RECKLESS — Bad Boy Criminal Romance Read online

  RECKLESS

  Bad Boy Criminal Romance

  First Edition

  Copyright © Anna Aletto, 2015-2016

  Published by Anna Aletto

  All rights reserved. It is illegal to copy,

  distribute, or create derivative works from this book in whole or in part, or to

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  of this book in any and all forms. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any process—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the copyright owner—Anna Aletto.

  Chapter One

  MIAMI, Fla. — Plumes of smoke pour from my mouth. A cigarette perched on my lip, I march down the sidewalk. Heavy sunlight beats down off the pavement. I wear a navy suit coat, white straight collar shirt, khaki pants, and oxblood loafers. I feel sweat on my back.

  A light-colored warehouse-style venue with an adjoining patio is embossed with a dark wooden sign with golden embellishments reading “Irish Pub”. A black banner reads “Newly Opened!” I peer in the window and the place is packed. I walk inside and slip past the hostess and the abuzz lunchtime crowd waiting for tables. I find a barstool and order a water. The interior of the pub is laden in strong, dark wood. The aroma is that of mingling cigarette smoke and fryer oil.

  I stand and walk to the restroom at the back of the restaurant. Along the way I pass as many tables as possible, scanning each and the people sitting at them. In the restroom, at the sink, I splash some water on my face. I straighten my collar and smooth my suit coat.

  Back inside the restaurant, I walk to the open doorway of the patio. I stand at the edge, out of the way. A red-headed waitress handles the patio tables. A party of four – two married couples in their late forties – catches my attention. They are loud, borderline drunk. The red-headed waitress hands each couple their bill and says, “Anytime you’re ready.” She walks back inside the restaurant.

  I step out on the patio. I approach the first table I see, two men in their sixties wearing golf attire leisurely drinking pints of Guinness extra stout. Cordially I ask, “How has everything been?”

  “Great,” one man says, looking up. “Quite a place here.”

  “Enjoy,” I say. “Tell me if y’all need anything.”

  I move to the next table. Six teenage girls share appetizers of potato skins and spinach and artichoke dip. They speak noisily over each other. My voice cutting over them all, I ask, “How has everything been?”

  They quiet and turn their heads to me. The loudest, presumably the leader, says, “Good, but we still haven’t gotten the rest of our order. We’ve been waiting a while.”

  “I’ll check on it,” I say and move to the next table.

  I steadily move toward the party of four, the two married couples with their bills. By the time I reach them, I know they’ve noticed me working the patio.

  “How was everything?” I ask them.

  “Horrible,” one man says. “I think our waitress keeps getting lost.” He looks at the table. “Did I even get the last couple drinks I ordered?”

  “Oh, stop it,” his wife says. “Everything’s been fine. The food was great, but I think we probably drank too much.”

  Their bills lay on the edge of the table, atop them their payments in cash. I point. “Do you want me to check y’all out?”

  “Sure,” the man says, glowering. “Go ahead and keep the tip too if you want. Who knows how long it would’ve taken her to get back out here.”

  I chuckle. “Well, I’ll have to get onto her for that.” I pick up the bills and cash and stroll back into the restaurant. Once inside, I quicken my pace. I pocket the cash. I drop the bills on an empty table and exit the building.

  At night I go to an underground bar lounge. Modern artworks are spotlighted on the walls of the otherwise dimly-lit, intimate locale. The bar has a closetful of board games that patrons are encouraged to play with. I sit on a barstool drinking a J&B, watching a group of four down the bar playing Chutes and Ladders. My mind is blank.

  I go to the restroom. Returning to the bar I notice a stunning brunette wearing a black, strapless cocktail dress and black heels. Her hair is long, braided down her back. On her left wrist is a seven-carat diamond tennis bracelet in white gold. She sits on a brown cloth couch alongside a female friend with sandy blonde hair. They look bored, not speaking much to each other.

  I wave her to me.

  She hesitantly stands and half-smiles, looking at me curiously.

  “Hey, you’re adorable,” I tell her. “I wanted to meet you.”

  Her face lights up and she giggles. “I’ve been waiting for a cute guy to come talk to me.” She glances to the sandy-blond haired girl and says, “I have a friend with me.”

  “Both of you come over to the bar.”

  At the bar the three of us play Jenga. “What’s your name?” the brunette asks me.

  “Tom,” I lie. “Yours?”

  “Maya.”

  As we play, I discern several things about Maya. She’s twenty-one. She went to college as a Fashion design major but dropped out. She lives in a high-rise condo that her parents pay for in downtown Miami while she looks for a job.

  “What do you do?” her friend asks me.

  “I’m a lawyer,” I lie again.

  “Really?” she says. “So do you, like, fight cases in court?”

  “Mostly I work in an office. But, yeah, sometimes.”

  “Wow,” Maya says.

  “The guys we always meet have lame jobs, if any at all,” says her friend. “Especially young guys. Like, at best, they’re the manager at a fast food place or something.”

  They both laugh. “Yeah, but you have a real career going and you’re still young,” Maya says with a sparkle in her eyes. “That’s really impressive.”

  I remove one of the blocks from the Jenga tower and place it on the top.

