Logan Chance – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Logan Chance – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.booksnovels.com Thu, 10 Sep 2026 17:30:07 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.1.2 http://www.booksnovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Logan Chance – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.booksnovels.com 32 32 Make Them Pay (Pretty Deadly Things #6) Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-pay-pretty-deadly-things-6-read-online-logan-chance Thu, 10 Sep 2026 17:30:07 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-pay-pretty-deadly-things-6-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Dark Authors: Logan Chance Series: Pretty Deadly Things Series by Logan Chance
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Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)

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She was the leverage.

Now she’s the only one who can save them.

When the entire Maddox vigilante crew gets kidnapped in one brutal strike, Enley Cameron becomes the syndicate’s final bargaining chip.

But the man sent to extract her isn’t just another rescuer.

Render James has been quietly obsessed with his best friend’s little sister for years. The brilliant, deadly hacker never planned on touching her. Until the moment he kicks down the door of her prison and finds the woman he’s always wanted staring back at him, terrified but unbroken.

Now they’re on the run together. One stolen car. One hidden safehouse after another. One impossible choice after the next.

Enley is fierce, clever, and far too tempting. Render is ice-cold and willing to burn the world down to keep her safe. But the closer they get, the harder it becomes to remember the she’s off-limits. He’s supposed to be the weapon. And the people hunting them won’t stop until every last Maddox operative is dead.

As secrets explode and the body count rises, one thing becomes terrifyingly

Render will make them pay for every second they kept her.

Even if it costs him the only woman he’s ever loved.

A high-stakes, forced-proximity dark romcom with a protective hacker hero, the forbidden little-sister trope, explosive tension, and the kind of dirty banter that only happens when you’re running for your life with someone you’re not allowed to want

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

SERAFINA

I walk the black-site corridor like I own every drop of blood drying on the concrete. The lights hum low and sickly yellow. The air tastes like bleach and sweat and the kind of fear that never quite washes off. My heels click in perfect rhythm. Every step is a reminder that I am still in control.

The fake hack sits in my pocket like a bad joke. I pull the tablet out one more time just to look at it. All those pretty progress bars. All those carefully layered dummy files. Poe Cameron thought he could feed me garbage and walk away clean. The entire Maddox crew thought they could play me.

They were wrong.

I stop at the first holding cell and nod once. My men drag them out one by one. Zip ties bite deep into wrists. Masks still cover half their faces because I like the theater of it. Blood drips from Arrow’s split eyebrow. Gage’s left eye is already swelling shut. Lark’s breathing is wet and wrong. Ozzy’s knuckles are raw from fighting back. Poe looks the worst of them all. Orchid hangs between two guards like she’s made of glass and fury.

I line them up against the far wall. Six of them. They’re all mine. My trophies.

I smile.

“It always works. You people spent years thinking you were ghosts. Masked little heroes playing at justice while I built an empire. You stole from me. You burned my men. You made me look weak.”

I stop in front of Poe. He lifts his chin even though it costs him. Blood runs from the corner of his mouth. I tip his face up with one red fingernail.

“You were supposed to break the system for me, darling. Instead you gave me theater. Dummy code. Pretty lies. And now your sister’s out there somewhere with that quiet camera boy who thinks he’s clever. Render James. I know his name. I know what he looks like.”

Poe’s eyes go murderous. Good. I want him murderous. Murderous men make mistakes.

I step back and address the whole line.

“Here’s how this works now. You are going to soften. You are going to break. And when the world watches you bleed on a live feed, every other little vigilante out there will remember what happens when you touch what belongs to me.”

One of my men shifts behind me. I don’t look at him when I give the order.

“Soften them. Make them scream. I want the audio clean enough for a public release.”

I turn and walk the line again, slower this time. I stop in front of Orchid last. Her eyes are pure hatred. I lean in close enough that only she can hear.

“You almost had me, sweetheart. Almost. But almost is just another word for failure. And failure gets examples made of you.”

I straighten and clap my hands once. The sound echoes off the concrete like a gunshot.

“Move them. Separate cells. No food until I say. Water only if they beg pretty. And someone get me a live camera feed set up by morning. The public loves a good show.”

My men scatter. The crew is dragged away in different directions. Arrow tries to lunge and gets a rifle butt to the gut for his trouble. Poe spits blood and promises me a slow death. I laugh because it’s adorable when they still believe in hope.

I walk back down the corridor alone. The tablet is still warm in my hand. I open the file one last time and watch the fake progress bars load and load and load.

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Hot Bodyguard Summer – Sunbreak Harbor Security Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/hot-bodyguard-summer-sunbreak-harbor-security-read-online-logan-chance Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:16:03 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/hot-bodyguard-summer-sunbreak-harbor-security-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Suspense Authors: Logan Chance Advertisement

Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 45996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)

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Sunbreak Harbor is all sun-kissed sand, yacht parties, and salty breezes—until the Hawthorne brothers arrive with one follow the trail that might finally lead to their missing father.

Jace Hawthorne is supposed to blend in.

Easy. He’s got the charm, the smile, and the kind of confidence that makes trouble look like an invitation.

Then she becomes his assignment.

She’s smart, stubborn, and way too visible in a town where everyone’s watching… including the person who wants her gone. Suddenly Jace is playing bodyguard in board shorts, keeping her close through beach crowds, midnight marinas, and the kind of heat that has nothing to do with summer.

The closer they get to the truth, the more dangerous Sunbreak Harbor becomes.

And the more Jace realizes the biggest risk isn’t the threat stalking her—

It’s how fast she’s turning his “temporary” into mine.

One safe house. One too-small bed. One hot bodyguard summer…
and a man who will burn the whole coastline down before he lets her be taken.

summer fling that isn’t a fling • forced proximity • one bed • protector hero • flirty banter • “stay behind me” • found family brothers • high-stakes suspense • swoony HEA

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

Jace

I lean against the warm hood of my black Jeep Wrangler, arms crossed over my chest, watching the front door of the neat two-story house in one of Halo City’s quieter suburbs. The sun’s beating down hard, turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirage, but the salty breeze rolling in from the coast a few miles away keeps it from being unbearable. Even here in the middle of the city, you can still smell the ocean if the wind is right.

I check my watch again. She’s running late. Or maybe she’s inside debating whether to climb out a window and make a run for it. I wouldn’t put it past her after everything Anniston told me about her big sister.

The front door finally swings open. Sadie Wells steps onto the porch, dragging a sensible rolling suitcase behind her like it has personally offended her. She looks exactly like the third-grade teacher Anniston described and somehow even better in person: neat blonde ponytail, crisp white button-down shirt tucked into khaki pants, sensible flats, and a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

She stops at the top of the porch steps when she sees me. Her eyes narrow behind her glasses as she takes in my board shorts, faded black T-shirt, sunglasses pushed up into my messy hair, and the easy grin I’ve got locked in place.

“You must be Jace Hawthorne,” she says, voice clipped and professional. “The bodyguard my sister insisted on sending. Banks’s brother, right?”

I push off the Jeep and stroll toward her, keeping my smile friendly and relaxed. “Guilty as charged. Jace Hawthorne, at your service, Miss Wells. You ready for a little involuntary trip to Sunbreak Harbor?”

