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Dirty, Reckless Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #3)
Author:Lexi Ryan

Dirty, Reckless Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #3)

Lexi Ryan

For Sam. My favorite fangirl turned dear friend. I’m so proud of you!

With every book I write, I’m more surprised by the number of people I rely on to get me through it. I’m so grateful for my village.

First, a big thanks to my family. My husband, Brian, makes it possible for me to write so much and bring so many books to my readers. Thank you for believing in me and my stories, babe. Thank you for always knowing I can figure out a plot even when I’m convinced I’m doomed. Your faith means everything. To my kids, Jack and Mary, you are so awesome. Thank you for inspiring me to be my very best. To my mom, dad, brothers, sisters, in-laws, aunts, uncles, various cousins and cousins-in-law, thank you for cheering me on—each in your own way.

I’m lucky enough to have a life full of amazing friends. Thanks to my writing friends who sprint with me and critique my blurbs or coach me through career decisions. A huge thanks to Mira Lyn Kelly, who does more than her fair share of hand-holding. I’ve gotten a lot of amazing things from this career, but her friendship tops the list.

I owe a special thanks to Indiana State Police officer Sergeant Kris Fitzgerald for answering the countless procedural and crime-scene-related questions as I drafted this book. Any errors are my own.

To everyone who provided me feedback on this story along the way—especially Heather Carver, Samantha Leighton, Tina Allen, Lisa Kuhne, Dina Littner, and Janice Owen—you’re all awesome. Rhonda Edits and Lauren Clarke, thank you for the insightful line and content edits. You both push me to be a better writer and make my stories the best they can be. Thanks to Arran McNicol at Editing720 for proofreading. I’ve worked hard to put together this team, and I’m proud of it!

Thank you to the people that helped me package this book and promote it. Sarah Eirew took the gorgeous cover photo and did the design and branding for the whole series. A shout-out to my assistant Lisa Kuhne for trying to keep me in line and for putting in random extra hours when I need her most. Thank you to Nina and Social Butterfly PR for organizing the release. I’ve loved working with you and your awesome assistants! To all of the bloggers, bookstagrammers, readers, and reviewers who help spread the word about my books, I am humbled by the time you take out of your busy lives for my stories. My thank you isn’t enough, but it is sincere. You’re the best.

To my agent, Dan Mandel, for believing in me and staying by my side. Thanks to you and Stefanie Diaz for getting my books into the hands of readers all over the world. Thank you for being part of my team.

Finally, a big thank-you to my fans. Because of you, I’m living my dream and have to pinch myself daily. I couldn’t do it without you. You’re the coolest, smartest, best readers in the world. I appreciate each and every one of you!



I’m in love with a man who tried to kill me. At least that’s what they tell me . . .

Six weeks ago, paramedics found me unconscious in my own home. Beaten. Bruised. Hardly breathing. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember the last three years or anything about my life in Jackson Harbor. They tell me my fiancé, Colton McKinley, is on the run for what he did to me. They tell me I’m safer if I stay away.

I don’t care if my memories ever come back. I want nothing to do with those missing years . . . until a sexy stranger with angry eyes shows up on my doorstep and demands I stop ignoring him.

Levi Jackson is my fiancé’s best friend, but seeing him sparks something inside me. As the truth unravels in my mind, I know they’re wrong about Colton. My own secrets are far more dangerous than the man I was engaged to.

I return to Jackson Harbor to search for answers and find myself running from a faceless boogeyman and seeking refuge in Levi’s arms. And in his bed.

I can’t deny my feelings for Levi. But as the pile of lies between us grows, I realize that sometimes the truth can’t set us free. Sometimes, it’s the very thing that can destroy us.


February 20th

Two and a half years ago . . .

I prefer my parties loud, crowded, and a little dangerous—the kind where I can find a girl, a couple of shots, a dark corner, and fucking enjoy how good it is to be alive.

The biggest crowd at this party is currently gathered around the martini bar. The fake laughter and artificial kindness feel like poison in the air.

I’m only here because I’m expected to be. My family’s business, Jackson Brews, is sponsoring this fancy little fundraiser, and I’m doing my part to show my face.

“Hey there.” The greeting comes from a leggy brunette who’s leaning against the wall beside me.

I blink at her. I’m tucked into a back corner of this party for a reason—I needed a place to watch rather than participate—and I didn’t even see her walk up. At my kind of party, I keep tabs on the hottest chicks in the room. At my kind of party, I’d have already been watching every move of a girl like this. She’s a fox with her tight dress that’s cut low in the front and that cradles every curve, from her tiny waist to where it stops just above her knees. Her sultry smile is the cherry on top. The fact that I didn’t notice her before proves that the uptight idiots at this party are rotting my brain.

She’s mimicking my posture, leaning against the wall, a beer dangling from her fingertips. A beer. The other women here are drinking champagne or cosmopolitans. I like her already.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re prettier when you smile?” she asks.

“Did you just say I’m prettier when I smile?”

“Yep.” She laughs and tosses her hair. “It’s my new thing—stealing ridiculous pickup lines guys have used on me and unleashing them on unsuspecting men.”

I arch a brow. “And now you’re coming on to me by telling me I’m pretty?”

“In reality, I’m just entertaining myself.” She laughs, and the sound is so light and carefree it lifts some of the tension from my shoulders. “But now I wish I’d used a different line, because you kind of are pretty. Do you know how much women pay to have eyelashes like that?”

I grunt. “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It was definitely a compliment.” She flicks her gaze over me. “Definitely.”

I groan, the magnetic force field of attraction already pulling me in. “Okay. Redo granted. Try another one of your lines on me.” I can’t resist, though I probably should.

“Are you religious?”

I frown. “What kind of line is that?”

“Because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

I laugh. “Shit. That’s bad.”

“How about this?” She slides her gaze down to my shoes and slowly back up. “That outfit looks terrible on you. Let’s go somewhere and take it off.”

“Guys really say this shit to you?”

She takes a sip of her beer and scans the crowd as she nods. “Oh, yeah. Most guys treat a come-on like a gift a girl should cherish. As if we’re all so desperate for attention that we should be thankful, even if the effort is half-assed.”

“And yet here you are, trying to get mine.”

She shrugs. “Just because my date stood me up and you are so obviously my type. I couldn’t resist.”

I blink, taking a beat to unpack that simple sentence. Part one, her date stood her up, which means he’s a fucking idiot—then again, most guys are when it comes to beautiful women, and this one is over-the-top gorgeous. And part two? “Why do you say I’m your type? What’s your type?”

“Tall, dark, and bad for me,” she says cheerfully. “I really like them bad for me.”