My Bad Boy's Secret: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance by Nicole Price Page A

walking briskly towards me. I started moving back to avoid him.
     
                  But he didn’t touch me. Instead, he went to the front of my car. He raised his right leg, and with one swift motion, kicked it. That single kick had enough strength to push my car down the incline. The car was no longer stopped. It was cruising downhill, and picking up momentum. We watched as the car slid down onto a wide street, and the rear crashed into a shallow ditch that was on the opposite end of the apartment.
     
                  My car was totaled. Its rear window was shattered, and it would have to be towed from the ditch before anyone could drive it. I didn’t have any idea how to even estimate the cost.
     
                  For a second, I felt as if I was just having a bad dream. But I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t dreaming. All that had just happened. I had no desire to do anything else today. No motivation to make dinner, do work, or talk to anyone. I just wanted to give up and die.
     
    I didn’t want him to see my crying. I ran back home, praying with all my might that that man would die a horrible death.
     
     
     
    Chapter 4 – Blake
     
    Arguing with that bitch felt great when I was doing it. The adrenaline rush was incredible; I hadn’t done anything remotely exciting in over a week. Every day, I just watched TV, surfed the Internet, ate microwavable garbage, and slept. Talking to another human being felt so damn good.
     
    But just like eating fast food, the high I got from doing it immediately went away when I was finished. I replayed the image of the woman’s face as she saw her car, and her running back to her place. I felt like a sack of shit for doing that to her. I’ve done plenty of bad stuff before, but I don’t always go out of my way to be a dick to everyone I meet.
     
    It then hit me like brass knuckles to my face. What if she was so pissed off that she called the cops on me? I’d have my photo taken, I’d get media attention swarming over me, and I’d be as good as dead.
     
    I felt like taking a dump in my pants right then, and I just groaned out loud. I rode all the way out here from Detroit to hide, and now I just outed myself.
     
    But maybe I could still save myself. I could go over and tell her it was all a big misunderstanding, and that I just moved into the neighborhood, and I had a lot of stuff going on in my life that made me snap. I could bring her some random gift, and hopefully convince her not to press charges or whatever.
     
    Or she might still not forgive me and report me anyway.
     
    I still had to at least try to make peace with her. I hated talking to other people and I especially couldn’t stand saying sorry to anyone. In my world, being nice means being weak, and being weak means letting other people step on you. It’s not a good way to stay alive. If I wanted to keep living in Atlanta, I’d have to stay in good standing with everyone I met. And that meant apologizing.
     
    Most women, heck, most people, once they met me, they backed down. The whole community back home knew my reputation. But that redhead didn’t give a damn. She wasn’t scared at all of me. She kept talking back, and I admired her for that. I was so used to intimidating everyone around me that having someone respond like that was actually kind of fun.
     
    Of course, I noticed by just glancing at her once that she was a fox. She was tall and slim, and she just radiated energy with how fast she moved and reacted. The long red hair around her face, plus those shining eyes, legs that stretched on forever, and the breasts on her…I really had to behave myself around her.
     
    I took a shower, put on a light blue dress shirt and black slacks, and walked to a Target nearby. I bought the fanciest and most expensive box of chocolate the store had, and I got a really pricy bottle of champagne as well. Then I summoned all my courage and forced myself to walk over to