InnocenceForSale.com/ Bree Read online

  InnocenceForSale.com/ Bree

  Ada Scott

  Impresst Publishing

  I wish we could have found a car like Cammy in a warehouse.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright

  License Notes

  Disclaimer

  InnocenceForSale.com/ Bree

  1. Bree

  2. Andrew

  3. Bree

  4. Andrew

  5. Bree

  6. Bree

  7. Andrew

  8. Bree

  9. Bree

  10. Andrew

  11. Bree

  12. Andrew

  13. Bree

  14. Andrew

  15. Bree

  16. Bree

  17. Bree

  18. Bree

  19. Andrew

  20. Bree

  21. Andrew

  22. Bree

  23. Andrew

  24. Andrew

  25. Andrew

  26. Bree

  27. Bree

  28. Andrew

  29. Bree

  Still a Bad Boy: A Bad Boy Romance

  1. Kendall

  2. Jace

  3. Kendall

  4. Jace

  5. Kendall

  6. Jace

  7. Kendall

  8. Kendall

  9. Jace

  10. Kendall

  11. Kendall

  12. Kendall

  13. Jace

  14. Kendall

  15. Kendall

  16. Kendall

  17. Kendall

  18. Jace

  19. Kendall

  20. Jace

  21. Jace

  22. Kendall

  23. Kendall

  24. Jace

  25. Kendall

  26. Kendall

  27. Jace

  28. Jace

  29. Jace

  30. Jace

  31. Kendall

  32. Kendall

  Still a Bad Boy Bonus

  1. Kendall

  Submission Specialist: A Bad Boy Romance

  1. Skylar

  2. Skylar

  3. Austin

  4. Austin

  5. Austin

  6. Skylar

  7. Skylar

  8. Austin

  9. Skylar

  10. Skylar

  11. Austin

  12. Skylar

  13. Austin

  14. Skylar

  15. Skylar

  16. Skylar

  17. Austin

  18. Skylar

  19. Skylar

  20. Austin

  21. Skylar

  22. Skylar

  23. Austin

  24. Austin

  25. Austin

  26. Skylar

  27. Austin

  28. Skylar

  29. Skylar

  Submission Specialist Bonus

  1. Skylar

  2. Austin

  The F King: A Bad Boy Romance

  1. Sarina

  2. Ryan

  3. Sarina

  4. Ryan

  5. Sarina

  6. Ryan

  7. Sarina

  8. Sarina

  9. Ryan

  10. Ryan

  11. Sarina

  12. Sarina

  13. Ryan

  14. Sarina

  15. Sarina

  16. Ryan

  17. Sarina

  18. Ryan

  19. Ryan

  20. Sarina

  21. Sarina

  22. Ryan

  23. Sarina

  24. Ryan

  25. Ryan

  26. Sarina

  27. Ryan

  28. Sarina

  29. Ryan

  30. Sarina

  31. Ryan

  32. Sarina

  The F King Bonus

  1. Sarina

  2. Sarina

  3. Ryan

  Stockholm Syndromance: A Bad Boy Romance

  1. Eliana

  2. Eric

  3. Eliana

  4. Eric

  5. Eliana

  6. Eric

  7. Eliana

  8. Eliana

  9. Eric

  10. Eliana

  11. Eric

  12. Eliana

  13. Eric

  14. Eric

  15. Eliana

  16. Eliana

  17. Eric

  18. Eliana

  19. Eric

  20. Eliana

  21. Eric

  22. Eliana

  23. Eric

  24. Eliana

  25. Eliana

  26. Eliana

  27. Eric

  28. Eric

  29. Eric

  30. Eliana

  Stockholm Syndromance Bonus

  1. Eliana

  2. Eric

  Check Out Ada Scott’s Other Books

  About the Author

  A former office drone, a former nurse, I now spend every waking moment doing what I love, creating and publishing these steamy stories about bad boys from the mafia, motorcycle clubs, and mma that make me, and hopefully you, weak at the knees! Anywhere a bad boy can be found, I'll be there taking notes and making it even sexier :)

  Connect with Ada Online

  adascott.com/free-bad-boy-romance-download/

  [email protected]

  Facebook

  Copyright

  InnocenceForSale.com/Bree (Innocence For Sale #2)

  Ada Scott

  Published by Impresst Publishing

  Copyright 2017 Ada Scott

  Connect with Ada Scott Online:

  Newsletter (+FREE Downloads)

  Facebook Fan Page

  Blog

  Amazon's Ada Scott Page

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer

  All characters and events are entirely fictional and any resemblances to persons living or dead and circumstances are purely coincidental.

