Praise for the Fall Away series

‘I read this book in one sitting. Rival was as gripping as it was sexy!’ #1 New York Times bestselling author Colleen Hoover

‘Full of feeling and intensity that will appeal to the reader seeking an emotional rush’ IndieReader

‘This smoking-hot, action-packed story is a powerful addition to the edgy side of the genre, and readers will eagerly anticipate the next installment’ Publishers Weekly

‘I was really craving a book that would make me stop everything I was supposed to be doing and devour every word… and that’s exactly what Bully did!’ Smitten Book Blog

‘A unique twist on the bad boy meets good girl tale. I could not put it down!’ Aestas Book Blog

‘She did something seasoned writers haven’t been able to do – take a hero who was a complete ass and make me fall in love with him’ Scandalicious Book Reviews

Penelope Douglas is the author of the New York Times bestselling Fall Away series. Born in Dubuque, Iowa, she earned a bachelor’s degree in public administration and then a master’s of education at Loyola University in New Orleans before becoming a teacher. She now writes full-time and lives in Las Vegas with her husband and their daughter.

Visit Penelope Douglas online:

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BY PENELOPE DOUGLAS

  Fall Away series:

Bully

Until You

Rival

Falling Away

Aflame (e-novella)

COPYRIGHT

Published by Piatkus

978-0-3494-1022-7

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Penelope Douglas, 2015

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Readers Guide copyright © Penguin Random House, LLC, 2015

Excerpt from Falling Away copyright © Penelope Douglas, 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

PIATKUS

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London, EC4Y 0DZ

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

Misconduct

Table of Contents

Praise for the Fall Away series

About the Author

By Penelope Douglas

COPYRIGHT

Dedication

Epigraph

Epigraph

Playlist

ONE:  Easton

TWO:  Easton

THREE:  Tyler

FOUR:  Easton

FIVE:  Tyler

SIX:  Easton

SEVEN:  Easton

EIGHT:  Tyler

NINE:  Easton

TEN:  Tyler

ELEVEN:  Easton

TWELVE:  Tyler

THIRTEEN:  Easton

FOURTEEN:  Tyler

FIFTEEN:  Easton

SIXTEEN:  Tyler

SEVENTEEN:  Easton

EIGHTEEN:  Tyler

NINETEEN:  Easton

TWENTY:  Easton

TWENTY-ONE:  Tyler

TWENTY-TWO:  Easton

TWENTY-THREE:  Tyler

TWENTY-FOUR:  Easton

TWENTY-FIVE:  Tyler

TWENTY-SIX:  Easton

TWENTY-SEVEN:  Easton

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Readers Guide

Falling Away

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For our teachers…

Love is a game that two can play and both win.

—Eva Gabor

Dear Reader,

All of my books come with Pinterest boards to enhance your reading experience. Please enjoy Misconduct’s board at www.pinterest.com/penelopedouglas/misconduct-2015/ as you read.

You will also find discussion questions at the end of this book.

PLAYLIST

“Home” by Three Days Grace

“Dangerous” by Shaman’s Harvest

“Always” by Saliva

“Hazy Shade of Winter” by the Bangles

“Because I Got High” by Afroman

“Only Girl” by Rihanna

“You Know You Like It” by DJ Snake & AlunaGeorge

“Room to Breathe” by You Me at Six

“Untraveled Road” by Thousand Foot Krutch

“Drown” by Theory of a Deadman

“When the Saints Go Marching In” by Louis Armstrong

“To the Hills” by Laurel

“Failure” by Breaking Benjamin

“Paralyzed” by In Flames

“Glycerine” by Bush

“No Woman, No Cry” by Bob Marley and the Wailers

ONE

EASTON

While most Mardi Gras balls were lively, with performers from their parades that day in attendance to entertain the guests, this particular party overflowed with a very different vibe.

I looked around me at the rich and powerful who made up the guest list, sizing everyone up, their connections and names more of a résumé than their educations or careers.

And while everyone around me appeared relaxed – due to the heavy flow of champagne, I was sure – it was just a mask on top of their masks.

They weren’t calm. They were working. Deals were being made and relationships bought, and the politicians were always on the job.

But still… there was a charge in the air. It was Mardi Gras in New Orleans, after all.

It was the time of year when many locals escaped the city, with the tsunami of tourists clogging the streets and the traffic turning what was normally a fifteen-minute drive into three hours as constant parades blocked your route.

The city and its surrounding areas hosted between forty and fifty parades every Mardi Gras season, and each parade had a krewe – a not-for-profit organization that donated money to build the floats, some costing as much as eighty thousand dollars, while the krewe members enjoyed the privilege of donning masks as they tossed beads and other trinkets into a bedlam of outstretched hands and screaming crowds.

This particular krewe was exclusive, almost aristocratic with its money and political connections. Lawyers, CEOs, judges, you name it… Anyone who was anyone in this city was here tonight. Hence why my brother accepted an invitation.

Jack knew that New Orleans society was like a candy-covered chocolate. You had to break through the shell to get to the good stuff.

Deals and relationships weren’t made at conference tables or offices. They were settled over glasses of Chivas at a cigar bar or around ten pounds of crawfish at a filthy seafood dive in the Quarter with calliope music from the Natchez steamboat drifting in through the open French doors. People didn’t trust signatures so much as they trusted your ability to bullshit while you were drunk.

All reasons I loved this city.

It held the history of weathered storms – of blood, sweat, music, agony, and death by people who expected to fall but knew how to get back up.

I offered the waiter a modest smile as I plucked another glass of champagne off his tray and turned back around, regarding the imitation Degas hanging before me.

Oil on canvas would burn quickly. Very quickly, I mused, inching closer as the chill from the champagne flute seeped through my manicured fingers.

God, I was bored. When I started fantasizing about inanimate objects going up in flames, it was time to call it a night.