Zach: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance Read online

  Zach

  A Chicago Bad Boy Romance

  Peter Presley

  Contents

  About the Chicago Bad Boys

  About Peter Presley

  1. Zach

  2. Kayla

  3. Zach

  4. Kayla

  5. Kayla

  6. Zach

  7. Kayla

  8. Kayla

  9. Kayla

  10. Zach

  11. Zach

  12. Kayla

  13. Kayla

  14. Zach

  15. Kayla

  16. Kayla

  17. Zach

  18. Kayla

  19. Zach

  20. Kayla

  21. Kayla

  Please leave a review!

  About the Chicago Bad Boys

  Peter's Chicago Bad Boy Romance stories can be read as stand-alones even though they are series books, and every book has an HEA and NO CHEATING!

  Zach is the third and final book in the series. Although you can read Zach as a standalone, I recommend starting with the first book in the series - Alex.

  Alex Sobol has had enough. One last job for the Kocan Brotherhood, and he’s done. But when the long-time car booster with the boy next door good looks, runs into the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, before he’s completed the job, his mission to end it all comes to a screeching halt.

  Irish, auburn-haired Heather Dunn is all for a little excitement, but when she meets Alex, she gets far more than she ever expected. He’s looking for a way out. She’s hoping to stay alive. His cohorts are out for blood.

  Can the former bad boy and the beautiful, innocent bystander outrun The Kocan Brotherhood and the police or has their fate already been sealed?

  Get Alex HERE!

  Here's a list of the main characters. (Characters in one book may appear in other books.)

  Alex Sobol (Books 1 and 2)

  Heather Dunn (Books 1 and 2)

  Kendrick Johnson (Books 1 and 2)

  Anita Jackson (Book 2)

  Zachary Russo (Books 2 and 3)

  Kayla Franklin (Book 3)

  About Peter Presley

  Peter Presley is the alter ego of Piper Presley. Piper writes shorts at 10K and under; Peter writes novellas and novels.

  Join Piper and Peter’s newsletter and get a free book. Details at the end of Zach: A Chicago Bad Boy Romance!

  1

  Zach

  I swipe the cobweb clinging to the corner of my ceiling. Raising my arm brings back memories. Every time I feel that resistance, every time I feel that pinch in my shoulder, I’m reminded of why I’m no longer a fighter.

  It’s been four years since my MMA days. I had become a top draw, in the papers and on TV, until repeated injuries to my shoulder put me out of the spotlight and, eventually, out of the game.

  That’s what I used to be, a mixed martial arts fighter, and it was a hell of a ride. But the good times didn’t last and the bad times came soon after.

  I’m not an educated guy, no big surprise. Heck, I barely made it out of high school. But if there’s one thing I could do it was fight, and I was good at it, so much so I was up to nearly two million dollars per fight. Not bad for the MMA, and for a guy in his early twenties, with only a high school degree, I was on top of the world.

  But after my shoulder gave out, after I knew my fighting days were over, I blew through the money I had left quicker than you could imagine. Depression hit me hard, and I was like, “fuck it!” I spent my money on three things: cars, women, and drugs, but at a pace that was, like, ten times more than before. To say I was out of control would be an understatement. Then, when my money was gone, and my house had been foreclosed, and my cars had been repossessed, and none of the ladies wanted to talk to me anymore, enter Tony Bello. I was days away from taking my own life, but he knew what I was and he knew what I could be.

  Mr. Bello was one of the heads in St. Louis. That’s where we’re from, St. Louis. He’s into all sorts of shit like loan sharking, extortion, racketeering, credit card fraud, to name some. Is he a Mafia guy? You guessed it.

  But despite all that, he attended every one of my fights, always sitting right up front with a new beautiful lady on his arm. When other people didn’t believe in me, Bello always did.

  Today, I still beat up motherfuckers, just not the legal way. I’m an enforcer, someone who makes sure you pay what you owe. If you don’t pay, you’ll get a visit from me, and you don’t want a visit from me. I’m not in the murder business, but I can put you out of commission for a long time. One guy couldn’t walk for eight months after I got through with him, but he paid what he owed, with interest.

  About two years after Tony and me hooked up, he wanted to move to Chicago, said he had a few buddies who wanted to form a partnership.

  Bello is my meal ticket, the reason I’m not six feet under. So where he goes, I go. We’ve been working together in Chicago for the last three years.

  Chi-Town. I saw some pretty shady shit back in St. Louis, but out here it’s even worse. Anything goes down here. Hell, it didn’t take Bello long to become one of the major players in this town too, and that’s good for me.

  Before Bello took old Zachary Russo under his wing, I was a broken down fighter who had lost everything. Now, I’m living large again. I’m in a penthouse apartment, pretty sick; I’m driving a Jag. You see, in this business, when your boss does well, you do well.

  I’ve got another thing going for me, too. The joke is I’m the best-looking enforcer the world has ever seen. I don’t care about that shit, but I’ve always known I was good looking, ever since I was a kid.

