Jessica Gadziala – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Jessica Gadziala – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Wed, 13 May 2026 18:52:19 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Jessica Gadziala – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Mermaid in Manhattan Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/mermaid-in-manhattan-read-online-jessica-gadziala Wed, 13 May 2026 18:52:19 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/mermaid-in-manhattan-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)

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Let's get wet!Iris loves being a mermaid. So, when her Mom, Queen of the Ocean, declares that she’s to be wed to a human, she’s furious.

Finn wants to be the first human mayor of magical New York. He needs a magical wife as part of his PR strategy to win over his constituents, and he’s fine with a loveless marriage.

But after his reluctant fiancé Iris douses him with seawater at their first meeting, Finn finds himself wanting this romance to be more than a business arrangement.

Iris can’t stand Finn on principle, but no matter how far she pushes him, Finn just won’t break off their engagement. In fact, he keeps going out of his way to make her life easier. And soon, this mermaid is left wondering if life might be better in Manhattan than under the sea…

👰 💐Arranged marriage

🛏️ 🔥Only one bed

🧜 ✨Romantasy

🥵 🌶️Spice

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

Iris

Iris broke the surface with a flick of her pearlescent green tail, sending droplets scattering like diamonds in the morning light. Humming softly, she pulled herself up onto her favorite sun-warmed rock, arching into a lazy stretch that set water rolling down her arms, the salt water glistening on her skin.

Was there anything better than a refreshing swim in the summer sea? Perfect temperature. Perfect lighting. Zero responsibilities.

She reached back to wring the water from her hair and felt something crinkly in the strands. Not seaweed—unless seaweed had started using packaging.

With a sigh, she pulled out a plastic wrapper, the logo faded to oblivion by sun and salt.

“Seriously?” she muttered, crumpling it up. She reached back into her hair, this time encountering a length of broken fishing line. Once again.

“Oh, come on.” She carefully untangled it from her pink waves with the patience of someone who had done so way too many times, then folded it up with the wrapper like she was collecting ocean-trash trading cards.

For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why it was so hard for trash to make its way into a garbage can.

Humans.

Flopping back, Iris closed her eyes and tried to forget the trash as the sun dried the water on her skin.

There was a flutter above her, interrupting her perfect solitude. Sure, it could be a random gull. But nope. She didn’t even have to open her eyes to know who it was.

Montague Featherington.

Monty, for short. Drama, for long.

Iris had named him herself when she’d been eight and going through her ‘everyone deserves a ridiculously formal title’ phase. Right before she’d stolen an enchanted pearl—that she totally wasn’t supposed to take—that, when gifted to the pelican, granted him the ability to speak.

He had been loving the sound of his own voice ever since.

“Hey, Monty,” she said, shading her eyes with one hand. “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” he repeated, already winding up. “Emotionally adrift. Spiritually soggy. And some thieving seagull stole my favorite thinking rock. What does he have to contemplate? Which human he’s going to mug today? The gulls have no interiority. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.” He nodded his giant beak for emphasis. “But I am hanging on by a feather. And sheer spite. Allow me a melodramatic sigh.”

Iris smiled. “You can borrow this rock if you promise not to monologue at it.”

“Tempting, but I prefer the acoustics by the cliff. Better echo.” He ruffled his feathers. “Shouldn’t you be with Her Majesty?”

“My mother?” Iris blinked. “Why?”

“Because, dearest sea spawn, you mentioned a super important meeting last week. With capital letters and everything.”

“That’s today?” Iris yelped, the edge of her tail slapping the water and sending droplets flying.

“According to my internal calendar and innate sense of dramatic timing—yes. And you’re thirty-two minutes late. Not that anyone’s counting. Except me. And your mother.”

“For Triton’s sake!” Iris yelped, vanishing beneath the waves like a startled fish and launching into a desperate, splashy sprint.

Her mother, Tatiana, was a lot of things: powerful, elegant, and entirely over Iris’s shenanigans. Being late to a meeting she’d had a week’s warning about was just another notch against her.

If she was lucky she would be sentenced to eel duty again. The royal singing eels were a barbershop trio who couldn’t harmonize to save their slimy lives and never, ever slept.

If she wasn’t lucky, she’d be forced to massage the crabs at the royal spa. And they were entitled and pinchy.

By the time Iris reached the seafloor, her stomach was in knots as she pictured her mother seated on her seashell throne, tapping her fingernails against her arm in irritation.

“Hey, Carl,” she called to the palace gate guard, who pulled open the massive whale-boned gates with the weary look of a merman who’d seen too many late princesses in his time. “Don’t say it,” she added.

Carl said nothing. His eyebrow, however, spoke volumes.

She shot past the palace’s lush kelp gardens, where electric-blue gobies darted between fronds, blissfully unaware that they were being watched by snarly kelp dragonettes.

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Colter (Shady Valley Henchmen #9) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/colter-shady-valley-henchmen-9-read-online-jessica-gadziala Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:09:07 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/colter-shady-valley-henchmen-9-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Shady Valley Henchmen Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >78

He didn’t see it coming.
Deals go bad. That’s part of life. But he had no idea how close he came to losing everything—until the man behind him drops and he realizes he’d been a target.
Then he’d been saved.
By her.
But she’s gone before he can figure out why she’d rescued him.

She didn’t mean to step in.
But after everything those guys took from her, she couldn’t stand around and watch them create any more damage.
And now she’s got more problems than she asked for.
The last thing she needs is another man in her way.
Too bad he’s isn’t the kind to walk away.
And when his club gets involved, things take a turn she’d never seen coming

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Colter

“Do I want to know why there are four bras in the freezer?” Detroit asked. He had four steaks in his hand that he moved to a platter in the fridge to defrost.

“Three words,” I said, shooting him a smirk.

“Let me guess: Raff, Saint, and Syn.”

