Kings of New York Series is here!
Book 1 - A Dirty Business
Book 2 - A Cruel Arrangement
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When Jess Montell meets Trace West at a hockey game, she doesn’t know his name or occupation. What she does know is there’s an instant attraction that’s impossible to ignore—or forget. And forgetting is exactly what she wants to do when she learns he’s not just a successful Wall Street suit but the heir to one of New York’s biggest Mafia families.
The last thing Trace needs is a romantic anything with law enforcement, and parole officer Jess has trouble written all over her. Too bad he likes trouble. Especially when it’s a brunette bombshell with attitude and legs for days.
She’s an absolute spitfire, and he wants to stoke that flame.
Trace didn’t ask for the Mafia life. Jess doesn’t want any part of it. They both know it’s safer to stay away, but the temptation is too hard to resist—no matter how great the danger.
The last thing Trace needs is a romantic anything with law enforcement, and parole officer Jess has trouble written all over her. Too bad he likes trouble. Especially when it’s a brunette bombshell with attitude and legs for days.
She’s an absolute spitfire, and he wants to stoke that flame.
Trace didn’t ask for the Mafia life. Jess doesn’t want any part of it. They both know it’s safer to stay away, but the temptation is too hard to resist—no matter how great the danger.
“This is why I didn’t want you around me. This is why I should’ve forgotten you the second I found out you’re a cop.”
He began to move toward me. His chest touched my gun’s muzzle, and I swallowed a curse before making a decision. I wasn’t going to shoot him. He knew it. I knew it.
I holstered my gun, and then he was in my space, moving me back against the wall. He was breathing hard, staring down at me, and looking like he wanted to chew my head off, literally. But his tone came out soft, and all the more dangerous because of it. A whole new chill slithered down my spine. “For three years your uncle has been a pain in my family’s ass, refusing to work with us. Did you know that?”
I didn’t respond, too caught up in what else he was going to tell me, because I knew more was coming. I felt it, and I didn’t know if I wanted to know or not. I did.
His hand slid up, touching my chest and slowly moving to my throat, then around to the back of my neck, cupping me there. He held his own head back, watching me from his fullest height. “Then I met you. I became fucking captivated by you, and somehow that shit got back to my uncle, and guess who my uncle thought I should move in on now? Fuck him for seeing an opportunity to capitalize on, and fuck your uncle for being the abusive weasel shit that comes out of his own asshole. Goddamn fuck everyone because now we’re in a situation. So when I ask why you’re here, you’re going to tell me because you are now in this too.”
A low growl was building in my throat, and I brought up my hands to shove him away.
They didn’t, though. They rested on his chest, and at the
touch, he sucked in some breath, closing his eyes a moment. When they opened, raw pain flared briefly. “You’re not going to call the cops on me, and you know it. I’m sure there’s a valid reason you came in here, but the real reason you came and the real reason you came into that room is because you were hoping to do something to your uncle, probably what we’re doing.”
I looked away. “You’re torturing him.”
I felt the distance closing, and then his forehead touched the side of my head, softly, before he whispered, “I’m killing him slowly, for you. Because he’s hurt someone who shares your blood.”
He began to move toward me. His chest touched my gun’s muzzle, and I swallowed a curse before making a decision. I wasn’t going to shoot him. He knew it. I knew it.
I holstered my gun, and then he was in my space, moving me back against the wall. He was breathing hard, staring down at me, and looking like he wanted to chew my head off, literally. But his tone came out soft, and all the more dangerous because of it. A whole new chill slithered down my spine. “For three years your uncle has been a pain in my family’s ass, refusing to work with us. Did you know that?”
I didn’t respond, too caught up in what else he was going to tell me, because I knew more was coming. I felt it, and I didn’t know if I wanted to know or not. I did.
His hand slid up, touching my chest and slowly moving to my throat, then around to the back of my neck, cupping me there. He held his own head back, watching me from his fullest height. “Then I met you. I became fucking captivated by you, and somehow that shit got back to my uncle, and guess who my uncle thought I should move in on now? Fuck him for seeing an opportunity to capitalize on, and fuck your uncle for being the abusive weasel shit that comes out of his own asshole. Goddamn fuck everyone because now we’re in a situation. So when I ask why you’re here, you’re going to tell me because you are now in this too.”
A low growl was building in my throat, and I brought up my hands to shove him away.
