Free McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys by Frankie Love Page A

asleep again, but the heaviness of my fucked-up situation keeps me from any sort of REM. I’ve never in my life felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve never faced a problem I couldn’t overcome with the help of my family.
    When Mom died five years ago, my siblings, my dad, and I became closer than ever. We all relocated here to Vegas—even Mary and Connor and their baby, Hardy, who was only one at the time.
    This situation isn’t like Mom’s passing away. We knew she was sick for a long time, and when she finally passed we were all heartbroken, but grateful she was no longer in pain.
    This is different than death. I’m not trying to hyperbolize the photograph and the impact it might have, but it has to be tied to something with my family. With this marriage. And that is a big deal. Especially if Dad believes Grotto and I are the key to merging the families. My family’s future hinges on me, and I just callously tossed it aside.
    I’m horrible. To do that to Hardy and Justice and Bailey. They’re just a few of the kids in the family; there are more cousins and half-cousins and fourth cousins, both here in Vegas and back in Boston. All those kids are impacted by the way I respond to my father’s wishes for me.
    The last thing I want to do is fuck over my family and screw the men out of work, the wives out of food for their kids, the kids out of their homes.
    It isn’t something I should take lightly … but I did. In a moment of lust, of desire, I forgot what I’m supposed to stand for. My family may be fucked up, but we also stick together.
    Which is a hell of a lot better than other families I see. Even McQueen says he hasn’t been home in over a year. How is that a family?
    I don’t know how I’ll show my face to my brothers and father later today. I need to come clean, just tell them what happened and ask for their help. The God’s honest truth is that the moment I heard about my wedding, I fell into McQueen’s arms, and then the picture was taken.
    And then instead of going straight to them … I went back to McQueen.
    What does that say about me?
    I don’t want to know.
    Beside me, McQueen stirs. His breath is warm against my skin, and I instantly curl closer to him. When I do, I feel his cock hard against my ass.
    The right thing to do is to crawl out of the bed, to go to the bathroom, shower. Get in my car. Drive home.
    But the idea of the confession makes me want to vomit.
    I can’t do that yet. It’s only four in the morning, anyway. I can stay here awhile longer, in this make-believe cocoon.
    I roll over and face McQueen. Feeling his hardness against my core, I realize something I’m ashamed to admit. Even if I could have a do-over, if I could have avoided McQueen yesterday, not given him my virginity … I wouldn’t want to change a thing.
    Even though it’s dangerous, and I know every second that I stay in his arms could hurt him even more, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to move.
    Does that make me selfish? A monster? A whore?
    I don’t know.
    I just know instead of walking out of his house at first dawn, I nestle deeper in his arms.

Chapter Ten
    McQUEEN
    F uck . My cock is hard as rock.
    I can’t think of the last time I woke up with a woman in my bed. I always call an Uber post-sex and get them gone before daybreak. Yeah, we’ll have had our fair share of fun, but it always has an expiration date.
    But with JoJo’s little body, so taut and creamy, wrapped up in my arms when I wake, I realize I’ve been missing out on a whole lot of fun. Because damn, my cock is never this hard when I wake up all by my lonesome.
    “Morning,” JoJo says, her voice tired, her eyes meeting mine.
    “Sleep okay?” I ask, my hands running over her back, landing on her tight ass.
    She nods, ever so slightly, but it’s obvious she didn’t. No fucking surprise. She was beyond worked up last night.
    “Look, I wish I knew what was going on. But I understand if you don’t feel like you can trust me,”