Dangerous Boss E-Book

Willow Fox

• Herausgeber: Slow Burn Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Every villain has his weakness. She is mine.
It takes a lot more than getting shot in the head to kill a guy like me, but the bastards got me good.

I’ll give it to them.

They got me so good that when I finally wake up, I realize I’ve been in a coma for weeks.

Not days. Weeks.

And the weird thing is, I can’t remember a single thing about that day. Not who saved me, not hearing the EMTs arrive. Nothing.

But I do remember who I am. I just pretend not to.

Trust me, it’s safer that way.

Safer for me, for the people involved in this, and the strange woman sitting next to my bed when I wake up.

Sadie is the one who found me in the forest. She’s the one who called 911. And as I soon find out, she’s the only person who has been visiting me for weeks.

I might not like owing people favors, but even I have to admit that I owe her my life.

If all she needs in return is a fake boyfriend, then that’s exactly what I’ll be.

I just have to keep reminding myself that this is an act. For both our sakes...

Leseprobe

DANGEROUS BOSS

BRATVA BROTHERS BOOK FIVE

WILLOW FOX

Copyright © 2022 by Willow Fox

All rights reserved.

Edited by Marla VanHoy

Proofread by Melanie Kirk

Cover Design by MiblArt

v3

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

About this Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Willow Fox

ABOUT THIS BOOK

Every villain has his weakness. She is mine.

It takes a lot more than getting shot in the head to kill a guy like me, but the bastards got me good.

I’ll give it to them.

They got me so good that when I finally wake up, I realize I’ve been in a coma for weeks.

Not days. Weeks.

And the weird thing is, I can’t remember a single thing about that day. Not who saved me, not hearing the EMTs arrive. Nothing.

But I do remember who I am. I just pretend not to.

Trust me, it’s safer that way.

Safer for me, for the people involved in this, and the strange woman sitting next to my bed when I wake up.

Sadie is the one who found me in the forest. She’s the one who called 911. And as I soon find out, she’s the only person who has been visiting me for weeks.

I might not like owing people favors, but even I have to admit that I owe her my life.

If all she needs in return is a fake boyfriend, then that’s exactly what I’ll be.

I just have to keep reminding myself that this is an act. For both our sakes...

ONE

Sadie

Bang! A gunshot reverberates through the forest. It’s in the distance. The trees canopy overhead as the sunlight is blocked by the thicket of leaves.

I should run in the opposite direction and stay as far from the dangerous situation up ahead, but there’s only one trail, and turning around means I’ll be hiking another ten miles.

I’m nearly back to my car.

Two miles to go.

My sister always told me not to go hiking alone. She warned me that dangerous men in the woods liked to snatch women and were involved in human trafficking rings.

Never hike alone.

She was always a bit overprotective. I don’t blame her for her fears. She had a bad experience at college, dropped out, and moved home with Mom and Dad.

But we’re nothing alike.

A second shot rings out, not quite in succession. Like there might have been a struggle. I can conjure up a dozen different scenarios in my head.

The tires squeal as dust kicks up, and the vehicle rushes away in haste.

I jog off the beaten path toward where the gunshots had erupted moments earlier. The vehicle is gone. The danger must no longer be imminent, either.

I don’t know the exact spot. The trees all look the same. I’m unsure what I’m searching for when I stumble on his warm, lifeless body, tripping over him.

His complexion is pale as blood drips from his forehead. There’s a fresh gunshot wound to his temple. Whoever shot him left him for dead.

I drop down onto my knees, searching for a pulse. It’s faint, and sweat beads on his porcelain skin, mixed with blood.

Grabbing my cell phone from my pocket, I dial 9-1-1 and give my location as best I can, along with what I know, which isn’t much.

“Hurry,” I say.

The 9-1-1 operator doesn’t have me hang up. She keeps me on the line. “Is he breathing?”

I lean down and can feel a soft breath expel from his lungs. “Barely,” I say. “His pulse is really slow.”

“Help is on the way. They should be there soon.”

I put the phone on speaker and search through the dying man’s pockets, looking for identification. There’s no wallet on him. No keys. No phone.

Had someone driven him out here to kill him and dump his body?

Tattoos cover his arms. His beard is thick and matches his hair. There’s a roughness, even while unconscious, that he echoes.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

The EMTs arrive, and by the time they find us in the forest, off the beaten path, I’m not sure that the handsome stranger is still alive. I struggle to find a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.

I should walk away, return to my car, and never think about him again.

That would be a smart decision.

