Make Me (The Fox Family Crime Syndicate, #1)

by Summer O'Toole

They called him the June Harbor Slayer.

“Here’s the thing, Harlow. The man you saw is Cash Fox. He owns Peaches and The Fox’s Den and

various other establishments in the city.”

He was Beth’s boss for Christ’s sake.

“You are still just a witness who thinks she saw something that an alibi proves is impossible.”

Well, fuck. Looks like I’m going to be hunting down a serial killer all by myself.

“I hope you’re praying to the same God that left my father to hemorrhage alone for twelve long hours, because that son of a bitch never picks up.”

Though she shouldn’t be. Watching her has been the most fun I’ve had in days.

I don’t care about being an addict if she is my drug.

I can’t be her knight. But I can be her king.

It’s amazing how committed she is to these shitty disguises.

My cock aches to know what she smells like, tastes like. Does she scream uninhibited and wild when she fucks, or does she stifle sweet,

little moans until she shatters?

It’s her. It’s always her.

The weird fluttering feeling low in my stomach—that I’m starting to learn is in fact metaphorical butterflies—happens again. I know this because I googled it to make sure there wasn’t anything medically wrong

with me. “Actually, she’s stalking me.”

“And tell the pretty lady about to come in and order that you’re out of bowls. Make sure she orders a cone.”

“You got it, sir.”

I figured she isn’t interested in sleeping with me…yet.

She’s more interested in what

I’m doing than who I’m doing. My main guess is she thinks I killed ...

And if I’m being honest, I just really fucking wanted to see her full, pink lips wrap around an ice cream

cone.

Even if the fake wasn’t total crap—she should have come to me if she wanted one worth her money—I would never believe such an ordinary name for such an extraordinary girl.

Whatever her name is, she took my bait.

Good girl.

Only that isn’t really true, though, is it? I can’t steal something that’s already mine.

This man is powerful. I knew this on paper, but there’s a difference between knowing something is true and feeling it’s true. His presence alone seems to suck all the air from the room,

“People say that a lot. I guess I just have an extremely average face.”

“There is nothing average about you.”

“You shouldn’t talk down to yourself like that.”

“I’m not your boss either. I’m your goddamn king, and you’ll

show some fucking respect when you’re in my kingdom.”

“You didn’t have to do that. He’s not the first man to speak out of his ass. Ask any woman.”

“But you’re not any woman, are you?”

“And I always protect what’s mine.”

“Yours? Like your employee?”

“Sure, a chuisle,”

“You could say that.”

And something else I can’t quite name because I realize that no one has stood up for me like that. Until Cash Fox.

And right now I hate my body because I have to spend the rest of my shift in soaked panties because of its traitorous reaction to a serial killer.

“That table is reserved for us.”

“Me and my brothers. Only. Ever. Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming in here with a tight ass and pretty face, thinking the rules

don’t apply t...

“You’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

“You’re just a fucking tease.”

“What should I do with you?”

“I should bend you over this table right now and teach you a fucking lesson on respect.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because, a chuisle, the