Deliverance (The Maverick Defense #1)

by L A Cotton

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll cool off and find you guys later. Have fun!” I didn’t wait to hear her pleas.

  Winding my way through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, I moved deeper into the house. My heart hammered in my chest as the claws of the looming anxiety attack started to drag me under. I moved on autopilot, my body knowing it needed to air and space, and quickly. I almost flung myself through the door leading out onto a huge decked area, ignoring the guys lined up doing body shots off a girl’s bare stomach as she lay on the counter shrieking with excitement.

  Slumping against the wall, I clamped my eyes shut, focusing on evening my breathing. Ten, nine, eight, seven… Count, Ana, just like Dr. Simmonds showed you. My heart began to return to a normal pace, slowly calming my whole body. Dammit. The guy at the door had totally caught me off guard. Boyfriend. The word filled my heart with such overwhelming sadness that it had almost knocked me to the floor. But I needed to get a grip, be better prepared for this kind of situation. It was college, for Christ’s sake. College, Ana. People were bound to want to know that kind of stuff. History. Past relationships. I just hadn’t expected to hear that question. Not yet.

  As I waited for my body to reach some level of normalcy, my eyes scanned the yard, darting from the half-naked girls draped over bare-chested guys in the huge hot tub on one side of the deck to a couple making out against the wall on the other. My eyes almost bugged out when I realized the guy’s hand was tucked up her skirt, as she arched into him. Feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment, I dropped my gaze, but curiosity got the better of me and I scanned the yard again. Couples were making out all over the place, some girls were kissing each other while guys watched, and some guys were sharing one girl. More than one couple were at second base and one couple was almost hitting a home run…on a sun chair. I had walked straight into an alcohol-fueled orgy.

  Feeling uncomfortable, I hurried back inside the house to find Elena and announce my immediate departure. I tried to remember the route back. When we had first entered the house, the door had opened into a huge reception area with two curved staircases leading up to the first-floor balcony. I had made out hallways, shooting off in each direction, to what I assumed were bedrooms. The snippets of conversation that I had overheard on the walk over informed me the football team, better known as Chastity Fallen, all lived here. All thirty-six of them, and from what I witnessed on the deck, it seemed the team lived up to their name.

  Certain I was heading in the right direction, I rounded the corner of the dimly lit hallway and bumped face first into a wall of abs. “Ahhh, shit.”

  “Watch it, beautiful,” a deep voice said.

  Cupping a hand to my nose, I craned my neck to see the guy now blocking my path. “Sorry.” My voice came out small. It was his eyes. Although I couldn’t quite make out his face, they were as cold as ice and looking straight at me.

  “I’m sure you can make it up to me?” He eyed the stamp on my hand, a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. I brought my hand down, thrusting it behind my back and feeling panic rising in my chest. “Hmm, I don’t think so.”

  It happened so fast. One-minute I was standing with my face to his chest, and the next minute, the guy had me pinned against the wall. I felt him harden against my stomach, and I had to force down the urge to gag or punch him in the face. But as his hands gripped my hips, the anger coursing through me was replaced with terror, and I tried to break out of his hold. “Get the hell off me.”

  He laughed, watching, his eyes cutting right through me. The knowing glint in them made my whole body tense with an indecipherable emotion. “Most girls here would pay to be in your position.” He brought his mouth down to my ear and whispered, “Pay to have my dick pressed up against them-”

  “What the fuck, man. Leave her alone. Look at her, she’s terrified,” a steady voice called out from the dark hallway beyond us.

  The guy released his hold on me, and I was able to get a proper look at him. He was tall, at least six-foot. His blond faux hawk was styled to perfection and his ice-cold blue eyes stood out against his light skin. There was no denying that he was gorgeous, in a very I-eat-girls-like-you-for-breakfast way.

  “Lighten up, Pierce, I’m just having some fun. Isn’t that right, beautiful?”

  Pressed up against the wall, I tried to will myself invisible, unsure of what to do. Seventeen months ago, I would have kicked him in the balls, but now? Now, I was so broken that I didn’t know how I felt. Not really.

