The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  Ace of Spades Series

  Beautiful and the Damned – Book One

  Secrets & Sins – Book Two

  Moth to a Flame – Book Three – Coming Soon

  Coming soon

  Airwaves and Ollies

  Mirror Mirror Memoir of Aleisha Maree

  Dante

  THE DIRTY DOZEN – DAMSEL EDITION

  Natasha Thomas

  Copyright ©2020 by Natasha Thomas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Natasha Thomas

  natashathomasauthor@gmail.com

  www.natashathomasauthor.com

  www.facebook.com/NatashaThomasAuthor

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Dante / Natasha Thomas. –February, 2020- 1st ed.

  ISBN:

  Dedication

  For Kay…

  Thank you for giving me the opportunity to participate in one of the most fun projects I’ve had the chance to do in a long time. xxx

  Chapter One

  Dante

  I can’t breathe. My chest feels as if it’s on fire and my lungs heave from the exertion of trying to stay afloat. But I can’t. The pain is agonizing. Immense rage, that’s so destructive it could level a city block, simmers, building steadily in my veins until I feel nothing but the intensity of the burn it leaves in its wake.

  “You need to calm down, sweetheart. Just because she hasn’t answered your calls, doesn’t mean anything is wrong,” my mom, Aislinn tries to reason with me. But in my heart, I know that’s not true.

  Faye always, and I do mean always, answers her cell when she sees my name flash up on the screen. I think the longest Faye’s ignored one of my texts was an hour, and she was in a test at the time. But today, I’ve waited eight hours, sixteen minutes, and seven, no eight second for Faye to get back to me, but still nothing. No text. No call. Not even a Facebook message to tell me that she’s okay. And I won’t lie, I’m freaking the fuck out.

  Pacing the living room of my parents’ house, I run my hands through my hair and consider for the hundredth time this week getting it cut. The only reason I rethink taking a trip to the hairdresser in town is the memory of Faye telling me how much she loves my long hair. Honestly, I’d do anything to make my girl happy, so if I have to put up with it reaching past the collar of my shirt and flying in my face when I ride, I will.

  “I think I’m just gonna head out, mom” I eventually say, not wanting to turn around and see the look of pity in her eyes.

  My mom knows how I feel about Faye; she has for years. She was there when I needed someone to convince me it wasn’t a mistake to pursue my best friend, to step over a line with Faye that can never be uncrossed. Mom is my biggest supporter alongside my dad, and it doesn’t hurt that they love Faye too.

  My parents have always supported my decisions, questionable or otherwise. They were there to pick me up when I inevitably made mistakes and bailed me out of shit I couldn’t find a way clear of on my own. But for the most part, mom and dad have kept their opinions to themselves when it comes to my not so stellar history with the girls I date.

  Aside from the odd scowl mom tries to hide when she sees me out with a different girl than I'd been with the night before, and dad stuffing condoms in my wallet, jacket pockets, and anywhere else he can stash them, my parents don’t pass judgment. In saying that, I’m not an idiot. I know they have a fair idea what I get up to when I’m not with Faye or at home.

  Now is probably when a lot of guys would feed you some bullshit line about trying to fuck the woman they love but can’t have out of their system. And in the beginning, when I first realized what I feel for, Faye wasn’t just lust but something bigger, I might have too. But as it stands, there’s no excuse for why I make the choices I do, why I fuck the girls who throw themselves at me, and why, even though I know it upsets Faye, I keep doing it.

  Night after night, I pick women up, take them back to their place and fuck them. No promises for the future are exchanged. No words of love, sweet kisses, or soft touches are shared. I’m not an asshole to them, just honest. And if my blunt explanation of what they can expect from me after we’re done hurts them, well, that’s on them, not me.

  Clearing her throat, mom eyes me warily trying to gauge my current mood and asks, “Did you call, Drake? If anyone would know where she is, it’s him.”

  “Yeah. Spoke to him two hours after she didn’t answer my first call, and then again about an hour ago. He doesn’t have the first fucking clue where she is, neither does Leo,” I reply gruffly as I attempt to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

  Faye is the oldest of the four kids her parents had in quick succession, and fortunately or unfortunately, depending on whose perspective you look at it from, Faye’s the only girl. If you ask her dad, Knight, he’ll tell you that it’s damn lucky he and his wife didn't have more than one daughter. As far as Knight’s concerned there aren’t enough guns in circulation to protect his little girl from men who don’t come close to being good enough for her, and I happen to agree.

  “I thought, Faye was supposed to be dropping Leo off at Boss and Beth’s this afternoon so he can study with Lilliana?” Mom asks.

  “She was. I told Leo I’ll drop him off on my way to practice if Faye hasn’t shown up by then.” Mom frowns at the mention of going practice, but thankfully she doesn’t say anything.

