His Big Mountain Axe by Madison Faye
"Turn that off," he hisses under his breath, his eyes blazing.
I ignore him.
"I said turn that off!"
"Hang on," Gino growls, his brow wrinkling as he tilts his head to listen.
"This is the robbery from the other day, isn't it?"
Nico looks white, and he swallows thickly. "Yeah, we already took care of it, Gino, so forget this shi—"
"Shut up." Gino holds a finger up, ignoring his nephew as he stares at the phone in my hand.
And then we come to the best part.
"You're seriously stealing from Gino Moretti?"
Dylan's voice cuts across the dead-silence of the room, followed by Vinny's snort.
"Man, fuck Gino. Money's in the crate back there, boys."
"What about Nico? I thought you guys were close."
Vinny's laugh rattles through the room.
"Oh, we are. Which is why we're striking out on our own with this cash. Gino's time is up, Dylan. We’re gonna pay off some of the guys to swing their loyalties our way, take Gino out, and then Nico's gonna be in charge, with me as his second in command."
"Jesus, Vinny."
I click the phone off, and slowly, as Nico's face turns ashen, his uncle's turns bright red as he turns to him.
"You motherfuckin' ungrateful—"
Gino reaches for his gun, and all hell breaks loose.
I scream, lunging out of the way behind a piece of the set as suddenly every gun in the room comes out and starts firing away. The sound is deafening, and I scream again as I dive to the ground as the bullets rain overhead. My pulse races, and my hands cover my ears tight as the sound of gunfire and men screaming fills the space.
A hand grabs me, and my heart jumps into my throat as I'm suddenly dragged across the ground.
"You're coming with me, you little bitch," Nico wheezes, one hand gripping my wrist, the other half-heartedly holding both a gun and the bloody hole in his shirt. Blood leaks from his finger, and his face is pale as he drags me away from the firefight towards an exit. I scream, lashing out and trying to catch him with my foot, but he's moving too fast. I scream again, but no one sees me, or hears me — the rest of the room too busy shooting at each other to notice.
Nico reaches the exit door, and he's reaching for the knob when the entire door comes crashing in on him. He screams, dropping my arm and staggering back as the huge shape comes charging through the broken door and knocks him to the ground.
Dylan.
Dylan with blood pouring down his arm as he hauls back and sinks his fist into Nico's face again, and again, and again, before suddenly, he stops himself. He trembles, his whole body heaving before he slowly looks up. His eyes meet mine, and he drops his hold on Nico, letting him collapse to the floor with a groan.
"No," he says quietly, almost to himself before suddenly, he's lunging for me and wrapping his arms tight around me. The tears start to pour down my face as I hug him fiercely.
"I was just coming to rescue you, you know," I whisper in his ear.
Dylan laughs, wincing slightly as he hugs me tight. "You already did, angel," he says quietly. "You already did rescue me."
"You're hurt…" My face falls as I pull away and look at the wound on his arm. "Oh my God, are you shot?!"
"I've had worse," he says with a shrug. "The guard I had to jump was a bad shot. He only clipped me."
"Oh, so it's just a small gunshot wound."
"Exactly."
I roll my eyes, beaming at him as I go to throw my arms around him all over again.
"Well ain't this a pretty fuckin' picture."
We both whirl, and Dylan's half up to his feet when Gino's thumb pulls the hammer back on the gun he's leveling at us with a loud click."
"Very touching, really," he grumbles. "But do me a favor, and get the fuck out of my way."
There's a groan behind us — Nico, curled into a ball on the floor holding his broken nose. Dylan takes my arm and pulls me aside as Gino and a contingent of "his" guys, looking a little shot up, advance on Nico with guns drawn."
"Gino," Nico sputters out. Well, really it sounds more like "Nino" with his broken nose.
"Gino, listen—"
"You shut your fuckin mouth," Gino hisses. He glances over at Dylan and narrows his eyes.
