Blood & Loyalties

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Текст книги "Blood & Loyalties"

Автор книги: Ryan Michele

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Lance Roughnecks Series

By USA Today Bestselling Author Chelsea Camaron

This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are adults over the age of 18.

All characters are fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

Dedication

~For Ace~

Thank you for being along for the ‘rush’ and putting up with my kind of crazy.

To everyone who has ever felt like you aren’t enough exactly as you are

YOU ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH

Lance

Value, worth—these are things I don’t have. College degree, great job—none of that matters if you look in the mirror and can’t find anything to love.

Structure, dedication, and determination are the traits that Candace Jones has survived and thrived on. When no one cares at home, it takes her self-drive to push and work her way through college. Life is funny while you’re growing up, and adulthood isn’t any easier than childhood. Little girl dreams are often destroyed before they can even begin.

Lance ‘Rush’ Miller works hard and plays even harder. He lives life from one adrenaline rush to the next, from working as a roughneck to trick riding his street bike. He has it made and knows it.

What happens when firm resolve crashes into wild abandon? Two complete opposites are thrown together when Candace finds herself in need of a quick escape that Lance is all too willing to give her.

P ROLOGUE

~Candace~

Go to school, get good grades, stay out of the way, and stay quiet.

Simple enough.

Only nine hundred or so more days until I graduate from high school and move on to college.

I once read an article that said, ‘a person can still feel alone even surrounded by a room full of people.’ That one phrase describes my existence perfectly.

“Candace, dinner’s ready,” my mom calls out, and dread automatically fills me.

I trudge down the stairs one by one while the childhood pictures stare back at me, taunting me.

Haunting me.

The chubby baby cheeks that were once so cute now round out my face, hiding none of my shame from the world. At the bottom step, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Exhaling, I push back the tears threatening to spill out.

My daily torture is about to begin.

As I round the corner and step into the kitchen, the aroma of garlic assaults my senses as my stomach growls loudly in hunger. Absently, I run my hands over my belly.

“Oh, Candy, don’t rub your tummy like a pet,” my mother chastises.

Silently, I move to wash my hands. There is nothing I can say to her that could make her understand.

No one sees my pain. No one knows my struggles, least of them my size six mother.

“Something smells good, Lisa,” my dad proudly greets her as he walk in and proceeds to kiss her cheek. He’s got that right. It does smell good.

I once read in an article at the doctor’s office that we first eat with our nose, then our eyes, and finally our mouth. Smell, sight, texture, and taste all come together to register in our brain whether we like a food or not.

“Penne pasta bake with Italian sausage and garlic bread. Your favorite.” She beams up at him.

I want to vomit. Well, I really want to stuff my face with every delicious morsel of the meal being set out on our table, but I want to do it alone. I want to enjoy my dinner without my mother’s stare.

Sitting down to eat, I prepare for the battle. The glare of my mother’s gaze grips me as I reach for the salad dressing to top my leafy greens. Her reaction is to sigh loudly in her first warning that I am indeed doing something wrong.

A girl my size should eat salad—sure—minus the dressing. I listen to every word she preaches to me time and time again. I have it engrained in my head. It doesn’t mean I have the willpower to resist. I doll up the salad with shredded cheese, chopped egg, croutons, and ranch dressing. Like a lady, I eat my salad first, all under her watch.

The scents of garlic, the look of the pasta bake, and my own craving for carbs have me still starving as I plate my main course.

“Candy, have you no self-control? You’re not getting any younger … or smaller. At fifteen, that’s not baby fat you’re carrying around. Are you sure you need to eat that much?”

So it begins yet again. Just one dinner is all I ask. Can I please have one dinner that I am not under her scrutiny? Breakfast, she doesn’t bother me. She needs her rest for the day ahead of her. Thank the dear queen of good things for that small reprieve. Not that she has such a hard day, being that she doesn’t work. I’m an only child, and our house stays spotless. Whatever she needs to stay out of my way works for me. Lunch, I eat at school. Dinner, though—night in and night out—we must eat as a family. Jones family requirement; everyone must be present at the dinner table. Night in and night out, I must endure my bad food choices. Night in and night out, I sit under her scrutiny while my dad says nothing. His silence is almost as cruel as her words. He must agree if he says not one word, right?