They didn’t, though. They rested on his chest, and at the
touch, he sucked in some breath, closing his eyes a moment. When they opened, raw pain flared briefly. “You’re not going to call the cops on me, and you know it. I’m sure there’s a valid reason you came in here, but the real reason you came and the real reason you came into that room is because you were hoping to do something to your uncle, probably what we’re doing.”
I looked away. “You’re torturing him.”
I felt the distance closing, and then his forehead touched the side of my head, softly, before he whispered, “I’m killing him slowly, for you. Because he’s hurt someone who shares your blood.”
Book 2 - A Cruel Arrangement
This was my place. My business. Easter Lanes.
Then a guy comes in, trying to rob me, daring to take it away from me.
My home. My life.
Hell no. I won’t let my livelihood be threatened.
No one knows what I’ve done to build this life for myself.
Except he might.
Ashton Walden, a man I remember from when we were kids.
Even back then I could tell how dangerous he would be one day.
He’s now the head of the Walden mafia family, and my father is so in debt to them that they practically own him.
My dad and I are estranged and I want nothing to do with him or his debt, but the day after the attempted robbery, I don’t wake up in the hospital.
I wake up in Ashton Walden’s home. And he drops a bomb on me.
If I want my livelihood back, I need to earn it back.
And thus begins our cruel arrangement.
Then a guy comes in, trying to rob me, daring to take it away from me.
My home. My life.
Hell no. I won’t let my livelihood be threatened.
No one knows what I’ve done to build this life for myself.
Except he might.
Ashton Walden, a man I remember from when we were kids.
Even back then I could tell how dangerous he would be one day.
He’s now the head of the Walden mafia family, and my father is so in debt to them that they practically own him.
My dad and I are estranged and I want nothing to do with him or his debt, but the day after the attempted robbery, I don’t wake up in the hospital.
I wake up in Ashton Walden’s home. And he drops a bomb on me.
If I want my livelihood back, I need to earn it back.
And thus begins our cruel arrangement.
Molly was mine. She was either my target, my mark, my woman, or my cross to bear. Any and all ways I split it, she was mine.
I had a problem.
I was pointing a gun at a guy with green makeup on his face, and I kept thinking how he looked like that goblin guy from one of those superhero movies. A bubble of laughter was coming up in my sternum. I tried stopping it, I did, but once it was past my throat, it was hopeless.
I bent over, my gun still in the air, and the laughter was kapoosh! Totally coming out of me.
I winced, hearing a note of hysteria on the edge of it.
“Molly!” That was my employee who was on the ground, his arms folded behind his head as he lay on his stomach, and I could hear how horrified he was.
I raised my head back up, steadied my arm, and cleared my throat. “Let’s review the changes that just happened here. You”—I shook my gun, indicating the green guy—“came in here, to my bowling alley, to rob us. Correct?”
He had a rifle aimed at me, and it was at this point I realized how crazy I really was.
Like, seriously crazy.
A rifle against my handgun. And I was laughing.
I was verging on lunacy. A lunatic. Me.
But he was wearing green makeup, so there could be an argument about who was the more irrational one in this situation.
“You do this sort of thing often?”
“Molly, my god.” That was from a different employee. “What are you doing?”
We had a good situation here. Not the robbery, obviously, but what I’d built in this business. Easter Lanes. This was my place. My business. I was proud of what I’d done for the bowling alley when I took it over from my dad. He’d already run it into the ground, so I seized an opportunity when he was particularly vulnerable, and he was a lowlife street gambler, so those moments were fairly common. We were talking twice a month, but this time was when he was up a literal shit creek and he had no one to come and save him. So, me, being his daughter, well, I took a page from his book—I conned him. Meaning, he called me for bail money and he seemed extra frenzied to get out of there, which probably meant there was someone on the inside who wanted to give him some sort of beating.
I told him I wouldn’t post his bail until he gave me the bowling alley. I was aware that some debts came with the business, but at that point in my life, I had nothing to lose. So I got the bowling alley, renovated what I could, and have continued renovating it over the years as profits got better. I paid off the bowling debts, but that was it. Anything to do with Easter Lanes was all mine. Added a whole pub part and gaming section so families could come here too.
I made sure it appealed to all ages to maximize our customers.
And it worked.
This robber guy had no clue what he was threatening here. This was my life. My only life.
This place was in my blood, and because of all of that, yeah, I went a little unhinged when I looked up and saw a rifle pointing at me.
“What are you playing at, woman?! I told you to give me the money. Why are you waiting? Give me the money!”
Oh, boy.
Boys, girls, don’t try this at home.
