Broken Boys Crave Chaos Read online

  Broken Boys Crave Chaos—Moments Series Book 4

  Copyright © 2022 by Author JB Heller

  Published by- Author JB Heller

  Cover Design by- Tall Story Designs

  Photographer- Miguelanxo

  Editing by- Creating Ink

  Proofreading by- Jenn Lockwood Editing

  Formatted by – JeBDesigns

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Also by JB Heller

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  My stomach lurches as two rats the size of my sister’s obese cat Titus run across the entrance of the darkened alley I’m lurking in. As if the stench emanating from the overflowing dumpster wasn’t bad enough. I cringe. I hate rats.

  I close my eyes, a shudder rolling through my body. Disgusting little fuckers. When I open my eyes again, I’m able to focus on the task at hand. My gaze flicks from window to window of the townhouse across the way, counting how many people are inside.

  My target is a creature of habit, he’ll return here, he always does. In fact, he’s been arrested at this very address four times over the last ten years. You’d think he’d find another hangout by now.

  “You got eyes on him yet?” my sister Belle asks through my earpiece.

  She’s keeping an eye on the back entrance from the comfort of the truck, while I’m stuck in this rancid laneway. I touch my receiver and reply, “Nope, but he’ll show.”

  “Twenty bucks says he won’t,” Belle fires back.

  I scoff. “Fifty says he’ll be here within the next hour.”

  “You must love giving your money away. But whatevs, I don’t mind taking it from you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I flip my long black braid over my shoulder, and I ignore her ass. Belle doesn’t normally come on retrievals with me, choosing to stay in the office where there’s less risk of her breaking a nail. Snow and I generally work cases like this one together because she, like me, doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.

  We both have a thing for being underestimated. The adrenaline rush when your target assumes you haven’t got a chance of taking them in because you’re just a lowly woman… best feeling ever.

  Of course, I’d rather things go peacefully. But I do so love it when they don’t. It’s about a seventy-thirty split when Snow and I work a case. That’s partially because we intentionally give our youngest sister Kida the ones we know won’t give her any trouble. And because we enjoy the more challenging cases.

  Belle is ultra girly and prefers to stick with the tech side of the operation. But that doesn’t mean she’s any less capable of kicking ass. I’ve seen her take down a dude almost twice her size while wearing a pair of hot pink high heels I’d break my neck in. In fact, she stabbed him with said heel when he tackled her to the ground.

  That’s why I wasn’t too worried when Snow had other plans tonight and I had to bring Belle to cover the back entrance instead. I know she’ll take care of business if she must, and God help the guy if she breaks a nail in the process.

  I smile as the image of her losing her shit when one of her nails snapped as she handcuffed a guy a few months back fills my mind. But it’s quickly washed away as I catch sight of a sleek black SUV pulling up curbside outside the townhouse. I scan the vehicle, cataloguing any important details, finally homing in on the number plate.

  I touch my earpiece. “SUV out front, plates are a match. Look alive, big sister.”

  “On it,” Belle’s curt response filters through as I edge my way closer to the mouth of the alley.

  There are five of his crew inside the townhouse, and if he makes it inside, this operation will be infinitely harder. I need to apprehend him before he reaches the front door. Hovering in the shadow of an awning on the street front, I wait until I lay eyes on him then dart across the road. Stepping out from behind his ride with all the confidence I possess, I saunter towards him. “Fulton? Is that you?”

  He turns to face me, his brow creased as his gaze roams over me, and I can tell the moment he decides I’m not a threat. An easy smirk tilts his admittedly pretty mouth as he tips his chin at me. “And you are? I’d remember a face like yours for sure.”

  For all of point five of a second, I contemplate playing coy, but screw that. I pause a foot from him and match his smirk. “Oh, you’ll definitely remember me after tonight,” I murmur, slapping a cuff around his right wrist and spinning his body toward the SUV, forcing him against the side as I lean all my weight into his back and snatch his left hand up behind him before securing the cuffs.

  “What the fu—”

  “Skipping bail is a federal offence, Fulton. I hope you enjoyed your freedom while it lasted,” I tell him, then I touch my earpiece once again. “Ready for pick up.”

  Rogue chimp spotted on Shiloh Springs University campus.

  When I took the job at the Shiloh Springs Gazette, I was under the foolish assumption I’d be putting my journalism degree to good use, informing the town of important issues and current affairs. Instead, I’m throwing together a fluff piece about an escape artist chimpanzee at eight fifteen on Monday night as, once again, the article that should be on the front page tomorrow morning is pushed to page seven.

  Grinding my molars I glare at my cell, rereading the text from my editor telling me this is a human-interest piece, and while the article I wrote on budget cuts in the police department is significant, it’s just not that interesting.