  InnocenceForSale.com/ Bree

  Bree

  Believe it or not, there was a time in my life when getting exam results back wasn’t a cause for a heart attack. Now though? Not so much.

  The email had come through half an hour ago, but I’d only managed to click the link in it about five minutes ago. Now I was staring at the login screen, my details entered in, and I hadn’t worked up the courage to press submit yet.

  Never in my life had a few letters mattered so much. If they were A’s, then I had a chance to get out of this living hell. If they were B’s or worse? Then I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  Only a few years ago, I generally knew what results I was going to get, I knew when I’d made a mistake in an exam and when I’d worked out the correct answers so I could anticipate my grade ahead of time. This time around, most of the time I felt like I was shooting in the dark.

  The constant blare of the TV in the living room was no indication as to whether my mom was watching it or whether she was passed out in a drug-induced stupor. A cockroach the size of a kitten scrabbled under my door and met with the line of powdered poison I’d laid out as a barrier.

  I wrinkled up my nose and cringed as it paused for a second and then fled back from whence it came. With a shudder that chilled my spine, I pressed the button on my screen. How many other teens were out there whose rooms were the cleanest on
es in the house?

  My heart broke with every line I read. There were no A’s on the screen, there were even some C’s. The worst C of all was the cheery one at the start of the word “Congratulations” in a big happy font at the top.

  I “passed” but this was no cause for celebration. This was practically a death sentence. I wasn’t going to be Bree Carmody, the world-renowned engineer. That girl, that woman, was dead. I was stuck here, and maybe one day my mom’s boyfriend, Antonio, would kill me for real, if Andrew’s men didn’t find us first.

  For a few seconds, I felt like I was deflating. My lungs crumpled up and made my chest hurt as the will to breathe in again was difficult to find. Suddenly, I sobbed, and a rush of air came in.

  I held my hand to my mouth and sobbed again against it, then wiped away some surprise tears. I thought I’d cried my last tears over a year ago, but clearly I was wrong because here were some more.

  Another reason to cry, just what I needed. I rubbed my eyes angrily with my fist, welcoming the more familiar emotion, because anger hurt a lot less. My pillow took a beating as silently as I’d learned to, then sailed across the room, hitting the wall and slumping to the ground defeated.

  I stormed out of my room and saw my mom sitting on the couch, watching the TV with glazed eyes. The giant cockroach was nowhere to be seen.

  “Well, I’m not getting into engineering school.” I held my hands out and let them fall so they slapped against my thighs.

  “Hmm?” My mother didn’t look away from the screen.

  “You know, my life? Do you care?”

  She frowned and reluctantly looked at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “My results came back, they’re not good enough to get me into engineering school.”

  “What happened? You used to be such a good student.”

  I buried my hands in my hair at each side of my head as white-hot fury threatened to consume me. If I didn’t tear my hair out, it would be a miracle. My teeth grit against an explosion of hate that seemed to happen in my stomach and wanted to burst out of my mouth.

  My hands slowly descended from my head. I could feel them shaking with rage. It was scary, this turmoil of anger inside me. Sure, it hurt less than the despair, but I’d never felt so distant from my own mother. Everything she did was like a saw working on what little bond we had left.

  “What happened? What happened?” Clenched teeth weren’t enough to stop it. “I’ll tell you what the fuck happened! I used to be a student who had teachers! You know when somebody is home-schooled they’re supposed to have tutors? I taught myself as much calculus as I could! I’m not Isaac Newton!”

  “Who’s Isaac Newton?”

  I ignored her question. “When my chemistry lesson says, ‘Step 1. Light your Bunsen burner,’ what am I supposed to do, Mom? I don’t have a Bunsen burner.”

