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  Rough and Real

  Copyright © 2017 by Hayley Faiman

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. 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.

  Editor: Ellie McLove, Love N books

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  table of contents

  Title Page

  copyright

  epigraph

  dedication

  special thanks

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  epilogue

  Rough & Risky

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  also by Hayley Faiman

  about the author

  “The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection.”

  Thomas Paine

  For Tammy Cole—

  You are real. Thank you so much for being a great friend. I appreciate you.

  I’m going to do this a bit differently, because this is the very last Notorious Devils book in the series. I have so many people that I need to thank for this. So many, that I think it would be daunting to sit and write them all down. I am humbled by the amount of people that have no only fallen in love with this series, but have also told their friends about it as well. Never, not ever in my life did I think that I would be where I am right now, in this moment.

  I always thank my husband, because he is the amazing man behind the way I’ve fulfilled my dreams. He supports me in every single move, that I’ve ever made.

  My mother, is much of the same. She has been amazing, and not only that, she helps proofread every single book of mine. Nobody could ask for a friend quite like her in their life.

  Tammy and Crystal, absolutely beautiful from the inside-out, in every way. I appreciate their devoted friendship.

  Celia. Thank you for always standing behind me and most importantly next to me, as an example of true love and friendship, that will always be.

  Ellie McLove. I appreciate you, all of you. Thank you for giving me the confidence in this story that I was lacking. You are outstanding, and I’m excited for everything to come.

  Cassy Roop. Another amazing cover, but the series, an entire series that to me is completely stunning. It wouldn’t be without your amazing skills.

  Stacey Blake, thank you for giving the inside the details it needs, and always taking the time to make them so beautiful! I appreciate it completely!

  Enticing Journey, Ena and Amanda, you are such an invaluable part of every release, and I truly appreciate all of your hard work!

  Harper Sloan, your support has been nothing less than amazing. I appreciate your kind words, and you!!

  A special thank you to my reader group, Hayley’s Asshole Alpha’s, you babes are simply amazing. Thank you for all of the laughs, and for giving me a place to tell you all of the exciting things coming your way!!

  All of the reader babes, and blogger babes. THANK YOU. Always. You are amazing, in every way. I wouldn’t be where I am, I wouldn’t be living my absolute dream, if it weren’t for all of you. I hope that you enjoy the finale to the Notorious Devils.

  It is official.

  I’ve let myself go.

  I know it. My husband, West, knows it. Hell, the entire Notorious Devils club, including the whores, know it, too. I see the way they dismiss me as their eyes always lock onto my husband’s.

  My Old Man is hot.

  He’s been mine since I was twenty-one years old. Now, fifteen years later, I think he looks even better than he did the day I met him. Unfortunately, time hasn’t been as kind to me. Three children, twenty pounds, and the overall mom-look isn’t a gorgeous sight to behold when you look at yourself in the mirror.

  It doesn’t help that I’d overheard West talking about me just last night. I guess he didn’t realize that the bedroom window was open. He was outside talking to one of his brothers, a newer guy they call Tinker, who had been telling West that he was thinking of making some girl his Old Lady.

  “Don’t do it, brother,” West chuckled.

  “Why’s that? You got an Old Lady,” Tinker points out.

  “Yeah, few years down the road, after a few kids, they let themselves go, man. That sexy as fuck bitch that’s on the back of your bike, now? She’s gonna be a member of the PTA in mom jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, carrying around an extra thirty pounds from kid number three that she’s too fuckin’ lazy to lose,” West states.

  I sat in our bedroom, the bedroom where we made our youngest son, and I cried. That was last night. Today, I make a change, and not for him—for me.

  I didn’t know he thought of me that way. How could I? Certainly, not when he told me, more often than not, that he loved the curves of my body, knowing his babies put them there, while he fucked me.

  West and I aren’t perfect. We’re married. We argue. We’ve gone through weird moments off and on throughout our marriage, but what we never have done is go through dry spells. I’ve never once worried that my husband is fucking whores at the clubhouse, not once. Until now.

  We have sex almost every single night of the week. Exhausted or not, I always make time for my man. After hearing him talk to his brother last night, now I’m not so sure. That conversation alone makes me question everything about us.

  “Finley is picking me up and we’re going to the mall,” Rosalie, our thirteen-year-old daughter states from the doorway.

  Finley is the president of the Notorious Devils’, MadDog’s, sixteen-year-old daughter. “Is Bailey joining you?” I ask, speaking of the youngest Duhart kid, a thirteen-year-old boy—a boy my daughter is very much in puppy love with. She blushes slightly and nods. I sigh, knowing this day was coming, yet never truly ready for it. My brown haired, blue eyed daughter is growing up.