  I’m 27, 6’ 3”, dark hair and dark eyes. When I was down on my luck, I got propositioned to star in a porno. Guy told me I was perfect for the movies he wanted to make. You see, I was so desperate, so down on my luck, I almost took that job. That was right before I was ready to end it all, before Bello showed up and pulled me out of that shit.

  I’m Italian, and my dad’s people and my mom’s people came over here from Sicily. My parents met in high school and grew up in The Hill, an Italian neighborhood in St. Louis. Unfortunately, both of my parents are dead now. They got killed in an automobile accident, and that changed my whole life.

  After they died, I got sent to live with my Aunt Maria and my Uncle Leo. It wasn’t a good scene, and I got into a lot of trouble in school. But my uncle knew I needed to find some other way to take care of all my extra energy. That’s when I started practicing after school in the gym. By the time I was 21, I was ready for my first fight, and I did better than anyone expected. But now that world is over.

  I’m not that great with words and I don’t like to think about my feelings. That’s why I think I was always cut out for fighting. Taking care of my frustrations with a swing to someone’s face felt natural.

  I wish I could tell you it bothers me when I hit some fucker who won’t pay his bill, but it doesn’t. I’m able to separate the two - do my job, get paid and get on with my life. Mr. Bello likes that about me; he likes that I can get a job done.

  I don’t know how long I can do this, but I won’t be quitting anytime soon. The work has gotten easy for me, routine. These knuckles have seen a lot of action.

  It’s around ten at night, and I’m driving south down Lake Shore Drive heading to the apartment of some down on his luck alcoholic who owes Bello about $25 grand. The guy hasn’t made a dent in any of his payments for the last five months. That’s when I step in. You see Bello isn’t as bad as you may think. He’s the only bookie I know who puts people on a payment plan if they at least try to make an effort, but not this guy, and not any of the guys I have to pay a visit. They think Bello will f
orget about what they owe, but they’re wrong about that every time.

  I get out of my car. This guy lives in a rundown apartment building by the railroad tracks. They tell me this guy used to be some big-time lawyer. But the sorry fucker got hooked up with alcohol and gambling, and now he barely has a pot to piss in.

  I walk up the rusty staircase to his apartment - 10B. I bang on the door. I know he’s in there; Bello made sure of it before I headed out here. He’s got people watching them like a hawk, and they don't even know it.

  His door is locked, of course. Most people in Chicago don’t leave their doors open at night. No matter, I just pick the lock. I’ve had lots of practice, and I can do it in less than a minute. I hear movement inside. It sounds like he knows someone is coming for him.

  I open the door and step inside his apartment. It looks like there are three rooms in this shitty place that have doors - the living room, the bedroom and the bathroom. He’s not in the living room where I’m standing. The bathroom door is open, and the light is out. Dude’s in the bedroom.

  “Come on out, Franklin. We got some business to take care of. You know it, and I know it.”

  There’s silence. I don’t hear him moving around in there at all, but I know he’s in his bedroom even though he’s not answering me. “You’re not going to make me come in there and get you, are you? I’m here for the five grand you said you’d have for Bello. Give it to me, and I’ll be on my way.”

  He slowly comes out of his bedroom in only a pair of long sweatpants. The guy’s a scrawny 60-something-year-old with ruddy skin from drinking too much. He’s pathetic. The look on his face is pure terror, but I’ve seen that look before. He hands me some money. His hands are shaking when he does it. I count it.

  “You serious? This is only $3,000. You’re $2,000 short.”

  “Yes, yes . . . ah . . . the rest is coming. I just need a little more time.”

  “You’ve had time, Franklin. Instead of gambling more money you should have been paying Bello back. You gotta pay him back. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know. I fucked up. Please.” The guy drops to his knees. He actually drops to his knees. Then he puts his hands on my ankles. I back away and Franklin’s hands fall to the floor. He’s kneeling with his head bowed. “Please give me another chance. I’ll pay him back every cent of what I owe. I promise.”

  Well, I guess you can imagine what happened to Franklin. Hey now, I’m not such a bad dude. After I took care of him, I threw him in my ride and dropped him off at the hospital. Now they can take care of him. Bottom line? I’ve got a job to do, and I do it.

  But I’ll tell you, the way Franklin was looking up at me, on his knees, it reminded me of the way my life used to be. That’s been happening a lot lately. I used to just down a motherfucker and be on my way, but my mind has been fucking with me lately.

  Like I told you, I was down on my luck at one point, so bad I almost ended it. I know what it’s like to be at rock bottom. I hope the guy gets himself together soon because Bello doesn’t fool around. If Franklin doesn’t get his finances in order, someone else will be visiting him, and then the only place left for him is the cemetery.

  2

  Kayla

  “Kayla,” says Marcia. “Hello! Are you with us?”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Marcia sighs. “I said . . . do you want to go with us to the Tom Petty concert? If so, I need to know now so I know how many tickets to get.”

