by Hart, Lane
“You won’t suck at it! Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” Reaching over, he runs his fingers through the side of my hair that’s still blue, green and purple. “You have the most beautiful hair of any person I’ve ever seen, baby. You can do this. I know you can.”
“You really think so?” I ask as tears well up in my eyes, making Devlin all blurry.
“I really do, or I wouldn’t have spent the money on it.”
“How much?” I ask with a cringe.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Tell me or I won’t have sex with you ever again!”
“Twenty-thousand,” he spits out easier than I expected.
“Holy shit!” I exclaim. “That is a lot of money, Dev! That’s…that’s a down payment on a house you wanted one day…” I say in understanding.
“Making you happy is more important to me than some empty house,” he says. “Besides, we could always get a house later, once you’re a successful hair stylist.”
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you too,” he says, grabbing the back of my head to pull me closer so his lips can crash down on mine. When he pulls away too soon, he says, “Although, I have to admit that sometimes I feel like I’m cheating on you when you change your hair color and I’m fucking you from behind…”
“Dev!” I exclaim, slapping his chest.
“You didn’t let me finish!” he huffs. “I was going to say, I feel like I’m cheating…until I look down and then I remember that there’s only one woman with an amazing ass like yours.”
“Isn’t that a sweet sentiment,” I reply sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.
“Enough talking, though,” Devlin says. “I was coerced here with the notion that I would get to fuck your brains out.”
“I think we should set the mood first,” I joke, nodding my head toward his stereo.
“Hard rock?”
“Of course,” I agree with a smile.
“Deal,” Dev replies. Reaching over, he turns on the stereo that still has one of his Wasteland Authority CDs. It comes on playing my favorite song, “Love in the Fast Lane,” the one the band played at the concert while Devlin and I had amazing sex for the very first time.
“Want me to lean on the dresser so you can recreate our first time?” I offer.
“Nah,” Dev says as he climbs on top of me and cups the side of my face. “I would rather look into the eyes of the woman I love while I’m inside of her than pretend you’re the same girl who wouldn’t even tell me her name.”
“I’m Jetta. Jetta James,” I tell him. “And I’m yours.”
“Yes, you are,” he agrees as his mouth moves down my neck. “But one of these days, you’re gonna be Jetta Boyd,” Devlin declares.
I actually believe he’ll make good on that promise too.
* * *
The End
Nash (Book 3)
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
The authors acknowledge the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.
© 2020 Editor's Choice Publishing
All Rights Reserved.
Only Amazon has permission from the publisher to sell and distribute this title.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editor’s Choice Publishing
P.O. Box 10024
Greensboro, NC 27404
* * *
Edited by Angela Snyder
Cover by Melissa Gill Designs
* * *
WARNING: THIS BOOK IS NOT SUITABLE FOR ANYONE UNDER 18. IT CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE AND GRAPHIC SEX SCENES.
Synopsis
Whenever Nash Kincaid looks in the mirror, he only sees a monster who ruins lives. Thanks to his involvement with the Dirty Aces MC, there’s so much blood on his hands he’ll never wash them clean again. Violence is just part of the outlaw lifestyle. That’s why he’s not all that surprised when he’s hit with divorce papers three years after his wife walked out on him.
* * *
The last thing Nash needs right now is a nosy new neighbor who refuses to leave him alone. If Lucy knew Nash’s dark secrets, he’s certain that she would run the other way rather than try her best to get into his bed. Thanks to a failed marriage, he knows he can never be the man Lucy needs him to be, not while he’s a member of the MC with a life sentence hanging over his head.
* * *
Lucy Stafford didn’t survive cancer and a cheating boyfriend just to give up on finding happiness. Her only plan for the future is to live each and every day to the fullest by helping others. Not even the grumpy biker who lives upstairs can bring her down, no matter how hard he tries. Lucy made a deal with the devil. So if she wants to stay out of trouble, she’ll have to get on Nash’s good side – if she can find it.
* * *
Nash has convinced himself that the only thing he has in common with Lucy is a broken heart. He refuses to let himself fall for her, only to eventually hurt her or have her bail when his past crimes comes crashing down on him.
* * *
But Lucy has a few secrets of her own – secrets that she hopes will finally prove to Nash that she’s tougher than she looks.
Chapter One
Nash Kincaid
* * *
It’s a beautiful fucking night.
The sky is crystal clear, lit up with twinkling stars. A full moon shines like a beacon, the yellow glow bouncing along the surface of the dark ocean waves. The only sound that can be heard for miles is the whooshing of the wind and the soft crashing of the waves a block away.
I hope I remember it tomorrow. I’m so fucking drunk that the entire scene is swirling around me like I’m on one of those cheap kiddie rides at the carnival.
Rocking back and forth on the heels of my boots, I inhale a deep breath of the salty breeze in between the final swigs from the Heineken bottle clutched in my left hand. Not that I really taste the beer. I’m numb all over, unable to feel anything. Not even the summer heat can touch me up here.
