Best Man For The Job (The Men of Fear Incorporated Book 1)
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Authors: Melinda Valentine
Best Man for the Job
Book One of:
The Men of Fear Incorporated Series
By Melinda Valentine
Best Man for the Job
Copyright © 2016 by Melinda Valentine.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: June 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-674-9
ISBN-10: 1-68058-674-2
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For my family.
For your encouragement.
For your faith.
For your love.
This is for you.
Max
Maxwell entered the club, brushing past a large, brutish-looking bouncer. The room was poorly lit, no doubt to hide the stains and tears in the carpet and upholstery. It smelled of smoke, sweat, and arousal. Why he’d agreed to come here with his best buddy, Foster Hyland, and a handful of their friends was beyond him. Clubs like this weren’t his scene. Most of the guys he knew loved them, but watching women remove their clothes for a room full of strangers for money didn’t do it for him. At least not since he’d been eighteen. At that age, all guys cared about was seeing tits and ass.
Making his way toward the main area with the tables, Max took a good look around. Almost all twenty or so tables, as well as every booth, were filled with drunk, rowdy onlookers. One large stage—with multiple poles reaching from floor to ceiling—and a DJ booth took up most of the east wall.
The waitresses moved slowly, as if they couldn’t care less who got their drinks and who didn’t, or it could be the ridiculously high heels they all wore. Someone whistled loudly over the booming music, catching Max’s attention. He noticed his best friend waving to him from across the room. Two tables in the back had been pushed together to hold his party, and Max made his way over to where the other men were now standing to greet him.
Foster was the first to grab him in a manly shoulder hug. At six-foot-two, Foster was an inch shorter than Max. He still wore his sandy blond hair short on the sides, but it was longer on the top than it had been the last time they’d hung out a few weeks ago. That’s when Foster had told him he was getting married.
“Glad you could make it.” Foster had to raise his voice to be heard over the thumping beat.
Max grimaced. The music was already grating on his nerves. “I almost didn’t. You’re lucky I missed all your dumb asses.”
Smiling, Max made the rounds, embracing the guys he knew and thought of as brothers while giving a polite hello to the few he didn’t. The gang was all here tonight: Benjamin “Benji” Agani, Mortimer “Mother” Neville, Paxton “Tank” Sokolofski, Kasper “Gutter Mouth” Gutermuth, and Foster. Plus, the few guys Max didn’t know made for a table of ten.
“For those of you who don’t know, this is Max Fear,” Foster announced, clapping Max on the back. “My best bud and personal ‘Savior of my ass’ on more than one occasion.”
Max took a seat, with Foster on one side and Tank on the other. Ordering a beer from the waitress before she could scurry off again was harder than he thought it would be. The atmosphere sucked, but the company was what really mattered.
Tank turned toward him and grinned, his massive arms straining the thin cotton of his green t-shirt. With his buzz cut and olive skin, he looked like he’d just finished a tour overseas. “Max! Good to see you, man.”
“It’s been too long, Tank. How’s that baby sister of yours?” Max teased, knowing damn well how protective Tank was over his little sister.
“A pain in the ass as always,” Tank grumbled, shaking his head. “She pops in whenever she feels like it. Messes up my kitchen and leaves again.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “She in town now?”
“Stay the fuck away from her.” Tank bared his teeth, and Max burst out laughing.
The Boys in Blue back together again…Well, not all of them fell under that title anymore. Max had left the police force over a year ago. He hoped to open his own security firm, Fear Incorporated, in the near future. Gutter Mouth and Tank had retired two years before Max did. They were both doing private securities as well, only with different firms. Max hoped to poach them both once his business opened. He was close, but not quite there yet.
With a cold MGD in hand, he leaned back in the chair and listened to the guys tease and laugh around the tables. Taking a long pull off the bottle, one conversation caught his attention.
Across the table, a man with short blond hair shook his head. “She’s great, but she’s so, I don’t know…vanilla.”
Foster stared unbelievingly at him. “Brody, I’ve heard stories of her and Mirabella. Are we talking about the same girl?”
Brody shrugged. “Whatever you’ve heard, I’m sure it was a lie. I don’t even think she likes sex.”
The waitress came back to refresh drinks. She was tall in her heels, with a strategically placed, tiny bikini covering her important bits. The fabric looked like foil, if foil were bright pink. She had great legs, probably from wearing ridiculous heels like that every night. Breasts like hers screamed silicone from across the room, and her hair was dyed to a bright candy apple red. Both her look and demeanor screamed cheap and easy. She stopped behind Brody, brushing her tits against the back of his shoulders.
