Into The Darkness: A Hot Australian Bad Boy Romance

By S. L. Finlay

When falling into the darkness it’s hard to know which way is up, and what’s the right thing to do.

Bad boy biker types have been attractive to women since time immortal. As a cop though, she should know better. It’s not like his case was kept secret after all.

She finds herself quickly enthralled by the wrong man and realizes that what appeared to be a random meeting at an Australian pub was anything but. She didn’t know anything of his past, and as an ex-cop she should have.

It might be too late for her to take a step back though as in no time at all she is so wrapped up in him that she can’t see straight.

She has fallen into the darkness and can’t find her way out. But even if she could, would she really leave when they run so hot for one another and the spark has long since burned into a bonfire?

The moodiness of a Melbournian spring sets the backdrop to this Australian dark romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. L. Finlay
• Release date: Jul 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463614624

S. L. Finlay

S. L. Finlay is an Australian author who uses her erotic fiction and romance stories to force questions about human sexuality, to celebrate love, sex and life.

Book preview

Into The Darkness

S. L. Finlay

Published by S. L. Finlay, 2017.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. All characters portrayed are consenting adults over the age of eighteen.

INTO THE DARKNESS

First edition. November 28, 2017

Copyright © 2017 S. L. Finlay

Written by S. L. Finlay

A note from the author on terms –

Due to this book being set in Australia, many of the terms used are Australian ones, such as bikey rather than biker and boot instead of trunk. North American terms are not provided so the writing flow is not interrupted, however, the meanings of words should be evident to readers who do not use those on a daily basis.

Chapter One

I wasn’t much of a drinker when we’d worked together. Being the crazy workaholic who lived for the job didn’t leave time for long hours at the pub chatting to mates, stolen moments in a beer garden after work.

Now though, I worked nine-to-five in an office role. The force had been kind to me, allowing me an opportunity to leave of my own accord, rather than firing me, which they had every right to do. I had given the force a lot, and they gave it back to me, even as I didn’t feel I deserved it.

This evening I was catching up for a drink with one of the guys’ who I often worked with. In Australia, police don’t have regular partners as they do on those US cop shows, we work with the same people on a regular basis, but don’t have just one partner as such. Although I can’t speak for the realities of being a cop in other countries I know that police here are like one big family, and you’re all looking out for one another.

Walking into the pub, I saw Jerome who had obviously just got there and was standing at the bar, pint in front of him, handing over a crisp orange twenty.

Hey brother! I approached, knocking his arm with my fist. Jerome turned towards me, his face cracking into a familiar smile. His face was one that knew smiles over the years, with strong smile lines and no frown lines. The salt of the earth, Jerome wrapped his arms around me in a giant bear hug and we were off, firing questions at one another about how we were, what we had been up to, everything.

It had only been just over a month since I resigned, and Jerome was talking to me like we hadn’t seen each other for six months. Time is a funny thing, it did feel like it had been a long time since we had seen each other in person.

We moved outside and kept talking. The conversation was electric, like it had always been. Jerome had been one of my best friends when I was on the force. Despite being so much older than me and being such different people, we got along so well. Like chalk and cheese.

Jerome had been married for 100 years, or at least it felt like it. He was painfully loyal to his wife, yet, was always giving us younger single members of the force a hard time about not going out and meeting people, about not drinking enough, about not going down to the pub to meet blokes, who I’d take home that night.

That wasn’t my style, pub guys. But as we sat there, chatting about old times, Jerome was in action. Telling me about some guys who had just come out to the beer garden and were looking at me.

They’re checking you out! He told me and I laughed.

Shaking my head I told him, Some things never change!

What do you mean? He asked, mock innocent grin across his face.

I tried to fix him with my eyes, but couldn’t. I was too busy smiling to pull that move off. Just – I started before clearing my throat and going on, It’s just, you always said this to the younger members, that we should go out, get drunk. Get fucked. Be young.

And you never listened. Jerome observed, tutting.

No, I never did. I told him, smile across my face, I can’t fuck like a man.

Jerome chuckled. Well, you should. He said shortly, You might like it.

My eyes darted over to the guys standing in the beer garden then. They were wearing hi-vis gear, obviously tradesmen, or tradies as we call them in Australia. I always had a soft spot for tradies. Actually, for plenty of men who others would dismiss as ‘bogans’.

Bogan culture is something difficult to describe to people who aren’t from Australia, and I had grappled with the explanation when some friends from the UK had visited, I’d told them bogans are a cross between a ‘chav’ and a ‘lad’, sometimes they are like American red-necks, too. But they are something else. Often they have jobs (tradies, usually) and earn a fair bit of money in an economy that rewards those with hands-on skills, they drive cars they likely fantasised about as little boys playing with their trucks and their accents, their accents are awful. Their accents are what the world imagines Australian’s accents are like. Whereas my own is smooth enough to often be mistaken for a Brit, theirs are nasally, full of grit.

