A dirty business kings o.., p.1
A Dirty Business (Kings of New York), page 1
PRAISE FOR TIJAN
“Nobody writes like Tijan. With addicting story lines and unparalleled prose, she’s always an autoclick author for me.”
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ALSO BY TIJAN
Mafia Stand-Alones
Canary
Cole
Bennett Mafia
Jonah Bennett
Fallen Crest / Crew Universe
Fallen Crest / Roussou Universe
Fallen Crest Series
Crew Series
The Boy I Grew Up With (stand-alone)
Rich Prick
Fallen Crest Campout
Nate
A Kade Christmas (novella)
Other Series
Broken and Screwed Series (YA/NA)
Jaded Series (YA/NA suspense)
Davy Harwood Series (paranormal)
Carter Reed Series (mafia)
The Insiders (trilogy)
Sports Romance Stand-Alones
Enemies
Teardrop Shot
Hate to Love You
The Not-Outcast
Young Adult Stand-Alones
Ryan’s Bed
A Whole New Crowd
Brady Remington Landed Me in Jail
College Stand-Alones
Anti-Stepbrother
Kian
Contemporary Romances
Bad Boy Brody
Home Tears
Fighter
Rockstar Romance Stand-Alone
Sustain
Paranormal Stand-Alone
Evil
Micaela’s Big Bad
More books to come!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2022 by Tijan Meyer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542038416 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781542038409 (digital)
Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson
Cover images: © Georgijevic, © izusek, © Ivan Ozerov / Getty Images
To any and all readers! I hope you enjoy.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE JESS
CHAPTER TWO JESS
CHAPTER THREE TRACE
CHAPTER FOUR JESS
CHAPTER FIVE TRACE
CHAPTER SIX JESS
CHAPTER SEVEN TRACE
CHAPTER EIGHT JESS
CHAPTER NINE JESS
CHAPTER TEN TRACE
CHAPTER ELEVEN TRACE
CHAPTER TWELVE JESS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN TRACE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN JESS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN TRACE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN TRACE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN JESS
CHAPTER NINETEEN TRACE
CHAPTER TWENTY JESS
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE TRACE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO JESS
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE JESS
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR TRACE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE JESS
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX TRACE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN JESS
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT TRACE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR TRACE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN JESS
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT TRACE
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE JESS
CHAPTER FORTY TRACE
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE JESS
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO TRACE
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE JESS
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR TRACE
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE JESS
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX TRACE
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN JESS
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT JESS
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE TRACE
CHAPTER FIFTY JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE TRACE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN TRACE
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT JESS
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE TRACE
CHAPTER SIXTY JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE TRACE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT JESS
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE TRACE
CHAPTER SEVENTY JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE TRACE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX JESS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN JESS
EPILOGUE TRACE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
JESS
Beer and hockey.
That’s where it’s at.
I didn’t know what “it” was and where “it” was, but I was currently sitting at the hockey arena, a beer in hand, watching some holy hottie hockey gods on the ice, so yeah, I was thinking I was where “it” was supposed to be. Life was good. Beer and hockey.
“I gotta take a piss.”
I stifled a grin because only my roommate, who looked like a real-life Barbie, talked in a way that in no way was Barbie-like at all. Made me love her even more for it.
I gave a nod. The second period was ending, and I glanced at my beer. It was a third empty.
I made a decision, right then and there. Because I was decisive—it’s a word that I had to recently explain to a parolee of mine, and I had to explain in detail to the nth degree. She didn’t know what setting goals was or what being decisive meant. I’d enjoyed the conversation. Her eyes were glazed, and her drug test was negative, so I knew it was the topic boring her. Too bad. We both had to endure that conversation, though it wasn’t her that had me needing my current beer. It was the three parolees after her that I checked on. All of them together made me need the last beer, and my next beer was being dedicated to the two home visits I’d be doing tomorrow.
Not looking forward to those, but it was part of the job. So as Kelly was making her way to the stairs, I went right behind her.