Her grip tightens on the suitcase handle until her knuckles turn white. “It’s Sadie. And no, I’m not ready. I have lesson plans due next week, and a very normal life here in Halo City. I don’t need a babysitter because my little sister decided to play hero with dangerous people.”

I stop at the bottom of the porch steps and look up at her. She’s smaller than I expected—maybe five-five on a good day—but she carries herself like she’s six feet tall and armed with a ruler. Cute as hell, too. The kind of pretty that sneaks up on you when she’s scowling like this.

“Anniston doesn’t strike me as the overreacting type,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “And considering someone tried to put a knife in her recently, I’m going to trust my brother’s judgment on this one. You’re important to your sister. That makes you important to me.”

Sadie’s cheeks flush the tiniest bit, but she lifts her chin higher. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I have conditions before I get in that Jeep with you.”

I raise an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “I’m listening.”

“No flirting. No calling me sweetheart, darling, or any other cutesy nickname. No treating me like I’m some helpless damsel you need to charm into compliance. I’m a grown woman with a career and responsibilities. I’m here because my sister is worried sick, not because I want to be your summer project.”

I can’t help it. I grin wider. “No flirting? That’s going to be tough. I’m naturally charming. Doctors say it’s a medical condition. Very serious.”

She gives me a flat, unamused stare that could wilt steel. “Try harder.”

I hold up both hands in surrender, still smiling. “Fine. Professional mode activated. For now. But I’ve got to warn you—I’m very good at my job, and part of that job is keeping you safe and sane. If that means making sure you actually relax a little while you’re stuck with me in Sunbreak Harbor, I’m not apologizing for it.”

Sadie huffs a short laugh that sounds more like disbelief than amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told. Frequently.” I step up onto the porch and reach for her suitcase. She reluctantly lets me take it. “Come on, Sadie. The sooner we get on the road, the sooner we can get you settled in a safe house by the beach instead of standing on your front porch where anyone could be watching.”

She follows me down the steps, arms crossed tight over her chest. As I load her suitcase into the back of the Jeep, I catch her glancing around the neighborhood like she’s saying goodbye to her normal life.

I open the passenger door for her with a small flourish. “Your chariot awaits, Miss Wells.”

She climbs in without a thank you, spine straight, hands folded neatly in her lap like she’s heading to a parent-teacher conference instead of protective custody.

I slide behind the wheel, start the engine, and pull away from her house in Halo City. The moment we hit the highway heading north toward Sunbreak Harbor, the city skyline starts shrinking in the rearview mirror. The salty ocean breeze blows stronger through the open top of the Jeep as we leave the concrete jungle behind.

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The Biker Bodyguard – The Royal Bastards – Key West FL Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/the-biker-bodyguard-the-royal-bastards-key-west-fl-read-online-logan-chance Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:13:30 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-biker-bodyguard-the-royal-bastards-key-west-fl-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Insta-Love Authors: Logan Chance Advertisement

Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >40

He rules the Keys like a king with blood on his knuckles.

And now he’s been ordered to protect the one woman who could bring his whole empire down.

Reef “Kraken” Ryder—President of the Royal Bastards MC, Key West Chapter—doesn’t babysit. He breaks jaws, runs guns through the islands, and keeps his club breathing in a world that wants them buried.

But when an old-school Bastard calls in a debt, Kraken gets saddled with a job he never asked guarding the man’s daughter.

She’s not club property.
She’s not supposed to be his problem.
And she’s definitely not supposed to look at him like he’s the only safe thing left in the storm.

A threat is closing in—fast. Someone wants her as leverage… or a message written in blood. Kraken tears her out of the crosshairs and drags her into his salt air, steel, and rules that get men killed. One mistake. One spark. One night too close, and suddenly protection turns into possession.

Because Kraken doesn’t fall in love.

He claims.

And if they come for her again?
They’ll learn what happens when you try to steal from the Royal Bastards—and the monster who wears the crown.

An MC romance packed with danger, forced proximity, possessive protection, and a biker president who’ll burn the islands to keep her

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

Kraken

Key West assaults all my senses the moment I roll into its sticky embrace. The air hangs thick with salt that crusts on my skin and mixes with the greasy sweetness of sunscreen melting off sunburned shoulders. Fried conch fritters and spilled rum fight for dominance in the breeze while distant steel drums thump like a dying heartbeat. Tourists stumble along the sidewalks in their bright shirts and flip flops. They chase the illusion of freedom. I cut through them on my Harley. The engine growls low and hungry between my thighs. Its vibration climbs up my spine and settles deep in my chest. This machine feels like an extension of my own rage. Black chrome gleams under the fading sun. Exhaust burns hot against my boot.

People notice me. Heads turn. Conversations falter. A group of college girls in tiny dresses giggles nervously then falls silent as my shadow passes. They sense the danger without understanding it. The Royal Bastards patch on my back weighs heavy. Leather worn soft from years of sweat and blood. Key West Chapter. President. Those words stitched in white thread carry more power than any badge or gun in this town. Most locals know better than to stare too long. The smart ones cross the street. The drunk ones learn fast when my eyes lock on them.

Sweat trickles down my back beneath the cut. The humid air clings like wet cloth. Palm fronds rustle overhead. Their sharp edges catch the last light. I throttle through a narrow stretch where the smell of piss from alleyways blends with overripe mangoes rotting in gutters. Music spills from open bar doors. Bass lines throb. Laughter rings too loud. Fake joy from people running from real lives. I know the smell of desperation. It coats this island like cheap perfume over decay.

The compound sits on the edge of everything. Tucked behind chain link topped with razor wire and guarded by men who have spilled enough blood to own the shadows. As I approach the gates my gut twists. Something feels very wrong. The usual chaos of engines revving and brothers shouting crude jokes should fill the air. Instead a heavy quiet presses down. The building squats low under the palms. Its concrete walls absorb the dying light and give nothing back. Even the bugs seem quieter tonight. No constant drone of cicadas. Just the low idle of my bike and the distant lap of water against docks.

I kill the engine. The sudden silence hits harder than any shout. My ears ring with the absence of sound. Leather creaks as I swing my leg over the seat. Gravel crunches under my boots. The prospect at the entrance snaps to attention too quick. His young face glistens with sweat. His hands tremble slightly at his sides. Fear pours off him in waves. It always shows first in their eyes. Wide and darting. Never respect. Never loyalty until they earn it in blood and fire.

“Prez,” he says. The word scrapes out rough. His voice cracks under the weight of whatever waits inside.

I step closer. The scent of his nervous sweat cuts through the salt air. “Where’s Mace?”

He pauses. That single hesitation confirms the rot has already started. “Inside.”

No more questions needed. I push past him. My shoulder brushes his. He flinches. The clubhouse door feels heavier than usual when I shove it open. Warm stale air rushes out. Thick with cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of old blood from last week’s fight. Neon lights buzz overhead in sickly green and red. They cast long shadows across scarred wooden tables. The usual roar of life has died. No music thumps from the speakers. No girls shriek with forced laughter at the bar. Pool balls sit frozen mid game on green felt.