“Bingo.”

“Been a bit since the club was this insane,” Detroit said, shaking his head.

“You’re up and out early.”

“The kids and Everleigh all got a stomach bug. I’ve been forced into quarantine because, as she says, ‘One of us needs to not have their head in the toilet all day.’ And I’m bored as shit over there. Figured I’d hit the gym, but I stopped here to defrost some steaks.”

“Because no one in your house is eating and you hate cooking just for yourself?”

“You know me well.”

Detroit used to cook for the club multiple times a day. But becoming a husband and father had stolen a lot of his time.

In his absence, the diner in town had been getting a lot of business from us. And the prepared food section at the supermarket.

We’d each tried our hand at cooking. But, well, I’d spent most of my adulthood eating prepared meals or MREs in the military.

Raff spent most of his time on the road, eating fast food or gas station hot dogs.

Syn had been living in a damn storage locker for years with no way to cook.

And Saint, well, Saint had been in prison.

Though out of all of us, he was the only one who could cook a half-edible meal. I figured that might have to do with having to raise his much younger brother. He made a mean breakfast omelet and had a hand with the grill, but without anyone to make sides, those nights were just… meat.

“When’s the last time you guys had something halfway healthy to eat?” Detroit asked. He dug around through the dozen or so clamshell containers in the fridge in search of vegetables to make as a side.

“When’s the last time you cooked for us?” I shot back.

That got a huff of a laugh out of him.

“Well, I guess I’m hitting up the food store after the gym.”

“Ah, morning,” a woman’s voice said, making both of us turn to find her standing just inside the kitchen.

I remembered her from the night before. Pretty, blonde, petite. She’d been hanging on Syn’s every word. Her hair was dry and tangled in the harsh morning, and her red, hungover eyes had raccoon liner smudged beneath. She’d stolen one of Syn’s tees that she had knotted over her party dress. Her heels must have been stashed in her purse because she was wearing one of the sets of slides the club kept stocked for, well, exactly this purpose. Who wanted to do the walk of shame in icepick heels?

“Morning,” I said over the rim of my coffee cup. “Want some coffee?”

“Actually, ah, I’m… missing…”

She sighed, closing her eyes.

“Pink, purple, black, or beige?” Detroit asked, walking over to the freezer.

“Purple,” she admitted, shaking her head at herself. “Thanks,” she said, taking the bra from Detroit, folding it in half, and shoving it into her bag. “Why did we put them in there again?”

Detroit looked at me.

“That part is a little blurry for me too. It was after the strip poker but before the topless karaoke…”

The woman let out a laugh/groan hybrid.

“So… my phone.”

“I lined them up by the door,” I told her.

I’d crashed earlier than the others. I didn’t know if I was getting old or boring (or both) but the liquor had hit me hard, making me too tired to even think about taking a woman up to bed. So I’d gotten extra sleep and woke up to straighten the disaster of the living space before Slash happened by and saw it.

“You need a ride into town? I’m heading to the gym.”

The woman looked relieved.

“That would be great. I came with Madison, but, I, uh, guess she isn’t up yet. I have to get to work.”

“No problem,” Detroit said as I turned to pour some coffee into a to-go cup for her, adding some cream and sugar because who didn’t like coffee with something a little extra in it after a night of drinking, and held it out to her.

“Probably gonna need this,” I said as she reached for it.

“Thank you. This was… a lot different than I expected.”

The town had a little bit of a boom, population-wise. A lot of new women around who hadn’t visited the club before.

This woman worked as a nurse at the prison. Which I knew because when Saint reached for something and his shirt lifted up, she’d squealed and declared that she’d been the one to treat the wound that caused the scar on his back.

“Come back anytime. We’re always up for fun,” I said, toasting her with my coffee cup.

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Road To Hell – A MC Romance Short Story Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/road-to-hell-a-mc-romance-short-story-read-online-jessica-gadziala Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:14:30 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/road-to-hell-a-mc-romance-short-story-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Mafia, MC, Novella Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

Total pages in book: 8
Estimated words: 7625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)

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When his club won't save her boyfriend when he is kidnapped by a rival club, this MC old lady decides to save him herself.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

“What the fuck do you mean you're not going to save him?"

As a general rule, no one spoke to an outlaw biker president that way. And you damn sure didn't do so when you weren't even a part of the club.

I was just a biker's old lady, after all. In this club, I barely had a right to have an opinion on anything. Let alone question them about their decisions to—or in this case, not to—go to war over one of their men.

The problem was this was my man.

I couldn't just stand around like my entire world wasn’t falling apart, when the man that I had just started to fall in love with was being held against his will with God-knew-what happening to him.

But I was pretty sure we could all agree that whatever was happening to him was endlessly painful.

"Watch your tone, Clyde," said the president, Dick—aptly named, in my humble opinion, and it had nothing to do with the size of his, as he so proudly claimed to any and everyone who would listen. I'd once had the misfortune of walking in on him getting a blow-job, and let's just say it oddly resembled a baby dill in size and shape.

"What tone would you like me to use when my man is likely being strung up and tortured while his so-called brothers sit here and have drinks and wonder which clubwhores are available to fuck tonight? What is the appropriate tone to use in this situation, Dick?" I asked, adding the silent head in my tone.

Dick might not have been bright, but he was a man of a lot of pride and a short temper, so he picked up on the subtleties of disrespect.

"I won't be disrespected in my own fucking clubhouse by a slit in a dress."

That was how Dick genuinely saw women, how most of the men in his club saw women.

A slit.

A hole—or three—to fuck.

That was it.

How Bear had managed to be around guys like this his whole life and turned out unlike any of them was a huge mystery. One I hadn't had enough time with Bear to even begin to explore.

And now, thanks to his so-called brothers, I might never get to figure that out. I might never see my man again.