There’s no guilt or remorse, no happiness or sadness in me either. I’m as empty as the glass bottle in my hand. I’m not sure when my soul became so depleted. Could’ve been a steady leaking drip over time or a sudden gash ripped through it. Doesn’t matter because the result is the fucking same. I’ve got nothing left to give, so what’s the point of going through the motions day after day like a goddamn zombie?
Closing my eyes, I try to conjure up something good in my life but come up blank. I see Malcolm with his old lady and his kid, Devlin with his girl, Fiasco up to his usual antics, Wirth with his wrench always working, Silas plotting to blow up shit or whatever violence he finds joy in, and I know I love them all. I love them as my brothers, but it’s not enough. It’s not the kind of love that gets me out of bed in the morning or makes me feel alive. If anything, they all make it harder for me to look at myself in the mirror. I would do anything for my brothers, even kill for them, which I’ve proven. They would do the same for me, I know. But there’s not a damn thing any of them can do to pull me out of the depths of my own misery.
POW!
The abrupt noise interrupts my peaceful night and my dark thoughts. It sounded like a gunshot blast even though my Smith & Wesson is still hanging from my right hand by my side. My eyes fly open as I instinctively crane my neck around to try and locate the source of the sound, throwing my inebriated limbs off-balance.
For a split second, I’m falling backwards before I quickly drop my beer and gun to throw myself forward enough to jump down from the cement wall. Once my feet hit the concrete roof, I throw my arms over the led
ge to catch myself just as I hear the glass and metal of the pistol shattering seventy or so feet below me.
“Holy shit!” a girl’s high-pitched voice squeaks out from where she’s standing in front of the access door. “What were you doing up there? Are you insane?”
Before I can form a response because I’m still trying to catch my breath and slow my racing heart from the near-death experience, I hear the clip-clop of flipflops slapping the hard ground as she hurries over to me. Then, there’s a faceless, child-size silhouette standing three or four feet away from me. She’s close enough to fill my nose with an almost overwhelming sweet scent that can only be described as an explosion of fruits and flowers.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” I throw her question back at her. It’s none of her goddamn business why I’m here; she’s the one who almost killed me!
“I…I, um, I just moved in,” she stammers and squirms from one foot to the other like she can’t seem to stay still. “And I couldn’t sleep.”
When I’m able to pull myself to my unsteady feet, I straighten my t-shirt and tower over her five-foot nothing frame that only comes up to the center of my chest. She’s so small I could probably pick her up off the ground with my pinkie.
“Well, here’s a word of advice: don’t go around sneaking up on people in the middle of the fucking night!”
“Sorry! I didn’t think anyone would be up here or that you would be…” She’s still flittering around like a nervous butterfly, now waving her arms wildly.
“Be what?” I ask.
“I-I don’t know what you were doing!”
“That’s right. You don’t know shit, little girl!” I yell at her before I stagger my way over to the access door. It takes me several turns of the handle to get it open. Once I’m inside, I take the stairs down to the second floor and find my way inside my unlocked apartment.
Only when I flop down onto my cool black leather sofa in the living room does it finally hit me – that I was seconds away from possibly falling to my death. I didn’t think the jump would kill me, only provide me with enough pain so I can finally feel something. Honestly, I don’t even know what the gun was for. To end the suffering if I couldn’t handle it maybe?
What the fuck was I thinking?
I’m not sure what got into me or why I’m being such a fucking idiot; but thanks to the girl’s interruption, I’m finally able to get a glimpse through the endless fog in my head. With a sigh, I get to my feet and stagger to the bathroom. After I relieve myself, I flop back onto the sofa, hoping that I’ll be able to sleep off the funk that has fallen over me.
Chapter Two
Lucy Stafford
* * *
The showdown on the roof definitely wasn’t how I wanted to go about meeting my tall, dark and handsome neighbor who lives in the apartment above me for the first time. Seeing his male model perfection not only standing on the ledge but wobbling around, about to fall, scared the shit out of me. So much so that when I head back inside, I hurry right on down the stairs to the parking lot, remove the combination lock from my bike and then rush back up to latch it through the hole in the roof access door. The sound of the click allows me to finally sigh in relief. It’s not much, but it’ll keep his drunk ass from going back out there tonight. Based on the strong scent of alcohol I smelled wafting off of him, I doubt he could operate a pair of bolt cutters.
Since I’m now wide awake, when I get back to my apartment on the first floor, I grab the broom and dustpan from my closet and go outside to start sweeping up the shards of green glass shattered around the sidewalk so that no one will step on it tomorrow morning. The entire time I work I’m trying to figure out what would lead a man to do something so drastic. It’s not like my life has been easy these past few months, or even the last year, but I’ve never once considered ending it. Maybe that’s because the cancer eating up my cervix and uterus was so determined to take me out that I knew there was no choice but to fight back.
