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Keane – Her Ruthless Ex

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Theodora Taylor

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He’s broken, dangerous, and determined to get me back.

My ruthless ex is broken, bitter, and determined to get me back.

I used to be a sensible, responsible good girl who kept her nose buried in textbooks and worked hard to make her father’s dreams come true. Then Keane happened. He was a crude, rude, ruthless Southie bully who only cared about his hockey career and pucking his way through a string of girls. I hated him and I thought he hated me, but then one unexpected spring break kiss changed everything.

I had no business spending one night with him, much less that wild, intense summer. He was freedom and ruin in one ridiculously sexy package. Moving across the country to go to med school and eventually marrying Keane’s total opposite seemed like the right things to do at the time.

But now I’m divorced and back in Boston with a nine-year-old secret, I’ll do anything to protect. And as for Keane? Well, my ruthless ex is broken, bitter, and determined to punish me for walking away.

READER WARNING: If you’re looking for a typical enemies-to-lover, secret baby romance, this intense, highly psychological second chance love story isn’t that. This book is ONLY for readers with open hearts and open minds, who can handle love stories that color outside the usual lines. If you’re not that reader, please do not One-Click this book.

Books by Author:

Theodora Taylor Books


Keane marked him less than five minutes after stepping foot into Boston Prep’s main school building. Skinny. Short. Brown…but not the kind that fights back. He’d bet his new custom Bauer Supremes the kid signed up for band freshman year.

He studied Band Nerd stuffing books into his locker and jabbering with some girl. He could only see her profile, but he clocked that she was also brown and wore her hair in a long practical braid. She kept her face turned toward Band Nerd as she stowed her books. Like she actually gave a shit about whatever he was talking about.

Girlfriend, Keane concluded. Probably played for the band, too. Keane had yet to encounter a lunch money mark who actually knew how to bag a girlfriend without getting band involved. Flute or clarinet, he guessed. Something delicate and useless like that.

Yeah, this kid would definitely make for perfect prey.

He thumped his suite and teammate, Con, on the shoulder. “Watch this,” he said. Then he cut left in Band Nerd’s direction.

Time to show everyone at this new school who not to fuck with….

“Just so you know, I plan to kill myself if Mr. Marchetti refuses to let us play anything from the current millennium this year,” Band Nerd was saying.

He had an accent, Keane noted. Not Puerto Rican. Indian maybe?

His girlfriend made a chiding sound in the back of her throat, half laugh, half groan. “Sweetie, don’t say that. I’d be so sad.”

“I am completely serious—”

Keane grabbed Band Nerd by his lapels and slammed him against the locker before the kid had the chance to finish his lame-ass declaration.

“Lunch Money.” Two words. Spoken calm as fuck. Keane didn’t bother with a follow-up threat.

He didn’t have to. He could tell from the about-to-piss-my-fucking-pants look on Band Nerd’s face that the kid knew what was up, and understood exactly what would happen if he didn’t fork over the cash.

Yeah, he’d snagged the right mark for sure. Hardly any effort required. So instead of growling threats in his face, Keane simply stood there, dangling Band Nerd in the air as he waited for his money.

But then somebody tugged on his arm. “You—you can’t do that! Boston Glenn has a zero tolerance policy against bullying. Put him down! Put him down right now!”

Well this was a new twist. Keane had been rocking the stronger-than-any-of-you-fucks look since the age of nine. And thanks to that implicit promise of beating the shit out of anyone who tried to come between him and his lunch money, he’d never had any guy, much less a girl attempt to stop him from taking someone else’s lunch money. Yet, here Band Nerd’s girlfriend was, running interference.

Keane looked down, only meaning to shake her off of him. But the full-on sight of her hit him harder than a T-train.

She was fucking gorgeous. Creamy brown skin, deep brown eyes, and a wide mouth that looked like it would be smiling if she weren’t here, trying to get him to let go of her boyfriend.

He dropped his gaze down to the rest of her body, and immediately regretted the impulse decision.

She was the kind of big he hadn’t known he liked until this very moment. Curves for days. Lush hips and a spectacular rack—he could tell, even though she had them way too covered up under the blue and red Boston Glenn uniform jacket. Quite a few BG girls had introduced themselves to him already, and most of them had tugged down their red uniform ties and unbuttoned their shirts to show him some skin. But this girl wore her blouse buttoned all the way up, with the knot of her tie squeezed so tight under her collar, he wondered if it was choking her.

His hands itched to reach out and tug the tie down. To let that perfect braid loose, too. Then haul her to him and kiss that disapproving frown off her mouth. Would her plump lips taste as good as they looked?

No, he hadn’t noticed her at first. But when he did, she became all he could see. For seconds…minutes…eternities on end.

A memory crashed into him. His first game at Andrews Arena. Cheering for the Boston Hawks with his mom. It was close. Less than 30 seconds left on the clock in the last period, and the game was 0-0. This had been before the NHL killed that tied game shit with the shootout, so everybody had been shifting in their seats. Restless and scared they’d paid for tickets and got ass-fucked by the arena’s parking prices for literally zero result. His mom was tapping her acrylics against the arm rest in a way Keane had come to recognize as her needing a drink real bad, even though she’d already knocked back two beers.

But then in the very last seconds of the game, the Hawk’s star right wing had Holy Fucking Mary-ed the puck into the enemy’s net. That win had stopped his mom’s jonesing. She, Keane, and just about everybody in that stadium jumped to their feet, Caw-Cawing for the Hawks, as the band Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” started playing overhead.