A Moment of Weakness ONLY
$2.99

a Boston Alibi novel by Brooklyn Skye

He can fight anything…except his need for her.

Until her new job starts in September, buttoned-up elementary school teacher Laurel Harris is at loose ends and in need of cash. Fortunately her best friend’s older brother is a single dad and desperately needs a nanny. Or so she’s told. She doesn’t anticipate him being such a menacing, muscled, and undeniably gorgeous man…or that he has zero interest in hiring a nanny.

Micah Crane will do right by his young daughter, no matter the cost. And right now, that cost is juggling parenthood with long hours at his bar and working as an enforcer for a notorious crime boss. He doesn’t need another complication in his life, but the sweet, frustratingly opinionated little blonde hell-bent on caring for his daughter stirs his blood like no woman ever has.

All it takes is a moment of weakness to ignite the lust blazing between them. A moment that will unravel their self-control and unleash all of Micah’s darkest secrets…

 

Information:

Title: A Moment of Weakness
Series: Boston Alibi, #1
Author: Brooklyn Skye
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Length: 181 pages
ISBN: 978-1-63375-462-1
Release Date: October 19, 2015
Imprint: Brazen
 
 
Price listed is for the U.S. digital format. Please confirm pricing and availability with the retailer before downloading.
 

 
 
 

An Excerpt from:

A Moment of Weakness
by Brooklyn Skye

Copyright © 2015 by Brooklyn Skye. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Micah Crane’s fist collided with the guy’s face for what he hoped was the last time. He’d known the shithead would fight back—they always did—but this guy was huge, at least two-seventy-five to Micah’s two-twenty.

“Who are you with again?” the guy gasped, wiping the bead of blood from his split lip.

Micah laughed, the sound echoing down the length of the dark alley. “You have debts with more than one associate?” He shook out his hand, the deep ache in his knuckles dulling. “Either you’re really fucking stupid or a walking death wish.” Or both. And Micah didn’t care. While roughing guys up wasn’t exactly a chosen profession, the guys he was paid to “handle” for Russo were all hoods who needed to have the shit beat out of them anyway.

The guy sat up and coughed. “I—”

“Shut your mouth,” he said with a raise of his hand. Don’t ask, don’t tell. A strict policy he held when dealing with these douchebags. Micah didn’t want to know what they owed, or why. It made him feel like less of an asshole when going home to his daughter every night.

Eyes not leaving the guy, he bent to retrieve his bat, thankful he hadn’t had to use it. Fists first, but in this business, protection was necessary.

“Settle up with Russo by the end of tomorrow,” he said, back-stepping toward the mouth of the alley. “Or you can deal with the guy who comes after me. And he likes to enter his get-togethers carrying a shovel, if you know what I mean.”

 

It was only a short drive to the Central Burying Ground but plenty of time for Micah’s heart to jump into overtime. Meeting with Russo was his least favorite part of the job, but the associate for the well-known organized crime family insisted on doing things face to face. And one thing his father had taught him… Do what they say, stay on their side, and all will be well in your wallet.

He chuckled to himself. Yeah, the pay was damn good all right. Enough to cover what The Alibi—the bar he co-owned with his best friend—didn’t. Shaelynn deserved the best school in Boston, especially now that she was entering first grade.

He parked in the shadows and stole past the eerie span of rickety gravesites—artists, poets, composers…people who’d made a difference, been important; people who were nothing like him—and stopped at the plaque of The Great Elm. Uneven and crumbling at the edges, the marker sat where a giant tree, once a point of fortification and used in hangings, had stood. Fitting, he couldn’t help but think every time he set foot near it.

Russo emerged from the surrounding trees, his arms held wide. “How long did it take this time? Wait, let me guess. Five hits? Six?” He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “Asshole was huge, huh?”

Huge enough to ask for a heftier fee, yes, but he wouldn’t dare. He nodded to Russo with his chin. “Can we make this quick? I’ve got to get back to work.” Rather, back to Shaelynn. But he’d never talk to this man—or any of the associates—about his daughter. Regardless, Russo was a member of the most powerful crime family in the state. Of course he knew about her. Micah had seen the man in his bar a few times. Watched him order one drink, make eye contact with him, and then leave with a sleazy grin on his even sleazier mouth. An acknowledgement on Russo’s part that he could hold everything Micah had over his head if Micah didn’t produce.

He’d never let this man touch his daughter.

Russo exposed a wad of bills from his jacket pocket and handed it to Micah. “When can I expect my money?”

“He’ll pay by the end of tomorrow.” And he knew the thug in the alley would. They always did after a visit from him. It was why he’d had a continuous stream of jobs from Anthony Russo, whether he wanted them or not.

 

After a quick stop at the gas station to clean up, Micah entered The Alibi. A few of his regulars sat along the bar, chatting and guffawing with the bar’s longtime bartender Trey—a thirty-something ginger with a laugh that could draw in the ladies. A pair of younger-looking guys—closer to his little sister’s age than his—stood belly up to the bar, a beer in each of their hands. Micah had never seen them before.

No ladies tonight either, he noticed on his way to the back room he and Ryan used as their office. With the dilapidated sign hanging out front and sketchy projects surrounding their neighborhood block, it took a severe case of martini goggles for Boston’s women to make their way into his small, ramshackle bar, which usually didn’t happen until well past midnight.

In his office, he tucked the wad of cash from Russo into the safe hidden in the file cabinet and started to work on payroll. The bar didn’t revenue enough to pay for a bookkeeper, and this was his least favorite part of the job. Sitting behind a desk had never been his thing. Maybe if it was, Shae would have a better life.

At the thought of his daughter, the back door swung open and she skipped in and jumped onto his lap. “Daddy!” Six years old and still wanting to sit on his lap—he hoped she’d never stop.

Kissing her temple, he ran his hand down her wavy blonde hair. “Hi, princess. How was your day?”

“The best! Uncle Ryan took me to get ice cream. For dinner! Chocolate with Oreos.”

“Your favorite,” Micah said to her with a discreet what-the-fuck glance at his partner.

Ryan shrugged and jerked the black beanie off his head, his normally slicked-back hair looking more like a dirty mop. “You told me to keep her happy.”

He did. He also hadn’t had a choice when Russo texted him last minute with an assignment.

“We went to watch chickens wrestle too,” Shae said with a grin, stealing his pen to draw a heart on the back of his hand. “I didn’t like that, though. They were being mean to each other.”

Micah scowled at Ryan. “You took her to a cockfight? How is that appropriate for a six-year-old?”

“Hey,” Ryan spouted, roughly combing his fingers through his thick beard, “You weren’t the only one who had sh— I mean crap to get done. Jackson needed to meet about the Bud account. I had no choice.”

Shae leaned in and, with a giggle, whispered into Micah’s ear, “Shit, Daddy. He was going to say ‘shit’.”

“I know, baby girl.” Micah nuzzled her close. Jesus, his little girl wasn’t a baby he could entertain in an Exersaucer in the back room anymore. Every day, she was growing more perceptive, more aware of the world and the life he’d spent building for her. A life, he thought as he scanned the dingy room, that wasn’t fit for the princess she was. He kissed her head again. “But you’re better than crazy Uncle Ryan, so I don’t want you saying it.”

The words came out, but the conviction in them was missing. Ryan glanced at him, his eyes seeming to ask exactly what Micah was thinking. Would Shae really grow up to be better than them if he continued to drag her to The Alibi? Drag her into a life no better than the one he was raised in?