The pain in my stomach was sharp and intense, damn near doubling me over. The only thing keeping me upright was my desire to advocate for Bear, to do whatever was necessary to try to get him home safe. With me.

Biting back my real thoughts, I took a deep breath, and tried to temper my anger.

"Are you going to go in and save Bear or not?" I asked, tone calm, even if my heartbeat felt like it was hammering in my chest, throat, and wrists. Even if I felt like I was choking on my fear and buzzing with anxiety.

"Bear knew what he was getting into when he patched-in," Dick said, shrugging. "That's the life."

Bear patched-in when he was seventeen years old because his father—a patched member—had leaned on him until he did it. He'd never really had much of a choice. Not unless he wanted to be homeless and family-less.

And once you were in, you were in.

You didn't get a chance to change your mind.

Not even if you found out that your president didn't give a single fuck about brotherhood and protecting his crew.

"Silly me," I said, chin jerking up. "I thought that the life came with the loyalty and protection of your so-called club brothers."

"Yeah, bitch, silly you," Dick said, shrugging, and getting slapped on the shoulder by his vice president.

My gaze slid around to the rest of the club, finding a mix of drunken amusement and carefully guarded concern.

Because if Dick didn't care about Bear, he didn't care about any of them.

But that was their problem.

Bear, it seemed, was going to be mine.

I was happy to shoulder that responsibility.

"Fine," I said, swallowing hard. "Can I just go pack my shit then?" I asked, waving toward the second floor of the clubhouse where Bear was one of the lucky brothers who had his own private room.

"Whatever. Just get the fuck out," Dick said, waving at me with his mostly empty whiskey glass.

I didn't have much in Bear's room. A couple changes of clothes, a toothbrush, and general hygiene stuff. Nothing that I actually wanted to collect.

What I did want, though, was what Bear had in his room. Which was a mini arsenal of weapons he'd purchased illegally from another biker club.

Dismissed, I charged up the stairs, so focused that I barely even registered the clubwhore with her skirt hiked up and her tits hanging down as she got railed from behind by one biker as another was pulling his cock out to wait his turn.

I rushed into Bear’s room, locking the door in case Dick changed his mind and came after me.

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The Woman on the Stage Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-woman-on-the-stage-read-online-jessica-gadziala Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:33:45 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-woman-on-the-stage-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Mafia Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)

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Milo Grassi is sent to Atlantic City to help his family gain a foothold in a town that doesn’t give up power easily.

His assignment is simple: gather intel on a casino owner.

His solution is anything but: getting the help of the beautiful lounge singer who the owner is obsessively fond of.

She’s just supposed to be an entry point.
A means to an end.

Instead, she becomes a complication he couldn’t see coming because the deeper she’s pulled into his world the more dangerous her role becomes.

And walking away is no longer an option.
For either of them

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Playlist

“I’ve Been Kissed Before” - Rita Hayworth

“Fever” - Peggy Lee

“Do It Again” - Shirley Horn

“Big Spender” - Peggy Lee

“Go Slow” - Julie London

“My Daddy Rocks Me” - Blue Harlem

“Cry Me a River” - Julie London

“Black Coffee” - Peggy Lee

“Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Cortes” - The Charlie Biddle Trio, Stephanie Biddle

“Till There Was You” - Peggy Lee

CHAPTER ONE

Milo

“Ma, can I call you back later?” I asked as I pulled into the parking lot of Famiglia.

“Oh, so busy. Heaven forbid you spare your mother five minutes of your precious time.”

“I’m gonna be at Sunday dinner.”

“You said that last week. And your setting sat empty all night.”

“I had—”

“Work,” she finished for me. “Haven’t we talked about the difference between making a living and making a life?”

“You just want me married and popping out babies for you to love on.”

“I want you settled and happy.”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re busy. Not happy.”

“Being busy makes me happy.”

“There’s more to life than money.”

“Would it make you feel better to know that all the money making is so I can give my future wife and kids a nice life?”

The pause let me know I had her.

“Slightly. But I still want you at my table this weekend.”

“I got every plan to be there. But Luca is waiting on me, so I gotta go.”

“Tell him I send my love.”

“Will do,” I agreed, hanging up the phone.

My sisters getting into relationships really screwed things up for me. Now my mom’s focus was on me all the time since I was the last one to settle down. Or even show any signs of it.

I hadn’t been lying, though it was important to me to be in a really stable place financially before I found a woman and started a family. So I’d been busting my ass since I got made.

So it was no surprise, as I climbed the steps up to the over-water restaurant that served as our boss’s headquarters, that I saw Domenico standing on the deck waiting for me.

Because we were the only two capos who hadn’t settled down and gotten busy making a life—and babies.

Dom was tall with black hair and eyes and the kind of frame that said he spent a good chunk of his time in prison working out in his cell or on the yard.

The general “fuck off” on his forehead meant that even outside of prison, everyone gave him a wide berth.

“Guess we got a job together,” I said when I saw him.

“The new dream team,” he agreed, heading to the door.

Inside, we found Luca in the party room, sitting with his back to the wall of windows that gave a view of the waves crashing below.

“Did you carpool?” he asked when we walked in, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You got a job for us?” I asked, dropping onto a chair.

“God forbid we have a little small talk before we get down to business,” Luca said, shaking his head. But because he knew me, and because he benefited almost as much as I did from my work ethic, he shrugged. “But, yeah, I have a job for you. But it’s a little unconventional.”

What in our business wasn’t? It wasn’t like we were paper pushers. We imported illegal shit for our own criminal empire… as well as other organizations who used our docks for a fee.

“Unconventional how?” Domenico asked.

“It would be asking you to leave town. The area, actually.”

“What? Do the New York Families need us for something?” I asked.

