3 Times the Heat

  3 Times the Heat

  Copyright © 2018 by Sapphire Knight

  Cover Design by CT Cover Creations

  Editing by Mitzi Carroll

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  This book 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, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  WARNING

  This novel includes graphic language and adult situations. It may be offensive to some readers and includes situations that may be hotspots for certain individuals. This book is intended for ages 18 and older due to some steamy spots. This work is fictional. The story is meant to entertain the reader and may not always be completely accurate. Any reproduction of these works without Author Sapphire Knight’s written consent is pirating and will be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Also By Sapphire

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  My husband—I love you more than words can express. Thank you for the support you’ve shown me. Some days you drive me crazy, other days I just want to kiss your face off. Who knew this would turn out to be our life, but in this journey, I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else. Thanks for falling for my brand of crazy. I love you, I’m thankful for you, I can’t say it enough.

  My boys—You are my whole world. I love you both. This never changes, and you better not be reading these books until you’re thirty and tell yourself your momma did not write them! I can never express how grateful I am for your support. You are quick to tell me that my career makes you proud, that I make you proud. As far as mom wins go; that one takes the cake. I love you with every beat of my heart and I will forever.

  My Beta Babes—Wendi Stacilaucki-Hunsicker, Tamra Simons, Lindsay Lupher, Lindsey King and Patti Novia West. This wouldn’t be possible without you. I can’t express my gratitude enough for each of you. Thank you so much!

  Editor Mitzi Carroll—You’re one of the most dedicated, kindest people I’ve come across in this industry. Your hard work makes mine stand out, and I’m so grateful! Thank you for pouring tons of hours into my passion and being so wonderful to me. Thank you for your friendship and support.

  CT Cover Creations—I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful work you’ve done for me. Your support truly means so much.

  Photographer Eric Battershell—Thank you so much for the amazing support you’ve been kind enough to show me. Your friendship and talent are truly valued. This photo was so gorgeous, as soon as I saw it, I had to have it. I look forward to seeing you again in Cincinnati!

  Model Matt Zumwalt—Thank you for being great guy to work with and a good sport about being on my cover You capture my character beautifully and this is definitly one of my absolute favorite covers.

  Formatter Champagne Formats—Thank you for making my work look professional and beautiful. I truly appreciate it and the kindness you’ve shown me. I look forward to working with you many times in the future.

  My Blogger Friends—YOU ARE AMAZING! I LOVE YOU! No really, I do!!! You take a new chance on me with each book and in return share my passion with the world. You never truly get enough credit, and I’m forever grateful!

  My Readers—I love you. You make my life possible, thank you. I can’t wait to meet many of you this year and in the future!

  Oath Keepers MC Series

  Exposed

  Relinquish

  Forsaken Control

  Friction

  Princess

  Sweet Surrender—free short story

  Daydream

  Baby

  Russkaya Mafiya Series

  Secrets

  Corrupted

  Unwanted Sacrifices

  Undercover Intentions

  Other Standalones

  Gangster

  Unexpected Forfeit

  1st Time Love

  3 Times the Heat

  Oath Keepers MC Collection

  Russian Roulette

  To the true southern gentleman in the world and their momma’s that’ve raised them right.

  Chivalry’s not dead and I happen to like being called ma’am.

  Perfect—Ed Sheeran

  Wonderful Tonight—Eric Clapton

  Wonderful Tonight—Alan Jackson

  Photograph—Ed Sheeran

  Slow Hands—Niall Horan

  Peaches—In the Valley Below

  Grindin’—NF featuring Marty

  Whatever it Takes—Imagine Dragons

  Be respectful, even to nasty hateful people, because your momma raised you better.

  —Life Fact Quotes

  The bell signaling the end of the school day finally rings, echoing through the classrooms and halls. This day felt like it went on forever, and Mrs. Bernstein gave us a ton of math homework. I hate math, and I don’t like sixth grade so far either. Mom swears it’ll get better with time, but some of these kids are assholes.

  No, I don’t say that word out loud, or my dad would tan my hide, and the last thing any of us wants is my father with a switch in his hand yelling their name. I learned the hard way not to pick the thinnest branch from our apple trees for a whoopin’. Nope, the bigger the branch, the heavier and less pain; the thin ones are pliable and snap as harshly as a leather whip.

  No, thank you.

  Grabbing up my thick class textbook, notebook, and pencil, I head for my locker as quickly as possible. It’s like a mosh pit in here on Friday afternoons when everyone’s trying to rush out of the building toward freedom. Not that I’ve ever been in a mosh pit before, but I’ve seen MTV, and I know people can be nuts.

  I twist the lock to the right, then to the left twice and then the right again three times, screwing up my combination and having to redo it again. It’s nothing unusual.

  Stupid middle school and stupid lockers.