Every patched brother turns toward me at once. Their eyes carry the same heavy expectation. Ghost leans against a far post. His face carved from stone. Tank cracks his thick knuckles. The sound pops like small gunshots. Razor fingers a knife at his belt. Diesel stares into his whiskey like it holds answers. Smoke curls lazy through the air. It stings my eyes and coats my tongue with bitter ash. Tension coils tight in every man. The kind that builds right before blades come out and bones break.

Mace stands near the back wall. Arms crossed over his broad chest. Jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumps. That posture alone screams disaster. I cross the room in measured strides. My boots thud heavy on the worn floorboards. The smell of spilled beer and motor oil clings to everything.

I stop in front of him. “What happened?”

His jaw works before the words force out. “We lost the Marathon shipment.”

Cold fury ignites low in my belly. It spreads slow and burning through my veins. Shipments don’t just vanish on my watch. That load represented control. Routes carved through blood. Leverage over every two bit dealer who thought he could skim off the top. Losing it means weakness. And weakness invites wolves.

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Her Grumpy Protector – A Halo City Protectors Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/her-grumpy-protector-a-halo-city-protectors-read-online-logan-chance Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:47:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/her-grumpy-protector-a-halo-city-protectors-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Suspense Authors: Logan Chance Advertisement

Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >38

Banks Hawthorne doesn’t lose.

Not in boardrooms. Not in backroom deals. And definitely not in Halo City—where money talks, secrets kill, and the underbelly has teeth.

But his brothers’ hunt for their missing father drags Banks straight into a blood-slick maze of power players, dirty cops, and men who smile like friends while they sharpen knives behind their backs.

Then she becomes the target.

She’s the one loose end no one saw coming—too brave, too stubborn, and suddenly standing between Banks and the truth. Protecting her should be lock it down, move her somewhere safe, burn anyone who gets close.

Except she doesn’t want saving… and Banks doesn’t know how to want anyone this much.

Halo City wants her silenced. Banks wants her in his arms.

And the moment he claims her, this stops being business.

Because in a city like this, love is leverage— and Banks Hawthorne is about to turn ruthless.

billionaire protector • forced proximity • touch-her-and-die • “who did this to you” • gritty city danger • found family brothers • high-stakes romance • mafia-esque vibes • HEA

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

BANKS

My brothers Nash and Sin are gone. Not “out of range.” Not “laying low.” Not “radio silent because the mission is hot.” Gone like a door slammed in our faces, like the world reached in and stole two Hawthorne brothers in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

We're all brothers—me, Nash, Sin, Crewe, Colt, Jace, and Mack—bound by blood and a shared history in the shadows of private security. Each of us carved out our own path in the industry after leaving the military: Nash with his expertise in high-risk extractions for corporate clients, Sin handling covert surveillance ops for elite firms, Crewe specializing in VIP protection details, Colt running tactical training for mercenaries, Jace doing close-quarters combat consulting, Mack coordinating logistics for international security contracts, and me, Banks, piecing together digital puzzles as a cyber-intel specialist. We've scattered across the globe over the years, taking jobs that pay well and keep us sharp, but this mission is different. It's personal. Our father was presumed dead years ago. Now it looks like he may still be alive. He was onto something big, something involving powerful players who don't like loose ends. So we came together, pooling our skills and resources, to find him. No contracts, no paychecks—just family hunting for the man who raised us to never back down.

The mountain air still smells like smoke and wet pine, a sharp reminder of the firefight that erupted just hours ago as we closed in on a lead tied to Dad's disappearance. Fog clings to the trees like it’s trying to hide what happened. It won’t. Nothing hides from me for long. Not data. Not patterns. Not the shape of a lie.

But right now, all I have is the aftermath.

A torn strip of black fabric snagged on a low-hanging branch, fluttering like a grim flag. Zip-tie ends scattered in the dirt, their plastic edges frayed from a hasty cut. A boot print that doesn’t match any of ours. A tire track that cuts off abruptly where the ground turns to jagged rock and the road dissolves into wilderness.

I kneel in the mud beside the track, the cold seeping through my knees, and drag my fingers through the groove, as if touch could translate into coordinates, IP addresses, or satellite pings. Like I can pull an answer out of the earth itself. The mud clings to my skin, gritty and unyielding, but it yields nothing.

Crewe stands a few yards away, phone pressed to his ear, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch. He's always been the steady one, the brother who plans VIP escorts with the precision of a surgeon, but even he looks rattled. Colt paces like a caged animal, his rifle still gripped in white-knuckled hands, though the targets vanished into the mist long ago. His tactical training gigs have made him a beast in the field, but right now, that energy has nowhere to go. Jace is up on the ridge line, binoculars scanning the tree line with a fury in every controlled breath—he's the close-combat expert, the one who teaches others how to end fights before they start, and I can tell he's itching to charge after them.

Mack’s voice crackles through my headset from his remote setup back at our makeshift base camp, sharp with panic he’s trying to bury under layers of logistical calm. He's the coordinator, the brother who juggles international ops like puzzle pieces, but family hits different. “Say it again. You’re sure they took them.”

Colt answers before I can, his voice gravelly from years of barking orders in training yards. “They took ‘em. Sin and Nash are fucking gone. Someone ambushed us during the recon, dragging them into a vehicle, and disappeared into the fog.”

A silence follows that feels like a punch to the gut. Then Mack swears, low and vicious, the kind of curse that echoes his frustration from coordinating failed extractions in the past. My stomach twists. Not fear. Not helplessness. Anger so cold it feels clean, surgical. This is the part where people make mistakes. This is where emotions get you killed.

Not mine. I've built my career on staying detached, hacking into systems for private security firms to expose vulnerabilities before the bad guys do. Emotions are just noise in the data.

I stand slowly, wiping the mud onto my jeans, the fabric already stained from the trek up here. I pull my tablet out of my pack. My hands are steady. They always are when the world is falling apart. It's how I can trace digital footprints for clients who pay top dollar to stay ahead.

“Banks,” Crewe says, turning toward me, his phone call ended. His VIP protection instincts kick in automatically. “We have to move. They could circle back, set up another ambush.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice even. I’m already working, fingers flying across the screen.

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Make Them Obey (Pretty Deadly Things #5) Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-obey-pretty-deadly-things-5-read-online-logan-chance Thu, 14 May 2026 08:57:58 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-obey-pretty-deadly-things-5-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Authors: Logan Chance Series: Pretty Deadly Things Series by Logan Chance
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Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >66

From USA Today bestseller Logan Chance comes a deliciously wicked dark romcom vigilante romance.

Poe Cameron doesn’t do obedience. He does revenge. But the mafia crime syndicate known as Goldenbell has his sister.

Kidnapped. Hidden. Alive only as long as Poe follows orders. Betray his vigilante crew, feed the syndicate intel, play the loyal attack dog… or they kill his sister.

Now Poe's undercover inside a trafficking ring he’s desperate to destroy, walking a razor-thin line between saving his sister and burning the entire operation to the ground.

Then he meets her. Orchid Lin.

