DIrty Dark Deceit: A Criminal Bad Boy Standalone Read online

  MORE BY LACEY ALPHA:

  DIRTY DARK DESIRE (A CRIMINAL BAD BOY STANDALONE)

  THE DARKER SIDE OF CANE SERIES:

  The Darker Side of Cane

  CANE: The Darker Side of Cane (Jonah's POV)

  The Darker Truth of Cane

  CANE Volume 2: The Darker Truth of Cane (Jonah's POV)

  The Darker Touch of Cane

  CANE Volume 3: The Darker Touch of Cane (Jonah's POV)

  The Darker Love of Cane

  CANE Volume 4: The Darker Love of Cane (Jonah's POV)

  The Darker Shades of Cane

  CANE Volume 5: The Darker Shades of Cane (Jonah's POV)

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  Melisa Dare, Lisa Boltiador, Mirela Kombic, Irma Elena Sage, Margaret Stephenson-Ritchie, Camilla Thomsen, Christine Raine Jalili, Melissa Boldig, Kriss Theibault, Kris Bookhagen, Fran Reading, Rachel Lynn Miller, Arc Blue, Samantha Livingston, Beth Edwards, Laura Lee, Michelle Poe, Angela Swisher, Jennifer Wong, Elizabeth Jones, Maria Hunt, Shawna Marie, Marilyn Marshal-Lazou, and Beth Edwards.

  Dirty

  Dark

  Deceit

  By

  LACEY ALPHA

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Published by Lacey Alpha 2017

  Copyright 2017 Lacey Alpha

  All rights reserved

  Lacey Alpha has asserted her right under the copyright, designs and patents act, 1998, to be identified as the author of this work.

  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 persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Love comes slyly,

  like a thief...

  DARCY

  It all started with a watermelon.

  My day was going just fine, I'd decorated Mum's house to perfection for my little sister's twelfth birthday and thought I'd gotten everything right. But no. Mum had to point it out. There was no watermelon for the watermelon punch. And watermelon punch was Kelly's favourite.

  I was sent on my search through the suburbs of London - on a Sunday morning, no less - so everything was predictably closed.

  After racking up what I was definitely counting as my daily exercise, I spotted the lights on in a corner shop. I dashed across the street, thanking the universe. Because if I went back there without a watermelon, Mum was going to be pissed. Then she'd take her mood out on Kelly for the rest of the day and I simply wasn't going to let that happen. Mum with her damn OCD. It's like pandering to a kid sometimes.

  I rush into the shop, smiling broadly at the bored-looking shop keeper. His lips vaguely lift in response and I head through the aisles, hunting for the fruit section.

  It's sparse to say the least. But my eyes go round at the singular, largest juiciest watermelon I've ever seen.

  Score.

  I grab it, tucking it under my arm, singing my praises in my head.

  Well done, Darcy, you saved the day again.

  I'm the only one that indulges Mum's OCD. So she puts on me, a lot. I can't help it. My dad left her because of it, for heaven's sake. And she'd never let us forget that fact.

  I pay for my watermelon and walk triumphantly from the store, head held high, a spring in my step.

  I walk into the road, forgetting to look both ways and am rewarded with a screech of car tyres and a blaring horn.

  I stumble backwards just in time, but the watermelon slips from my fingers, landing with a heavy thunk onto the silver car bonnet. As if in slow motion, it rolls off the car, sails through the air and smashes into pieces on the ground.

  My mouth drops open in horror.

  The car door goes wide and I momentarily forget my watermelon disaster as the hottest guy I've ever seen emerges from it. He's all dirty blonde hair and stubble, his eyes hidden behind a pair of reflective aviators. He pushes them forcefully onto his head, revealing deep blue eyes, glimmering like lapis lazuli.

  I'm jolted out of my astonishment as he storms toward me, turning and gazing down at the massive dent in his bonnet.

  He rounds on me, glaring.“You dented my fucking Porsche!”

  My shock melts into fury and I plant my hands on my hips. “You smashed my watermelon!”

  He glances at the broken pieces of fruit at his feet. “Who gives a shit about your watermelon? Look what you did to my car.”

  I steady my gaze on him. This man doesn't know the worth of that watermelon and I'm not going to stand here wasting my time on an explanation.

  My lungs squeeze a ragged breath past my lips and I turn to leave.

  He snatches my wrist and white hot energy races through my body. The kind of feeling only an arsehole with a pretty face can give you. I've felt it before and I vowed never to let myself get sucked in by it again.

  I rip my arm away, anger flaring through me.

  “You owe me,” he growls and fear flutters through my heart at his tone.

  “And you owe me a new watermelon,” I demand, standing my ground. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to find that one?”

  “I don't give a fuck about your watermelon!” he roars, his eyes flaring.

