Wreck Me

Copyright © 2023 by A.R. Rose 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. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, products, events, incidents, and locales are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or true events, is purely coincidental. Edited By: Virgina Carey Proofread By: Nicole Bucciarelli, Kaitlin Keys, & Amanda Bentley eBook ISBN: 979-8-9862673-4-0 Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9862673-5-7 (Male Cover) Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9862673-6-4 (Female Cover) Ridgewood Series Between the Flames Wicked Games We Play Standalones Wreck Me “You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” MAYA ANGELOU To every bookworm who’s ever dreamed of being banged amongst the books. AUTHORS NOTE CONTENT WARNINGS Wreck Me contains darker content that may be upsetting or triggering to some. This book is intended for mature audiences and contains explicit scenes. Within these pages you will find scenes that contain alcohol abuse, domestic violence, including death from DV, verbal/psychological abuse, loss of a parent, brief mention of sexual harassment/assault, and grief. 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 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue Resources Acknowledgments About the Author Connect Read BTF Prologue Chapter One CHAPTER ONE “I’m so sorry, Miss, but I can’t let you check out a library book when you have a dollar twenty-three balance due on your account. The system won’t allow me to override it.” “I… but, I somehow left my wallet at home…” I frantically murmured to the older gentleman behind the checkout counter as I sifted through my Louis Vuitton bag. A fierce heat coated my cheeks as the embarrassment set in and sweat pooled at my hairline. The eyes of several other library patrons watching—judging—my every move grew heavy on my back. I bit my tongue to keep the tears that flooded my eyes from spilling over. If my father could see me now, he’d be staring at me with a smug grin on his face, readying himself to gloat to whoever would listen, saying I’d come crawling back to my trust fund any day now. Since the moment I had left the house with my luggage in tow and hopped into my Mercedes S Class—which, unfortunately, he had paid for—I had been the object of his ridicule. Actually, let's back up. Since before I was born, I had been the object of his ridicule. His lack of confidence in me was not something he was interested in hiding. It had been a long couple of years at college, and despite being excruciatingly tired of ramen noodles made on a stove that only worked half the time, I had refused to ask for any more help than the agreed-upon amount my mother sent me monthly. We bickered for weeks about how much I should receive and, ultimately; I had won. I would receive monthly deposits to keep my modest one-bedroom apartment’s rent paid and the utilities on. My parents also covered my car insurance and cell phone bills, so my primary responsibilities were food, gas, and anything extra I wanted to buy. Fourteen hundred dollars. Some months I had extra to spend, and other months, such as this, my empty wallet was “accidentally” left at home in fear I would spend my last few dollars on something stupid. Poor little broke rich girl. God, I still sounded like a snob. The clearing of a throat snapped me back to reality. “I understand, Miss, I do, but perhaps you can come back later when—” “Excuse me, sir? I can cover the balance for her.” A man who looked just slightly older than me stepped forward from his place in line with a five-dollar bill in his outstretched hand. Words escaped me as I stared at this stranger who had just become my library knight in shining armor. Short chestnut locks fell in front of his deep brown eyes while the rest hung haphazardly, looking like it desperately needed to be brushed. His light gray t-shirt clung to the muscles that were so clearly hidden beneath, looked worn and had pinholes scattered near the collar and hemline. My eyes traveled further to take in the rest of his appearance, and it conflicted me with what to think. He didn’t look dirty, per se, but he looked unkempt. It was hard to tell if he was poor or if he just didn’t care. And I was judging. I was judging the man who had stepped up to pay my dollar twenty-three balance so I could check out a freaking library book. Sometimes I really hated the way my parents conditioned me to think. My mouth hung agape when he turned around and I finally got a good look at his face, not just his profile. His eyes were so dark, they were nearing black. I bit my lip to keep from salivating over his sharp features and the sexy slight bump in his nose as if he had gotten into one too many fistfights. He was everything I dared to dream about, and everything my father would hate. The sort of bad boy slash grungy ‘I don’t give a damn’ vibe he emulated made my heart skip a beat. Trying my best to hide my idiotic smile, I could barely register a coherent thought as he paid the balance. The beep of the machine processing my book’s check out emitted into