Deliverance (The Maverick Defense #1)

by L A Cotton

  Published by Delesty Books

  First E-Book Edition

  Copyright © 2016 L. A. Cotton & Jenny Siegel

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  If you are reading a copy of this book that has not been purchased from a licensed retailer please destroy it. Thank you for your support.

  Edited by Jenny Carlsrud Sims of www.editing4indies.com

  Cover designed by Robin Harper of www.wickedbydesigncovers.com

  Formatting by Stacey Blake of www.champagneformats.com

  Image licensed from Shutterstock

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  TITLES BY L.A. COTTON

  TITLES BY JENNY SIEGEL

  DELIVERANCE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  PLAYLIST

  SNEAK PEEK FROM LOYALTY AND LIES

  SNEAK PEEK FROM QUARTER MILE HEARTS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Titles by L A Cotton

  FATE’S LOVE SERIES

  Fate’s Love

  Love’s Spark

  Love Collides

  CHASTITY FALLS SERIES

  Loyalty and Lies

  Salvation and Secrets

  Tribulation and Truths

  THE MAVERICK DEFENSE SERIES

  Deliverance

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  Lucky Penny

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  HERE

  Titles by Jenny Siegel

  A GOOD GIRL SERIES

  A Good Girl

  Almost Perfect

  AMERICAN MUSCLE SERIES

  Quarter Mile Hearts

  Supercharged Love

  THE MAVERICK DEFENSE SERIES

  Deliverance

  “Morning, Betty,” I called as I entered the run-down diner where I worked a few shifts a week.

  “Hey, doll. Good weekend?” a voice replied from out back.

  Same old, I thought to myself as I rolled off some white lies about the weather ruining my plans.

  “Hank’s on the rampage again. You might want to smile that pretty smile of yours in his direction this morning.”

  Shit. Hank was the owner of Hank’s Diner, and while he let Betty run things day-to-day, he didn’t like tardiness. I’d struggled the last couple of weeks to make it in on time due to … complications. Betty covered for me when she could, but he had it out for me. Not that I blamed him. Nothing stayed private in the small town of Chancing, and people just loved sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

  I’d given up trying to change people’s opinions of me a long time ago. Now, I just shrugged off their whispers and disapproving glances. There were bigger things in my life to worry about than keeping the likes of Old Lady Mae and Susie Davenport entertained.

  I set about making sure the tables were clean and tidy before the breakfast crowd arrived. While I worked out front taking orders and serving, Betty handled the hot plate out back. Her nephew, Reed, helped out a couple of mornings a week, and my friend, Caryn, waited tables during the afternoons. It wasn’t Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but it was a job. My job—the only thing in my life I could call my own anymore.

  Hank barreled through the old-style swinging door separating the kitchen and diner and made a beeline for me. “We need to talk, little lady.”

  Flashing him my best smile, I gathered up the cleaning fluid and sashayed past him.

  “Joy, don’t go running off on me. We need to talk. You were late twice last week and three more times these last two months. I won’t have tardy staff working in my place. There are plenty more young girls willing to fill your shoes, darling.”

  Shudders rippled through me. Hank was a harmless old man, but I didn’t appreciate the drawl in his tone or the feel of his eyes checking out my slender curves as I continued wiping tables.

  “Joy.”

  Spinning on my heels, I flashed him another smile. “Hank. I already apologized and cleared things up with Betty. It won’t happen again.” I hope. “I’ve had some stuff going on, and well, life got in the way there for a second. But this job means a lot to me, and I really need to hang onto it.”

  The old man’s flushed round face softened a little. He was putty in my hand now. I just hoped I could follow through on my promise. I needed this job. More than Betty or Hank or the people of Chancing and their gossip mill would ever truly know.

  After a grueling shift at Hank’s, I walked the short distance to my one-bedroom apartment. I debated going to Mikey’s again, but I’d stayed there two nights in a row. It was time to go home. Home. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. Wasn’t home supposed to be somewhere you felt safe, loved, and comfortable? Not somewhere that had your skin crawling and your stomach spinning faster than the laundromat. I hated the place; the smoke-tinged curtains, damp, stained walls, and hand-me-down appliances. Everything about it. But next to my job at the diner, it was all I had.

  I turned the key and gave the door a forceful nudge. Everything looked the same. Including the wilting calla lilies in the grimy vase positioned on the only windowsill in the whole place. My bag clattered to the floor and I swept the vase off the sill dumping the lilies in the trashcan. He could keep his poor attempt at an apology. After all this time, he still thought some lame-ass flowers would make it up to me. Nothing on this earth would fix us. Fix me. I’d given up on waiting for my knight in shining armor to ride in and save me. He was just a figment of my imagination now. A myth. So much so, I wondered if he’d ever been real in the first place.

  My purse vibrated and I rinsed my hands, retrieving my cell phone. “Hey, Mikey.”

  “Joy,” he responded curtly. I’d learned a long time ago that was just his way. “You went back?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “You could have stayed here longer. Get your head straight, try and figure shit out.”

