The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers Book 2), page 1
The Mercenary Next Door
Rogues and Rescuers Book Two
Lucy Leroux
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This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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The Mercenary Next Door © 2020 Lucy Leroux
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Titles By Lucy Leroux
Making Her His, A Singular Obsession, Book One
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Confiscating Charlie, A Free Singular Obsession Novelette
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Calen’s Captive, A Singular Obsession, Book Two
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Take Me, A Singular Obsession Prequel Novella
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Stolen Angel, A Singular Obsession, Book Three
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The Roman’s Woman, A Singular Obsession, Book Four
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Save Me, A Singular Obsession Novella, Book 4.5
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Trick’s Trap, A Singular Obsession, Book Five
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Peyton’s Price, A Singular Obsession, Book Six
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Codename Romeo, Rogues and Rescuers, Book One
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The Mercenary Next Door, Rogues and Rescuers, Book Two
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Knight Take Queen, Rogues and Rescuers, Book Three
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The Hex, A Free Spellbound Regency Short
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Cursed, A Spellbound Regency Novel
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Black Widow, A Spellbound Regency Novel, Book Two
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Haunted, A Spellbound Regency Novel, Book Three
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Writing As L.B. Gilbert
Discordia, A Free Elementals Prequel Short,
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Fire: The Elementals Book One
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Air: The Elementals Book Two
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Water: The Elementals Book Three
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Earth: The Elementals Book Four
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Kin Selection, Shifter’s Claim, Book One
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Eat You Up, A Shifter’s Claim, Book Two
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Tooth and Nail, A Shifter’s Claim, Book Three
November 2020
Introduction
Falling for the girl next door…
Mercenary Mason Lang never intended to go into this line of work, but with pay this good, he can’t turn it down. The only challenge is getting out with all of his limbs still intact, which is a lot harder than he realized. And when he does, Mason is going to have it all—including the shy and sweet girl next door.
Laila James knew her crush on the gorgeous next-door neighbor was hopeless. And following a humiliating incident, she’d rather just forget him completely. However, when Mason comes back to town and tries to claim her for his own, Laila keeps her resolve. After all, she’s moved on and is even dating someone else.
But Mason isn’t giving up so easily. His instincts go into overdrive as he suspects that the rich, frat boy who latched onto Laila is trouble. Determined to prove that they’re meant for each other, the mercenary has a new mission. Missing his chance the first time around, Mason refuses to lose the only woman he's ever really wanted. Can he make the girl next door fall for him again?
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Lucy Leroux
The Singular Obsession Collection
Cursed
Black Widow
Haunted
Codename Romeo
Knight Takes Queen
Writing as L.B. Gilbert
Discordia
The Elementals Collection
Kin Selection
Eat You Up
Tooth and Nail
To Hell and Back
Chapter One
Mason jerked, his eyes flying open as the brakes of the bus squealed. The lumbering vehicle came to a stop. He grabbed his pack and stood, exiting into the drizzling rain.
Rolling his shoulders, he drew the hood of his jacket up, trying not to be annoyed. I just spent three weeks in a rainforest. He should have been used to it. But rain in Los Angeles was a rarity. Finding it here had been a less-than-pleasant welcome home.
The city needs it. It always did. But that was cold comfort as a fat drop managed to work its way inside his collar, dripping down his neck and under his shirt.
Next time, I’ll stash my car at the airport’s long-term parking, he told himself, aware it was a lie. The bus stopped just a few blocks from his apartment. It seemed stupid to pay the parking fees when he could just ride home after an op.
You can afford it, a little voice told him. But the habits of a lifetime were hard to break. He was no longer a towheaded punk kid in the backwoods of Tennessee, scrabbling for every crumb. His missions paid well, and he saved every cent. For what… he didn’t know, but it was secure in the bank until he figured out what to spend it on.
The few precious things he bought stayed under lock and key—like his car. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but Mason didn’t question the instinct to hoard what he valued.