“No, not exactly. Right idea, wrong location.” It wasn’t like the mafia was limited to New Jersey and New York. But as far as I knew, we didn’t have strong connections to the families in Chicago, Philly, Detroit, or Boston. “Do either of you remember Uncle Luigi?”

The name had a familiar ring, but I couldn’t make any connection.

“Luigi. Did a life bid for a double homicide,” Domenico supplied.

“Right. He was a big deal during my old man’s reign as boss. Back before we stabilized as an organization.”

I had heard stories from some of the old-timers about how it had been the wild west from the seventies until the nineties. So many murders (both of our own people, and us needing to take out enemies) and a bunch of arrests.

“Thought he died in prison,” Dom said.

“He did. Over in Illinois, where they shipped him to isolate him from the Family. But when he first went away, he had a wife and kids. Because she wanted to be closer to the prison, and because shit was so dangerous around here at the time, his wife decided to relocate. So those kids were raised far away from any of us.”

“Until?” I prompted.

“Until one of the sons decided he wanted his Family heritage back.”

“So he’s back in town,” I said.

“Not exactly, no. I did have a meeting with Remo when he first moved through this way. But he made it clear he didn’t want to work in Navesink Bank.”

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Neon Vows Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/neon-vows-read-online-jessica-gadziala Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:32:43 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/neon-vows-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >64

Layna lives for the thrill—the cards, the lights, the rush of winning.

Vegas is her playground, and she’s very, very good at the game.

One good night turns into celebratory drinks. Celebratory drinks turns into a gorgeous stranger with a dangerous smile. 
And one unforgettable, slightly blurry night later…
She wakes up with a wedding ring.

The man from last night? Her husband.
The good it was obviously a mistake. 
The bad he refuses to divorce her.

Now she’s stuck in the most inconvenient waiting game of her life—trying to outplay a man who’s just as smooth, infuriating, and irresistible as the night she married him. Every attempt to untangle their accidental marriage only pulls them closer together… and every “one last time” hookup makes things messier.

Because when the cards are down, the house isn’t the only one playing to win

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

The chips hit the pot with a confident clatter, making the pile topple in a tight burst of sound.

Across from me—some big-time manosphere podcaster who loudly proclaimed when I’d sat down that women shouldn’t be allowed in the poker room—cracked his neck.

He was so full of bravado and misogyny that he didn’t realize it was his tell.

I’d been listening to him run his mouth all night from another table, watching him with the goal of clocking his game style so I could take him for his whole stack of chips.

This was a high roller room.

And he was starting to sweat in his hairline.

I reached for my stack, grabbing the pile of pink chips—each one of them representing five grand—and pushed them into the pot.

“Raise.”

His jaw went slack.

He did a double neck crack.

It would be interesting to see if his ego or his logic won out when it got to him.

“Too rich for my blood,” the man beside me said, laying his cards down and reaching for his scotch instead.

One more man called.

Another folded.

Then it was me and the podcaster.

He had sweat stains under his arms now.

But it was his ego that called again.

“Alright, let’s see ‘em,” the dealer said, trying his best to hold back a smile.

When you did this for a living, you got to know just about every dealer on the strip. This particular one knew I almost never bluffed when the pot was big. If I was upping the ante, I had the winning hand.

Cards kissed the felt.

I kept my gaze on the podcaster as I set mine down.

He had a Full House.

I had a Straight Flush.

“Straight flush—queen-high. Straight Flush takes it.”

The dealer pushed the pot toward me as the man-child across from me flew to his feet so fast he knocked over his chair.

“This is bullshit. She cheated.”

Around the table, a few men shook their heads or rolled their eyes. No one liked a sore loser. Especially in this room. High rollers didn’t sweat the money they lost. They were just here for a good time.

“Layna’s a professional poker player,” an older man at the table—if I wasn’t mistaken, an oil executive with a watch that cost more than the whole pot—said, glancing up at the podcaster. “You were in over your head the second she sat down.”

I finished stacking my chips and passed a toke to the dealer, who was professional enough not to look shocked at the amount.

He had a granddaughter with a lot of health issues and was the kind of grandpa who would use the money to help with the bills.

“See that? She bribed him!”

“Have a little pride, man,” another player said.

Then, from another, “Winners always tip the dealer.”

“What’s the matter?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, looking casual even as I went ahead and rubbed salt in his wounds. “Do you need money for the valet?”

He went a shade of red I’d never seen before.

“Shut up, you stupid bi—”

Security at casinos were silent shadows that moved swiftly when the slightest bit of tension popped off.

The podcaster was grabbed under each arm and led away. He didn’t go quietly, either. I felt secondhand embarrassment watching him being dragged from the room.

“Seat open?” another voice asked as he righted the podcaster’s chair, then waited for a nod from the dealer before sitting down.

Well.

This guy was certainly an improvement from the podcaster bro.

This one at least knew how to dress for the honor of being allowed in the most exclusive high roller room in Vegas.

Where podcast bro had worn a see-through knitted button-up and khakis, this guy was in a full midnight-blue suit, complete with a pocket square, cufflinks, and the air of confidence that said he dressed like this often.

Add in the fact that he was insanely, almost disarmingly, good-looking, and my night was looking up.

Tall, fit, with his dark hair in a long slick back, stormy blue eyes with thick lashes, and all of that in a classically handsome face with a stern brow, a generous mouth, and a strong jaw. And that stubble on his jaw? Hot. Not so much in a cultured way, but in a ‘I’ve been too busy to shave’ kind of way. Which, obviously, was better.

“Harrison,” the oil exec greeted. “Been a while.”

“Haven’t had much time for leisure.”

“I know that feeling well.”

“Blinds,” the dealer called before the sound of the cards whispering together drifted to my ears.

We each tossed chips into the pot and waited for the cards to be dealt.

I never looked at mine first, preferring to watch everyone else take in their hands.

And since I already played a hand with the others, my gaze settled fully on the Harrison guy.

