Jose's Surrender Read online

  Published by Silver Publishing

  Publisher of Erotic Romance

  A Silver Publishing Book

  José's Surrender

  Copyright © 2012 by Remmy Duchene

  E-book ISBN: 9781614955948

  First E-book Publication: August 2012

  Cover design by Reese Dante

  Editor: Liz Bichmann

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S.

  Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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  This book is written in US English.

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  Note from the Publisher

  Dear Reader,

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  Dedication

  To everyone who requested this story.

  Thank you for loving my boys almost as much as I do. 

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Mustang: Ford Motor Company

  Punk'd: Viacom International Inc.

  Chapter One

  The night before had not been what Ronin McCall had planned.

  He'd wanted to drive to Eros just so he could sleep in his own bed. Then he found out his favorite team was playing and he decided to watch the hockey game at a pub in the lobby of a hotel along the road. During the game, he had a couple of beers and though he didn't feel drunk, he refused to drive afterward. He simply got a room and crashed for the night. The moment his head hit the pillows, Ronin was out like a light. He'd fallen into a heavy, dreamless sleep after the long day. The disgust he felt from his team's horrid loss had not impeded his ability to sleep.

  For a brief moment he understood hockey rioters.

  When morning came, he was rested. Still, he remained in bed just because he could. The Navy hadn't afforded him days to lounge about and sleep in late. He used his shore leave to travel the country they were in or to visit with his brother. Long after he'd woken up, Ronin took a shower. Partially dressed, he walked by the foot of the bed and eased the curtains aside to look outside. It was raining—misting—again. Even with the water, the sun rose over Century like a breath of fresh air. A squad car, siren blaring, shot by the hotel followed closely by another car

  and a large black truck. He didn't have to be a genius to know the truck contained SWAT agents—he'd seen way too many cop shows. He listened to the siren and watched the vehicles make their way through the rain-soaked streets until they disappeared from view. Still he stared at the spot they'd passed even longer before blinking to refocus.

  Taking a breath, he grabbed his dress shirt from the back of the hotel's chair and walked over to the window while pushing his arms into it. He didn't get how people could live in Century since the weather went from one extreme to another. Below him, the trees looked as though they were tangled with each other. Mist lifted skyward from the forest, leaving him marveling at the majesty of nature. He wondered what would happen if his father were alive and heard him using words like majesty of things.

  Laughing softly, he buttoned his shirt and walked back to the desk. He picked up his keys and dumped them into his back pocket, then reached for his Stetson and slipped it on his head before grabbing his bag. With one final look around to ensure he wasn't forgetting anything, Ronin let himself out the door.

  The ride down to the lobby was slow. It seemed everyone wanted to check out at that moment and the elevator stopped on almost every floor down from the fifteenth. The music in the elevator made prying the doors

  open between floors look good. Why did they put classical music—bad classical music probably from some starving artist—in such a slow-moving piece of transportation? He stifled a groan and waited his turn to get out.

  By the time he arrived downstairs the rain had stopped. He made his way to the front and pulled his wallet out. The lobby looked just like every other hotel lobby. It had large potted plants, luxurious leather seats, complimentary phones, and the rush of guests. Men in business suits with briefcases and cell phones stuck to their ears walked by him as though he didn't exist. Women in power suits strutted by, stilettos clicking on the polished floor. He often wondered how they could stay cooped up in offices, dealing with people they probably disliked and distrusted. That was no way to live. He knew he'd want to scream his head off.

  "Have a good night, Mr McCall?" the front desk attendant questioned as she accepted the credit card.

  Ronin pulled his attention from the business people and faced the woman. "Yes. Slept like a baby."

  "Good!" She handed back the credit card and an invoice along with a complimentary pen. "Have a good one."

  "Thanks," Ronin said, tipping his hat at her with a smirk. The woman giggled and he noticed the blush that

  rose in her cheeks. He never got used to women doing that around him. Most of the time he'd put them out of their horny daze by explaining he was gay. They would then chuckle, give him that look that said if you weren't I'd rock your world and mutter, "Such a shame."

  He turned on his heel and hurried out the door. His rental car glistened in the newly risen sun. He smiled—now he didn't have to wash the thing for another few days.

  Ronin chucked his bag into the back seat before falling into the driver's seat. He drove to a nearby corner store and picked up a few things for the road; potato chips, a large bottle of orange juice, chocolate-covered almonds, and a large bottle of water. He hated going on drives without junk food to snack on. Sure, none of it was good for him but who cared?

