GIVE IN: God's Hellfire MC
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
GIVE IN: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (God’s Hellfire MC) copyright 2017 by Naomi West. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
GIVE IN: God’s Hellfire MC
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty – One Year Later
CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
OWNED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blood Warriors MC)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
BROKEN: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Satan’s Wings MC)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Books by Naomi West
CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)
OWNED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blood Warriors MC)
Broken: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Satan’s Wings MC)
STOLEN: The Vanguard MC
SOLD: Jagged Souls MC
RELEASE: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
Hawk’s Baby: Kings of Chaos MC
Outlaw’s Baby: Devil’s Edge MC
Hitman’s Promise: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
DARK SEDUCTION: Millennium Mayhem MC
RIP ME: A Dark Romance
DARE ME: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
Mailing List
GIVE IN: God’s Hellfire MC
By Naomi West
Give in, angel. You belong to me now.
She’s a hellcat running dirty on sin and rage.
I’m a bad man with enough skeletons in my closet to fill a graveyard.
It’s a match made in heaven.
But this filthy romance can only end one way:
With my name on her lips and my hands around her throat.
She knew it as soon as she saw me:
I’m not the type of man who gives up control.
When you’re in my world, you belong to me…
And this sexy little working girl was no exception.
She’s got ice in her veins and fire in her eyes.
Not to mention the schemes running rampant through her brain.
She thinks she can use me.
Hurt me.
Make me plead.
But all those pretty little revenge fantasies can go to hell.
I want one thing from her, and one thing only:
Total f**king submission.
She can try to resist.
But in the end, I always get what I want.
Chapter One
Kaci
I twisted the knob of the hotel room door, my face, lips, and body already set in the “You're the most handsome man I've ever met, and no, I'm not just saying tha
t because of the money” style I'd been practicing for the past four years.
I cocked my hips out to one side, arched my back, and pouted my glossy lips. My heavy eye lids dropped another fraction of an inch, making sure my James would get to fully experience my bedroom eyes before we even made it that far, and I ran a hand through my auburn hair to muss my tresses up a little more. Nothing quite like giving them that “just fucked” look before they even get you out of your dress.
“You're early,” I said with a smile as I swung the door open. “I wasn't expecting you for-”
“Kaci? Oh my God, I knew that was you in the lobby!” My words caught in my throat as the boy on the other side of the door pushed his way past me and into the room. Dumbfounded, I just watched him as he came into my room. “I just knew it was you!”
Finally, I found my words, despite my shock. “Rommy?” I asked, my mouth finally working.
My little brother, Romeo Sizemore, had just pushed himself into the hotel room where I was about to fuck a random stranger. I hadn't seen him in going-on four years, ever since I'd run away from the house the night of Momma's funeral. And, wow, he'd changed. He'd grown almost a foot, it seemed, and his face had started to really look like our Daddy's. Same cheek bones, same strong jaw, same dark brown eyes. Now sixteen-years-old, he looked down at me for the first time in our lives.
My heart leaped for joy even as it sunk deep in my chest. He had no idea who I really was anymore, or what I had to do to make it in this world.
Four years can be rough, especially when you start that time by living on the streets. I'll say one thing, though. Paying for rent by working on your back is a hell of a lot easier than living under an overpass. Especially when the rains start up in spring.
He looked around the room, taking the whole thing in. “Sis, you're doing real well here, ain’tcha?” he asked as he ran a long, graceful hand through his tussled brown hair. I'd gotten Momma's dark red hair, he'd gotten our Daddy's brunette. We'd both gotten her lips, though, the little cupid's bow.
“Rommy,” I said, going over to him, my legs wobbling a little in my high heels, “you gotta go. You gotta get outta here.”
“Why?” he asked. “Think Raymond's right behind me or something?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. Raymond Paxton was our abusive stepfather, the one I'd been running from after Momma died, and the thought had occurred to me. But only mildly. My bigger concern, honestly, was that I was on a job just then. The next man at my door was going to be either my next James, or my pimp Abram. It wouldn't do to have either of them walking in while Romeo was here, even if he was my little brother.
“Don't worry, sis,” he said, coming over to me, arms outstretched for a hug. “He's in jail, and he ain't coming back. Bastard's going to prison”
“What?” I asked, shocked for the second time that night, as my brother took me into his arms and gave me a huge hug, the type of hug I hadn't felt in years. It was the type of hug only a kid brother can give an older sister. Warm and strong, with no judgment or malice. The kind of hug that told you the hugger couldn't care less about your past, or that you may have let them down all those years ago.
It was just the kind of hug that said, “I love and miss you.”
I rested my painted-up face against his chest, felt some of my base and powder come off on his shirt.
“He was driving drunk,” he said, and I could almost hear the grin in his voice, “and hit a cop car.”
I stifled a laugh and pulled back from his chest. I looked up into those dark brown eyes of his, marveling at the way they matched mine so perfectly. Four years, come and gone.
“So, you can come home, Kaci,” he said, squeezing my shoulders. “If, you know, you want to.”
I stepped back, breaking his grip, and turned away from him. “Rommy,” I said.
