Stepdaddy Savage
Stepdaddy Savage
Copyright © 2016 by Charleigh Savage
Cover Design: Charleigh Rose
Editing: Barbara Shane Hoover
Formatting: ChampagenFormats
All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are a product of the author(s) imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedicated to Julie
Stepdaddy Savage is a smutty, taboo novella featuring an over-the-top alpha male.
You do not say no to Graham Savage, because he doesn’t ask. Just like his name suggests, he takes, and right now, he believes I’m his.
He is a cold, calculated, ruthless, formidable Irish mobster, and… my step-dad.
Regardless of the fact that it’s nothing more than a business transaction, he’s technically married to my mom. Even still, I find myself scared to be caught, yet even more terrified of being cut loose.
They say love is like a butterfly…well, we are about to prove to the world that it’s also like a punch in the face. Sometimes inevitable…and always painful.
“My Boo”—
Ghost Town
“West Coast”—
Lana Del Rey
“Sweet Child O’ Mine”—
Guns N’ Roses
“Hype”—
Dizzee Rascal & Calvin Harris
“Straylight Run”—
Existentialism on Prom Night
“I
fucking love New York!” Jade whisper-shouts when we slip past the two burly bouncers of Hot N’ Bothered.
We race into the club on our heels—I stole a pair of Louboutins from mommy dearest, and Jade has her sister’s pair of Pradas on—brushing past sweaty shoulders, loud drunks and couples grinding against one another.
The place is dark and heavy with the sweet smell of sex, hormones and one-thousand different perfumes. The lights are dim, bluish and seductive. Everything feels right. I have a good feeling about tonight. Something feels different; it’s in the air, it’s in my bones, it’s
everywhere
.
“My Boo” by Ghost Town DJ’s is blasting from every corner of the room, filling my ears and making me sway my ass from side to side. Tacky as hell but it’s a perfect tune to be dancing to when you wanna rub yourself against the length of a handsome stranger.
Jade and I grin at each other knowingly before walking toward the bar at the center of the room, our heels clack-clacking on the sticky surface. I scan the dancefloor around me. We’re on the first floor, which is packed with dancers and a crowd of R&B enthusiasts in baggy clothes and hipsters who think it’s super-cool to be seen in a joint like this.
There’s a second floor upstairs, but I suspect it’s reserved as a VIP area, because there are two bouncers standing next to the stairs leading up to it. Couples are leaning against the bannisters on the second floor, heavily making out, drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces. I look back down. We don’t need to go to the VIP section to have fun. We have each other, and that’s enough.
“I still can’t believe we didn’t get carded.” Jade is breathless as she fixes her teeny-tiny red mini-dress, rolling it down her thighs while balancing on those heels. She looks amazing with her smooth tan skin and big gray eyes, and I have to admit, being the head cheerleader for our football team may come with a price, it’s definitely taking a toll on her social life, but her body’s banging so it’s totally worth the bullshit high school politics she has to put up with.
“Security is loose here.” I flip my hair to one side and roll my own mini-skirt down. It’s all black lace and barely covers my ass, and the worst part is that it’s not even mine. I stole it from my mom’s closet. She’ll never notice, though. She’s drunk and high as a kite 99 percent of the time. When she’s sober, she usually spends those precious moments with our pool boy, Julio, so I’m in the clear.
“How did you know?” Jade asks, parking her ass on one of the black barstools. I follow and plop next to her, grinning.
“The place belongs to stepdaddy dearest, and NYPD is on his payroll.” I gift her with a naughty smirk, wiggling my plucked eyebrows.
Yup, and Graham is flexible when it comes to girls who are slightly underage. I’m not talking completely and utterly disgusting, he always makes sure that they’re eighteen or above, but he’s known for letting his loaded friends waltz through these doors with younger arm candy. Old enough to play around with their sugar daddies, but not to order skinny margaritas from the bar.
“Your step-dad is such a badass.” Jade sighs, stars in her eyes.
“He is not really my step-dad,” I groan, wrinkling my nose. “He’s just a man my mom married for money.”
Yeah. And he married her for the Green Card
.
