Rogue

Katy Evans’s
USA Today
and
New York Times
bestselling series strips away everything you’ve ever believed about passion—and asks the dangerously enticing question, “How REAL is what you feel?”

Praise for Katy Evans and

REAL

Remington Tate, the unstoppable bad boy of the Underground fighting circuit has finally met his match . . . in Brooke Dumas.

“SWEET, SCARY, UNFULFILLING, FULFILLING, SMEXY, HEARTBREAKING, CRAZY, INTENSE, BEAUTIFUL—OH, DID I MENTION HOT?!”

—
Reality Bites

“I have a new book crush, and his name is Remington Tate.”

—
Martini Times

“Remy is the king of the alpha-males.”

—
Romance Addiction

“Addicting. . . . A scorching debut.”

—Christina Lauren, author of the Beautiful Bastard series

“I loved this book. As in, I couldn’t stop talking about it.”

—
Dear Author

“Kudos are in order for Ms. Evans for taking writing to a whole new level. She makes you FEEL every single word you read.”

—
Reality Bites

“Remy was complex and his story broke my heart . . . made me cry! Katy Evans had me on the edge of my seat through the whole story. . . . Without a doubt I absolutely fell in total LOVE with Remy.”

—
Totally Booked

“Edgy, angsty, and saturated with palpable tension and incendiary sex, this tale packs an emotional wallop. . . .”

—
Library Journal

“Unlike anything I’ve ever read before. [A] love story that has to be experienced because until you do, you just won’t get it . . . one roller-coaster ride that you’ll never forget!”

—
Books over Boys

“Some books are special. . . . What a rare gift for an author to be able to actually wrap your arms around your readers and hold them. Katy Evans does just that.”

—
SubClub Books

MINE

Just when Brooke and Remy need each other the most, she is torn away from the ringside.

“STEAMY, SEXY, INTENSE, AND EROTIC,
MINE
IS ONE THAT WILL HAVE YOU HANGING OFF THE ROPES. AND BEGGING FOR MORE.”

—Alice Clayton,
USA Today
bestselling author of
Wallbanger

“Wow—Katy Evans is one to watch.”

—
Wicked Little Pixie

REMY

What moves a man as complex as Remington Tate? Let him tell you in his own words. . . .

“SEDUCTIVE, WILD, AND VISCERAL.”

—Christina Lauren

“Reading this book is like the best foreplay ever. The sexual tension was incredible. . . . I’ll follow Remington Tate to the ends of the earth.”

—Emme Rollins

Thank you for downloading this Gallery Books eBook.

Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Gallery Books and Simon & Schuster.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

to dreams coming true
and to CeCe, a dream come true

Rogue:

noun

Someone without principle; a person, esp a man, who’s not what he seems. A scoundrel.

verb

To deceive

Destroy

Act like a rogue

adjective

Not belonging, such as a man who doesn’t belong. Renegade, with savagery, and unpredictable, such as one who deviates from the norm; example, a rogue cop. Or maybe even a rogue prince charming . . .

ROGUE PLAYLIST

“WAITING FOR SUPERMAN” by Daughtry

“THE HAUNTED MAN” by Bat for Lashes

“STORY OF MY LIFE” by One Direction

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN” by Lana Del Rey

“DARK HORSE” by Katy Perry

“GRAVITY” by Alex & Sierra

“HOME” by Daughtry

“XO” by Beyoncé

“SAY SOMETHING” by Alex & Sierra

“THE LAST SONG EVER” by Secondhand Serenade

“THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE” by Armin Van Buuren

ONE

ZERO

Greyson

I
’ve got my dick buried inches deep in a mewling woman’s cunt when I first become aware of the click of my front door. I pull out and grab a handful of bedsheets, toss them over to her, and she moans in protest over being without my dick anymore.

“Cover up, sugar, you have three seconds . . .”

Two.

One.

The first to materialize in my door is Derek. “Your father wants you.” Next to him is my asshole half brother, Wyatt, and he looks none too pleased to see me. What can I say? It’s mutual. I jump into my jeans. “He sent two of you?” I ask, almost laughing. “If I were a girl, I guess this would be the part where my feelings get hurt.”

Both men walk into the room, checking out the territory with quick flicks of their eyes. They don’t see me coming. In less than a second, I’ve got Derek pinned up against the wall and I’ve got Wyatt in a choke hold. I spin them to face the door as I watch the rest of the men shuffle in. Seven of them, plus the two squirming in my hold. The nine-member squad composes the Underground enforcing committee led by my father—every man here with a
different level of skills. None, not a single one of them, as skilled as
I.

“You know damn well if it involved you, it’d be a nine-man mission,” Eric Slater, my father’s brother and right hand, says as he steps inside. Eric is stern, silent, and dangerous. He’s my uncle and the closest thing to a dad I had growing up. He taught me to live among my father’s private little mob—no, not live. He taught me to survive. To take my circumstances and thrive. Because of him, I grew smarter, stronger, meaner. I learned whatever there was to learn, multiplied by the billionth power. The power of kill or be killed.
Doesn’t matter if you’ll use the skill, it’s an insurance. Ever heard of insurances, boy? People who have insurances rarely use them. It’s those who don’t have shit who end up needing one. See that arrow? Use it. See that knife? Wield it, fling it, learn how to use the least amount of effort to do the most amount of damage. . . .

