by K. Webster
Sweet Jayne
Copyright © 2016 K Webster
Editing: Prema Romance Editing
Formatting: Champagne Formats
Cover Design: K Webster
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Quote
Dedication
Warning
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by Author K Webster
To my husband. My rock.
Thank you for always hearing me. Always.
Even when you don’t know what I’m saying
and even when I don’t actually say anything at all.
You. Always. Hear. Me.
WARNING
Story contains dark taboo themes and violence both sexual and physical which could trigger emotional distress in reader.
I fucking hate Donovan Jayne.
A furious scream is lodged in my throat, but one desperate, pleading look from my mother, and I’m trotting away from the asshole in our expensive kitchen toward the front door with my lips firmly pressed together.
Words like, Fuck you, or Eat shit and die, or Stop checking out your seventeen-year-old stepdaughter, you prick, all remain unsaid and poised on the tip of my tongue that craves to lash out at him. If it weren’t for my mother actually loving the asshole, I’d have already given him a piece of my mind.
But she does love him—or so she says. And Mamá deserves any morsel of happiness she can get. She’s been unhappy for so long. Ever since Papá died in an accident at the mill he worked at, just outside of Buenos Aires six years ago, she’s been lost. The pretty smile that used to light up her face had darkened. It was by chance that she ran into the cocky hotel and resort magnate¸ Donovan Jayne. She’d been working as a housekeeper at one of the biggest hotels in Argentina. During her rounds, she pushed through his door, ready to collect the dirty towels thinking no one was in at the time. He was just coming out of the bathroom after a shower as she was entering. She apologized profusely and went to leave, but he wouldn’t let her go. Love at first sight, they both claim.
Gag.
How anyone could love that self-centered asshole is beyond me. He not only uprooted us and moved us to Colorado to marry her, but I also had to leave all of my friends behind during my last year of high school. We’d gone from our simple two-bedroom apartment which Mamá was able to afford in the city on her meager housekeeping salary to a breathtaking mansion on a fucking mountain. But, her smile is back again. Mamá smiles like she did when Papá was still alive and that’s the only reason I put up with Donovan’s shit.
And by shit, I mean his possessiveness over his “family.” The way he struts around this town showing us off like we’re a couple of prized horses. But when someone so much as looks at us remotely wrong, he turns into a narcissistic idiot who reminds them who owns this town. We do, he says. Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to be a part of the “we.”
Ten more months. I can suck it up, bite my tongue, and let him pull my strings for ten more months. And then I’m off to college. I’m not sure where I’ll go yet but it will most definitely be far, far away from Donovan and his superiority complex.
“Nadia Jayne!”
I cringe on the bottom step of the front porch and consider running the rest of the way to the bus stop to avoid having to talk to him. But Donovan doesn’t give up so easily. He’s shrewd and determined. It’s best to let him spout his bullshit and then move on. So, instead, I lift my chin and turn to regard him with a raised eyebrow, no doubt revealing my disdain for him.
“What?” I hiss out my question, hoping the venom in my voice stings.
A small flinch at my tone is the only indication I’ve hurt him before he quickly masks it away with a look of indifference. He must’ve gotten ready for work early this morning, as he’s already donning a pristine dark grey suit. I’ve never, not once, seen him not in a suit. For thirty-six, he’s well-built and handsome. His dark hair is styled in a way that’s meant to look messy and his grey-blue eyes are piercing. Always calculating and determining his next move. I’m not blind to the fact that his physical traits are attractive. But it’s what’s on the inside that makes him a creep. And he’s the biggest damn creep around. I’ve seen the way he looks at me as if he wants to fuck me.
His eyes linger on my bare legs, unhidden by my ridiculously short school uniform because I’ve purposefully rolled it up as not to appear to look like an old maid on my first day, before he drags them up to meet my simmering gaze. “You forgot your lunch money,” he says, waving a crisp hundred-dollar bill at me, “and you forgot to give your old man a hug goodbye.”
Anger causes my chest to heat up. I can feel it clawing up my neck, revealing itself to him. His smirk tells me he knows he’s struck a chord with me. I fist my hands at my sides to keep from doing something stupid like flipping him off. I’m already grounded from the car he bought me after we officially moved here this summer. I hadn’t even gotten to drive it once. “You talk back around here and your privileges get taken away. My house, my rules.” Fuck him and his house rules.
“You’re not my dad,” I snap. Visions of my own loving father flit through my head and I feel the familiar ache in my chest at losing him.
He takes a few steps toward me and flashes me a wide grin, revealing perfect, white teeth. “Technically I am your daddy. If you forgot, maybe you should check your ID again.”