  We’ve been arguing for months about what I’m going to do after I finish high school in a few weeks, and it's only gotten worse in the lead up to graduation. While my parents have always supported my deep abiding love of music, mom isn’t entirely happy with my decision to make it a full-time gig. And I get it. She wants me to have something to fall back on; it doesn’t have to be a degree, just something solid. In other words, something I’d fucking hate.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” mom nods, walking over to engulf me in the biggest hug a five-foot-two woman can give her six-foot-one son. “Please let me know when you hear from her, though.”

  “I will, mom,” I promise, kissing her cheek.

  After dropping Leo off at Boss and Beth’s house, I drove around town searching all of Faye’s usual hangouts and a few of the more obscure ones no one else knew about. By the time it started to get dark, my worry about where she was and if she’s okay ratcheted up another notch to outright fear.

  This isn’t like, Faye. She doesn’t just go AWOL without, at least, letting me know where to find her. She isn’t flighty. If anything, Faye is a fighter. She confronts problems head on and won’t give up until she comes up with a solution. And I should know, Faye and I have gotten into our fair share of arguments over the years, and not once, has she taken off to lick her wounds. No, Faye goes toe to toe with me until one of us eventually see reason.

  Shaking my head and turning my car around, I make my way to the other side of town to the space my band has set up to practice in.

  Cole and Dylan, two of my best friends, and our bands lead vocalist and guitarist, live with their dad on a large estate just on the outskirts of Lower Falls. Their house is huge – a mansion in comparison to the majority of the houses around here – and sits on over sixty acres. Ashton Forsythe, Cole and Dylan’s dad, gave us permission to use one of the guest houses on the propert
y for us to practice in, going as far as to gut and completely remodel it to suit our purposes.

  Money is no object for Ashton, who makes his fortune in…actually, I don’t have the first fucking clue how he makes bank. Thinking on it, I realize I don’t really know much about him at all. Other than he’s the fourth richest man in America, and he took in a seven-year-old foster kid, Tatum, ten years ago, my extensive knowledge as to all things, Ashton is severely limited.

  Watching him with Cole and Dylan over the years it was easy to see that Ashton loves his sons unconditionally. He might be a private man who keeps a tight leash on his emotions, but when he’s with his boys – Tatum included – his tough exterior cracks wide open, and you can see the kind of man he is underneath.

  A smart, ambitious, and ruthless businessman, Ashton Forsythe is a sucker for his kids. I think Cole or Dylan, his identical twins, and Tatum, his foster son could ask Ashton for anything and if it were in his power to give it to them, he would. And if he couldn’t, Ashton would find a way to rectify that. Probably in all honesty by asking, Talia, his personal assistant and the woman me and the guys think he’s secretly in love with.

  Pulling up outside the house, I park off to the left behind Tatum’s ’67 Shelby and notice Talia struggling to lift a large box out of her trunk. The chivalry my mom instilled in me kicks in instantly and has me reaching over to take it from her.

  Talia gifts me with a stunning smile that makes her unique aqua colored eyes sparkle. “Thanks, Dante. If it wasn’t for you showing up, I had no idea how I was going to get that into the house,” she nods toward the box.

  “Talia,” Ashton’s voice booms from the front steps. “What the fuck took you so long? You were supposed to be back an hour ago.”

  For a moment, I think I see tears well up in Talia’s eyes, but before I can confirm it, she straightens her spine and blinks them away. “Sorry, boss. Did you need something?”

  For a usually great guy, it’s always shocked me how much of a dick Ashton can be toward Talia. It’s almost as if Ashton’s an asshole on purpose so that she keeps her distance, but that doesn’t make sense to me. Talia is an excellent PA and an even more amazing chick.

  Funny, sweet, and not hard on the eyes either, Talia loves Cole, Dylan, and Tatum as if they’re her own, and me like the little brother she never had. As long as she doesn’t have to clean up puke, we don’t impregnate anyone, and don’t host parties on the premises without Ashton’s knowledge, Talia lets us get away with pretty much everything. Which is part of the reason she’s so amazing.

  “Yeah,” Ashton growls after realizing his gaze has lingered on her ass too long. “I needed you here to sit in on that conference call. Marks was his usual asshole self, and you’re the only one who knows how to deal with him when he’s being a prick.”

  “Did the negotiations go as planned,” Talia replies, switching back into professional mode.

  As the two of them banter back and forth, I heft the box into a more comfortable hold and walk up the steps. “Where do you want it?” I ask Ashton in passing.

  “Just dump it in the foyer, buddy. I’ll deal with it later,” he answers, never taking his eyes off the small woman rifling through the back seat of his car.

  Shaking my head, I offer some unsolicited advice. “You know she cares about you, and she loves your boys, right? If I were you, I’d make my move sooner rather than later, Ash. Women like Talia are rare, and it’s only a matter of time before other men start noticing she’s unattached.”

  A hard look flashes across his face before Ash shuts it down. Clasping his hand on my shoulder, he gives me a playful shove, changing the subject. “Thanks for the heads up, buddy. The boys are in the guest house if you’re looking for them. And I think I saw Faye out there too.”

  Relief surges through me at the sound of her name, and my feet are moving before I can utter so much as a thank you. To know she’s here, that she’s okay, is a huge weight off my mind. But as relieved as I am, it won’t save Faye from the spanking she has coming for scaring the shit out of me for the last ten or so hours.

