Burned: A Bad Boy Collection

  BURNED

  A Bad Boy Collection

  By Penny Sinclair

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  Table of Contents

  REBOUND

  LACES

  SWEAT

  BLISSFUL BILLIONAIRE

  TAINTED BILLIONAIRE

  WICKED BILLIONAIRE

   Copyright 2017 by Penny Sinclair - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  REBOUND

  Chapter 1

  Lucas Ramirez groaned as he realized that the coach was going to make them run another mile, probably just for kicks. At twenty-three, Lucas knew that the odds were stacked against him as the youngest player on the team. Most people don’t get picked up fresh out of college, but he lucked out. But that wasn’t the only reason the odds were stacked against him. Lucas was also half Spanish, and he knew that it set him at a bit of a disadvantage because although most people would be horrified if you mentioned race within the NBA, he knew it was very much a thing. It wasn’t obvious, but he noticed the way some of his teammates snickered at the way he pronounced certain letters, and how they elbowed each other when they caught a glimpse of his Spanish flag tattoo. Maybe it was a bit cheesy, but he liked that tattoo. He hadn’t been to his country in five years, and he missed it terribly, but he knew that he was where he needed to be to make his dreams come true.

  At 5’7’’ he was taller than most of the guys on the team which earned him respect, and with his jet black hair, chocolate brown eyes and fit physique most women would glance his way when he walked past.

  He had a reputation for being the ladies’ man, and he enjoyed it.

  It didn’t hurt too that once he threw in a word or two in Spanish, women would practically drool over him. It definitely didn’t hurt to be a Spaniard in America.

  Lucas panted as his breathing began to turn a little ragged due to the fact that the coach had been over working them lately in preparation for the big game on Friday. He knew that the coach was doing what he thought needed to be done, but running the team ragged before the big game was only going to make them exhausted by the time the actual game would roll around.

  He took in a huge gulp of air as he finally made it past the first mile, and he threw himself onto the wet grass and breathed deeply.

  “Good job, Ramirez,” The Coach practically tossed at him as he jotted something down on his clipboard. With side burns, a patch of receding blonde hair and a physique of someone who used to be in shape, Coach Carter looked like he was tough as nails on the outside, and for the most part he was, but only those on his team knew that he was a big softie on the inside. He was like a surrogate father to most of them, and they loved him even more for it.

  Unable to do much, Ramirez simply grunted and gave his Coach a thumbs up as he waited for his lungs to stop feeling like they were on fire. The blood stopped pounding in his ears, and his lungs finally felt functional a few minutes later, and he raised his head a millimeter as he watched the rest of his teammates slowly cross the first mile and collapse much like he did.

  “That was some fast running, Spanish,” one of his teammates, Keith threw at him as he grabbed a bottle of water. He screwed the cap open before he dumped the water all over his hair and shook it off.

  Some of the other teammates yelled out insults at him as some of the droplets of water landed on their bodies, but most of them were too tired to actually do anything about it.

  Lucas watched him carefully wondering if this was another one of their pranks, or if he generally meant it.

  “Thanks, dude,” he offered cautiously as he threw himself back on the ground to gaze at the sun. He and Keith had been teammates for months now, but this was the first time he had spoken to Keith directly. He knew all about him of course, half English, half American with a legendary reputation with the ladies much like himself until he found out he had a kid.

  That seemed to be the case with two other members as well, Blake and Mark.

  He wondered how the hell they had managed to get themselves into this situation, and he thanked his lucky stars that he was fortunate enough to have avoided that scenario.

  Although he never forgot the fact that he almost ended up in that very same position.

  Her name was Lorena De la Vega.

  She was a fiery brunette who had lived just across the street from him in Madrid, and her liquid grey eyes somehow managed to entice him. At the tender age of seventeen, he was convinced that he was in love. But, what he confused for love was probably nothing but lust and teenage hormones.

  Lucas pulled the brakes on that train of thought as he slowly began to backtrack to whatever he was thinking about before that.

  He tuned in just in time to hear his teammates talk about getting together later for a game of pool at this pub off Lincoln Boulevard.

  “Can you play, Spanish?” Keith asked casually as he watched him.

  Lucas froze as he realized for the first time that Keith was actually having a conversation with him that didn’t involve barking out tactics during a group huddle. The rest of the teammates seemed unaffected by the conversation, but he could tell by the way they tried to seem too nonchalant that they were actually listening.

  Keith was offering him an olive branch, and for the life of him, Lucas couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he wondered at this sudden change of heart.

  “I’m alright,” he said finally. In reality, he had probably only played pool once or twice in his entire life, but he supposed he could remember enough to get him through a game with the guys. Especially if it meant finally bonding with them.

  “Join us tonight then, seven o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there,” Lucas confirmed as he hoisted himself off the grass and headed towards the ice box with the water bottles.

