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    The Daddy Next Door: An MC Romance: Heaven's Horns MC, #1
    The Daddy Next Door: An MC Romance: Heaven's Horns MC, #1
    The Daddy Next Door: An MC Romance: Heaven's Horns MC, #1
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    The Daddy Next Door: An MC Romance: Heaven's Horns MC, #1

    By Nicole Fox

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    The Daddy Next Door is book 1 of the Heaven's Horns MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, The Outlaw Next Door and The Killer Next Door are available everywhere now!

    I'M DOWN ON MY KNEES FOR THE DADDY NEXT DOOR.

    I just wanted to get out of this town and start a new life.
    But then something unexpected happened…
    I got hooked on a bad boy.
    He's filthy. He's wrong. And he's staying in the room next door.

    Colton Sears is bad news.
    He's a criminal, a rebel, an outlaw with nothing but sex on his mind.

    So why can't I stop thinking about him?

    It's not like I don't have better things to be daydreaming about.
    My life isn't exactly cupcakes and sunshine, after all.
    I'm barely scraping by, working double shifts at a ratty diner,
    Flirting with gross men because I'm so desperate for tips.

    And living in this disgusting motel ain't so peachy either…
    Especially not with a sexy, reckless neighbor who is nothing but trouble.

    But when Colton's kid needs my help one day and Daddy is nowhere to be found,
    I do what any human would do and get the kid a snack.

    What a mistake that turns out to be.

    Before I know it, I'm up close and personal with the tattooed devil himself.
    I should hate him – he's everything I'm trying to run away from.
    But one look in those steely eyes and I know I'm not going anywhere.

    I'm his now.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMBK Hanson Inc.
    Release dateAug 21, 2018
    ISBN9781386586302
    The Daddy Next Door: An MC Romance: Heaven's Horns MC, #1
    Author

    Nicole Fox

    Nicole Fox writes smart, sexy mafia romance novels. She is a crazy cat lady in her late 30s with a coffee addiction, an overactive imagination, and a husband who somehow puts up with her impulsive need to keep buying new plants for their house. Sign up for her mailing list at http://bit.ly/NicoleFoxMailingList. 

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    • 3/5
      The story has potential but the lack of editing was a problem for me. The characters could have been fleshed out better with a good content edit, but there were also a lot of typos. There is also a lot of “tell” instead of “show” that kept me from feeling the emotions of the characters. I also wasn’t aware it had a cliffhanger, which I prefer to know in advance.

    Book preview

    The Daddy Next Door - Nicole Fox

    THE DADDY NEXT DOOR: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Heaven’s Horns MC Book 1)

    By Nicole Fox

    I’M DOWN ON MY KNEES FOR THE DADDY NEXT DOOR.

    Ijust wanted to get out of this town and start a new life.

    But then something unexpected happened...

    I got hooked on a bad boy.

    He’s filthy. He’s wrong. And he’s staying in the room next door.

    Colton Sears is bad news.

    He’s a criminal, a rebel, an outlaw with nothing but sex on his mind.

    So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

    It’s not like I don’t have better things to be daydreaming about.

    My life isn’t exactly cupcakes and sunshine, after all.

    I’m barely scraping by, working double shifts at a ratty diner,

    Flirting with gross men because I’m so desperate for tips.

    And living in this disgusting motel ain’t so peachy either...

    Especially not with a sexy, reckless neighbor who is nothing but trouble.

    But when Colton’s kid needs my help one day and Daddy is nowhere to be found,

    I do what any human would do and get the kid a snack.

    What a mistake that turns out to be.

    Before I know it, I’m up close and personal with the tattooed devil himself.

    I should hate him – he’s everything I’m trying to run away from.

    But one look in those steely eyes and I know I’m not going anywhere.

    I’m his now.

    Chapter One

    Marion

    F or the last time, Ms. Butler, a steady, slightly impatient voice said from the other side of the phone line. As much as I would like to help you, there is nothing we can do. Legally, anyway.

    At least the man on the other side of the phone had the decency to sound sorry. His voice reminded me of a generic cartoon villain; I could just image him twisting his evil, Snidely Whiplash mustache and thinking about all of the illegal ways I could get my life back. Ways that I couldn’t stomach. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Fletcher. I won’t bother you again.

    Settling the payphone back in its cradle, I glanced up at the faded billboard on Fifth Avenue and Bogardy Street. Sigmund F. Fletcher, Attorney at Law. If I can’t help you, no one can!