Goldenbell’s enforcer. The woman who makes grown men obey with a smile and a threat. She doesn’t trust Poe, so she keeps him on a leash… in a safehouse with one bed and nowhere to run.

She wants him broken. Trained. Controlled.

Poe wants to bring Goldenbell down.

And if falling for the enemy is what it takes to make them obey?

So be it. He’ll obey long enough to get close, then he’ll make Goldenbell choke on every order they ever gave him.

*Make Them Obey is a high-heat, high-stakes dark romcom packed with forced proximity, one bed, vigilante justice, savage banter, and a hero who’ll burn the world down to save his sister

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

POE

The first time I hear my sister cry through a cheap burner phone, everything inside me just... stops.

The world keeps spinning like an asshole. Traffic hisses past the hospital windows, tires slicing through puddles from the earlier rain. The elevator dings somewhere behind me, cheerful and oblivious. The heart monitor on the gurney I stole beeps steady, like it's mocking me for playing monster tonight.

I’ve kidnapped someone because they’ve kidnapped my sister. It’s fair in my eyes.

The noise in my head—the constant stream of code, exit routes, contingency plans, all the bullshit that keeps me one step ahead—snaps off like someone yanked the plug. Because that sound? Enley's voice cracking on the other end? That's real. That's the only thing that matters right now.

“Poe,” she whispers, and it’s all wrong. Too thin. Too careful. Like she’s learned exactly how much air she’s allowed to use in whatever hellhole they’ve got her in.

My knuckles go white around the gurney handle. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, turning everything into harsh edges and sick yellow tones.

“Enley,” I say back, keeping my voice low and even. Control. That’s all I’ve got left, so I wrap it around me like armor.

A man laughs on the line. It’s this quiet, confident rumble that says he doesn’t need to yell to own the room. “Sweet,” he drawls. “You can still do gentle. That’s nice.”

My stomach twists hard, like someone jammed a fist in there and squeezed.

The phone feels slick against my ear, sweat making the cheap plastic slip. I keep pushing the gurney down this service corridor I have zero business being in, wheels squeaking softly. A big red sign screams AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Yeah, well, fuck that. I’m not authorized for jack shit tonight.

Tonight I’m a thief.

Tonight I’m a traitor to the only people who’ve ever had my back.

Tonight I’m whatever these bastards need me to be if it means Enley walks out of this alive.

“What do you want?” I ask, forcing the words out calm even though my pulse is hammering like a drum solo.

“Don’t act brand new,” the voice snaps back, lazy but sharp underneath. “You know exactly what we want. You already started the game.”

I glance down at the guy strapped to the gurney. Salem Bloom’s estranged father. Arthur Charles. He looks like hell—gray around the mouth, bruises blooming purple and black across his face, sedated to the gills but still breathing. One of the IV lines swings gently with every push. The hospital bracelet on his wrist catches the light, mocking me with his real name.

I hate this part. The part where I have to treat innocent people like chess pieces. Where I have to drag some poor bastard into my mess because Goldenbell decided he’s useful.

A door swings open at the end of the corridor. A tired-looking nurse steps out, chart in hand, eyes half-closed like she’s running on fumes and bad coffee. I angle the gurney quick into a shadowed alcove, tucking myself behind a big linen cart. My heart gives one hard thud, reminding me I’m still breathing.

She doesn’t spot me. Just walks past, shoes squeaking on the tile. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“What did you do to her?” I whisper into the phone, rage and fear mixing into something ugly in my chest.

The guy sighs like I’m the most exhausting thing he’s dealt with all week. “Nothing she didn’t earn. Nothing she won’t survive. That part’s up to you, Poe.”

Enley makes this tiny sound in the background—like she’s biting back a sob, trying so hard not to make noise. It guts me.

My jaw locks so tight my teeth ache. “Let me talk to her. Now.”

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Make Them Hurt (Pretty Deadly Things #4) Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-hurt-pretty-deadly-things-4-read-online-logan-chance Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:11:06 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-hurt-pretty-deadly-things-4-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Insta-Love Authors: Logan Chance Series: Pretty Deadly Things Series by Logan Chance
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Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >72

She was supposed to be a rescue.
Not a temptation.

Ozzy Oliver is sent in to pull Salem Bloom out of a trafficking pipeline. But the moment he gets her free, the ring realizes she’s gone… and the hunt begins.

Now they’re trapped in a safehouse with one bed, no time, and enemies closing in. Ozzy’s got one keep her alive while he and his crew burn the whole operation to the ground.

Forced proximity turns into late-night confessions. Survival turns into heat.
And the men who hurt her?

Ozzy’s about to make them hurt back.

MAKE THEM HURT is a steamy, high-stakes vigilante romance packed with action, suspense, one-bed tension, and a protector hero who fights dirty for the woman he can’t let go

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Salem

The skatepark in Saint Pierce always smells like hot asphalt mixed with that fake strawberry vape cloud kids pretend is cool. Concrete bowls chipped and scarred, rails tagged over so many times the colors bleed together into gray mush. Sirens wail somewhere far off, same as always. It’s like the city’s got one finger permanently on the panic button.

I’m parked on the lip of the biggest ramp, orange board balanced across my legs. It’s so loud it might as well be a traffic cone with attitude. My thumb keeps flicking through TikTok, scroll-scroll-scroll, like if I go fast enough the feed will swallow the knot in my chest.

It doesn’t.

Some kid drops in hard; wheels scream. A cheer goes up, then a wipeout, followed by that fake-ha-ha-I’m-totally-fine laugh. Yeah. Been there.

My phone buzzes.

Mom.

Missed call. No voicemail. No “hey are you alive?” Just her thumb brushing the screen and bailing halfway through the impulse. Probably a butt dial if I’m being honest. I hate her for that.

Heat crawls up my neck. My pulse thuds behind my eyes. I jam the phone deep into my hoodie pocket before I can be dumb enough to call her back and hope for once she picks up like she means it.

The board’s warm under my palms. The grip tape is rough and familiar. It’s the only thing that feels solid right now. And right now, that’s huge.

Another board rattles up, and stops inches from my knee.

“Yo. Orange board.”

I glance up.

A guy in a backwards cap with a grin too big for his face, smiles at me. His eyes slide over me—not the board, me.

“You skate?” he asks.

“Enough to know where they keep the good painkillers at the ER,” I say.

He laughs like I just told the joke of the year as he steps closer. He’s testing.

My lungs squeeze as my shoulders lock. I don’t budge an inch. I’ve been hit on by guys before. I also know an asshole when I see one.

“You here alone?” His voice drops, like we’re in on something dirty.

“Not even close.” Sweet smile. “I’m with my boyfriend.”

His dark eyes narrow. “Where’s he at?”

I tilt my head. “Probably figuring out how to yank teeth with pliers without getting blood on his shoes.”

The grin falters. He mutters something under his breath and rolls off.

My hands stay steady. However, my heart doesn’t.

Because it’s not him. It’s the thing already waiting at home. Carl. Mom’s boyfriend. The one who says “kiddo” like it’s cute while his stare lingers too long, too low. The one who thinks because Mom’s checked out, the house is his playground.

