Bad Dogs

BAD DOGS DIRTY STRAYS #1 RILEY NASH Copyright © 2023 by Riley Nash All rights reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book, as well as the involvement of any existing institutions, agencies, publications, brands, or public figures, are entirely fictitious and have no basis in reality. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. ISBN-13 (e-book): 9798987684115 ISBN-13 (paperback): 9798987684122 Cover image © Wander Aguiar Photography Paperback and hardback covers © Black Widow Designs Paperback and hardback formatting by Breathless Lit To Gena You never let me give up on this pain in the ass book Scout and Roman will always belong to you I love you! CONTENT ADVISORY (POTENTIAL SPOILERS) This book contains adult content and dark themes. See bottom of the page for specific warnings. Author’s note: Please do not make or use DIY BDSM equipment without consulting experts, and follow proper safety procedures while working with tie points and suspension. Content advisory: Physical and verbal abuse including bullying of a neurodivergent character, some violence, drug dealing, grief/loss, and BDSM including restraints, impact play, and safewording Thank you so much for reading, and take care! 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 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Afterword Also by Riley Nash About the Author 1 ROMAN The sky is endless here. So is the brown grass, dotted with snow and collapsing barbed-wire fences. My phone told me to look for the Rocky Mountains on the western horizon, but they’re hiding behind low clouds. I need to hide, too. I want to go home. There isn’t a single hill or forest or wall here, nothing to hold me in. If nothing holds me in, my rage will finally grow big enough to erase me. Disappearing sounds like a relief, but whenever the time comes, when I have to face it, I’m too scared to let go. “Rome!” I flinch when Travis taps my arm. My brother gives me his you-just-messed-up look as I turn away from the tall windows in the police station lobby. The cop standing next to him smiles warmly and offers his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Roman. We’re excited to have your brother joining our department.” The part where he “confiscates” people’s possessions to sell online, or the part where he protects the local cartel in exchange for his own supply to deal? I’m too tired to smile, but I do my best to imitate his cheerful expression and let him pump my hand. When he reaches over to pat my thick bicep appreciatively, I manage not to shrink away. “Damn, we could use more guys built like you on the force, son. I’ll send Travis home with some brochures for our academy program.” I nod, struggling not to break eye contact. The rules keep changing; most of the time, keeping my gaze on the floor is the right thing to do, but today it’s not. When the silence drags on for too long, the cop’s grin fades a little. I watch helplessly as his brow wrinkles in confusion. Please don’t get me in trouble. Travis throws his arm playfully over my shoulders. “Sorry. Roman’s shy.” Shit, he’s fuming. Giving up on the rules, I fix my eyes on the floor as they both laugh at me. My teeth worry at the broken spot on the inside of my cheek that I’ve chewed so many times it never heals. The coppery tang of blood wraps around my tongue, calming me down. It’s a comforting taste, like I fought and won. Like I killed something before it killed me. Mr. Smiling Cop presents us a key fob like it’s the prize for a game show. “I pulled some strings and got your patrol car assigned early, so you have another set of wheels while you’re getting settled in town.” “Thank you, sir. We really appreciate it, don’t we, Rome?” I grunt in agreement when Trav nudges me, sticking my hands deep in my pockets so I remember not to use signs. “Do you guys need help unloading boxes at your new place? I’m just about to clock out.” Now I perk up, a little hopeful, but Travis shakes his head. “We’re fine. I mean, look at the muscle I have.” He squeezes my arm hard, though he can barely get his fingers around it. The cop guffaws, like something about that was funny. Their words drift over my head as I sniff back my runny nose and swallow a mouthful of blood, feeling dizzy from the altitude change. The air really is thinner in Colorado than in California, like we’ve traveled to a whole new planet. At our last gas stop, I enjoyed watching Trav wheeze just because he tried to jog back from taking a shit. My brother says something final-sounding and turns to go, snapping his fingers for me to follow. His new boss waves at us, but I don’t wave back. The glass doors of the station squeak as we push out into the frigid air. We never had a winter chill like this in San Diego—it eats straight through my thin hoodie and makes my face burn. I hug my arms around myself as I head for the red ‘98 Chevy pickup loaded with cardboard boxes. I shattered the rear window with a brick a few weeks ago, so it won’t be warm, but at least I can crank the heat. Travis’ patrol car sparkles in the late afternoon sun a few spots down, freshly washed and waxed. He unlocks it, but instead