Roped
Readers love SJD Peterson’s
Pony
“Love this book, love the series, love the author… that’s just a whole heap of love pouring out of me for this latest instalment in the Guards of Folsom series.”
—Sinfully Sexy Books
“I enjoyed this addition to the series and thought it went in ways that I didn’t quite expect. I can’t wait to see which kink is up next!”
—Guilty Indulgence Romance Review
“I am a huge fan of the Guards of Folsom series by SJD Peterson, and I think this is my favorite book so far. It is a story that manages to be warm and romantic, while at the same time being totally hot and sexy.”
—Joyfully Jay
“One of the things I love about this author’s writing is just how vividly the characters come to life. They seem like real people that you truly grow to care for. I love this series and love this author’s work.”
—Hearts on Fire
“I was captivated by this third installment in the series and am now lusting after more. Thank you, again, to the incredible author, Jo Peterson, for giving voices to my guys and another beautiful love story for me to enjoy.”
—Rainbow Book Reviews
“For me this was perhaps the best in the series. It had it all, the kinks, the awesome couple, the hot mind-blowing scenes, and joy. Yup, that’s mostly my favorite part, the fact that it made me have this stupid grin on my face during the entire read.”
—MM Good Book Reviews
“The third installment in the Guards of Folsom series, and it totally renewed my love for the series…. I’d say this was the best Folsom book to date!”
—3 Chicks After Dark
By
SJD P
ETERSON
Beyond Duty*
Leon
Masters & Boyd
Plan B*
Tuck & Cover
W
HISPERING
P
INES
R
ANCH
Lorcan’s Desire*
Quinn’s Need*
Ty’s Obsession*
Conner’s Courage*
Jess’s Journey*
Riveted (short story)
G
UARDS
OF
F
OLSOM
Pup*
Tag Team*
Pony*
Roped*
*Available in paperback
Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW
Suite 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886
USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Roped
© 2014 SJD Peterson.
Cover Art
© 2014 Paul Richmond.
http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.
ISBN: 978-1-62798-919-0
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-920-6
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
May 2014
Born of blood and violence and the mind of S.A. McAuley.
Love ya, Boo!
Ludacris—Growing Pains
Judas Priest—Turbo Lover
Three Days Grace—Pain
Greg Holden—The Lost Boy
Joshua James—Coal War
Secondhand Serenade—A Twist In My Story
Anthrax—Madhouse
Incubus—Drive
Molly Hatchet—Flirtin’ With Disaster
Alice Cooper—I’m Eighteen
Rock Riot—Carry On Wayward Son
Johnny Cash—Hurt
Oasis—Wonderwall
Scorpions—Rock You Like A Hurricane
Alice Cooper—Poison
The Goo Goo Dolls—Iris
AC/DC—Highway To Hell
Mötley Crüe—Shout At The Devil
Five Finger Death Punch—Bad Company
Life has been known by a series of constants: violence, anger, drugs, sex, death, heartbreak, pain, fear, and, the most common, hunger. Always hunger. Not the kind that can be satisfied with food, but the kind born of circumstance. The kind that not only claws within a gut, but settles into a heart, consumes a mind. Deeper—encircles, penetrates the soul. Hunger for something more, something better, safer. Always just out of grasp—craving—starved.
It’s part of me.
Who I am.
Born of blood and violence, hunger is my fate.
Yet, the slightest things can change the directions of a life. An unplanned circumstance, random act—a connection—a chance event, like a lightning strike, fate is trumped.
Jamie is my lightning strike.
Tek Cain
A child is born, brought into the world as a lump of clay. Each hand that touches it, marks it, molds it, creates life. Some of those hands are talented, working the clay as it spins slowly on the wheel into beautiful shapes, flowing lines—art. Other less than talented hands slide awkwardly along the clay, trying over and over to add something good and whole to the piece. Fumbling fingers with good intentions leave their imperfections behind. Yet somehow, these blemishes, these mistakes, add to the uniqueness and yes, the beauty of the art. Then there are those who only wish to defile, destroy. They dig their fingers into the wet clay creating deep, ugly imprints, mangled globs of mud with no shape, no purpose, and no form. But the wheel keeps spinning; new hands begin to work the clay back into some semblance of order, talented hands, good hands. The clay can never be as it was originally, it’s irrevocably changed, but art and beauty can still be created.
By the time I was thirteen, I had been touched, shaped, and molded by all three types of hands. I had been touched numerous times by the fingers whose sole purpose was to defile and destroy. In my young life, I had seen evil, been touched by evil, molded by evil, but there were always new hands.
Good hands.
Talented hands.
Jamie’s hands.
Tek Cain
G
UNNER
C
AIN
pulled his arm back, aimed carefully toward the window on the second floor, and let the pebble fly. He waited. Hiding in the shadows of the bushes that surrounded the Cape Cod-style home, Gunner felt his heart hammering in his chest, seconds were like hours.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.
If he were caught sneaking out of the house again, his stepdad would put a boot in his ass sideways. Worse, they were going to miss all the action. Gunner shifted from foot to foot and the muscle in his cheek twitched, the nervousness and excitement not allowing him to hold still.
With a huff, Gunner reached down and grabbed a handful of small rocks, pulled his arm back and—
The window opened and a head full of shaggy brown hair popped out followed by the scowling face of his best friend, James Ryan. Most everyone called him James, Jim, Jimmy, or Junior, but Gunner called him Jamie. Gunner was the only one allowed to call him Jamie.
“Gunner?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, tossing the rocks to the ground and wiping the dirt on his jeans. “It’s me. Get your ass down here.”
“No way,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t sit down for a week the last time I let you talk me into sneaking out.”
Damn, his friend could be dramatic as a bunch of sissy girls. “It was only a day, you pansy ass,” he hissed. Gunner rolled his eyes. He’d had his own difficulties with sitting after his stepdad had been done tearing up his ass with a belt, but he wasn’t going to let that deter him. “Now get down here. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
Gunner didn’t answer, simply crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot with impatience. Jamie hesitated, his expression unsure, but Gunner had no doubt Jamie would come. And he better hurry it up or they were going to miss the show.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Jamie glanced behind him and then whispered, “I’ll meet you on the back porch.”
Gunner smiled and moved back into the shadows. He made his way around the side of the house, being careful not to bump into the garbage cans, and peeked around the corner. Satisfied the coast was clear, he moved to the porch and waited.
With only a small squeak from the hinges of the screen door, Jamie stepped out onto the porch in a white T-shirt, running shorts, and tennis shoes in hand. He gave Gunner an exasperated look but jumped off the porch, avoiding the steps—the stairs creaked too loudly.