Bad Girl (Les Pétales) Read online

  Bad Girl (Les Pétales)

  Kailee Samuels

  Bad Girl (Les Pétales)

  Copyright © 2019 by Kailee Samuels

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.

  E-Book Edition: February 14, 2019

  ISBN 978-1-947362-68-0

  Also by Kailee Reese Samuels

  The SOS Series

  The Initiation

  Tea for Two

  Grunt

  Hopechest

  The Story of Salvatore

  (Complete Four Book Dark Romantic Suspense Series)

  Kaci & Sal Standalone

  22

  SONS Series

  Son of Saint

  Son of Angel

  Son of Cirque

  Son of Master

  The Juliet Collection

  Juliet

  Kinky Sex Magic - An Author’s Cut Novella

  Juliet II (Coming Soon!)

  a Tomb of Ashen Tears (TAT) Books

  Salt Kissed Love

  Famous Last Words (Coming Spring 2019)

  RIDE Series

  Fluff

  Bounce

  Raw

  Ride: Complete Three Book MC Dark Romantic Suspense Series

  Nocturne Series (Limited Release)

  A Shimmering Dream

  Dark Contemporary Standalones

  A&E

  She (She/He A Duet Book 1)

  He (She/He A Duet Book 2)

  She/He: A Dark Romance Duet

  (Complete Two Book Dark Romantic Suspense Series)

  Unspoken (Prequel Novella to Hey Pretty)

  Poppy

  Hey Pretty (Coming Soon!)

  * * *

  Keep up to date with all things Kailee at:

  KaileeReeseSamuels.com

  * * *

  Here we are again.

  Going to say it once more.

  Please heed my warning.

  Don’t come crying to me cause you got triggered.

  This WARNING is here for a reason.

  This book is a work of fiction containing explicit, graphic, and violent material.

  If you’re not 18+, put it the fuck down.

  I have never meant that more than I do now.

  If you are easily triggered, STOP.

  C L O S E the B O O K

  W A R N I N G S

  ARE LIKE CUPS OF TEA

  some like it iced, some like it scalding

  Please practice safe sex.

  Safe, Sane, and Consensual (SSC)

  and

  Risk-Awareness Consensual Kink (RACK)

  practices in BDSM.

  Play hard and have fun.

  Be good and love one another.

  And have a helluva good time.

  Peace. Love. & Sal.

  * * *

  Bad Girl Playlist

  Listen to music list that inspired Bad Girl

  Petite Fleur – Chris Barber’s Jazzband

  Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine – James Brown

  It’s A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World – James Brown

  Up in Flames – Ruelle

  Sad Eyes – Bat For Lashes

  You Say – Lauren Daigle

  A Horse with No Name – America

  Horns Surrounding Me – Julia Holter

  Six Feet Under – Billie Eilish

  lovely – Billie Eilish

  True Love Waits – Radiohead

  Unison – Björk

  Mustang Sally – Wilson Pickett

  Slow Like Honey – Fiona Apple

  Love It If We Made It – The 1975

  bury a friend – Billie Eilish

  Lighthouse – Grouper

  COPYCAT – Billie Eilish

  Let’s Get It On – Marvin Gaye

  We Float – PJ Harvey

  Bad Girls – Donna Summer

  * * *

  To Mrs. P,

  Thank you for always loving me.

  Lovebug

  To the only One.

  * * *

  * * *

  And all the bad girls running barefoot through the dark words chasing bad boys, this is for you.

  Don’t let them catch you.

  * * *

  I want to express my gratitude to the tribe inspiring my writerly slut to unravel the words and chase the art: Kailee’s Queens, the Arc Army, the Street Squad, the Blogger Babes, and every member of Sami's Sinners who come looking for something outside of the box.

  To J-Man, Bratty E, Lady Mel, Stolen Halo, SpeedDemon, Sweet Megan, SnarK, snickers, Good Sir Scott, Chelle, and Meems, without your continued patience, dedication, love, and ass-kicking, none of this would be possible.

  To my creative counselors (and you know who you are), you have my condolences because I know how difficult I can be when I have the spigot turned on.

  To my devout #RanieroFanGirls, you have earned this one.

  Thank you for sticking with me and letting me tell their stories as they come. You are the reason I continue to do this. I'm beyond grateful for everything.

  * * *

  * * *

  Bad Girl is a standalone set within the Juliet world.

  This book is a story of Anna Ford’s life starting in 1955. There are characters from other books. That said, I believe it can be read and enjoyed entirely on its own.

