Bad Boyfriends, Book 3
Book 3 in the Bad Boyfriends Series
With his business empire under fire and ready to collapse, Kane and his partners turn to unlikely sources for help.
Nick Lopez is a wounded warrior, an undercover major crimes cop caught in the crossfire when he brokers a deal between competing rival Miami crime families. When his best friend, David Black, calls him for advice, Nick sees it as an omen. Sometimes it’s better to get out of Dodge and live, so he quits the force and heads north.
Jace McClune has seen and done too much as a vice cop. His last undercover assignment was his undoing, leaving him with an intervention but no resolution. Thomas Kane has friends in high places and when he hints the mob’s fingerprints are all over the attempts to take over his businesses, the precinct brass see this as a good way for Jace to get his head on straight with a babysitting job.
Jace and Nick pair up for a simple sting operation, but they soon discover that under the layers of betrayal and lies runs the threat of a new operation—one that takes the skin trade to new levels of perversion. Neither man is prepared for the mutual attraction that simmers to a rolling boil as it becomes clear that the only way they can cut to the truth is to allow Jace to sink once more into the dangerous underbelly of the city.
They’re about to find out why a man you can’t break is a man worth breaking…
Jerking Iron is also available in audiobook, narrated by Michael Ferraiuolo
Heat Level: 4
Romantic Content: 3
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 36-45
Protagonist 2 Age: 36-45
Tropes: Criminals & Outlaws
Word Count: 77000
Setting: New York City
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Same Universe / Various Characters
It took twenty minutes of folding and refolding underwear and socks, interspersed with a few dozen Hail Marys, to calm my racing libido. I looked at the neat piles on the bed, sorted by color and by category: tee-shirts, jeans, one pair of dress pants and a semi-matching sport coat, one tie—a present from an aunt, one of those non-descript diagonal patterns of blue and gold—and a small arms stash collected over the years.
“Jesus. You plan on taking on a third world country?”
With my hand on the hunting knife, I spun to confront the busybody lounging in the doorway. “Maybe you should learn to knock, McClune.” I eased the knife into the sheath and tossed it next to the carrying case for my Mossberg shotgun.
“Call me Jace.”
Inclining my head, I reluctantly said, “Nick.”READ MORE
I wasn’t sure being on first name terms was such a good idea, especially after all that crap innuendo my motor mouth dropped when we walked into the apartment.
Where’s your heart?
It’s right here.
Sweet Jesus, where had that come from?
Back on the porch, sitting with the others, McClune had struck me as a prickly sumbitch who’d just as soon kick my ass out the door as look at me. But then, on the trip over to Red Hook and back, he’d thawed and I got the sense he was strung tight for a good reason, one that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with what David called his atonement.
It made me powerful curious, and that never was a good thing. Not when touching him sent my brain into freefall, wanting the last thing I needed in my life—a complication. Too tired to care where that nonsense was coming from, I chalked it up to the long drive and lack of sleep.
The trouble with the easy answer was it clashed with my sixth sense, the one that had kept me alive all those years on the force. That gut level feeling was telling me Jace McClune was going to be a challenge of a very special kind—one I hadn’t indulged except in my fantasies.
Jace squared his shoulders and jammed his hands in his pockets. His feet were bare, as was his torso, his hair hanging in a mess of wet ringlets, plastered to his face. I watched a few drops of water drizzle their way through the maze of light brown hair sprinkling his chest and abdomen. There were thin lines of horizontal scars, two or three inches apart, running from his navel to his breastbone. They had that freakish surgical quality to them. Deliberate. Purposeful.
It made me wonder what kind of shit he’d been involved in.
He asked, “May I?” and reached for the Beretta without waiting for my answer. Hefting it first in one hand, then the other, he muttered, “Nice. Your department issue?”
Relieved to be on common ground, I replied, “Nope. We had our choice of Sig-Sauer or Glock nine mils, coupla others.” I held up my left hand. “Not easy to find a fit for this hamhock, which is why I got the 92FS. Makes it easy to switch hands.”
He set the pistol on the bed, taking care to align it precisely with the others. Moving away so I could gawk at his lean frame, I nearly choked when I caught sight of the yellowing bruises and fine white lines scarring the length of his back. I recognized the work. Again, it had been done with precision and attention to detail, the lines crisscrossing in a herringbone pattern. Not all of it had healed completely. There were sections where the skin thinned over the ribcage, the wielder using far too much wrist action with the willow switch. Those slices were still angry, even weeping in a couple spots.
