BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Billionaires & Bohemians Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Linnea May

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

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  A steamy scene with the protagonists of my other BDSM Romance novel 'I am Yours'.

  Barred

  A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Content

  Barred

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Chapter XXXII

  Chapter XXXIII

  Chapter XXXIV

  Chapter XXXV

  Epilog I

  Epilogue II

  Also by Linnea May

  Sneak Peek: TAMED – A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Prologue

  Lux

  Most people walk out of prison and embrace the freedom that welcomes them. They're glad to leave behind confinement, however short it may have been. They take in a deep breath, maybe pausing for a moment to take everything all in around them: the air, the space, the wind on their face. They are filled with a sense of relief and righteousness.

  Fuck that.

  When I walk out of that hellhole, I'm not greeted by a sense of freedom. No, what meets me is the harsh reminder that my family won't forget my misconduct that easily. What welcomes me is the face of my older brother Kingston, shielding his eyes from the blazing Californian sun with Ray Ban sunglasses as he awaits me outside the prison. He‘s leaning with his back resting up against a black Camaro, his arms crossed in front of his chest and looking at me with one eyebrow raised. That eyebrow says it all. Sure, he may have bailed me out, but he's not going to forget this.

  I walk toward him, reciprocating his judgmental look with a stoic expression. Our eyes freeze on one another for a moment, neither one of us changing our expression, fighting each other in a nonverbal dispute. It's been almost a year since we've seen each other. We were never that close even though we’re brothers, and I can't say that I missed him. He's the older one, the golden boy in whom my parents place all their hope. He's the heir, the man who will one day lead our family's empire - while I'm just the second son who can't do anything right, or rather, the one who won't do anything right. We both share the same level of repulsion against our family's world, but he's still better at playing by the rules than I am.

  I hate rules, especially the ones laid out by my family and their surroundings.

  "Get in the car," he snaps, leaving me no choice but to follow his command. "I'll take you home."

  He straightens up off the car and walks around to the driver's side, while I flip open the door and get in on the passenger side.

  "I could've gotten my own car, you know," I tell him, once we're inside the car and the doors are closed. "You didn't have to fly across the country to babysit me."

  Kingston huffs as he steers the car away from the curb, leaving the prison behind.

  "You're welcome," he says, ignoring my remark and in essence reminding me that I owe him.

  "You didn't have to do this," I say. "I could've-"

  "Oh, yes, I had to do this," he interrupts me. "My brother is not going to spend time in prison."

  He looks over to me, that eyebrow raised again. "Imagine if they knew. This is the best way to prevent that from happening."

  So, he actually didn't tell our parents about this. After what he did last year, I figured he wouldn't miss out on this chance to cast a poor light on me to divert attention from his own shit. He was supposed to marry that annoying but reputable shrew, but then he called the whole thing off at the engagement party because some nerdy no-name girl caught his eye. I was almost impressed. Our father's idea of having a 'real man' take over the family business is so ridiculous. I couldn't believe Kingston would actually go along with that bullshit and let himself be tied down to some idiotic Upper East Side bitch, and when I heard that he ended it, I thought he had returned to his senses.

  Until I heard the reason for his last minute retreat.

  He'd fallen in love. Or so he claimed. What an idiot. He’d gone from the pot to the frying pan. From being smoked to smothered.

  At first, I thought he had just done it to piss off our father, but then he kept dragging this girl along everywhere and introducing her to everyone and their mother. He was putting every ounce of effort possible into making our parents like her. It was fucking pathetic. My mother was enamored with the girl, and according to her, even my father was beginning to like her, especially when she became my brother's fiancée. She may not have been the proper choice as far as our parents were concerned, but she was going to be my brother‘s wife nonetheless, and him landing a wife was what mattered most to them in the end.

  They've always worried about silly shit like that. Getting settled down, following in the family‘s footsteps, doing the right and proper thing. Neither Kingston or I ever followed protocol exactly as they wished, but the pressure was higher on him. He's the important one, not me. If they found out about me getting locked up for illegal hacking activities, it would at least remind them that they have a second son - that other kid they like to forget about.

  I shake my head. "Whatever. I don't care if they know."

  "For fuck's sake, Lux," Kingston yells. "I know you like to see yourself as the black sheep of the family, the bad boy, but it's getting old. You're twenty-five years old, it's time for you to grow the fuck up!"

  I turn to my brother, casting him a disgusted look.

  "Holy shit, you sound just like Dad," I say. "What happened to you, man?"

  "Nothing happened to me," Kingston insists. "I'm just tired of your shit. And you're right, I shouldn't have to babysit you. I don't have time for this."

