Wingman (Woman) Read online

  Wingman (Woman)

  Bella Jewel

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  WINGMAN

  COPYRIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  LINKS

  OTHER WORKS FROM BELLA JEWEL

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE | Where it all begins.

  CHAPTER TWO | Six months later.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE | Three days later

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | One week later

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ONE WEEK LATER

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  REIGN

  REIGN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE | THREE MONTHS LATER

  THE END.

  Precarious | Joker’s Wrath MC

  ~*WINGMAN*~

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  WINGMAN

  Copyright © 2014 Bella Jewel

  WINGMAN is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offence to the content, as it is FICTION.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to all the blogs, fans, readers, editors and cover artists who have helped me on my journey. You’re all so amazing. I can’t explain how appreciative I am to each and every one of you. You make this real for me, and because of that, I would give you the world if I could.

  I love you all.

  LINKS

  Join me on Facebook here—-> Bella Jewel

  OTHER WORKS FROM BELLA JEWEL

  Hell’s Knights – MC Sinners Book One.

  Heaven’s Sinners – MC Sinners Book Two.

  Knights’ Sinner – MC Sinners Book Three.

  Bikers and Tinsel – MC Sinners Book 3.5

  Enslaved By The Ocean

  Angels In Leather

  Number Thirteen

  Life After Taylah

  PROLOGUE

  Wingman

  A wingman is a role that a person may take when an acquaintance needs support with approaching possible partners.

  Reign.

  The name has a sigh whooshing out of my mouth and my eyes rolling.

  King of sex. Jealous. Possessive. Obsessed. Gorgeous.

  Those are the first thoughts that come to mind when describing sex extraordinaire, Reign Braxton.

  Six months ago, I would have melted to my knees at the very sight of him. Golden eyes, tall, broad, ripped beyond ripped, messy black hair and a smile to die for. He could flick your panties off and have them running for cover with a mere glance in your direction.

  He’s also an asshole.

  Like, a mega asshole. Not just your average prick—no, Reign takes prick to a whole new level. He owns the word. What he doesn’t own, however, is a heart. It packed its bags and ran off with the last woman who left him: the woman who put me in this position.

  The woman that brought Reign into my life.

  Selena.

  Also known as Slutena. That’s all she is, a giant whore with dollar signs in her eyes. Her need for Reign goes no further than a cock to warm her expensive pussy at night and a credit card to pay for her luxurious, make-her-legs-look-gorgeous shoes.

  But without Slutena, there would be no me. You see, although Reign is all those things to her, to him she’s like . . . sunshine or whatever. He looks at her and his golden eyes go all mushy. He fell for her million-dollar pussy and those damned legs, and then he found another man balls deep inside her just over a year ago.

  Broke his heart—the heart she still holds.

  So that’s where I come in. I’d like to call myself a superhero, but that would be unclassy. I’m far better. I’m the ultimate. I’m the reason his bed is kept warm and his ex is kept jealous.

  I’m Reign’s wingman.

  Or, wingwoman, if you will.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Where it all begins.

  “Those shoes look super hot on you, Tia.” My best friend, Autumn, grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  I stare down at my red pumps. They are pretty hot. And with my tight, black dress that dips down at the back, and my blond hair, I’m hoping I’ll gather the right sort of male attention tonight. The river is dry, if you know what I mean. It’s been months since I’ve had a man in my bed, and desperation has finally wrapped its claws around me, and shaken.

  Time to get laid.

  “You’ll kill it,” Autumn says, tucking her long, blond hair up on top of her head.

  “So will you. Damn.” I whistle. “Who gave you those legs?”

  She turns to me, flashing her man-catching grin and starts singing, “I got it from my momma, I got it from my momma.”

  I laugh and smooth my straight, thick hair down. It’s blond; not light blond, but not dark blond either. It’s a little like honey. My eyes are hazel, nothing special, but they work with my olive skin tone. My hair, as much as I love it, also causes me great grief.

  Firstly, it’s too straight. I mean come on, not even a wave?

  Secondly, it’s thick. Super thick; two hairbands kind of thick.

  “You ready?” Autumn asks, jerking me out of my mirror pout.

  “Do you think I should leave my hair down?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course you should. Your hair is your best feature.”

  “Hey,” I protest. “I have a great ass, too.”

  She laughs and hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, Tia, let’s get you laid.”

  Bring it.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Holy fucking shit, that’s Reign Braxton.”

  I turn my gaze to the man that has captured Autumn’s attention not even minutes after we’ve entered the club and gotten a drink. My brows shoot up and I nod, impressed. It is, in fact, Reign Braxton. I’ve never seen him in person, only ever on the television. He owns a massive line of Blue Candy clubs across the state. He’s an extremely rich, extremely gorgeous male.