  “Dude, leave it. There are enough girls downstairs.”

  My eyes tried to scan the narrow hallway for the owner of the voice, but it was too dark to distinguish him from the shadows.

  Ice eyes stepped back, and relief washed over me. “Fine. Let’s go,” he said to his friend who remained hidden in the shadows. He released me, but not before whispering in my ear, “I’ll see you around, beautiful.”

  My whole body was shaking; his voice was like a million spiders crawling underneath skin. Through squinted eyes, I could just make out the silhouette of the second guy. He was a little shorter and his hair looked darker. As soon as they turned the corner, I gasped, forcing down the tears pooling in my eyes.

  Shit, Ana. Get a grip.

  My body moved on autopilot. The laughter and muffled conversations around me were inaudible as I tried to keep it together.

  “Chica, are you okay? You look like you ran a marathon.”

  “I- I’m fine,” I panted as Elena pulled me into a hug. My body recoiled at first, but as she held onto me, apologizing for earlier, something unexpected happened. I relaxed; the pain and grief strangling me started to dissipate slowly and I sagged into her.

  For the first time in over a year, someone’s touch was comforting and a hint of a smile played on my lips. Perhaps, Chastity Falls was the answer to my prayers after all… Just as long as I could avoid ice eyes.

  Sneak Peek from Quarter Mile Hearts

  by Jenny Siegel

  *NOW AVAILABLE ON ALL PLATFORMS*

  CHAPTER ONE

  As soon as I hear the words ‘dad’ and ‘accident,’ I’m in motion. Throwing back the blankets, I climb out of bed and start to move around my small apartment. Stuffing my jeans, a couple of t-shirts, underwear, money, and a few toiletries into a bag, I grab my helmet and lock up behind me, still holding my cell to my ear.

  “I’m on my way.” I end the call abruptly, cutting off the poor nurse mid-sentence. I pull on my helmet and fire off a text to my cousin to let him know I’m on my way before I swing my leg over my Harley and start her up.

  It’s a three-hour drive to the hospital, and I don’t have a minute to spare. If anything happens to my dad… I shudder. My blood runs cold, and I force all negative thoughts out of my mind. The only information to penetrate my panic was Dad, accident, and something about collarbone and ribs. What the fuck has he gotten himself into? This is what I get for living three hours away and only visiting every six months or so. Even when I do visit, I keep them short and sweet. The only people I catch up with are my dad, my best friend, Beth, and her boyfriend, Aaron, who also happens to be my older cousin by a year, and his parents, my aunt and uncle.

  The drive to the hospital is a blur. The miles pass without me even noticing, and my only thought is getting to my dad as fast as I can. When I get to the hospital, I park near the entrance and run inside, frantically searching for bed 6 in the ICU. The elevator takes forever. It moves up at an agonizingly slow pace, and the tinny instrumental music piped over the speakers is grating on my nerves, making me want to scream. At long last, the doors ping open and I search the corridor until I find him. Lying in a room on his own with tubes sticking out of his hand and propped up by pillows, he looks out of it. Even though I’m twenty-four, I want to curl up beside him on the bed like I did when I was a little girl. Instead, I sit beside his bed and take his hand in mine, squeezing it gently.

  I sit there for a long time, just holding his hand, until a nurse comes into th
e room and offers me some water.

  “Thanks,” I manage to croak out. “What happened?”

  “From what I hear he crashed into another car. He has a collapsed lung, broken collarbone, fractured ribs, and a concussion.”

  “Seriously?” What little color I had drains from my face as I grip onto his hand. “Where did this happen?” I manage to whisper.

  “Oh, I don’t know the details.” I nod and let her carry on with her fussing before she leaves the room. After such an early start and a long drive, tiredness overwhelms me and I lay my head on the bed. Just for a minute. Then my eyes droop.

  A hand stroking through my hair wakes me, and I lift my head to see my dad awake and smiling wearily at me.

