L.M. Mountford hopes you have enjoyed Give Us Bad Boys & Billionaires.
Now please enjoy this preview from the sexy and thrilling intro to his Rogue Warrior Trilogy.
Downtown Port Angeles looked rather like uptown, midtown, and every other residential part of the city. A varied collection of single and two-storey timber fronted cottages with paved driveways and big front gardens. The whole place had the feel of a quaint little suburbia where everyone and their dog knew your name and your business.
In other words, what I’d call hell.
Fortunately, I wasn’t here to admire the view. I wanted answers, and according to Ned’s scribble, Miss Porter lived at 13 King’s Way. The name meant nothing to me but courtesy of my phone’s Maps App, it didn’t take long to navigate the warren and turn the Porsha off West 10 Street. For all the grandeur of its name, King’s Way proved to be just another quiet little street ending in a cul-de-sac with about half a dozen single storey cottages around it.
Number 13 was the first on the left. A single storey cottage painted baby blue, with a wraparound porch, likewise painted cedar red, and a 2004 Ford Explorer Sport Trac 4x4 on the drive.
I parked the Porsche up behind the pickup, killed the engine, climbed out and marched up to the house, not caring if she was alone or if someone was in there with her. If I was lucky, maybe she had a boyfriend over and I could work out some of this frustration on his face.
Until then, her door would do. I knocked three times, banging my fist against the wood hard enough to make it rattle in the frame. Then I waited.
Damn her, I got her that fucking job back, so what was her problem? What was she playing at?
I knew I needed to breathe. I was pissed off and had to calm down, but I wasn’t in the mood for all that crap right now.
“Coming!” Jane’s voice called from inside.
Footsteps approached from the other side of the door. A chain rattled. Then the door opened and Jane Porter stood there in a pair of tight little white shorts and a blue and red checked shirt, her hair tumbling down her back in a wash of raven waves and smiling as she read something on her phone. “Mrs Wilde, I’m afraid this isn’t really a great time, ‘cause I just lost my job and I- you!” Her smile dropped when she looked up and saw me standing in her doorway.
Praise where praise is due, Miss Jane Porter was not slow to react. No sooner did she see me than she was slamming the door in my face. It’s not exactly an original move, though. Nor was it the first time someone had tried it. I shouldered my way through before she could shut it all the way. She almost went with it, skidding backward, but I caught her wrist and twisted her round, driving her back against the wall. The door swung closed behind us as I slapped a palm over her mouth to keep her from screaming and stepped in close enough to pin her there, caging her with my body.
I expected her to fight. To lash out and squirm, or kick, bite and scratch at anything she could reach with all that fiery spirit she’d shown when Roy and his mates had surrounded her. Instead, she just stood there, with her arms hanging at her side and eyes as large as dinner plates.
“Scream, and I’ll gag you, understand?” I warned, keeping my voice low and level but looking dead into her eyes so she knew I meant it.
She nodded slowly. Or, at least, gave as much of a nod as she could with half of her face in my hand and nowhere to move. Still, I had to give her points for effort.
“Good,” I said, forcing a little smile to soften my expression as I eased my hand back a little. “You know, you should really check who’s at the door before you open it.”
“Please…” she whispered, her voice shaky, clearly too unnerved for levity. “What… what do you, I mean, what are you doing here?”
“Why did you quit your job?”
“What?” She blinked, as if that was the last thing she’d been expecting.
“You heard. Why did you quit your job at the bar? Last night you said you needed it, so I got it back for you. Now I hear you’ve quit, and I want to know why.”
My question seemed to steady her, however, and she visibly hardened under my interrogation. “Because of you, you asshole!” she spat back, suddenly all fire and venom. “Because of what you did.”
“Me? What did I do?” It was my turn to play dumb. Admittedly, it helped that I didn’t have a clue what she was going on about.
“Don’t bother. I saw Ned’s face! You beat him to a bloody pulp!” She accused, beating her hands on my chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t just go around beating people to get what you want! And why? To get me my job back after you fucked it all up! Do you think I’d accept anything from you after what you’ve done?”
Oh fuck!
That’s what this was all about. The beating the Russians had given Ned. Of course she’d think that was my handiwork work, why wouldn’t she? She hadn’t known he’d had company when I arrived and sounds like she hadn’t stuck around long enough to ask.
No wonder she’s pissed off.
I backed away a step, giving her some space, raising my open-palmed hands in a universal show of innocence while trying to calm the fuck down. “Hey, hey, cool it, I didn’t do that.”
“Fuck off!”
“Really, Scout’s honour, he was like that when I found him, and anyone at the bar will tell you I didn’t do that to him.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? How?”