As close as I watched, though, he gave nothing away.

Damn if that wasn’t hot too.

Especially for someone who clearly wasn’t a professional player. But, I guess, in its own way, big business was a different sort of high-stakes game to play.

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Perish (Henchmen MC Next Generation #15) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/perish-henchmen-mc-next-generation-15-read-online-jessica-gadziala Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:10 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/perish-henchmen-mc-next-generation-15-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Biker, Contemporary, MC Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Henchmen MC Next Generation Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >77

She was off-limits.
A club princess he knew he better not look at twice.

Until the night he saved her life.

Now she’s under his protection, living at the clubhouse while danger stalks closer, and suddenly the attraction they never noticed before burns hot and impossible to resist…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Gracie

“Shit,” I murmured, looking down at the ice sculpture’s penis in my hand. Why, oh why, did I have to throw my hands out when someone knocked into me?

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry!” one of the servers said. Pretty and blonde, her cupid’s bow mouth opened in a pouty O. “Is that his…”

I stared down at the severed member in my palm, already starting to melt from my body heat.

Okay.

Alright.

This wasn’t a complete catastrophe.

Yet.

There was still time to… reattach the castrated erection to the almost comically chiseled ice man.

“Damn, the fuck the guy do to you?” a familiar voice asked, making me look up to spot Perish (yes, that was his real name) standing in the doorway to the barn. As wide as the space was, Perish seemed to swallow it up. He was massive. And, likely, as chiseled as the ice guy. More, probably.

Also… he did not belong here.

At my first ‘Back to the Streets’ party. Basically, a divorce party. The theme? Penises. Penises everywhere. In decor form. And cake form. And cup form. Hard ones. Flaccid ones. Circumcised ones. Natural ones. My Aunt Peyton and cousin Billy would be absolutely delighted. Though would likely gripe about the lack of vaginal representation.

The penis fell from my hand back onto, thankfully, a small tray of pebble ice that allowed it to not shatter and stop actively melting.

“Perish,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat as I looked to the side of him, where a ‘Pin the Junk on the Hunk’ poster of a naked muscular man was hung. A table full of various penises waiting to be chosen sat to the side of it. “What are you doing here?”

“Always knew you were a closet badass. Didn’t know you had it in you to cut a man’s dick off, though.”

A strange sensation moved through my chest at those words. Like Pop Rocks. A dozen little explosions.

Because, yes, damnit, I was a badass. But because I wasn’t as outwardly kick-butt like Hope, Vi, and various other members of my extended family, people tended to underestimate me.

It was kind of nice for someone—especially someone I knew so casually—to see that.

“I can’t believe I broke it,” I admitted, moving closer to him. “Is something wrong? Is there a club issue?”

While things were relatively tame for a long time, I knew from growing up inside the club that safety could be ripped away with little warning. That all our lives could be changed in an instant.

“Is everyone okay?” I asked, my mind already going to worst-case scenarios. I had dozens and dozens of loved ones at risk. Each as dear to me as the last.

I glanced past Perish (no easy feat) to see if there were other men waiting around, gazes scanning the sprawling grounds of the event venue.

I knew from experience that if one of the bikers showed up with a whole protection detail, then that things were bad-bad. Like… everyone going up to Hailstorm for safety bad.

As much as I actually loved our little trips up to the paramilitary camp on the hill—especially since Chris started to make changes to warm the place up a bit—it was spring; my event calendar was absolutely packed. I wasn’t going to have a weekend off until after Halloween.

And, well, it was important. This was my first year of officially being in business after years of dreaming about it. I couldn’t be flaking. Not even for some life-or-death biker thing.

“Everyone’s fine,” he said, brows furrowed as he looked down, likely finally registering my panic—and the reason for it. “Yeah, no. I’m not here for club shit. Grassis got an issue.”

“Oh. Oh,” I added, what he was saying registering. Because, yeah, this might have been the premiere event venue in the whole state. It was also a mafia front to launder their money. It was easy to forget that sometimes, no matter how many times I’d been here for various parties I’d planned.

“Nah, not like that. Nut sedge.”

“Is that some kind of code?” I asked, pressing my clipboard—yes, it was pink and covered in cutesy vinyl stickers—to my chest.

“Code for what?”

“I’ve been alive quite a few years. I’ve never heard those two words put together before.”

“‘Cause you live in an apartment.”

“Oh! The lawn? There’s something wrong with the lawn?”

Perish, the ex-con, current arms-dealing biker who could be confused for an actual wall, had a weird obsession with the lawn at the club.

To be fair, said ‘lawn’ had been nearly nonexistent when he’d started to prospect. Too many long, hot summers with water restrictions, too many bikes driving over it, too many people who didn’t care about things like grass, weeds, and aeration meant it had withered away to nothing.

Until, over the years, Perish had lovingly brought it back to life. I’d never seen such lush green grass in my life. But also, for the life of me, couldn’t imagine why he cared so much.

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The Woman in the Snow (Costa Family #12) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-woman-in-the-snow-costa-family-12-read-online-jessica-gadziala Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:40:53 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-woman-in-the-snow-costa-family-12-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Costa Family Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Christmas in the city. Blood in the snow. And a love he can’t outrun.

Stephanie lives for Christmas. Her nonprofit’s annual toy drive means thousands of kids wake up to gifts under the tree—and this year, she’s determined to make it the best yet. What she doesn’t know is that the convoy of trucks carrying those toys has a second cargo hidden inside… one that belongs to the mafia.

Venezio has one keep the shipments safe. He never expected it could go so wrong.

Now they’re racing through streets glittering with lights, hunted by an assassin and tangled in secrets. She won’t let the mob ruin Christmas for the kids. He won’t let anyone lay a hand on her. Somewhere between chaos and carols, Venezio and Steph give in to the feelings growing between them.