One day, I’ll be out of here. One day, they won’t have to fuss over my eating. One day, it’ll go away.

C HAPTER O NE

~Lance~

Zanne’s isn’t the same anymore. Heath is hanging at the gym tonight to support LoraLeigh, who is teaching her first class as a certified self-defense instructor. After everything she has been through, this is huge for her. I get it, really I do. It still doesn’t make me miss my wingman any less.

Tapper is home with a very pregnant Kenzy. This isn’t his scene anymore. I get that, too. It still doesn’t mean I don’t miss having my boys around.

I grip the long neck bottle a little tighter before bringing the beer to my lips. The cold alcohol runs down my throat as I take a long pull.

The place is slow tonight for Zanne’s. Stepping out from the usual table I share with the guys, I scan the dance floor. Finding a curvy blonde dancing in her group of friends, I make my way over.

With a raise of my bottle to my long time buddy, ‘DJ Drunken Monkey,’ the song changes to a soft R&B. The girls move apart just enough for me to slide in behind the object of my desire tonight. In rhythm with the music, I move in behind her luscious ass. Wrapping my right arm around her waist, I take the lead, pulling her against me. She gasps and looks up at me, and then I smile and continue to move.

When she relaxes against me, I take my left hand holding the beer and press the cold bottle against the curve of her neck. The condensation rolls down the bottle, landing on her exposed skin. Leaning down, I lick the water off the sweet spot of her neck, dragging my teeth as I pull the longneck away. She trembles as the chills run through her.

Pulling her closer, I growl in her ear. We sway, rock, and grind into each other as she melts into me and one song moves into another.

DJ Drunken Monkey gives me a nod before switching to a fast paced techno song; therefore, killing the mood I have worked so hard to build. It sucks, but it’s his business, so he can only keep it low and slow for so long.

Taking my companion by the hand, I lead us off the dance floor and to the bar then guide her to a stool in front of me. I raise my beer up to Juliette, the bartender, and she nods her understanding as she serves the woman in front of her before making her way over to me with another cold one.

“Whatcha havin’ to drink, darlin’?”

“Shirley temple,” she whispers as I take a long pull of my beer.

“No alcohol? Worried much?”

“I don’t plan to be a statistic, pal.”

I smile at her sass. “Pal, huh? In order to be pals, I should probably know your name, darlin’.”

“Well, my name’s not darlin’ or even Darlene.”

“Ouch.” I wink. “For someone so friendly on the dance floor, why the cold shoulder now?”

“Cut the crap. You have no real interest in me. What am I, some bet with your friends? Where are they?” She looks around us dramatically before sighing. “I see, the deal is they have to wait till you get me to agree to leave with you then all get together and laugh as you reject me?”

I raise my eyebrow in question at her.

“Ohhhh … not into humiliating the chunky girl. What? Is this a walk on the wild side for you tonight? Or should I say walk on the fat side? More cushion for the pushin’, ya know.”

Then it dawns on me. Insecurity. Unfortunately, I see this time and time again with women. The past rears its ugly head or the words of some punk ass puts a woman on the defense that a man couldn’t seriously want to seek out a curvy girl.

I reach out and cup her chin to bring her face up to look at me. “I don’t know who put all this negative in your head, but baby, all I see is beauty.” Setting my beer on the bar, I run my hand over her hair, lifting the long, blonde strands to my nose to inhale. “Soft, sweet beauty. From the depth in your blue eyes to the swell of your full breasts to the curve of your ass to the very tips of your toes is soft, sweet beauty.”

She watches me as if she is trying to gauge if I am real. She pulls her face out of my grip to look at her untouched drink like she’s unsure whether it’s spiked.

