woods?” She turns to me innocently.

  “I’m with the US Fish and Wildlife Department. Got assigned here.” Before she can ask questions and I can get irritated over the situation again, I smile awkwardly. “Well, thanks so much for the casserole. It’s about that time and I was just gonna eat a power bar…” I go to the oven and look back at her. “What temperature should I bake it at?”

  “Oh! Dear no! This is a lasagna. It needs to cook at least an hour, if not longer. Say, you haven’t seen anything yet. Why don’t you let me take you over to Gracie’s? It’s just as good as a home-cooked meal and you can save the lasagna for tomorrow then.”

  “Ummm…” I hesitate. I have a lot of unpacking, but then again, this is my neighbor. It’d be nice to have a friend if I’m to be banished to Sasquatch’s playground. “Sure.” I smile. “Why not.”

  *

  Jana’s roommate, Carla, joins us at Gracie’s, though I’m pretty sure ‘roommate’ means something a little more cozy in their yellow house with the azaleas. The clasped hands under the table are a pretty big indicator, at least. In a town like this, where you’d think the attitudes would be as limited as the cell reception, it’s cool to see that no one seems to notice or care.

  They’re both friendly and welcoming, though Carla is a bit more reserved. Her dark brown hair is clipped into a pixie cut and she’s still got her uniform on from the vet hospital she works at. We order food and chat for a while about her work. It’s pretty unusual for me to make friends this easily. It actually feels good.

  Maybe this move won’t be such a loss after all, I muse.

  Jana wasn’t lying. The food is surprisingly good considering the rather divey look of the place.

  “I’m surprised you’ve been sent out here,” Carla says. “I don’t think we’ve had a F&W agent in the area in the last five years at least. Or, if we have, they’re not bringing any injured wildlife our way. All we ever see are the Park Rangers. Once in a great while maybe a State Trooper comes by, but that’s it.”

  Here goes with the questions…

  “Yeah, the position’s been held vacant for a while,” I say. “I guess they decided it was time to fill it—budgetary stuff, maybe.” I shrug with a smile, acting like I don’t know any more, like it wasn’t because my father, legendary FBI agent James Ness, great nephew of the one and only Eliot Ness, who called in a bunch of favors to have his baby girl (the one that got herself shot full of holes) placed as far from harm’s way as possible.

  I’m a better actress than I thought. Carla just nods and takes another bite of her elk burger. Jana isn’t even looking at me anymore.

  Well, that was easy.

  “Ugh, look alive, Edie, the Devils have arrived,” she says, sharing a knowing glance with Carla.

  The jukebox changes from country to Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion.

  “What?” I smile and turn in my seat. We’re in a corner booth, with an open view of the bar. Two guys just walked up and sat down. One of them looks like he walked off the set of Baywatch with his easy, perfect smile, tank top, and sun-kissed golden locks. The other one has light brown hair, a short, matching beard, and looks a little more subdued. Paul Bunyan in a T-shirt and Adonis glistening beside him.

  The energy in the room seems to change as they sit down at the bar, laughing with the couple of bimbettes that have swarmed ’round.

  Carla says in a sarcastic tone, “Brace your ovaries, everyone, the estrogen level is about to skyrocket to levels even your birth control couldn’t match. Fuzzy face over there is Dex and the golden god in a tank top is Deric. They, along with Dean Ipsoot, run Hell’s Tours. It’s a guide service,” she explains. “I’m sure you’ll run into them at some point, though maybe not tonight since their fan club is in full force. Mind you, and no offense, as pretty as you are it’ll probably be sooner rather than later. They have some kind of man-skank radar for attractive new transplants.”

  “Be careful around them,” warns Jana. “Seriously, there’s a reason they’re called the ‘devils of Hell’s Bitters.’”

  I look back at her and laugh louder than expected. “I’m sorry—the what?”

  Jana’s expression is completely serious. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story
, but you know how the mountain is Mt. Halbbitter? Well, it’s just sort of a folksy little local nickname that we call it Hell’s Bitters because it can be so dangerous. They’re called the ‘devils’ because they were all three out of control as kids and had a cabin out in the woods where they got up to all kinds of nonsense. And so on and so on.”

  “Yes, just ask Jana, she knows all about it,” Carla smirks over her beer.

  Huffing, Jana goes on. “Anyway, Dean’s married to Deric’s sister now, but Dex and Deric more than make up for him.” She gives me a suggestive look. “Let’s just say there aren’t many ladies in Tamanass who haven’t taken the ‘scenic route’ with one of ’em.”

  “Not very many, indeed.” Carla looks at Jana with a raised eyebrow.

  Jana’s cheeks turn red. “We’re all allowed to make mistakes at fifteen!” She turns to me. “Like I said, just be careful around them. They’re not exactly… second-date kind of guys. Take it from me, you won’t live it down.”

  “Huh, well, fear not, ladies. I grew up with four overprotective big brothers, I think I know a player when I see one and,” I gesture to my plain black tee, frayed jean shorts, and makeup-free face, “I’m not really prime player-prey.”

  Carla smirks. “Yeah don’t be too sure about that.”

  “Trust me, carrying a handgun generally works to keep the pickup lines and machismo bull at bay,” I assure them.

  I glance over at Brown Beard and Baywatch. The latter is wearing a tank top that is more of a suggestion of a shirt than the actual thing itself. It has all his thick, ropey muscles on display. There’s a scrap of a bandana tied around his neck in some sad attempt to pretend it’s an actual outfit when he’s really practically shirtless. It’s not a bad view, but it’s so obvious it makes my teeth ache. The ladies admiring him are taking full advantage of his lack of clothing as they make a blatant show of caressing and touching him.

  Cripes, I can feel myself blushing just from watching their little pre-orgy. The sheer waft of male ego in the air is enough to suffocate me.