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    Locked Out: Locked in Love, #2
    Locked Out: Locked in Love, #2
    Locked Out: Locked in Love, #2
    Ebook66 pages1 hour

    Locked Out: Locked in Love, #2

    By Myra Song

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    About this ebook

    Former Detective turned Private Investigator, Elise Martin feels a lot like Atlas-- always trudging uphill. Only everyone thinks it's a chip on her shoulder instead of the world. She'd beg to differ. But now she's got rent due, ramen is getting old, and her former boss, the Police Chief, is making life difficult. So she'll take any job that comes her way. When a fateful encounter drops a security detail and potential case in her lap, who is she to say no? Too bad the man hiring her is one smooth, sexy, gorgeous a**hole. Like, can't-stand-to-share-your-air kind of jerk. But jerk that he may be, he's also a billionaire, and that means his check will cash. 

    Jameson Locke is many things. Handsome, charming, meticulous. He's head of a security and safe company and one of the world's wealthy elite. He's also ruthless, calculating, and bored. When he meets Elise Martin, he can't shake her from his mind. Her curves and quick tongue inspire his need to dominate. To control. Even though he knows he can't get close to her, he needs something interesting. A challenge. Elise Martin promises to be that and more. 

    Elise and Jameson find themselves locked in a game of wits and resources. 

    Locke isn't a man to lose. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNow and Wren Publishing
    Release dateMar 1, 2016
    ISBN9781386668442
    Locked Out: Locked in Love, #2

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    • 4/5
      Nice! I like the girl, she is great. I am looking forward to next book

    Book preview

    Locked Out - Myra Song

    continues from Locked In.

    Elise

    A FIGURE IN HEAD-TO-toe black is standing and staring at me.

    It is just the two of us in Locke’s gallery hallway. My chest hurts because my heart is trying to leap out of it.

    He is in a ski mask. Despite my fear, my brain kicks into overdrive. This man is about five-eleven with broad shoulders. He’s built like a kicker on a football team: big enough to take a hit, but still lean. Elegant, really, in his muscular physique.

    I know it’s muscular because the clothing he’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination. The black shirt and pants cling to him like a second skin.

    The man in black is in a mask, too. Like a ski mask, but made from the same thin material as his other clothing. Even his shoes are five-toed, like those trendy running shoes.

    I’d put him at around one hundred ninety pounds. If he’s as athletic as I think he is, he can overpower me.

    I jump when he speaks. You shouldn’t be here, Little Bird.

    A thrill runs through me. This is no ordinary thief. An ordinary thief wouldn’t have stood, waiting for me to notice. He’d have hid, or ran as soon as I glimpsed him. And now I’ve heard his voice, though it sounds like he’s dropping it on purpose. It sounds ice cold and filled with mirth.

    You shouldn’t be here, either, I croak, my fear clogging my voice.

    He shrugs and begins to walk toward me. That depends on who you ask.

    Stop right there! My feet slide apart, but my body can’t decide whether to run or attack.

    It doesn’t matter. He charges me. I torque on my left knee, tensing my abs and bringing my right fist around for a hook, aimed at his jaw. I telegraph the movement and he takes the bait, grabbing my right wrist.

    Here’s a secret: I’m left handed. My instructors used to go crazy when I’d do this. They’d shout and curse and often, kick me out or fail me. I think it’s because they were mad that it worked. Every. single. time. Because if I let my attacker grab me first and think he has the advantage?

    I can blindside that son of a bitch.

    My left hand shoots in, an up cut. Only instead of aiming at his face, I’m shooting my knuckles into his windpipe.

    It is possible my instructors were actually mad because I’d hit their throats a little too hard.

    My eyes are narrowed and I lunge up, putting the momentum of my body into the move—

    But, to my shock and horror, the thief easily deflects it. Instead, he uses my momentum against me. It’s too fast to see, but he manages to kick, lift, and flip me. There is a shredding noise and then my back hits marble, winding me. My head would have, too, had the man in black not caught it.

    It is a weirdly chivalrous moment, and it stuns me.

    Cool air breezes over my legs. My dress is torn. The close-fitting silk and mermaid cut were only enough to contain my curves. The dress was not made to withstand hand-to-hand combat.

    The tear reaches up high, high on my thigh, and if my legs had flailed at all during that flip I know the thief will know I’m commando.

    Before I can catch my breath, though, or even blush from the exposed skin, there is cool metal pressed against my temple.

    Oh, no no, Little Bird. I’d love to continue, but that patrol will be back any moment.

    The click of the gun’s safety being switched off rings in my ear and now I’m just scared stupid. Police Academy and work and training for Detective? They helped build a lot of confidence. Probably too much bravado. I was trained on how to stay calm, and stay smart, in most any situation.

    But when a gun is pressed to your head, you tell me how smart and calm you are.

    My breaths are coming in tiny wheezes. Get up, quickly, he orders in my ear. I do, stumbling a little until his iron grip on my bicep steadies me.

    That hurts.

    We aren’t exactly on a first date, Little Bird. Let’s go. He leads me to a door. Did you know Locke has two rooms he never tapes?

    My chin juts up in interest. I remembered the two dark screens in his security room. The thief laughs. It’s low, more a bark. I see you do. He whips me around, surprising me, and slams my back against the wall. His body presses on mine, pinning me in an

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