See, Graham is Irish, thirty-two—fifteen years younger than mom—and shady as fuck. He is wealthy, very much so, but no amount of money in the world is going to make the fact that he’s already been arrested twice in the States go away. That means he is not qualified for a business visa, which is why three years ago, he dragged my mom from the strip club she’s been working in—his strip club, by the way—and offered her the deal of her life. They’ve never touched each other, Graham and mom. I know that for a fact because it wasn’t for lack of trying on Annabelle Savage’s part. But Graham looks like the kind of dude who has standards, unfortunately for my mom.
“Whatever he is, if I had the chance, I’d screw your step-dad so hard, I wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Sorry, honey, I know it sounds sick, but….” Jade gives a little shrug, and I roll my eyes, snatching the alcohol menu from under an elbow that belongs to a random guy who has his back to me.
He turns around when he notices, studying me intently.
“Sorry.” I flush red under the heavy layer of makeup I had applied earlier tonight. “I thought you were done with the menu.”
“I am.” He flashes a crooked smile. He is not ugly, but he is totally pushing forty. And not in the same way Graham does. This dude looks…tired. “Let me buy you that drink, princess.”
Princess?
“Oh!” I lean back, letting out a frustrated breath. I’m not above considering a one-night stand, but this guy doesn’t look like he’s worth the self-loathing that comes with feeling like a slut for losing my V-card to some random the next morning. I don’t want to use him or lead him on, so I smile politely. “That’s okay, we’re good.”
“I didn’t realize you have company.” His bland brown eyes move to Jade, undressing her down to her lacey little thong. “Let me buy both of your drinks. I’m George.”
I open my mouth with every intention to turn him down again, but Jade interjects quickly. “I’ll have a gin and tonic and she’ll have a Blue Moon.”
I flash Jade a “nice going, bitch” glare, because I don’t want the guy to turn around and strike up small talk with us—which is exactly what he’s doing, by the way—but it’s too late. We’re in their debt and now we have to mingle. The guy’s friend, another man who looks to be in his forties, with a leather jacket and oily hair, pushes himself between Jade and I and introduces himself as Marco. They tell us—well, more like shout over the loud music—they’re Italians from Jersey. Awesome. We went all the way from preppy Princeton to Williamsburg to bump into Jersey boys. Ha ha, fate. Nice one. I turn my head back to the bar, exasperated, and when my gaze lands on the second floor, I freeze.
Shit.
It’s him.
Graham was not supposed to be here tonight. Even worse, he wasn’t supposed to see me.
It’s Saturday and we’re in Williamsburg. He usually takes care of his high profile, Manhattan joints on Saturday nights. Sometimes he doesn’t even come back home the next day. But he’s here now, leaning against the bannisters in his sharp, tailored suit, his eyes burning holes into my forehead. He doesn’t look pissed, because Graham is incapable of feelings, I suspect, but I know that he’s not happy to see me here. I’m not twenty-one yet, and I sneaked out of the house and all the way to New York to party…and I have a Blue Moon in my hand.
Shit, shit, shit. Did I mention shit?
I grab Jade’s wrist, my eyes still locked in a stare-down with my step-dad. Suddenly, it feels like he really is my step-dad. He oozes authority, and not just because of his money and position. There’s something formidable about a man who is six-two of power in an Armani suit, and the fact that he is good-looking only highlights his authority over everyone around him. He isn’t a pretty boy, but he is hot in an Irish, rough and dark way. With raven black hair, dark green eyes and stubble peppering his high cheekbones. His lips are thin and pink and I know that behind that suit is a man with a body to die for. His personal trainer wakes me up every day at 6 a.m. sharp when he yells at him to punch that bag harder in our indoor gym.
“We need to go,” I croak, my throat desert-dry. Oh God, he keeps staring at me, but he hasn’t moved an inch. I think I saw his flexed jaw ticking once when I reached for the Blue Moon, but who can tell? It’s dark and everyone is covered in a cloud of cigarette and weed smoke. There’s a veil of white mist between us, and I’m hoping it’d help me escape this place easily.