Tears well in my eyes but I clench my jaw. I won’t let them spill over and give him the satisfaction of knowing that he can so easily rile me up. But he’s right. Donovan’s good at what he does. He swoops in, buys property—in this case, my mother and me—and stamps his name all over it. The asshole made sure he legally adopted me so I would bear the Jayne name too.
I’m no longer Nadia Blanco.
As of two months ago, I’m officially Nadia Jayne.
With a huff, I stomp up the steps and make my way up to where he’s standing. His eyes glimmer with excitement as I approach. Five bucks says he’s sporting a hard-on, too. More heat floods through me, this time making its way to my cheeks, and I shiver at that idea. God, my poor mother.
He holds out the money but when I reach for it, he clutches onto my wrist. His gaze darkens and he affixes me with a firm glare. “Don’t embarrass me. The principal at your school sits on the board of my company. I won’t have you tarnishing the Jayne name,” he says coolly. “I wouldn’t want to have to spank you over my knee for being a bad girl.”
My jaw drops and I gape at him. I kn
ew the bastard was a pervert but he’s crossed over onto a whole new plane of twistedness.
“Oh, don’t act so shocked, Nadia. You know I’m not opposed to disciplining you. If I remember correctly, you’re still grounded from your car because of your attitude. I’d be more than happy to try other methods of punishment. Clearly, your attitude still fucking sucks. Maybe a little ass whipping will be good for you.”
When I try to wriggle my hand out of his grasp, he grips it tighter and pulls me closer. His cologne invades my lungs and I nearly choke from the potent smell.
“¡Te odio!” I hiss. I hate you. Jerking my hand away, I take several steps back.
The corner of his mouth lifts up in a devilishly handsome grin. “Tell me you’ll be a good girl.”
I glare at him and nod my head, not giving him the satisfaction of my words. His eyes lazily skim over my face and stop at my lips.
“Good,” he says, his smile faltering and his eyes finding mine again. “Have a great first day of school, sunshine.” His gaze softens for a brief moment. For one tiny second I think Donovan Jayne may even be human. Not some asshole I’ve been forced to obey until the day I turn eighteen and can bolt. “Come here.” His voice is hoarse this time.
With his arrogance taking a surprising backseat for once, I find myself going to him willingly. Almost seeking his comfort for some odd reason. When I’m close enough, he eats up the rest of the distance with his long legs and then his powerful arms are around me, pulling me against his solid chest. The stiffness I always carry when I’m around him melts away as he hugs me. Our hug is different this time. It’s not forced for once. His scent, like always, cloaks me and I know from experience I’ll smell him all day long. A constant reminder of his iron grip on my life. Today, though, I’m hoping it will give me even an ounce of his confidence as I attempt to make new friends in my new school.
“The boys are all beneath you here,” he says with a playful growl. “I know this because I grew up here. Stay away from them. They don’t deserve you.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. That’s probably the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me. I lift my head up and look into his eyes that sparkle with an emotion I can never quite put my finger on. “Maybe I’m not into boys.” I quirk up an eyebrow in a challenging way.
His soft features pinch into a hard scowl, momentarily stunning me. “You shouldn’t be into anyone. School should be your primary focus. I’ll forbid you from dating—boys or girls—if your grades start to suffer.”
God, I hate him. How could I have so easily forgotten?
Before releasing me, he pats my ass with one hand and kisses the top of my head. As soon as he pulls away, I snatch the money from his hold and storm away from him. It isn’t until I’m halfway down the long gravel driveway that I realize tears are streaking down my cheeks.
“Nadia,” he calls out to me, a hint of remorse in his voice.
Swiping away a tear, I turn to regard him. His face has an apology written all over it but his stubborn mouth refuses to let it out.
“What?” I prod.
He scrubs at his cheeks with his palms, an almost angry scowl forming after. His steps are rushed as he strides back over to the front door and swings it open, calling out to me over his shoulder. “Have a good day at school.”
I don’t respond as the door slams behind him but instead wave him off. If it weren’t for him and his “undying” bullshit love for my mother, I’d be texting with my friend Julienne as we speak, trying to figure out a way to skip out on our last class of the day. Instead, I’m in another country, going to a brand new school, and completely friendless with nobody to talk to aside from my mother and annoyingly good-looking stepfather. Thanks, Daddy.
Once I reach the road beside the mailbox, I sit down in the grass and ignore the cold morning dew soaking my bottom through my skirt. I swipe the tears away with the back of my hand and try to overlook the fact that my stepfather is a prick. It was stupid to think there was an actual likable person behind the suit and hard eyes. Doubt I’ll ever make the mistake of letting my guard down again.
“Please don’t tell me you live there,” a voice calls out from the road.