  The drive into Eros wasn't what he expected. It was scenic. Of all the places to move to after his stint in the Navy, Eros seemed the most logical. He needed the peace and quiet of a small town and the ease of ranch life. A week prior all his stuff had been moved into his new place and he hoped they hadn't broken anything. He rubbed his eyes and was glancing at the rearview mirror when his gaze caught the bag on the back seat. It had once belonged to his father.

  At times like this he missed his brother Mack most of all.

  With a low groa
n, he switched lanes, checked his mirrors,

  and exited the highway. He checked traffic again, then grabbed a handful of the chocolate-covered almonds and popped some into his mouth. He drove the long road leading into Eros until the trees broke, exposing the beautiful blue of the ocean. The sight of the water and the scent of salt on the air left him at ease, perfectly relaxed as he made his way east, past the center of town.

  A moniker caught his attention—Anatolis . It looked to be one of those posh restaurants. He arched a brow, pulled over, and stopped with the engine still running. The golden letters on a concrete column at the front said 3425

  Baiser Street. Normally he wouldn't be caught dead in such a quaint place. It reminded him of every little café in every horrid movie he'd ever seen—perfect building, perfect views, and deadly secrets.

  "Anatolis." He sounded like the guy with the deep voice from every movie commercial he'd ever seen.

  "Dun, dun, dunnnn!" Ronin chuckled.

  The building itself was a brownstone with beautiful flower trays in the windows. The door looked like that of a home—red with a golden knob. He shut off the engine and was exiting the car when he sniffed his shirt. He made a face and climbed back into the car. There was no way he was going into public with his shirt smelling like he'd been wearing it for days. With that thought, he hurried to his

  new home and took a quick shower. He didn't take time to look at anything. The truth was Ronin was the king of procrastination and starting to unpack would ruin his reputation and harsh his buzz. Also ignoring the flashing red light on the voicemail, he glanced at his face in the mirror and shrugged. He rubbed a hand over his beard before squirting on some cologne.

  When he exited the house again and jogged to the car, he was dressed in a pair of black jeans with a black dress shirt along with his black Stetson. It wasn't long before he climbed from the front seat of his car and jaywalked across the semi busy street to the restaurant. He turned the knob and stepped inside.

  The interior was warm and homey. A fireplace crackled quietly in one corner. Classical music—good classical music—played from unseen speakers all around him but the place didn't seem to be open yet. The memory of his grandmother's living room floated through his mind and gave him the same calmness he'd felt each time he spent time with his nana before her death. He smiled and blinked so his eyes would adjust to the low light. When he opened them again, he stared at the picture above the fireplace. It was a beautiful abstract, something Ronin loved just staring at. Sitting at a table was a group of men, one of whom he recognized as the basketball player Jamal

  Kendricks. The other men were a large African-American with cornrows, an Indian male, a Caucasian man with long, dark hair, and a rough-looking cowboy. They looked up.

  "I'm sorry. I thought you were open for dinner,"

  Ronin said.

  "We won't be for a few more minutes," the man with the long, brown hair said as he rose. "You're welcome to stick around if you'd like."

  "I don't want to intrude."

  "Nonsense." The man batted a wrist at him. "Pull up a chair. Have a glass of wine."

  Ronin stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Ronin McCall. Just moved into town."

  "I'm Savaro Kendricks-Anatolis, and these men are my brother Rajan, my husband Jamal Kendricks, Xavier Crawford, and this…" He stopped and turned to the cowboy with the stubbly facial hair and dark, finger-raked hair. "This is Race McKade."

  Ronin shook each man's hand before pulling up a chair and sitting down. It felt rather strange but they seemed to be friendly people. When he was offered a beer he shook his head. "Sorry. I'm driving tonight." He removed his hat and placed it over his knees before looking around.

  "You have to have something," Xavier said with a

  laugh.

  "You want some juice?" Rajan asked. "We got cranberry, orange, grape, and grapefruit."

  "Cranberry would be great."

  After Rajan left to go behind the bar, Ronin faced the others at the table.

  "How long have you been here?" Race asked.

  "A grand total of three days on and off," Ronin replied. "I came down and hunted for a place to live. Once I found that I headed back to Century, packed up and had my stuff shipped here."

  "You bought the old Kenzie place," Jamal Kendricks added. "I love that old building."

  "Thank you." Ronin accepted the cool glass from Rajan. "I like it too. It seems quiet and out of the way so I can get some sleep and work done."

  "Work? What do you do?"

  "I'm an artist. I design graphics for T-shirts and I paint. Haven't had a chance to work over the past few years though."