Someone wants him dead. If he survives, then that puts a wrench in their plans.

* * *

I get the hospital’s name from the EMTs and hurry back to my car. Do I follow or head home and change?

Allie is spending the month at summer camp as a junior counselor with her friends, which at least gives me time to unravel the disaster that just happened.

I follow the ambulance to the hospital, not that I’m allowed in via the ambulance bay or double doors. I give what information I have to the hospital and am told to wait in the waiting room. I should go home and shower. Blood is caked to my jeans and stains my shirt.

At least it’s not my blood.

Two police officers speak with the desk clerk before pointing at me. I press my lips together and inhale sharply on their approach.

“Ma’am, you were at the scene of the shooting?” the officer asks.

I stand, wanting to be at their level or closer as I answer their questions. “I heard gunshots,” I say. I’m not comfortable divulging anything further. I don’t know what happened and I’m not about to get mixed up in some war among thieves and dangerous men.

He is dangerous. I can sense it and should have bailed for my house the first opportunity I had after calling 9-1-1.

I’m not a monster. I wouldn’t leave a man to die like the man in the vehicle. I can only assume it had been a man, unless it was a lover’s quarrel that ended in attempted murder.

“Did you see anything?” the officer asks, taking out his notepad and pen to document my account.

“No.”

“Do you know the gentleman’s name who was shot?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve never seen him before today.”

“How many gunshots did you hear?” the officer asks.

“Two,” I say, and the two officers exchange a silent glance. Only one has been speaking the entire time. The other appears younger, like he might be a rookie in training.

“And you didn’t see any other victims or the perpetrator?”

“What? No.” Had someone else been shot? Could it have been the driver who left the gentleman to die?

“What about a vehicle?” the officer asks. He taps the top of his pen on his notepad.

“A black SUV. It was dark and far away. It could have been navy,” I recount, not remembering all that well. Tires squealed, and it had taken off hastily.

He jots that down and hands me his card. “If you think of anything else.”

The two officers return to the front desk, say something to the woman, and then the double doors open and they are allowed into the back.

Are they intending to interrogate the stranger in the forest? I doubt he’s capable of saying much, given his condition.

I sit back down in the scratchy, upholstered hospital waiting room chairs. There’s a television on; the audio is muted, but closed caption is running. I can barely string two words together on the screen. My mind is in a haze.

An hour later, or maybe two hours, time seems to drift together, a doctor comes out behind the double doors. “Are you here with John Doe brought in earlier?” he asks, glancing at me.

The blood on my clothes is quite an indicator. “Yeah,” I say.

The doctor approaches, and I inhale sharply.

Is it bad news?

Is he going to tell me that he didn’t make it?

“We managed to remove the bullet, but given the swelling in his brain and fever, we’ve induced a coma. We’ll continue to monitor his vitals and brain activity. He’s not out of the woods just yet.” The doctor grimaces at his remark. “Might I suggest you go home and shower if you plan on sticking around? We won’t know anything for quite some time.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I heed his advice. Once he disappears through the double doors, I head out of the hospital and down to my car in the parking garage.

Why did I come here? What was I hoping to do?

I can’t change what happened.

Anxious energy ebbs and flows through me. I can’t sit still, and my hike did nothing to tire my ass out. It has to be all the extra adrenaline.

I drive home, across town, strip out of my clothes, and shower. Blood circles the drain. I’m relieved it isn’t mine, but I keep seeing his face, blood pooling around his head.

The sound of tires squealing echoes in my mind.

Someone wanted him dead. But who? And why? I should stay far away from the hospital, from him, but I can’t help my curiosity.

It doesn’t help that my daughter, Allie, is away for the next several weeks. At her request, I sent her off to summer camp as a junior counselor. All her friends would be junior counselors this year, and she wanted to hop on the volunteer train and follow them.

Which I honestly don’t mind. It’s good for her to be out of the apartment for the summer. At thirteen, she’s too young for a job, aside from the occasional babysitting gig she gets from the woman with a toddler down the hall in our building.

I douse myself under the spray, letting the stench and evidence of what I’d been mixed up in disappear with any lingering fear. I love crime dramas. I love movies filled with suspense. This is the ultimate mystery; I can’t just sit and watch from the sidelines.

I want answers. And I’m not going to get them in my house.

After showering and dressing, I eat a quick bite before returning to the hospital. I have the afternoon off, and while I have a few errands to run and a house to tidy up, none of that seems important in the grand scheme of things.

A man nearly died today.