The register drawer was closed. The key was right next to it. I looked at my staff because they knew where the extra keys were, but . . . I could grab it, so quick. I could—I did something. That I was going to regret.
“Molly!” from my one employee.
And my second employee. “What did you do?!”
My staff was shouting and gasping, but one scream drowned out the rest. The green-faced robber was shrieking at me, shaking his gun. “What did you do?! You crazy psycho bitch!”
I swallowed the key to get into the register.
That’s what I did.
I was still holding my gun up, but it was shaking because my hand was shaking because my arm was shaking because I was shaking. My whole body was trembling, and I was tasting tears.
Enough!
Screw this. I’d not endured my whole tragic, sad story of a life to get it all taken away from me by this guy. “You come in here! Thinking you’re going to rob my place! This is mine. And I’m not going to take this. You know who my dad is?”
I had temporarily stunned the green-faced robber, because he began backing up, slowly inching away from me. He’d forgotten he had the rifle in his hands, but he paused at my question. “Your dad?”
I could see the realization start coming to him.
His eyes were flickering, skirting, panicking, and he was beginning to remember that some businesses in our neighborhood were hooked in. I’m talking Mafia-style hooked in. I wasn’t above using some of that intimidation if it meant I wasn’t going to be arrested for homicide today.
“Who’s your dad?” His voice rose, more shrill, and I could see the green face paint start to drip.
“Shorty Easter. You know who he is?”
His eyes jerked to the name of my bowling alley. I had it in neon letters above the bar. Easter Lanes. Anyone who was anyone knew that Marcus Easter, a.k.a. Shorty, was basically owned by the Walden family. He gambled at their establishments, but he also gambled for them. I knew his debt to them was so deep that he’d have to live nine lifetimes before paying anything back, but he had other uses, and I knew they used him for those. What they were, I never asked and never wanted to know, but I knew he did jobs for them.
The robber backed all the way up until he hit the door. His rifle slumped down, and he almost dropped it to the ground. “Oh, shit.”
It wasn’t my dad’s name that was causing this change of mind. It was who owned him. I never wanted to use their name, ever, but this was a life-and-death type of situation. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to not get ripped off.
“The Waldens own my father. You coming in here, threatening his daughter, his business. That’s going to have some consequences for you.”
His eyes were really bulging out now. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” He was plastered against the door, shaking his head. The desperation was edging in him because I was also feeling it, just in a different way. Easter Lanes was the only place I had that was me. Out of all my other homes, nothing stayed. Foster. Shelters. Nothing held.
No one stuck, but this place did. I would not let someone take that away from me, and hear me roar because I was a mama lioness protecting my cub. I was desperate and a lunatic right now, but I didn’t care.
He was going to leave. It was the only play he had left. Get out. Run. Get away as far and as fast as he could go. I was waiting for him to accept that choice, but suddenly he jerked away from the door. His rifle snapped back up.
“If what you say is true, then I’m fucked! Fucked, lady. So I figure you owe me. You want me gone? I need money. If not, I’m dead anyways, and we both know it. You give me all your cash, and I’m gone. Yeah, yeah. I’ll go, but I need cash. What do you have?”
He reached forward, trying to grab me, and I recoiled, feeling the switch happening.
Oh, no.
I was pointing a gun at a guy with green makeup on his face, and I kept thinking how he looked like that goblin guy from one of those superhero movies. A bubble of laughter was coming up in my sternum. I tried stopping it, I did, but once it was past my throat, it was hopeless.
I bent over, my gun still in the air, and the laughter was kapoosh! Totally coming out of me.
I winced, hearing a note of hysteria on the edge of it.
“Molly!” That was my employee who was on the ground, his arms folded behind his head as he lay on his stomach, and I could hear how horrified he was.
I raised my head back up, steadied my arm, and cleared my throat. “Let’s review the changes that just happened here. You”—I shook my gun, indicating the green guy—“came in here, to my bowling alley, to rob us. Correct?”
He had a rifle aimed at me, and it was at this point I realized how crazy I really was.
Like, seriously crazy.
A rifle against my handgun. And I was laughing.
I was verging on lunacy. A lunatic. Me.
But he was wearing green makeup, so there could be an argument about who was the more irrational one in this situation.
“You do this sort of thing often?”
“Molly, my god.” That was from a different employee. “What are you doing?”