  “I’ve spent the last three years trying to figure shit out. This is my life. I appreciate you looking out for me, though.”

  Mikey coughed and I could imagine his face contorting at my compliment. “Well, you know I’m always here. Daw- hmm, he would want it that way.”

  My heart skipped a beat at just the almost mention of his name. But neither of us referred to him by name anymore—a pact we made when we realized he wasn’t coming back for us.

  “I’ll call tomorrow. I’m fine. It’s Tuesday. He won’t be around tonight.”

  Mikey hesitated, and I knew he wanted to say more. It was a conversation we’d had over and over these last few months. He worried about me, was concerned about what I’d gone and gotten myself mes
sed up in. But it wasn’t that simple. You didn’t just up and leave Donnie DeLuca. And besides, where would I go? I had no one—no family, no friends across the state with a spare room. I was completely alone in the world.

  And sometimes a girl had to do what she had to do to survive.

  Tuesday rolled into Wednesday, Wednesday soon became Thursday, and by Friday, the familiar hollow had settled in my stomach carving its way through my soul. After my morning shift at the diner, I spent the rest of the day in my usual ritual; long soak in the bath, shave, paint my nails blood red, apply a perfect layer of heavy makeup, and blow out my curls.

  The girl staring back at me looked nothing like the one standing in the picture on my dresser. Gone were the sparkling eyes full of life and hope, and in their place was a permanent sadness. The smile on her full lips was the same, but now, it was false, a mask hiding her true feelings. And even though the photo was only three years old, the girl in the mirror looked much older somehow. Life’s tragedies etched into her delicate features.

  I took my time dressing, picking out a skintight black mini dress and a pair of red stilettos. Donnie preferred me in the color red. I loathed it, and it turned him on. Go figure. Next, I spritzed myself with the small glass bottle. My stomach lurched as the smell of his favorite perfume hit the back of my throat. It was always the same, and by the time I was ready, my skin crawled with dread and the hunger I fought so hard to abate started to bubble under the surface.

  The door handle turned and Donnie swaggered in, scooping me up in his arms and pressing his greedy lips to my neck. Holding me at arm’s length, he appraised my body with his eyes. “Have I ever told you how good you look in red?”

  All the time. I nodded forcing my best smile.

  “Spin for me.”

  Pivoting on one foot, I turned slowly and seductively. The move was well rehearsed by now.

  “Fucking gorgeous. I could bend you over the table right here. But not yet.” Donnie licked his bottom lip.

  My veins ignited with need but not need for Donnie. Need for something else. For the thing that would steal me away to a better place when Donnie made good on his promise later.

  “Come. Your chariot awaits.” Donnie wrapped an arm around my waist and led me out to his black Escalade. His driver and right-hand man, Troy, greeted us in his usual silent manner. But it was better than how some of Donnie’s men looked at me. Troy would never lay a hand on the boss’s girl. The golden rule: Donnie’s men could look but never touch. Not without his explicit permission. Thankfully, for me, Donnie was as possessive as they came and most of his men knew that.

  The journey to Shakers was quick, and before I knew it, Troy was pulling up in the lot. The busted neon sign flickered above the club entrance illuminating only half of the cartoon stripper wrapped around a pole. I hated this place. Hated everything it stood for. The girls, the drugs, Donnie’s business. It was everything that was wrong with our town … my life. But Friday night was always club night. No excuses.

  We skipped the queue of eager patrons, mostly young males looking to get wasted and get laid. Their eyes followed me as I disappeared into the club behind Donnie and Troy. But I was moving on autopilot now. Detached from myself. It was easier that way.

  I still remembered the first time Donnie brought me to Shakers. Hearing the rumors and then seeing it first-hand was almost too much to handle, and when my eyes fell on an old balding guy getting his dick sucked by one of the strippers at his table, I’d almost puked right there.

  Now, it all blended into the background. The dark corners hiding couples fucking and miserable husbands strung out on their drug of choice slumped over the bar hoping to score more than a line at the end of the night. Girls younger than I was were selling their body to the highest bidder. Shakers was a hive of illicit and illegal activity, and I couldn’t find it in me to care anymore. I was to play my role at Donnie’s side, to smile when spoken to, make myself scarce when business associates came for meetings, and on occasion, handle any drama created by the girls. And I played it well … even if a little more of my soul died every time I stepped foot in the underbelly of Chancing.

  It was fairly quiet for a Friday. Donnie attended to one or two business meetings in the back room while I perched at the bar and chatted with Shaun. He was a good kid. A couple of years younger than I was, he was far less jaded by life. He just wanted a paying job to save for college, and Shakers had been hiring. I’m sure he didn’t mind the view either.

  “Looking good, Joy,” a gruff male voice said from behind me.

  Spinning the stool, I plastered my smile on and greeted McCreedy, one of Donnie’s older employees. “Hey, M.”

