Read Online Made: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boy Games) by Danielle Slater, Allegra Ryan - Free Book Online Page A

nearby computer workstation with the padded black chair swiveled away from the monitors. One gnarled hand rests on his cane. Mottled red marks march across the sagging skin of his face.
    I give points to Ferrara for not showing any visible discomfort, not even mild annoyance. If anything, Ferrara seems pleased with the way things are going so far.
    Huddled behind the geezer so I don’t see her, at first, is the pawn, Deja Booty (or whatever the hell her name is). The minute my gaze sweeps over her, she straightens. There’s everything about hope in her expression like she thinks I just rode in here on my white horse.
    Jesus.
    I look at Tucker expectantly. I can’t wait to find out what kind of farce is about to play out. More importantly, what the fuck does he want with me?
    “Thank you for coming so quickly, Nathan. I believe you’ve already met Mr. Ferrara.” Ferrara inclines his head toward me like a king acknowledging a peasant. Tucker finishes with the introductions in his southern accent like we’re all set to sit down for sweet tea and cookies.
    De Hainault thumps his cane on the floor. “The Italian upstart has no grounds upon which to challenge me. I will not stand for this. It’s an outrage.”
    Ferrara remains silent, but his mask of calm breaks. I follow his gaze to the girl behind the old man. If looks could kill, he’d have already throttled the Frenchman. Fat tears slide down the girl’s face. The tip of her nose has turned red. I wonder again how old she is because she looks like she’s aged backward since I escorted her from the club floor, getting younger all the time.
    “Miss Booty has requested what she is referring to as asylum from Mr. Ferrara,” Tucker explains with a perfectly straight face. “Although she has already formally accepted the terms of her contract with H&S for M. de Hainault, she now wishes to decline. From what I understand of the situation, Mr. Ferrara is inclined to grant her request. M. de Hainault has expressed his opposition most clearly. I don’t have to tell anyone that this turn of events is unprecedented. However, at Harley & Sweet, we manage our clients concerns with the greatest care, which means we will treat this situation with as much sensitivity as possible. ”
    Beyond Tucker’s politically correct spiel, the whole deal poses the question of how Miss Deja Booty and Alexander Ferrara came into contact in the first place. . .
    Maybe the girl isn’t as dumb as she looks? Could she be the plant sent in by the feds? If so, how would defecting from de Hainault to Ferrara matter? It would depend on what kind of case they’re trying to build. I let the idea roll around in my head until it crumbles under the sheer weight of its improbability. No way Miss Deja Booty is a fed. I’d stake my life on it.
    “How can I help?” I ask, hoping it’s something simple like a hit because that would be easier than playing referee between two powerful and influential men fighting over a woman.
    “I asked you to come up because I need to remain impartial,” Tucker intones. “Marco will represent M. de Hainault. You, Nathan, will represent Mr. Ferrara.”
    Like this is a fucking courtroom trial?
    The urge to hit things returns with a vengeance. My fingers curl into fists while I nod like this is normal and, what the hell; I do this all the time.
    It’s this damned job. Sooner or later it’s going to kill me.
    You don’t try to reach above your station. Understand? And that’s a good thing because weapons are important. They help us get shit done without a lot of fuss.
    Tucker may have called moving me inside the organization a promotion, but I knew he was lying. I’m a weapon. I always will be a weapon. Since I’m not a lawyer or even a manager, my presence means I’m insurance in case things get ugly. With Ferrara involved, ugly is almost a given. Since Tucker put me on Ferrara, it means de Hainault is the target. . .
    If it comes to that.
    But, message received.