Karma (Endgame Series Book 3)

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  I can’t fucking see, and that’s how I miss the movement to my side as Deacon takes me down. I can now add mud to my ball sack, my ass crack, and my ears.

  “I’ll be fine, Momma.” I sigh and try to open the door again. She’s holding me hostage in the drop off lane of the airport, and I’m pretty sure TSA is calling a tactical operation to separate her hand from my arm.

  “I can’t believe my baby is leaving me.” The mom guilt trip begins. And believe what they say about Texas . . . everything is bigger. Including the mom guilt trips. Any second she’ll sniffle, dab her eyes, and start on a tangent that includes kids leaving their lonely momma after she sacrificed all her good years, and she’ll be the only woman in history who suffered through hours of labor. I guess every other woman, who doesn’t live in the state of Texas, snaps their fingers and the stork drops a little darling off. Somewhere mixed into the nonsense, she’ll make a few snide remarks in regards to my future and how I won’t invite her to my wedding and her grandkids will think she’s a stranger they see at holidays— if she’s invited. I’m eighteen, but in her digression I’m engaged, soon to be with child, and have discarded her for years, not bothering to write.

  In my defense, nobody writes anymore. I’ll send her emails and texts, but I’m not putting pen to paper, I don’t care how vast her shame spree is. The nice police officer rattles his baton against the window, and I don’t care if he’s planning to throw cuffs on me— I’ll be getting the hell outta this car one way or another. “Momma, you’ll visit in a few months. I’ll be with Brody not a Waco cult leader.” Abort. Wrong thing to say.

  “Brecklynn Rose Collier. Don’t say things like that. You make sure to call me before the plane takes off, and during your layover, and as soon as you’re in Brody’s custody. You’ll put him on the phone so I know you’re safe.” Her hands are waving, and the officer is still standing at the window.

  “Got it. Love you.” I kiss her and flee. I throw the door open so fast it hits the nice man who rescued me. “I’m sorry.” I cringe when my mother interrupts.

  “Officer. That’s my baby. She’s leaving for college all by herself. Do you think you could escort her to the proper gate?” Kill me now.

  “Maybe he could give me a juice box and potty break, too? I’m fine.” I slam the door and turn to said public servant who has been caught in a present version of the Twilight Zone. “I’m sorry for hitting you with the door, but I’m more sorry you were subjected to that. If you need therapy, ask them for a drug that will wipe your mind of the past twenty-four hours. I need the same, but I’d have to have a lobotomy.”

  His lips twitch, and he clears his throat. “Do you need an escort, ma’am?”

  I roll my eyes. “Nope. I’m good. Have a great day.” I know I will. On a plane. Leaving Monster Momma in Texas. She isn’t that bad. Overbearing. Overprotective. Over dramatic. All the things good moms are made of.

  Three years ago, I made a mistake, and it’s haunted her ever since. I worked through it, though. I was a teenager, spreading my wings, pushing boundaries. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Therapy and time helped me, and I know the assault could’ve been so much worse. Brody and my mom . . . they can’t let it go. I can’t understand their need to remember, but I can understand their love. It’s been us three for as long as I’ve been alive and until recently, my mom had no social life. Until Dick. I shiver because his name has become synonymous with the Energizer Bunny in my mind . . . he keeps going and going . . . with my mom. I teased Brody regarding ole’ Dicks stamina . . . but I wasn’t lying. Sex, parents, stamina— words that should never be in ones vocabulary at the same time. That’s why I’m so giddy to escape the Lonestar State— I have a feeling I’ll be dealing with Emberlee and Brody, but I’ll be free.

  College.

  Parties.

  Classes.

  Good Lord . . . my ears. It’s something no sister should be subjected to. It’s like nine at night, and Lee Lee is working towards her fifth orgasm. Nope, I’m not a voyeur, but her screaming ‘I’m coming’ is a pretty good indication of what she’s doing. Five fucking times. In an hour. Dick and Brody are now clones of the damn bunny that ‘keeps going and going and going.’

