Locked and Loaded (Bullet, #6)

by Jade C. Jamison

  Locked and Loaded

  (Bullet #6)

  Jade C. Jamison

  Locked and Loaded

  Is it too much to believe that someone keeps returning to your life because it’s meant to be?

  Zane Carson is an idealistic young man with one big skeleton in his closet when he first meets Jennifer Manders in college. They date only to break up soon after. The sexual attraction is like an electromagnet but they fight like alley cats. The relationship just isn’t worth it.

  Zane’s band Fully Automatic breaks big about the same time Jennifer finishes college. One summer afternoon, they meet for coffee and sparks fly once more. It’s off again, on again, but they just can’t make it work and break it off for good, deciding it’s not worth the effort.

  But Zane is drawn to her and, during a break in the music action, he tracks her down again, willing to change himself for her and needing to give her one last try. The attraction is as strong as ever, but now Jennifer is hiding something from Zane—something big, something that threatens to extinguish the spark for good. When Zane discovers her secret, will he be able to forgive her or will that be the end?

  “Oh, Zane, this place is amazing. Why haven’t I ever heard of it before?”

  “I can tell you exactly why. Three reasons.” She raised her eyebrows as he raised his index finger. “One, it’s almost downtown, and I know you avoid downtown like the plague. If I recall, you said something about rather losing a limb than walk the Sixteenth Street Mall again.”

  “I said that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well...maybe that was a little drastic.”

  “Yeah, probably.” He lifted the bottle of Dos Equis and then said, “Two, it’s a little hole in the wall. It doesn’t advertise like some of the bigger restaurants—no billboards, no newspaper ads, shit like that.”

  Jennifer nodded. “Okay, yeah. And what’s number three?”

  Zane leaned over the table and whispered. “It’s kind of a dive.” Jennifer couldn’t help but giggle. “But in a good way.”

  She laughed out loud at that. “Yeah, definitely.” She picked up a chip and dipped it in the warm queso next to Zane’s bottle. “The food is amazing so far.”

  “Just wait.”

  The waiter came by with a pitcher. “More water, señorita?”

  “Please.” After the waiter was back on his way, she said to Zane, “I love it. I love the people and I even love that stupid TV in the corner.”

  Zane glanced over. “Yeah, well...”

  “No, seriously. They don’t have the sound on, but it somehow makes it feel like home in here, you know? Lights and movement, but the sounds are coming from the kitchen and some weird soundtrack.”

  Zane breathed through his nose, putting on a look of mock horror and said, “What if it’s our soundtrack?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if this is our movie? A movie about our lives...and that’s the soundtrack?”

  “Three things.”

  Zane grinned. “What?”

  “One...if this is our movie, it’s pretty damn boring. No car chases, no sex scenes, no snappy dialogue—”

  “Says who? My dialogue’s plenty snappy.”

  “Two, the soundtrack sucks.”

  “Well, don’t be telling them that.”

  “And...I don’t have a three. I guess just two.”

  A smirk covered Zane’s face. “And we can take care of the sex scene later.”

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Jade C. Jamison

  Cover design © Mr. Jamison

  Cover images © FXQuadro via Shutterstock

  All rights reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Characters and names of real persons who appear in the book are used fictitiously.

  Thank you for choosing this Jade C. Jamison title!

  If you have received this book for free from any source other than a reputable online bookseller, you have received a pirated copy. Please consider buying a legitimate copy from a reputable online bookseller or consider making a donation through PayPal to jadecjamison@gmail.com. Thank you for respecting my hard work.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  ZANE CARSON TRIED to roll over on his back. He had a crick in his neck and all his joints were stiff, but there would be no stretching in this queen-size over-soft hotel bed. One of the girls he’d brought back with him the night before was scrunched up against his back, her arms wrapped around him as though she were seven years old, carrying her art project home through sinister gales and the threat of hail.

  Not quite but close.

  All the groupie girls—all of them—seemed to hold out hope that they’d suck his dick so expertly and look up at him through their sweet but hollow eyes that Zane wouldn’t be able to help falling in love with them. He’d never understood what fueled those unrealistic dreams. Lack of self-esteem? Unrealistic expectations? Living in a fantasy world? No brains and too many drugs?

  He had no fucking idea. He often felt bad about taking advantage of whatever it was driving these girls to seek sex with famous rock stars, but it was something he couldn’t help. And he justified it by telling himself that the women got something out of it, even if it wasn’t a ring or a promise.

  They got to brag to all their friends that they’d fucked a rock star.

  Yeah...there was that old joke that the bassist wasn’t important to a band, but Zane and his band Fully Automatic knew better. The bass added richness and depth to his band’s music that just wouldn’t be there if it were simply two guitars and a drum. He knew of bands who didn’t care about the bass as much or didn’t utilize their bass man fully...and they suffered for it. They were usually nobodies.

