Going Deep, #2 Read online

  Going Deep

  Going Deep, Volume 2

  Mia Ford

  Published by Mark Duff, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  GOING DEEP

  First edition. March 25, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Mia Ford.

  ISBN: 978-1386670650

  Written by Mia Ford.

  Also by Mia Ford

  Claimed

  Claimed

  Going Deep

  Going Deep

  His Brother's Wife

  His Brother's Wife

  Second Chance on St. Patrick's Day

  Second Chance on St. Patrick's Day

  Standalone

  Friends to Lovers

  Train Me Daddy

  Breaking Rules

  Thirst

  Auctioned

  Body Heat

  Torn

  The Perfect Gift

  The Perfect Holiday

  Crossing Lines

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Mia Ford

  Going Deep

  Blurb

  Chapter One: Danny

  Chapter Two: Hannah

  Chapter Three: Danny

  Chapter Four: Richie

  Chapter Five: Danny

  Chapter Six: Hannah

  Chapter Seven: Danny

  Sign up for Mia Ford's Mailing List

  Also By Mia Ford

  Going Deep (Part II)

  Blurb

  Getting down, dirty and deep is what I do best.

  Because I'm an undercover cop & a bad boy at heart

  Let's just say that women love to get under the covers with me

  Especially when they know what I'm packing in my jeans...

  I'm all set to take down the South Side Gang

  I've got Richie Silvestri in my sights

  All I gotta do is wait, watch, listen, then make my move

  It should be just another day in the life of Detective Danny O'Shea

  But then she comes: Hannah, Richie's little sister

  She's the finest piece of a$$ I've ever seen

  She is smoking hot with a mouth to watch

  And all I now think of is burying myself between her thighs

  But Hannah is a tough nut to crack

  It's going to take more than my bad boy charm to get those legs spread

  But I'll keep working her, cause that's what I do

  And once I taste her, the whole South Side will explode into flames

  Chapter One: Danny

  I felt like a wet sack of dog turds after I’d driven the few miles to Pussy Whipped. The shower that morning had been a complete waste of time. My shit-mobile didn’t have AC, which would have ruined my street cred in this neighborhood. Oh sure, you saw the big Town Cars and Lincolns driving around, but those were the gang bosses and the pimps, cruising to make sure business was booming, but not booming. No one really wanted the law to come down unless they were idiots. Businessmen—and as bad as these guys were, they were still businessmen—played it as safe as they could. They also didn’t park their cars here at night. They parked them in their three-car garages out in the ’burbs, where their wives went to bake sales and their kids went to private school.

  It was close to noon, and never one to be tardy—I’d had that beaten out of me in Catholic school—I entered the club, wearing the requisite uniform of the bouncer. Black pants. Black T-shirt. Black shit-stompers. I’m not sure the knife in my boot or the brass knuckles in my back pocket were standard bouncer accessories, but I had a motto. Don’t leave home without them.

  The minute I opened the door the smell of old beer and cigarettes wafted out and hit me. Yeah, there were no-smoking policies in place everywhere, but you learned real fast who gave a rat’s ass and who didn’t. If you wanted to get lung cancer faster, you hung out in strip clubs. I’d never known a stripper who didn’t have some sort of asthma problem.

  Along with the smell came the pounding music.

  I blinked for a minute to adjust from the blaring sunlight to the virtual darkness inside. The glow of the bar signs cast pools of color, and a few dim lights hung over the bar, but other than those and the pulsing strobes flashing on the dancer, everything else was pretty damn dark. It was easier to get drunk and forget in the dark.

  When the door hit my blind ass, I almost ploughed into my exact twin—only he was African American—as he began to stand up. I glanced up, and up again, and realized he was a lot bigger than I was. That didn’t happen all that often. This guy was six-eight if he was an inch and probably had about fifty pounds on me. My smile said, “Let’s be friends.” I didn’t need this dude on my bad side.

  I held out my hand, and the big guy took it and squeezed. I held in the wince.

  “Danny O’Shea. Just starting today.”

  “Jonell Carter. Nice to meet you.” He had a glow-in-the-dark smile.

  I glanced around. Now that my eyes had adjusted a bit, it was easy to see the pretty Asian woman dancing to “American Woman.” Seemed a bit strange, but who was I to judge?

  “So, I’m supposed to meet Butch here. Noon. Know where he is?”

  Jonell shrugged one massive shoulder. “Home probably. Sleeping. Don’t usually see him ’til after two or so.”

  “Huh. Well, that kind of presents a problem. Got any suggestions?”

  He jerked his chin toward the other side of the room. “Talk to Hannah. She runs the shift.”

  Hannah. That breath of fresh air in a skanky cesspool. Oh yeah, I’d talk to Hannah all right. I swung around and snagged her with my glance as she came through the doorway from the hall. She was carrying a huge box, struggling under the weight.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Jonell forgotten, I skirted around the tables like my old days on the football field, dodging a few drunks on their way to the head and pushing chairs out of my way. I reached her just as the box slipped from her grasp, and I swept it into my arms. I peeked around the edge.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  She blinked those blue-sky eyes for a moment, and then a pretty smile crossed her face. “Danny O’Shea.”