  Keith smiled at him and titled his water bottle in salute, and Lucas did the same as he wondered if Keith was up to something.

  ***

  Lucas pulled up to the address that Keith had texted him three hours ago after having gone home, showered and had a bite to eat.

  He frowned at the exterior with its bright neon light and the motorcycles parked out front. He usually avoided places like this because he knew that a lot of the people who hung out here were pure blooded Americans, and if they caught even a whiff of foreigner between them, they’d pounce like hellhounds.

  He scratched the back of his head and wondered if it was really worth bonding with the guys. He supposed he could try to make a conscious effort to fit in, and that way he wouldn’t have to turn around and leave especially because he wouldn’t have a good excuse as to why he didn’t show up.

  He already said he’d be here, and it was bad form to ditch them on the first time they had asked him to hang. He was sure if he did that, there wouldn’t be a second one.

  Lucas squared his shoulders and figured if worst came to worst, he’d just walk away. It’s not like he couldn’t control his temper, he knew exactly when to back off and when to fight back, and he hoped it would be enough.

  He reached out to open the set of double doors when a group of men came barreling through lau
ghing and yelling at each other.

  He stepped back as he waited for them to pass shaking his head at the silly things they were saying.

  “Hey, you!” a voice slurred behind him. Lucas didn’t know who he was talking to until the man seemed to make a conscious effort of talking, Spanish.

  Lucas took a deep breath, a practiced smile in place. “Yes?”

  “Yes?” he mimicked in that deep baritone most Spanish men seemed to have.

  Lucas kept the smile in place. “Can I help you?”

  “Help me? By what? Stealing my job?”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The man narrowed his eyes into slits as he stumbled forward and pointed a finger accusingly at Lucas. Lucas gazed down at the man, who was very small compared to him. He had on a shirt that supported some baseball team Lucas knew nothing about, a pair of oversized jeans, and his hair carelessly stuck out at all ends. When he leaned in close to Lucas, he could smell the alcohol on his breath, and it wasn’t a pleasant smell, so he involuntarily took a step backwards.

  “That’s right, cower in fear, Spaniard,” the man puffed out his chest and sneaked a glance at his friends at the back who hung behind awkwardly, unwilling to help him out, but riveted by the train wreck in front of them.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  The man glared at him. “Yes, you are. Who do you think you are anyway? Cristiano Ronaldo?”

  The man’s friends snickered as Lucas rolled his eyes and laughed. “Cristiano Ronaldo is from Portugal not Spain.”

  His friends laughed even harder at that, and the man began to grow red with anger and shame. “I knew that. I just wanted to be sure you knew.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “Right, okay, Listen, why don’t you just go home, I’m sure you have a nice girlfriend or something waiting for you.”

  The man began to jab Lucas. “Are you implying that I can’t take you on, or are you trying to hit on my girl? Because I can take you either way.”

  Lucas held his hands up in surrender even though he was beginning to feel mildly irritated. “Look, man. I’m not doing either, okay? I just think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and you’re looking for a punching bag, and while I do try to be a good Samaritan, that’s not what I feel like doing today.”

  The man’s eyes blazed with a fury that was entirely directed at Lucas even though Lucas had done nothing but try to defuse the situation. “And now you’re saying I can’t hold my liquor,” he spat out with as much venom as he could muster which wasn’t much considering he was inebriated and kept stumbling around.

  “That’s it. You’re going down,” he swung his left hand in what Lucas can only assume was meant to be a punch, but instead it ended falling short.

  Lucas eyed him with mild annoyance. “I’m not going to fight you, man, so just let it go.”

  The man began to advance forward again. “Aww, the Spaniard is a pussy. I’m a lover not a fighter,” he mocked as he swung another punch.

  Lucas deflected, and he ended up punching the air again which only made him more agitated.

  “Stop moving,” he yelled furiously as he kept trying to lunge at him. Lucas kept deflecting until he felt his patience wearing thin. He pressed his mouth into a thin line as he tried to keep his temper in check until the man distracted him and managed to clock him on the jaw.

  Stunned, Lucas sat there unable to believe that this small man could punch with such vigor. The man was stunned too as he stared at his hand, and the place where it hit as if unable to believe that he was capable of doing that.

  Suddenly the man looked less stunned and more crazy as a look of manic glee crossed his face, and his eyes shone with malice. He made to punch him again, but this time Lucas brought his hand up and intercepted him in one deft stroke. He held the man’s hand in his and gazed at it dispassionately.

  He began to move it backwards, and the man grunted with effort as he tried to release his hand, but he was clearly no match for Lucas’s strength.

  “Walk away,” Lucas said with a deadly calm that sent a shiver running down the man’s spine. The man looked visibly afraid as he swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down eagerly.

