Rogue (The REAL series)

Rogue (The REAL series)

"Completely mind-blowing" -- RT Book Reviews  on  ROGUE   Book 4 of the  New York Times  and  USA Today  bestselling  Real  series. HE SAYS HE'S NO GOOD FOR HER. SHE HATES THAT HE MIGHT BE RIGHT. Brook Dumas found Remington Tate in  REAL,  and now it's her best friend Melanie's turn to find the man who makes her heart sing. After years of searching, one night in the rain, the strong and mysterious Greyson King comes to her rescue. He's bold, and maybe just the lover, friend, and protector she's been searching for. When they make love, he says her name like it means something. Like  she  means something--and that's everything she's ever wanted. He disappears for days without a word, and when he's around, he says he'll only hurt her. Buy when he's away, her heart hurts more.   Then Melanie uncovers the dark world he'd been determined to keep hidden, and suspects that their random first meeting might have not been so random after all.   Caught in a free fall of emotions, Melanie has no one to catch her but the man she should be running from. . .   But what do you do when your Prince Charming has gone Rogue? Real series order; Real, Mine, Remy, Rogue, and Ripped Katy Evans lives with her husband and their two children plus three lazy dogs in south Texas. Some of her favorite pastimes are hiking, reading, baking, and spending time with her friends and family. She is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of Manwhore, Manwhore +1, Ms. Manwhore, and the REAL series . For more information on Katy Evans visit her website KatyEvans.net, and follow her on Facebook and X, @AuthorKatyEvans. Rogue ONE ZERO Greyson I’ve got my dick buried inches deep in a mewling woman’s cunt when I first become aware of the click of my front door. I pull out and grab a handful of bedsheets, toss them over to her, and she moans in protest over being without my dick anymore. “Cover up, sugar, you have three seconds . . .” Two. One. The first to materialize in my door is Derek. “Your father wants you.” Next to him is my asshole half brother, Wyatt, and he looks none too pleased to see me. What can I say? It’s mutual. I jump into my jeans. “He sent two of you?” I ask, almost laughing. “If I were a girl, I guess this would be the part where my feelings get hurt.” Both men walk into the room, checking out the territory with quick flicks of their eyes. They don’t see me coming. In less than a second, I’ve got Derek pinned up against the wall and I’ve got Wyatt in a choke hold. I spin them to face the door as I watch the rest of the men shuffle in. Seven of them, plus the two squirming in my hold. The nine-member squad composes the Underground enforcing committee led by my father—every man here with a different level of skills. None, not a single one of them, as skilled as I. “You know damn well if it involved you, it’d be a nine-man mission,” Eric Slater, my father’s brother and right hand, says as he steps inside. Eric is stern, silent, and dangerous. He’s my uncle and the closest thing to a dad I had growing up. He taught me to live among my father’s private little mob—no, not live. He taught me to survive. To take my circumstances and thrive. Because of him, I grew smarter, stronger, meaner. I learned whatever there was to learn, multiplied by the billionth power. The power of kill or be killed. Doesn’t matter if you’ll use the skill, it’s an insurance. Ever heard of insurances, boy? People who have insurances rarely use them. It’s those who don’t have shit who end up needing one. See that arrow? Use it. See that knife? Wield it, fling it, learn how to use the least amount of effort to do the most amount of damage. . . . I’ve got all kinds of insurances. My entire mind is a computer programmed to think the worst of a situation, all in less than a second. Right now, I know for a fact all these men are armed. Some of them carry two weapons, under their socks, at the small of their backs, or in the front flaps of their jackets. Eric watches my eyes scan each and every one of them, and he smiles, clearly proud of me. He opens his jacket and looks down at the gun on his hip. “You want to touch my piece? Here you go, Grey.” He pulls it out and extends it, the barrel in his hand. I let go of the two men in my grasp when I sense Wyatt is about two seconds from passing out. I pull them back, then with a shove send them smashing against the wall. “I don’t give a shit what he wants to say to me,” I state. Eric looks around my bedroom. My apartment is perfectly clean. I don’t do mess. I have a reputation and I like hearing a pin drop . . . the reason I heard these assholes enter my studio loft in the first place. “Still banging these whores? With that fucking face, you can get a goddess, Grey.” He eyes the woman in my bed. She’s no masterpiece, true, but she looks just fine pressed down against the mattress with her ass in the air, and she expects absolutely nothing of me except money. Money I can