“Or, you know, you don't have. I could come out here, you know.”
For a moment, I realized how much I wanted to go home, to go be with him, or to bring my little brother our here to New Orleans with me. He was alone now, with our stepfather going to prison.
Sure, Raymond was an abusive piece of shit and a total creep. The reason I'd left . . . let's just say a father shouldn't look at his daughter that way. They'd been bad before Momma passed, but were steadily getting worse even before we put her in the ground. But, with Romeo, at least he'd just beat him. He'd still made sure he went to school, had a roof over his head.
Now, who was going to do that? Who was going to take care of my little brother? Me?
I bit my lower lip. Yeah. Me. I could do it. I just had to get away from Abram, first. Hell, I'd run from Raymond four years ago. Why couldn't I just run from Abram, too?
“Kaci?” Rommy asked from behind me. “You okay, sis?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling a little. My brother. I realized then how much I'd tried to stop missing him so much, and how I'd finally managed to. I turned around, that little smile still on my lips. “You're right. Let's go. Lemme grab my purse.”
“Just like that?” Rommy asked, grinning from ear to ear. His sister had just come back to him, of course, and he sure as hell had a reason to smile that way. “But, you've got this room for the night.”
I chuckled a little, shaking my head at my brother naivety. I went over and grabbed my purse, then put my hand in his and tugged wholeheartedly for the door.
“Why not just stay here?” he asked as I looked back at him.
“Because, silly,” I said. “If you're going to start a new life, why wait? Just go and do it!”
He laughed, his voice happy and full, echoing in the room. “Sure, Kaci. Yeah, you're right, let's get going.”
My hand went for the door handle, but stopped half-way. I heard the lock's electronic tumbler disengage with a loud click as someone inserted a keycard into the room's reader.
“What's up?” Rommy asked.
“Bathroom,” I said, my voice a quiet hiss as I turned and began to shove him in the room's bathroom. “Get in the bathroom and don't come out.”
“Kaci,” my brother said, his voice lower than before but still too loud. “What the fuck're you doing, sis?”
“Just stay in here and shut the fuck up,” I hissed again.
There was only two men who would be opening the door like this. My next James, or Abram, my pimp. Having Rommy in the room with me if it was the first one wouldn't be too bad, but having him here with the second would be suicide.
“Kaci?” Abram asked from behind me as I shut the bathroom door on my little brother. His thick, Russian accent filled the room with its bravado.
“Right here,” I said, surprising him from being so close.
Abram was tall and lean, like an old fence post. Scars covered his hands and, even in the well-tailored suits he always seemed to wear, he looked like a thug. Something about the way he walked, the way he appraised a room or the men he met on the street, like he was sizing everything up to see what kind of threat you would be. And, if you weren't determined a threat, too bad. That just meant you were easy prey. Tonight, with his black suit and gray shirt, he looked even more like a predator than usual. Like a lean wolf, or a hungry shark swimming around the beach.
He took a step back and looked me up and down, like he was appraising me and my looks, determining whether I was up to his snuff.
Abram had picked me up from another pimp a year or so before. I wasn't sure of the exact details, just that he'd shown up at the apartment I shared with one of the other girls, and told us there were going to be changes. When Sydney, my roommate and best friend, asked about what happened to Carson, our old manager, Abram just told us not to worry. Carson wasn't around anymore. He'd had an accident.
There wasn't a funeral, and nobody was ever found. We never reported him missing, either. Carson had been kind of a dick, and hadn't exactly been gentle if you were short on money. Abram, though, made lots of threats. But at least he never beat us.
With his eyes poring over my body, I
sucked in my stomach a little, lifted my chin higher, pushed my shoulders farther back. I knew I was hot, I knew I was dripping sex appeal. I just hoped it was good enough for Abram, good enough to satisfy him so Rommy and I could get out of here.
“You alone here, koshechka?” he asked.
“Yeah, Abram,” I lied, “of course I am.”
“I heard a man,” he said. “No man in here?”
“No,” I said, furiously shaking my head. “My James hasn't shown up yet.” God, if he found Rommy in the bathroom, I didn't know what he'd do. Beat him? Toss him out? I'd probably get some of his fists, too.
His eyes bored into mine, seemed to reach into my soul.
Inwardly, I was sweating bullets. Outwardly, I just shrugged. I bit my lip a little, tried smiling to reassure him.
“Dah,” he said, nodding a little. He pushed past me and went to stand in the middle of the room, just like Rommy had a scant few minutes before. He turned to me and made a gesture with his hand, ordering me to turn around for him. He liked to inspect his wares before they were delivered.
I spun around for him, my skirt riding up a little on my butt.
“Good,” he said. “Very good. Want you pristine, perfect for The Don when he get here.”
“The Don?” I asked as I took a step forward, my curiosity piqued despite my nerves being on edge about my little brother hiding in the bathroom. “Who's the Don?”
“Trump,” he said, laughing.
I shook my head, not getting the reference. “Who?”
“Joke, joke,” he said as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. He took his phone out, fiddled with it for a moment as he spoke. “Here, this the Don.” He handed me the phone, a picture of a man pulled up on the screen.