  He stumbled and missed the stool almost falling flat on his face. I jumped down to help and the smell of liquor hit me. It was oozing out of him.

  “How much you had to drink, M? You know Donnie doesn’t like you drinking on the job.”

  Donnie didn’t just dislike it; he would lose his shit if he saw the state McCreedy was in.

  “Shaun, a little help.”

  We managed to wrestle the old man onto the stool, and Shaun handed him a glass of water.

  “Thanks, Joy. You’re too good. Too good for him. He’s no good, no good for a good girl like you, and you are good. So good.” McCreedy’s head bobbed forward, and I thought he had fallen asleep when he reached out and clawed at my dress. “Too good for him.”

  His hand brushed my tit and I readied myself to fend him off, but all hell broke loose. McCreedy’s stool went crashing to the floor with him still on it, and Donnie roared, “You think you can touch what’s mine? Are you fucking stupid? She is mine!”

  Donnie started attacking an unmoving McCreedy until he was hauled away by Troy and another huge guy.

  “Escort him out, now. I want that fat fuck off my property. Take care of him.” Donnie’s eyes burned with rage. “Back room, now.” The command was for me, and I nodded.

  Maybe it was a little abnormal to be unaffected by such chaos, but I was used to it. Hardened to it. Donnie had a short fuse, and when he got angry, God help anyone standing in his path. This was just a regular Friday at Shakers. Although I couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into McCreedy to act so crazy. It was usually out-of-towners or young guys thinking they had something to prove who caused shit.

  Donnie all but yanked me into the back room ignoring the table of men and two dancers giving them a show as he pressed me up against the wall and attacked my mouth with his.

  “… thinks he can touch what’s mine. Mine, Joy. No one will ever have what’s mine,” he mumbled into my mouth between darting his tongue in and out. His anger was apparent in his vise-like hold on me.

  Aware of our audience, I tried to placate him by brushing my hands across his neck. “Later, Donnie.”

  Donnie pulled back glaring at me, and I instantly regretted my words. You didn’t tell Donnie DeLuca what to do. He called the shots. He always called the shots.

  “Fuck them. They don’t care if I want to fuck my woman. It’s nothing they ain’t seen already.”

  I winced. My wall was thick, but it wasn’t impenetrable.

  Unwilling to make the same mistake twice, I didn’t reply. I waited for my fate to be decided. But my savior came in the form of Peter, one of Donnie’s inner circle.

  “Get over here, Don. We have business to discuss.”

  And just like that, I was given another reprieve.

  Even if it was just delaying the inevitable.

  An hour later, business was taken care of and the party was in full swing. Drinks flowed, delivered to the table by topless girls in micro skirts, and a couple of guys cut lines on Jenny’s naked body, snorting up the white powder through rolled-up twenties. I watched them, the look of elation on their faces as the buzz hit.

  A hand wrapped around my neck, and Donnie whispered, “You look hungry, baby?”

  He knew me too well. I wanted nothing more to deny it, to tell him I didn’t know what
he was talking about. But the craving burned through me. It’ll make it easier. Make you forget. Make everything feel good.

  “Come on.” His hand tugged me up and led me to a darkened corner of the room. Another one of his inner circle was busy being serviced by one of the new girls. I averted my gaze as Donnie sat us down with Sal and another guy.

  “Line it up.” Donnie smirked at Sal, who tipped a plastic baggie of white powder out onto the mirrored table and started cutting it in to lines. He picked up the rolled-up twenty laying at the side of the rails and inserted it into his nose before pinching his other nostril shut and inhaling. He shook his head rapidly, wiping off the dust from the end of his nose. He offered it to me next and I felt myself reaching out for it, but Donnie whipped his hand in front of mine and curved around me to lean in and inhale a line before handing me the rolled bill.

  The burning exploded into a fire so consuming that any remaining shred of reasoning melted away. Scooting forward on Donnie’s lap, I brought the twenty to my nose and leaned down to line it up with the rail nearest to me. I snorted deeply, feeling the powder hit the back of my throat. Greedy for the inevitable buzz—and for the chance to feel good just for a little while—I inhaled a second line. Until Sal laughed and said, “Eager little thing, aren’t you. Better keep an eye on this one, Donnie.”

  The rush spreading through me drowned out their laughter. Donnie’s hand stroked my thigh inching closer to my panties and my eyes rolled back. His touch was divine. I didn’t ever want it to stop.

  Sal produced another baggie, and I purred when Donnie teased me with one. Coaxing me onto his lap until we were nose to nose.

  “How much do you want this?” he taunted, his thick erection pressing into me.

  “Please.” I batted my eyes, licking my lips hungrily.

  “How much?”

  “Anything. I’ll do anything,” I whined.

  Donnie handed the baggie back to Sal, who prepared another four lines. We took turns snorting the white powder. My whole body vibrated with pleasure. And then it was replaced with Donnie’s tongue lapping at mine. Electricity bounced off the tiny hairs coating our tongues zipping to all the right places.