The F King:A Bad Boy Romance

By: Ada Scott
(Still a Bad Boy #3)


The other girls had fake IDs that made them a few years older. Mine made me a few years younger, and was issued by the United States Government itself.

“How old are you?” asked the bouncer.

“Twenty-two,” I said with a winning smile.

It was such a strange feeling, knowing that everything coming out of my mouth was a lie or, at least, in service of a grand all-encompassing lie. That would take some getting used to.

I could see the bouncer counting the years in his head, making sure my answer matched the date on my driver’s license, before glancing at the rest of my hastily-formed posse for the night. He held my ID out to me.

“Not freshmen?”

“No.” I drew the word out with slight indignation.

“Alright, have a good time.”

The bouncer stood aside, and I ushered everybody through, making sure I obstructed his view of Millie, the most baby-faced of the bunch. Getting a group of eighteen and nineteen-year-old girls into a club was only the first little egg I was going to have to break in this undercover omelet, because it would have looked suspicious for me to turn up in a club and wait alone for my target.

Janice opened a door and the higher tones of music and partying joined the steady rhythm of bass that you could hear and feel for a block down the street. As far as any of these girls knew, this was a “Chicks-before-dicks, ice-breaker night,” where a few of us from the dorm could get to know each other and have some fun.

“Wooooooo!” squealed Janice, throwing her hands in the air and starting to dance before she even hit the dancefloor.

“I can’t believe it worked!” said Millie, grabbing my arm and bouncing. “I only just got this ID before I left home.”

“First round on me, what are you having?”

“Um, Tropical Painkiller! You sure, though? I mean... you don’t have to, we just met-”

“Course I’m sure! Believe me, you’re getting the next round,” I laughed. “Tell the others they’re having some Tropical Painkillers and claim a spot so I can tell them where to bring the drinks!”

“OK! Omigod, this year is gonna rock!”

Millie walked, almost skipped, to join Janice and the others on the dancefloor. I had to admit, their enthusiasm was pretty infectious, and my smile was real as I navigated my way to the bar, looking out for the real life version of the man whose picture I had memorized.

Ryan Crewe was known to frequent this club, but there was no telling what nights he was going to be here. I was either going to have to build a reputation for putting my partying ahead of my studies, wait for better intelligence from my Commanding Officer on some other locations, or come up with something else.

No sign of him yet, but there were a lot of dimly lit nooks and crannies to this club that I’d have to casually search between going to the table, the dancefloor, the restroom and any other excuse I could think of. In the field at last.

It was a hell of a first undercover assignment. This was no infiltration of the agriculture students’ special hydroponics experiment. I was the spearhead of an operation to get a handle on F, the new drug that was taking the country by storm, and its variants.

Ryan was one of very few people we knew to be actively selling the drug. Rather than just arrest him and take one more low-level dealer off the streets, we could use him for information and work our way right to the top of the supply chain.

My CO said it was a testament to my reputation and my work ethic that I was given this job. Get the information we needed, and it would be like rocket fuel for my career.

As I arrived at the bar, I tried to stop my heart from leaping at the thought. I was a long way away from the payoff, from reaping the rewards of all that hard work I put in at college instead of going out and partying like this undercover persona.

The bartender worked with some flair, not quite putting on a show but impressive nonetheless, and soon came to me. He pointed at me and held his hand up to his ear as he leaned close.

“Six Tropical Painkillers!” I yelled over the music.

With a quick upward jerk of his head, he lined six glasses up and started doing his thing again. I pushed myself up on the bar and looked back until I saw Millie waving at me from a booth on the other side, where she and the others were dropping handbags and taking off jackets.

I turned back to the bartender and caught his eye. “Can I get these brought to our table?”

“What’s the table number?”


“What’s the table number?”

“Oh… I’m not sure… uh…” I turned away again for a second. “It’s that booth over there, third from the right?”