But the holiday is coming. And if they don’t outwit their pursuers before the bells toll, Christmas morning may bring nothing but blood.

** this book can be read as a standalone **

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Venezio

Snow drifted down in fat, lazy flakes, softening the hard edges of the city. Nearly every window glowed with strings of lights; each lamppost was draped in pine garland and bows.

People were everywhere, ducking in and out of storefronts, arms heavy with shopping bags, or families rushing to see Santa or the tree in Times Square.

The world around me was drunk on Christmas cheer, but for me, it always kind of felt like sticking my face against the glass of a party I’d never been invited to. Decorations, cookies, the carols spilling out of doorways—they belonged to other people. That had never been the life I’d known.

I ducked my head down against the snow and kept walking, my boots crunching on the powder that had already started to accumulate.

Up ahead, Lorenzo Costa’s brownstone was decked out for the season—wreaths adorned every window, garland framed the front door, and a life-sized colorful nutcracker stood guard on the step beside the actual human guard in his thick puffer coat, his breath puffing out smoke in the cool night air.

I’d never got my ass personally summoned to the capo dei capi’s house before.

Figured I was about to be promoted or murdered. Either way, there didn’t seem to be a reason to put it off, so I rushed up the stairs, nodded to the guard, then moved inside.

The warm air slapped me in the face as I tried to knock some of the snow off my boots before making my way into the dining room where the boss always held his private meetings.

Christmas threw up all over the inside of his place, too. Thick garland strung with twinkle lights and red and gold ornaments framed each doorway, matching décor draped the fireplaces, a Christmas village filled the seating area of the bow window, and a giant tree sat in the living room, a train lazily chugging around the skirt.

Somewhere in the house, Bing Crosby was crooning about toys being in all the stores. Something sweet was in the air, but I had no idea if it was cookies baking or a candle burning.

“What are you looking for?” Lorenzo asked when I stepped into the doorway and looked down at the floor instead of at the collection of nutcrackers down the center of the table or the dozens of Christmas cards displayed on the sideboard.

“Tarp,” I admitted, rocking back on my heels.

“You thought I’d off you in my house? With my kids upstairs?” Lorenzo asked, shaking his head. “Besides, don’t do much of the dirty work myself anymore,” he admitted. “You gonna take off your coat and sit down, or…”

I turned around to go back into the foyer, shrugged off my jacket, and hung it in the closet before heading back in.

Lorenzo Costa was what the ’80s movies said gangsters were: tall, fit, good-looking, and perpetually wearing a fucking suit. Even in his own house on a random Monday night.

Then again, pretty much every member of the Costa Family dressed that way. I was the odd man out in my black jeans, tees, and Timbs.

“Coffee?” he asked when I dropped down into a chair.

“Rather figure out what the fuck I did wrong and be on my way.”

Lorenzo’s brow raised, but he said nothing as he sat down. “What makes you think you did something wrong?”

“This feels like being summoned to the fucking principal’s office in school.”

“Spent a lot of time there, huh?”

“Not as much as I spent in detention.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Lorenzo said. “Unless you’ve done something I don’t know about yet, you’ve been keeping your head down, earning, and kicking up like you should.”

“Pretty sure I’m not here to get a pat on the back.”

“No,” Lorenzo said, exhaling. “I have a job for you.”

“Me?”

While we all technically worked for Lorenzo, I usually only got orders from one of his capos—Cosimo.

“Yeah.”

“Why me?”

“Can I level with you?”

“Don’t gotta dance around shit with me.”

“Alright. In that case, I need you because everyone else is busy with Christmas shit. Family shit. And you—”

“Don’t got nobody,” I filled in when he hesitated.

“I wasn’t going to put it that way, but, yeah, essentially. Between holiday parties, shopping, wrapping, Christmas concerts at school, all that shit, everyone is swamped from now until Christmas.”

“I got time. What do you need?”

“The Family have been long-time donors to a local charity that provides presents to shelter kids and their families.”

Honestly, the charitableness of the mob was probably the most surprising thing to me when I’d been brought on to work with them. The cynical part of me wanted to think it was a tax write-off thing, but it seemed like everyone had a cause they took up for: the homeless, women’s shelters, animals.

“Something tells me that you ain’t just doing it out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Well, we were for years. Until someone got an idea that helped us move some product into the city without suspicion.”

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Kylo (Golden Glades Henchmen MC #11) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/kylo-golden-glades-henchmen-mc-11-read-online-jessica-gadziala Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:11:43 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/kylo-golden-glades-henchmen-mc-11-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Contemporary, Mafia, MC Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Golden Glades Henchmen MC Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >77

After years of burning out, Rue thinks she’s finally pieced her life together again. Her grandmother’s plant shop gives her purpose—soil under her nails, green things thriving in her care, and peace she’s fought hard to earn.

But when dangerous men force her to hide contraband in her shipments from South America, that peace withers fast.

Then Kylo walks in—tattooed, quiet, claiming he just wants to start a plant collection. She doesn’t know he’s a biker sent to see if she’s part of the arms trade invading his club’s territory. Under the guise of friendship—that quickly becomes more—he helps her reclaim pieces of her life.

But when his betrayal is exposed and the danger closes in, Rue has to decide if she can trust the man who broke her heart to save her life

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Rue

“You’ve been a real pain in the butt this week,” I grumbled, ducking low to push with my legs, not my back. I’d already tweaked it earlier this week moving the absolutely massive monstera in its heavy clay pot out of the greenhouse since it decided on a random Wednesday that the spot that had been its home for the past four years was suddenly horribly insufficient and threatened to die on me.

Now I was moving it back into said greenhouse since it decided that the outside was even less up to its standards.

I was hoping it wasn’t time for another repotting.

The plant (with its ceramic pot, dirt, and support pole) easily weighed close to a hundred pounds. Even on a little rolling cart, it was difficult to work with. I was dreading the idea of having to take it apart to give it fresh dirt.