  “Dad,” I sit up and take his hand again.

  “You didn’t have to come, Leigh.” He sounds groggy and hoarse. I reach for the water and pass it to him.

  “Of course, I did. I got a call first thing to say you’d been in an accident. What happened?”

  “Last night-”

  “Last night?” My voice rises.

  “I told them not to call you then. I didn’t want you tearing down here and something happening to you.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “I was racing and-”

  “Wait, you were racing? Why the fuck were you racing?”

  “Language.” He gives me a sharp look, but I ignore him, still trying to digest what he is telling me. I take deep breaths and will myself to keep calm.

  He carries on, “It was a reunion night.”

  “A what?” I ask, confused, because I’ve never heard of such a thing.

  “A few of us decided to get together once a month for old times’ sake.”

  “Oh. My. God. After everything that’s happened?”

  “Uh…” His brow furrows, and I can’t believe that he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.

  “Was it not bad enough that you would come home battered and bruised throughout my childhood? Then Uncle Donnie died, and mom walked out. All because of racing. Hasn’t it done enough?”

  “Leigh,” he shouts, his voice booming around the small room, and then he winces in pain.

  A nurse sticks her head around the door. “You need to keep the noise down.” She walks in and checks my dad’s pulse. “Mr. Storm needs to remain calm. He’s in a lot of pain right now and needs his rest.”

  All self-inflicted.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I’ll go now, but I’ll be in to see you in the morning.”

  He nods, looking weak and pale, and instantly, I feel guilty for giving him a hard time.

  “You have your key?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be back tomorrow, and then I’ll check on the garage.”

  “Thanks.” He winces as the nurse rearranges his pillows and then stifles a cry of pain. “It’s in good hands; I’ve left… argh.”

  “Don’t worry. I love you,” I call and leave him in peace.

  • • •

  Born and raised in a small town, I never imagined living anywhere else. Why would I? My dad was there, my best friend, family, and my dad was the Hank in Hank’s Auto Shop. It was the town’s only garage, and therefore, he kept busy. There wasn’t anything that my dad didn’t know about cars, and he taught me a lot of it. Early on in his career, he made a name for himself by kitting out cars for the street racers.

  Racing was a part of the town’s culture. My dad was a racer and so was his best friend, who also happened to be my mom’s brother, so it was the norm for me growing up. Because there wasn’t much to do for entertainment, as soon as you could drive, you went up to the quarter mile. Sometimes even before then. It was the place to go to hang out with your friends and to show off your car and your girlfriend. And for the older, more dangerous element, it was the chance to race, and money was to be made by those who bet on the races. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were generally race nights. No one raced during the week when I was growing up, but you could sometimes find the odd youngster up there trying his hand at the quarter mile so as not to embarrass himself on race night.

  As a child, I wasn’t allowed to go to the races, but I knew that when my dad came home with bandaged ribs and stitches on his head, it was because he’d been racing and had an accident. The arguments that followed weren’t pleasant. The front door would slam to signal that my mom stormed out. I would curl up into an even tighter ball and pull the covers over my head. Heavy footsteps would trudge up the stairs and my dad would come into my room to make sure I was okay. Even when I pretended I was asleep, he would lean over and kiss me good night and tell me that he loved me.

  “Night, Storm,” he would say at the door and turn off the light.

  My mom would always be back by morning, but you could cut the tension with a knife, and my dad would take me to the garage with him for the day. The closer it got to the weekend, the more tense my mom would grow, knowing that my dad would race. It didn’t help that her brother raced, too. Uncle Donnie and Dad were best friends all through childhood; it is how Dad and Mom met. She was always hanging around the two of them, following them to places, and developed an interest in cars because that was what they were into. Then my dad started to take an interest in her, and the rest is history.