There were two gunshots.

Had there been a struggle after the first gunshot? Could that be the reason for the delay between shots fired? Or had someone else been shot as well? The police knew something, but they weren’t talking.

What the hell happened out there in the forest?

* * *

I shower, dress, and return to the hospital. I wander to his hospital room and stand out in the hallway, peering inside.

There are no flowers. No guests or visitors at his bedside. The window shades are open, cascading a warm amber glow across the room. The harsh fluorescent overhead lights are off.

He’s no longer donning his suit encrusted with blood on the collar. His eyes are closed. He lies motionless, asleep in a pale-green hospital gown, a white blanket covering him just past his waist.

His arms are at his side. Outside of the blanket, one arm is connected to an IV. Both are covered in tattoos, dozens of them with intricate artwork.

There are colorful wires tucked under his hospital gown, peeking out through his sleeves and the top of his gown hooked up to a monitor.

They’re monitoring his heart rate and vitals.

He’s silent, unmoving. Asleep.

The hospital bracelet on his left wrist denotes that he’s John Doe.

My phone buzzes, and I grab my cell phone from my purse. A smile grazes my features that Allie is texting me. Shouldn’t she be busy with crafts or water activities for the kids at camp?

Mom, is everything okay? Why are you at the hospital?

I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. I have a tracking app on my phone that lets me see where my daughter is. We have it set so that it goes both ways, and she can see my whereabouts too.

Yeah, just visiting a friend. How is camp? I text back.

What friend?

She avoids answering my question.

I’ll tell you about it when you’re home. There’s too much to type, and I don’t want to worry her. Besides, what exactly would I text, that I stumbled onto a handsome man being murdered and left for dead?

Sighing, I don’t want to admit, even to myself, that he’s handsome. Because that’s not somewhere I’m willing to go.

I’ve avoided anything serious with a man since Allie was born. The thought of introducing her to a man makes my stomach flop, and I don’t want her to get attached and heartbroken if it doesn’t work out.

Allie is and has always been my priority. Above all else, I want her to be happy. And while she’s older now and not around nearly as much, especially this summer, throwing myself into a summer fling seems like a bad idea.

A nurse steps into the hospital room, taking his vitals. “Are you family?” she asks, glancing me over. Her eyes are filled with hope.

I stall. If I say no, they likely won’t let me stay. And why should I even be here?

My silence is answer enough.

She sighs softly and taps at the keyboard, recording his vitals. “It’s nice he has someone at least,” the nurse says, offering a weak smile.

I avert my gaze, glancing down at the gentleman lying in bed, asleep. His arms are covered in ink and at the top, peeking out from behind his gown, is a star tattoo. It’s distinct. Bold. Unforgettable.

I’ve seen that star before. The image burns through my memory. It has to be a coincidence.

“Please, Aunt Sadie,” Olivia begs, pushing the virtual reality headset into my hands.

“I’d rather watch you play.”

“That’s boring.” Allie rolls her eyes. “No one wants to watch someone else play a video game.”

Allie isn’t wrong, but I’m terrible at video games. It’s been years since I sat down with a Nintendo in front of a television. This is foreign to me. I take the white headset and place it over my head. Olivia comes up from behind, tightening and adjusting the straps for a snug fit.

“Is that good?” she asks.

The headset no longer bobs up and down. It’s secure. “Yes. What am I supposed to do?” I ask.

She pushes the controllers into my hands. “Click on the box for Orc Hunter.”

Orc Hunter happens to be her favorite game. Shooting orcs, dragons, and other mythical creatures with a bow and arrow. Olivia has managed to convince Allie to play as often as possible with her when they’re together.

“Mom, can we get a headset too? It’d be so much fun to play with Olivia when we’re not together,” Allie says.

I knew she wasn’t just letting me play because sitting and watching is boring. The girls always have some scheme concocted. Even as kids, they tried to set me up with my next-door neighbor. He was the closest male in proximity who was single. The only thing we had in common, we both liked dating men.

I click the box for Orc Hunter and wait for the game to load. “Are you sure you don’t want to play?” I ask, trying to pawn the headset back on Olivia or Allie.

Olivia chuckles but doesn’t back down. “Nope, it’s all you. We can cast onto my phone, so I can see what you’re doing when you play.”

“Wonderful,” I mutter under my breath. The girls will be able to make fun of me.

“Click on Multi-Player,” Olivia instructs as she watches from her phone.

“Seriously?” I haven’t even learned how to play, and she’s throwing me in with other people.

