The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

“I have a boyfriend,” I blurt out.

He gives me a pitiful look, cocking his head sideways. “Please don’t insult my intelligence. We both know Ross Kendrick is gay.”

“It’s not Ross!” I protest. “It’s someone else. He’s in college. He’ll kick your ass if you get close to me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What’s his name?”

My eyes wildly scan the bookshelf behind his shoulder. Run Like the Wind by Jeff Perkins stands out.

“Jeff,” I say, finding my voice. “His name is Jeff and we’re in love. And you know what else? He’s a football player and huge. He can kick your ass if you as much as try to touch me!”

I whirl, trying to make an escape to the door before he asks more questions about Jeff, but he catches the back of my hoodie and pulls me into a headlock, his lips finding the shell of my ear.

“Well, tell Jeff to back off, because you already have a boyfriend.”

I don’t cry. But I don’t try to fight my way out of his embrace either. I’m too scared he’ll kill me, right here and now.

“Now tell me, Emmabelle, did he fuck you?”

I know I should say no. Poking the bear is not a great idea. But I can’t help it. I think I’ll always be wired to fight back.

“Yeah,” I say. “He did. A few times. It was great.”

Steve releases me unexpectedly, and I scramble to the door, unlocking it with shaky fingers and shooting out of there like an arrow.

Close call, I think. But even hours after the incident, I still can’t breathe.

Because I know there’s more coming.





She wasn’t going to the police.

I was certain of that more than I was certain the sun would rise tomorrow in the east. Astronomy was full of unfathomable things.

Sweven, however, was as predictable as a Swiss clock.

Even if she thought she would go to the police tonight, she was going to wake up tomorrow morning and rebel against every notion that she should be careful or timid or scared.

I didn’t feel remotely bad about betraying her confidence when I called Sam as soon as she fell asleep, lighting up a much-needed rollie on the balcony of my bedroom overlooking the skyline of Boston. I pressed my elbows against the bannisters, letting my head drop between my shoulders on a sigh.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night,” Sam greeted in his signature lackluster mannerism.

“You’re still up,” I said dryly.

“You didn’t know that.”

“I know everything.”

“Good point,” Sam said solemnly. “What do you want?”

“I need to hire you for something.”

That gave him pause. I was the only man in my social circle who did not hire Sam Brennan and his staff on retainer.

I kept my hands—like my professional reputation—squeaky clean.

But Emmabelle was about to change that.

She was about to change a lot of things.

I heard Sam sucking on his electronic cigarette. “Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

“We all fall in the same way.” The fresh air swirled my blond hair, whipping at my face. The cold tinge on my cheeks reminded me what I wished I could forget. That I actually cried a few minutes ago. Or, rather, shed three, full tears.

“And the fall always involves a woman,” Sam concluded.

“Although, it should be said, for a while there, I thought all I’d been dealing with was a stumble.”

He chuckled softly, and I could envision him shaking his head as he took another drag of his fake ciggy.

“How can I help?” he asked finally.

“Emmabelle is being followed.”

“Ash told me something along those lines,” Sam offered nonchalantly. “Do you have any suspects?”

“A bitter ex-employee. A woman who is hell-bent on marrying me…” I took a deep breath, my jaw ticking in annoyance, “…and my mother.”

Luckily, Sam wasn’t one for snarky comments.

“She’s been trying to reach me,” Sam said. “Emmabelle. I didn’t take her calls.”

“Why not?” I felt my blood boiling with rage.

“Exercise in humility.” I heard him toss the cigarette onto his desk, growing tired and frustrated of the unconvincing replacement. “I wanted to see if she’d turn to Ash or you for help. It would do her good to be a little less prideful.”

“She didn’t ask me to call you. I’m going rogue on her arse. In fact, I specifically don’t want you to contact her.”

“All right. I’ll email you a questionnaire. You’ll have to fill it out completely.”

“I need this employee Frank’s address as soon as possible,” I said.

“You’ll get it,” Sam said confidently. “But, Devon?”

“Yeah?”

“I ain’t cheap.”

“I ain’t poor.” It positively killed me to use the word ain’t.

“You might be, after putting me on retainer for a month or two.”

“You don’t need two months to solve this riddle. Plus, you are helping me keep the mother of my child safe. There’s no price tag for that.”

I hung up, letting out a quick, angry breath.