Stripped Bounty

“
U
nworthy Heart
reminded
me of what I love about the romance genre.”—The Book Tart

“
U
nworthy Heart
by Dorothy F. Shaw made me think, made my heart happy, made me tear up and made me sigh in happiness. Shaw combines heat with heart almost flawlessly. I cannot wait for the follow-up books in this series.”—Romance Novel Reviews

“[
D
orothy’s
] writing style is liquid, allowing the reader to easily drop into the story and intake it all.”—Ramblings of a Young PR Girl on
Unworthy Heart

“…
a
n excellent piece of work
, but then again, everything Dorothy writes is.”—Deneale’s Book Buzz on
Unworthy Heart

“
I
f
Unworthy Heart
is any indication to what we can expect in The Donnellys series, then we should be in for a lot of enjoyment…You won’t want to miss out on this remarkable family.”—Beyond the Valley of the Books

“
I
fell
in love with the series from book one…Grab your copy and buckle up for the ride. Dorothy Shaw doesn’t do anything half way.”—Beyond the Valley of the Books on
Defensive Heart

“
H
oly smokes can
Dorothy Shaw write a freaking awesome sex scene…”—Wicked Good Reads on
Defensive Heart

“
D
efensive Heart
by Dorothy F. Shaw
is a good read which gives credence to the statement that opposites do attract.”—Harlequin Junkie

“
D
efensive Heart
is
a book that will make readers stop and think.”—Romance Novel News

“
A
s usual Dorothy
gives you a real life perspective. Definitely worth the read, and truly enjoyable.”—Deneale’s Book Buzz on
Defensive Heart

“
E
ven though there
is plenty of sex in 
Shattered Heart
, the author does not neglect the storyline at all – packing it full of romance, danger, trauma, healing, laughs, and the Donnelly family.”—Crystal’s Many Reviewers

“
S
hattered Heart 
is
an emotional tear jerker of a romance that had me reaching for the tissues on more than one occasion.”—Romance Novel News

“
A
nd this woman
can put love, sex, and passion in every word, and make you feel the wind blow across your face if she writes it to do so. Trust me. Dorothy F. Shaw is and always will be, an amazing writer.”—Deneale’s Book Buzz on
Shattered Heart

“
S
hane and Cyn’s
journey to each other is at times incredibly frustrating, sweetly touching, laugh out loud funny and burn up the sheets sexy.”—Got Romance Reviews on
Shattered Heart

P
rotecting her isn’t an option
. It’s a requirement.

B
adger finally got
Rosie in his bed, but in order to keep her there, he has to figure out how to save her life. 

A
fter her drug
-running husband gets himself killed, Rosie Santini figures Phoenix is a fine place to get a fresh start. Deuce’s strip club isn’t too fresh, but the money’s easy. As she works the pole, the only gaze she can’t ignore belongs to the club’s head bouncer, Badger Baxter. But Rosie’s seen her fair share of tall, dark, and dangerous, and no way is she heading down that road. Not even for a hot hunk of muscle like Badger.

W
hen he’s not
bounty hunting, Badger runs security at Deuce’s. Rosie should be just another piece of fresh meat in the club’s stable of pole jockeys, but all her sexy parts add up to a ride Badger would like to test drive. Trouble is, Badger likes his women submissive, but not broken. She’s definitely got baggage he wants no part of. But when her husband’s killer shows up looking for stolen cash, she fits naturally under his protection—and it isn’t long before she’s hooked deep into his heart.

S
o deep
, losing her now would make him bleed in more ways than one.

W
arning
:
This book contains violent situations due to physical altercations and gunfire. Be on the look out for D/s sexual play, which may cause drooling and might have you reaching for the nearest man or battery operated boyfriend.

M
y shout-outs
are as follows—in no particular order:

M
y darling
, Shane Rice, aka my brother from another mother. My favorite cover model of all time. My convention partner in
partying and drinking
totally innocent fun… A million thanks for the totally awesome, very,
very
naughty hood of the GTO sex scene. Who knew you had such a dirty imagination? Well…I suppose I did, but that doesn’t count, does it? Anyway, much love, my friend!

To Robert Gawe, aka my adopted Dad. Thank you for your extensive law enforcement information—including the lecture about never bringing a knife to a gunfight. As if I didn’t know? Sheesh. Anyway, I love you and appreciate you more than I can ever express. Thank you for always being there.

My dear friend, Dawn Vasaeo. Thank you for letting me babble for far too long in your ear to figure out my plotting issue. Girl, you totally saved my ass! Seriously.

My ex-husband, Terry “Wookie” Hoffman. For discussing the plot of this book with me pretty much every two weeks, and sometimes in between, until I finally finished it. Also, for your extensive badass biker knowledge, and as usual, your never-ending support and encouragement.

My awesome friend, Bill. For your willingness to share some majorly important things in order to give me details and facts about those kinds of things… (Don’t worry, he’ll know what I’m talking about.)