“Comin’ over tonight?” she purred.
Brody raised his eyebrows and grinned. “What time you off?”
“One.”
“The boys and I should be done about that time.”
“Great.” She smiled before spinning around and running back to the bar with her empty tray.
Foster frowned. Max was sure he’d missed something being exchanged between the two of them. Whatever it was, his best friend looked disappointed and Brody looked indifferent. The guy was clearly a douchebag.
Foster narrowed his eyes. “Thought you stopped seeing Carmela?”
Brody winced. “I did…mostly.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Aww hell, man. Don’t look at me like that. A man has needs.” Finally he had the good sense to look ashamed.
Max craned his neck to watch Carmela sashay over to another table. “Red over there isn’t Ms. Vanilla, I take it?”
“Oh hell no,” Brody blurted. “Ain’t nothin’ vanilla about Carm.”
“So why are you with one girl when you want to be with another?” Benji questioned from the seat next to Brody.
“It’s not right,” Foster piped up.
“I gotta agree.” Tank crossed his arms over his barrel chest, leaning back in his chair. He was clearly thinking of his own relationship, which had crashed and burned recently. She’d left him after admitting to a six-month affair just a few weeks ago. Around the table, most of the guys had stopped their conversations. Now they turned their attention to Brody.
“Sloane is gorgeous,” Brody said. “Seriously hot. She’s got her head on straight and she’s the most responsible woman I know. I’m almost thirty-six; I need someone stable. Everything about her is amazing.”
“I hear a ‘but,’” Max said.
“But…She’s cold. I have to initiate everything. Sex is mechanical. No matter how much I beg, I still can’t get her to go down on me!”
All the guys started whooping and laughing then. Brody glared at all of them, but after a few minutes he just shook his head in defeat. Max never understood men like Brody. No relationship was perfect—that’s why Max avoided them—but if you weren’t getting what you needed, what was the point? Move on.
Foster frowned and folded his arms. “I can’t lie to her again, Brody. I told you last time.”
“Look, Foster, I know I’ve put you in a bad place with you marrying her cousin. Just tell her you didn’t actually see me with anyone. Unless you’re peepin’ through windows, that’s the truth anyway.”
The cocky grin on Brody’s face turned Max’s stomach. Judging by Foster’s expression, he felt the same disgust.
The crowd continued to cheer for the current topless dancer on stage, her slim body hanging upside down from one of the poles. Brody threw back another shot of amber liquid, never taking his eyes off the stage. He added his own catcalls to the mix. As much as Max loved his guys that were here, he couldn’t stand looking at Brody for another minute. It was guys like him that made the rest of them look bad.
“I’m gonna bail, guys.”
Foster threw his hands up. “Aww, Max, don’t go yet.”
“I gotta get some rest. I have a job in the morning.”
“How about dinner? Mirabella’s been asking when you’re gonna come by again.”
“Is she gonna make her famous beef stew?” Max raised an eyebrow in question, a big smile on his face.
Foster laughed. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Count me in. Call me tomorrow with a time and I’ll be there.”
Max said his goodbyes and then made his way to the door. The fresh air slapped him in the face once he was out of the building, but it was refreshing after being inside. He headed for his truck on the other side of the parking lot, and once inside, clicked on the radio, turned on the headlights, and steered his truck toward his home on the outskirts of town. His nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away and he liked it like that.
Max pulled into the long driveway, coming to a stop behind the large farm-style house where the gravel path ended. The house had once belonged to his grandparents; when they’d gotten too old to care for it—and themselves—any longer, they’d sold it to Max for the bargain basement price of one dollar. He’d tried to pay them what it was worth, but his Granny smacked him good right in the back of the head and told him one day it would’ve gone to him anyway.
He was grateful for it every day. It gave him the means to quit the force when it no longer fit his ideals. For now, he worked for Winston Peters doing security and protection details. Funnily enough, his new job paid almost double, and without a house payment, Max was able to put a lot into his savings for the startup costs of his own business. His spare time, what little he had, was spent fixing up the old house. The front porch was beginning to show signs of rot, the kitchen needed an update, and the hardwood floors needed to be stripped and refurbished. Max walked in through the back door as always, toeing off his steel-toe boots in the laundry room before continuing into the kitchen for another beer.
He swallowed a third of the ice-cold brew in one sip while he moved through the house. By the time Max found himself in his bedroom, his beer was gone. Tossing the bottle in the trash can, he quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face. After stripping himself naked, Max crawled under the covers and stretched his arms up and behind his head. He needed to get some rest. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.