The Big Bad’s Obsession (Curves and Ruins #2) Read Online Erin Havoc

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Curves and Ruins Series by Erin Havoc

Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)

My best friend is back in town.
He’s bigger than ever, but as sweet as the first time we met.
Then every man who has ever done me wrong starts dropping dead.
It can’t be Keegan… Can it?
He’s always been my protector, my confidant.
But I swear Keegan would never hurt a fly.
Turns out things are not what they seem.
And my best friend has been keeping more than one secret from me.




There’s something soul-sucking about working in retail. When I signed that hiring contract, I’m pretty sure I never agreed to meet a different Karen every fifteen minutes. They’re like Dementors, but with their manicure intact.

I push the key in and turn it, releasing a sigh as I get home. My brain ping-pongs between the bath with a glass of wine, ordering takeout (which I can’t afford, so it’s merely a fantasy), or giving it all up in favor of going to bed early. I was supposed to be home three hours ago, but my manager begged me to stay after we had a huge influx of customers right when half of our workforce was off.

Not my fault his schedule managing skills are lacking, but I had to share the consequences. I couldn’t say no. Not when I need this job desperately.

Raising my head, I find Brad sitting on the couch, a controller in his hands, gaze fixed on the TV. He doesn’t even turn to greet me.

“I’m home,” I call out, closing the door behind me. My feet throb, begging for me to put them up. I put my purse and keys away and glance at the TV. Brad’s playing one of those online games, the first-person shooter ones. Never understood the appeal. The world is already such a violent place. I study him. He’s still in his work clothes, still in his shoes. “Brad. Can’t you take your shoes off?”

“I’m going North, toward point A,” he says. I notice the earpiece and frown.

“Brad. The shoes.”

He slides a glance in my direction. “I can’t stop now, Aleida. God, I’ve told you how these games work.”

And I’ve told him the dirty sneakers make the house filthy, but he doesn’t care. He’s not the one sweeping the floors. I release another sigh, giving him my back and ambling toward the refrigerator. Hope there’s something quick to eat. Maybe I’ll make an omelette.

Disappointment fills my gut. There are no eggs. “Brad. Didn’t you go to the grocery store?”

“Fuck!” he cries out, throws his controller against the wall like every other time, then stomps his way to me. “What? You just made me die.”

No, your terrible gaming skills made you die. “Groceries. We’re out of eggs.”

“Me and the boys were supposed to play today.”

“You could have gone to the store on your way back from work.”

“But then I’d be late to play.”

Oh, my God. Sometimes I can’t believe he’s almost thirty. I give up on this discussion, because there’s no use arguing anything with him. Brad’s a friend of a friend, and she swore to God he would never hurt a fly when she told me he needed a housemate. Things worked alright for the first three days, and then he gave up pretending. He’s arrogant, dirty, lazy, and insists a female housemate is only useful so he can have a free live-in maid.

I release another sigh, too tired to do anything other than sleep now. My stomach rumbles, but I can’t afford takeout and something tells me Brad found my emergency cookie supply in my room. My door is open, and I never leave it that way.

His hands close around my hips. I do my best to hold back the nausea at his touch. He flips me around to face him. “Listen, Aleida. We can go grocery shopping now. I mean, as soon as the game is over.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. My ex slapped me every time I did that. “The store closes at eight.”

He twists his mouth. “Then we can order something. Yakisoba?”

“I can’t afford that, and you know it.” Of course he does, otherwise he wouldn’t treat me like this. He knows I need the job, and I need the cheap rent, otherwise he wouldn’t make it clear I’m disposable. I try to step away, but he holds me tighter.

“Well, it’s on me,” he says. What? He never offers to pay. Unless... Brad leans in, his too-wet lips coming too close. “You know what you have to do. If you let me fuck you, I will take you to the best steakhouse in town.”

Heat spreads over my cheeks and down my neck. I push him off. Or try to. He doesn’t budge. Brad’s offered me this before. It started with nothing in return, of course. He’d buy me dinner to show he’s a nice guy. Then he asked for a kiss. Then he wanted to go second base. Now he’s dangling food in front of me and asking for more.