Last week he leaned in close enough I could smell his cheap body spray and whispered, If I was your age…

My stomach twists just remembering it. My skin feels too tight, like someone took a Brillo pad to the inside.

My phone buzzes again.

Unknown number.

My fingertips go numb as my pulse slams so hard I can feel it in my teeth. I open it anyway. Because apparently fear and nosiness cancel each other out.

UNKNOWN: u at the park?

UNKNOWN: u got the orange board right?

Ice slips down my spine. I scan the crowd. Kids grinding rails. Two dudes filming tricks. A couple on the bleachers sharing a slushie like nothing’s wrong with the world.

Normal. Normal. Normal.

Except the woods behind the park look blacker than they should. Trees packed tight, staring back.

ME: who is this?

Three dots.

UNKNOWN: friend of a friend. don’t freak out.

A laugh punches out of me. My ribs feel strapped tight. I’m the epitome of silently freaking out each and every day.

“Don’t freak out,” I mutter. “Yeah, great advice, dude.”

I flip to the chat with Jules. New girl. Pit bull in a flower crown for a profile pic. She’d slid into my comments after I posted about finally finding this park. Said she skates. Said she needed someone who could handle dark humor without flinching.

Soulmate material, maybe.

ME: here. ramp by the bowl. orange board.

Sun’s still up but dropping fast, throwing long shadows across the ramps like fingers reaching.

My phone buzzes nearly startling me. I almost drop the board, but I glance around the park and nobody notices me. No one ever does.

UNKNOWN: look behind u

Everything locks. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turn slowly. Controlled. Refusing to let panic win the sprint. Fuck.

Nothing. Just concrete and noise and people who belong here.

I glance back to the screen.

UNKNOWN: not there. woods.

My throat clicks when I swallow. Every true-crime podcast I’ve ever binged is screaming don’t. Logic screams don’t. But something else—something tired and pissed—stands up inside me.

Tired of Carl’s hand “accidentally” grazing my waist. Tired of Mom’s glassy eyes when I say his name. Tired of scraping together grocery money when I should be stressing about algebra and who likes who.

With the board under my arm, and my phone clenched in my fist, I walk. One foot in front of the other. I walk straight toward the tree line. My heart pounds in my ears, but I ignore it.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >72

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Operation Bombshell – A Cupid City Security Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/operation-bombshell-a-cupid-city-security-read-online-logan-chance Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:28:10 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/operation-bombshell-a-cupid-city-security-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Suspense Authors: Logan Chance Advertisement

Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >25

She’s the target in heels. He’s the shield in boots. Together, they’re the last line of defense—and the first spark of something explosive.

Supermodel Indigo Lyric comes to Cupid City to headline the Valentine Lingerie Showcase and reboot her brand with heart-eyed charm, not headline the news with a stalker story. Enter Mack Hawthorne, former Navy SEAL turned elite protector, who believes in three plans, protocols, and never, ever falling for the client.
Too bad Cupid City has other plans.

When a bouquet explodes in confetti and shrapnel, Heartline’s Operation Valentine assigns Mack as Indigo’s 24/7 shadow. a penthouse lockdown with one bed—for insurance photos, sir—fake-date optics to kill a rumor, and a city that insists on kissing booths, heart-shaped everything.

He’s grumpy, growly, and alpha enough to make danger blink first. She’s sunshine with a runway strut and a habit of breaking his rules.

Cupid City rule #1: Don’t get attached.
Cupid City rule #1: Good luck with that.

Bombshell delivers romcom banter, protector heat, and pulse-pounding suspense, because sometimes the safest place to fall… is straight into your bodyguard’s arms. Happily ever after guaranteed.

*In Cupid City, Valentine’s means glittering galas and dangerous secrets. Heartline Security keeps the city breathing between fireworks and threats. That is, until each protector meets the one person worth breaking protocol for.

Fall in love this February where these standalones serve high heat, high stakes, and heart-melting HEAs. Guards up. Hearts open. Valentine gives love the last word

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

INDIGO

The steam curls up from my chamomile tea like little ghosts in the late afternoon light. I cup the mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep into my palms as I sit cross-legged on the cream velvet sofa in my living room. The house is quiet except for the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the hall and the occasional sigh of the AC kicking on. Outside, the Saint Pierce sun is dipping low, painting the palms gold through the sheer curtains.

I take a slow sip, eyes half-closed. The tea tastes like honey and calm—exactly what I need right now. In three days, I'll be on a plane to Cupid City for the Lingerie Showcase. Not just walking; headlining. The theme is "Love in Every Curve," all silk and shadows, lace that looks like midnight secrets. I've been practicing my turns in the mirror for weeks, perfecting that slow, liquid glide that makes photographers lose their minds. My agent says this could be the one that catapults me from "rising star" to household name. I believe her. Mostly.

I let my mind drift to the runway. The lights will be low, crimson and violet, pulsing like a heartbeat. I'll step out in that black corset with the garnet beads, the one that cinches my waist until breathing feels like a performance. The music will swell—something deep and electronic—and I'll feel the eyes of the entire front row on me. Hungry. Appreciative. A little dangerous. I love that part. The power in being looked at and knowing exactly how to give them more without giving anything away.

A smile tugs at my lips. I set the mug on the glass coffee table and stretch my arms overhead, feeling the pull in my shoulders from yesterday's Pilates. Everything is lined up. Flight's booked, show fitting tomorrow morning, press junket the day after. I just need to stay loose, stay centered. No drama. No distractions.

That's when I hear it.

A soft click from the back of the house. Like a door latch releasing.

My body freezes before my brain catches up. The sound is wrong. Too deliberate. The house is supposed to be locked—deadbolt, chain, alarm armed. I always set it when I'm home alone.

Then the alarm shrieks.

It's deafening, a piercing wail that drills straight into my skull. Red lights flash from the panel in the foyer. Motion detected. Rear entry.

My heart slams against my ribs. I snatch my phone from the cushion beside me, fingers shaking as I swipe to the emergency dial. The alarm keeps screaming as my breathing kicks up.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Someone's in my house," I whisper-shout over the noise. "The alarm just went off. I'm alone. Please hurry."

The operator is calm, asking for my address, asking if I can see the intruder. I can't. I'm still on the sofa, legs tucked under me like that'll make me invisible. I edge toward the hallway, peering around the corner. Nothing. Just shadows stretching long across the hardwood.

"Stay on the line," she says. "Officers are en route. ETA five minutes."

Five minutes feels like forever.

I back into the kitchen, putting the island between me and the hall. My pulse is thunder in my ears. Then I see it—on the counter, right next to my fruit bowl. A folded piece of paper that wasn't there before.

White. Ordinary. My name scrawled on the front in black marker: Indigo.

My stomach drops.

I don't touch it at first. I just stare, like it might bite. The alarm is still blaring, but the world narrows to that square of paper. Finally, I unfold it with trembling fingers.

One line, written in neat script letters:

I'm always watching.

No signature. No threat beyond the words themselves. But they land like ice water down my spine.

Sirens wail in the distance. Real ones this time.