  “Hannah Silvestri. What’s a gorgeous creature like you doing in a dump like this?”

  Hannah reached back and adjusted her ponytail. “Running it. Same as any other day.”

  “Seriously?” I glanced around. “You run this place?”

  Surprisingly enough, the crowd seemed reasonably under control. There were the usual catcalls and whistles, and several determined men were vying for a place closer to the stage and the cute dancer, but a couple of strategically placed bouncers were fending them off with no problem. Beer stains dotted the floor, and crumbs littered every inch of space, but the women carrying drinks and food to the patrons looked cheerful and pleasant, not unhappy to be slaving away for a bunch of drunks.

  “I do,” she said, stepping behind the bar. “You can put that here.” She patted the counter.

  I put the case of liquor on the bar, and she started pulling out bottles of Popov. Now that was some prime rotgut vodka. Only the best for Pussy Whipped patrons. I’d had my share of Popov in college, and you couldn’t have force-fed it to me now. I’m pretty sure Homeland had it in their arsenal of interrogation tactics.

  “This looks like a kindergarten class compared to what I saw last night.”

  She laughed. “Totally different crowd. They can get rowdy, and a bit grabby at times, but most often they’re pretty well behaved. I don’t put up with their shit. They give me a hard time, they’re banned for a week.”

  “And Richie’s okay with that?
I mean it’s business.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Not sure he’s okay with it, but he backs me. He wants me here, and believe it or not, he wants me safe. He trusts me to know what’s best for this shift. We have no 911 calls here during the day because I weed out the bad ones to make it better for the good ones. I run a tight business for him. My girls sell plenty of food, with a good profit margin, and tons of liquor, which is a bigger profit margin.”

  Her girls were doing okay for themselves. I saw one woman stuff a twenty into her rather generous cleavage when she delivered a bucket of beers to a group of construction workers. One slapped her ass, but she gave a giggle and turned to another table. I’d take a slap on the ass for a twenty. Hell, I’d pay twenty for a slap on the ass.

  “So, Hannah...”

  She held up her hand. “Stop right there.”

  I drew back and gave her a disappointed look, the one I reserve for women who say they don’t fuck on the first date. I mean everyone fucks on the first date. What was the point of a first date if not that?

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re going to ask what I’m doing later. I’ll get all gushy and say, ‘Hopefully going out with you, big boy,’ and then you’ll say you’ll pick me up at blah, blah, blah.”

  “I give great blah, blah,” I said.

  “I’m sure you do,” she said, blushing just a bit beneath that beautiful olive skin, “but that’s beside the point.”

  “It’s exactly the point.” I let my gaze drop to those delectable tits. More than a mouthful. They looked luscious peeking over that tight top.

  She shook her head, as though shaking thoughts away. I hoped they were kinky thoughts and all involved me, my cock, and I.

  She huffed and said, “Have you been hired for my shift?”

  I gestured to my clothing. “Either that or I’m completely overdressed.”

  She pressed her lips together, hiding a laugh.

  “Come on, you know that was funny.”

  “I am in serious trouble here,” she said, shaking her head again.

  “That’s the best kind of trouble.” I lifted a brow and gave her one of those George Clooney looks the women seem to love. What a douche that no-talent hack was, but it worked every time. “Yes, I’m working your shift. Lucky me. Lucky you. We could make more luck together.”

  “You are a piece of work, Danny O’Shea.”

  “But charming. Admit it.”

  She shook her head again with a cute little smile.

  One of the servers came up and ordered another bucket of beer and a Crown on the rocks. As Hannah filled the bucket, I glanced around wondering which of these lushes had great taste and was willing to pay for it. I could go for a Crown myself, but happy hour had gone out the window for me with this assignment. Then I saw my dad’s buddy Stan lounging in a booth, sipping at a lowball glass. He blended in great, just a large fifty-something man out for his afternoon cocktail. His eyes were riveted on the stage, taking in the Asian girl—the announcer had called her Jade—now twisting her body around a pole to the sweet sound of Every Rose Has Its Thorns.

  Stan’s gaze shifted for one moment to me, and I gave him a brief nod before I turned my attention back to Hannah and he turned back to Jade.

  “So, where were we?” I asked, leaning against the bar.

  “We were talking about luck, and I’m afraid—”

  “Hey, Hannah, I need another Miller Lite. Oh, hey, Danny.”

  I swung my face toward the server who’d just approached the bar. Shit. The girl from last night with the fuck-me lips. My little blonde bombshell who could suck the balls off a bull.

  I straightened up. “Oh, hi...” Damn it. I never expected it to bite me in the ass this fast.

  “Charity,” Hannah whispered.

  “Hi, Charity.”

  Charity sidled closer to me, casting a cautious glance at Hannah. No help there. Hannah’s ass was hanging out of the beer cooler. Jesus. Her plump cheeks hung out of those boy shorts like a pair of ripe melons I wanted to sink my teeth into.