  Mom shrugged. “You’ve got more than I had at your age, young lady. When I was your age, I already had a job. I’ve been working my whole life to—”

  “To what? When’s the last time you had a job?”

  “You know I can’t get a job right now, I can barely bring myself to leave the house in case somebody recognizes me and Andrew finds us. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  I crossed my arms and fumed. Leaving the house didn’t seem to be a problem when she or Antonio needed more drugs or alcohol. Did she think that the Neo-Mafia crime lord was going to give them a free pass for those little ventures into the outside world, or was it just another shitty excuse?

  Because of her, the guy who had been the perfect husband, the perfect father, now had over fifty million reasons to want us dead. And for what? Antonio? This life running from one isolated shithole to another?

  “You though,” she continued, “you’ve changed so much in the last couple of years. You could get a job as a waitress, bring in a few extra bucks to help out around the place.”

  “Antonio’s got fifty million dollars stashed somewhere! Unless you’ve snorted it all up your nose or injected it into your veins already! Why the hell should I get a job as a waitress? What’s that going to do? I could have been an engineer!”

  My mom shifted her position and dug under the cushions for one of the multitude of cigarettes she’d spilled down there, pulling it out and lighting it. “We can’t just use all that money, buy a big mansion and make ourselves sitting ducks. Not while Andrew’s still looking for us. And what’s wrong with being a waitress? You’ll earn a few bucks, find some nice guy to look after you and you’re set. Forget that engineering crap. What kind of a job is that, anyway? What does it even mean?”

  “I can’t put it any more simply than I already have… I’d fucking build things that work!”

  Suddenly the sound of a chair scraping loudly on the floor came through the dark doorway to the kitchen. I gasped, I hadn’t thought Antonio was home.

  He stumbled into the light and leaned against the doorframe, almost filling the entire doorway. Squinting at the light, he rubbed his eyes and a rubber cord fell to the floor from his arm.

  “You mouthy little bitch. Don’t you talk to your fuckin’ mother like that!”

  With those tracks in his veins, the stains on his once-white tank top, and the wild bloodshot eyes, the former FBI agent had quickly turned into exactly the kind of degenerate he’d often pretended to be in his previous career. All it took was the fifty million dollars he’d stolen from Andrew to fund the lifestyle and he did the rest.

  My mom struggled for a moment to get to her feet. “Ant, don’t worry about it, I’ve got this. She didn’t mean—”

  Antonio took a step into the room and pointed his finger menacingly at her. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Mom sunk back down on to the couch, and Antonio returned his attention to me as he advanced. The further into the room he came, the less the light and noise of the television penetrated it. He sucked it all out of the air like a monster from a horror movie.

  Antonio. The personification of everything that had gone wrong in my life. I hated him, he disgusted me, and sometimes it was impossible to stop some of that from creeping into my expression. He didn’t mind that, though. I guessed it made him feel better to have an excuse for what he would have done anyway.

  His hand snaked out almost faster than I could see it and clamped around my neck. Under the drugs, alcohol and layer of flab that the last couple years had put on his body, he still had all that training.

  Antonio forced me back a couple of steps until I hit the wall. I croaked for air and tried to push his arm away, but he just leaned in harder.

  “You worthless cunt. You think you can raise your voice in my house?”

  I didn’t—couldn’t—answer.

  “AAAHHHHHHHHHH!” he screamed right in my face so loudly I thought my ears might bleed and felt his spittle landing on my skin.

  I blinked against the spray and when I looked again, it was only just in time to see his big ham-fist flying at me. He connected with my left eye and the back of my head put a dent in the drywall, which was already riddled with holes from Antonio’s tendency to throw knives around for fun.

  The room descended into darkness, except for a firework show that seemed to be going off inside my head. I barely felt myself sliding down the wall, but welcomed the cold air I was suddenly able to suck down my throat. Oh, how I’d missed it.

  The darkness cleared and the fireworks faded a little. I saw Antonio head back to the kitchen and flick on the light, then heard the jingle of keys before he returned.

  “I’m getting some beer, and you”—he pointed at me—“need to learn how to show some respect like a woman should.”