  “Have fun. Be home by dinnertime,” I murmur.

  “Thanks, Mom, you’re the best,” she squeals as she runs in
to give me a quick hug.

  A few minutes later, Remi, our ten-year-old son, and Reid, our eight-year-old son, come rushing into my bedroom. They ask if they can go two houses down to their cousins’ to play Legos.

  One of West’s sisters lives two houses down from us. His other sister lives across the street, and his mother lives three houses down in the opposite direction.

  Some days, I enjoy his family being so close, especially since my only family is my brother, Barry. Other days, I want them to stay out of my business.

  With the children out of the house, I decide to go online and research gyms and trainers. No more feeling shitty about myself. No more hearing my own husband tell his friends about my supposed thirty-pound weight gain, even though it’s only twenty—no fucking more.

  I call the gym and the trainer has an opening right away, so I text my sister-in-law to let her know that I have an errand to run and I leave. If I’m going to do this, I need to just go and handle it immediately. If I wait around, I’ll overthink it and avoid it.

  Once I arrive at the gym, I let the front desk know that I’m here and wait for the trainer. He arrives, and I try so hard to keep from letting my mouth fall to the floor. He isn’t much younger than me, maybe five years, but he’s ripped, totally and completely ripped. Immediately, I want to turn and run.

  “Ivy?” he asks, his voice softer than I imagined it would be. I stand and take his outstretched hand. “I’m Chad.”

  He tells me to follow him into his office and we talk. He asks me about my health, about my fitness level—which is pathetic—then he weighs and measures me. When I see the numbers, it makes me sick to my stomach.

  How did I let this happen?

  “Don’t stress, Ivy. You are not in bad shape. I’ve seen so much worse. I predict in just a few weeks, if you follow the plan we set forth today, you’re going to see a drastic change. Let’s talk about your goals,” Chad smiles.

  I leave the gym with a workout schedule and a food plan. Our first session starts at eight o’clock tomorrow morning when the kids are in school and West is gone, doing whatever it is he does all day long.

  This is the chance for me to better myself, to change my body and to love myself. Maybe my husband will look at me the way he did when we first met each other all those years ago. The way he would watch me from the window, when I worked in this little dessert bar downtown. Carlotta’s.

  I lift my chin to Tinker, who is curled on the sofa in the bar with his woman. I shake my head, knowing he’s going to make her his Old Lady. She’s a nice girl, but I can tell that she’s into him for one reason, and one reason only. For a brand.

  After fifteen years in the club life, I can spot the girls like her from a mile away. I tried to warn him off of her the only way I knew how. I told him she was going to get fat and lazy if he branded her. She probably will, too; she’s the type. I curl my lip and make my way toward the Pres’ office.

  “You are absolutely not going to that college. It’s nothing but a party school,” I hear him growl.

  I can only imagine he’s talking to his oldest daughter, Riley. She’s got it in her head that she wants to go to Chico State, and no way in fuck is her father gonna allow that shit.

  “Daddy, all my friends are going, and I’ll be so close to home,” she whines.

  “No, and that’s final,” MadDog’s voice booms.

  A few seconds later, an emotional teenager flies out of his office and past me.

  “Don’t laugh. You’re fuckin’ next,” MadDog growls as I walk into his office and close the door.

  “Don’t I know it. Rosalie is already all starry-eyed over Bailey. I’m definitely not ready for that shit.”

  “Fuck,” MadDog grunts. “I don’t know what’s worse, trying to keep all the dicks away from my girls, or trying to keep my son’s dick from going after all the girls,” he rumbles.

  “He better keep his little pecker to himself,” I state, giving him a hard look.

  MadDog laughs and shakes his head. “Kids, man, who the fuck said we should do this shit? I’m too goddamn old,” he murmurs.

  “I recall you telling Mary you wanted one more after Bailey was born and she put her foot down,” I say, arching a brow.

  “Bullshit,” he barks. I can’t help but laugh.

  We shoot the shit for a while and then we stand and head to church together. We have a meeting today. As a group, we have some important decisions to make about the future of the club.

  Unfortunately, there have been murmurings of another club trying to start shit and hone in on our territories, a new club that we don’t know much about. Hopefully, Soar and Torch have some more information about it since they’ve had a week to dig some shit up.

  I pass by Grease, my brother-in-law, who gives me a chin lift. I grin at him as I continue on my way. I’ve been in love with his sister for fifteen years. Though he hated me for it at first, we’ve handled our differences. Now, we’re not just brothers, we’re friends.