  With a sharp kick of his foot, he sends the only salvageable wedge of fruit careening into the road. It skids to a halt on the tarmac where it's promptly run over by a truck.

  I glower at him.“You're gonna regret that.”

  I shove him in the chest.

  I know it's an overreaction.

  I know I dented his stupid car. But I have just spent my entire morning playing nice, biting my tongue, doing as my mother says, and now this arsehole has taken away the one single thing that could make this day go smoothly!

  He grabs my wrists, looking alarmed. “What is your deal, sweetheart?”

  “Don't call me sweetheart, arsehole,” I snap and his fingers wind around my arm, his expression volcanic.

  “You better adjust your tone with me. Do you have any idea what I'm capable of?”

  I scan him over again, taking in his light grey jeans and white shirt. I meet his eyes and a shiver runs through me.

  My cheeks flush as I glance from the gorgeous pissed off guy to the massive dent in his car.

  “No,” I answer simply.

  “Well you're about to find out.” He snatches out his phone, dropping his eyes to the screen.

  I glance up the road, considering making a run for it. I'm fast. I like to run. And I know this area well, c
ertainly better than this guy. He looks like he's from the West of London, probably owns a house in Chelsea square.

  “Give me your-”

  I run, not hearing a word more, sprinting across the road and darting down an alley. It leads past the park. I could cut through it, take a left down Kipling Road then I'd be just two streets from home.

  Footsteps sound behind me, pounding heavy and fast. “Hey!”

  I glance back, finding the guy pursuing me.

  Fuck!

  I run flat out, darting into the park and shooting across the green grass at high speed. It's damp, soaking my feet through my little pumps. What I'd give to be wearing trainers right now!

  I make it to the gate on the other side. Its a damn kissing gate so I have to swing it open and move around the middle to get to the other side. I do so just as the guy catches up, snatching the bars and pushing so I'm squashed back into the curved railing behind me.

  “Now I've got you,” he snarls and there's so much intent in his expression that I'm slightly terrified.

  I wriggle my hips, attempting to get free but he's got me pinned.

  I take hold of the bars next to his hands, pushing back. It doesn't budge an inch, his strength overwhelming me.

  I pant, trying to catch my breath.

  “You haven't got me,” I snip. “I'm still on the other side of this gate.”

  “Look, I'm not going to make you pay for the car. “ His eyes flip up and down me. “Obviously you can't afford it.”

  I huff my irritation at the remark. “So why are you trapping me in a kissing gate?”

  His eyebrows lift and there's a brief flash of amusement in his eyes. “Because you still owe me something. I'm not letting you walk away from this. You need to take some responsibility.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, shoving the gate again, my leg beginning to throb where it's caught.

  “You smashed my watermelon, can't that be my payment? It's going to cost me an afternoon in hell as it is.”

  He considers my words. “Sorry sweetheart, no can do.” He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone.”

  “What? Are you robbing me now, too?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Just give it to me.”

  Considering I have to do something to get him to release me, I wriggle my iPhone out of my jeans. He takes it through the bars, keeping one hand firmly pressed on the gate.

  “Yeah, like I want you 4th generation iPhone with a crack in the screen,” he mutters, sliding his finger across the pad to unlock it.

  Rage scorches through me at the comment. He has no right to judge my damn phone. So what if it's old? It still bloody works, doesn't it?

  I can't see what he's doing but, a second later, his phone rings. He doesn't answer it, instead, hands me back my phone. The ringtone stops.

  “Now I have your number. And if you don't answer when I call you, you're going to regret it.” He pins me with those deep blue eyes and I find myself nodding, nervous as hell.

  He releases the gate and I slip out of it, rubbing my thigh.

  “Arsehole,” I mutter as I walk away.

  “You haven't seen me close to being an arsehole, sweetheart.”

  I don't turn back, my shoulders bunching at his words.

  Bloody arrogant stupid bloody stupid stupid stupid prick.

  I jog back to Mum's house, watermelonless and pissed off. This day is going to be just great.

  LOGAN

  “Play with me, Logan. Thundercats or Power rangers?”

  I sit with a girl on my knee, toking a spliff in my room. I'm fourteen and who gives a fuck? Life is sweet.“Get out, Adam.”

  “Mum's gonna kill you. I'll tell her you were puffing the bad stuff again.” His little face is round and full of tan freckles.

  “Out, little shit. Out.”

  That fucking girl has just caused me a whole world of shit.

  I jog back to the car, fury burning hot in my veins.

  This job was supposed to be simple. I just had to break into the target's garage, steal the car and drive it to the location saved on my phone. That was it. And I'd have a tidy eighty grand in my pocket.

  Now what the fuck am I gonna do? I can't turn up with this shit show.

  I find drivers beeping their horns at the car I left in the middle of the road. A swift flick of my middle finger shuts them up. Dropping into the driver's seat, I pull away down the street.

