The Maddox Bravo Team Series by Logan Chance – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

The Maddox Bravo Team Series by Logan Chance – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Thu, 25 Sep 2025 16:13:31 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png The Maddox Bravo Team Series by Logan Chance – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Riggs (The Maddox Bravo Team #2) Read Online Logan Chance http://www.ilovenovels.com/riggs-the-maddox-bravo-team-2-read-online-logan-chance Thu, 25 Sep 2025 16:13:31 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/riggs-the-maddox-bravo-team-2-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Suspense Authors: Logan Chance Series: The Maddox Bravo Team Series by Logan Chance
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Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)

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He’s the fortress. She’s the feed. The stalker wants the world to watch.

Andy “Riggs” Riggs does not babysit influencers. BRAVO Security’s blunt-force problem-solver prefers doors he can breach and threats he can see. Until her. He’s assigned to protect Vanessa Mercado, a viral powerhouse with 20 million followers, a seven-city brand tour, and a stalker who’s turned her comments section into a countdown.

Vanessa lives online—unboxings, hotel keys, live streams at golden hour—until “fan” messages become doxxing, hacked room locks, and a white van that keeps appearing off-camera. She refuses to cancel, and the only thing gruffer than her new bodyguard’s voice is the way his hand settles at her back when the lights go out. Grumpy guard, sunshine siren—one fake-dating cover to shake a tail, one very real “only one bed” booking, and heat neither can post about.

As the tour spirals so do the sabotaged venues, inside leaks, and a sponsor with dirty strings. Riggs follows the money while Vanessa rewrites the rules of what she shares. To stop a hunter obsessed with turning her into his final viral moment, they’ll have to go dark, go off-script, and trust the kind of love that holds when the cameras don’t.

High heat, higher stakes, relentless cat-and-mouse

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

1

Riggs

Dean slides a manila folder across his desk like it’s a live device and not paper. “You already know her.”

I already know who it is. How can I not? “I don’t do glitter,” I say, even as I open it.

“You do threats.” He laces his fingers on the blotter. “Vanessa Mercado. Seven-city brand tour. DMs went from dumb to dangerous—timed to her private itinerary. Sponsors won’t cancel. She asked for BRAVO. She asked for you.”

We met in the Kingsley mess—sunshine in heels, flirting to hide fear, called me Beard-Mountain like it was a rank. Chemistry? Sure. Useless on a detail. I keep the file between us and start reading.

Screenshots. “I know where you sleep” junk, then two clean messages. One hits five minutes after her manager updates the travel doc. One includes a photo of a hotel hallway hours before she checked in. Low angle, maintenance phone. Another’s a drone still over her last rooftop shoot, framed too well to be luck.

“Inside leak,” I say. “Plus someone's flying eyes.”

“Rae’s remote.” Dean nods toward the bullpen where Rae pretends not to eavesdrop over a screen full of code. “Jaxson on call for digital; Hayes if we see devices. You’re primary. Build the box. Find the leak.”

I flip to the route grid. “Cities?”

“Saint Pierce, Seattle, Denver, Austin, Nashville, D.C., New York. Two weeks. Venues range from hotel ballrooms to rooftops to pop-up shops.”

“What does she want?”

“To keep her commitments and stay alive,” he says dryly. “In that order unless you convince her otherwise.”

“Copy.” I stand. “Anything else I should know?”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “Her brand manager, Brice. Hair higher than his threat IQ. He’ll whine about ‘deliverables.’ You’ll remind him warm skin tones look terrible in morgues.”

Rae finally turns. “I’ve got her metadata. Her comments are a crime scene. Scraping threats now. Also, someone accessed the Hotel Delphine staff portal from a tablet this morning—ghost user. If it pings again, I’ll tag it.”

“Good.” I tap my ear. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” she says.

Dean palms the folder back, takes a breath like he’s about to add rules. He doesn’t. He meets my eyes instead. “Keep it professional.”

“Always,” I echo, and this time it’s not for Rae.

Hotel Delphine smells like new money and polished citrus. The valet lane’s clogged with SUVs and ring lights the size of moons. I park on the side street because I don’t valet my ride, and I take the service elevator because I don’t enter through a lobby if there’s another way in.

Penthouse level: floral carpet fighting chrome. Two rental-blazer guards at a folding table check badges like they’re TSA. I flash BRAVO credentials, and they straighten like someone just made their day easier.