  According to my Aunt Lynda, it all changed after I was born. My mom didn’t want my dad racing because she knew how dangerous it was and hated when he got injured. It all came to a head when Uncle Donnie was killed in an accident. He and Dad had traveled to a race two hours away. My dad wasn’t racing, but he’d been helping Donnie get the car ready and made some modifications. The stakes for the race were stupidly high, and my dad tried to get Donnie to back out, but he didn’t want to lose face. There were four racers—Uncle Donnie, Tom Anderson—a guy they knew, and two others. They were racing along backroads, and although he knew the circuit pretty well, something happened on the last turn, which caused him to spin out of control and hit a tree. The car exploded, and he was killed outright. That was the final straw. Mom left after the funeral and never came back.

  • • •

  The next stop is my dad’s house. Well, my house too, I guess. It’s the same house we lived in while I was growing up. When I push open the door, everything is exactly as I left it, and I head straight up the stairs to my room. Dad hasn’t changed anything, and there are still some clothes hanging up and in the drawers. You hear of some parents changing their child’s bedrooms into a home gym or cinema room when their kids leave, but thankfully, not my dad.

  I flop down on my bed and wonder why I haven’t heard back from Aaron or Beth by now. I am itching to see them, but I’ll wait until later and track them down. It’s a Sunday night, so there is only one place they could be.

  A framed picture on the nightstand catches my eye, and I roll over to pluck it up. It was taken a few months before I left. We were at the quarter mile, as was the norm on a Saturday night. Beth gave her phone to someone and asked them to take a picture of the three of us. Aaron, Beth, and I are standing in front of my car. Aaron’s arms are wrapped around our shoulders. He shouted ‘show me your come face’ just before they took the photo and had us in stitches. I peer closer at the figure captured in the background—Max Morgan.

  My stomach flips violently just looking at him. At over six foot, he is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome with his rugged, dangerously good looks and a smile that makes my insides melt. It’s the dark eyes that do it; the wicked glint that has my core clenching just from one look in my direction. My eyes zoom in on the person standing beside him. Fuck knows who she was. There was always some girl or two hanging around him. At one time, I thought he might be interested, but who was I kidding? Max was never interested in just one girl, hence my nickname for him—Max ‘Manwhore’ Morgan. Even after all this time, jealousy twists in my stomach when I look at him with his arm slung over her shoulder. Over the past few years, I successfully managed to avoid seeing him whenever I’ve visited. Mainly because I refused to take a t
rip to the quarter mile, saying instead that I’d rather spend time with my dad or the little family I have.

  But I can’t avoid him now. This won’t be some fleeting visit; a collapsed lung, broken collarbone, and fractured ribs take time to heal. I don’t want my dad doing anything stupid like going back to work too early or, god forbid, agreeing to another race.

  No, it’s time I faced Max Morgan head-on. Surely, after four years, things will have changed and hopefully for the better. Max and I have always had this ability to rub each other the wrong way. In fact, we went out of our way to annoy the hell out of each other. Like two rivals, we never mixed, and our friends never mixed, either. Every time we saw each other, it was a pissing contest to see who could wind the other one up the most. Who could trade the best insults and have the wittiest comebacks. Most of the time, it was him, and he irritated me like no one else ever had, but I hope that I irritated him just as much.

  The night before I left, at Aaron’s twenty-first birthday party, something happened between us that I never dreamed would happen. Since then, I’ve avoided him like the plague.

  Max caught me on the landing as I came out of the bathroom, almost as if he was waiting for me. His mouth tipped up at the edges, a wicked smile spreading across his full lips. But for once, I didn’t have it in me to fight with him. I didn’t want to. If anything, I wanted him to kiss me… all over my naked body.

  What was up with that?

  Mentally, he appeared to be lining up his insults, but then he reached for me, snagging my wrist in his hand and tugged. Willingly, I went to him.

  “Tell me what I’ve done to piss you off.”

  “I’m not pissed at you.” And for once, I wasn’t.

  “You usually are.” He stepped closer, trying to gauge my reaction. I didn’t stop him, so he moved even closer, his hands resting on my waist. Up close I noticed, not for the first time, how gorgeous he smelled. I couldn’t even blame alcohol for feeling lightheaded because I was stone-cold sober.