Publisher: Meghan March LLC
Date of publication: September 21, 2015
I'm the guy you love to hate.
In every story in my life, I seem to
end up playing the villain—and I've got the scars to prove it.
That role works fine for me, because
I'm sure as hell not anyone's hero.
I run my life and my empire with an
iron fist—until she knocks my tightly controlled world off its axis.
She's nobody's damsel in distress, but
I can't help but want to save her anyway.
I guess we're about to find out if
there's a hero buried … beneath these scars.
Note: **Special release price of $2.99
for 48 hours!**
My thoughts:
Beneath these Scars is the 4th book in the Beneath series. This is Yve and Lucas's story. For the most part, I thought this stood up fairly well as a stand alone. From what i could deduce from reading between the lines Lucas played a major part in
Beneath This Ink, which is the 2nd book and Vanessa and Con's story. I kind of wish that I had read that one, only to see how much Lucas was different from the second book. But, I don't think it's really necessary to this story.
I really liked Lucas and Yve as individual characters. I loved Yve's conviction to do things differently than her family and to do it her way. As for Lucas, he is a typical alpha billionaire who always gets what he wants, but he has a great hidden tender side. While I ultimately liked Lucas and Yve together, their relationship kind of bothered me in the beginning. They kept having angry sex and that was kind of off-putting. I'm not sure I'll ever understand how two people can end up falling in love when their relationship starts out like that.
There is a little bit of a mystery that ended up surprising me. I was a bit off base, but I liked that. I am looking forward to the next book in the series. I hope it is Valentina and Hennessy's story!
Chapter 1
Lucas
SWEAT DRIPPED
INTO MY EYES as I bounced on
the balls of my feet. Someone had to be calling out how much time was left in
this round soon. My pride was on the line, and there was no way I would hand it
over to Con Leahy. He’d already gotten the girl, and I wasn’t about to let him
humiliate me in the ring in this piece-of-shit New Orleans gym too.
My muscles
burned, but that was nothing compared to the heat of victory—or the sting of
defeat. What had started out as a boxing lesson had quickly transformed into an
all-out brawl for dominance and respect.
Only you would
pay a million dollars to get your ass kicked, Titan. The voice in my head mocked me as I bobbed and weaved. But I
hadn’t paid a million to get my ass kicked. I’d done it because that night at
the charity auction I’d been drunk, pissed off, and determined to prove a
point—he might’ve gotten the girl, but I was still the one with the power. I
got a sick sense of satisfaction that every time Con bought something for his
gym and these kids, he had to think of me.
I swung with
another right hook. The blow connected with Con’s jaw and snapped his head to
the side.
Yeah. That’s
right.
But my mental cheer came a moment too soon, and pain exploded in my left side.
Shit, that’s
going to hurt tomorrow.
I stumbled back
but threw myself forward again, shooting out my fist with an uppercut that
knocked Con back a step. This was how it had gone for the last several
minutes—trading punches and circling each other.
There was no
love lost in this ring, that was for damn sure, and I was ready for this to be
over. I would walk out of here with every bit of the respect I was owed. Fuck
anyone who thought otherwise.
Con moved toward
me and the circling started again. The cheers and chants from the crowd
surrounding the ring in the old warehouse gym seemed to grow every time I
glanced beyond the ropes. A flash of blond hair caught my eye as I stepped left
and Con shifted to the right.
Vanessa.
She threw her
head back and laughed at something said by her redheaded friend, Elle. I turned
my attention back to the man in front of me, but my focus wandered again when a
huskier, sexier laugh echoed through the room.
My eyes strayed
from Con for a second too long as I tried to track down the source of the
laughter. Pain burst through my jaw, catching me by surprise, and I stumbled
back into the ropes. Using their momentum, I shoved off to the side, my pride stinging
from my momentary lapse in concentration. Embarrassed and now thoroughly pissed
off, I surged forward and attacked.
One punch. That
was all I landed before the bell rang, signaling the end of the round and my
very expensive “lesson.”
I pushed off Con,
and my knee might have slipped as I stepped back . . . and caught him
directly in the balls. It was probably an accident. I huffed out a chuckle, but
Con didn’t share my humor.
“Goddamn it!” he
roared. “Are you fucking serious?”
It was like
stabbing a bull with a matador’s sword, but I was ready for him. I jumped out
of the way as Con charged, and shifted into a defensive stance when he swung.