  Fifth grade was so much easier—no real pressures and the teachers are cool because you’re considered “the older kids” so they leave you alone. Not anymore. Now we’re the babies of the school again. I can’t wait until I’m in eighth grade and don’t have to deal with it.

  Grabbing my plain, black backpack, I hurriedly stuff my math book and wide ruled navy-blue notebook into it, along with the book Mrs. Fromer, my reading teacher, has us doing a book report on. I haven’t started on it yet, but I will. No way am I cleaning out extra stalls on the ranch for getting bad grades this semester. I learned the hard way back in fourth grade when I thought it’d be easier to slack off. My brothers were the
re to watch and tease me the entire day too.

  “Hey, Clyde.” My locker neighbor smiles, his goofy grin showing off the new set of braces he just had put on last week. They’re lime green and yellow. Pretty gross colors to put on your teeth, but I’d never say anything like that to him. Unlike the majority of the kids at this school, I’m not one of the assholes.

  “Hey, Remy.”

  “You have any plans this weekend?”

  He wants to chitchat, and I’m just trying to make it home before my little brothers eat all the Twinkies my mom has hidden away in the pantry. “Nope, just some homework and hopefully sleep.”

  He gazes at me like I’m weird for wanting to sleep. He’s a gamer—always up all night playing video games. I don’t know how he gets away with it; my parents won’t even buy us a used Sega game system. With ranch work, fending off my brothers and school, I dream of sleeping until even nine a.m., if possible.

  “My younger brothers always wake me up at five and six in the morning. They forget how to shut off their alarm clocks,” I offer with a shrug. It’s annoying, but I know they can’t help it—even if I have shown them which button to push like a hundred times.

  “Oh.” He nods, digging his stuff out of his messy locker. He’s got all kinds of random crap piled up in there. “Yeah, that sucks. My sister usually leaves me alone, but she’s so noisy in the morning trying to wear makeup twenty-four hours a day.”

  I feel for him. I couldn’t imagine dealing with girls all the time. I’m lucky having two brothers and not two sisters. There would be pink crap everywhere rather than Legos and sports equipment.

  There’s a loud gasp as one of the younger girl’s stuff gets yanked from her arms by one of the popular girls in seventh grade. The popular girl throws all of the shorter girl’s belongings on the floor, and then her group of friends laughs like a bunch of hyenas.

  Closing my thin metal locker door, I inhale a deep breath and then turn back to face them. Everyone’s walking around the poor girl, no one offering to help her collect her things from the floor. One of her magenta mechanical pencils slides my direction, and she glances at it. Her shoulders are tight as the popular girls laugh and taunt her. I can tell she’s trying so hard to keep it together and not let anyone see her cry; she’s a lot stronger than those messing with her.

  “Catch you later, Remy,” I mutter absently, picking up the stray plastic pencil and make my way between floor girl and the other group.

  “Okay, sure!” he calls from behind me, but I’m already distracted.

  The girls grow quiet, staring at me with dreamy eyes as I approach. It’s like a switch flips in them. They always look at me like that, and it makes me uncomfortable. It’s not a good thing when people stare; it makes me feel like I have something on my face.

  Glancing down at the short one, her long, fairy-like blonde hair creates a curtain around her face. Her sweet innocence sparks anger in my chest unlike any other I’ve felt. I find myself standing taller, my gaze hard when I turn back to the rude, popular girls and shout at them. “Really? Really? You have nothing better to do?” They’re part of the asshole group obviously.

  The leader of the pack huffs and spins on her heel without uttering a word in response. Thank the Lord for small mercies. They rush toward the exit, not bothering to apologize to anyone they bump into. It’s typical selfish behavior for them.

  Bending down, I help the fairy scoop up her books and pens. She’s busily trying to stuff her Chap Stick, brush, mirror, and other girly crap into her bag that fell when her books were snatched from her arms. She’s quiet, and her breath’s coming in quick puffs. I know she wants to cry. Girls always cry.

  “Here are your books.” I hold them toward her. “Umm, are you okay?” I ask, peering at her face while she stares at the ground looking a bit worried. I really, really don’t like it when girls cry, and I’m hoping she doesn’t explode or something—that’d be just my luck.

  She reaches to take her books out of my grasp, her hand brushing mine in the process, and she gasps. I don’t know who’s more surprised by it—her or me—but her head flies up. For the first time, her gaze finally meets mine.

  It’s like getting kicked in the chest when my brothers and I play karate and jump off our beds landing on each other. She’s the prettiest little pixie I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  Her eyes grow wide as they meet mine and they’re the craziest color. Her irises remind me of a spring green color, kind of like new grass. They suit her, though, with her light hair and pale skin.