  I also hear he rocks in bed—like rocks rocks.

  “So it is,” I yell over the music, being careful not to spill my martini all over myself.

  “You should go talk to him,” she cries. “Imagine how good he would be in bed.”

  I nod, pursing my lips as I contemplate this. Then, shrugging my shoulders and figuring what the hell, I head over, hearing Autumn’s squeal of delight from behind me.

  My guess? I’ve made the rig
ht choice. Reign is sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender, who looks as though he’s having a pineapple shoved deep, deep into his ass.

  Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble.

  I stop beside Reign and lean against the bar. As if sensing my presence, he turns and holy shit, my panties shrivel up and die at the mere sight of him. They know they’re not needed in this moment. My lips part on a gasp as I take him in. The television does amazing things for him, but this . . . up close . . . right in his face . . . that’s another story altogether.

  His eyes are like liquid gold, sparkling with pure, raw, male perfection. His jaw is square, his nose slightly bent. He’s obviously been in a few fights in his life, but it seems to fit his rugged, manly features. He’s got a tiny scar above his top lip, but it doesn’t take away from them. No, it just makes him look even more dangerous. His hair is messy, as though he’s only run his hands through the dark locks before leaving home.

  He’s wearing a suit; only he’s tossed the jacket and rolled up the sleeves to his crisp, white shirt. The top two buttons have popped open, revealing smooth, golden skin. With a shaky hand, I drag my eyes away from his and slide my glass across the bar to the still shaking man standing behind it. He turns his blue eyes to mine, giving me a thankful expression.

  “Another?” he asks.

  “Please.”

  He turns and rushes off to make it and I sit, staring, pretending I don’t feel Mr. Panty Melter beside me, staring at the side of my face.

  “You come here often?”

  I roll my eyes. His voice might be sexy as hell, but that line is so . . . lame.

  “No,” I say, still not looking at him.

  “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

  I turn to face him. Whoosh, there goes my breath again.

  “Did you just use the ‘Do you come here often’ line on me?”

  He narrows his eyes. Jesus, talk about broody. He looks like he’s about to take me over his knee and spank me. “You got a name?”

  “Do you?” I throw back, grinning.

  He doesn’t grin back. Well excuse me.

  “I asked you first.”

  Child.

  “My name is Candy.”

  A snort from him. “What’s your real name?”

  “Jennifer.”

  “No, your real one.”

  I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and glare at him. “How do you know that’s not my real one?”

  “You hesitated,” he says simply.

  “I’m drinking.”

  He shakes his head. “Everyone knows their name, drunk or not. So I’ll ask you again, what’s your name?”

  “Leila.”

  He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Have you got a mental condition?”

  “What?” I gasp, eyes wide. “No, I do not have a mental condition.”

  In a steely voice, he grinds out, “Then tell me, your fuckin’ name.”

  “Someone needs to get laid,” I mutter.

  “Here’s your drink, miss,” the bartender says, returning.

  His eyes nervously go to Reign as I slide him the money for it, then he rushes off again before he can start up the ass-ripping he was giving earlier.

  I watch him go, then mutter, “Are you always so mean to your staff?”

  “What makes you think I was being mean to him?” he asks, not looking at me. Instead his eyes are fixed on the whiskey in front of him.

  “He looked like he was going to cry when you were speaking to him.”

  “He was caught fucking on the job.”

  My mouth forms an O. “Like, fucking fucking?”

  Golden eyes turns to me again. “Like, dick deep-in-pussy, over-my-bar kind of fucking.”

  I nod, impressed. “Atta boy.”

  Reign glares at me.

  “What?” I say, putting my hands up.

  “You think it’s okay to fuck on the job?”

  “I do not,” I say, sipping my martini. “But in my defense, it sounded hot and it’s been a long time since I’ve had dick-deep-in-pussy, over-the-bar kind of fucking.”

  Whoa. Golden Eyes just got lusty.

  “Are you always so forward?”

  I shrug. “It’s not my best trait.”

  “It’s not your worst, either,” he murmurs.

  Oh dear.

  “So,” he continues, his voice husky and low, “are you going to tell me your name?”

  “Tiani,” I manage, taking another sip of my martini.

  He doesn’t question if that’s my real name. Damn him.

  “How did you know that wasn’t fake?” I say, turning to him and crossing my legs.

  His eyes slide down my dress, over my legs and stop at my shoes.

  “You didn’t pause,” he says. “Nice shoes.”

  Keep cool, Tiani.

  “So, what’s a man like you doing sitting here all alone?”

  His eyes finally meet mine again. “Same reason as you’re here, I assume.”

  “To get fucked?”

  Lusty eyes again.

  “Precisely,” he grates out.