“Should’ve
expected a cheap shot from you, motherfucker.” Unrestrained anger flashed over
his face as every shred of coaching mentality fled, along with that smug
superiority he’d been giving me.
Good. You aren’t better than me, Leahy. I
could buy and sell you a hundred times over.
He might’ve
gotten the girl, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with her clean. I
wanted blood.
“Should’ve
expected you to strut around this ring like a fucking cock of the walk,” I shot
back.
Con feinted and
swung again, but I’d been studying his movements. I bobbed and weaved, and got
the hell out of the way.
I threw my own
punch as soon as I had a clean shot. It landed just below Con’s left eye,
splitting the skin over his cheekbone and sending blood spattering everywhere.
The taste of
victory was sweet. “First blood,” I said under my breath.
Apparently my
words weren’t quiet enough because Con’s head snapped up and he glared at me
with disgust, as if I needed to be put down like a rabid animal. “This ain’t a
fuckin’ duel, you piece of shit.”
“It sure isn’t a
friendly competition either.”
“Paid a million
to get that cheap shot in, didn’t you?”
My lips twisted
into a mocking smile. “I sure didn’t pay a million to have you show me up.”
Con dropped his
hands and shook his head. “Just when I thought you weren’t a complete fucking
asshole.”
“You were
wrong,” I replied, turning for the ropes.
Con’s fists
lifted and before I could react, one connected with my cheekbone. The
instantaneous gush of blood told me I’d have a scar to match his, but it didn’t
matter. One more scar wouldn’t hurt my banged-up face.
I roared as I
charged, but I didn’t get the chance to retaliate. Shouts filled the room, and
beefy arms wrapped around my body, holding me back.
“You’re not half
bad when you’re not being a shady rich prick,” Lord’s voice said in my ear.
I lunged toward
Con, but Lord’s grip only tightened. “Get your goddamn hands off me,” I growled
at him.
Leaning closer
to my ear, he lowered his voice. “When you calm the hell down and realize
you’re making an ass of yourself in front of a bunch of kids and women.”
I glanced out to
the crowd and read disgust on so many faces, including Vanessa’s. Like it
mattered what a single goddamn person in this gym thought of me. I could buy
and sell them all.
Lord was still
holding me back when Con came toward us. He yanked his gloves off and wiped at
the blood still dripping from the gash on his face.
“You’re also not
half bad when you’re paying attention—and when you’re not throwing a knee into
my nuts. But I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
I jerked at the
arms trapping me. “Call off your dog, and I’m gone.”
“You ever want
another round, it’s gonna cost you two million next time,” Con said.
“For another
chance to make you bleed? I’d pay even more.”
Con nodded to
his brother, and Lord let me go. The crowd had already started to disperse. The
only person in the building who probably didn’t want to run me down in the
parking lot was my COO, and arguably my friend, Ryder Colson. And he was
nowhere to be seen.
Instead of
Colson, I saw a group of women moving toward the door—Vanessa Frost in her
white cotton dress, Elle Snyder in her yellow retro number, and two others I
didn’t know. One looked familiar with tanned skin the color of honey, her hair
in dark waves, and a curvy body displayed by a funky teal dress with hot-pink
polka dots. She hooked her hands on her hips, and that husky laugh echoed
through the room again. Apparently she was the one who had distracted me in the
ring. My eyes didn’t move from her to take in the fourth woman.
Colson came up
beside me. “Who knew there’d be so many hot pieces of ass in this shit
warehouse?”
I turned toward
him. “Give any of them a shot, and you’ll probably find yourself bleeding on
the floor.”
Ryder shrugged
off my comment. “Go get your shit. I’ll wait.”
He was gone
before I could tell him he didn’t need to wait around for me. But then again,
he was my only ally in a building full of people who undoubtedly would have
preferred to see me KO’d on the floor of the ring. Just one more place I’d
never be welcome.
Good thing I
didn’t give a fuck.
I’d showed up,
gone toe-to-toe with Con, and had taken back a piece of my pride. That was
enough.
For today.
I was already
thinking of hiring a trainer as I went for my bag.
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Meghan March is the author of contemporary and erotic
romance novels.
Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and
tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect
manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic
about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include
slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing
corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong,
sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s
ever had. She loves hearing from her readers at
meghanmarchbooks@gmail.com.