Kelly drew the eye. Platinum-blonde hair. A slender and almost model-like body. Blue eyes. Barbie, like I said. She got looks from males and females, and I understood, especially after her recent boob job. She’d been my roommate since college and after. The only time we’d taken apart from each other was when she’ d moved in with a boyfriend-turned-fiancé, who was now an ex-husband. He’d cheated on her, so she got a decent-size settlement from him, and I got my best friend back. Score for me, sucked for him. But the thing I loved about Kelly was that she was flexible. I came home and told her I needed a drink, and she said she won two tickets to the New York Stallions hockey game. It was meant to be, the way I was figuring.
She glanced back, saw me following her.
I tipped my cup up and drained it to her unspoken question.
She turned, going the rest of the way with a laugh. Almost like we’d done this before (because we had), she went for the bathroom, and I went to the beer concession stand.
“Oh, ho, ho, ho. Hey there.”
The jovial greeting sounded out from one of the workers, a big burly guy. I had to take a second to appreciate what I was seeing. I knew this guy. He’d been a parolee in the past, not mine, but I’d been in the hallway a few times he had a disagreement with his current parole officer at that time. He liked to go by the name Jimi Hendrix, but we all called him Jimmy. And with Jimmy, unfortunately, there’d been a lot of disagreements.
So, he was on parole a lot.
“Jimmy.” I was scanning him up and down. He’d lost thirty pounds, which I caught because I needed to know that for my job, but on him, it was barely noticeable. The guy was six five and 310. Or now, 280? I was also noting the beer he was serving. “How are you doing?”
He caught my tone, and his grin upped a degree. “I’m off parole. You don’t need to be worried about reporting me. Finished it, got a good place to live, and got this job. I’m working at a grocery store, bagging groceries, too, Miss Jess.”
That was another thing about Jimmy. I was normally Officer Montell, but Jimmy somehow got away with calling me Miss Jess. A couple of his coworkers were checking me out like I was his ex-lady, and I saw the speculation in their eyes. I had no interest in dating either of them.
“You wanna beer, Miss Jess?”
“Uh . . . sure.” Felt odd taking a beer from a past parolee, but okay then. As he was pouring, still seeing some of the interest from his coworkers, I reached into my purse for my phone and my badge. The badge got hung around my neck. I didn’t need to brandish it here, but they saw it, and it did the job. The interest fell flat, and I got a couple sneers instead.
I pulled up Travis, a coworker, and sent him a text.
Jess: Jimi Hendrix is off parole?
He buzzed back almost right away.
Asshole Coworker 1: Yeah. Why?
Jess: Just wondering, saw him. He looks good.
Asshole Coworker 1: He in trouble?
Jess: Nope. Bye.
My phone buzzed again, but I didn’t like Travis. The feeling was mutual, more than mutual actually. Derek Travis. He’d been up my ass for as long as I’d been working as a parole officer. Didn’t know why or what his problem was since they needed female parole officers. I did my job, did it well, and only butted heads with him a couple of times. But I’d asked about Jimmy because I needed to make sure, and he’d answered. The topic was done as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t going to give him any reason to bug Jimmy, but sometimes they lied, hence the text.
“Here you go, Miss Jess.”
Even with Jimmy’s outbursts or disagreements, I always liked him. He couldn’t handle his temper at times, but he was usually funny about it, swinging on himself more than swinging on others. Ninety-five percent of the time, he didn’t want to hurt anyone else.
“What do I owe you, Jimmy?”
His smile was almost blinding, his two massive hands resting on the sides of the register and his big frame hunched forward and down. That’d been one of his old habits, I was remembering too. He tried to make himself smaller than he was, usually to make others feel more comfortable around him.
“Nothing, Miss Jess. It’s on me.”
I glanced to his coworkers, seeing one watching us with a bit too much interest for my liking. I leaned closer to Jimmy and lowered my voice. “Are you sure that you got the cash on you?”
