Playing With the Criminals, page 1
Playing with the Criminals
A MFM Menage Romance
S.E. Law
Copyright © 2019 by S.E. Law
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Cover Couture
Photo (c) Hot Damn Stock
Photo (c) Shutterstock/PlusOne
Created with Vellum
Also by S.E. Law
Forbidden Fantasies
My Fiance’s Dad
Trailer Park Daddy
While He Watches
Her Secret Baby
The Clients
Hunger
My Dad’s Best Friend
My Best Friend’s Dad
Trapped By My Boss
Sweet Treats
The Man of My Dreams
His Candy Cane
Her Juicy Cherry
Her Honey Pot
Second Helpings
Sugar Walls
Please and Tease
Forbidden Fruit
Band of Brothers
Her Italian Wedding
Double XL
The Boyfriend Diaries
The Boyfriend Diaries
Mommy’s Ex
Mommy’s Boss
Mommy’s Landlord
Daddy’s Christmas Gift
Daddy’s Holiday Baby
Daddy’s Love Child
Made for Them
Built For Them
Sugar and Spice
The Naughty Party
Blackmail Fantasies
Blackmailing My Dad’s Best Friend
Blackmailed By My Dad’s Boss
Blackmailed In The Boudoir
Blackmailed By My Teacher
Irresistible Bachelors
Sweet as Candy
Must Be Love
Meant To Be
Standalones
You’re Mine
Boss of My Panties
Naughty Relations
About My Daddies
About Last Night
About This Morning
About That Evening
Playing with Them
Playing with the Doctors
Playing with the Criminals
Playing with her Priests
Healing Hands
Dr. Feelgood
Dr. Man Candy
Contents
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About This Book
1. Annie
2. Annie
3. Annie
4. Annie
5. Annie
6. Burke
7. Bruce
8. Annie
9. Annie
10. Burke
11. Annie
12. Annie
13. Burke
14. Bruce
15. Annie
16. Annie
17. Burke
18. Bruce
19. Annie
20. Bruce
21. Burke
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: You’re Mine
Sneak Peek: Daddy’s Christmas Gift
About the Author
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About This Book
Me, with two gorgeous criminals? It seems impossible because the two men literally broke into my room in the middle of the night. The huge thugs were planning on taking my valuables, but instead, I got a look at their crown jewels.
* * *
Burke and Bruce Magellan are hardened, tough-as-nails criminals with sculpted bodies, perfect lips, and rough yet sensitive hands that make my mouth water.
* * *
When they broke into my room one night, at first I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I lie motionless in bed or cry out for help? I shivered in fear, not knowing what to expect.
* * *
But soon, the brothers had me crying out in an entirely different way.
* * *
Yeah, whoops! The two men were supposed to rob my family blind …
* * *
… but now, all I want is to see their crown jewels every night.
* * *
Playing with the Criminals is a sinful tale involving two OTT alpha males set on claiming their sweet but not-so-innocent heroine. There are no swords that cross because this story is all about HER. Reader beware: Not responsible for Kindles that ignite.
* * *
As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
1
Annie
“Annabel?” my dad mumbles from the head of the dinner table with his mouth full of food. It sends shivers down my spine as if he’s scraped his nails over a chalkboard. I hate it when he calls me that. I tried to tell him once that I want him to call me “Annie” like my friends do, but he’d glared at me so dangerously that it discouraged me from ever asking anything from him again. Then, he told me that anyone who called me by anything other than my birth name would never be welcome at the house.
“Yes, Father?” I force myself to reply, keeping my eyes on my plate. Calling Roger “Father” is easy: it feels appropriately cold and distant. It’s calling him “Dad” or “Daddy” that would be odd. That would be too warm and accepting, like I belong here with him when I don’t.
“You will look at me when I speak to you,” he says arrogantly as he continues eating, and the tone of his voice compels my gaze up to meet his. But Roger’s not looking at me because he never does. It used to hurt and make me feel invisible and unimportant, but that was when I still cared to win his affections, and when I still wanted to make him proud. I gave up on that a long time ago.
“I hear you got an A-minus on your math test this week,” he announces in the same arrogant tone as he carelessly continues eating, not looking at me. My eyes flash instinctively over to my mother – did she tell him? Marisa’s sitting across from me, but our gleaming mahogany dining table is so vast that I can’t really see her expression. But I don’t need to; her body language says enough. Her thin, graceful frame is taut with tension, like it always is when my father’s around. Her long, thick, blonde hair is twisted in an elegant bun; her black dress shows off her tanned shoulders; and her perfectly manicured hands rest too still on either side of her untouched plate. She avoids my gaze, keeping her green eyes on her wine glass as she starts fingering the stem.