My beautiful cousin, Lisa Ruiz, for her medical scene information.

Anthony Garcia, for his Phoenix PD information.

Luis at 3-D Bail Bonds in Connecticut: Thanks for all the helpful info on your procedures.

My sprinting partner and pretty much favorite person on the planet, author Sidda Lee Rain. Jeez, where do I start? Where do I end? There’s just so much. Okay, here goes: Plotting. Writing sprints. Never-ending encouragement. Late-night FaceTime talks that went on way too long while I babbled about where the hell this book was going. Then me saying a trillion times that I JUST COULDN’T DO IT! And then when I finally did it, and it was all said and done, you read the book and told me what needed to be fixed. I seriously love you, woman.

My Megan Hart…just, thank you. For all the things. All of them. And then more of them. I love you, bebe. You are my confidant, my friend and my mentor and just…all the things.

To my wonderful beta readers: Marchelle Lagueux, Sherri Zak, Samantha Pereira. As always, your feedback is invaluable! More love for Sherri Zak for being my typo finding queen, and to Sunnie Andrews for her pass of line edits. MWUAH! David Faulkner for proof reading the final version.

Last but not least, shout out to Pandorasparlour.com! Work it, Meredith!

T
he sound
of the phone ringing split the silence of the dark bedroom, startling Rosie awake. She rolled beneath the covers and slapped at the nightstand in search of the cordless receiver on its base, missing it a couple of times.

“Fuck…really?” Finally getting ahold of the now torture device and flopping back onto the mattress, Rosie hit “Talk” on the handset and raised it to her ear. “Someone better be dead!”

“Rosie!”

She bolted upright in bed at the urgency in her husband’s tone. “Joey? What’s wrong?”

“Nuthin’.” He coughed. “All good. Listen careful, baby girl.” His voice was low and out of breath. “You listenin’?”

Christ, he was always doing that to her—scaring the crap out of her for no damn reason. And he accused her of towing the drama line. Whatever. Rosie swallowed down the panic-induced lump that had risen in her throat and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was after three in the morning. Joey should’ve been home by then. What the hell had he gotten himself into now? “For the love of… Just get to the point. I’m listening!”

“I took something and hid it. If I don’t come home you need to get it and then, no matter what, you get the fuck out of town.”

“What do you mean if you don’t come home?” Rosie pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Are you getting arrested again?”

“No. Why do you always assume that? Fuck’s sake.” He grunted and then coughed again.

Why did she…was he serious? Rosie rolled her eyes. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Whatever. Just listen. Go to the ladies’ room at the train station. Under the sink, behind the pipes, you’ll find a locker key taped to the wall. Grab it, and go to the self-storage lockers.”

“Train station? Which fucking train station? What the hell did you take?” With a shove of the covers, she threw her legs over the side of the bed.

“I took our future, baby.”

Good God, she could practically hear the smile behind his words. Rosie looked up at the ceiling, knowing this was going to lead nowhere good. The only place that damn ego of his ever led him was back to jail. Unless…
Oh, fuck no.
Cold dread slipped down Rosie’s spine and she shivered. “You rolled the dealer, didn’t you? Jesus-fucking-Christ! Are you trying to get us both killed?”

Joey let out a harsh sigh. “Keep your drama ass in check, Rosie! For real. I got this. That small-town fuck has no clue what he’s doing. His crew is no better. Trust me, it’s gonna be fine. Just take a damn breath for once and do what I say, got it?”

“Do
not
yell at me,
Joey
!” She got to her feet and paced in the small space between their bed and dresser. “You go do something insane and you expect me to be calm?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I expect.”

Rosie ran her fingers through her hair. She wanted no part of the world of drug trafficking he’d gotten himself into. And she’d made that
very
clear. Not that he ever respected what she wanted or needed. Too busy screwing up to bother. Regardless, Rosie had managed to stay far away from the people he’d been associating with.

What he’d gotten himself into was a one-way ticket to jail or the morgue. Joey had already been to prison one too many times. Jesus, he hadn’t even been out more than six months from the last stint. At the rate he was going, it wouldn’t be long before he was back behind bars. Or dead.

God, Joey had done a lot of stupid things, made a fuckton more stupid choices, but Rosie never thought he’d do something
this
stupid.

She should’ve known, though.

Always so goddamn greedy and always wanting more. Joey Santini thought he was a big-time hustler—big enough to pull something this insane off. But he wasn’t. He was small-time. Small-town—small fucking potatoes. Especially in the drug world. He was nothing but a runner. A peon. And he’d just put both their lives at risk. She blew out a harsh breath. “Which station, dammit! Where are you?”

“Bridgeport.”

Holy shit. That was nearly forty minutes away. The gravity of the situation hit her in the gut like a hard punch. She had no idea what to do. A tear dripped down Rosie’s cheek and she brushed it away. “Are you coming home?”

“I hope so.”