  For those who have read the entire Sal-saga through nineteen books, enjoy this one. I believe it encompasses all of the BDSM, romantic suspense, realism, dark, and ugly cry genre-busting you have come to expect. I hope you find Bad Girl to be one of the true gems you want to read again and again.

  There is a certain point where creative freedom takes charge over the rulebook. I broke every rule in the book on this one to tell the story I wanted. Mean girls be damned. I’ve been stretching those boundaries since day one. And I will continue to do such with my art.

  Cause #BADGIRL.

  Let's do this…

  Contents

  A Love Letter

  1. Hostage to Myself

  2. Blossom in the Water

  3. When the Wings Unfurl

  4. Catalytic Choices

  5. Out of Left Field

  6. Burning Petals

  7. A River of Dreams

  8. Emergence

  9. My Romeo

  10. Can’t Say No

  11. la fille de la bibliothèque

  12. Little Butterfly

  13. Bloom

  14. The Old Ford

  15. Honey. Drizzle. Crustella. Come.

  16. Needle in a Haystack

  17. Ultimate LOVE

  18. The Heir

  POPPY

  SHE/HE - A Dark Romance Duet

  JULIET

  Ms. Samuels Notes

  Also by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “At what price is it to see my dreams come to fruition?”

  “Love was holding his hand until the bitter end.”

  – Anna Ford

  A Love Letter

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed my story. Parts of it are sad, parts of it are happy, parts of it are dirty, but they all comprise the wonder of this existence—my life. I hope you take something away from
the lessons of my life. We don’t stay young and beautiful forever, but believe me when I say being a bad girl has no age limit.

  Happy endings are all about perspective.

  Mine started when I was eighteen. I will carry my happy ending beyond the clock to a place of eternity.

  Find your happy ending every single day.

  And these are things—you—need to know.

  Godspeed, my boy.

  Forever Yours,

  Anna Ford

  In my sunroom at Scarlet House

  September 10, 2015

  * * *

  Hostage to Myself

  CHAPTER 1

  1955

  * * *

  Dark clouds of smoke cascaded through the air like thick, translucent white ribbons as the jazz band soared the crowd to a jovial high. Polished horns bellowed triumphantly along with the smooth eighty-eights in a jam reminiscent of the roaring twenties. The vibrant energy of the night promised a grand affair as I stepped onto the stage with the cast.

  We sparkled with absolute clarity as each step and turn promised another glint under the bright rays of light. In the moment of awe, we transpired to bring fantasy to life.

  We were beautiful.

  We were magic.

  We were meant to be.

  The coveted angels were untouchable by most. We flurried around for the line-up, curtsied with delicate smiles, and filed out for the next act.

  The turgid tension floated as nerves edged closer to an unprecedented level. The Suits had strolled onto the strip this weekend in their leather shoes, expensive fedoras, and finely tailored silk.

  I didn't have to ask what they were here for.

  The Suits came to Vegas for the same reason everyone did—to escape. With the smell of fresh money and the heady scent of sex, the shadows of the casinos served as the prime mingling place.

  Working the scene since 1955, I ran away from home shortly after my mother unexpectedly passed away. I packed my things in Mama’s tattered suitcase, stole the money she kept in the drawer, and hopped on a bus bound for Sin City.

  I was too young.

  I didn't want to be the only responsible adult trying to keep my two older brothers in line. My father was rarely present, more of a stranger than a guiding force. At the time, running away seemed easier.

  Everything seemed easier before reality hit.

  Everything seemed easier before spending hours carrying sixty pounds of costume—rhinestones and feathers—on my body to end up underneath a nameless suit in his comped, posh hotel suite.

  I lied to get the job.

  I told them I was older—nineteen. My slim figure and mature attitude earned my pass into the glitzy world, but this wasn't a trash recollection of things gone wrong beneath a carnival of lights.

  What happened in Vegas…

  Stepping onto the main floor, I mingled amongst the gamblers. With every step, another pair of eyes followed me. Showgirls were a rare treat, the dust of gold, the sunken treasure, the magical oasis in the desert. I didn't mind. I had gotten used to it. My friend, Jacqueline, once said, “We were the girls of make-believe in a dismal world of uncertainty.”

  Her words might as well have been gospel.

  As I paced through the casino, the flutter of feathers drifted around me like a red carpet unrolling with every step.

  The Suits were the mobsters, and they came here as a sort of neutral ground. I was the entertainment. The showgirl. The after party. I didn't mind. It could have been much worse.

