Wicked Bad Boys - Bella Love-Wins

Part 1

Bella Love-Wins


The valet looks on in horror as he catches sight of a young woman on the floor of the luxury condo parking elevator. It’s the end of his first shift. He’s damned if this gets him in trouble. It’s the best gig he’s had since he left his trailer park in Arkansas and hopped on the bus to New York City.

He looks down. He studies her for a moment. She’s dressed in a skin tight blue dress, and stilettos that can kill. There’s a needle in her arm. She’s in a pool of her own blood, eyes rolled back in her head. He takes out his cell phone and calls the concierge desk.

“Hey man, I think there’s a dead body down here in the green elevator on the P three.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman. Pretty. Young, maybe 19 or 20.”

“Do you recognize her from the building?”

“Never seen her before.”

“Call 911 from your phone.”

“Why from my phone?”

“Because you fucking found her. I’ll get the security manager to come down. He’ll probably pull the security tapes for the cops…and Nick?”


“Next time, call the cops yourself and don’t fucking get me involved. Got that?”

“Um, yeah.”

Nick hears the phone slam down on the other end, and calls 9-1-1 next.

Chapter 1 - Jonathan

My dad only calls me for three reasons. First, when he’s sick of the board of directors giving him hell for some crap decision he makes that bleeds money out of Sloan Sports and Entertainment. Second, when it’s my birthday. The man loves to celebrate shit. He’d probably celebrate waking up in the morning if he could. Third, when he’s in a bind.

It’s Saturday morning, and I’m getting ready to hit the gym when I see his number come up on my phone. That only means one thing—he’s with a call girl or one of his eclectic, artsy girlfriends who lives in the village on Friday night, and something goes wrong. I don’t know why he can’t find some other poor fuck, and have them clean up his mess. But no, I’m his kid. That’s what I was born to do. I know where I stand. So I brace myself and pick up the phone, because it’s some shit going down.

“Yes, Dad.”

“I need you over here at the Fifth Street condo now.”

“What Fifth Street condo?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jonathan.”

I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I let him stew a little. Sloan Sports and Entertainment, contrary to the company name, has many real estate holdings. The one on Fifth Street is an entire floor of seven luxury condos he set aside for visiting executives and other guests. There’s a special one he keeps for MMA sparring with his top guys, or his play time with the call girls.

“Okay, what do you need me there for?”

“There was another accident. I need you to cover for me.”

“What kind of accident, Dad? A harder than expected beat-down kind of accident, or a dead hooker?”

“Call girl, Jonathan. You know I don’t mess with hookers. Anyway, she’s really young, and probably dead, except she got away and might be in the building bleeding out somewhere.”

“What? So what do you need from me?”

“Alibi. Maybe a cleanup if no one’s found her yet.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Dad, can’t you hire someone for this shit? I thought you said that redhead was the last one?”

“Watch your mouth, boy. I’m still your old man, and I’m the one who got you where you are now. You think you’d be a Senior VP at Fairchild’s at twenty-six if it wasn’t for me? Now put your ass in gear and get over here.”