Jose's Surrender

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.

If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to [email protected]

This book is written in US English.

PUBLISHER

www.SPSilverPublishing.com

Note from the Publisher

Dear Reader,

Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.

Please remember that the only money authors make from writing comes from the sales of their books. If you like their work, spread the word and tell others about the books, but please refrain from sharing this book in any form.

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Publisher

Silver Publishing

http://www.spsilverpublishing.com

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 groan, 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

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