  "Then don't!" I bark at him. "I don't need you here! Go home to your fucking nerd girl and play house and-"

  Kingston stops the car so suddenly that both of us are yanked up harshly into our seat belts. We're on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, so we don't run the danger of anyone else ramming into us, but I still turn to him with an exasperated look on my face.

  "Dude, what the-?"

  "Shut up!" he yells at me. "Just shut the fuck up, Lux! I don't need this bullshit. You're right, I should have let you rot behind bars and tell our parents about the shit you've been up to since you moved here. But unlike you, I have an ounce of responsibility inside me, and
I know that you don't need any more people breathing down your neck with the same crap we've heard all our lives. I know it sucks, I hate it as much as you do."

  He pauses, swallowing a deep breath before he continues.

  "But you're my fucking brother," he says, lowering his voice. "I can't just watch you ruin your life. I just... can't. Fuck, Lux, you're the smart one. You are fucking brilliant, we both know that. You graduated college summa cum laude, and it came fucking easy to you because you're just so damn smart. Other people would kill for that damn brain of yours."

  He pauses again, shaking his head and starting to laugh, almost as much to himself as to both of us.

  "I mean, damn it, even that cracking business of yours, I don't want to applaud you for it, but that was fucking genius," he continues, now looking at me. "I just don't get it. Why don't you put that brain to better and more lucrative use?"

  I huff at him. "Who says this wasn't lucrative?"

  "Long term," he says. "Legit, legal. A real business, no shitting people in the dark."

  I cast him a dark smirk. "This was more fun."

  He raises both of his eyebrows this time, again shaking his head. Despite sharing my repulsion against our parents' strict upbringing, Kingston has always been the reasonable one. I guess he kind of had to be, as the oldest.

  "Was it fun when they arrested you?" he asks. "Was it fun being in prison with all those other idiots? Because I can tell you one thing: this is the first and last time I'm bailing you out. If this happens again, you're on your own."

  I nod. "I got that."

  We're getting closer to my neighborhood. When I see the first familiar intersections, streets, and stores, I can finally feel it, that sense of relief and freedom. I've only been locked up for a couple of weeks, but it was long enough to make me miss this place, my home.

  I have only been back to New York for the holidays since I've moved here, and I can't say that I miss it. In a way, I've always been a West Coast man, I was just born on the wrong side of the country.

  "How long are you staying?" I ask my brother, as we stop for a red light.

  "I'm flying out tomorrow," he says. "No reason for me to hang around, right? You don't need a babysitter."

  I breathe out in frustration. "You don't have to worry about me."

  "I do," he objects. "Obviously, I do, or I wouldn’t have come out here. But like I said, I don't have time for this, and I trust that you're capable of coming up with a better plan than cracking. Right?"

  He looks at me for confirmation, and I grant him a nod. I have no real desire to get in trouble with the law again, at least not like this.

  "Besides," he adds. "I'd much rather be home right now."

  "Because of the missus?" I ask him.

  "Don't call her that," he snaps at me. "Her name is Elodie."

  "Elodie? That's a weird name."

  He casts me a quick look from the side, raising one eyebrow as a warning sign.

  "She's special," he says. "Maybe you‘ll get lucky enough to meet her one day."

  I laugh, shaking my head.

  "So, you did get yourself chained down, just as our father always wanted, huh," I say. "Good boy."

  I expect him to be furious at my ridicule, hitting the brakes and yelling at me again. But instead, Kingston just laughs and shakes his head, as if he's feeling sorry for me.

  "No, I didn't," he says, smiling as he looks at the street ahead of us. "I lucked out, big time. There are no chains involved when you meet the right person, trust me. If anything, it feels liberating."

  I furl my eyebrows, unsure what to think of his words.

  "You sound like a fucking chick lit novel," I say.

  Kingston shrugs. "I don't care. It may sound cheesy as fuck, but it's something you only understand when it finally happens to you."

  I look at my older brother, the guy used to take me out to party and pick up girls when I was still a teenager, the guy who bragged about banging a new chick every week, each one prettier than the last. And now that same guy is smiling like a fucking idiot as he talks about getting married, tamed, and caged for the rest of his life.

  "How, though?" I wonder out loud. "How the hell did this happen?"

  He chuckles.

  "It's a long story," he says. "You can buy me a drink tonight and I'll tell you."

  He turns onto the street I live on, still with that blissful expression illuminating his face.

  "I don't get it," I say. "How do you even know that it's different with this one? How do you not feel suffocated by her? I can't imagine confining myself like that... like, ever."