We had a good situation here. Not the robbery, obviously, but what I’d built in this business. Easter Lanes. This was my place. My business. I was proud of what I’d done for the bowling alley when I took it over from my dad. He’d already run it into the ground, so I seized an opportunity when he was particularly vulnerable, and he was a lowlife street gambler, so those moments were fairly common. We were talking twice a month, but this time was when he was up a literal shit creek and he had no one to come and save him. So, me, being his daughter, well, I took a page from his book—I conned him. Meaning, he called me for bail money and he seemed extra frenzied to get out of there, which probably meant there was someone on the inside who wanted to give him some sort of beating.
I told him I wouldn’t post his bail until he gave me the bowling alley. I was aware that some debts came with the business, but at that point in my life, I had nothing to lose. So I got the bowling alley, renovated what I could, and have continued renovating it over the years as profits got better. I paid off the bowling debts, but that was it. Anything to do with Easter Lanes was all mine. Added a whole pub part and gaming section so families could come here too.
I made sure it appealed to all ages to maximize our customers.
And it worked.
This robber guy had no clue what he was threatening here. This was my life. My only life.
This place was in my blood, and because of all of that, yeah, I went a little unhinged when I looked up and saw a rifle pointing at me.
“What are you playing at, woman?! I told you to give me the money. Why are you waiting? Give me the money!”
Oh, boy.
Boys, girls, don’t try this at home.
The register drawer was closed. The key was right next to it. I looked at my staff because they knew where the extra keys were, but . . . I could grab it, so quick. I could—I did something. That I was going to regret.
“Molly!” from my one employee.
And my second employee. “What did you do?!”
My staff was shouting and gasping, but one scream drowned out the rest. The green-faced robber was shrieking at me, shaking his gun. “What did you do?! You crazy psycho bitch!”
I swallowed the key to get into the register.
That’s what I did.
I was still holding my gun up, but it was shaking because my hand was shaking because my arm was shaking because I was shaking. My whole body was trembling, and I was tasting tears.
Enough!
Screw this. I’d not endured my whole tragic, sad story of a life to get it all taken away from me by this guy. “You come in here! Thinking you’re going to rob my place! This is mine. And I’m not going to take this. You know who my dad is?”
I had temporarily stunned the green-faced robber, because he began backing up, slowly inching away from me. He’d forgotten he had the rifle in his hands, but he paused at my question. “Your dad?”
I could see the realization start coming to him.
His eyes were flickering, skirting, panicking, and he was beginning to remember that some businesses in our neighborhood were hooked in. I’m talking Mafia-style hooked in. I wasn’t above using some of that intimidation if it meant I wasn’t going to be arrested for homicide today.
“Who’s your dad?” His voice rose, more shrill, and I could see the green face paint start to drip.
“Shorty Easter. You know who he is?”
His eyes jerked to the name of my bowling alley. I had it in neon letters above the bar. Easter Lanes. Anyone who was anyone knew that Marcus Easter, a.k.a. Shorty, was basically owned by the Walden family. He gambled at their establishments, but he also gambled for them. I knew his debt to them was so deep that he’d have to live nine lifetimes before paying anything back, but he had other uses, and I knew they used him for those. What they were, I never asked and never wanted to know, but I knew he did jobs for them.
The robber backed all the way up until he hit the door. His rifle slumped down, and he almost dropped it to the ground. “Oh, shit.”
It wasn’t my dad’s name that was causing this change of mind. It was who owned him. I never wanted to use their name, ever, but this was a life-and-death type of situation. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to not get ripped off.
“The Waldens own my father. You coming in here, threatening his daughter, his business. That’s going to have some consequences for you.”
His eyes were really bulging out now. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” He was plastered against the door, shaking his head. The desperation was edging in him because I was also feeling it, just in a different way. Easter Lanes was the only place I had that was me. Out of all my other homes, nothing stayed. Foster. Shelters. Nothing held.
No one stuck, but this place did. I would not let someone take that away from me, and hear me roar because I was a mama lioness protecting my cub. I was desperate and a lunatic right now, but I didn’t care.
He was going to leave. It was the only play he had left. Get out. Run. Get away as far and as fast as he could go. I was waiting for him to accept that choice, but suddenly he jerked away from the door. His rifle snapped back up.
“If what you say is true, then I’m fucked! Fucked, lady. So I figure you owe me. You want me gone? I need money. If not, I’m dead anyways, and we both know it. You give me all your cash, and I’m gone. Yeah, yeah. I’ll go, but I need cash. What do you have?”
He reached forward, trying to grab me, and I recoiled, feeling the switch happening.
Oh, no.