  “I was hoping I’d see you again.” Charity ran her fingernail up my arm. I watched the trail of red polish as it swirled among a few black hairs. “I had a good time last night.”

  Hannah slammed a bottle of Miller Lite on the bar.

  “Yeah,” I said, pulling my arm away. “Good times.”

  Hannah slammed a bottle of Blue Moon on the bar and slid both bottles toward the server.

  “Tom is signaling over there, Charity. Move your ass. He’s out of here at one.”

  “Sure, Hannah.” She gave me those cow eyes again, a sweet syrupy look that gave me an instant sugar high. I hate sugar. “See ya around, Danny. Don’t be a stranger.” She wiggled her fingers and snatched up the bottles to bounce away.

  “Jesus,” Hannah said with disgust. “You must have a big cock.”

  “You can always find out for yourself.”

  She pursed her lips and wiped at the counter with a bar rag. “Nope, not happening. I never fuck my employees.” She gave me a hard stare. “And I don’t want my employees fucking each other. Got that?”

  I pulled back, almost insulted. “Me and her? Are you nuts?”

  She pushed out her lips, twirled her ponytail, then sing-songed, “I had a good time last night.” She blew me a kiss. “Danny.”

  I was going to have this girl, whether she knew it or not.

  My turn to hold up my hands. “It was a blowjob. That’s it. I never touched her.”

  “I don’t care what you did...yesterday. I only care about what you do from now on. Got it?”

  Oh, this little woman was a handful. I loved it. She would be mine.

  “He gets it.”

  That grumbled tone. That bad breath. That body odor. It could mean only one thing.

  My trainer had arrived. Talk about luck.

  “About time you got here,” Hannah snapped. “Show him how to work the door. Jonell needs a lunch break.”

  “Come with me, ass hat,” Butch said.

  I gave Butch the finger when he turned away. “Can’t you train me?” I whispered with a shudder. “He smells.”

  There was that smile again. My cock hardened because that smile did wonders for my soul, my heart, my brain, my cock, hell, every molecule in my body.

  She tried that stern face again, but it wasn’t her best shot. She liked me. I could tell. “Not today. Maybe some other time. Get to work before I fire your ass.”

  I saluted, gave her another killer smile, and headed toward the freak waiting for me at the door.

  I had this girl caught on my line, and sure, she was going to give me a hard time. She would fight and twist and pull that line, but the fight would make it all the sweeter when she was finally mine. I lived for challenges.

  Chapter Two: Hannah

  Butch kept Danny busy—and away from me.

  Three days had passed, and though Danny and I exchanged a few words, and lots of hot glances, I didn’t know any more about him than I had when he arrived for training.

  He came in at noon each day, cheerful and smiling, relieved Jonell for his lunch break, and then Butch stationed him at the dance floor to guard the girls. He got along with the servers and the dancers. He was pleasant and respectful, and I hadn’t yet seen him make any advances, though he’d had to thwart a few.

  I gave him credit for taking me seriously. The other bouncers had accepted him with no problem, which was unusual because often these men vied for territory in a strip club. Yet everyone took Danny in stride. I had to admit he did have a charming personality, a good sense of humor, and handled the job with ease, even with our most determined or rowdy customers.

  So why was I disappointed? Every morning I’d bounced down the stairs actually looking forward to work. Not that I didn’t like my job, but it had a sameness to it that often felt stagnant. Lately, though, the dawn seemed to a bit brighter, and despite the heat that my little AC c
ouldn’t quite dispel despite chugging like a champ, I awoke with a bright spirit and some long-forgotten enthusiasm.

  I chalked it up to Danny. I liked watching his quick smile, those little winks he sent toward the girls when they vacated the stage, the easy way he chatted with Jonell and the others. I even liked the way he handled the men who’d clearly had two or three too many drinks. He’d put a chummy arm around their shoulders, bring them to the bar to sit quietly for a few minutes, and make sure they had a big glass of water. So many of the other men would have just hustled them to the door and kicked them out for the day, but Danny made sure that, when they left, they managed to walk down the street instead of passing out in front of the building.

  I wondered where he’d come from, where he’d been, and how he’d managed to retain so much humanity living the hard life so many of these men had.

  All the while Butch came and went throughout the day, casting Danny hard glares of displeasure and sending me stares that made my hackles rise in disgust. He spent most of his time in the back of the club or cruising the neighborhood, taking care of things for Richie.

  My brother trusted Butch to hold things together and to make sure that all Richie’s evil little minions scattered through the South Side did their assigned tasks—gathering protection money, distributing drugs, and collecting money from his pimps.

  I knew the sorts of things my brother had become involved in over the years, but I watched it all from afar, like a disinterested observer. I saw the activity, but I knew none of the details. It was safer that way.

  My brother spent most of his time in his downtown office, where he oversaw several businesses the Silvestri family had owned for decades. Richie had two personas. The day one brought him into contact with some of the most powerful men—legitimate men—in Chicago. The second one, the one that came out after dark, brought him into contact with the most powerful men in the underbelly of Chicago. Richie was determined to be at the top of both food chains.