  I glance at the others at the table, Janet and Susan. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I could use some fun.”

  Janet puts her hand on top of mine. She’s got these deep-set green eyes that when she looks at me, I feel like she knows my thoughts. “Are you okay?” she says. “You haven’t said much since we got here and we’ve been here for almost a half hour.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” I look at Marcia. “Put me down for a ticket, okay?” I look back at the rest. “I have to go to the bathroom. Hopefully, our food won’t arrive while I’m gone.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” says Janet.

  “You do seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” says Susan.

  As I look at Susan with the wavy blonde hair, my best friend, I want to spill everything to her right here. Of all my friends, she’s the only one I feel close to. Maybe it’s because I’ve known her the longest, but that’s not really it. I haven’t known Marcia as long, so I’m not close to her at all, at least not now. And Janet. Well, I’ve actually known her longer than Susan, but she just doesn’t make me trust her as much as I trust Susan. I give Susan a knowing look. “I’m okay. Order me another drink if the guy comes by, okay?”

  I head to the bathroom. I have to go, but more importantly, I need to get away from my friends for a moment. They’re right. I’m not really here, and I haven’t been paying attention. My thoughts are with my dad, and what a fucking mess he’s in, excuse my French.

  My name is Kayla Franklin; I’m 27-years-old, and my dad is Spencer Franklin. I grew up in a well-to-do family. My dad is an attorney, and his salary meant we could enjoy all the finer things in life as I was growing up. I’m an only child. I attended the best schools, plus I attended dance classes for most of my life and became a pretty good ballet dancer. I was popular and pretty. I never had a problem with boys, because everyone said I looked like Brooke Shields. I’m not as tall as her, but they said I had model looks. I really had the kind of life a lot of girls dream of.

  So how did things change so much? Well, around the time I was 17, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it for two years, but pretty soon after I turned 19, she died. My mom and dad were extremely close. Sure my dad worked long hours as an executive, but when he was home, he worked very hard to give his family his attention, and that included my mom. He would do special things for her, like bring her flowers or take her out to places, as if they were still dating. She knew even though he worked hard and was away from home a lot, he loved her. And another thing about my parents, they were friends - best friends. They could talk to each other about anything.

  So when my dad’s best friend died, it was as if he lost a part of himself. Her death devastated me, but it destroyed my dad. He couldn’t get anything done like before, and he made mistakes. Then, the bad behavior began. He got into gambling. Gambling, on its own, is not bad, but it is when you gamble more than you can afford. That said, I don’t think he did it for money, at first, but as his gambling addiction grew, his work began to fail.

  The law firm tried to help him. They got him into rehab and counseling. I mean, they knew why my dad was sad and depressed and they really did care. But, every time my dad would complete rehab, he’d stop drinking for a while, but then he’d go right back.

  Eventually, the bottom fell out for him. Not only did he get fired, but he also racked up a bunch of debt with some shady loan shark guy, something I never thought my dad would do.

  The worst part of it all was when my dad came to me asking for money. Me? I mean, I don’t have any money, at least not a lot. Not like the kind of money my dad had. He asked me for 5,000 dollars. I tell you, I cried when he did that. He spent about 20 minutes coming up with an excuse as to why I needed to give him five grand, and then he just spilled it. Let me know how bad of a shape he is in.

  You should see my dad now, he looks terrible and he’s living in a horrible apartment complex. It’s so scary over there that I bring a baseball bat with me every time I come over to visit him. In fact, when I think about it now I want to cry again, but I can’t because I have to go back out there and greet my friends.

  Do they know? No, I mean I alluded to it with Susan, but she really doesn’t know either. All she knows is that my dad is going through a bad time. I met these girls when I lived on my own. So they’re not grade school or high school or even college friends. They weren’t around when I had a great life before I became an adult. They just know me as Kayla Franklin, former ballet dancer, and current yoga
instructor. They’ve met my dad a few times, and when they have he was an alcoholic, but at the time, a functioning one, so they don’t know that my dad is a drunk. I can’t bring myself to tell anyone that, not even Susan.

  “Kayla? You okay in there?”

  It’s Janet. One thing I dislike about her is that she’s way too intrusive for me. And I think it’s more about getting into my business than actually caring about what’s going on with me. I really do.

  “Yes,” I say from inside the stall. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay. Your food is here and we ordered you another rum and coke.”

  “Okay, thank you.” I remain in my stall, taking in the quiet of the bathroom, as pathetic as that sounds. I wish my world were quiet, free of problems and drama, but that’s not the way it is, not with what my dad is going through.

  I leave the bathroom and head back to the table. My drink is waiting for me along with my food.

  “You okay?” Janet asks, again.

  I force a smile. “Yes, I’m all right.” Then I take a sip of my drink. It’s my favorite. Honestly, I can see how my dad got hooked on this stuff. I have to admit that there are times when I wish I could just drink rum and cokes all day. Of course, I never would do something like that, but sometimes I think about it, especially now.