  Kingston stops the car in front of the underground parking garage of my building and just looks at me as we wait for the gate to open.

  "Oh, you'll know when it hits you," he says.

  "You'll fucking know."

  Chapter I

  Sara

  ~ six months later ~

  "Don't be such a goody-goody!" my friend Olivia encourages me. Even though she's yelling, I can barely hear her voice over the loud beats of the club's music.

  I don't go out often, but when Olivia asked me to join her group of friends tonight, I couldn't say no. It's almost the end of ballet season, and I have been looking forward to letting loose and having a little more fun than I could during the last few months.

  However, we seem to have very different ideas of what makes a great night out. While I came here to dance and maybe have a drink or two, Olivia and her friends have a different order of priorities. For them, drinking comes before dancing.

  I don't want to be a spoil sport, but I know I'm a terrible lightweight when it comes to alcohol. I’m not a regular drinker, and my petite stature isn't exactly conducive to excessive consumption. I almost feel like I should have trained for this.

  So, when Olivia waves me over for yet another round of shots, I try to ignore her and continue dancing, which she doesn't take so well.

  "Come on!" she yells, waving at me. "Just one more!"

  Even with her dark complexion, I can tell that her cheeks are glowing from the many drinks she's already had. She's better at all of this – better at drinking, better at partying – than I am. I know there's no way that I can keep up with her.

  Still, I respond to her gesturing and make my way over to her and the two other girls who came along with us tonight. They're both friends of Olivia‘s who work with her on stage. Even though they're very different from me, I'm glad they're here tonight – it means I can excuse myself whenever I feel ready to go home without having to worry about leaving Olivia all by herself at the club.

  I'm not ready to leave yet, though.

  Olivia beams at me, nodding encouragingly as she hands me a little shot glass.

  "What is it?" I ask her, smelling the contents as if the scent could tell me anything other than it‘s some kind of strong spirit.

  "Yeah!" Olivia yells in response, revealing that she didn't understand my question.

  She raises her little glass and the other two follow her lead, casting expectant looks my way. I give in and clink glasses with them, compliantly downing another shot of what turns out to be vodka. I grimace as the disgusting taste takes over my entire mouth, and the hot liquid travels down my throat. This is so nasty, I will never understand why people would drink pure vodka voluntarily. It goes well when mixed with other stuff, but that’s only because the vodka taste is completely lost then.

  Why am I drinking this? I ask myself.

  Because I don't want to let Olivia down. Not again.

  She's yelps out with joy and wraps her arm around my shoulders, jumping up and down, congratulating me on finishing another shot. I jump with her, infatuated by her happiness.

  And this is where I should have stopped. This should have been my last drink for the night.

  But it wasn't.

  Instead, this was the shot that sent me over the edge and caused me to lose all inhibitions. It's never happened to me before, believe it or not, but I'v
e heard of it happening to other people. It's that point when the sweet and dizzying buzz from the first few drinks turns into drunken levity.

  It's great at first. Warm giddiness takes over, making me dance like I've never danced before. Reckless, wild without abandon, completely exuberant. There's no controlling my movements, I just dance. It must be the first time that I've been able to let go, not following the strict rules that usually determine my every move. Ballet, as airy as it may seem, doesn't leave a lot of room for frolicking, and that's part of why I love it so much. On the other hand, it makes tonight's release all the more enjoyable.

  I dance like I've never danced before.

  Sadly, I also drink like I've never drank before.

  It's too late by the time I realize it. Olivia is a good friend and forces me to switch to drinking water when she notices that I can't handle another drop. But as soon as she lets me out of her sight, I'm back at the bar, leaning drunkenly against the counter and yelling for another Vodka Cranberry. The bar is crowded and loud, the party has reached its peak, and the bartender is too busy to notice tiny little me, jumping and stretching in an attempt to gain his attention. Once again, my lack of height complicates things. While it comes in handy for my profession, I curse my small stature every day on a regular basis when it comes to the simple things.

  "What drink?!" someone yells into my ear from the right.

  I flinch, instinctively jumping away from the person. I turn around to see who's come this close to me without me even realizing it.

  Even through my blurred and shaky vision, I can tell this guy is a God damn Adonis, bowing down to me while supporting himself on the counter with a strong arm that‘s covered in tattoos. His hazel eyes are the centerpiece of a face so handsome that it almost hurts to look at him. His angular jaw is shaved clean, with not even the slightest stubble in sight, and his dark brown hair is shaved on one side, the other swept aside in longish strands that fall into his face, partly covering one of his eyes. His smile produces the sexiest dimple on the left side of his face, the same side where his hair is clean-shaven in a crew cut.