CRUEL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 2), page 1
CRUEL
The Buck Boys Heroes Series
Deborah Bladon
FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, 2022
Copyright © 2022 by Deborah Bladon
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 9781926440682
ISBN: 9798419847026
Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media
deborahbladon.com
Contents
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
I Like Big Books
A Preview of Starlight
Chapter One of Starlight
Also by Deborah Bladon
Thank You
Join Deborah’s Mailing List
About the Author
Chapter One
Juliet
“Do you have protection?”
That question doesn’t surprise me in the least. My older sister is always looking out for me. It’s one of the reasons she bought this luxurious two-bedroom apartment in the heart of Tribeca.
Before she moved to New York City, I lived in a cramped room at an airport hotel. It was cheap and close to public transportation, so the commute to my workplace in midtown Manhattan was long but not horrible.
Living in Tribeca has made the trek to the office much more enjoyable.
It’s even better for Margot. Since she relocated the offices of her lifestyle brand to the east coast from Los Angeles, it takes her less than five minutes to get to work.
Slipping on a faded denim jacket over my white eyelet blouse, I glance in her direction.
Margot is old-school-movie-star beautiful.
Her blonde hair is usually styled in a flawless French twist. Her blue eyes are always rimmed with just the right amount of eyeliner and mascara.
Her best friend, who works as a chemist at one of the country’s premier cosmetic companies, formulated a lipstick shade for Margot for her birthday. It’s called Crimson Plum, and when I tried a sample, I admit I looked like a clown.
I can’t pull off bright red lipstick, but on Margot, it only adds to her allure.
I stick with pale shades for my lips, black mascara to accentuate my hazel eyes, and loose waves for my long brown hair.
“I don’t need protection,” I assure her as I wrap my black and white polka dot scarf around my neck. “I’ll be fine, Margie.”
She sticks out the tip of her tongue the way she always does when I use her childhood nickname. “You have that whistle I gave you, don’t you? And you remember all those moves we learned in the self-defense class we took together?”
I strike a pose with my arms stretched in front of me and one knee bent in the air. I tilt my head and plaster on the scariest expression I can muster. “This was one of them, right?”
Margot shakes her head. “I’d run for the hills if I saw you on the street doing that.”
I straighten my knee and drop both hands to my hips. “I’m good then.”
“I’m coming with you,” she announces, dragging herself off the couch. “I can watch this episode later.”
“No,” I say loudly enough that it stops my sister in her tracks.
She’s wearing sweatpants and a concert tour T-shirt. Her hair is tangled in a mess around her shoulders.
Margot is the epitome of style. She only digs out her comfortable clothes and turns off her phone when she needs a break from the high pressure of her job.
“What?” she questions with widening eyes. “I can come with you if I want, Juliet.”
I refuse to allow her to interrupt her mini staycation to trudge to midtown Manhattan with me. By tomorrow morning, she’ll be back in the trenches, running her multi-million dollar company. Tonight, I want her to be Margie Bardin, lover of period romances. Sitting in front of the television, binge-watching her latest obsession that is chock-full of dukes and duchesses, is where she needs to be.
She approaches me with hurried steps until she’s standing right in front of me.
“Remember what dad taught us.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your keys so I can give you a refresher before you leave.”
I dig my keys out of the front pocket of my black jeans and deposit them in her palm even though I’ve never forgotten the trick our father taught us when I was fifteen and Margot was eighteen. It may have been ten years ago, but it feels like yesterday.
She gathers the keys in her fist before the blade of one of my keys peeks out from between two of her fingers like a mini jagged knife. “Do this if anyone tries to mug you, Juliet.”
I nod.
She lunges toward me with three stabbing motions. “Jab, jab, cut.”
I hold in a laugh because Margot can’t pull off the tough-as-nails, badass-fighter look.
“Show me,” she says, pushing the keys back at me.
Not wanting to keep the man I’m meeting waiting, I play along to appease her concern by mimicking her motions. “Jab, jab, slash.”
“Ohhh,” her voice trails. “I like that better.”
I pocket my keys and steal a glance around the living room in search of my purse. “I have to run, Margie.”