  This friggin’ monkey has already escaped the zoo three times, and it’s made the front page every damn time, taking the spotlight off more pressing matters. You’d think the rise in homelessness over the last three years would take precedence over a primate prima donna who seeks out his adoring fans after closing time.

  I get that it’s funny; I laughed the first time, even the second. He’s a shifty little bastard, and everyone loves animals with personality. But it’s not front-page news. A town with close to twelve thousand residences that only has six full time officers manning the police department, and three civilian employees, is of far greater concern in my opinion.

  But what would I know, I’m just a trust fund baby fresh out of college with no industry experience. At least that’s what my boss said when I fronted him about it the last time this happened.

  I know I need to pay my dues and earn the right to be considered a serious journalist. But knowing it and being patient enough for it to happen are two very different things. Patience in the bedroom, not a problem. Patient in life, yeah, not so much.

  I’m smart, always have been. It’s not something I’ve ever had to work for, it just is. I skipped two years of high school and only stopped there because I wanted to hang out with Chance, my aunt and best fri
end. Graduating from high school at fifteen seemed great at the time. But that meant I graduated from college at nineteen, which isn’t a bad thing. But add to that the babyface I’ve been cursed with... I’m screwed.

  Try being a twenty-one-year-old heir to one of the most prestigious hotel chains in the world, holder of a bachelor’s in communications with a focus on journalism, and not one person outside of my family takes me seriously. It pisses me the hell off.

  My jaw ticks as I tap away at the keys of my laptop, each tap harder than the last until I can’t take it anymore. “Fuck this,” I mutter as I slam it closed then shove it away. It glides easily across my silky quilt cover, forcing me to dive for it before it falls over the side. My fingers curl around the silver corner just in time.

  Placing my laptop gently on my bedside table, I flop back on my mattress and groan. Maybe I should have taken up my grandfather’s offer to join the Quinn Plaza marketing team? Writing for the company’s lifestyle magazine would be better than this shit.

  Giggling draws me up short, so I push up on my elbows to find my godson Harley standing in my open doorway. He’s got his favorite comic book tucked under one arm, and his new batman figurine clutched to his chest as he grins at me, eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Can’t sleep?” I ask.

  He just smiles and toddles over to my bed. The kid is a ninja and can climb anything, so I don’t bother helping as he uses my side table as a ladder of sorts to get up onto the mattress. Once he’s up, he crawls over to me and rests his head on my chest. I lay back and he goes with me, snuggling into my side. Running my fingers through his soft curls, I ask him, “You alright, my man?”

  He’s only ten months old, but he’s insanely intelligent. I know he understands me, I can see it in his eyes when he peers up at me. This kid is going to run the world one day. He blinks a few times and snuggles closer. Curling my free arm around him, I hold him close until he wriggles free and hands me his comic.

  “No, buddy, it’s too late. We already read a few pages when I put you down. It’s sleep time now. Do you want to stay in here with me tonight?”

  He nods, lays his head back on my shoulder, then closes his eyes. I smile and kiss his unruly curls. Harley’s out to it within five minutes, his batman doll tucked in between us, jabbing me in the ribs. I shimmy over a little then roll on to my side, facing the cutest kid in existence. Looking at him now, there’s no mistaking he’s Mase’s son.

  The older he gets, the more he looks like his dad. I was admittedly a tiny bit disappointed when the DNA results came back confirming I wasn’t his father. But it was for the best. Mase and Scout were always meant to be together. She and I never would have worked; we don’t fit. But her and Mase… they’re like puzzle pieces that just click.

  Harley snores softly beside me, and I reach out, pushing a curl off his forehead. I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Mase and I have gotten really close since everything went down. We’ve grown from mere acquaintances who barely tolerated each other, to family in a matter of months. I know that never would have happened had there not been questions over Harley’s paternity.

  The whole experience made it super clear to me what I want in a relationship. No, not what I want, what I need. And I don’t see myself finding it any time soon. My mom and dad may have found each other when they were just teenagers, but even they couldn’t make it work at the time. So, I’m putting love and relationships on the back burner.

  My friends, my family, my work—okay, my work sucks, but everything else in my life is fulfilling. I don’t need a woman. And whenever I start thinking otherwise, this little guy right here helps distract me.

  I’m startled awake by a crash coming from my living room. I sit bolt upright, my gaze searching the room for Harley, but he’s not in here. A soft, “Uh-Oh” filters into the room, and I practically fly out of bed and find him sitting on the floor in front of my TV.

  I frantically scan our surroundings: no blood, nothing broken—that’s a positive.

  Stepping closer, I’m confident the “uh-oh” is because my Xbox console is not in its spot on the TV cabinet, instead it’s on the ground beside Harley. I arch a brow as I crouch down and ask, “Harley, were you climbing the TV cabinet?”

  The toddler looks at me with wide, innocent eyes, then shakes his head. I narrow mine in response because we both know exactly what he was doing. “Then why is the Xbox on the floor?” I point at it, and he follows my finger.