  I’m outta here. Throwing the covers back, I rummage through my closet, grab a skimpy top and shorts, freshen up, and leave. I don’t bother to leave a note because it’s clear they aren’t stopping for a break anytime soon. Lee Lee showed me some campus hot spots, and the tour of the campus led us past Fraternity Row.

  The tour.

  Mason.

  I’ve tried not thinking of him, but it is hard. His eyes. His lips. His body. His tattoos. He hit every checklist for bad boy extraordinaire, and he intrigued me. Why he showed an interest in me I wasn’t sure, and I kick my ass every day that I didn’t take him up on his offer to see me. In the week I’ve been here I haven’t seen him once . . . and I don’t dare ask my brother even though he works with the team.

  The whispers that day, the girls fawning over him . . . eager to impress him, his cocky demeanor— it’s evident Mason has enough village bicycles to keep him busy. I need to move along. It’s hard to move on from something that never started. So, my solution is to head to Phi Delta Theta frat house— I met a few of the guys at Bricktown Brewery when Emberlee and I were having lunch. I hope it’ll be okay if I show up since she isn’t with me. I figure they can be a distraction from Mason, the hump house I live in, and missing home. It’s been a week, but I miss my bubble.

  It’s rowdy as I arrive, and luck is working with me. One of the guys I met is still somewhat sober and recognizes me. “You decided to slum it tonight?” He jokes but looking around, his statement holds some merit. It’s a madhouse, and alcohol doesn’t seem to be sparse.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” My false bravado is operating at full throttle. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name. I met so many of you that day.” I twirl my hair, hoping to pull off the dumb girl façade.

  “Conner. Conner Whitman.” I expect his hand to shake or a simple introduction. I don’t expect his hand grabbing my ass, pulling me to his side. Red flags swim in my head. Flashbacks of that fateful night. My heart pumps too fast, black dots dance in my vision, my hands are clammy, and my eyes fill with water as my body floods with fear.

  I try to pull back, but I’m frozen. Nightmares replay in my mind as I feel fingers curl into my arm, biting my flesh. “Whoa. What are you, high?” His voice breaks through the fog, and I push off his body and take a few steps from him.

  “Nothing. I don’t like being touched.” I sound like a shrew . . . a snippy bitch, but it’s necessary to create some distance.

  “Sorry.” He isn’t condescending. It’s the opposite. “I shouldn’t have touched you.” I’m starting to feel stupid with the big deal I made. He wasn’t being handsy to upset me. This is college. I showed up at a frat party— did I expect a different outcome? “Come on inside. I promise nobody, including me, will touch you.”

  Deciding I’m not ready seeing as my heart is still racing, I decline. “Maybe next time.” I swivel, spinning on my heels, and crash into a body. A firm, warm, built . . . body. Careening my neck back, I’m met with those eyes. Those lips. That body. Those tattoos. “S-s-so-sorry.” I step to the side to leave, but he blocks me.

  “Brecklynn,” my name comes out on a sigh, and I’d turn into a dick-binger for him. Here. Now. Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever he could put me in the rotation.

  “Hey.” I pull every ounce of self-confidence from the tips of my toes to the hair follicles on my head.

  “You okay?” He studies my face, and I feel my cheeks heat.

  “Fine. I was just leaving.” I step to the other side, and he does, too. “Uh, I believe the dancing is inside.”

  His chest rumbles. “The dancing I want to do is in my bedroom. Shame, I just got here, and you’re leaving.” His shoulders rise, he’s giving me the kiss off.

  “I guess I’m not the frat party type. Have fun.” He’
s a douche. Bedroom. Brush off. Fuck him. I should thank him. He just rid my mind of all lustful thoughts, and I can guarantee I won’t waste any brain space thinking of him. We met on a fluke, he was bored, and he flirted. I was naïve, excited to be visiting a college, and misread the situation.

  This time instead of sidestepping, I push forward and nudge him out of my way. He stumbles and grips my fingers. “Whoa, doll. I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”

  “You didn’t. Like I said, have fun.” I let my eyes fall to where he’s holding me in place.

  Yet, he doesn’t take the hint. “Want company?” I scrunch my nose. “You’re leaving. I don’t want you to. Quickest solution is we go somewhere together.”