  I'm gonna make that girl pay for this.

  She's hot, seriously fucking hot with her little tight waist and golden hair. I'd like to wrap it in my fist and fuck the living daylights out of her for this.

  I check the time. I have no choice, I'll have to take the car to the drop off point. I just hope I don't get fucked over for this.

  Just in time, I pull into the warehouse, dragging up the handbrake and stepping out of the car. At this point I'm pretty sure I'm in a Bond movie. I approach the latest villain whose hairy exterior and slack jaw could only serve him with the name Gorilla.

  Apparently my boss has started hiring apes to do his dirty work. And I don't recognise the one waiting for me. It's always someone different.

  I stride toward him, chucking him the keys.

  “There's a dent in it,” he says bluntly and I bite down hard on my tongue to hold back my retort.

  “I know,” I reply in a low voice. “Some girl dropped a fucking watermelon on it.”

  “Bad luck for you, prick.” He shrugs his huge shoulders. “You know the rules. Perfect condition or no payment.”

  My hands curl into fists. “It's just a dent. A few grand will fix it.”

  “Yeah. It will. Now fuck off.”

  I plant my feet, eyeing up this guy. He's big. They always send the big ones to deal with me, since I laid out a guy a few months ago for trying to short change me.

  “You've got to be fucking with me?” I remark, cracking my knuckles. I could take him on. I've got skill on my side. Even if he is built like a brick shit house.

  “You broke the rules, Chase. No payment.”

  I swing at him, smashing my fist into his jaw.

  He stumbles backwards then marches at me, swinging his ape-arms. “You wanna go, motherfucker? I'll crush you.”

  I jut up my chin. “Give it your best shot, King Louis.”

  The Jungle Book reference sweeps predictably over his head.

  Sadly for me, his fist doesn't offer me the same courtesy and, with a smash to the jaw, I'm floored.

  ¸.•*´♥`*•.¸

  I lay on my sofa at home, holding a bag of peas to my jaw. Mental note: do not take on silver-back gorillas.

  Holy fucking hell, my jaw kills. And it's all because of that girl.

  My spine tingles at the thought of her. Her, with her snippy little retorts and her fucking watermelon.

  She's cost me eighty grand. And I'm not gonna rest until she's paid me back every penny of it.

  And I know just how she's going to do it.

  I take out my phone, pressing call on her number. It rings and rings until I'm certain she's not going to answer. If she doesn't, I'm going to find her. I'll wait day and night in that street, in that park, in that grubby little town-

  “Hello?” she answers tentatively.

  “Hi, it's the guy you fucked over today.”

  “I guessed as much,” she says dryly. “I'm kinda busy right now.”

  There's loud music and girls laughing in the background – is that Justin fucking Bieber? Jesus Christ, why do teenage girls keep paying him to rape the world's ears?

  “I don't give a fuck how busy you are. You're gonna listen to me.”

  She falls silent and I take the cue to continue.

  “You're gonna pay back what you owe me.”

  “I thought you said I couldn't afford it,” she sing-songs. Not taking this seriously, that's a bad fucking move.

  “You can't. Which is why you're gonna do something for me instead.” This should be interesting. The girl's gonna freak. It's inevita
ble. But hey-ho.

  “And what's that?” she asks, her tone lowering, full of disdain.

  “I'll tell you in person. Come to my place tomorrow. I'll text you the address.” My thumb hovers of the end-call button but a small part of me holds out for her answer.

  “Yeah, like I'm gonna come to your house,” she says dryly. “I don't trust you, I don't even know your name.”

  “My name's Logan,” I tell her, sliding my hand behind my head.

  “Great. Now we're really on good terms,” she mocks, pissing me off some more.

  “You've got a smart mouth for someone who's in the doghouse with me. I think you'd be less cocky if you knew me any better.”

  “I better not get to know you then,” she says simply.

  “Stop fucking with me.” Man, this girl. What is her deal? She was the one who caused this.

  I'm. Owed.

  “Well stop swearing at me. You're not exactly giving me any reason to trust you here.”

  I sigh, trying to force my anger away. “Fine. What's your name?”

  “Darcy.”

  “Delightful,” I say with false vigour.

  She laughs and I'm momentarily jolted out of my dark mood. That was a nice sound...

  “Look, I just want you to help me out with something. You'll pay back your debt then we'll go our separate ways and we never have to see each other again.”

  She goes quiet in thought then says, “On one condition.”

  “What?” I snap impatiently. There's only one person that calls the shots in my life, and that's me.

  “You buy me another watermelon. And bring it to my little sister's birthday party who's been dealing with my moody mother all day because of what you did.”

  I shake my head, snorting. “Like I'm gonna do that.”

  “Fine. No deal.”

  I huff angrily, standing. Is she really gonna make me do this? “Give me your fucking address then.”

  “There's that swearing again,” she points out.