The police arrive in a storm of lights and boots. Two officers sweep the house while I wait on the front porch, arms wrapped around myself even though it's eighty degrees. They find the back door jimmied—clean, professional. No prints on the handle. The intruder was in and out fast. They bag the note as evidence, take my statement, promise to increase patrols. Standard procedure, they say. Probably just a creep who saw my face in a magazine.

I nod like I believe them.

When they're gone, the house feels too big, too quiet again. I reset the alarm, double-check every lock, then call Etta.

My manager picks up on the first ring. "Indi? You okay? You sound⁠—"

"Someone broke in." The words tumble out. "They left a note. 'I'm always watching.' Police just left."

Silence. Then Etta's voice sharpens. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Where are you now?"

"Home. Living room."

"Stay put. I'm coming over."

She arrives twenty minutes later in her silver Audi, heels clicking like gunfire on the driveway. Etta's in her late forties, sharp cheekbones, sharper instincts. She's been with me since I was nineteen, back when I was just another tall girl with good bone structure. She storms in, pulls me into a quick, fierce hug, then holds me at arm's length to scan for damage.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >25

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Guardian On Base – Hearts on Base Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/guardian-on-base-hearts-on-base-read-online-logan-chance Thu, 26 Feb 2026 07:37:37 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/guardian-on-base-hearts-on-base-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Suspense Authors: Logan Chance Advertisement

Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >30

High stakes. Forced proximity. Protective military hero. Snowed-in cabin. Off-the-charts chemistry.

In Pine Valley, Colorado, the mountains don’t whisper—they challenge.

Crewe Hawthorne lives for danger. Night jumps. Rescue missions. Rules that keep his heart locked down tight.
Then Riley Willow walks onto Ridgeway Air Force Base—brilliant, stubborn, and way too tempting for a man trained to never lose focus.

When Riley’s next-gen drone tech is sabotaged and turned into a weapon, Crewe is assigned to protect her.

Up close.
Cabin-in-a-blizzard close.

The kind of close where his hand never leaves her back… and every breath against her skin feels like a promise.

By day, they hunt the traitor inside Ridgeway. By night, the heat between them burns through every line Crewe swore he’d never cross.

Because the enemy doesn’t just want Riley’s work.
They want her.

And if they come for what’s his?
Crewe will go to war.

*Welcome to Ridgeway Base, where duty meets desire in a heartbeat. Hearts on Base is a series of swoon-worthy instalove military romances featuring rugged servicemen, fierce heroines, and the kind of heat that doesn’t quit! Each book delivers a complete, feel-good love story with high stakes, instant sparks, and a guaranteed happy ending. Who says love can’t be a tactical advantage?

Join 12 of your favorite (or soon to be favorite) contemporary romance authors for an exciting and steamy military series!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

CREWE

I stand at the edge of the ramp, wind whipping around me, nothing below but swirling snow and empty sky.

The cargo plane vibrates behind me, loud and restless, like it’s eager to shake me loose. A gloved tap hits my shoulder—two quick knocks. Go time. I glance into the whiteout, spotting the blinking rescue beacon far below in the foothills. Just a faint red pulse through the storm.

My oxygen mask hisses as I breathe. I taste metal. I taste the storm.

“Green in five!” the loadmaster yells, voice nearly lost in the roar of the engines. My team’s voices crackle over comms, calm and clipped. This isn’t their first storm. It’s not mine either.

“Winds are gusting,” Major Lexi Chen calls from the command center back at Ridgeway. “We’ve got a thermal hit. One survivor.”

“Copy,” I say. “Hawthorne stepping.”

The ramp light turns green, and the world narrows into a single choice.

I jump.

The cold hits like a punch to the lungs. I fall fast, arms tucked in tight, body slicing through the wind. The storm tries to flip me, but I stay steady, letting my training take over. Altimeter beeps. My hand finds the cord. I pull.

The chute snaps open hard, jerking me upright. Everything goes quiet except for the hiss of snow as I glide down into the dark.

Below me, the Rockies stretch out like a shadow, broken by flashes of light and the red pulse of the crash beacon. Somewhere down there, a pilot is waiting for me. I won’t let him down.

I drop through a layer of clouds and finally see the slope. Trees sag under heavy snow. The crash site is a mess—twisted metal barely visible in the storm. I aim for a narrow opening between two trees, adjusting as the wind tries to shove me off course.

I hit the ground hard, knees bending deep in snow. I roll, release my chute, and pack it down before the wind can drag it away. Then I move low, night-vision goggles helping me pick out the shapes of trees, rocks, and what’s left of the trainer aircraft.

“Ridgeway, Hawthorne on the ground,” I murmur. “Two minutes out.”

“Copy that. Rescue bird inbound. ETA six minutes,” Lexi says in my ear.

“Make it four,” I say, already moving.

The crash looks worse up close. The nose of the plane is smashed in, glass shattered, metal crumpled like paper. The snow is stained in places I don’t like.

I trudge through waist-deep powder, heart pounding, and finally reach the cockpit. One pilot. Slumped forward. Mask hanging loose. Helmet cracked.

I press two fingers to his neck.

Pulse.

Weak, but there.

“Hey, Lieutenant,” I say gently. “Pararescue. Name’s Crewe. We’re getting you home.”

He lets out a sound—could be a laugh or a groan. Either works. He’s alive.

I cut through his seat harness, careful with his neck and limbs. Something’s wrong with the way his collarbone sits, so I brace it. I work quickly—compression pads, thermal blanket, gear check. Every move has a purpose. The cold gnaws at my hands, but I keep going.

Far off, the helicopter’s rotors hum through the snow. That’s our ride out. I flash my infrared beacon, guiding them in.

“Pedro Two is on station,” the pilot confirms.

“LZ’s just below me. Watch the trees—tight clearance. We’re running hot on fuel, so let’s make this clean. Ready on hoist.”

“Copy that.”

But something moves in the snow. My instincts snap tight.

Then I hear it—a sharp, high whine cutting through the wind.

I turn, spotting a strange little drone drifting toward the helicopter. No green or red lights. No markings. Just four rotors and bad intentions.

What the hell is a drone doing out here?

“Ridgeway, we’ve got an unmarked drone in the area,” I call in. “It’s not friendly. Looks autonomous.”

“Say again?” Lexi says sharply.

“Unknown drone. Acting hostile.”

The thing zips through the air, circling the chopper’s hoist cable like it’s hunting it. I don’t need a manual to know this isn’t some civilian toy.

Its movements are too familiar. Too precise. I’ve seen this behavior before—on base, during a test demo. Riley Willow’s drones move just like this.

Except this one’s not wearing her name.

“Pedro Two, what’s your status?” I ask.

“Hover is steady. Visual on the drone.”

“Hold hover. I’ll handle it.”

I dig a jammer from my harness, jam it into the snow, and flip it on. A pulse of interference rolls out, enough to throw off most cheap drone systems. The quadcopter stutters in midair—then adjusts and pushes forward.

Okay. Not cheap.

I pull out the collapsible net launcher from my pack. The guys laughed when I picked this up. I didn’t.

The drone zips low, aiming for the chopper’s cable. That’s when I make the call.

“Pedro Two, trust me. Six seconds.”

“Trusting you, Hawthorne. Make it count.”