  My mind quickly drifts to my wife. She’s not the same person now as the day I met her. Time has changed her, it’s changed us. She’s a mother to three kids, and she’s damn good at it. She handles our house, the kids—and at night, she handles me.

  But lately, I feel like we’re in a complete rut. I don’t know how to change that. We aren’t spontaneous, we can’t be as parents. And our sex life, while it’s consistent, it’s a little boring. It fucking kills me to even think that.

  I pass by the free-for-all room and I pause. There’s a couple prospects fucking one of the whores, together. She’s on her hands and knees, sucking one cock, while another fucks her from behind. I watch.

  This seems to be where I’ve been finding myself more often than anywhere else. I shouldn’t even look, but I can’t fucking help myself—it’s sexy as shit.

  “Let’s get this meeting started,” MadDog announces breaking me of my thoughts.

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  “One more, you can do it,” Chad shouts.

  I growl at him, but I do what he asks me to, one more burpee. Fuck Chad and his fit self. I hate him. He laughs and it makes me hate him even more. When I’m back on my feet, I grab my towel from the bench and wipe the sweat from my face.

  Smiling, Chad reaches out and tugs on my ponytail. “Don’t hate me,” he says, giving me a mock pouty lip.

  “I do,” I state.

  He chuckles, “You know, me and Brian are going out tonight for my birthday. Please say you’ll come,” he all but begs. I start to shake my head, but he puts his hand up. “I don’t want any excuses. We’re going to Bullseye, be there at nine.”

  “I’ll try,” I lie.

  Chad gives me a disapproving look. I turn around and head toward the locker rooms. Chad is my totally ripped trainer. I’ve been seeing him for the past three months, and he is amazing. His boyfriend, Brian, owns the gym and as much time as I’ve been spending down here recently, they’ve both become friends. It’s been nice having people outside of my family, West’s family, or the clubhouse to be around. People that don’t know everything about my life, and people who don’t expect me to act a certain way.

  Grabbing my phone from my bag I check my notifications and frown when I see a missed call from West. He never calls me, ever. And lately, I hardly even see him.

  I don’t listen to the voicemail he left, returning his call immediately as I hitch my bag over my shoulder and head out of the gym. I give Chad, who is already with another client, a wave and make my way toward my SUV.

  “Where the fuck are you?” West barks in my ear.

  My hand shakes as I throw my bag into the back seat. Reaching for the door handle, I calmly reply, telling him that I’m just leaving the gym. “Get the fuck home,” he barks before he ends the call.

  A shiver crawls up my spine. West can be a hard ass, he can be controlling, and he can be quick to temper. However, he’s never been the kind of man to jump to conclusions or to yell at me over nothing. I wonder if th
ere is something happening with the club? That is the only reason I could think of that would have him so upset with me, maybe it’s just stress.

  He’s been a bit on edge and distant lately, but I’ve just attributed that to something happening in the club. He doesn’t bring that part of his life home with him. A decision he made when we had our daughter, Rosalie, thirteen years ago. That doesn’t mean that I’ve stayed completely in the dark.

  I know that he’s the Road Captain of their club, but not much else, anymore. I try to find out what I can from other Old Ladies because I’m not someone who enjoys being in the dark—ever. The last thing I want is to look like a fool. However, the past few months I’ve had this niggling feeling that I’ve been looking just that way—like a fool.

  Driving home my hands continue to shake. I need to calm down. Whatever it is that’s got him all riled up, I have no doubt that it will be something we can talk through, and that I’ll be able to talk him down. I’m just nervous because this behavior from him is different.

  In fact, a lot of his behavior as of late is different. Then again, so is mine. I sincerely hope that we’re not drifting apart, but as the days tick by, it’s becoming more and more apparent that we are. I don’t know what to do to fix it, either.

  I feel like if I grab on too tightly to him, he’ll push me away. He’s not the kind of man who appreciates a clingy woman. I’m not the kind of woman who usually clings, either.

  Pulling up to our driveway, I don’t bother inching inside of the garage. Instead, I shift my SUV into park and slide out of the car. Leaving my bag in the backseat, I only take my keys, and phone, with me. Its only ten in the morning. All of the kids have been at school since seven-thirty, and I’ve been at the gym for the past two hours.

  Maybe I’m becoming a little obsessed with working out, but the results have been amazing. I’ve dropped four dress sizes in three months. I can’t remember the last time I wore a single digit size before now, and although dropping those inches and pounds meant losing some boob and booty, I really don’t mind. I’m firm and tone, another thing I haven’t been in years.