  “I’ve been job-hunting for a while now,” Maya says, “but I’m having a hard time finding anything. I needed to come out tonight to relax. My dad has been hounding me every day to hand out résumés.”

  The sandy-blond haired girl smiles. “Going out drinking on a Monday is a little early in the week for me, but my friend needed me.” She looks at me. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I just moved here. I spent the day looking for an apartment.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  The Jenga tower sits precariously askew. She cautiously attempts to remove a block near the bottom. The tower tips and crumbles on the bar top. Both girls shriek giddily.

  “Shit.” Maya’s friend laughs. We put the blocks back into the game box. “I think I’m headed home. Are you ready?” she asks Maya.

  “I think I’m going to stay a little longer,” Maya says.

  “Okay.” The friend grins and leaves.

  I take Maya’s hand, looking at the bracelet on her wrist. “I thought you didn’t work. Did you rob someone on the way here?”

  “No!” She laughs, pulling her hand away. “I admit it though. I am spoiled.”

  “Me too,” I say. “I need a rich girl to support me so I can quit my job. Speaking of that, you should buy me a drink.”

  “What?” she asks smiling. “You’re supposed to buy me one!”

  “So you’re not rich? I guess you’re not my type.”

  She laughs and buys me a couple more J&Bs. We sit face-to-face, quite close to each other. I have a slight buzz and forget myself. I stare at her lips and large brown eyes, probably looking like I want to devour her. She blushes and
pushes me playfully in the chest. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I don’t know.” I smile. “You were telling me earlier how cool your condo is. I want to see it.”

  “But I hardly even know you!” she objects.

  “My name’s Tom,” I say. “I like the color blue.”

  Maya laughs and looks downward, shaking her head. She pauses and then looks into my eyes, quietly contemplating. “Okay, let’s go,” she concedes.

  Parked outside is my car, an old bluish-silver Toyota compact. Fortunately I keep it clean and in good condition and Maya is not bothered by its underwhelming luxury. We drive to her condo building. The high-rise is forty-six stories, across the street from a three-acre waterfront park. The elevator takes us to her condo on the thirty-ninth floor. We enter the foyer and Maya drops her purse by a coat rack. To the right are a washer and dryer. To the left is the kitchen with black quartz countertops and stainless steel fixtures. We continue into a living and dining area with a white carpet floor. A dining table sits on the left side of the room. A black sofa with red pillows and a flat-screen television are on the right. In the corner is dry bar. I walk through the room toward the sliding glass doors leading out onto a terrace.

  “What do your parents do?” I glance back to Maya.

  She stands at the dry bar making herself a drink. “My mom doesn’t work anymore, but she used to be a therapist,” she says. “And my dad’s been working in real-estate here since, like, the seventies.”

  I stare over the terrace at a panoramic view of the bay and the Miami River.

  “Do you want a drink or anything?” Maya asks.

  I turn and walk up behind her as she takes a sip of her drink. I place my hands on her waist. She sets her drink down, turning to face me. I kiss her cheek, then lips. The kisses get harder as I press her against the bar. I bite her lip and her eyes shoot open, alarmed. Then she decides she likes it and bites me back. I strip off her dress, noticing the more aggressive I am the more excited she gets. I unfasten her black satin bra and palm her breasts. With my other hand I grip her braided hair and pull back firmly while kissing her. I kiss her ear and neck as she unbuttons my shirt and unfastens my belt. We’re both undressed, Maya wearing only her heels. I lay her down on the carpet floor. Gradually her moans louden as she digs her heels into the floor. Her right heel eventually snaps, and she kicks off the broken shoe.

  Afterward we stand. Maya glistens, a sheen of sweat covering her body. Wearing only her left heel, she looks gorgeous.

  “You’re Cinderella,” I observe.

  She laughs and pulls off her remaining shoe. We pick up our clothes and go into her bedroom. A half hour later we have sex again on her bed. Afterward, we lie close together, still enamored with each other.

  I wake up in a pitch dark room. The digital clock on the nightstand reads three o’clock in the morning. I step out of bed and walk to the foyer of the condo. Beside the coat rack I pick up Maya’s purse and find her wallet. In it are several credit cards and over seven-hundred dollars in cash. My first instinct is to get dressed and take the wallet on the way out. Then I consider staying.

  Maya appears to be the richest girl I’ve ever met. Also, her affection for me seems to be heartfelt, perhaps more than a one-night indiscretion. I think maybe a relationship with her is possible. Maybe she could end up actually loving me. Maybe it could be worth a lot more than the money in her wallet.

  I decide to risk it and I return to bed. Next to Maya, I begin to think about her. I do genuinely like something about her. Her energy, her carefree attitude and her playfulness are fun to be around and allow me to relax. But before I fall back asleep I worry my emotions have influenced my decision to stay and this I find very troubling.

  I open my eyes. Sunlight pours onto my body through the bedroom window’s thin white drapes. Maya’s brown eyes flutter open. Conscious, but not yet with our wits about us, she and I mindlessly stare at each other for a minute. Then she smiles, sits up, and asks, “Do you want something for breakfast?”