I look up to the sound of the young voice and see a girl who looks to be around my age walking toward me. Her hair is dyed black on top and pale blonde underneath. She’s got it pulled up in a messy bun that reveals multiple piercings in her ears. The school uniform she’s wearing looks just like mine, but wrinkly and slightly baggy.
“Please tell me you’re here to help me run away,” I joke back.
Her eyebrows furrow together as she approaches and inspects me. “Why are you crying?”
I drop my gaze to my lap and tug at a loose thread on my skirt. “I hate my stepdad.”
She plops down beside me and mimics my cross-legged position. I watch with fascination as she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. “Funny. I hate my stepdad, too.”
A puff of smoke surrounds us as she exhales. We sit in silence for a moment while she smokes and I plan ways to kill Donovan.
Finally, she says, “I’m Kasey.”
She hands me her cigarette and I gingerly take it from her. I’m not a smoker but I don’t want to scare away my first potential friend with being snooty.
“Nadia.”
I take a puff and then cough before handing her back the cigarette.
“You new to Aspen High?” she questions.
Glancing up at her, I take in her features. Despite the dark eyeliner and heavy purple lipstick, a pretty face hides beneath. Her hazel eyes look sad, as if she has a whole lifetime of stories to tell.
“Yep. I moved here from Argentina this summer.”
Her eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “You don’t sound foreign.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “What exactly does foreign sound like?”
Her cheeks turn slightly pink but she tries to hide her embarrassment with another puff of her cigarette. “I don’t know. Like, you don’t speak another language or have an accent or whatever.”
“Los Americanos pueden ser tan ignorantes,” I tell her with a smile. Americans can be so ignorant. “Is that better?”
She scrunches her nose up at me. “What did you say?”
“I insulted you,” I say shrugging my shoulders. “It takes out all the fun if I tell you.”
“Bitch,” she says with a grin and flips me off.
I run my fingers through my long, dark locks that are still smooth from straightening them this morning. “In my old school, we had to learn both English and Spanish. Everyone there could speak both languages fluently. My mother always drilled into me that knowing multiple languages would help me be successful one day, especially if I went to college in another country like the U.S. Her dream, not mine. I guess her dream came true.”
She laughs. “College. Must be nice to have that option.”
“Everyone has that option,” I say with a frown, furrowing my brows together.
She stands quickly and flicks the half-smoked cigarette into the street. “Not when you’re trailer trash,” she says and points at a mobile home through the tree line across the road. “When you’re poor, your only option is to find a job in this shitty-ass town and pop out a couple of babies. Your destiny, when you’re like me, is being some asshole’s punching bag. A wife to a drunk who beats you. You have no future. No love. Happily fucking ever after. Just ask my mom.”
I lift my chin to see her visibly shaking. Not really knowing anything about this girl and also not wanting to upset her, I rush to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Cheers,” I say with a sneer, “to moms everywhere who married fucking assholes.”
She snaps her gaze to mine and a small smile plays at her lips. With a few rapid blinks, she chases away the despondency in her eyes and is once again composed. “Cheers.”
“You know,” I tell her as I pick a blade of wet grass and try to tie it in a knot, “you could go to college. You don’t
have to be like your mom.”
A sardonic chuckle is tossed back at me. “God, you sound like Taylor,” she says wistfully but then her bottom lip trembles.
“Who’s Taylor?” I question, wondering about her sudden mood change.
She gapes at me as if I’ve lost my mind but then waves off the question. “He’s just someone I used to know.” I sense the lie in her words. He was more than that. Much more than that. “Besides,” she says, changing the subject, “what money would I go to college with, anyway?”
This time it’s me who looks at her like she just crawled out from under a rock. “Um, grants? Scholarships? Duh.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe. But college isn’t what I want to do.”
I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t. Finally, after a few minutes, I ask. “Well, what do you want to do then?”
She turns to regard me with a look of embarrassment, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. The expression makes her seem younger, a stark contrast to her harsh makeup. Kasey hides behind the emo look for some reason. I wonder what she’d look like with her natural hair color, whatever that may be.
“You’ll just laugh at me.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go first. Mine is laughable too. We can laugh together.”
The corners of her lips draw up into a small smile. “Okay then.”
“I always wanted to be a cook. Maybe a sous chef or a pastry chef. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I love food. Clearly,” I mutter and motion at my curvy body.
She places her hands on her hips and arches a brow at me. “Are you kidding me right now? I’d kill to have your body. I’m still waiting for the boob fairy to show up and sprinkle me with some titty dust. But obviously she accidentally spilled the whole jar on you.”
We both burst out into a fit of giggles and I swipe at tears—this time from laughter.
“Be careful what you wish for,” I tease. “Now tell me already.”
She lights up another cigarette as if she’s working up the courage to start talking. After a couple of drags, she meets my gaze. “I want to work at a day care.”