I hold my breath. Wait.

Now.

I fire. The net spreads midair, tangling in the rotors. The drone spirals down like a kicked wasp and crashes in the snow at my boots. It whines once. I stomp. It doesn’t whine again.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >30

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Wrangling With the Bodyguard – Lone Star Security Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/wrangling-with-the-bodyguard-lone-star-security-read-online-logan-chance Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wrangling-with-the-bodyguard-lone-star-security-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Suspense Authors: Logan Chance Advertisement

Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >43

Valor Springs, Texas—where the creek still remembers two kids who swore they’d always find their way back.

Nash Hawthorne has spent years turning that boy into a soldier, then a cowboy-quiet security protector for Lone Star Security. He follows orders, keeps his heart on lockdown, and pretends he’s forgotten the girl who once dared him off the rope swing and into a first almost-kiss. He hasn’t. Not for a single sunrise.

Delaney Coleman left town chasing big-city dreams. Now she’s back to save her family’s ranch, and trouble is waiting—mysterious “accidents,” missing livestock, and a saboteur who wants the Coleman Ranch ruined. Nash’s assignment is move in, lock down, keep Delaney safe. But the minute he steps onto Coleman land, the past steps with him—fireflies, carved initials on the dock, and a pull that feels like coming home.

Now they’re pretending to date to save her ranch. Delaney breaks his rules with a smile. Nash fixes the fence, checks the locks, and pretends it isn’t killing him to want what walked away from him years ago.

When the saboteur ups the stakes and old secrets surface, Nash has to keep his distance like a good soldier…or claim the only woman who ever felt like forever.

Tropes to expect: Bodyguard romance • Ex-military hero • Cowboy protector • Small-town Texas • Back to her hometown • Saving the family ranch • Childhood friends to lovers • Almost-first-kiss history • Second chance romance • Fake dating • Forced proximity • Living on the ranch • Grumpy/Sunshine • Protective hero • Touch Her and Die • Who Did This To You? • One Bed • Slow burn with sizzle • Ranch sabotage mystery • Family legacy stakes • He’s emotionally locked down • She challenges his control • She falls first, he falls harder • Texas-big HEA

Vibes to expect: He checks the perimeter before sunrise • “I’m not here for you.” (lies) • Boots on her porch at midnight • Fixing fences with quiet devotion • A storm hits and they’re stuck together • He sleeps closer to the door • A hand at her lower back in public • “We’re convincing.” • Dust, denim, and dangerously soft moments • Bandaging his knuckles after a bad night • He learns her coffee order without asking • She makes him laugh when he least expects it • Old memories on the dock • Fireflies and unfinished kisses • A fake relationship that turns terrifyingly real • He doesn’t say love—he shows it • And so much MORE!

A Texas cowboy-security romance where danger rides shotgun and a grumpy protector gets branded by love.

*Meet the heroes of Lone Star Security. Cowboy bodyguards forged under the Texas sun. Dangerous when they have to be, gentle when it counts, these ranch-bred alphas wear Stetsons over steel and carry more scars than they’ll admit. They don’t do anything halfway. Instead, they do sunup to sundown, with dust on their boots and love in their hearts. These protectors will ride through hell and high water to prove worthy of the women they love

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Delaney — Age 11

The rope swing hangs over the creek like a dare.

“Chicken?” I call, toes gripping the sun-warm plank of the little dock Daddy built before Mom says he forgot how. Fireflies blink between the pecans like sparks from the forge at the blacksmith’s tent during Rodeo Days. It’s late enough that the cicadas have a steady hum going. Late enough Mama would holler if she knew I’d snuck out. Late enough that the water looks like spilled ink.

Nash Hawthorne squints at me from the bank, all elbows and stubborn jaw. He’s twelve and thinks that’s basically grown. “I ain’t chicken, Laney.”

“Prove it.”

He snatches the rope, runs three steps, and launches. For a heartbeat he’s flying, hands high, bare feet pointed like he’s part comet. He lets go at the peak, hits the water with a splash big enough to rattle the minnows. I whoop, because I can’t help it, because it’s summer and Valor Springs belongs to us.

His head pops up, hair slicked back, grin brighter than the lightning bugs. “You comin’ or you just gonna stand there flappin’ your jaw?”

“I am a lady,” I say, even as I grab the rope. “And ladies make an entrance.”

“Ladies stall,” he says, laughing.

I run, swing, let go. The creek grabs me cold and perfect, and we both come up hollering at the sky. By the time we swim to the bank, we’re snorting creek water and spitting laughter. I flop onto the grass, dress clinging, boots abandoned on the dock. Nash rolls beside me. The night smells like wet earth and honeysuckle and the smoke from somebody’s barbecue a pasture over.

“Pinky swear,” I blurt, sticking out my little finger.

He blinks. “On what?”

“If we ever get lost,” I say, because the thought has been living in my chest lately, the way grown-ups whisper when bills show up and the pasture needs reseeding, “we meet back here. Always.”

Nash considers that like it’s a mission. Then he hooks his finger with mine. His hand’s warm. “Always,” he says, solemn as a judge.

I sit up, dig in my pocket for the treasure I stole from Uncle Buck’s junk drawer: a pocketknife, dull from cutting twine. “Help me.”

“You’ll get tanned.”

“Only if I get caught.” I flip the blade open, tongue peeking out the corner of my mouth like it helps me aim. On the dock post, where the rope’s tied, I scratch slow, careful letters. N + D—come home.

Nash leans in, shoulder bumping mine. When I finish, he touches the groove with a thumb, like pressing a brand. “Looks good,” he says softly. For a second he’s not elbows and bluffs—he’s a boy who wants a promise to be true.

“You goin’ to the rodeo practice tomorrow?” I ask, light again, because heavy makes my throat tight.

“Maybe.” He looks out over the black water. “Daddy says I got to toughen up. Says Hawthornes serve. Crewe says he’s gonna do pararescue. Mack talks Army all day.” He rattles off his brothers like a string of beads. “Sin—Sinclaire—won’t say nothin’ but he stares at the river like it’s an ocean. Banks says he’s too smart for all of us and he’s gonna get rich and buy Valor Springs. Jace’s into anything that smells like gun oil. Colt wants to disappear into the mountains like a ghost.”

“What about you?” I ask.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Daddy wants me to enlist. A Hawthorne with a plan. I ain’t sure what mine is, ‘cept…” He flicks a look at the engraving. “‘Cept I like it here.”

“You can go,” I say, throat tight again. “But you come back. I’ll keep the ranch good till you do. I’ll fix what’s broke and plant winter rye and teach the calves not to be dumb. I’ll⁠—”

“You’ll boss everybody ‘til they cry?”

“Probably.” That makes us both grin.

The rope creaks when the breeze shifts. Fireflies pulse. Somewhere a cow lows, soft, like she’s telling a bedtime story. Nash steals another look at the crooked heart I carved like he’s taking a picture with his eyes.

“Always,” he says again.

“Always,” I echo.

We don’t tell anyone we sealed it with a pinky swear. It feels like the kind of thing that only works if nobody else hears.

Nash — Age 12

The creek’s the only place quiet enough to hear my own thinking.