He started to bolster up, his mouth opening, a pink color coming to his neck, more than what it was, but I kept on. “Because I know you travel with as little cash as necessary. Your heart’s in the right place, but if you find yourself short on the exact cash, I wouldn’t want someone to notice and let your boss know, if you get my drift.” My eyes darted to that coworker trying to listen in. He’d washed the same two-by-two inches of counter eighteen times now.
Getting my drift, Jimmy’s shoulders sank even lower. “Sorry, Miss Jess. You’re right.” He told me the amount I owed, and I handed over the cash. When he started to give me the change, I waved my hand, indicating he should keep it. He was putting it in their tip jar when I headed off.
Going to the stairs, I scanned for our seats. Kelly wasn’t there.
Knowing I’d need a bathroom break myself before too long, I sipped my beer and headed in the direction Kelly had gone.
The line was too long at the first one, but being the slightly buzzed savvy parole officer I was, I knew there’d be more bathrooms farther away from the main area. I kept going, and I had half my beer sipped before I found a door. It said “bathrooms” and had an arrow, so I was following the arrow.
I surged through, and oh crap.
I was in the exit stairwell. I’d made a mistake.
I turned, reaching for the door, when I heard just above me, “—hear about it. I do not care.”
I moved back, angled my head. He wasn’t all the way up to the next floor, but he was halfway up to the top. His back was turned slightly toward the stairway, and he was talking on the phone. “Yes. Yes.”
I should go. That was a private call, not my business.
I pushed the door handle to go out, but nothing. The door was locked.
I was locked inside.
Well, shitters.
I had a beer. I’d soon have a bladder that would need to be emptied, and that guy was still on his phone.
“—wait. Someone is here.”
Oh, double shitters.
I turned when he started down the stairs.
I called up, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know these doors . . .” I trailed off as he turned the corner, now facing me and coming down the stairs directly to me. And I trailed off because good gracious, this man was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen.
He had pretty features. His eyes were a gray-hazel color, and yes, even from this distance, I was struck at how clear they were. His cheekbones were set wide on the sides of his face, but he had such a square jawline that it worked for him. He was rugged but handsome and hot all at the same time. I was putting his height at six four. Weight at 210. He was dressed in some seriously nice threads, all business suit. His shoes were the expensive kind, like what I would joke that a Wall Street dude would wear to a hockey game. At seeing me, he paused, but then a wicked grin slowly spread over his face, and that knocked me back a bit too.
It was almost a nice punch to my sternum, one to shock me more than incapacitate me.
He spoke into the phone: “Excuse me a bit.” I could hear the other person talking, but he ended the call and put his phone into his pocket. “Hello.”
He was looking me up and down, looking like a bored cat who had come across a mouse and had a new toy to play with.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your phone—”
“On the contrary, thank you very much.” He came down a few more steps. “I needed an excuse to get off the call.”
I shifted backward, giving him space—or myself space—as he continued until he was on the step right above, looking down. “I was looking for the bathroom.”
“These are the stairs.” His voice was a low baritone croon, and he was still doing the eye thing where he wasn’t just assessing me, but he was reading my soul, and he was enjoying whatever he was reading. If I were a character in a book, I might’ve likened him to a vampire. I almost started laughing because how ridiculous was I? Getting nervous with this guy, who it was very apparent was in a whole different tax bracket than me. But normal me wouldn’t have cared. Normal me wouldn’t have stuck around this long either.
I nodded as he stepped down, facing me directly. “I realized. There’s a sign that said ‘bathrooms’ and pointed in here. I came in, not remembering the doors lock behind you.”
“Right.” He still had that smile, his eyes sparking up. “Because if you read the sign on the door, it would’ve said ‘emergency exit only.’ And that it locks.”
I refused to flush for this guy. Nope. But the back of my neck did get heated. A little bit.
“Yeah. My mistake.” My tone was cool, and I was giving him the look to back off.