“Maybe I’ll make my life easier and take a sledgehammer to this stupid pot and put you in something lighter,” I told the plant with leaves larger than my head as I pushed it to the small greenhouse door. Even if, objectively, I knew the pot had to be big and heavy if I wanted it not to topple over.

I moved over to open and prop the door open.

The greenhouse was a living thing—warm, damp, and sweet with the scent of dirt.

Morning light filtered through the dusty glass room, golden rays gliding across the rows of hanging baskets.

There were soft clouds of mist drifting down from the automatic sprayers, and the low hum of the fans mingled with the chirp of a random cricket that had gotten trapped inside the day before.

This was what I affectionately referred to as my office. I spent the early mornings here before the shop opened, checking on the progress of transplants and the root growth of clippings from the larger mother plants that were in the store.

They were my little babies, proof of hours spent carefully tending to their needs.

Once they were strong enough, they would undergo a process I called “boot camp,” in which they would be abused in various ways (overwatering, underwatering, giving them too much or too little light), in the hopes that they would then be sturdy enough to go home with new plant moms and dads who were likely not going to meet their needs perfectly at first.

Sure, killing plants was an unfortunate part of being a plant collector. It took some work to figure out what kind of care different plants required. It just broke my heart a little at the idea of some of these very rare, incredibly expensive, plants not making it.

I had another smaller greenhouse called Plant Prison, where I kept the plants that came in on shipments once a month. The ones from garden centers or even imported from South and Central America. I couldn’t have possible infestations of spider mites or mealybug infestations ruining all of my other plants. So they went right into quarantine and usually got a preventative few weeks of treatments before they finally made it to the shelves in the store.

Going back behind the monstera that I couldn’t be too mad at since it had provided dozens of babies since I’d started cultivating her, I pushed her back into the greenhouse and set her back in her usual corner.

A long pothos vine tickled my face as I passed. Just the week before, it had been nearly touching the floor before I gave it a big haircut and made a solid three starter plants out of the clippings. Pothos, a basically unkillable houseplant, was always the first plant I offered to people new to keeping plants. I once had one in a dark, windowless bathroom for nearly a year, and the dang thing was still going strong.

I walked along the rows of plants in various states of growth, sucking in a deep breath, letting everything else drift away.

There was something holy about these mornings—the gentle drip of condensation, the whisper of life growing all around me. It made all the noise and ugliness of the world fall away.

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The Woman in the Hollow (Grassi Family #9) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-woman-in-the-hollow-grassi-family-9-read-online-jessica-gadziala Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:27:26 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-woman-in-the-hollow-grassi-family-9-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Grassi Family Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Hazel just wanted a fresh start in a state where she got to see all four seasons. When she gets a job at a garden center and is tasked with setting up their fall extravaganza—hayrides, haunted trails, and pumpkin-spiced everything—she was thrilled.

She didn’t expect her boss’s mother to become her biggest fan… or to start matchmaking her with Dante.

Then Hazel stumbles over what she’s sure is a dead body in the haunted woods—and everyone insists it’s just another prop. But Hazel knows what she saw. And the deeper she digs, the more she realizes her cozy new job is hiding something rotten beneath the leaves.

Now someone wants her silence, and the only person who can keep her safe might be the one man she shouldn’t trust at all.

* this title can be read as a standalone

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Hazel

“I’m sorry, my pretties,” I said, running my hands over my autumnal sweater collection I’d brought out of my under-bed storage two hopeful weeks ago when I still had faith that the fall weather would kick in eventually. “Not yet,” I added, grabbing a t-shirt instead and walking over to crank up the air conditioning.

Eighty-something degrees in October. I thought I was done crying over my electrical bill. Alas, nope.

It was opening day of The Hallows—the all-month Halloween festival at the garden center I’d started to work at two weeks before.

It had been a nonstop push to get the place turned over from your average, run-of-the-mill center that sold colorful annuals, hardy perennials, trees, soil, and mulch, as well as a tiny indoor store with planters, watering cans, and some yard decor into the sprawling extravaganza worthy of all the school class trips planned as well as a steady stream of casual visitors.

It was the first year, and apparently, the owner was seeking the same sort of vibes he’d felt when he was a kid and visited the garden center that had sat closed for over a decade.

I figured the guy was a Halloween freak like me. Which made working there even more exciting.

To be fair, I was just as much a freak about Christmas and spring planting. Which made this job even more perfect for me. Because once the autumn festivities wrapped up, the garden center would shift into Christmas mode—selling live trees, wreaths, garland, ornaments, and little gifts from local craftsmen. Not to mention the hot cocoa cart, pictures with Santa, and an actual live manger.

I was trying not to get too ahead of myself with the winter plans, even if my head was spinning with them. Halloween deserved my full attention. Especially on opening day.

I yanked the t-shirt down over my head and looked at myself in the mirror nailed behind my bathroom door.

It wasn’t the look I’d wanted to sport, but the simple black tee and the orange and black checked pants were just going to have to do.

I grabbed my work pin off the counter and secured it to my chest.

DG Greens.

Not the most unique of names, but I heard it was a homage to the old name of the place, just changed to the owner’s initials.

And apparently, the woods around the garden center had the nickname “the hollow” to the locals. Which gave it all the Halloween vibes.

Reaching up, I finger-combed my shoulder-length black hair and curtain bangs into some semblance of order, swiped on a deep autumnal red lip, and lined my dark brown eyes.

“Alright,” I said, nodding at my reflection. “Let’s go make Halloween magic.”

That was my mom’s phrase.

She said that parents (and sometimes grandparents, siblings, or aunts and uncles) were the “magic keepers.” They were in charge of creating that sense of wonder we all felt as little kids. That deep-seated awe that we all looked back on as adults with a soul-aching nostalgia.