  She walks to the kitchen and soon the condo smells of fried sausage and eggs. I dress in my pants and undershirt. In the kitchen Maya serves me a plate of sausage links and two sunny side-up eggs. We sit together at her dining room table. I lift a fork and notice her watching me expectantly. I eat a link and say, “It’s really good.”

  She sips a steaming cup of coffee. “Do you have to get to work?”

  “No … I start next Monday. I’m taking a week to try to find a place, settle in, and all that.”

  “What made you come to Miami?”

  “A good opportunity, good money,” I say. “I’m driven to see how successful I can be.”

  “I like guys who are ambitious.”

  “What are you up to today?” I ask.

  “Oh, handing out résumés, I guess. I’m really sick of it though.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are you interested in?”

  “Nothing.” She laughs. Her face then turns sullen. “My dad’s been upset with me though about not finding anything. I think he thinks I’m lazy.” She ponders. “I don’t know. I just never pictured myself working. I always pictured myself getting married young and someday having kids.”

  “Doesn’t seem to me like you’re lazy. Sounds like you know what you want. I think that’s important.”

  She cracks a half-smile.

  “I think maybe you’re just misunderstood. There are a lot of good things about you but there are people who just don’t get you.”

  She nods slightly, a vulnerable look in her eyes.

  “I can’t put my finger on it, but I felt something special about you since I first saw you. I don’t know. It’s strange since we only just met, but I feel some sort of closeness to you. Maybe this doesn’t make any sense…” I look downward, feigning contemplation. “I’m not sure. All I know is you have a great energy and being with you just feels really good for some reason.”

  She studies my face intently. I stare back sincerely, the two of us alone in the quiet condo. Maya looks downward, appearing as if she might cry.

  I place my hand on hers. “Are you okay?”

  She takes a deep breath.

  I move closer. I lift her chin and look into her eyes. “Are you alright?”

  She gives a slight nod.

  I lean forward and softly kiss her. Soon we return to her bedroom. We kiss more than the previous night and she whispers into my ear how happy she is to have met me. The entire morning and early afternoon we alternate between sex and lying in bed together talking. In the late afternoon we nap and I wake up at six o’clock that evening.

  I sit out on the terrace and light a cigarette. I smoke and stare out into the bay, not thinking about anything. Later Maya walks out, sits on my lap, and takes my cigarette. She flicks it over the railing. “I don’t want you to smoke,” she says. “It’s not good for you.”

  I almost get angry, but then I realize I don’t really care that much. I smile and say, “Fair enough.”

  Her cell phone rings. “Hey, Dad,” she answers. “Yeah, I’m still looking … Yeah, I’ve been handing out résumés all day.”

  After hanging up she turns to me. “Do you want to order in food later?” she asks.

  “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  “You can stay over again if you want.”

  Four nights before meeting Maya, I’m at a plush hotel bar on South Beach. Unlike the clubs and beachside cabanas, the clientele is locals and Miami regulars. The bar top is lined with candles and a trio of Victorian chandeliers hangs from the ceiling. I drink a J&B as businesspeople and socialites intermingle. A girl standing at the bar near me catches my attention.

  If some girls could be considered perfect tens, this girl is a seventeen. She’s about six-foot-two in heels. Her skin is olive and her long hair is dark with highlights. She wears a low-cut halterneck dress with a colorful palm tree print. Around her
at the bar are three females, also young, tall and attractive. I notice several men gawk at them. Eventually one has the courage to approach. He is in his fifties, at least double her age, with salt and pepper hair and a mild paunch.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks nervously.

  “What?” she asks, appearing bothered.

  He repeats himself.

  “No,” she says flatly.

  “How about something to eat?” he asks. “For you and your friends?”

  “We’re models,” she says. “We’re not going to eat anything.”

  The man pauses, not knowing what to say next.

  “You can walk away now.” She turns back toward the bar.

  A grimace on his face, the man walks away as if in physical pain.

  “That was vicious,” I say.

  She glances at me, then smiles to herself, and says, “Yeah, well …”

  “I thought y’all made a nice couple.” I grin.

  “Too old for me,” she says, uninterested, not looking at me.

  “He couldn’t have been more than … what? Fifteen years older than you?”

  She now looks directly at me. “How old do you think I am?”

  “I don’t know.” I sip my J&B.

  “I’m a model,” she says.

  “Yeah, I heard you tell that guy,” I say plainly. “Congratulations.”

  She stares at me.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say. “I think you’re very attractive for your age.”

  She steps closer to me. “Yeah, well, how old are you?”

  I notice her proximity and say, “Don’t worry, I’m over the age of consent.”

  She laughs and says, “You’re a fucking jerk.” She finishes her cocktail and says, “Buy me a drink.”

  “Yeah, right,” I respond. “Get that guy you just rejected to buy you one.”

  “After I already blew him off?”

  I shrug. “I mean, if you don’t think you can get him to do it …”

  “Please,” she scoffs. “I can get him to.”

  “Yeah? Get him to buy one for me then too.”

  A devilish grin creeps across her face. “Alright, fine. Watch this.” She finds the guy across the bar and brings him back. “You can buy me a drink,” she tells him. “But you have to buy one for my friend too.”