“Andy Riggs,” I say. “BRAVO.”

“Yes, sir.” The taller one swallows relief. He waves me toward the double doors.

The suite could fit a basketball court. Air’s hairspray, coffee, and a faint ozone from too many power strips. I sweep fast. Two exits. Windows sealed. Balcony slider dead-bolted but liftable. Bathroom clear. Kitchenette clear. People everywhere. A blonde woman with a headset bumps a cart and apologizes to a ficus. Brice—blazer, importance hair—barks into a phone about color temperature like it’s life support.

Center of gravity is on a stool under a ring light. Vanessa.

Cameras don’t catch gravity. People like her pull a room. She’s in jeans and an off-shoulder black top, bare feet—pink toes—and an effortless laugh that dies the second she sees me in the mirror. Not fear. Assessment. Memory.

She swivels, slides off the stool as the stylist swears and ducks, and then she crosses barefoot, smile already loaded.

“Riggs,” she says, like we left off yesterday. “Here to ruin golden hour?”

“Here to make sure you survive it.” I stop where I can see both doors and the balcony in a single glance. “Ground rules.”

Brice glides up, tight-smiled. “We have deliverables⁠—”

“You have a beating heart,” I say. “We post on delay against a neutral wall. No live location tells. Cut the real itinerary to need-to-know.”

Brice blinks. “Absolutely not.”

Vanessa doesn’t look at him. “We’ll cut it down,” she says. “Do it.”

He makes a deflating-balloon noise and stalks off.

I hand her a phone—slim, black case. “Secure device. Personal stays off unless Rae says otherwise. SOS triple-click on your watch is active. No unvetted food or packages. If you think you’re being followed, you don’t post. You move to an exit on my command.”

She flips the phone in her hand. “Not pink.”

“Encrypted.”

“Does it have a filter that makes me look like I slept eight hours?”

“No.”

“Honesty. How refreshing.” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and tips her head toward the balcony. “If I filmed an outfit transition there, how many ways could someone watch me do it?”

“Eight without trying,” I say. “Sixteen if they have time. High-rise across, balcony above, drone, phones, building’s own cams if someone has access.”

“And we don’t like being watched.” She files it away. “Okay, Beard Mountain.”

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Sawyer (The Maddox Bravo Team #1) Read Online Logan Chance http://www.ilovenovels.com/sawyer-the-maddox-bravo-team-1-read-online-logan-chance Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:46 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/sawyer-the-maddox-bravo-team-1-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Authors: Logan Chance Series: The Maddox Bravo Team Series by Logan Chance
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Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)

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He’s sworn to protect her. She’s determined to live her life. Neither planned on falling head-over-body-armor in love.

Heiress Camille “Cam” Kingsley would rather paint landscapes than grace society pages, but someone is sending chilling threats that say Cam’s last stroke of the brush should be her last breath. Enter Sawyer Maddox—former Navy EOD tech, fiercely protective, and the newest member of the elite Maddox BRAVO Security Team. His keep the free-spirited heiress alive, even if she believes danger is “just a dramatic misunderstanding.”

Sawyer’s strategy is lock down the mansion, lock out the bad guys, and absolutely, positively do not lock lips with his client. Easy… until one night when Cam paints for him. With each brushstroke, a blazing fire ignites between them.

With every mischievous grin Cam flashes, Sawyer’s bulletproof resolve cracks. And when the threats close in at paint-splattering speed, he’ll have to choose between following the BRAVO handbook or following his heart.

Protecting an heiress was never supposed to be this messy. But for Sawyer and Cam, danger might just be the masterpiece that paints them into the greatest love story money can’t buy

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

1

Sawyer

I’m halfway through dismantling a Glock 19 for a refresher speed-clean when my phone buzzes across the stainless-steel workbench like a restless cricket. One glance at the caller ID—Dean Maddox—and I know break time’s over. My cousin doesn’t summon me unless something’s on fire or about to be.

I pouch the weapon pieces in their velvet slots, wipe my hands, and jog the length of the BRAVO hangar. High above, the company logo—a gold —gleams against charcoal paint. We’re supposed to be “private security consultants,” but every inch of this place screams paramilitary. There’s obstacle courses, target ranges, armored SUVs lined up like obedient rhinos. I love it. After seven years of Navy EOD, disarming bombs, the disciplined hum of ready power is the only lullaby that works on my frayed nerves.