  Groupie women knew the bassist was important too—even if they sometimes preferred lead guitar.

  Zane felt the girl’s lips on his back—or what he’d thought was her lips, and in a way it was. She was drooling on his back, and he figured it out for certain because he heard a slight snore-like sound as she sucked in air through her open mouth.

  Fuck it. Time to get up.

  It was difficult unwrapping her arms from around him, because she was holding on tight. Her mouth might have been slack, but her limbs were hanging on for dear life. Jesus Christ. Handcuffs had never felt this constricting. He used his fingers to pull her arms off his body even while they clung like magnets, and then he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and running one hand through his dark, shoulder-length black hair.

  God, he felt
like shit. Utter, complete shit.

  It wasn’t just the aching joints and the sour stomach. It was a deep down empty feeling that had only two cures. Those remedies weren’t working much anymore. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It just took a lot more of them to work. Not simply one girl sucking his cock, but two. Not just a single bottle of Southern Comfort but a couple...and whatever fucking pills he could swallow along with the liquid peace of mind.

  He sucked in a slow breath through his nose and surveyed the part of the room within his view. The drapes were pulled wide open, not that it mattered. They were on the ninth floor, and he had a vague memory of looking out on the city lights early morning while one girl took care of him in the front and another girl worked him from behind. And a third girl? Maybe...but it was fuzzy. He focused his eyes as he pulled in another deep breath. There were clothes all over the floor and furniture, making it look like the inside of a clothing donation bin for a thrift store.

  Except for the sexy black panties.

  But even those weren’t doing it for him today.

  Zane let out a small cough to clear his lungs and reached for the almost-empty bottle of Comfort on the nightstand, screwing off the lid with the same hand he held it. He wasn’t even thinking about it as he chugged down what remained of its amber contents, swallowing it as though it were a glass of water.

  But as he stood and felt the familiar-as-a-friend warmth flow down his chest, he wondered how the fuck he’d gotten here...once more. It had become almost like clockwork, that rapid decline down to the fucking bottom. He almost snarled thinking about it, just waiting for the alcohol to do its thing, but he knew good and well what he’d just put down wasn’t nearly enough. Maybe he still had some pills in his jeans to chase the booze with.

  He shook his head and turned around. Yeah...it was three girls, not two, and damned if they didn’t all look like carbon copies. All blonde, all thin. When he and Ethan would party back in the day, his friend was all about the boobs, so they never fought over who got which ones. Zane liked breasts to be sure, but they didn’t need to be the size of volleyballs. Ethan didn’t care if they were fake so long as they were big and perky (Val and Jenna seemed to be the only exceptions—and that was probably because Ethan liked them even when he was sober). Zane, though...he had a consistent type, and these three fit it perfectly. They reminded him of the one woman he couldn’t live without but definitely couldn’t fucking live with...

  “Mmm.” The blonde in the middle was making a sound, and at first Zane thought she was just muttering and stretching, but damned if the girl on the far end wasn’t picking up right where they’d left off last night. She was kissing the middle girl’s neck and snaking her fingers in between the girl’s legs. If Zane had more to drink, he could get in on the action, but that wasn’t about to happen. He was still touching the ground.

  That realization prompted him to look for his jeans, and he turned back toward the window, scanning the room until he found them on the floor near the sofa. He ignored the throbbing in his head as he picked them up, fishing his hands into the pockets one at a time.

  “Oh, yeah,” he heard one of the girls moaning and, when he turned to look at them, he saw all three of them writhing around with each other again.

  And his fucking front pockets were empty, except for a small ring of keys. The back pockets only had his phone. His wallet was on the nightstand, and he was surprised he still bothered to use condoms nowadays. That was thanks to his old bandmate Valerie Payne, who used to harp and nag about all the varied reasons to carry them everywhere and wear them constantly. In fact, now that he was paying more attention, he saw three used ones on the floor next to the bed, not far from the trashcan.

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  Yeah...he definitely needed more numbness.

  “Any of you bitches have any more Oxy hidden somewhere?”

  More moans and gasps but they were in their own fucking world. Fuck it—no Zane then. No way could he fucking participate without getting higher.

  He walked past the bed toward the bathroom and took a piss while holding himself steady with one hand on the wall. His stomach churned again and his head throbbed, but his dick was limp while he held it, draining his bladder.

  God, he couldn’t stop the internal monster inside from talking shit.

  He needed something.

  The girls were louder, and he was pretty sure two of them were close. Damn shame they’d forgotten the rock star was out of the room. He moved to the sink and ran the water for a few seconds before splashing it on his face. When he turned it off, he grabbed one of the fluffy white hand towels on the silver rack and held it up to his face with both hands.

  The world was dark when he squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still see what it had become.

  Jesus fuck. He needed something.

