Read Online Loaded: A Bad Boy Romance by Roxie Noir - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roxie Noir
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care what he thinks.
I pop in Pretty Woman . I’ve never even seen it, I just know it’s the one where Julia Roberts plays a hooker who goes on a shopping spree. Outside the window, the sky is just turning light gray, and I wonder what time it is.
As the opening credits roll, the coffee maker beeps and Alex comes over with two mugs and sets them on the coffee table.
“There’s no cream or sugar,” he says, and sits down next to me.
I scoot half a foot away and I’m not subtle about it, but he pretends not to notice as he rolls his shirt sleeves up his thick forearms, the muscles flexing as his fingers work.
He’s covered in ink, and I can’t help staring at his tattoos. There’s something rough about them — they’re well done, but for a reason I can’t pinpoint, I find them a little unsettling, a little threatening.
Probably because he kidnapped you , I think.
“You look like you’ve got a question,” he says.
I want to ask if he’s had those all night, but I know that’s stupid.
“Gang stuff?” I ask.
He grins and picks up his coffee, amused that the white girl said gang stuff .
“Some,” he says. “Some I just like.”
He holds out his left arm, the one closest me. Wrapped around it, from his elbow down to his mid-forearms, is a rattlesnake, mouth open, fangs dripping.
“That’s my most recent one,” he says. “You like it?”
I have to fight the urge to put my fingers on his forearm and trace the black lines on his skin.
“It’s kind of cool,” I admit. “Does it mean something?”
“Nah, just thought it looked badass.”
I nod at his other arm.
“Same with the scorpion?”
It’s tattooed on the inside of his wrist, just below two sets of dates.
“The scorpion’s very personal,” he says. “That’s my nickname.”
“The Scorpion?” I say, dubiously. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
“I’m fast and lethal,” he says. A smile plays around his eyes as he takes another sip of his coffee. Outside, the sky is lighter still, and he gestures at my mug with his own. “I promise it’s not poisoned.”
I almost refuse to drink it on principle, but what’s the point? I’m fucking tired but too keyed up to fall asleep, so I pick it up and take a sip.
It’s not exactly good, but at least it’s strong.
“What are the dates?” I ask, looking at the inside of his forearm again.
For a second, he looks at me funny, and then at the screen where Julia Roberts is wearing shiny, thigh-high boots.
“Someone who died,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say, and I am, because someone dying is hard even if you’re a gangbanging asshole.
“Thanks,” he says, and goes quiet.
In silence, we watch Pretty Woman as the sun comes up.
Eleven
Alex
E ven though she drinks half her mug of coffee, Tessa’s asleep before Julia Roberts and Richard Gere even get in bed together. Her head’s back on the sofa and her mouth is open, and she’s snoring lightly.
Her snores are almost cute .
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. It’s the first time in hours and hours that I don’t feel her eyes on me, glaring and furious , the first time that I can relax a little and actually feel some sympathy for her.
I don’t like this part of my job, the part where I have to hurt innocent people, and I was relieved when Manny promoted me to Lieutenant. Now I tell the guys below me to hurt people instead of doing it myself, and frankly, that’s preferable.
Four years as street muscle was plenty. A lot of people don’t survive half the time that I did. But most people don’t get a nickname like The Scorpion either.
Tessa snorts in her sleep, then clears her throat and turns her head so she’s facing me, her cheek on the couch. I wouldn’t mind taking a nap, but I’m at work, so I stand up and get another cup of coffee. I stand at the front window for a while and watch the sun come up over the mountains.
I half-watch the rest of Pretty Woman while Tessa sleeps. My
I pop in Pretty Woman . I’ve never even seen it, I just know it’s the one where Julia Roberts plays a hooker who goes on a shopping spree. Outside the window, the sky is just turning light gray, and I wonder what time it is.
As the opening credits roll, the coffee maker beeps and Alex comes over with two mugs and sets them on the coffee table.
“There’s no cream or sugar,” he says, and sits down next to me.
I scoot half a foot away and I’m not subtle about it, but he pretends not to notice as he rolls his shirt sleeves up his thick forearms, the muscles flexing as his fingers work.
He’s covered in ink, and I can’t help staring at his tattoos. There’s something rough about them — they’re well done, but for a reason I can’t pinpoint, I find them a little unsettling, a little threatening.
Probably because he kidnapped you , I think.
“You look like you’ve got a question,” he says.
I want to ask if he’s had those all night, but I know that’s stupid.
“Gang stuff?” I ask.
He grins and picks up his coffee, amused that the white girl said gang stuff .
“Some,” he says. “Some I just like.”
He holds out his left arm, the one closest me. Wrapped around it, from his elbow down to his mid-forearms, is a rattlesnake, mouth open, fangs dripping.
“That’s my most recent one,” he says. “You like it?”
I have to fight the urge to put my fingers on his forearm and trace the black lines on his skin.
“It’s kind of cool,” I admit. “Does it mean something?”
“Nah, just thought it looked badass.”
I nod at his other arm.
“Same with the scorpion?”
It’s tattooed on the inside of his wrist, just below two sets of dates.
“The scorpion’s very personal,” he says. “That’s my nickname.”
“The Scorpion?” I say, dubiously. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
“I’m fast and lethal,” he says. A smile plays around his eyes as he takes another sip of his coffee. Outside, the sky is lighter still, and he gestures at my mug with his own. “I promise it’s not poisoned.”
I almost refuse to drink it on principle, but what’s the point? I’m fucking tired but too keyed up to fall asleep, so I pick it up and take a sip.
It’s not exactly good, but at least it’s strong.
“What are the dates?” I ask, looking at the inside of his forearm again.
For a second, he looks at me funny, and then at the screen where Julia Roberts is wearing shiny, thigh-high boots.
“Someone who died,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say, and I am, because someone dying is hard even if you’re a gangbanging asshole.
“Thanks,” he says, and goes quiet.
In silence, we watch Pretty Woman as the sun comes up.
Eleven
Alex
E ven though she drinks half her mug of coffee, Tessa’s asleep before Julia Roberts and Richard Gere even get in bed together. Her head’s back on the sofa and her mouth is open, and she’s snoring lightly.
Her snores are almost cute .
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. It’s the first time in hours and hours that I don’t feel her eyes on me, glaring and furious , the first time that I can relax a little and actually feel some sympathy for her.
I don’t like this part of my job, the part where I have to hurt innocent people, and I was relieved when Manny promoted me to Lieutenant. Now I tell the guys below me to hurt people instead of doing it myself, and frankly, that’s preferable.
Four years as street muscle was plenty. A lot of people don’t survive half the time that I did. But most people don’t get a nickname like The Scorpion either.
Tessa snorts in her sleep, then clears her throat and turns her head so she’s facing me, her cheek on the couch. I wouldn’t mind taking a nap, but I’m at work, so I stand up and get another cup of coffee. I stand at the front window for a while and watch the sun come up over the mountains.
I half-watch the rest of Pretty Woman while Tessa sleeps. My
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