Unexpected Ride E-Book

Michelle Love

• Herausgeber: Michelle Love
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Jacking that car was routine—until I popped the trunk and found her, bound and begging for a way out.
She’s a mafia princess, pure as snow, and I’m the bad boy thief she’s betting on.
A quarter million in jewels to ditch her old man’s turf? I’m in.
She’s never been touched, never felt real heat, and I’m dying to show her.
But her father’s crew and some stubborn Fed are on our tail, chasing us to the border.
I’m older, harder, and she’s trouble I shouldn’t want. Too bad—I don’t run from fights or women. She’s mine.
This thief’s got a new score—and I’m keeping her for good

Keywords: Guaranteed HEA, no cliffhangers, happily ever after. billionaire, bad boy, office romance, steamy romance, contemporary romance, love books, love stories, new adult, alpha male, romance, action, adventure, steamy romance, small-town secrets, hot, alpha hero. free book, free novels, romantic novels, and sexually romantic books.

Leseprobe

Unexpected Ride

A Dark Mafia Romance

Michelle Love

Ivy Wonder

Never Been Caught 1

Contents

Blurb

Prologue

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

FORGOTTEN SINS

Sneak Peek

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Copyright © 2022 by Michelle Love & Ivy Wonder

All Rights Reserved

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

Blurb

I jacked a car tonight with a bound woman in the trunk.

Looks like I saved her life—isn’t that ironic?

Now she’s offering me a pile of jewels to get her to Montreal.

I take the job to get a chance at taking her.

Those first few nights are hot—but she’s got a secret.

She’s the mob boss’s daughter—and he wants her back.

I haven’t had a woman this amazing in my entire life.

I’ll drive like the devil to keep her safe.

But with both the mob and the FBI after us, do we have a chance of a clean getaway?

Prologue

Carolyn

Date: December 29, 2018

Location: Lloyd, New York, 1.5 hours outside of New York City

Subject: Alan Chase

Criminal Record: Sealed Juvenile Record. No adult record. Suspected in 34 separate grand theft auto cases in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut. Routinely dismissed due to lack of evidence. Subject has never been successfully detained or incarcerated.

I sit back from my laptop screen and stretch, my back popping. I’m stiff from driving and sick of bad weather. It’s only an hour and a half from the New York field office on a good day, but I just spent three hours bumper to bumper on 9W in the pouring rain.

I’m here because my boss hates me—the talented and ambitious new transfer—enough to send me on a wild goose chase after criminals so good they’ve never left behind enough evidence or witnesses to implicate them. All five are behind a laundry list of crimes, but we’ve never been able to make any charges stick. I have a ‘hit list’ of five subjects countrywide, and Alan Chase is first on it.

At least he’s only a thief. Never violent—just skilled, sneaky. There are men that are guilty of far worse than car theft—especially number five.

But I don’t want to think about him. Focus on our Road Runner here.

Alan Chase is an impeccable thief. Not to mention a world-class driver. He could give NASCAR racers a run for their money, according to the one Long Island cop who tried to chase him on the interstate.

“…I never even got close to his bumper. The guy swam through the traffic and the wind and the rain like a damn fish up a stream. He just knew where the holes in the flow of traffic would open up.”

“…He didn’t endanger anyone, either. Caused a few fender-benders by startling people, but he never knocked into anyone to block my way, didn’t drive wrong-way through any areas, never touched the shoulder.”

“…He was just gone. I wasn’t even able to follow enough to catch it all on dash cam, let alone get a look at his face.”

I get up to do a few floor poses for my back and mix up a batch of instant coffee. The old brick hotel has radiators that clank and tick constantly and an elevator that rattles; it sounded like it was going to expire when I brought up my baggage. But it’s a lot cozier than the drafty apartment I share with two roommates in Brooklyn.

Guess I’m spending my New Year’s working again. But that’s all right. No family to go home to anyway.

Alan Chase has been living in Lloyd for three months according to his latest landlord. He likely is involved in the uptick in auto thefts. So I’m stuck here spying on him until we catch him at something or he moves on.

I bring up Chase’s photo gallery and frown at his smiling face on my screen. Cute.

Roguish grin, kind of scruffy. Dark auburn hair, dark brows, light brown eyes with a touch of red to them—like sunlight through glasses of sherry. Lean-jawed, athletic, but raw-looking. The kind of guy that lives in jeans.

Hot, but not my type. One of the five I’m chasing is, but I’m trying not to think about him.