  Chapter Two

  Faye

  “Have any of you seen my phone?” I ask the room at large, starting to panic now.

  I’ve been looking for the stupid thing for hours – unsuccessfully, I might add – and I just know that when I do find it, I’m going to have a lot to answer for.

  Grinning at me impishly, Cole points to his brother Dylan who is lounging on one of the beanbags on the other side the of the soundproof booth. “Saw him with it earlier, but that’d have to be, what? A few hours ago now.”

  I roll my eyes at him and go back to writing notes in my binder instead of doing what I really want to, which is demand Dylan return it and then kick his ass for touching my stuff in the first place. The truth is that if Dylan doesn’t want to do something, he won’t, and I have no hope of convincing him otherwise, so why bother? It’s only a waste of time and energy that I don’t have to spare.

  Of the two of them, Cole is the more laid back twin. He’s the life of every party, the instigator of every prank, and the one girls flock to first. But what most people don’t know is that Cole is highly sensitive, supremely organized, and has a huge heart. If you ask him, he’ll say if you replace the word heart with dick, you’d be right, but I know differently. Cole’s cocky attitude and playboy persona is just a façade, allowing him to hide who he really is and his pain deep down inside where no one can see or reach it.

  When the twins’ mom, Letty, ran off with her Pilates instructor five years ago it left a void in their lives, just not like you’d imagine a mom leaving would. Letty was a selfish woman who cared little for her children, and even less for the boy Ash brought home one day and announced they were adopting.

  I don’t understand it, and I don’t think I ever will. Letty had everything handed to her on a silver platter; beautiful house, more money than God, a wonderful, handsome husband, and three great kids, but obviously, that wasn’t enough for her.

  Banging on the glass petition startles me, making me lose my balance. I would have slid straight off my stool and hit the floor if it weren’t for two muscled arms wrapping around my waist, saving me from humiliation at the last minute.

  Cole’s hard body is pressed up against the length of mine, and the smell of his cologne reminds me of just how different he is to the boy I’ve been in love with for most of my life.

  It’s not that Cole isn’t attractive; he most certainly is. Dark blonde hair that is longer on the top and shorter on the sides has girls imagining what it would be like to run their hands through it while he kissed them. Cole has full lips, a square jaw with just the right amount of stubble, and piercing green eyes, which are so striking they’re almost hypnotizing. Add to that, his lean, yet muscled six-foot-something frame and his cocky grin, and you can see why Cole is one of the most sought after boys in school.

  As his identical twin, Dylan shares the same physical attributes as his brother. So much so, that until recently it had been nearly impossible to tell them apart. Thankfully, or not depending on if you asked Ash, Dylan took it upon himself to add a couple of facial piercing – one in his left eyebrow, and the other in the bottom corner of his lip – which makes it far easier to differentiate between them. Piercings aside, that’s not the only difference between the brothers, though.

  Dylan is quieter. He prefers to watch, taking everything in before acting, unlike his twin. You will never see Dylan without his trusty notebook and a half-chewed pencil in his hand, and if you want a conversation out of him, be prepared to pull teeth because that’s what it feels like you have to do to get more than a few words out of him.

  But that doesn’t mean he isn’t popular with the ladies. No, quite the opposite. Dylan is broody-hot, or so my friends say. And apparently, broody-hot equals mysterious which is highly appealing to high school girls with sex on the brain, making Dylan a target of a lot of unwanted attention. Es
pecially since there is only one girl that holds Dylan’s interest, and that’s one of my best friends, Paisley.

  Paisley might be two years younger than I am but we’ve been friends forever. If it were left up to me to choose a girl that would be perfect for Dylan, it would be the beautiful, intelligent, Paisley Collins. Except, I think her dad, Cash may have something to say about that. And for that matter, her brothers, Talon and Caine would too.

  Tightening his hands on my hips, Cole dips his head down and tilts my eyes up to meet his with a finger under my chin. “Hey,” he prompts in a deeper voice than his usual baritone. “I asked if you’re okay. Did you hurt yourself?”

  If I didn’t know any better, I would think that Cole is hitting on me. His eyes are hooded, his lips slightly parted, and his heart is racing. Not to mention, I swear I can feel something hard poking me in the belly, but I have to be imaging that. Don’t I?

  “Um,” I mumble pathetically.

  A split second later, I’m ripped out of Cole’s arms as a new set of very familiar one’s wrap around my waist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing touching her like that? Have you lost your fucking mind? No one, and I mean no one touches, Faye.”

  Cole throws his hands up in surrender, grinning like the fool he can be. “Calm down, man. I was just saving our girl from imminent danger, not copping a feel.”

  “She’s not our fucking girl, dickhead,” Dante snaps.

  I don’t think for one minute that Dante stopped to consider his words or how much they hurt me, because if he had, he wouldn’t have said them. If there’s one thing I know to be true about him, it’s that Dante would never intentionally hurt me. Not ever.