I’ve got all kinds of insurances. My entire mind is a computer programmed to think the worst of a situation, all in less than a second. Right now, I know for a fact all these men are armed. Some of them carry two weapons, under their socks, at the small of their backs, or in the front flaps of their jackets. Eric watches my eyes scan each and every one of them, and he smiles, clearly proud of me. He opens his jacket and looks down at the gun on his hip. “You want to touch my piece? Here you go, Grey.” He pulls it out and extends it, the barrel in his hand.

I let go of the two men in my grasp when I sense Wyatt is about two seconds from passing out. I pull them back, then with a shove send them smashing against the wall. “I don’t give a shit what he wants to say to me,” I state.

Eric looks around my bedroom. My apartment is perfectly clean. I don’t do mess. I have a reputation and I like hearing a pin drop . . . the reason I heard these assholes enter my studio loft in the first place. “Still banging these whores? With that fucking face, you can get a goddess, Grey.”

He eyes the woman in my bed. She’s no masterpiece, true, but she looks just fine pressed down against the mattress with her ass in the air, and she expects absolutely nothing of me except money. Money I can give. Money and cock, both of which I have in abundance.

I grab the dress on the floor and toss it to the whore. “Time to get out and go home, sweetheart.” Then to Eric: “My answer is no.”

I peel off a couple of bills from a stack on my nightstand and push them into the whore’s extended hand. She makes a big show out of rolling them into her bra, and the men part to let her pass, some of them whistling while she flips them off.

Eric comes closer to me and lowers his voice. “He’s got leukemia, Greyson. He needs to pass on the reins to his son.”

“Don’t look at me like I can feel pity anymore.”

“He’s got the act cleaned up. No more killing. All the businesses are strictly financial now. We’ve no more open enemies. The Underground is quite a successful enterprise, and he wants to officially pass it on to his son. Are you that cold blooded you’d deny him his last request?”

“What can I say, his blood runs through my veins.” I grab a black T-shirt and jerk it on, not out of modesty, but so that I can start loading up my babies. My Glock, a Ka-Bar, two smaller knives, two silver stars.

“Boy . . .” He steps to me, and I meet his lone dark eye—not the fake one. I haven’t seen him in several years. He’s the one who taught me how to use a .38 Special. “He’s dying,” he stresses meaningfully, curling his hand over my shoulder. “It won’t be long. He’s got six months, if not less.”

“I’m surprised he thought I’d care.”

“Maybe when you’re done womanizing, you’ll start to care.
We
”
—
he points at the men in the room—“want
you
to be the one who takes control. We’ll be loyal to you.”

I cross my arms and look at my half brother, Wyatt, the “Whiz”—my father’s pet. “As long as I’m his lapdog and do as he says? No thanks.”

“We’ll be loyal to
you
,” he stresses. “Only you.”

He jerks his head toward the guys. One of them cuts the center of his palm. Soon they all follow.

Blood starts dripping on my floor.

Eric ducks his head and slices his own palm. “We’re pledging to you.” He holds out his bleeding hand.

“I’m not your leader,” I say.

“You will be our leader when you realize your father is finally willing to reveal your mother’s location.”

Ice spreads through my veins, and my voice hardens as Eric mentions her. “What do you know about my mother?”

“He knows where she is, and it’ll die with him if you don’t come with us. Morphine makes him delusional. We need you back, Greyson.”

My face reveals nothing of the turmoil I feel. My mother. The only good I remember. I’ll never forget the look on her face when I made my first kill. Right in front of her, I lost my humanity and let my mother see that her son had turned into an animal. “Where is he?” I growl out.

“He’s flying to a fight location; we have a plane ready to meet him there.”

I shove things into a black duffel. A laptop. More weapons. When you deal with my father, you can’t deal with him straight. My father taught me to be crooked. Guess I learned from the best. I grab my Leatherman tool knife, cut deeply into my palm, and slam it into Eric’s hand, our bloods meshing. “Until we find her,” I whisper. The other men come over and shake hands with me.

I search their eyes and make sure they meet my stare. There’s a threat in my gaze and I know that if they know me, they’ll heed it.

No matter what words are spoken, what acts are committed, I never, ever take my eyes off someone else’s. The way they flick to the left or to the right, a tiny flicker, tells me more than when I hack into someone’s computer. But I do that too.

I trust no one. My right hand does not trust my left. But as the most powerful of the nine men I’m faced with, the one I least trust is Eric Slater. As it happens, he’s the one I most care about too. He and my friend C. C. Hamilton—but C.C.’s been visiting me even after I left, secretly helping me track my mother. I trust him as far as I could ever trust a human being. Which still means I interrogate the crap out of him every time he comes in. I can never be sure if my father knows he’s meeting me.

Hell, even with the blood oath, I’m going to have to test each and every one of these men’s loyalties before they can get any semblance of trust from me.

♥  ♥  ♥

NOW, AN AIRPLANE flight later, we find my father in a closed room wired with cameras, in the Los Angeles Underground. The Underground is our livelihood. A place where fighters square off against each other every season, two or three times a week. We organize events, sell tickets, program the fights in warehouses, bars, parking lots—wherever we can get the people in and get a good deal. The tickets alone make us a fortune. But the gambling on the side makes us ten times more.