  Yeah, one of the girls was climaxing and, damn, she was loud. Good thing the walls in this hotel were thick. If a voyeur needed to get off, he’d have to hold a glass up against the door, but that was about the extent of it. And he’d have to have good hearing.

  Zane stumbled back into the room. The Comfort he’d had a few minutes ago wasn’t doing shit. He walked back to his jeans and fished out his phone. He’d have to make a call. His guy was always good for more and he delivered—day or night and to any address. But as Zane started scrolling through his contacts, he felt warm thin hands snake around his torso. “Hey, big guy...”

  “Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ without some Oxy.”

  She slid her hands down, kissing his back and grabbing his cock, massaging it with a fury he couldn’t understand. “Aw, c’mon, Insane Zane.”

  He pulled away, but she wasn’t letting go of his cock. Oh, yeah, that’s right—she was the girl clutching her artwork. Fuck. How’d he always manage to pick them? “Ain’t happening, bitch.”

  “I got some Oxy in my purse.”

  His dick twitched at the mention. “Yeah?”

  “One, I think.”

  One? Just one? Well, it’d be a start. “Get it.” He almost called her a whore. He was thinking it and knew she would have let him—wouldn’t have batted an eyelash, probably—but he already had enough hate bubbling inside. Didn’t need to add another charge to the list of offenses.

  He pulled up his guy and sent a text before letting the phone drop to the plush carpet. Need my usual asap. As the girl sauntered back over, Zane tried to picture what she’d looked like last night, ‘cause right now she looked like a rape victim—black eye makeup running halfway down her cheeks, remnants of red lipstick still staining her lips and the skin around her mouth, tousled, tangled blonde hair looking like half a bird’s nest around her head, bruises all over her stick thin legs. Last night, though, he was sure she’d been hot as hell.

  Of course, they all looked hot as hell when he was loaded.

  He clenched his jaw, squeezing all the creeping thoughts back fucking out of his head. Goddamn, he hoped she was gonna deliver.

  She held out her hand, palm up, and there were two—yes, two—of those fucking beauties. She was going to be his goddess this morning. He pulled in a breath. “You are an angel,” he said, almost smiling.

  “One for you and one for me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Two for me.” She pouted as he could feel a deep scowl twisting his face. “You want me to play, don’t you?”

  She blinked, her frown deepening. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Goddammit. For this little girl, those pills were just for fun. They were party toys. She didn’t fucking get that he needed them—there was no way anything was going to happen if he didn’t take them and, as it was, they were just a drop in the proverbial bucket. Before she could even mutter “here,” offering her palm to Zane, he lifted her hand up to his mouth and licked the damn pills off her palm. And then, as a way of saying thanks, he kept licking her palm.

  What the fuck had they done last night? Past the taste of the pills’ coati
ng going down his throat, there was a weird taste covering his tongue, something from her hand.

  He didn’t fucking want to know. Soon, he’d be flying, even if it was at low altitude, and that shit wouldn’t matter. In the meantime, he had to reward this young lady for her altruistic deed. So he cupped her breast and led her damp hand to his cock while he pressed his mouth against hers. It wasn’t long before the other two girls were wrapping themselves around him after girl number one had dropped to her knees, and the pills started to take the pain away, drowning out the voices that wouldn’t fucking shut the hell up.

  Chapter Two

  JENNIFER MANDERS SMILED politely at the brown-haired man across the table from her. Why the hell had she agreed to a blind date with an accountant? What had she been thinking?

  Well, she knew. She’d made the assumption that he’d be the kind of guy who could provide a good life for her and would likely accept her, baggage and all, but she already knew, after five minutes of awkward conversation, that she could never marry a man like this.

  If she were smart, she’d end both their suffering right this moment and make up some stupid excuse to leave. But she wouldn’t.

  Jennifer Manders wasn’t known for her courage. With most people, she’d been a sweet girl, a kind girl, and she’d grown into a polite woman as well. But her niceness hadn’t always meant a happy life for her. No, far from it. In fact, the older she grew, the worse it got, and that sucked, because she had to be a role model now.

  “Tell me about yourself, Jennifer.” The guy had a smooth tenor voice, but that was about all he had going for himself. He had very little expression on his face from one moment to the next—she couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad or glad to be there.

  Deadpan.

  She wondered how he’d act if she told him she’d been mercilessly bullied as a young child, poked at because she’d been the “good” kid in her small parochial school classroom. Out of all her classmates, she’d been the one who was afraid of the hellfire and brimstone her teachers preached, and growing up in a seedy Denver neighborhood raised by a single mom trying to get by, it had been tough. Her mom had become a member of the church so she would be able to pay reduced tuition, and little Jenny Manders would take the bus and then walk the two blocks to the school that sat next to the church. And, being eager to please, she’d done every little thing they’d asked of her.