"I'm not big on thank yous, so, we're gonna skip that part. But listen, this whole porno thing?" He makes a sour face and glances around. "Not my thing. And it seems my nephew here pulled some real fucked up shit with the two of you. So…" He sighs heavily, and suddenly, he's spinning the gun in his hand and holding it out towards Dylan, butt-first.
"He wronged your girl here, kid," Gino mutters. "You do whatever you think you gotta do to bury this thing, okay?"
The room goes quiet, except for Nico blubbering on the floor. Dylan stares at the gun in Gino's hand for a long minute, before slowly, he shakes his head.
"I've settled what needs settling," he says, his words measured as he meets the older man's eyes. "And that's not for me. Not anymore," he adds, his eyes moving to me and holding there.
Gino shrugs. "Suit yourself." He holsters his gun before he suddenly kicks his toe into Nico's side. "Guess that means you're comin' with me, you ungrateful fuck."
“Hang on.”
Dylan drops down and glares at Nico before he tears open his jacket pocket. A small, portable hard drive tumbles out, and Dylan grabs it.
“This it?”
Nico swallows, and I watch as Dylan’s face darkens and his hand clenches into a fist.
“Is. This. It.”
“Yeah, okay? Yes!” Nico hisses.
“Any other back-ups?”
Nico is silent, but when one of Gino’s guys kicks a heel into his side, he groans and doubles up.
“My laptop! In the office. I swear those are the only two copies.”
Dylan stands.
“Have a nice life, shit-head,” he spits down at Nico before nodding at Gino. “He’s all yours.”
Nico’s eyes go wide.
"Wait! Gino!"
"Get him the fuck outta here," Gino grumbles as his guys haul a sobbing Nico away.
He turns back to Dylan. "I don't know what sort of shit Nico had you running, but you seem like a smart kid. Smart enough to know running security in this gig is fuckin gamble. So how about this. I don't want no bad blood with all this shit, and trust me, you don't wanna work for me. So, you're done. Whatever you had worked out with Nico, consider it over. That work for you?"
Dylan doesn't even pause to think about.
"Yep."
"Good. We're done here, the both of you."
Dylan and I glance at each other, when Gino clears his throat.
"That means get the fuck out."
* * *
Las Vegas looks weird in the sunlight.
Outside the studio door, we both blink in the glare of the afternoon sun beating down on the crummy parking lot.
Dylan shrugs, hoisting the backpack that carries the laptop and hard drive with our movie on it.
"So, what now?"
I laugh before I turn and throw myself into his arms.
"Now we go find you a doctor, because you got shot."
He grins and rolls his eyes. "I told you, it's nothing."
"Dylan—"
"Besides," he purrs into my ear, the heat of his voice instantly turning me to jelly as a shiver runs up my spine. "Apparently I've got the day off of work, and I just happen to have the hottest, sexiest girl in the world, who also happens to be the love of my life, on my arm wearing one hot little cheerleading costume."
I laugh, throwing my head back and letting the sun wash over me as I sink into his arms.
"Oh really?"
He shrugs. "Oh, really. It's one hot little getup, let me tell—"
"The other part, dummy." I grin, biting my lip.
Dylan's eyes burn into mine as the smile creeps over his face. "Oh that part? About you being the love of my life?"
I no
"Yeah that's the most absolute truth I've ever known in my life, angel," he says quietly before he pulls me into him fiercely. "I love you, Rose. With every damn part of me. And I damn well always will."
"I love you," I whisper heatedly as he pulls me into him. His lips find mine, and when we crash together, the rest of the world fades away until it's just he and I.
"So," Dylan clears his throat as he pulls away, and I shriek as he picks me up in his arms. "So what was this about you wanting to play doctor?"
I roll my eyes, grinning. "You know that's not what I said— oooh."
I moan as his lips find that sensitive spot right below my ear, his teeth nibbling at me and making my body melt.
"Angel, I'm about to take you somewhere quiet and make you say all kinds of things."
I gasp, my pulse spiking through me as the heat pools between my thighs.
“Dylan?”