With my curly brown hair, brown eyes, and curvy body, I look nothing like Marisa, and it’s something I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for. I gaze enviously at her small, round boobs, so manageable and so pretty. They’re nothing like my enormous breasts, which come with a round, wide ass. These body parts make it hard to be as inconspicuous and elegant because they’re so out there. I take after the women in my father’s family, which my mother has made no secret of finding “unfortunate.”
“Explain yourself,” my father carries on, slicing into his steak. “How did you let an A-minus happen?” I clear my throat.
“I studied, Father, as I always do. I only got one question wrong, but–” I try to explain but am rudely interrupted by Roger.
“But what?” he asks, cleaning his teeth with his tongue as he sets down his fork and knife to glare at me. He’s challenging me, and I’m not up for the fight. I swallow, trying to find the courage not to back down but it’s hard.
“But I … um,” I continue in a small voice, “I’m still at the top of my class.”
“Are you now?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say in an almost whisper.
“Yes, what?” his voice is starting to sound dangerous now.
“Yes, Father,” I reply, trying to hold my cool. I can sense my mother’s discomfort from across the table, but she does nothing to help me.
“And do you think you’ll stay at the top of your class by being lazy?” he barks.
“Lazy?” I repeat timidly, although I’m unable to completely hide my surprise. I work very hard to keep my place at the top of my class. My father and I have never gotten along, but he’s never called me lazy before. Why would he do that now?
“Clearly, you’re losing your touch. It almost seems as if you don’t care about going to college,” he insinuates coldly. What a ridiculous statement. College is what’s going to get me out of this ice palace. “Maybe you’re finally giving me an excuse to keep you at home.” I turn my gaze back to my mother, unable to hide my shock. This time, she can’t help but protest.
“Roger,” Marisa starts, her voice a little croaky from years of smoking Vogues, but in a way that’s somehow classy. “Don’t you think—” but she’s cut off.
“I think you’ll speak when spoken to, Marisa. Hold your tongue.” To my horror, but not my surprise, Mom goes silent, turning her attention back to her wine glass and avoiding eye contact. I feel disgusted. It never ceases to amaze me how my parents speak to each other. Not that I have much affection for my mother, but I wish she’d at least try to stand up to him. For me, if no one else, but she never has.
“I’ve been thinking, Annabel, that college seems like a huge waste of money,” my father announces as he goes back to his steak. “Everyone knows that degrees are worthless nowadays. It’s not like it was back in my day when a degree would secure you a job.”
“But I’m at the top of my class! I
“That’s what worries me. Good schools are the most expensive. I’m not paying that kind of tuition for four years, Annabel, and that’s final. You only have yourself to thank. I might have given it another thought if you hadn’t had a lapse in grades this week. But clearly, you don’t care as much as I thought you did, so I don’t see why I should.”
“But Father—” I start to protest, but he interrupts me again.
“I said that’s final, Annabel. I will not be questioned about how I spend my money. It’s not going toward a worthless degree you’ll never even use. You’re staying home, at least until you find some other poor sod to leech off of.”
My blood runs cold as I realize what he’s saying. I gape openmouthed at him in shock as I watch him devour his dinner like nothing’s wrong. It’s as if he’s just announced a cancellation of a drink order, and not the demise of my entire future. No one is saying a word. My mother hasn’t touched her food, and for once, neither have I. Normally in possession of a strong appetite — to the consternation of my mother, who is constantly trying to put me on diets – my plate is still full, but for once, I’m not hungry at all.
Bile rises up in my throat as I try to find the words to protest what’s just been announced, but I can’t speak. I’m about to ask to be excused, but our butler, Timothy, arrives at the table carrying the house phone. There’s a call for my father. Roger accepts the handset and starts talking loudly on the phone, ignoring me entirely, so I simply slip away and leave my mother to lie in the bed she made. I used to feel sorry for Marisa, but she chose Roger and married him. And, she’s chosen to not stand up for herself every day since.
No one notices me leave. At least if they do, they don’t seem to care. I walk down the richly padded hallway to my room, forcing myself to stride calmly and to resist the urge to slam the door. Inside my bedroom, I lean against the cool wood of the door, feeling my throat tighten as tears well up in my eyes. But I swallow it all away and pick up my phone to call Jessica, my oldest friend.
“I actually hate them, Jess,” I announce into the receiver as soon as she answers the phone.
“What’s happened now? Are you okay?” her concerned voice comes from the other side of the line. Concerned, but not surprised. Jess knows what I’m talking about because she’s encountered my parents quite a few times now.