  “Well you’re not doing a very good job trying, are you?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve never been good at picking up.”

  “Because?” I probe.

  “Because I’ve been with a woman for seven years.”

  Whoa, Reign’s a committing type. Interesting.

  “And now . . .” I say, dragging the sentence out.

  “She’s fucking my personal assistant.”

  “She’s a lesbian?” I gasp. “Gross. That bitch.”

  He snorts. “My personal assistant was a man.”

  Ohhhhh.

  Poor dude—his wife ran off with his P.A. That’s low.

  “Well that sucks. When you say was, you mean . . .” I trail off, staring at him.

  “Meaning he got fired, meaning I stripped him of his manhood.”

  My eyes widen and I smile wickedly. “Did you cut his penis off?”

  His brows go up. “I’m questioning your mental stability again.”

  “Well,” I argue, crossing my arms, “how can you strip him of his manhood then?”

  “I beat him within an inch of his life, in front of the press.”

  Shit, how did I miss that one? I need to watch more television.

  “And then I told them all he screwed my fiancée.”

  Ouch.

  “Burned,” I mutter.

  “Something like that.”

  “So . . .” I trail off.

  “Hmmmm.”

  “You know,” I begin, and then I take a deep breath. “I could help you out right now. I could have a woman for you in, say, ten minutes.”

  He gives me the eye. “I’m not fucking you. I’m still not convinced you’re not harboring a strange mental disorder.”

  “Hey,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll have you know I’m quite sane. And I had no intention of fucking you. You’re not my type.”

  “What is your type?” he asks, wrapping those big hands around his glass and staring at it again.

  “Well, not a broody, damaged, incapable-of-picking-up-females kind of man.”

  “Did you just insult me?” he grunts.

  “I did. Deal with it,” I say, staring around the room. Plenty of sexy women here. “Now, do you want me to get you laid, or what?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Go hard. I can’t imagine how you could pick up someone for me.”

  “Is that a challenge?” I say, crossing my arms.

  He shrugs again and turns back to his whiskey. Broody asshole. I’ll show him.

  I slam my glass down, causing him to jerk and turn my way, then I flick my hair and yell, “Don’t be such an asshole about it. I always told you what would happen if you fell for me! Did you really think your gigantic cock, your money and your flashy car would keep me from stroking my needs elsewhere?” I laugh bitterly. “Seriously, you’re too sweet for your own good. Serves you right for falling in
love with a whore.”

  There is a group of women watching us—exactly what I wanted. Grinning, I go on.

  “It’s not your fault. You did everything right. But I didn’t really want all those roses, necklaces and chocolates. I mean, come on, it’s like you were trying to cheapen me up.”

  Did Mr. Broody’s mouth just twitch? It’s not possible. That must mean he knows how to smile.

  Gasp.

  I pull out my business card, pretending it’s a credit card. “Here, you can take your no-limit credit card back. It bores me.”

  Then I flick my hair and turn, strutting off. As I pass, I hear some women murmuring. Winner.

  I get back to Autumn and her eyes are wide and confused. “What the hell did you just do over there?”

  “Watch and learn, baby.”

  I watch with a smile as a tall, leggy blonde approaches Reign. They have a conversation, he buys her a drink and I know he’s won. I turn back to Autumn who is gaping at me, then back at the blonde, then back at me again.

  “Did you lose your mind? Did a brain cell drop out on your way over there? Why the hell aren’t you fucking Mr. Rich right now?”

  I shrug. “He wasn’t my type.”

  “As if!” she cries. “He’s everyone’s type.”

  I laugh and turn to watch Reign stand, the blonde right by his side. They turn and head towards the exit of the bar. He looks over his shoulder at me before he goes, and I blow him a kiss.

  Score one for me.

  ~*~*~*~

  I didn’t get laid.

  Nope, instead I got drunk, came home and passed out, and now I’m nursing an aching head and a seedy stomach.

  That’ll teach me for handing the good ones over to Barbie look-a-likes. I slide out of my bed, groaning as my head pounds. Why do people drink? I mean seriously, what’s the catch? It makes us crazy, we do stupid things and then we wake up the next day with a headache, a sore stomach and quite possibly, an STD.

  I step into my small, but modern kitchen. I wonder if Autumn had any luck last night? After she dropped me home, she went to a bar down the street with a male friend of hers. She’s been hung up on him for two years now, but he doesn’t even notice. Jerk. He doesn’t understand or even want to understand her.

  Autumn had a difficult upbringing, and it takes a lot to get her out of her shell. I met her about three years ago, and in that time she’s moved about four times. She’s like a cat on hot bricks all the time. She’s been back here now for the past seven months and so far, she seems to be holding strong. She tells me she just gets bored, but I’m so sure there’s more to it.