“What’s the point of having a cherry sixty-nine Camaro if you never use it?” Ethan, one of his buddies, would ask.
“How do you think it stays cherry?” Mason would reply before changing the subject. A car like that was a magnet for thieves. It was safer in his gated slot in the basement when he was away.
The Camaro had been his first big purchase with his Auric Security paycheck. Most people who found out he worked in “security” assumed he was a bodyguard to the stars. He had the build and height for it. Plus, this was L.A., and he made those wraparound sunglasses look pretty damn good. Enough for people to come up to him and ask him what TV show he was shooting.
Shooting.
As if on cue, his mind flashed back to the jungle. The firefight outside that little village had been brutal. His other buddy, Ransom, had been shot, but Mason’s elite Auric team didn’t get paid the big bucks for nothing. They’d gotten their man out in one piece—mostly—and accomplished their mission, the extraction of a kidnapped oil executive and his wife. And Ransom hadn’t been hit bad—just a flesh wound. He’d heal up in no time.
Mason had been telling himself that for a while, but his mind couldn’t stop replaying the moment Ransom was shot. His friend was a bit of a hotdog. He’d been voted the squad’s most likely to get shot three years running, but, this time around, Ransom had been tight, following orders flawlessly.
That was probably why it bugged Mason so much. They could train and run drills until their limbs gave out, but in their line of work, that meant jack. People could do everything right, yet still end up catching a bullet.
Ransom’s injury had been a signal to the powers-that-be at Auric that Mason’s team needed rest. They’d been on back-to-back missions for three months straight without a break. It was in the com pany’s best interests to ensure their highest performing team didn’t burn out.
The furlough had been unexpected, but he was going to make the most of it. A lot of his team lived locally, and tearing up L.A. with them was fun, but with this much time on his hands, he could finally see Ethan in Boston, maybe even visit a few of his cousins back home. One had a new baby. He should pay his respects to the new family member while he could.
His mind full of plans, Mason rounded the corner. His building rose on the far corner. It was one of those utilitarian seventies’ monstrosities—completely hideous by today’s standards, but it was secure and relatively inexpensive. He could have moved to a much nicer place long before now, but saving money was second nature.
Growing up dirt poor will do that to you. But he wasn’t poor anymore. Quite the contrary. And though it was economical, his space had lots of light with a loft bedroom over an open living room and kitchen space. Mason had filled it with plants, his one indulgence. He paid Laila, his neighbor, to water them when he was away, probably too much, but it was worth it to be able to walk into a green living area.
His mailbox was empty, also courtesy of his neighbor. Laila may have been quiet and sometimes squeaked when she talked, but she was reliable.
He went up to his fourth-floor apartment via the stairs, bypassing the narrow two-person elevator in the lobby. Mason didn’t have any friends in the building, but he liked it that way. Home was a sanctuary where if he didn’t feel like talking to anyone, he didn’t have to. Laila was the sole exception, but she was so shy and unobtrusive it hardly counted.
Mason had met the master’s student a year ago, shortly after she moved into the building. The structure only had three units per floor—two double bedrooms, one of which was his. Then there was the tiny and lightless one-room studio crammed into the corner. That one was Laila’s.
He scanned the door, checking for a light underneath, but the studio was dark. Most likely, she was at work or a night class.
She could be on a date. But that was less likely since Laila appeared too shy. He’d never seen her with anyone. Well, almost…
There had been one guy, a fellow student, who had helped her move in. He’d come back a day or two after, wasted. Mason had caught enough of his drunken ramble to understand the little shit believed moving a few boxes entitled him to some action. He’d banged on the door, getting belligerent when she wouldn’t open it.
As a rule, Mason didn’t get involved in other people’s business. He hadn’t even really known Laila at the time, but he’d quickly sized her up at their first meeting. The shy, almost skittish girl had been way out of her depth when it came to the drunk asshole trying to break down her door. So, Mason took care of the problem for her—his way. The punk wisely decided to stay away for the sake of his health.
