In Too Deep (Doing Bad Things Book 2)

By: Jordan Marie

Doing Bad Things Series Book 2

I did a bad thing.

I did a really bad thing.

I’m not a bad person, I swear. I just made a few mistakes.

Mistake number one was agreeing to rent my motel out to an insufferable asshole named Aden Smith.

Mistake number two was ignoring his threats to sue me when he handed over a list of items he deemed “unacceptable”.

Mistake number three was diving into the pool to save his life when he fell. It would have been less complicated to hide his body.

When the hospital refuses to let me know how he is, I panic.

Claiming to be his wife might be my biggest mistake yet—especially when he believes me!

He might have been the one drowning, but I’m sinking in a bed of lies, going down fast—and there’s not a rescue in sight.


To my “Jordan Did A Bad Thing Crew”. Thanks for not letting me believe the sky was falling.

Danielle Palumbo, thank you for calming the scary author nerves. Yes, I made you a judge, but you may only swing your hammer for good—not evil.

Doreen Foucault, thank you for letting me turn you into an old woman on a rocker.

Gloria Esau and Krystal Fhal…so I made you cheating bitches… I still love you to pieces!

Bonnie Hildwein, I probably made you old too… but I did it with love and hey, at least you dress snazzy and you didn’t have a walker like poor Doreen.

A special shout out to Author Aden Lowe for letting me borrow his pretty name. If you haven’t read him check him out at !

And finally,

Dessure Hutchins, so many books you’ve been my rock. Never leaving my side, you instead build me up, hold my hand, and you keep me sane and writing fun. I would have quit long ago without your presence in my life.





“What do you mean, I have to have a new air conditioning unit? Each room has its own unit. This is crazy! I don’t have the money for this!”

“I’m just telling you like it is lady. You have to have this place brought up to code and to do that each room has to have all new units. The ones you have now are a damned fire hazard for the load your wiring is designed to carry. It’s a wonder the inspector hasn’t shut the place down before now,” the foreman growls back.

He doesn’t realize that his words are killing me, or that I’m on a razor’s edge and about to go over the deep end. I’m close to a freaking panic attack. I’ve sunk everything in this motel.


When I got the letter from my Aunt Edna’s attorney, I’d just been laid off from my dead end job at the factory in Indiana where I spent my day putting together parts for porta potties. You didn’t read that wrong. I literally got laid off of a job where I spent the day working on places for people to shit. The letter informed me I’d just inherited a motel in Clancy, Idaho. I didn’t know anything about Idaho, but I wasn’t exactly happy in Indiana either. It seemed like fate—a sign from heaven.

I loaded up everything I owned—which, quite honestly, fit in the back seat of my run-down, more-rust-than-metal, gray, 1990’s Volkswagen Beetle. I cleaned out my savings, which wasn’t that much, and I headed out, my son in tow.

I don’t know what I expected. When I thought of this place, I guess I pictured a bigger hotel, kind of like a Holiday Inn. The Hard Acre Motel in Clancy was nowhere close to a Holiday Inn. The place looks more like the Bates Motel from the Alfred Hitchcock movie. It also hadn’t been opened in close to ten years. Flash forward six months and I’ve sunk every bit of money Aunt Edna left me, plus my meager savings into this dump. I wanted to make a go of it, so that my son and I had a steady income. I was due to open this week and that’s obviously not going to happen now. I sit back down in my new office chair, behind the newly varnished desk of the reception area, and let the reality of the situation hit me. I feel sick to my stomach.

“What do I tell them?” the contractor asks, bringing my attention back to him. Stress is churning inside of me so intensely I feel like I might pass out.

“I don’t have the money. All I have is what you’ve already been paid to do.”

“Then I guess we’re done here until you come up with the cash,” he shrugs.

“Done!?!?! But you haven’t even finished the concrete work out front and what about the fencing? You have to fix that. Guests can fall into the pool!”

“You can’t have guests, period. This place won’t pass inspection to open unless you upgrade your wiring and those heating and air units,” he answers harshly.

“But—” I break off, not finishing my sentence. It wouldn’t do any good. He’s already gone.