  When he looks back to me, he gives me the most adorable, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth smile. Then says, “Uh-oh.”

  God freaking damn it. This is a teaching moment, I know it is, but that smile is my kryptonite. I glance away for a beat to gain my composure then take a deep breath before reaching for the console and placing it back on the shelf. “You know you’re not allowed to touch this. It might be broken now, and that means you can’t play your Batman game.”

  He doesn’t actually play it, more like sits on the couch pressing buttons on the spare controller as I sit beside him and play, letting him think he is. He’s obsessed with Batman.

  His bottom lip begins to quiver, and tears shine in his eyes. It takes everything in me not to panic. I honest to God hate it when he cries. It kills me. But I’ve got this, a distraction is needed, stat! I scoop him up in my arms and carry him to the kitchen. “Let’s get you a bottle and some breakfast, bud, then we can assess the damage.” I swing open the fridge and grab a pouch of Scout’s expressed breast milk then set to warming it.

  Harley lays his head on my shoulder and pats my chest as I flit around the kitchen. While his milk is warming, I grab his bowl from the cupboard, then his porridge. Harley sleeps over at least once a week, so I have this little routine down to an art. I pop him in his highchair at the end of the kitchen counter then pour some of the perfectly heated milk into his sippy then set the remainder aside for his porridge.

  He waits patiently for me to get a bib from the drawer, clip it around his neck, and hand over his drink. “Here you go bud.”

  “Ta,” he says as he takes it from me.

  So damn smart.

  I shoot him a wink. “You’re welcome, little man.” While he’s drinking, I throw some bread in the toaster and mix up his porridge.

  Glancing at my watch, I figure we’ve got about twenty minutes before Mase comes to pick him up, so I grab Harley’s overnight bag and get his clothes out for the day, setting them on the back of the couch until we’ve finished breakfast.

  Not fifteen minutes later when I’m tugging his shirt over his head—a Batman shirt, of course—Mase waltzes into my apartment.

  Harley claps excitedly at the sight of his dad and chants, “Dad-dad-dad-dad.”

  “S’up, my man?” Mase says, swooping down to scoop Harley up and toss him in the air.

  I cringe. “He just ate. If he hurls, you’re cleaning it up.” Moving to the kitchen, I rinse off our dirty dishes then throw them in the dishwasher before doing a quick scan of my apartment for Harley’s toys.

  “How was he?” Mase asks, following me around the place with Harley’s little backpack in hand and tossing the toys inside as I find them.

  “Good, he’s always good. Slept with me last night though. I put him to bed at seven, but he came in around eight thirty.”

  Mase nods. “He’s been doing that on and off for the last couple of weeks.”

  “Doesn’t bother me, I enjoy the cuddles. Before we know it, he’ll be too cool for snuggles,” I tell Mase as I swipe up the Batmobile.

  “Easy for you to say, not like there’s a smokin’ hot chick in your bed moments from the big O when the biggest cock-blocker in the world strolls in.”

  I scrunch up my face and turn to my best guy friend. He’s grinning like a fool, and I get the sudden urge to slap that smarmy look off his face. “Dude, no. Just—” I shake my head. “No. We don’t talk about your sex life. It’s weird and gross.”

  His lips quirk in a cocky smirk. “You
’re just jealous Scout liked my dick better.”

  “Oh, fuck off,” I snap. “We both know if it was down to the dicking, she’d have chosen me.”

  He scoffs and punches me in the shoulder. “You wish. So, you found someone to burn the midnight oil with when my kid’s not around yet?”

  “Nope. And I’m not lookin’ either.”

  “Why not?” Mase asks, confusion coloring his tone. “I’m not talking about getting married or some shit. Just a chick to bone down with.”

  “As lovely as that sounds, I’ve got a perfectly good hand that takes very good care of me. Thank you very much. No woman needed,” I inform the nosey bastard as I slip into my bedroom to get dressed for my day.

  Mase follows me, leaving Harley playing with some blocks in the living room. “Your hand? Why the hell would you use your hand when you can bang a hot chick? I swear you are one confusing motherfucker sometimes.”

  Snagging a white button down and slim black tie from my walk-in closet, I lay them over the armchair in the corner of my room then return for my pants. “Less complications,” I tell him. “Besides, I’m not into casual hookups. That was your thing, not mine.”

  “Not into casual hookups,” Mase murmurs under his breath, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around the concept.

  Chuckling, I strip down to my boxer briefs then slide my legs into a pair of black dress pants. “They didn’t call you Mase the Manwhore for nothin’. But it’s just not my style.”

  “Yeah, well it’s Mase the Reformed Manwhore now,” he says, grinning again.

  As I finish dressing, Mase sprawls out across my bed as Harley toddles in, Batman under his arm. He climbs up to join his dad.