He looks down at me, one brow cocked. “Angel?”
“Do you think we could…” I trail off, blushing, before I nod at the backpack.
“Think we could watch that?”
He grins hungrily, his eyes flashing into mine.
“I was thinking we could make a sequel.”
I tremble, every part of me aching for him. "That a promise?"
"Absolutely."
The End
Bonus Fan Story
Missing Rose and Dylan already? Yeah, me too ;). But don’t worry, we’re not done with them yet!
In addition to having them appear in the next two books in this series, I’ve also written a very special little short bonus story involving these two! This quicky will be available exclusively for my mailing list subscribers, after the release of Rough Stuff in late spring 2018 (the wait is because there’s some major spoilers for the rest of the series in it, and I’d hate to ruin anything for you guys!).
To be sure you grab this hot, dirty, and sweet little story, you can make sure you’re on my list by signing up here:
madisonfayeromance.com/newsletter/
You can also catch a sneak peek of Pretty Dirty, book 2 in the Dirty Bad Things series, on the following pages.
Thanks for your support, and happy reading!
<3,
Madison
Pretty Dirty - Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Gray
The computer chimes, and my dick hardens.
She’s on. Finally.
I can feel my muscles tensing, my jaw tightening as I drop the rest of my paperwork onto my kitchen counter. I cross the big loft space, the neon lights of Vegas glittering through the half-shut blinds as I move towards my desk and the large computer monitor set up there. I sit, my blood turning to fire in my veins and my cock throbbing rock hard between my thighs. I grab a remote off the desk and click it fiercely, and the blinds shut the rest of the way automatically.
I wake up my computer, the growl holding my in my throat as the screen turns on. The website’s already loaded and ready, and her camera’s already on, though it’s still of her empty bedroom. But she’ll be on soon.
Soon.
My cock aches in my pants, and I reach for my zipper before I stop suddenly and shut my eyes tight.
What in the fuck is wrong with me.
It’s not the first time I’ve asked it of myself. Hell, it’s not the tenth time I’ve asked it, or the fucking hundredth at that. And I still don’t have any answers for myself except the obvious: what’s wrong with me is her. What’s wrong with me is young, blonde, covered in the most beautiful tattoos I’ve ever seen, and about to appear on camera for me - for me, and only me. She’s about to smile that wicked smile that triggers all sorts of wrong in the right kind of ways in me. She’s about to show me every inch of her inked-up, pierced, gorgeous skin - those cute little tits with the soft pink nipples, and her tight, firm ass.
She’s going to spread her pretty little legs and show me how wet she is. She’s going to use two fingers to spread her soft pink pussy lips apart and show me how fucking tight that gorgeous little cunt is.
And she’s all mine.
My obsession. My lust.
My fucking problem.
It’s been like this for the last two weeks, and I can’t fucking stop. I’ve been ignoring friends. I’ve been ignoring work, and in my business and with the people I do business with, that can be dangerous. Fatally so.
I’m not going out. I’m thirty-two years old, single, and I’m in peak physical condition from years in the marines. I’m rich - not Buffet or Gates rich, but I’m not going to go hungry anytime soon. I live alone in two-and-a-half-thousand square feet of insanely expensive real estate, twelve stories above the Las Vegas Strip.
The point is, going out is exactly what I should be doing. I’m not conceited, but I recognize how women look at me. And going out, finding those women, and bringing them up to my condo to fuck them with a view of the Bellagio and Caesar’s Palace is what I should be doing. And yet, that hasn’t appealed to me in longer than I can remember. Instead, here I am - sitting in the dark, waiting for her to come on screen so I can tell her exactly what I want her to do.
Blonde, blue eyes, soft, delicate pale skin. Tattoos - and not just trendy shit like a feather or fucking “sisterhood” in Chinese or whatever. This girl has serious ink. And piercings. And scars. I’ve got some of those myself.
Young, dirty, sexy, and so fucking untouchable. Literally.
The perfect little bad girl.