  Lucas released his arm, and the man began to rub his tender hand before he jumped Lucas from the back. He tried to force his hands around Lucas’s neck in a deadlock, but Lucas although taken by surprise, was quickly able to throw him off.

  The man landed with a thud on the ground, and he groaned as he rolled onto his side. “Bastard,” he muttered as he threw his weight forward. He swayed on his feet and leaned over and spat out blood.

  He gave Lucas a smile that was full of blood, and Lucas felt a momentary sense of guilt for what he had done, but the man had it coming. He kept provoking him, and you can’t poke a bear without expecting to get bit.

  Lucas studied his opponent carefully, wondering what the best course of action was. The man began to charge at him like an angry bull, and Lucas had a split second during which to make a decision. He raised his hand as if to shield himself from the attack, but in reality, he drew his hand back and punched the man squarely in the jaw.

  The man landed with a thud on the floor, as he lay there inert, Lucas rubbed his raw knuckles. He hadn’t hit him hard enough to cause any damage, just enough to knock him out before he hurt anyone or himself.

  The man’s friends stared in awe at their friends’ body, and they stared at Lucas in a mixture of admiration and fear.

  Lucas shrugged. “Just make sure he puts some ice on that. It’s going to turn red in the morning, but the swelling should go down easily.”

  The friends nodded as they moved towards their friend. They carried him to the back of their pickup truck and placed him gently in the back. Lucas watched the men drive off as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his hand.

  He would probably need an ice pack too.

  Chapter 2

  “That was impressive.”

  Lucas wheeled around surprised that he had an audience. He began to study the brunette who was standing in front of him. She was shorter then he was, short enough to fit under his arm with dark brown hair and gray eyes that reminded him of the clouds on a rainy day.

  She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Enjoy the show, did you?” Lucas gave a flirty smile as he crossed one leg over the other and leaned against the railing.

  The brunette looked at him in mild annoyance. “Not particularly. I just thought it was impressive how you managed to keep your temper in check. That guy was asking for it.”

  “Not every man knows how to hold back,” he shrugged as he gestured towards the door. She swung the door open, and they made their way inside.

  The brunette turned to face him, a quizzical brow raised. “How so?”

  “It’s an art, a science if you will. Knowing when to push and when to hold back.”

  The brunette studied him curiously. “I can’t tell whether that comment is arrogant or insightful.”

  “Definitely the latter.”

  The brunette shot him a look. “Of course you would think so.”

  “I didn’t just develop this observation overnight.”

  The brunette gave him an amused smile as she hopped onto a stool. “Do tell.”

  “Well, I’ve spent years observing people, and how they react when they are given what they want, and how they react when what they want is so close, but they are unable to reach it.”

  She cocked her head at him. “And what, pray tell, did you find?”

  He could tell the brunette was humoring him, that she didn’t really believe a word of the crap he was pedaling, but he had to keep talking, he had to keep her interested, and he couldn’t figure out why.

  “A person always follows their basic instinct, and that instinct is to protect themselves at any cost. Are you familiar with Segmund Frued?”
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  “Father of psychology. Of course.”

  Lucas was momentarily surprised. Brains and beauty. He gave her a slow smile. “Freud believed that every action that we carried out had a latent purpose, subconscious if you will, and that in most cases that purpose was to satisfy a basic human instinct. In most cases, it’s sexual.”

  “I know that theory of course, but then if we’re following that line of reasoning, you’d also have to dissect his theory the Oedipus complex.”

  Lucas hopped onto the stool next to her. “Let’s take a closer look at it. In a nutshell, he believed that little girls were secretly attracted to their fathers, and little boys are secretly attracted to their mothers.”

  The brunette nodded. “Yes, and a lot of people believe that this led to our flagrant use of the term ‘Daddy’s girl’, and ‘Momma’s boy’.”

  Lucas reached for a napkin and he began searching his pockets for pen. As if reading his mind, the brunette produced a pen. “I’m a professor. Habit.” She shrugged as he allowed himself to peruse her body for a second.

  She blushed under his intense stare and tried to subtly shift his attention back to the topic at hand. “Right, so -” he turned his attention back to the napkin suddenly forgetting what he was about to say. “Frued,” he trailed off trying to get back on track as he racked his brain trying to remember what he was going to say. He was suddenly distracted by the shape of her legs beneath her skirt.

  “I assume your theory is based on the idea of the ID, the ego, and the superego.”

  “Exactly,” Lucas inwardly sighed in relief, happy to have remembered even if it required a little memory jog from the brunette. “So, because Freud believed that the ID was our unfiltered, unhindered desires, this is what I base my theory on, if you give people just enough, they’ll continue to remain in their safe ego zone, but if you withhold just a little bit, bits of their innermost desires start to seep through to the ego.”