“You have to learn sometime.” Allie giggles.

“Just pick a room that is open,” Olivia says. She’s been playing Orc Hunter for a while.

Four games are open, and I jump into one on wave 34. That is the lowest wave I see, which I assume means level.

I jump into the game, and it takes a couple of minutes to get the hang of shooting with the bow and arrow. The controller vibrates slightly with tension as I pull back the bow. I aim and shoot, completely missing my mark.

Orcs stalk toward the gate in various colors, from bright orange, like Cheetos, to gray, spiky helmet goblins.

“Hey, Olive,” a young female voice chimes through the headset.

“Hello?” I didn’t realize that there was a microphone on, and the other players can hear me!

“My aunt is playing,” Olivia shouts from nearby. She’s far enough away to ensure I don’t knock into her since I can’t see anything outside the headset but loud enough for the other player to overhear.

I shoot an orc in the chest. “Why didn’t he die?” The orc lifts the ax in his hand and throws it at my head.

“Duck!” Olivia shouts.

But it’s too late.

I grimace and wince as a screen of red warns me that I’m out.

“It’s okay. You’ll come back in the next wave,” Olivia encourages as I stand there staring at the scoreboard.

I suck, but it could be worse for my first time playing.

And I don’t want to admit that even playing for a few seconds was a lot of fun.

Another player jumps into my box where I’m standing and shoots me with an arrow. “You’re back,” he says. He has a thick Russian accent, and it’s evident in his tone that he’s not a child.

“What?” I’m momentarily stunned, unsure what to do.

“Shoot orcs,” he commands. His username pops up in small orange letters when he speaks: Bearded Bad Boy.

Inwardly, I groan. Of course that’s his screen name. Except boy doesn’t quite describe the voice I hear. It should be man. Bearded Bad Man. No, that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

“On it.” I turn toward the gate where the orcs are approaching and string my bow, firing one shot after another. My aim isn’t much better, but I at least duck to avoid the next ax thrown at my head.

“You’re a quick study,” Bearded Bad Boy says.

I have half a mind to ask him what makes him such a bad boy, but Olivia is in the room, and I don’t need our brief conversation turning dirty.

Gosh, it’s been too long since I’ve conversed with a man, let alone bedded one. My thoughts are far too impure. Maybe taking my mind off the sound of a sexy man’s voice and focusing on shooting mythical creatures will help.

As we slaughter all the orcs, the wave ends, and twenty seconds later, the next wave begins when it pops up on the screen, wave 35. There isn’t much time for a break.

“Shit,” I curse, glancing up as several green dragons fly across the sky. The Russian and the younger girl who seems to know Olivia shoot them down. I breathe a sigh of relief as I shoot at the incoming orcs as they tread across the bridge.

Each level grows more complex and more intense. “You’re not too bad for a newb,” the Russian says.

“First time,” I say with a laugh. At least they’re not asking me to leave so another player can come in and play. I wouldn’t feel bad if they did. I royally suck.

The game is fast-paced, but we don’t make it much longer as a giant red dragon blows fire on the other players, leaving me to save the gate.

And I fail epically. “Good game,” the Russian says. I toggle the button to quit and remove the headset, my blood boiling.

“Does your mom know you play this game with grown men?” I can’t fathom that my sister has any idea what her daughter is up to online.

Olivia scoffs and grabs the headset and controllers from me in haste. “It’s fine. It’s not like we’re trading nudes. Don’t be like Grandma.”

“Caring?”

“Controlling and overprotective,” Olivia says. “I know not to give my address to a grown man on the internet. Relax, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You don’t know who you’re conversing with within that game!” How can she be so willy-nilly, like it’s no big deal?

“Sure I do. I play all the time.”

“Fine, then who’s the Russian who was playing? He’s a grown man.”

“He’s on all the time. Usually only for a wave, and then bails. He must have liked you to keep playing until the town was destroyed.”

I ignore Olivia’s remark. She’s trying to smooth things over because she’s aware that her mother isn’t going to take kindly to the news.

“Give me the headset,” I say, holding my hand for the device.

“Fine,” she grumbles, and pushes it into my palms. I secure the device and power it on, using the controllers to navigate through the main menu. There has to be a setting to block a player. I find the input screen where I can view and invite other people.

His screen name isn’t hard to remember. I type in ‘Bearded Bad Boy,’ and immediately, an image pops up. Where it should be a profile picture, instead, it’s a tattoo of a star. It’s detailed and intricate and impressive if he designed it himself.