  "How come?" Savaro leaned in.

  "Was away in the Navy for a while there. Didn't have time for much of anything, much less doing work I love. All those things I had to put off for a bit until I was finished."

  The men around the table congratulated him and welcomed him home. Their conversation switched rapidly but the company was welcomed. When the wait staff finally began to show up, Savaro excused himself along with Jamal and Rajan. Almost instantly another man, bright-eyed and with long hair, walked through the door.

  Ronin watched as a smile lit the cowboy's face and he hurried over to pull the newcomer into his arms. After a rather intimate embrace, the two walked over.

  "Ronin, this is Laird Anatolis," Race introduced them.

  Ronin rose and took the man's hand in hearty shake.

  Chapter Two

  "José! A naked man just ran by me down your…

  Um… is everything all right?"

  José looked away from his soon-to-be ex to look at his best friend's husband, Xavier Crawford. The SWAT

  agent was still decked out in a part of his uniform—black pants and shirt neatly tucked in, a silver badge hooked into his belt on the left side with a gun holstered and secured on the right. He also wore an empty holster strapped around his massive right thigh. The legs of his pants were tucked into boots that were laced up neatly and tightly. With a small smile, José rested his hand against his hips. "Oh everything is perfect. Richie here didn't think I was man enough for him so he had to go out and find someone else."

  "It wasn't like that!" Richie pushed, reaching for José.

  José shrugged away from Richie. "You better get him outta my face!" José backed up to stand beside Xavier.

  "You want to go? That's what you want, right, Richie? You want to go, then go! Leave! Get to steppin'."

  "Oh come on! I made a mistake!"

  "What? Did you slip and fall on his dick over and over again? My momma didn't raise no fool. You're going to get your shit and get out."

  When Richie stepped toward him again, Xavier moved in between them. José was thankful for that because if the SWAT agent hadn't, he was sure he would have ripped Richie's throat out and fed it to him.

  "You should leave," Xavier explained to Richie.

  A thick silence blanketed the room as Xavier stood staring Richie down. For a bit there, José thought Richie was stupid enough to start a fight with Xavier. Thankfully, he turned on his heel, muttered a profanity, and exited the room. José was going to give the ass some time to grab his things. If he wasn't gone in ten minutes José was going to start throwing Richie and his things out. He walked by Xavier and entered the kitchen.

  A horn honked behind him and José shook his head and looked up. The light was green and apparently he wasn't paying attention. He looked both ways before he eased through the intersection, flipped his signal on to go left, and made the turn into the parking lot. He wanted to park close to the door but he couldn't. Though there was a spot between two trucks, he didn't feel like trying it.

  The sky was dark when José walked from his car into the large shoe store. He hated shopping but sometimes it just had to be done. He stepped through the door and a chime sounded—one that annoyed him often but it was

  used to alert the clerks someone had entered their store. He mentally shrugged and br
owsed the aisle until he found the size ten section. The search was harder than he thought. It was as if he'd missed all the good stuff. When he found a pair that looked as if they could be for him, he yanked the box off the shelf and sat to try them on. José pushed his feet into the new pair of shoes and stood. He stared down at them, tilted his left leg inward slightly and looked at the side. He wasn't a fan. Pushing some air out his mouth, he removed the footwear, placed them back in the box, and shoved the box on the shelf again. He glanced at his watch and made a face. If he didn't leave now, he'd never make it into Eros on time. Quickly, he took one final look at the shelves before leaving the store. At the exit he skidded to a stop as rain hit him. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he searched the parking lot for where his car was and moaned.

  Why'd he park so far away?

  "Oh right… didn't want to park between two trucks," he muttered.

  The trucks were gone, leaving him to walk across the lot in the rain. If there was one thing he hated, it was showing up at a meeting looking disheveled. He took a breath, darted out through the light rain, and sped across the street. He pressed the remote to open the car door and all but dove into the front seat. Rain wasn't his favorite thing

  on the best of days. Once the door was closed, he turned on the ignition and wiped his palms against his thighs to dry them. After a quick break to allow the car a little time to warm up, he pulled from the parking lot and turned the car toward Eros. It'd been a long morning and all he wanted to do was get away. But he had a meeting with Laird he couldn't very well miss.

  He turned the radio on to boring music, made a face and flipped it off. He drove the rest of the way to Laird's place in silence. When he got there, he was still damp but the rain had stopped so he figured that was an upside. He grabbed his portfolio, tucked it under an arm, finger-raked his hair back, and pushed from the leather seat. He let himself into the large house and kicked off his shoes.