Wicked Addiction

WICKED ADDICTION CLUB WICKED BARBARA NOLAN ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Edited by: Lisa Cullinan Promotions: CJG Consulting Cover Design: Cosmic Coverz, Charli Childs Copyright © 2023 by Barbara Nolan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum 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 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Bonus Prologue and Chapter 1~~Wicked Temptation Also by Barbara Nolan About the Author 1 Brooklyn 2012 Samson loved boosting cars. Lo-Jack? No, problem. High-tech security system? No problem. Only twenty-two, he was one of the best car thieves in Brooklyn. Riding shotgun, he leaned into the back seat of the Escalade. “C’mon man, puff, puff, pass.” Samson snatched the joint away from Zach, who kept hitting the keyboard, entering all the codes needed for their next heist: a shiny black Maserati. Popping that clutch would be sweet. Samson sucked in the thick smoke as Jax pulled alongside the curb of the busy Bensonhurst street. “What’s with the luxury car?” Samson asked. “It’s usually Hondas and Toyotas.” Jax shrugged, then continued tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Looks like some kinda bait car.” Samson dragged his hands through his hair, then cracked his neck. “But even the cops wouldn’t be stupid enough to set up a car like that in this neighborhood. “It’s a test,” Jax said while Zach, the unsocial tech genius with enough facial piercings to make people stare, concentrated on his laptop. “Test? I’ve jacked high-end cars before. Nothing to it.” Jax and Zach shared a look. “What?” Samson asked. “Right. You break into them, but they don’t always end up where they should,” Jax said. “One time.” Samson struggled to suppress the eye roll. “Way more than ‘one time.’” “Big deal. Weasel got over it.” “Not really.” Zach went back to his computer screen. Jax shifted in the driver’s seat. “Weasel says you fuck up again, and you’re out.” “Bullshit, I’m the best he’s got.” Samson blew off the comment, but if Weasel turned him out, he’d be fucked ʼcause no legit garage would hire a guy with his record. “Don’t matter,” Jax said. “He’s pissed, and you know how crazy that fucker can get.” Jax was right, Weasel was crazy, but Samson needed the work. Plus, he loved cars—the engine’s purr, the smell of gas and motor oil. The love affair started in a juvie work program and continued during his short stint in Rikers. “So, tonight, I play it straight. I pop the car and drive it to the docks; you pick me up, and we head over to the Pit to get paid. Easy. No sweat.” “No detours,” Jax added. “Right.” Samson fisted the door handle and squeezed harder than necessary as he shot a look into the back seat. “You ready?” Zach nodded, slapped the laptop shut, and tucked it under his arm. Samson took one last drag, then handed the blunt off to Jax. “See you on the other side.” They did their usual good-luck fist bump, Samson got out and stepped onto the sidewalk. He and Zach slipped into the car lot unnoticed in their head-to-toe black and easily found the Maserati. Thanks to Weasel’s sweet deal with the valet company, the attendant kept the keys and looked the other way, making it seem like a straight-up theft. “Fuckin’ beautiful, huh?” Samson whistled low as he circled the car. What kind of jerk-off would bring this car to an open lot without security? “Someday, I’m gonna own a car like this.” Zach ignored him as he worked his computer magic, and a few heartbeats later, the locks chirped. Samson popped the hood, disarmed the interior’s security system, and slid into the driver's seat. He scoped out the interior—black on black, sweet!—then twisted under the wheel to dismantle the keyless entry. They’d be gone in less than a minute. The car would be crated up for a trip out of the country or chopped down for parts in a few hours. Either way—gone. “Hey, babe!” Samson jerked around, smacking the side of his face on the steering wheel. “Shit.” He rubbed his cheekbone and tried to focus on the voice. “Can’t let you have all the fun.” The security lights backlit Yvette’s face and long dark hair as she leaned into the passenger side, her magnificent tits almost falling out of her skin-tight tank top. “Shit, you shouldn’t be here.” “But I am.” She slipped into the seat, and her frayed denim short shorts crept up her slim, tanned thighs. She dragged him into a deep kiss, and of course, his dick immediately reacted, but fuck, he had to concentrate. Yvette bounced back into the seat and banged her fists on the dashboard. “C’mon, let’s go.” “Ahhh, fuck.” Samson groaned. Zach rounded the passenger side and whipped open the door. “What the fuck, Yvette. Get the hell outta here.” He tried to pull her out of the car, but she raised her booted foot and slammed him in the gut. Zach stumbled back and doubled over. “Fuckin’ bitch.” “What are you waiting for?” Yvette slammed the door and locked it. “Hit it.” The V8 rumbled between them as Samson slammed the shift and threw the car into gear. She pounded the console and shrieked, “Fuckin’ amazing!” Everything about Yvette was intense and dramatic, from her tawny skin—like she’d been painted the perfect coppery bronze—to her long, thick hair that fell in waves halfway down her back. “How’d you find me?” “Did you think I’d let you do this without me? You know how I love doin’ crazy shit.” Yvette’s brand of