Which I doubt he did.

I don’t know much about tattoos, but I’d bet that’s not the only one that Bearded Bad Boy has on him, and there’s no way in hell I want my innocent niece discovering any other ink on his body.

His profile is considerably empty. There’s no first name, no description—just the close-up of a tattoo and the option to add him as a friend.

Nope.

It is not going to happen.

“Well?” Olivia quips, waiting for me to say something.

“I ought to block him,” I say.

“What? Why? He’s never said or done anything inappropriate. You’re overreacting, Aunt Sadie.”

I opt not to block him. He didn’t say or do anything while I was online. Not that I want to tell Olivia that she’s right. I exit the profile screen and power down the game before removing the headset. “Thirteen-year-old girls and grown men don’t mix. Men like Bearded Bad Boy don’t show up on the console just to play games.”

“Yes, they do. I’ll prove it to you. Buy a second console, and you can play every night when I’m online. You’ll see that no one is harassing me or violating me. It’s a safe space.”

I exhale a heavy breath. “How about no video games while you’re at my house?”

“Mom, you’re being so mean.”

“But I’m visiting for a month,” Olivia whines. “That’s going to be torture! I have friends online whom I chat with, and we hang out.” Her eyes widen, and the young girl’s eyes water.

I’ve seen the difference between real tears and the waterworks to get her way. These are genuine tears, which makes it that much harder.

“I know it seems silly and stupid to you, Aunt Sadie, but gaming gives me something to do. And it’s exercise. You can’t tell me you’re not sore from Orc Hunter.”

My arm is a little sore, and I’ll bet my legs will be aching tomorrow from all the squats I did to avoid getting an ax thrown at my head. “I’ll watch you girls play and monitor your phones,” I say.

“Okay, but when I’m asleep, you can borrow my headset,” Olivia says with a grin, glancing at Allie.

“That’s not necessary.”

A smirk lights up Olivia’s face. “A few hours of playing Orc Hunter this week, and you’ll be addicted.”

“Maybe we should find some other activities to do outdoors,” I say.

“Mom,” Allie whines. “I promise it’s good for the soul.”

“Playing video games?”

“Exercise, mental stimulation, meeting new people. You always say I should make new friends,” Allie says. “This is what I’m doing, with Olivia’s help.”

I grumble under my breath. “No more chats with grown men.”

* * *

I dig my fingers into the armrest of the hospital chair, staring at the tattoo peeking out from the hospital gown on his chest.

It’s probably a coincidence that he has the same star tattoo. He’d mentioned it once when I asked him about the profile picture online.

“Are you stalking me?” he asks as I join him in the VR game Orc Hunter.

I laugh under my breath. “I don’t even know where you live. So, no. I can’t be stalking you.”

“Right.” He chuckles, and I swear he’s smiling. But I can’t see him, only his avatar in the game, and he’s not that close. He’s across from me, guarding the opposite tower on the other side of the town as we shoot at orcs. “Isn’t it early where you are?”

“It is,” I say. The sun has just risen, and my niece and daughter are asleep. She won’t wake until at least ten o’clock, if not later. Which gives me a couple of hours to see what the fuss is all about regarding her virtual-reality gaming.

I don’t tell the stranger where I live or what time zone I’m in. The less he knows, the better. The last thing I want is to give him any information on my niece.

“What about you?” I ask. “Are you in Russia?” There are three servers; the one I connected to was in the USA. But anyone could join any server.

“Tit for tat.”

“I’m not showing you my—”

He snorts and clears his throat. “I wasn’t asking. You tell me where you’re from, and I’ll tell you where I live.”

His accent is thick, heavy, and undoubtedly, he’s from Russia, even if he’s moved out of the country and residing elsewhere.

“I asked first,” I say. It’s like we’re in the third grade, and I roll my eyes, realizing how ridiculous this conversation sounds between two grown adults. My attention is on the dragons, shooting them first and then the orcs, ducking as they throw axes at my head.

Bearded Bad Boy is skillful at avoiding an ax attack. He jumps from one platform to another to avoid being slaughtered.

“Show off,” I mutter.

“Jealous.” There’s amusement in his tone, like he’s enjoying teasing me.

“No, I don’t play this game all day.”

“Neither do I,” he says. “This is just a—hobby,” he says, though he sounds unconvinced.

“Chatting with teenage girls is a hobby?”

“I don’t know what game you’re up to, but I can assure you that my interest is not the least bit in teenage girls, or boys, for that matter.”