At home it’s all boots and brothers and Daddy’s voice, that grit-through-gravel kind that sounds like orders even when he’s saying pass the salt. Mama’s soft but tired. Crewe runs us like a squad. Mack bets chores on dares. Sin watches everything. Banks is already scheming about flipping junk trucks. Jace will sign up for the Marines the day they’ll take him, I can see it. Colt’s half wild and already talking about living in the mountains.

Me? I don’t know what I am besides the oldest. (Crewe calls that “the pack mule.”)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >43

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Make Them Beg (Pretty Deadly Things #3) Read Online Logan Chance http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-beg-pretty-deadly-things-3-read-online-logan-chance Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:13:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-them-beg-pretty-deadly-things-3-read-online-logan-chance Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Forbidden Authors: Logan Chance Series: Pretty Deadly Things Series by Logan Chance
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Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >58

He’s used to being the predator.
He never expected to be her prey.

Knight Hayes lives for the hunt. There’s nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of taking down the kind of monsters who hide behind screens and power suits. He’s sharp, controlled, and always ten steps ahead… until someone starts watching him.

Every move. Every mission. Every secret.

She sees it all.

The stalker? His best friend’s little sister—the same girl who once doodled his name in hearts and now shows up in a leather jacket, wearing a mask, and holding all his secrets in the palm of her black-gloved hand.

Her name is Lark Dawson, and she wants in. But he’s not having that. Not on his life. Not on his missions. And definitely not in his passenger seat.

But Lark’s not playing by his rules. She’s got blackmail, a bat, and zero boundaries. And unfortunately for Knight… she’s not going away.

When a job goes sideways and both their faces hit someone’s most-wanted list, Knight’s only option is to go on the run—with the girl who makes him crazy in more ways than one. He’s supposed to keep her safe. Keep his hands off. Keep things strictly professional.

Too bad Lark has other plans.
And Knight? He’s starting to forget why saying no ever seemed like a good idea.

One cocky vigilante. One chaos-loving wild card. One explosive ride that will leave them both begging—for mercy, for safety, and maybe… for each other.

Make Them Beg is a high-heat, high-stakes enemies-to-lovers dark romcom with a badass heroine in combat boots, a hero who can’t stop growling, and enough heated tension to burn the whole operation down

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

JUST ANOTHER TUESDAY NIGHT FELONY

KNIGHT

You ever watch a man eat chicken wings like he doesn’t deserve happiness?

That’s what I’m dealing with tonight.

Across the cracked blinds of Table 13 at Nolan’s Bar, our target—one Gregory “Wife-Beater” Dunn—is elbows-deep in a plate of nuclear buffalo wings, licking his fingers like he didn’t just embezzle half a mil from a non-profit and break his ex’s nose last Christmas. He's got sauce on his chin. Hellfire on his rap sheet. And zero idea he's about to be served a different kind of justice.

I adjust the burner phone in my hoodie pocket and glance at the time. 9:47 p.m.

Right on schedule.

“Anything from Lark?” I murmur into the mic clipped to my shirt collar. My voice is a whisper beneath the buzz of bad jukebox country and the sound of someone losing a game of darts behind me.

Static. Then Arrow’s voice crackles in my ear. “Nothing yet. She’s still ghosting the outer firewall.”

Classic Lark. When I tell her no, she hears try harder.

“I swear,” I mutter, sipping flat soda from my sticky glass. “One day I’m gonna change all the passwords and lock her out for good.”

“You say that,” Arrow deadpans, “but last week she hacked your Nest thermostat and made your apartment play the Teletubbies theme every time you opened the fridge.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Let me remind you of something else—our window’s closing. You’re sure this guy’s dirty?”

“Oh, he’s filthier than a Reddit comment section,” I reply. “I scrubbed his VPN trail last week. He’s been funneling charity funds into a shell company registered to a yacht named Assets & Ass. No joke. He also buys fake reviews for his self-published crypto e-book. And the worst part?”

Arrow hums. “Tell me.”

“His ebook sucks bad.”

“Jesus,” Arrow whispers. “Take him down.”

I grin.

This is what we do now.

After Arrow helped Juno track her sister’s killers, and Gage brought down that HR creep at NovaPlay, we got… hooked. Somewhere between the late-night missions, burner phones, and Red Bull-fueled stakeouts, it stopped being revenge.

And became a purpose.

We’re not cops. We’re not mercs. We’re just pissed-off misfits with high-speed internet and a low tolerance for bastards in power.

And tonight? Gregory Dunn is next.

“Alright, I’m moving in,” I mutter, sliding out of the booth. My hoodie is zipped, my gloves are on, and my boots are blessedly silent on sticky linoleum.

I cross the bar. The lights are dim, the air smells like spilled beer and shame, and the bouncer is too busy scrolling TikTok to clock me.

Dunn doesn’t even look up. Just keeps licking wing sauce off his fingers like a psychopath.

I lean close, hand on the edge of the booth. “You ever think about what it feels like to lose everything in one night?”

He blinks, and then his eyes dart up. “What?”

I smile. “Check your phone.”

It buzzes on the table. He hesitates. Then picks it up.

His expression melts from confused to panicked in three seconds flat.

Because on that phone? Is a video. Of him. In his home office. Moving funds. Screaming at his ex. Throwing a lamp. It's all there. Time-stamped. Synced. Edited. Beautiful.

“Who—how did you⁠—?”

I drop a thumb drive on the table. “That’s for the authorities. They're already en route.”

“Y-you can’t⁠—!”

“Already did.”

His hand moves for something. A knife? His phone?

Too slow.

I snatch his wrist and slam it into the table. Not hard enough to break, but enough to make a statement. “I suggest you stay put,” I say. “Or don’t. I kind of hope you run. I haven’t stretched in a while.”

His eyes are wide now. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” I say with a wink.

Then I walk. Out the door. Past the bouncer. Into the night. And there, parked half a block down, is my old Altima.

Arrow’s waiting, laptop open, hoodie up, and chewing on a Slim Jim like he hasn’t eaten in ages.

“Cops got the tip?” I ask as I slide into the passenger seat.

He nods. “Three minutes out. You really dropped the ‘Assets & Ass’ line?”

“I’m a professional.”

He snorts.

I grab my own laptop from the back seat and boot up. “Alright,” I say, fingers flying across the keys. “Let’s scrub all the data, wipe the footage from my cam, and reset all network nodes. We’re ghosts.”

Arrow glances sideways at me. “You know… you could’ve just mailed the tip anonymously.”

“And miss the look on his face?” I grin. “Never.”

My phone buzzes.

It’s a text from a blocked number.

Blocked Number: [Attachment: Video File]

Caption: Your backdoor encryption sucks, Hayes. Try harder.

Arrow sees it.

“Is that…?”

“Lark,” I mutter, staring at the video. It’s from inside the bar. Of me. Confronting Dunn. The whole damn interaction.

She had eyes on me the entire time.

Arrow exhales a laugh. “She’s good.”

“She’s annoying,” I grumble. But my chest is warm. And tight. And kind of buzzing.

Because for the first time in a long time… I’m not sure I’m the predator anymore.

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