“Darlin’, you haven’t had a drop. I didn’t drug you. I’m here after a long day of work, alone. Honestly, as gorgeous as you are, I wanna take my time and savor every part of your body. Tonight, I wouldn’t be good enough to you, so baby, I’m not planning to take you home. I just wanna dance with you, get your number, and take you out sometime. No expectations.”

She laughs at me as if she still can’t believe me.

I have been known to have a one-night stand or two, but nothing like Maverick or Heath in the past. My tastes in women are selective. Not just any woman will do. I like my woman to be self-assured. I want her comfortable in her own skin. Soft, sweet beauty, that’s what I want.

Needing her to understand, I lean in and whisper in her ear. “Listen carefully. I like my women to be all woman. I want her curves to be my road map to search out every highway, lane, and back road to treasures hidden. I wanna trace every path to tempt every sweet spot to be found. I don’t need a twig that, as I spread her legs and slam into her, I split her in two. I need a woman who can push back as hard as I push in. I want a woman I can use as a canvas to finger paint a masterpiece in chocolate all over her naked body. I want a woman I can share a meal with and not feel like I’ve fucked up her diet for a month. Like I said, I want my woman to be all woman—soft, sweet beauty.”

She swallows hard as I pull back. “You’re serious.”

“Let’s start with my name is Lance. My friends call me Rush.”

“Rush, huh?” she questions with a smirk.

“Yeah, darlin’, Rush. Take a ride with me, and I’m sure to give you a rush.”

She picks up her drink and begins to suck hard on her straw, like she wants that drink to swallow her whole.

Feeling eyes on us, I look over her shoulder to see her girls heading our way, watching suspiciously.

“Well, Shirley, your friends are on their way to rescue you from the big, bad wolf. It was a nice chat. Enjoy your night.” I turn to walk away, but she reaches out to grab me.

“Shirley?” she questions, making me smile as I fight not to laugh.

“You haven’t given me your name. That’s a guy’s cue to walk away.”

“Oh.” She blows out a breath. “My name is”—she hesitates—“Ashlynn. Sorry, for being … ummm”—she pauses and looks down—“bitchy… being bitchy. I’m just not used to a hot guy dancing with me and trying to buy me drinks without a hidden agenda.”

I smile at her. “You think I’m hot? Well, that’s a start.” I lean back against the bar as her friends approach.

The three girls settle in behind Ashlynn, and one of them whispers in her ear, but with the noise around me, I can’t discern what is being shared. Ashlynn nods her head and smiles before her friends retreat back to the dance floor.

“Did I pass the inspection?”

“I suppose so.” She smiles, erasing the tension. “I was burned pretty badly before, so my girls are just looking out.”

“I understand completely.” Reaching out, I twist her hair around my fingers. “Beautiful woman, someone has to keep an eye out for you.”

She blushes and eases into the conversation. We spend a little time chatting, but the offer to exchange numbers isn’t extended before her friends decide to leave. Calling it a night, I head out myself.

I wish women as beautiful as her didn’t have to feel so bad about themselves. With a bright smile, long hair, and curves for days, why would she not think she is gorgeous? Someone somewhere along the way did a number on her.

Shaking my head, I climb on my 2002 Honda 954 custom sport bike then don my helmet, pushing aside my thoughts of women and the damage so easily inflicted on their confidence. As I pull away into traffic, I lean back, pop the clutch out, and throttle down until my front comes up. The rush of the wheelie calms my nerves and releases my day as I safely bring the bike down and make my way home.

One ride, one rush, and one life—live every moment to the fullest and give back as hard as you get. The pavement is an unforgiving beast like demons from the past, so release and feel the rush as you leave it all behind.

The story continues in Lance (Roughneck Shorts 3 – available on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited). Also available through all retailers in the Roughneck Shorts Box Set. http://amzn.to/1VMspcl

Visit Chelsea at

www.authorchelseacamaron.com

www.facebook.com/authorchelseacamaron

Table of Contents

Chapter 1—Catarina

Chapter 2—Jag

Chapter 3—Catarina

Chapter 4—Catarina

Chapter 5—Jag

Chapter 6—Catarina

Chapter 7—Jag

Chapter 8—Catarina