Bad Boy's Revenge: A Small-Town Romantic Suspense by Sosie Frost Page A

ago, and the rest waited for the local news to kick off before calling it quits. No one should have been looking for me.
    No one who wanted a quiet visit, at least.
    And now Josie decided to talk.
    “ You have no idea how much I loved that plan. I still do .” Her breathy whisper ached in my heart and twisted my jeans. “ A family with you would be…you know I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you .”
    Goddamn it. These were the types of confessions best served in person, without clothes, beneath the covers. The phone wasn’t good enough.
    The knocking was as annoying as it was unwelcomed. I grabbed the baseball bat I stashed near the door. I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder.
    “ I know the town doesn’t understand. I mean, I don’t understand it most of the time. But when I’m with you…it just feels…but that’s why we have to be so careful. We can’t pretend there’s no problems, and if we have a baby…”
    The asshole pounded the door hard enough to break inside. Like he tried to escape whatever demon chased him from the devil and into my rented hell. I tensed.
    Opened the door.
    “There’s things happening beyond our control. We can’t risk— ”
    The woman waiting in the hall had a black eye, a torn book bag, and a habit that trembled her hand. She batted the dishwater blonde hair from her face and shrugged her shoulders.
    She smiled like she cared. She didn’t have the right.
    “Hey, little brother.” Chelsea gnawed on her lip. “Can I come in?”
    I nearly dropped the phone.
    “ I guess…if you wanted to come and talk…maybe tomorrow evening, after I work? We could get something to eat—”
    I swore. “Sweets, I’ll call you back.”
    “ But— ”
    I hung up on her and prepared for the next battle.
    Chelsea didn’t wait for me to invite her inside. Hell, she never knocked on the door when we lived at home. I didn’t have a real room, just a blanket in the laundry-room after Dad sold the dryer for a pocket of drugs. The least she could have done was rap on the wall back then, get an ounce of human courtesy in her.
    Wasn’t her game. I didn’t know what was up, but I could guess.
    She was in trouble.
    “You look good.” Chelsea forced a smile. It was more than I could say for her. The bruises were both self-inflicted from needles and the press of a man’s thumb too hard into her pressure points. “You’re out of jail.”
    “Did you know I was in jail?”
    “I heard.”
    “From who?”
    Chelsea hesitated before answering, and that meant I knew exactly who ran their mouth.
    “John told me,” she said.
    Ironic name for the man who had pimped her two years ago. I thought I freed her from that prick. Now he was back, messing with her head? Fucking perfect.
    “I figured he’d leave you alone.” I snorted. “Guess he didn’t wait too long to come after you.”
    Chelsea blew past me, dropping her bag on the floor. Half of her shit spilled out, and she didn’t hide the drugs stashed in her hair supplies and wallet. I shook my head, but she pouted in the chair, like she could act insulted when I saw through the bullshit.
    “For your information, John cares about me,” she said.
    “Like hell. Were you this stupid before the drugs?”
    “I came here to talk to you. Are you gonna listen to me or not?”
    “You gonna remember any of it in the morning?”
    Chelsea’s voice rose. Zero to hysterical in half a second, as usual. “You’re nothing but an asshole, Maddox. I need help, and you want to make me feel bad.”
    Name of the game in our family. “You need help?”
    “I just…I need a little money.”
    Of course she did. “Here’s the crazy thing about jail, Chels. It doesn’t give you many opportunities to get rich. At least, not the shit I was willing to do.”
    “You don’t understand. It’s important.”
    “Important like, you’re going to rehab? Or important like, to prevent you from getting twitchy?”
    If Chelsea were halfway sober,