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THE MARKED MEN 3-BOOK COLLECTION
Rule
Jet
Rome
Jay Crownover Table of Contents RULE Jay Crownover
Dedicated to everyone who listened to me complain about needing a new life plan all year long. Also to those who encouraged me to just do what I do best. I try to write what I know, just a more romantic and idealized version of it, so this is also for all the real-life tattooed boys who have been in and out of my life over the years and served as inspiration for my heroes.
Table of Contents
Epilogue: About eight months later
If this story had a soundtrack this is what it would be
CHAPTER 1
Rule
At first I thought the pounding in my head was my brain trying to fight its way out of my skull after the ten or so shots of Crown Royal I had downed last night, but then I realized the noise was someone storming around in my apartment. She was here, and with dread I remembered that it was Sunday. No matter how many times I told her, or how rude I was to her, or whatever kind of debauched and unsavory condition she found me in, she showed up every Sunday morning to drag me home for brunch. A soft moan from the other side of the bed reminded me that I hadn’t come home alone from the bar last night. Not that I remembered the girl’s name or what she looked like, or if it had even been worth her while to stumble into my apartment with me. I ran a hand over my face and swung my legs over the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door swung open. I never should have given the little brat a key. I didn’t bother to cover up; she was used to walking in and finding me hungover and naked—I didn’t see why today should be any different. The girl on the other side of the bed rolled over and narrowed her eyes at the new addition to our awkward little party. “I thought you said you were single?” The accusation in her tone lifted the hair on the back of my neck. Any chick who was willing to come home with a stranger for a night of no-strings-attached sex didn’t get the right to pass judgment, especially while she was still naked and rumpled in my bed. “Give me twenty,” I said, my eyes shifting to the blonde in the doorway as I ran a hand through my messy hair. She lifted an eyebrow. “You have ten.” I would have lifted an eyebrow back at her tone and attitude but my head was killing me, and the gesture would have been wasted on her anyway; she was way past immune to my shit. “I’ll make coffee. I already invited Nash but he said he has to go to the shop for an appointment. I’ll be in the car.” She spun on her heel, and, just like that, the doorway was empty. I was struggling to my feet, searching the floor for the pair of pants I might have tossed down there last night. “What’s going on?” I had temporarily forgotten about the girl in my bed. I swore softly under my breath and tugged a black T-shirt that looked reasonably