Now one of the guys was checking me out, and I was doing the same right back to him. He seemed confident and smooth, but, like there was a bit more going on with him. I could overhear their conversation, and the boys were not talking about silly bogan rubbish, but were talking about politics. This guy, when he contributed, actually had some interesting stuff to say.

My attention was divided between Jerome and the hot tradie, and Jerome could tell. Making a point to look at the guy, he picked up our empty glasses.

Next rounds on me. He told me before standing and leaning a little closer, I have to make a phone call first though. You should. His hand motioned towards the tradies and he gave me a little wink.

Almost as soon as he was gone, the tradie watched him go as his mates chatted around him. The tradie looked a bit restless for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should do this, before walking over to me and sitting down in front of me.

So this is where the cool kids hang out… He said, his voice smooth as velvet, this was a routine I was sure.

Yeah, you could say that. I said, quietly assessing him as I leaned back a bit and stretched my body to appear relaxed.

His smile, a big, shit-eating grin, lit up the room. Or at least it felt that way, so is he your father? He asked.

I fought the urge to shake my head. This guy was smooth, while simultaneously not being smooth at all. He had moves, but they were not moves at the same time. That really endeared him to me. You don’t want someone who is too smooth, because they obviously do this all the time. But you don’t want someone who is too awkward to function, either.

Being that we were both, I’d say, in our late twenties (well, I knew I was, and assumed about him at the time), I guessed that he had to have had a few girlfriends at this stage in his life, but that he obviously wasn’t committed to the life of a bachelor enough to really know how to pick up women.

Our conversation was easy and light. His friends showed just enough attention to the conversation for me to realise that they were being good friends, curious as hell. But that they were also not used to seeing this, which gave me some solace.

Having a great conversation is one thing, but how someone interacts with your already existing friends is another completely. After we’d been chatting for a while, Jerome came back to sit with us and, catching my eye before the tradie could see him, shot me a big ‘go girl’ grin.

When Jerome put the pint down in front of me, tradie seemed to catch on all at once. He stood and offered his hand to Jerome.

Hey mate, He said, I’m Jack.

Jerome seemed pleased and shook his hand. Jerome. We’re old colleagues.

Jack nodded, his eyes a little wide. I wondered if he didn’t believe Jerome and I were old work colleagues.

Excusing himself to get back to his own friends, Jack walked over to them. I watched him move across the beer garden, wondering what he looked like outside of those clothes. I thought I might find out, after a few more pints.

Jerome resumed his seat and kept chatting to me. I kept looking over my shoulder at Jack. Occasionally we would catch each other’s eyes and smile.

For several hours, Jerome and I would go to the bar, taking it in turns to grab pints and come back to sit down with a pint for each of us. The sun was starting to go down when he told me he had best be home, his wife was cooking his favourite meal tonight, bangers and mash. The simple way of him, and how such little things could make him so happy, really pleased me about Jerome.

I’ll just finish this, and- I went to tell him, thinking I would leave at the same time as him, but he cut me off.

-There’s no rush. He said, a smile appearing upon his face. Besides, there’s someone else here you should be talking to.

I had been drinking from my pint glass when I almost choked on my drink. Jerome… I said, warning him.

Yes? His question was innocent and he was standing, just go for it, no-one has to know.

Then, without a further word he was gone.

I looked over at the tradies, and saw Jack noticing that Jerome left, his eyes were on Jerome’s back as he walked away. Then our eyes met and he gave me a seductive smile. Normally I wouldn’t have, and there was still a small voice inside my head telling me not to, but I couldn’t help it. Jerome was right, it had been a long time since my last relationship, and besides, no-one had to know. I needed to be young some time.

As Jack watched, I raised my hand, palm up and motioned with my fingers for him to approach me. Jack looked around at his friends, who all seemed too engrossed to notice him. He slipped away and approached me.

Yes, m’lady? He asked, all charm and smiles now. He had his liquid courage on now I saw.

I downed the last of my drink, as if it would give me what I needed in that moment. Then I asked him, I’m going home, you coming?

Jack had been holding a half-full pint, which he looked at before looking back at me, then lifting the pint glass and downing it himself.

Okay, He said, Let’s go.

Without a backwards glance at his friends, Jack was behind me, being led out of the now half-full pub.

I led him to a taxi which took us home, his hand in mine the whole time.

I wondered if this was how it was, one night stands, for normal people. If they felt the nervous rush I was now feeling. If they felt that sense that they were doing something incredibly naughty, but did it anyway.

By the time we were out of the car, he had already taken charge, leading me towards the house. His hand was in mine, leading me towards my house when I decided he was more savvy than I gave him credit for with his awkward flirting. This guy knew what he was doing, and that was fine. One of us had to.

We