My perfect little bad girl, all on high-def camera, and all for me.
…Something is very wrong with me.
How does a man like myself end up stroking his cock to a cam girl online? Surprisingly easily, actually. This all started two weeks ago, when my sister Callie dropped by for a visit with Jack, the ten-year-old she nannies. When I was ten, we didn’t have the damn internet or any of this shit. But ten year olds now are fucking tech wizards, apparently, because it took Jack all of three minutes while Callie and I were out on my terrace to visit about one million porn sites on my computer. The hardcore fuck-film blasting at full volume over my Bluetooth speakers put the kibosh on that shit, but not until Jack had gotten my internet history as filthy as goddamn possible.
Clean up and damage control was a bitch afterwards. I’d been signed in to my goddamn Facebook page, and Jack had decided to “like” all sorts of weird shit on his pornographic safari. Thankfully, I barely even use Facebook, so I basically have no friends on there who would’ve seen any of this. But it was still awkward to go back and delete the “Grayson Channing liked ‘big titted MILF latex gang bang’” posts on my wall. Luckily, my buddy Roman was the only one who “liked” any of it.
Asshole.
I’d cleaned the whole history and run a virus scan three times on my setup before I noticed the minimized window. I’d enlarged it, rolling my eyes at the giant pink “Heartthrob Cams” logo on the site, with some vapid, plastic looking chick bent over and spread-wide behind the lettering. Honestly, I’m not sure it was hearts they expected to be “throbbing” with the “O” in “Heartthrob” centered over her asshole.
I’d had every intention of quitting out of the window and cleaning my damn history again, when suddenly, a new stream had come up on the site, and a face filled the screen.
Her face.
And I was fuckin’ frozen.
I want to say “it was her eyes”, or “her lips drew me in”, or hell, even “those tits were fantastic and I wanted to keep looking at them”, but it wasn’t one thing. It was the whole thing. It was how fucking sexy she was, sure, but also that smug, glinting look in her eyes, like she was laughing at all the suckers paying money to watch her take her damn clothes off on the internet. It was the real ink on her delicate skin - not some trendy little dream catcher or something she stole off Pinterest, but real, serious tattoos. There was a dark, sensual, goddamn sexy as sin edge to her, and I fucking liked it.
I liked it so much, in fact, that I n
Her profile listed her name as “Alice Liddell”, and I wondered how many of the scumbags on this site understood that it was an Alice In Wonderland reference, not her real name. It said she was twenty-one, with her location as “planet earth”. I watched until my allotted free time was over. Then I grabbed my wallet, ignored the fact that I would have literally laughed out loud at losers who did this sort of thing up until that very moment, and plunked down my credit card.
Hooked.
Obsessed.
Addicted.
Heartthrob is set up so you can see the girls, but they can’t see you. They can see what you type, though. Actually, everyone can see what you type. Everyone can see every disgusting, offensive, nauseating thing that every gross, living-in-their-mom’s-basement piece of garbage on the site is typing to the girl. I was mad at first - angry that these fuck-wads who’d clearly watched entirely too much porn kept butting in. Their asinine, crude comments chimed in like little unwanted flies buzzing around my head, until my anger turned to fury.
That’s when I saw the “private show” button, and that’s when I jumped head first into my obsession.
It’d be easy to say I did it out of some sort of fucked up, misguided urge to “save” her - to protect this random, anonymous girl from the neck-bearded, mouth-breathing trolls with their constant barrage of “show ur tits”, and “u want my cock bb?”
But I’m no white knight, and my intentions weren’t to protect, or save, or rescue.
…My intentions were to possess - to wall her off from everyone else and keep her as my own. Which is exactly what I did. She’d smiled a plastic, practiced smile when she’d seen the private show request from Big_Daddy_Vegas - the screen name jumped out at me when I glanced up and saw the “Daddy-O’s Big-Style Vegas Pizza” box on my kitchen counter. But when she saw my next request, her face had grown a little flush, and that smile had turned into a dropped jaw.