If I’m vigilant, smart, and lucky, I’ll catch my Road Runner in Lloyd. Otherwise, he’ll duck back over the Canadian border to hide, and my boss Daniels will shuffle me off after the next guy after a round of demeaning lectures.

Derek Daniels is a bullying prick with no use for women who won’t sleep with him. He sent me out here to confirm that I don’t have what it takes to be in the FBI. I’ve come here to show he is wrong.

I’m in place. I have contacts, cash for bribes, leads, and a profile. Now, I just have to wait for Chase to make a mistake. Preferably a big one.

Chapter 1

Alan

I’ve got a weakness for Ford LTDs.

It’s completely stupid, I know. But when my grandpa retired, he came home with a Ford LTD Crown Royal he had driven for his cover job, and I loved that car. It was huge, powerful, and drove like a dream.

I learned to drive in that blue LTD. Grandpa’s father used to run booze over the border from Canada and had taught him how to drive that big boat of a car like a bat out of hell. Behind its wheel, he taught me everything he knew and then left it to me in his will, and I drove it for ten years.

Subsequently, some drunken piece of shit t-boned it—while it was fucking parked. The sound practically knocked me out of bed by itself. Shattering glass, tearing metal—the death cry of a damn good car.

The bastard was going ninety. Totaled both cars and nearly killed himself. Turns out he mistook the LTD for one belonging to the dude he thought was fucking his girlfriend.

Why would anyone look for love elsewhere with such a model of loving stability like that guy waiting for her at home? Yikes!

That was the one and only time that my real name ended up on a police report. The law has been after me in several cities, but they never know exactly who they are looking for. I’m a ghost.

A ghost who drives like a demon.

Tonight, I have my sights on a top-of-the-line Ford LTD Crown Victoria, restored from the mid-1980s. Black instead of the dark blue I remember but just as elegant and enormous. Chrome trim, a bench backseat you could fuck in without banging your head on anything. Two big, greasy-looking guys from the city just left her at the far corner of the diner parking lot, and I’m ambling over there now to have a closer look.

The key to going unnoticed late at night is to act casual and relaxed, like you belong. I’m just another guy strolling out of the diner in a hipster watch cap and skinny gray jacket, my hair tucked up out of sight and black-framed glasses covering my eyes.

I picked the outfit at a Goodwill a month ago. I always go incognito when I’m looking for a car to steal. I hadn’t planned to take one right out of a parking lot, but for another ride in my favorite kind of car, I’m tempted to risk it. At least nobody will remember details about me that I can’t instantly change.

It’s a freezing night; my breath steams through the gap in my upturned collar as I cross the parking lot. There’s a huge patch of black ice in the middle of the blacktop; I skirt around it nimbly and move on.

Maybe I shouldn’t take the car. It’s still technically in view of the café windows.

But it’s more than nostalgia telling me to take it. Something in my gut is telling me, too. I notice that the car’s lights are on.

Wait...you’ve got to be kidding me.

The car’s rumbling away, exhaust pipe steaming, heater on, and Frank Sinatra playing on a good stereo. The keys are in the damn ignition! It’s as if they deliberately left it running so it would keep warm.

This means they’re getting a takeout order and will be back in very few minutes. Think fast, Chase!

I go for it!

Without breaking stride, I walk around to the driver’s side, open the door with one gloved hand, get in, shut the door, and check around for any surprises. There’s a tough purple suitcase shoved onto the back seat. What’s in the trunk that they’re using passenger space for luggage? I sling my Goodwill backpack next to it. I buckle in and back up smoothly, just like it’s my car, and I’m pulling out to drive home.

Nothing to see here, everything’s perfectly normal...I drive casual, not too fast, not too slow, keeping away from the patch of black ice.

I make it through the parking lot and maneuver the LTD’s front end is into traffic to make the turn, when I hear a shout. In the rearview mirror, I see two fat goons lumbering out in my direction, coats flapping open, gripping white takeout bags and pistols, the glints of chrome warning me.

Oh hell!

One fires and I lurch forward into traffic, hearing the bullet ping off the frozen asphalt. My wheels slip on the icy road before catching a patch of sand and jolting forward. Another bullet follows, whamming off the back bumper.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Cars in the road stop short for me; nobody wants to argue with a giant, old steel-framed car lunging into traffic. I hit the slick road and spin the wheel just enough; the Ford makes the turn—and the light changes at the corner and locks up traffic on every side. Are you kidding me?

Trapped, I turn my worried eyes back to the parking lot. The two argue, one forcing the other one’s gun arm down like he doesn’t want his car shot up. I can’t blame him—especially since I don’t want more bullets coming my way.