The next morning, Laila had come over with a buttermilk pie to thank him. He’d tried to send her away without taking it, but that damn pie had weakened his defenses. He still had no idea how she’d guessed it had been his favorite dessert growing up.
He and Laila weren’t exactly friends now, but when he went out of town, he let her water his plants, trusting her with a copy of his key. But he was careful to pay her. Mason didn’t like owing anybody anything.
Not that Laila ever imposed on him. She was too shy for that. That, and she appreciated the cash. Laila was putting herself through school by working at a grocery store near the university she attended. She cooked for the bakery there.
Mason liked the mental image of that, more than he wanted to admit. It was too domestic for his taste, but made for a pretty picture, nonetheless.
Kind of like the rest of her. Not that he’d ever go there. Laila was off-limits. His life was too hard for someone that soft.
Chapter Two
Laila ran to her door when she heard the distinctive heavy tread in the hall, somehow managing to bang her leg on the coffee table in the process.
Damn it, she thought as she limped to the keyhole, knee screaming. The door across the hall closed before she could figure out if it were Mason or their other neighbor.
Of course it wasn’t him. She just imagined it had been because he’d been gone for weeks, and she was hungry for a glimpse of him. Six-foot-two, blond, with more muscles than she could count, Mason Lang was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Except beautiful was the wrong word for that kind of raw masculinity. Her neighbor looked as if he’d been hewn from granite by a master sculptor. A person could cut themselves on his cheekbones. The first time she’d seen him getting his mail, Laila went weak in the knees.
And to think I used to believe that was just an expression.
When she found out the man lived right across the hall, she had to have herself a lie down. Mason was way out of her league.
So what?
A little harmless fantasizing never hurt anyone. It wasn’t as if she’d stripped naked and waited for Mason in his bed when he came home. She wasn’t that pathetic…although some might disagree if they knew she baked for him, too, in addition to watering his plants. But that was no trouble. After cooking at Gardullo’s bakery, whipping up a single batch of her special rocky road brownies or a lemon pound cake took no time at all. Besides, the extra treats were the least she could do considering how well Mason compensated her to look after his plants.
Twenty dollars a day was insane for fifteen minutes of work—although truth be told, some of his plants were fussy. The mosses and his dozen or so orchids were especially demanding. Too little or too much water, and they wilted or died outright.
Laila wasn’t good with plants—cooking was her thing—but Mason had an incredibly detailed list of instructions she could follow, down to the number of sprays each orchid received. As long as she stuck to the list, the plants lived, even thrived. Whenever he was away for more than a few weeks, he rounded up whatever cash he owed her, telling her to put it to good use.
At first glance, Mason Lang didn’t look like the type of man to grow flowers. At second glance, he didn’t look like the kind, either, but his apartment was proof that appearances were deceiving. It was a miniature jungle, an oasis in the middle of their dry urban sprawl.
They never discussed his hobby, but she liked that. People would pass him on the street, they would see his perfect face and hard body, and they’d never know about his meticulously maintained garden. It was like a secret they shared.
And the man had several.
Laila didn’t know what Mason did for a living. All she knew was that he would fly off at a moment’s notice, and his trips could take anywhere from days to a few weeks. This last one had been the longest.
Laila often wondered where Mason went and what he did when he was there. But he never brought it up himself, and she was too tongue-tied around him to ask. Not that he ever engaged in prolonged conversation. She considered herself lucky to get a five-minute chat out of him at a time. But Mason’s gruff manner didn’t put her off. As far as she was concerned, it just added to his mystique. If they did have a real conversation that lasted more than a few minutes, it might shatter her illusions about him. Her crush would die a quick death once he proved he was just like everyone else.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Feeling like a fool, Laila limped back to her couch where her dinner was getting cold. Stalking her hot neighbor was a giant waste of time. If he didn’t like his plants so much, he’d probably never speak to her.