“Because he looks too damn good.” Probably not the best choice of words, but I couldn’t help myself. Fine ass or not, her attitude was really grating on me.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, as cool and as sharp as ice. “Bullshit. Who else would do something like that?”
“Roy and his friends from yesterday, that’s who,” I snarled back through gritted teeth. “They came by to play a game of twenty questions with your boss, and they didn’t like some of his answers. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, chances are he’d be taking a trip into intensive care right about now, with you in the bed next to him, but don’t worry, I took care of it. They’re all sorted. If you don’t believe me, go ask, then you’ll see what it looks like when I give someone a slap.”
She wasn’t in a mood to accept my reassurances and pressed on relentlessly, stabbing a finger into my chest. “Nothing will ever be sorted so long as there are people like you in the world. Yeah, I know your sort. You walk around like you own the place. Like you can do and take whatever you want. Selling drugs and guns, turning honest people into junkies and whores desperate for their next fix! Men like you, and Roy, you’re all the same. Animals! Nothing but dogs fighting over a bone, and you’ll bite anyone that tries to stop you!”
Okay, this time she had gone too far.
This girl had been rude since the moment she first saw me. She’d accused me of beating up her boss- which I hadn’t- and of getting her fired- okay, that I might have had a hand in, indirectly. Now she was calling me a dog and saying I was no better than Roy, a Russian thug that had threatened and abused her. A stinking, filthy Russian animal!
There was a time when she might have been almost right. The streets of New York City were dangerous places. No one lived on them and came out clean, and there were times I’d done things I wasn’t proud of to survive. As a boy, the law of the jungle, that concrete Manhattan jungle, had ruled my life. Then, after Don DeCampo took me in, I had changed. Since the day Turk found me, I’d hurt men. I’d killed them and watched them die, but they were all a part of that dark criminal world, never real people. Never innocent. I’d never stolen from honest people, peddled drugs or made women whores.
And when he put that bullet in my head, I was reborn.
That bullet gave me a second chance, a new life.
A life out of that shadow world for good.
I didn’t care what she’d seen me or anyone else do. That wasn’t an excuse.
I wasn’t a fucking animal.
It was time she learnt that.
Miss Jane Porter had been a very naughty girl.
And naughty girls get spanked.
“Is that so?” I didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed her arm and spun her around to push her against the wall. She gave a small squeak of surprise, then went silent as I cupped her nape. Then I was caging her again, and leaning down I said, “you know nothing about me.”
“Yes, I do, you’re… dangerous,” she whispered, her voice shaky and eyes wide with animal panic.
“And you like it, don’t you?” Catching her wrists, I raised them up over her head and pressed them hard to the wall. Securing them both with my left, I brought my right down.
“What? No! Of course no- Ahh!” She gasped as I gave her right cheek a smack that was a little less than gentle, but produced a very satisfying crack. “What the fuck?”
“It’s not nice to lie.” I left my hand there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her ass in my hands through the thin cotton of her shorts, so soft yet also firm and tight. Only when I was sure that the first sting had faded did I raise the hand again, only this time I brought it down on her left cheek.
This was an excerpt from:
Five years ago, I was the DeCampo Familia’s most feared enforcer, then they killed me…
Now I’m in hiding, a dead man walking.
All I had to do was keep my head down, live a quiet, normal life.
But normal is a hard thing for a man like me.
I might just have been able to manage it, if trouble hadn’t come looking for me
In the form of a feisty barmaid.
A vixen probably half my age, with long raven hair and a backside that promised all sorts of trouble.
Hot, sweaty, all night long sorts of trouble.
I should have stayed away, but I was hooked from the moment she sashayed through the doors of the bar.
And when a few of the patrons started getting rough with her, the old me was ready to give them a lesson in manners.
However, times have changed. I wasn’t in New York anymore and getting into a bar fight with five guys for her honour wasn’t the way to this girl’s heart or into her pants.
Good thing I’m stubborn, because while her attitude might be frosty, the chemistry between us is hot and I’m not about to let her get away.
So first things first, I need to learn her name.
And just hope my past doesn’t catch up with me
and kill me first...
Learn More…
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L.M. Mountford’s goal in life is to be unique, a character who stands out from the crowd that you just can’t help remembering with a bemused chuckle.
A born and bred country boy from the southwest of England, he knew from an early age that he wanted to write and spent most of his time writing story ideas or playing Star Wars on his PlayStation.
Not much has changed over the years, though his stories have grown decidedly dirtier, and he swapped the Star Wars for Call of Duty.
Dubbed the Lord of Lust in 2019 and a firm believer that nothing sells like sex and violence, he loves writing about hard and gritty romantic thrillers, loaded with action men, sassy heroines, and a whole lot of dirty, sexy heat.