“I’ll turn on my phone because I need you to call me as soon as he gives you what you want.”
“Why don’t you ever say that after I go on a date?” I wink.
She scrunches her nose. “Let me believe you’re a virgin for at least the next ten years.”
“I’m not,” I say with a grin. “But, I’ll play along if it makes you feel better.”
“A quick knee to the groin is almost as good as the key trick.”
“Got it.” I take her in my arms for a hug. “I won’t be more than an hour. I’ll meet my informant, find out what he has for me, and pick us up a pint of ice cream on my way home.”
“Mint chocolate chip?” She asks with a perk of one of her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“Done.” I move to kiss her cheek. “Have fun watching the Duke get downright dirty.”
“He does not,” she scoffs. “Or he won’t in the episode I’m about to watch. It’s the third of this season.”
“I’m on the sixth,” I admit. “The third and the fourth are H.O.T., and for the record, his full-frontal nude scene is spectacular.”
She looks toward the television. “Go do what you need to do, Juliet. I have a show to watch.”
Chapter Two
Juliet
I step out of an Uber on Madison Avenue. I would have taken the subway, but my sister’s mini self-defense course ate up a bit of my time. That, along with a conversation I had with one of the doormen of our building, set me back by fifteen minutes.
Ricky, the doorman, had a host of questions for me about an online article I wrote two weeks ago. He’s always telling me he’s my number one fan. I take pride in my work, even if this job isn’t my ultimate end goal. It’s a step up the ladder toward the future I desperately want.
I spot the man I’m meeting right away.
He insists that I refer to him as my informant, but I see him as a helpful aid in my pursuit of the meat and bones of the stories I’m assigned.
“Juliet!” he yells my name while waving a hand in my direction.
For an informant, there is nothing discreet about Bradley Degati.
A waft of purple hair sits atop the middle of his head. His brown eyes are behind a pair of orange-rimmed eyeglasses, and the suits he wears are never the standard navy blue or black. Today, it’s powder blue with a red vest. His pants are always hemmed a few inches too short, so that he can show off his colorful socks.
“Hey, Brad.” I smile as I approach him.
He gives me a big bear hug. “You’re looking fantastic tonight.”
I spin in a circle on the crowded sidewalk. “Thank you. I’m liking your look too.”
“This little number,” he says, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. “Trudy
I have to agree with him.
Trudy Degati’s personality and presence are just as infectious as her husband’s.
“Do you have something good for me?” I ask with hope.
I’ve been chasing a big story all week, and when I shared those details with Brad, he told me he’d do his best to help me out. When he called me an hour ago to ask me to meet him outside of a restaurant, I knew that it had to be good news.
“Let’s take this around the corner,” he suggests.
I go along for the walk because it’s become part of our routine. When we do the exchange of money for information, Brad prefers that it be on a side street or in a mostly-empty café.
We step into a narrow alleyway between two brick buildings.
His hand dives into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He tugs out a flash drive. “Pictures! I have pictures!”
“You don’t,” I say in disbelief. “How? When?”
“I do.” He laughs. “Someone took the pictures this morning at their studio.”
Someone is code for Trudy.
Brad has never come right out and admitted it, but the trail to his source isn’t long and winding. His wife works with some of the biggest names in entertainment, and many social media influencers, including a particular one who is rumored to be on the cusp of an engagement with her recently retired NFL superstar boyfriend.
“You’re telling me you have pictures of Corla Berletti’s engagement ring?” I lower my voice. “Actual pictures of the ring?”
“Fucking amazing pictures of the ring, if I do say so myself.” He brushes a hand over his shoulder. “I’m talking high definition. You can almost feel the weight of all ten carats when you look at the photos.”
My jaw drops. “Ten carats?”
“Princess cut, and a white gold band engraved with his initials. Corla might have taken the ring off briefly this morning when she was trying on a wool dress. I’m not confirming that mind you, but the possibility exists. So you’re getting pictures of the ring on and off her finger. You’re welcome.”
I plant both hands on Brad’s shoulders, push up to the tiptoes of my boots, and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
Stepping back, I slip the strap of my purse over my head so I can dig out the money I brought with me.