  The cigarette girl, Sally Jane, passed by with a wink. It was a big night—all the families were present. From San Francisco to Boston to Miami, they converged to chart their underworld and map out their criminal territories. Everyone knew.

  And no one said a word.

  It's strange how easy they were to spot. Most females traveled in packs to restrooms; males walked alone unless they were The Suits. They swaggered in beneath the crystal chandeliers with gross numbers and their leader trapped in the middle. A strategic move. Shoot the peons. Save the King.

  The Gods of old.

  The monsters—their future lineage.

  After our performances, our manager, Dick Castell, encouraged our pleasantries amongst the clientele. We were the jewelry of the joint to be admired and touched, only if the price was right. Under the table, fees would be paid on all of the showgirls tonight, including mine. There were too many of them and not enough of us. Private numbers would be issued to Dick, and a bidding war would commence.

  These things we didn’t talk about.

  These things we pretended to know nothing of, but it didn’t mean it hadn’t gone on for years. Sally Jane delivered tiny slips of paper to Dick, and I noted her concerned gaze over to me. Although I was far from a waitress, I was standing at the bar waiting on a drink for Giuseppe Gennaro.

  He favored the young ones.

  On nights like this, we were all expected to behave. And when the crime boss of Chicago asked you to fetch him his Whiskey Sour, you didn’t complain. Mostly because after all the arrangements with the house had been made, The Suits tipped well—not only with cash but extravagant gifts. Some girls left the biz to be pampered mistresses.

  I never imagined becoming a mistress to one, much less two.

  “We got a problem,” Sally Jane panicked, pretending to order a drink from the bartender. “Ito is interested in you.”

  My eyes flicked across the room to the blackjack table where Daizou Ito was playing. The Suits from the Bay Area were a rare sighting. The large group of Japanese men cloistered around their leader. “… Do they speak English?”

  “Some,” Sally Jane replied, shuffling through her box. I noted the numerous pieces of paper tucked beneath boxes of cigarettes. “Ito does.”

  Every showgirl would be assigned by midnight. The only problem was if I didn’t take Ito, I didn’t know who I might get stuck with and better to know ahead of time. Despite unofficially belonging to Gennaro, he liked to keep me playing the field. Ito was an opportunity to diversify my funds.

  I didn’t meet Giuseppe Gennaro at the saloon but at a small cafe late one night. He walked in with his gang as I was eating a piece of lemon meringue and smirked at me.

  With a long gray trench coat over his black suit, Giuseppe was sexy, in a confident older man kind of way. With dark slicked back hair and piercing eyes, he approached my table with a determination.

  On my feet all night, I was starving and staying in a room with four other dancers. That didn’t provide me with much solitude or food. I had only been working for a few months. While I knew who he was, I didn’t think he knew me. He cocked his head and smiled as I innocently did the same.

  “Well, well, who are you?” he asked, sliding into the booth across from me. “I’m Giuseppe Gennaro.”

  He didn’t need to tell me.

  Giuseppe visited more often than any of the other bosses. I thought he had a thing for flamingoes and the dusty heat, but as it turned out, he had a thing for me.

  He’d come into the casino with his gang of men acting like he owned the joint. Although I never felt nervous around them, there was one of his men who concerned me. He was different, always lurking in corners and staring in my direction. I ignored him for the most part, maintaining my focus on performing on stage and off, as I strove to be the best showgirl in the city.

  Giuseppe ordered us dinner—roast beef and mashed potatoes—as I told him my story. For the first time in my life, a man listened to me. I didn’t stay in the bunk beds with the girls that night.

  Or any night after that.

  Soon after our first visit, I elevated my standing within our troop of showgirls. Not long after that, I had an apartment of my own and a hefty target on my back as I became Giuseppe Gennaro’s favorite girl in Vegas.

  The other girls said nothing to my face, but I overheard the mutterings. I was the mistress of the mobster, the spoiled princess in his court, and the slut who spread her legs for the goombah.<
br />
  The curious part of Giuseppe was he loved to listen. He rarely talked, using his hands to incite his meaning of the words further. He was born in Sicily, but his family had been trickling over since the turn of the century. He was a handsome man and me, the trophy prize upon his arm.

  I didn’t mind if Giuseppe used me.

  In fact, I rather enjoyed his ways—and lavish gifts.

  “I’ll do it,” I blurted out to Sally Jane in the noisy casino. “Just make it happen fast.”

  Her eyes widened, shocked. “Are you sure? Gennaro is here.”

  “Of course,” I insisted, curious as to Ito’s selection of me. “I’ll take him.”