Dean’s office sits on a mezzanine overlooking the controlled chaos. Frosted glass, modern lines, basketball-size Himalayan salt lamp that pretends to mask the scent of gun oil. It’s a huge step-up from the skyrise he used to conduct business at. This site is more practical.

He’s pacing when I step into the large glass conference room we’ve named the Aquarium. His phone’s pressed to his ear, expression welded into that don’t-make-me-say-it-twice scowl our mothers swear we inherited from Grandpa Maddox. He jerks a chin at the leather chair opposite his—sit, stay—then turns his back and finishes the call.

I sink into the chair. The leather hisses, still warm from whoever just vacated it, and a faint trace of citrus cologne lingers in the air. Something tells me this isn’t a routine bodyguard job for a C-list tech bro.

Dean hangs up, pinches the bridge of his nose, and exhales like the world is growing heavier by the minute. “Pack a bag, Sawyer. You deploy in an hour.”

I arch a brow. “That’s… abrupt. Even for you.”

He drops a thick folder onto the desk. Stapled to the cover is a glossy eight-by-ten headshot of Camille Kingsley. Even in black-and-white she looks technicolor—wide hazel eyes, bee-stung lips, cheekbones that could slice glass. Her smile is crooked, like she’s in on a joke nobody else has heard yet.

“Camille Kingsley,” I say aloud, just to make sure the universe isn’t pranking me. “As in Kingsley Aeronautics? The zero-emission jet prototypes?”

“As in $34-billion market cap,” Dean confirms. “Her father, Gregory Kingsley, is scrambling to finalize an IPO. Two weeks ago Camille started getting threats.”

I flip open the folder. Inside: ransom-note letters, photos of bullet holes punched through landscape paintings, a police report stamped Ongoing Investigation. My stomach tightens. “The cops have any leads?”

“Nothing actionable. The letters are clean of prints and the phone threats route through VPNs in four continents.” Dean plants his fists on the desk. “Gregory’s pissed and panicking. He wants BRAVO on Cam twenty-four/seven until the perp is bagged.”

“Why me?”

“Because you don’t rattle.” He slaps my shoulder hard enough to pop a vertebrae. “And because you just finished that cyberstalker case in L.A. without so much as a scratch on the client.”

She’d been a Hollywood influencer whose TikTok went feral—easy compare-and-contrast with Camille Kingsley, America’s reluctant eco-princess. I’ve seen Cam’s face flash across finance channels and gossip rags: heiress turned rebel artist, paint under her nails instead of champagne bubbles in her flute. I know the basics: refused a seat on the Kingsley board, opened a community art studio in downtown Saint Pierce, donated half her trust-fund allotment to marine-conservation grants. The press either labels her a visionary or a spoiled brat who hates using daddy’s jet. Depends which side of the “eat the rich” debate sells more ad space that day.

Dean slides a tablet across the desk. A live security feed fills the screen: Cam’s Atlantic Heights mansion—a century-old sandstone beauty that looks like it could outstare Alcatraz. I watch a housekeeper carry tulips through a sunlit foyer. No sign of the princess herself.

“What’s the client’s attitude toward personal security?” I ask.

Dean snorts. “In her words: ‘I’m not running from a boogeyman wearing administrative shoes and a Napoleon complex.’”

I rub my jaw. “Translation: She thinks this is overkill.”

“Exactly. Gregory insisted. She tolerated two days with a local outfit before she sent them packing.”

“I’ll last longer.” I grin. “I’m charming.”

“You’re a bulldozer in combat boots. Just remember she’s the job, not the enemy.” He tosses me a key fob. “Take Rover Two. It’s fully up-armored, fresh from ballistic testing.”

I push to my feet. “Any stipulations?”

“Only one.” Dean’s eyes sharpen. “Keep it quiet. If the press sniffs you, Kingsley stock tanks. That IPO clock’s ticking.”

Silent and invisible, yeah, I can do that. I’ve defused warheads behind enemy lines with nothing but a multitool and a prayer. Babysitting one reluctant heiress can’t be harder.

Two hours later, Rover Two growls up Danforth Street, eating Saint Pierce’s asphalt like protein pancakes. Victorian mansions perch on either side, strung with bougainvillea and eight-figure price tags. Camille’s address looms ahead—a four-story behemoth fronted by wrought-iron gates tall enough to keep out Godzilla.

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