“Did your sister insist you tie yourself up in the strap of that bag?” Brad chuckles.
“Of course she did,” I say with a laugh. “She won’t let me leave home without it wrapped around me like a crossbody bag. She doesn’t get that the strap is too short for that, so I always feel like my chest is being crushed.”
He holds out a hand. “The strap can be lengthened. Let me do that.”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “I want to pay you first. I brought five hundred cash. That works, right?”
He nods. “It’s going directly into our Maui mad money account.”
Brad is saving the money I give him for a surprise trip to Maui for his and Trudy’s fifth wedding anniversary.
He works for a firm on Wall Street. He’s convinced that the stress of that will melt into the sand in Hawaii when he’s sunning himself next to his wife and sipping on a tropical drink.
I slide the money out from a zippered compartment within my purse.
I hand him the cash just as he slips me the flash drive. I tuck it away in the same zippered compartment for safekeeping since it’s worth more than its weight in gold.
“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Juliet.” Shoving the money into his pocket, he smiles. “Give me the purse so I can fix the strap before I run. I’m meeting Trudy for dinner. I’d invite you, but it’s romantic, and you would be…”
“I’d be the third wheel,” I finish his thought.
He makes quick work of the strap, adjusting it so it’s a few inches longer. “You’ll be able to breathe now and still make your sister happy.”
I take the purse back. “You’re a lifesaver.”
His phone chimes in his pocket. He yanks it out to look at the screen. “It’s my beauty queen. She’s already at the restaurant. I need to run.”
Before I can say a word, his back is turned to me as he sprints out of the alley.
My gaze trails him. “Thanks again, Brad!”
“You’re welcome, sunshine,” he calls back before he disappears out of view.
I take stock of where I am.
If I cut through the alley, I’ll be on the same street that houses the ice cream shop that Juliet loves.
She claims that they make the best mint chocolate chip in the city. Since she almost always eats the entire pint when I bring one home, I trust her opinion more than my own.
I start in the direction of the store as I dig my phone out of my purse to send my sister a text telling her that I made it through my meeting in one piece.
Without warning, I feel a sharp and sudden tug on the strap of my purse.
It’s dangling at my side, but it doesn’t take me more than a second to realize that there is a hand wrapped around it that doesn’t belong to me.
The hand is large and covered with a dusting of dark hair.
Panic darts through me as I tuck the purse close to me, trying to counter the man’s strength.
“No!” I scream. “Stop!”
He lets out a grunt, and before I can fathom what’s happening, I’m struck with a pain in the back of my head that takes me to the ground.
Chapter Three
Juliet
The throbbing in the back of my head is losing the war against the biting pain coming from the left side of my forehead.
I’m still holding tightly to my purse even though I’m on my side on the concrete. I’m determined not to let the big ogre standing in front of me steal it away.
“Get lost!” I scream up at him.
He bares his teeth as if that’s going to scare me. “Give it to me,” he snarls.
“No!” I kick at him, trying to ward him off as he yanks harder and harder on the strap.
With one final tug, the purse slips from my hands, sending almost everything inside of it onto the ground around me.
Suddenly, the guy stumbles forward, and his hands fly in the air. He crashes onto the pavement less than a foot from where I am.
I inch back on my ass in a desperate attempt to get away from him.
“Leave her the fuck alone.” A man’s deep voice catches me off guard. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The mugger is on his knees trying to get up, but he’s knocked down onto his side, pulling a loud wailing sound from him.
“Give me your scarf.” The mysterious voice overpowers the whimpering coming from the assailant.
Unable to resist the temptation to see the face attached to that mesmerizing voice, I look up.
I come face-to-face with utter perfection in a black suit.
Inky black hair that brushes the collar of his black shirt, blue eyes, and full lips greet me. His Greek God nose and chiseled jawline suits everything else on his model-worthy face.
I’ve seen gorgeous men before, but this man blows all of them out of the water.
“What?” I whisper.
“Give me your scarf,” he says again, pausing between each word. “Now.”
I quickly tug my scarf free and offer it to him, all while the man who tried to steal my purse is writhing on the ground, being held in place by one of the brutally handsome man’s hands.