“Come on,” I mutter, counting down the seconds until the light changes. It would be a shitty way to die, holed out over a midrange sedan that hasn’t been a hot property since the late nineties.

They notice I'm trapped and start running as fast as they can across the parking lot. Staring at them in horror…I'm sunk! Even if I abandon the car and run across four lanes of traffic, I will be in reach of their bullets. Chase, you're an idiot! This was a really bad idea!

Then a miracle happens! One I probably don't deserve right now. They run out onto that big patch of black ice without noticing it.

The first guy hits it with the heel of his fancy wingtips and does an awkward split, yelling in alarm and accidentally firing into the air. The second guy can't stop in time and crashes into him. They both go down in a heaving tangle. And I finally remember to blink.

Bye, boys! I bark out a laugh as the light changes and the traffic shifts. I ease onto the accelerator as space opens up...and suddenly, I'm free!

The road is my home. Four wheels on the blacktop, enough room to maneuver, and a good car. That's my idea of comfort. And even after years without one, being in a LTD really feels like I belong.

I drive all the way out of Lloyd, not chancing a stop within city limits. I have no idea who those guys were or why they had guns, but it was pretty damn clear they were guarding either the car or something in it.

The suitcase? Or maybe whatever is filling up the trunk? The contents are probably valuable.

I could use a good score before winter really sets in. It started late this year, aside from one big blizzard in mid-November. A little extra capital would be nice before I shut down until next year.

I'm twenty miles Upstate when the LTD's gas meter starts edging toward empty. The nearest town, West Camp, is a few miles off yet: a collection of houses around a church, a few shops, and a gas station connected to an all-night café.

I'll unfortunately need to ditch this vehicle knowing that livid armed men are looking for it. Best to dump it at the edge of town and use another way back to Lloyd.

After I find whatever those guys were guarding, anyway.

I park the LTD in a lot near the end of town. It's late enough that nobody's around except for the café and gas station, blazing with an inviting light. That’s good; I need coffee and a warm place to wait for my ride.

First things first, though.

I check the suitcase. It smells of some delicate, expensive perfume, and I find a travel bottle—which is of blue-enameled gold in the shape of a fucking peacock. This suitcase belongs to a wealthy young woman who is either really hot or thinks she is.

There’s a half dozen posh, sexy outfits: silk, mostly in shades of blue, including some lingerie for a curvy, busty woman. Not much jewelry, but what’s in there would pay rent on my apartment for a few months. A heavy, lined wool winter coat and a pair of surprisingly sensible leather knee boots take up the entire other side.

“Wow. Who did you fuckers steal this from?” I mutter, checking my peripherals before turning back to the case. My fingers trace the fabric lining, encountering several rectangular lumps.

Those are bundles of cash, I’m sure. The smaller lumps feel like more jewelry. Smuggling? Or someone’s personal stash?

Good news for me, either way. Finders keepers!

I close the back door and go around to pop the trunk. If they left a jackpot like that in plain view, how valuable is what they hid back here?

This could end up being one hell of a payoff! Maybe even worth almost getting killed for?

I walk back and pull the trunk lid open; the tiny light pops on. I stand there blinking for a moment, staring down.

A large, canvas laundry bag, the heavy kind you can drag four loads in, fills almost the whole space. The curled shape inside sets off alarm bells in the back of my head—especially since instead of the smell of dirty laundry, the delicate scent of that same perfume wafts at me.

“Oh shit!”

I start untying the heavy rope fastening the bag like a giant drawstring and tug the bag opening to loosen it. Almost at once, something makes my heart sink even further: a soft tuft of strawberry blonde hair.

“Please don’t be a cadaver.” I undo the bag further and tug it down over her face. “Please be alive. I didn’t even know you were back here...”

She’s beautiful. Soft features go with the lustrous hair and full lips. She’s maybe twenty? Her cheeks have color. She breathes.

“Oh, holy crap! Okay. You really scared me for a minute there, lady.” I free her from the bag; she’s dressed in leather pants and jacket with a silk blouse underneath.

She stirs. I notice a small bruise on the side of her neck centered around on a red mark. An injection site?

No wonder she was so still and quiet. She’s drugged! Maybe just coming out of it with the cold air hitting her?

“Hey,” I pat the side of her sweet face. “Hey, wake up, we’ve got to move.”

Kidnapping? They were kidnapping her! Holy shit, I just rescued a loaded kidnapping victim!

That’s promising. Maybe not as promising as walking off with her stuff, but a guy like me always needs more rich friends. Especially if they are heart-breakingly beautiful and owe me big time.