  “Like Netflix and chill? Amazon and anal? I’ll pass.” His torso rocks, a low deep rumble releases from his chest, and he’s wheezing as his guffaw takes over. “You done?” He’s making a spectacle and drawing attention to us.

  “Just getting started. It is our first date, you could have offered Hulu and a hand job, and it would have been sufficient.” I rock back and try to untangle our fingers. When did that happen? “Calm down, Brecklynn. I was kidding.” He turns and pulls me after him to the sidewalk where it’s a bit quieter.

  “Which part? I don’t know many guys who’d turn down a hand job or anal.” I pull my hand, and he holds it tighter.

  “Both of those. Ask me in an hour, and I might lose the gentleman status. You hungry?” He winks and moves down the sidewalk to his truck.

  And like that . . . I find myself on a date with Mason— I don’t know his last name. Shit.

  I hesitate at his truck, biding time instead of leaping inside. “Need some help?” His breath tickles my ear. Hmmm . . . his truck is jacked up— wonder what he’s overcompensating for.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Adler.” I send an email to myself with his first and last name. “If you kill me the detectives will find your name in my email when they do a forensic sweep.” I grip the door and hoist myself up. He stands there with his mouth agape; he’s staring at me in shock or drooling over my ass. Either way— winning.

  The door shuts as I fasten my seatbelt, and I watch his muscles bunch and flex as he pulls himself up to the cab. “You gonna share your last name?”

  “Collier.” I quake, feeling every inch of his powerful body next to me.

  The truck starts with a loud purr, and his dimples flash in the dark interior light. “Where to?”

  “No clue. I’ve been here a week. I know a few places my brother’s girlfriend showed me, but I’m still learning.” I lean back, letting the leather cool my heated body.

  “Do you need to let them know you’re leaving?” He hesitates before pulling from the curb.

  “What?”

  “The party. I assume that’s why you’re here.” He points to the bodies littering the yard. “Do you need to find them so they don’t worry?”

  I scoff. “No. They aren’t here. Probably still fucking at home and that was a melody I was tired of hearing.” His head hits the steering wheel.

  “If it’s done right, you’ll never tire of it.” The fucking dimples again. “And you came here by yourself?”

  “Yep. Even tied my shoes by myself, too.”

  His chuckle eases me. “You’re something else, doll. But no frat parties by yourself. You don’t know what can happen.” Oh, I do.

  “It was stupid. I know all too well.” I stare out the window as he leaves the party in our wake.

  “Surprising. A girl who doesn’t argue with me when I tell her it isn’t safe to go somewhere on her own. Is the world ending and I don’t know?” I punch his arm.

  “Hardy har har. Yeah, lesson learned.” The hard way.

  At the stop sign he turns to me. “Did something happen before I got there?” His jaw ticks, and he glances over his shoulder to the house.

  “No. Some guy got a bit handsy, but he backed off when I told him to.” I swallow past the lump of memories in my throat.

  “Who?” His voice is low— menacing.

  “Conner something or other. Really, he was cool.”

  “Whitman. Yeah, stand-up guy. He’s on the team.” He relaxes since he doesn’t have to go back and defend my virtue. “You up for food?”

  “Sure.” My stomach won’t stop fluttering, but I’ll sit across the table from him all night if he wants.

  He drives with the radio low to some hole in the wall pub. “I’m only eighteen.” I know Wichita nightlife is geared towards twenty-one and up.

  “I’m twenty. This place is cool and has the best food.” He leads me inside, and I catch the name. Bomber Burger. “Beware— the owner talks smack, but it’s all in fun.”

  “O— kay.” I roll my eyes. “I’m a pro at shit-talking. I have an older brother, remember.”

  We’re seated in a booth, and immediately it starts. Some guy gives him hell shit-talking baseball. Calling him a pretty boy. Busting his balls about having a ball bunny with him. Oh hell to the no.

  “Ball bunny? Care to explain?” I quirk my eyebrow and wait for him to tell me he isn’t calling me a baseball whore.