  “Huh?” she asks, pushing up her glasses on her nose, and I swallow roughly. I even like her voice. What’s happening to me right now? What is it with this girl?

  “I, uh, asked if you’re okay, is all.” I swear it feels like we’re in our own world as everyone scurries past us not paying any attention. I don’t want to even blink, in case I miss something.

  “Y-yes. Thank you for helping me.”

  “Of course,” I mutter, taking in the small spattering of light freckles over her nose.

  We both stand, still staring at each other, my throat growing dry as I tower over her. I’m tall for twelve, but I think she’s short for being twelve too. “What’s your name?” It comes out on a croak, and I clear my throat. This has been happening more and more lately. It’s driving me crazy. Dad laughs, but Mom says it’s supposed to happen.

  “My name? Oh, it’s Shyla.”

  “Cool, I’m Clyde…Clyde Owens.”

  Her cheeks tint. “I know who you are, Clyde. Everyone around here does.”

  I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Again, girls are pretty weird. I give her a brief nod. “Right. I have to go, but I’ll see you around?” I ask, and her glossy lips turn up into a grin.

  “Okay, Clyde, I’ll see you around.”

  “And Shyla?”

  Her eyelashes flutter as she peers up my way, making me swallow a bit roughly. “Yes?”

  “Just ‘cause they can knock you down doesn’t mean you’re not strong. My little brothers mess with me all the time and get away with it.” What the heck am I saying to this girl right now? I’m not making any sense, and she’s going to think I’m dumb.

  “Oh, okay.”

  Swallowing, I give her a nod like I’ve seen my dad offer my mom when he tells her something important. After a moment I break our trance now that I know she’s okay and head toward the exit. I swear I hear her giggle behind me. I don’t know why, but I think it’s cute, and that just makes me angry.

  Girls are so weird.

  8th Grade

  I’m glad tutoring didn’t take long. Math sucks. My mom will freak if that grade doesn’t change, though. Even worse was having to sit at the desk while in my football pants—so uncomfortable. I rake my hands through my gel stiff hair I spent a bit too long on fixing this morning. I need a haircut; just don’t want my dad to tell me to shave it all off. No one wears their hair like that right now.

  Ugh. I let loose a small huff.

  I don’t understand why coach makes us wear our gear, minus the pads, to tutoring. If anything, I’d get to the study hall quicker and be done and then back at practice faster if I didn’t have to get my gear on then stop back through to put my pads on. To top it off, I have to walk like I have a load in my pants since the floor’s wet, and I’m in cleats. Being in eighth grade sucks. I thought it’d be so much easier, but there’s pressure. Just a different type of pressure than when I was younger.

  “Hey, Clyde.” Giggling comes from my right, and I glance over toward the feminine voice.

  Every single seventh and eighth grade cheerleader is in a group together, and they’re all staring. At. Me. Of all people. Who knows why I’m the one caught in their gazes?

  Did I hear them right? I glance back behind me to make sure it’s really me they’re looking at, and not someone else then hit a slick spot on the floor. My arms flail and the most unmanly “yelp” escapes as my feet fly forward and I end up sprawled out
on my butt in the middle of the hallway.

  I can’t believe that just happened. Shit.

  Releasing a breath, I clench my eyes together and take another deep breath. The fall hurt, but that’s not my problem. The hallway is so silent; all I can hear is my breathing and my pride oozing through every crack. My butt doesn’t even hurt; at the moment, it’s gone completely numb.

  Thanks for small favors, I think sarcastically in a huff.

  Willing my eyes to open, I climb to my feet, doing everything in my power not to glance at the cheerleaders again. I can’t help myself. I accidently look over and see them all still and staring wide-eyed. A few have their mouths hanging open, but none make a peep. Of course, Shyla’s there, front and center, the head of the eighth-grade squad. She looks as pretty as she did the moment I first set my gaze on her.

  I’m mortified—my face flaming rouge, for sure. I’ll never live this one down, and it had to happen in front of every popular girl in the school! I swear, my brothers are going to have a field day making fun of me when they hear about this. They already give me a hard time for having big feet. The entire school will know about this by the end of school, I’m sure.

  Facing forward, I take careful steps back to the locker room. God knows I don’t want to fall a second time. I’ll never get a girlfriend at this rate.

  Eleventh Grade

  “Well if it isn’t Clyde Owens…West Hills favorite football player.” Sebastian Towney snickers, flicking his hateful stare my way.

  He used to play for the varsity team four years ago, but he’s easily becoming the resident, drunken, shit starter. He went from the top all the way to the bottom in a short amount of time. What a loser.

  “Sebastian,” I acknowledge because while I’d prefer to ignore his ass, my momma didn’t instill those types of manners in me. No matter how big I may be size wise, my father would not hesitate to go after me with a switch if I acted half as nasty as Sebastian and his cronies around here.