Granted, I didn’t have any children yet, but I was a sort of stand-in magic-maker, working where I worked. And I took that job very seriously.

I paused in my kitchen to grab my cutesy ghost-printed water tumbler and my reusable witch hat coffee cup. Both were empty. Because one of the perks of the job meant I got bottomless coffee from the hot bevy cart and as much fresh-pressed cider as my heart demanded.

I skipped breakfast too. Because I had three apple cider donuts with my name on them. And maybe a slice of pumpkin bread while I was at it.

I didn’t even have to feel guilty about all the sweets since according to my fitness watch, I walked roughly twenty-five thousand steps over a general shift at the garden center. My aching thighs the first few days were testament to that.

“Okay. Hold the fort down,” I called to the large rectangular terrarium on my entryway table. That had been a fun project when I’d arrived in town—decorating and planning a real, self-sustaining ecosystem that included substrate, plants, water, and tiny little shrimp. None of which required any work from me to keep it thriving, save for maybe topping off the water when it evaporated.

As much as I hated it, my life didn’t allow for normal pets. I worked too much. But the shrimp let me feel like I had a couple of little companions who basically didn’t even know I existed.

“It’s going to be a late one,” I told them before grabbing my bag and phone and heading out the door.

“Disgusting,” I grumbled at the morning air, hot and soupy with humidity.

I wasn’t a summer hater, per se. It was just the whole of, you know, July and August, and a large chunk of September that I disliked. June was full of the wonder of long, warm days. But the thrill quickly faded as the insects invaded and the air made your clothes stick to your sweaty back and chest within minutes of being outside.

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Coach (Shady Valley Henchmen #8) Read Online Jessica Gadziala http://www.ilovenovels.com/coach-shady-valley-henchmen-8-read-online-jessica-gadziala Sun, 12 Oct 2025 20:52:06 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/coach-shady-valley-henchmen-8-read-online-jessica-gadziala Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC, Suspense Authors: Jessica Gadziala Series: Shady Valley Henchmen Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >77

A new town, a low-profile job, and a chance to finally breathe—that’s all she wants. But her “safe” gig cleaning a pool hall drops her straight into the middle of mafia business…and into the arms of a magnetic biker.

When the Bratva marks her as trouble, her carefully guarded past collides with a dangerous present, survival means trusting the man who would stop at nothing to bring to light every secret she’s kept shrouded in darkness to save her before it's too late...

* this book can be read as a standalone *

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Este

“Well, that’s… certainly a color.” I stared down at the open can of paint I’d nabbed for nothing on one of those free town groups. The gifter had been cleaning out their parents’ place, and all signs pointed to ‘packrats,’ judging by the random junk piled to the ceiling in teetering rows in the open garage when I’d stopped by to grab the random paint cans and spare tile they found lying around. Thanks to all that mess, the color swatch had gotten scraped off this particular can, so it had been a complete gamble at what color I was getting.

Eggplant purple.

It didn’t exactly go with my vision for my new place. But, hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And free was free. So, something was getting the eggplant treatment.

“What do you think?” I asked, looking over at the black-and-white dog staring at me from her giant saucer of a bed in the corner of the room.

Trix had been a lucky find in a specific area of an overcrowded shelter. Deemed ‘aggressive,’ she’d been sitting there without a home for two years before I—someone very interested in an aggressive dog—stumbled across her.

She was a beautiful black-and-white purebred Akita with the softest, fluffiest coat ever, making nighttime snuggles all the more comforting. But since our move to California, she was also the reason my electric bill threatened to bankrupt me, since she was definitely a dog meant for colder climates.

“I know. You’re sick of all the home improvement projects,” I said as she stared at me. “But I am determined to make this place feel like home.”

It was the first time we’d stopped moving around from one short-term rental to the next since I’d adopted her. Since well before then.

Something about this town felt right, though.

I couldn’t put a finger on it. I’d been to many small towns in my travels. But as I drove down the main street in Shady Valley, something clicked.

Maybe it was the beauty of the Death Valley mountains. Or the coziness of the main strip of stores—even if some weren’t operational. Perhaps it was how, as I drove, I saw many people standing on the sidewalk talking to one another. Or on their front lawns having friendly discussions.

Sure, there was a moody prison staring down at the town—all barbed wire and bright security lights at night. But this wasn’t the 1950s anymore, when prisoners were routinely sneaking out of their cells and escaping to nearby towns to steal money, clothes, or a car. Modern prisons were pretty secure.

Besides, a local prison likely meant a pretty strong police force and a general population heavy with corrections officers.

Both of those things were comforting to me.

When I secured a spot at the shady motel for a night so I could explore the local real estate and job market, I discovered something else. Because the town was in the middle of nowhere, because there wasn’t much chance of upward mobility career-wise, and because no one wanted to live so close to an active prison, the local housing market was slow and cheap.

Hell, I didn’t even have an active job when I asked about the duplex that I now called home. But I had the first, last, and security, and that was all the landlord cared about.

Surprisingly, the job had been easier to come by than I’d anticipated.

I hadn’t actively been seeking employment at the place, actually. I’d just stopped to try to look in the window of the closed pool hall when a brick from the step wobbled and fell out beneath my foot.

I just so happened to have the supplies in my trunk—thanks to needing to fix the bricks on the duplex’s front porch—so I took it upon myself to fix the step.

I was just relishing a job well done when a shadow fell over me.

“You like this kind of work?” a deep, smooth voice asked in a thick Russian accent. I whipped my head around to see a tall man in an all-black suit (in the middle of the day) towering over me in all his dark-haired, wide-jawed, brown-eyed beauty.

“I, uh, yeah. I, you know, probably should have asked first. But it fell out under my foot, so I sort of felt responsible. And, well, it was a safety concern.”

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