  “You know. You take more balls than a batting cage. It’s okay. The baseball team kicks ass and you have the pretty ones like this one here. Usually they don’t bring them in to eat.” I don’t give a fuck if he spits in Mason’s food or not, he isn’t going there with me.

  “Sorry to ruin your fantasy of watching me fuck him on the table, but I’m not a ball bunny. So I suggest you shut your blow hole hurling insults at me like that and go get your arm cardio workout.” His smile softens his face. His laughter draws attention to our table.

  “Your girl just told me in her southern drawl I could suck a dick and wank off.” He’s still laughing.

  “She’s pretty awesome.” Mason stares at me.

  “And I am not his girl,” I clarify.

  The owner disappears, and he turns to me. “You, Brecklynn, are my dream girl.”

  “I suggest you sleep a lot; that’s the sure-fire way I’ll be yours. I’m not a groupie.” I had such high hopes for this night.

  “Didn’t think you were. The groupies aren’t challenging like you. I like it.” I roll my eyes. “Damn, you do that a lot. My best friend Emberlee does, too.” I freeze.

  “Emberlee?” I stare at him.

  “Yeah. Just a friend, I swear.” His eyes are focused on my mouth, which is wide open.

  “Emberlee Winchester? Dating Brody?” Fuck me.

  “You know her?” I nod. “How?”

  “Brody Collier. Your trainer. My brother.” My head falls into my hands, and I’m cringing.

  “Holy shit. You’re prettier than him.” I sigh. “But he’ll kick my ass, and I won’t be able to walk for a week if he knew the thoughts I was having about his baby sister.”

  I snap my head up and stare. “He can’t know. He’s so over-protective.” Wait. “How do you know Lee Lee?”

  “Best friends. We grew up together.”

  “I hear her mention her crew but haven’t heard names.” I think back to what she did say. I can’t remember.

  “Yep. Me, Caden, Avery, Deacon, and now Saylor.” I guess I’ll go back to fantasizing about him.

  I lick my lips and watch his pulse kick up. “I’d be willing to have my ass handed to me in the gym for a taste of your lips.”

  And that’s how I ended up on a date with Mason Adler . . . and in a secret pseudo-relationship with him.

  I’m sitting on the couch replaying every moment from last night when my phone rings. “Hello.”

  “Afternoon, gorgeous. Miss me?” His voice could melt chocolate.

  “No. I’m washing my hair.” I hear his laughter through the line.

  “Just wanted to tell you I’m thinking about you.”

  “Hope you have lotion. I wouldn’t want you to chafe yourself.” I giggle and clap my hand over my mouth.

  “I’d let you kiss it better.” I bet he would . . . �
�I’m off to work out. Talk to you soon.” He ends the call as quick as it began.

  Later that night my phone dings.

  Mason: I took the liberty of programming my number and name last night. Sleep tight and hope you dream of me.

  Me: A real snooze fest then?

  Mason: No sleep would be happening. Wanna come over?

  Me: Goodnight.

  I add the wink face emoji and put my phone down.

  Mason: Morning. When can I see you?

  This is day five of early morning greetings.

  Me: Soon.

  I’m still being elusive.

  Mason: Dinner tonight. Please?

  Me: Pizza place. I’ll meet you at six.

  I still can’t have anyone find out what I’m doing– whatever it is I’m doing with him.

  Mason: Morning gorgeous. Still on for the wedding tonight?

  Me: Isn’t it a bit too soon for a proposal?

  I don’t get a response back and I’m kicking myself for joking with him. Saylor and Deacon’s wedding is tonight and after he bribed me with chocolate last night, I agreed to go home with him.

  We’re having fun . . . that’s it and I ruined it with a stupid proposal pun.

  Mason: I’ll be on my knees but not with a ring in my hand.

  I cross my legs, rubbing them together for friction. He has me wiggling in anticipation.

  Brecklynn and I have kept our whatever the fuck we are under wraps. We chat, text, sneak a meal here and there, but damn she has me panting after her. I’m ready to say fuck it and tell her brother, but something stops me. Tonight— tonight she’s promised me all night and I’m like a damn twelve-year-old sneaking my dad’s Playboy.