“No, I’m not,” I say, choking back tears. “My father is so awful; I can’t believe it. And my mother! So cold and wooden and weak, and she doesn’t do anything when she’s bullied. How is it possible,” I say, my voice trembling, “that the two people who made me are the two people in the world that I don’t resemble at all? In personality or looks? I hate them!”
“Don’t worry, Annie,” Jess says sympathetically. “Senior year is almost over, and then we’ll be off to college, and you’ll be free of them. You’ll only ever have to see them on holidays.” This is what finally pushes me over the edge, and I’m not able to hold back my tears any longer. My eyes brim with tears so that the huge space of my bedroom becomes blurry and my throat tightens up again.
“Annie? Are you still there?” asks Jess with concern in her voice. I swallow hard and try to answer, but it just comes out as a sniffly mumble. “Annie? What’s wrong? What happened?” my friend asks, really concerned this time. I complain a lot about my parents, and Jess is always there for me. She’s heard it all before, but this time it’s different because I very rarely cry.
“Apparently,” I manage, my voice thick with tears, “that A-minus I got in math this week disqualifies me from going to college. Apparently, my degree will be a waste of money. Apparently, I’ll never use it anyway,” I blubber, tears rolling down my face and over my lips.
“What?! What are you talking about?” Jessica exclaims.
“I don’t think I’m going anymore, Jess,” I whisper through my tears. It’s either whisper or wail. “My dad said he thinks it’d be a waste of money.”
“He’s just bluffing! He’s had a bad day or something, and he’s just taking it out on you like he normally does,” Jess says immediately, trying to comfort me.
“I hope you’re right, but I have a feeling Roger means it this time. You know he doesn’t joke about money, and college is a lot of money. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, Jess, for a degree,” I sniff.
“Yeah, but your parents are some of the few who actually have that kind of money. Other people have to scrape and save, but your parents are rolling in it.”
Her comments just make me feel sad.
“Yeah, but those parents love their children, because obviously, mine couldn’t care less.” Jessica has no response to this. She knows as well as I do that I’m right about this sad fact. I’m a nuisance to Roger and Marisa, and they want me out of the way – just not enough to pay that kind of money.
“If there’s one thing Roger hates more than me, Jess, it’s bad investments. He obviously thinks there is absolutely nothing to gain from sending me to college. He’s not going to make more money. Interest isn’t going to compound. And the ROI is bad,” I conclude, tears spilling down my face.
“Listen,” says Jessica in her calmest, most soothing voice. “Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep and see how things look in the morning? Catch your dad at the breakfast table tomorrow morning. You’ve always said he’s in his best mood then. Try to reason with him. Tell him that attending college will mean that you’re out of his hair, and then you can use your degree to fend for yourself. He’ll never have to spend another penny on you after college, so that should persuade him right? But if you stay living with them, without a degree, he’ll always be providing for you.”
I think about this approach. It could actually work even if it makes me feel really sad all over again. “Yeah, I guess,” I say listlessly.
Jess is firm.
“Go to bed, and try it tomorrow morning. I’ll see you at school, and you can thank me then,” she says in a persuasive voice.
What is there do but agree?
“Yeah, will do, Jess. Thanks for everything,” I say in a small voice, trying to keep the hitch out. But my friend knows better.
“Always, sweetheart. Now buck up and get some sleep because you’ll need it for tomorrow morning,” she admonishes before hanging up. Sighing, I put the phone down and look around my room. I should be grateful because I live in incredible luxury. Two priceless paintings adorn my walls: a Salvador Dalí and a Jackson Pollock. Most teenagers have posters of their favorite rock bands, but instead, I have the work of famous artists.
It makes sense though because Roger is an international art collector who became a billionaire by being the best in the business. He’s careful but he also loves to show off, so he keeps his most prized possessions here at the penthouse. My dad sees this place as his to do with as he pleases, and no room is exempt from functioning as an extension of his galleries, including mine. The penthouse is secured like a fortress, and I’m feel like a princess in an ivory tower most days.
Sighing, I cross the vast space of my room to the huge bay window and look out over Central Park directly below. The lights of the city sparkle below me, and it’s a view I never tire of. This penthouse is an incredible place, and yet it’s not a home.
I scold myself. I’m lucky to be living here; other people in New York City would die to have their own room, much less my spacious quarters. I should be happy and grateful, and yet sometimes I wish I could just disappear. I’m afraid to make a sound; to act out; and to behave like a normal, functioning human being most days, all because Roger is so overbearing and controlling.