No wonder he was pissy and prickly. I would be too if someone had done that to me.
I’m not sure what made me do it. Normally I was hands off, giving everyone personal space and not judging. But what I saw made my blood boil.
I had the wingspan to reach his tortured flesh and an overwhelming need to understand what I was looking at, so I traced a sequence of lines along his shoulder with a feather stroke while Jace’s skin crawled under the movement. He held himself steady. If it had been me, I’d have taken a swing or picked up the blade and gone for my gut.
Jace didn’t, so I asked, “Why did you want me to see this?”
He cringed, his knees bracing against the bed as if he was having trouble supporting himself. I cupped his shoulder and pulled him around to face me. His expression was blank, like he’d gone into subspace, but then he cleared his throat and answered, “I figured you’d be seeing it soon enough. I just didn’t want any questions getting in the way.”
“In the way of what?”
I still had a grip on his shoulder. He shrugged my hand away and sidestepped to put distance between us. I couldn’t allow that. I didn’t know why, I just did.
Putting a body block between him and the door, I demanded, “Tell me, McClune. What the fuck are you talking about?”
I braced for a blow, not his hand grasping the nape of my neck and pulling me down, down to his mouth and the softest of touches. I barely registered the sensation as moist and raspy and rough, then it was over.COLLAPSE
Sue Allen Milkovich on https://www.amazon.com/review/R3TE7NCQEI0I2C/ wrote:
Tinkers to Evans to Chance--What a Triple Play!
Remember the early 1900's baseball triple-play combination (see headline here)? Well, here's a trilogy anchored around three main alphas, each with a newly acquired crush, totally believable in many instances and respects even though a bit off-the-wall in plot twists.
The adventures of this foursome rival and then rout the escapades in the first book, taking us deeper into the escort trade and beyond. The character of Mike Douglas becomes dominant here, but Lovett becomes pivotal, and Sean is the one who keeps Mike heading in the right direction.
That direction is back to Manhattan where in "Jerking Iron" Tom Kane has been roped into a sting operation by the local authorities and FBI that promises to go a long way in helping Bad Boyfriends stay solvent and put their vengeful competitor out of business. To that end, David Black recruits his best friend from childhood, Nick Lopez, a hulking ex-cop from Miami with plenty of experience in the kind of work Bad Boyfriends and the authorities need. But his life and the mission become complicated when the New York police pair him up with Jace McClune, a gruff, almost grungy undercover detective whose experience, and proclivities, prove crucial to the adventure.
This book is the longest, strongest, fastest-moving and most intricately plotted of the three, and involves all three couples plus the uncanny Junior Lovett and sweet boy Dax. There is some BDSM here, some serious violence here and there, but in the end, there is more credence to the entire three-book escapade than one might have expected.
These characters are memorable from the start, and except for Sean who is somewhat ignored in the third book, they are all crucial to the outcome. The wonderful thing here is that author Rawlyns creates a situation in each book where the two MCs are instantly attracted to each other through lust, and almost immediately join at the hip for other reasons.
And the sex? The sex is phenomenal. You would be hard-pressed to find a better all-encompassing series than this one which needs absolutely no sequel to keep you interested. You are satisfied, if not totally out of breath.
This was the third A Bad Boyfriends Novel. This was a magnificently written story that will keep you on your toes from beginning to end. It was a rollercoaster ride of action and emotions that you can never be sure of where your going to land. This is the story of tall, dark, sexy as sin Nick and his unlikely swaggering, intense, snarky new partner Jace. They were brought together through their own reasons but are those same reasons going to bring them together or get them killed. They are both so determined, so focused, so set in their own ways. This story continues from the two previous books, Pumping Iron and Curling Iron. This story seems to put all those storylines to rest. I was very satisfied with the outcome of all of that. I was also very glad to see what happened to Marshall. I am just sorry to say goodbye to all the characters from this outstanding set of Bad Boyfriends. This was an absolutely incredible story about two very strong, incredible men who went on an assignment together that would've broke lesser men. Their chemistry however was the journey and was the best of the best. I loved this story the most. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS BOOK AND GIVE IT 5 STARS PLUS!!!