I’ve always been the good girl, the perfect daughter, doting girlfriend, straight-A student and an upstanding citizen. Where did all that good karma get me? Cancer in my twenties and cheated on by a prick of a boy whom I spent most of my teenage years and adulthood loving. Life fucking owes me a big one now, and I intend to collect what I’m due.
After dumping my pan full of tiny pieces of glass, I head back to the sidewalk to do another sweep when I spot some sort of black objects. The two dark metal pieces are a busted-up revolver and the grip that must have come off when it hit the ground. Checking the open chamber, I find bullets in it! That hot-as-fuck idiot wasn’t just standing on the roof; he was holding a gun? Shit, what if he has more in his apartment?
I haven’t heard more than one pair of footsteps above me since I moved in a week ago, so I think it’s time to track down one of my neighbor’s friends so they can come check in on him. Those big patches on the back of his leather cut are probably the best place to start. It won’t take more than a quick search online to track down more members of the Dirty Aces MC.
By lunchtime the next morning, I’m parallel parking my purple Prius into an open spot in front of The Aces Pool Hall beside a yellow and black motorcycle. The neon sign isn’t on yet, but my internet search said they’re supposed to be opening any second.
Right on schedule, the lights inside flip on, and then I spot a man with shoulder-length brown hair behind the glass doors turn on the open sign and unlock the doors. I’ve just climbed out of my car with my cotton satchel thrown over my shoulder when the same man steps outside. He has dark ink up and down his bare arms and is wearing a black leather vest identical to my neighbor’s. He shoves a pair of dark sunglasses on his face as he looks down the street as if waiting for someone.
Shutting my car door, I head over to him. “Excuse me,” I say in greeting. “Are you a member of the Dirty Aces?”
His head turns in my direction for no longer than a few seconds before looking back down the street. “Who’s asking?” is his gruff response. Okay, so he’s not exactly warm and welcoming, but what did I expect from an outlaw biker?
“I’m Lucy, and I just moved into the Seaside Apartments over on Ocean Boulevard.”
“Good for you,” he mutters, crossing his thick, tattooed arms over his chest.
“One of your friends is my neighbor. I think his name is Nash…”
That finally gets the man’s attention. He turns toward me just enough that I spot the “President” patch on his chest.
“Get to the point, girl scout. I ain’t got all fucking day,” he says impatiently and with such venom in his voice that I hesitate to continue.
Steeling my spine, I finally reach into my purse and pull out a plastic bag containing the gun, grip, and bullets I removed from the chamber. Gathering up my nerve, I walk over to hand it over.
“What the hell is this?” he asks when he holds up the bag in front of his face and studies the contents.
“What’s left of the gun that Nash was holding and dropped while he was standing on the roof of the apartment building last night.”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he grumbles just as an older car pulls up into the parking spot in front of mine. “Shit. Hold that thought.”
He goes over and opens the door to the pool hall to toss the plastic bag inside just as a pretty blonde with short hair gets out of the driver side to grab something from the backseat. My heart skips a beat when she retrieves a baby in a pink and white polka dot dress. She’s so cute and tiny with chubby cheeks and a halo of pale blonde hair that it makes my throat burn. I’m so consumed by the infant that I almost miss the woman staring me down and then lifting a questioning eyebrow at the man without having to say a word.
“This is Lucy, and she’s apparently here to talk to me about Nash,” he informs her while holding out his arms for her to hand over the baby, making him look slightly less threatening. I’m surprised he remembered my name since he acted so aloof when I was speaking to him.
“What about Nash?” the woman asks me, then glances at the gruff man.
He gives her some sort of tilt of his head with a nod of his chin like he’s communicating to her telepathically before he finally speaks aloud again. “It’s hot as shit out here. Let’s discuss this inside.”
It is already a balmy ninety degrees, so when he turns around with the baby resting on his chest and strolls inside, I follow him with the woman behind me.
“I love your purse,” she says once we’re all in the pool hall.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“Oh, crap! That reminds me, I left mine in the car!” she suddenly says before she disappears back out the door, leaving me alone with the biker and baby.
“Cute kid,” I say to fill the silence.
“She gets her good looks from her mother,” he mutters while placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.
From my perspective, her daddy isn’t bad to look at either.
“I’m Malcolm,” he finally says. “But something tells me you already knew that.”
I lift one shoulder as if to say maybe so, but don’t elaborate. Of course I did my research before coming here, but I didn’t want to show my hand and freak him out.
“Sorry,” his wife or girlfriend says when she returns with her leather purse over her shoulder. “What did I miss?”
“Lucy here says Nash was on the roof of his apartment building last night,” he fills her in as he removes his glasses with his free hand and hangs them from the pocket of his leather vest. “Now start from the beginning.”
“I, ah, I couldn’t sleep, so around midnight I decided to go up to the roof since the view from my first-floor apartment is pretty shitty. I had just walked out when I saw him standing there up on the wall ledge. He looked like…well, he looked like he was thinking about jumping,” I tell them. “And he had a gun.”
