Dirty Service

Dirty Service Dorsey Brothers Carmen Bishop Contents 1. Kennedy 2. Axel 3. Kennedy 4. Axel 5. Kennedy 6. Axel 7. Kennedy 8. Axel 9. Kennedy 10. Axel 11. Kennedy 12. Axel 13. Kennedy 14. Axel 15. Kennedy 16. Axel 17. Kennedy 18. Axel 19. Kennedy 20. Axel 21. Kennedy 22. Axel 23. Kennedy 24. Axel 25. Kennedy 26. Axel 27. Kennedy 28. Axel About the Author Also by Carmen Bishop Dirty Service By Carmen Bishop Copyright © 2023. All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or actual events is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review. Edited by Dawn Proofread by McKenna Lay Photo Credit: Wander Cover Design: Lori Jackson Blurb Axel Dorsey isn’t the kind of guy you take home to your parents. He is, however, the perfect piece of man candy to play the part of my fiancé at my brother’s wedding. Or so says my genius plan. Turns out, Axel is as arrogant as he is attractive. But damn is he good with his hands. And he has no problem putting on a show for the sake of all those who tormented me during high school. But the more we pretend, the more the lines between reality and fiction blur. And now I’m in danger of catching very real feelings for my fake fiancé. Chapter 1 Kennedy “Thanks, Paula!” I call out as I raise a hand at the brunette woman behind the counter. She beams at me, always a ray of freaking sunshine. “Anytime, girl! Good luck with the rest of your classes today.” I hold up my cup. “With this, I can face the world.” Paula chuckles. “Good. Be sure to pop back in if you need an afternoon pick me up.” “You know I will.” With a smile on my face, I push out onto the busy streets of downtown Boston, fresh coffee in my hand. Among the buildings flanking me on either side, it’s easy to feel small. But I don’t focus on the skyscrapers or the cars honking in the street. No, as I walk, my attention is on the people. I study the ones I pass by, mentally conjuring different scenarios for each and every one. It fascinates me to think of everything they’ve experienced—the good and the bad—and how it shaped them into who they are today. Hell, it fascinates me that I’ve grown into the person I am, given everything I dealt with growing up. Mother hooked on pills. Drug-addicted dad. Sister who is exactly the same as him. Brother I barely talk to. Bullies that made me want to curl up and disappear. Yet, here I am: Kennedy Smith. Army veteran turned yoga teacher and herbalist out helping people get healthier. I smile as I sip my coffee then unlock the doors to my 1992 Nissan bluebird. The door creaks as I open it, but it’s just background noise to me now. It may not be glamorous, but my life is my own. And that’s not something everyone can say. After placing the mug in my cupholder, I roll my shoulders and then hit play on the CD player that is connected to my stereo via a cassette tape and a cord. Every time I see it, I smile, thinking of all the times I’ve shocked passengers with the fact that this car doesn’t have Bluetooth or a CD player. Nope. It’s old. Battered. But it’s mine. I slip the key into the ignition and turn it over. It sputters—then dies. Every bit of my good mood vanishes like a puff of smoke on a windy day. “No, not today. Please not today.” Groaning, I stop and take a deep breath. The car has been on its last leg for nearly a year now. So, surely it can make it one more day. Just. One. More. Day. “I promise to get you into the shop first thing in the morning, Bluebird,” I coo to the automobile that has me completely at its gasoline-leaking mercy. I turn it over again and nothing. And there goes the rest of my decent mood. My life may be my own, but so are my finances. And they cannot handle this right now. Not when I’ve got a trip I can’t miss in just over a week. Son of a bitch. I sit for a minute, processing as I try to come up with a way not to start crying my eyes out. Someone knocks on my passenger window. I look up and see a petite brunette waving at me. Since my windows are manual and I don’t want to embarrass myself further by climbing over the console and rolling the passenger side down, I opt to just get out instead. Not like staying here will do me any good. “Hi,” she greets with an awkward smile. She looks to be about my age, beautiful, and, based on her kind smile, I’d say has a personality to match. “I’m not trying to intrude, so feel free to ignore me if you’ve already got a plan.” “No plan,” I tell her with a laugh that comes out far more sad than I mean it. “Just taking it day by day.” “Girl, I know how that goes.” She beams. “My soon-to-be brother-in-law is a mechanic and I can call him if you need someone to come tow your car. He has his own shop. It’s not too far from here.” Tow truck. Mechanic. All I see are dollar bills flying away and the balance on my credit card climbing higher and higher. Still, I’ve crunched the numbers.