    True enough. He was the last person in the world to call. And that was my last quarter. Looks like the only person that will be looking out for me will be me. Again. As sad as I was about this whole situation with Jessa, I couldn’t stomach the thought of hiring some goon to take out her kneecaps. If only I had been smarter. If only I had asked someone’s advice who was smarter than me. If only, if only, if only.

    So that was that. My business that I had worked for years to build, every penny I’d saved since I was a kid, and my source of income, gone. Just gone, like that. A feeling like a big, gaping hole spread through my chest. There was nothing left to do.

    Sighing, I pulled my gray hoodie over my hair and stepped out of the phone booth into the rain. The city here was dingy and brown, filled with the mud that flowed down from the nicer parts of town. Funny to imagine that just a few months ago, I was looking for a new apartment up that way. I wanted something overlooking the city. From high enough up, even this dirt stain of a broken, pockmarked road looked kind of pretty. From up there, the city looked like an organized grid of picture-perfect little shops. It hid all of the glaring imperfections and shivering bodies sleeping on the street.

    At least I’m not homeless yet. I shivered at the thought, staring up into the drizzle to try and glimpse the sky. But it was covered with a thick blanket of cold, gray clouds.

    Clouds are God’s way of telling us he’s too tired for more prayers. I could remember my father saying it, as he looked up into the rain. He uses the clouds to muffle some of the noise from down here. Sometimes God needs a break, too, you know.

    I sighed, my breath puffing in the cold air. Big problem with that, old man. God is dead if he ever was around. And even if he was around, he wouldn’t have time for people like me. I was almost instantly soaked, so I didn’t bother rushing back to the hole I called home. It wouldn’t matter how fast I ran, I would be soaked without an umbrella. Even though the payphone was across the street, I was dripping onto the mangy, outdoor carpet by the time I made my way up the three levels of leaky, creaking stairs to my motel room. I counted the uneven steps as I ascended to my floor, hoping to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.

    Step nineteen, step twenty. Start over. I was going to have to start all over. From nothing, like I did when I was thirteen. Step twenty seven. Twenty eight. I had not a dime to my name, nothing saved but a couple of sets of clothes and some pots and pans.

    Crying, screaming, or throwing a tantrum wouldn’t save me from my fate, so I sulked instead, feeling the bile of disappointment and overwhelming shame pour over me. How could I have been so stupid?

    Pushing those thoughts aside, I pushed passed the dripping, spoiled bags of trash in the hallway to get to my room on the end of the row. It was thankfully quiet on the end unit, mostly. No one dared come down to my end of the hallway. It was my neighbor; he was the scariest thing I’d ever seen before. I was really, really hoping that I wouldn’t run into him. I wasn’t sure my nerves could take it after the day I had.

    As I rounded the corner on the rickety balcony that connected my apartment to the street, I groaned out loud. Dean, the scary neighbor’s little nine-year-old brat, was sitting outside of the rented room, his torn and dirty little shoes banging together. He looked up as I walked towards him, then he got to his feet.

    Hey, next-door neighbor lady. Can I hang out with you? he asked, his chocolate eyes too big and pleading in his adorable little face.

    I took a deep breath to calm my desire to lash out at him. Screaming at a little kid might help me to feel like I’d gotten some power back in my worthless life, but I would feel like crap about it later. So instead, I smiled with exaggerated sadness at him. Sorry, Kiddo. I can’t. I have to be at work in a few minutes. What’s your name again?

    Dean, the kid answered, his eyes locked with mine. Although he was wiggling around again, his feet tapping annoyingly on the disgusting carpet, he was looking at me with a hint of squint to his little brown eyes. He was an adorable kid under all of the abuse and dirt. I had a feeling he fell somewhere on the spectrum or had ADHD or something the way he danced around. It made him crazy, whatever it was, but he seemed like a regular, kid. Well, as regular as a neglected kid with a behavioral disease could be, I supposed.

    And I knew a lot about regular neglected kids with behavioral problems. Going through the foster system did that to you.

    I smiled down at him, trying to keep my face calm. He didn’t need to know about my inner drama. Alright then, Dean. Shouldn’t you be in school?

    The kid wrinkled his adorable little nose at me. Fuck school; everyone sucks there.

    Sighing, I rubbed my temples with my fingers. Alright, Dean. I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m going to help you get into your dad’s house, okay? Is he not home?

    Dean shook his head, making his slightly uneven bowl cut fly around his face like a wet dog trying to shake off the water.

    I sighed. I was going to get in so much

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