by Lindsay Becs
Promise Me Always
Book Three
Lindsay Becs
Contents
Playlist
Important Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Special Thanks
About the Author
Other Books by Lindsay
Coming Soon!
Copyright ©2019 Lindsay Becs
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except for the use of brief quotation in a book review.
The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
* * *
Cover Design and Formatting: AB Formatting
Editing: Tricia Harden
Proofreading: Jennifer Jaks
This book is for my man, my main squeeze, my best friend.
He will never read this but so much of him is written in the pages of this book.
I love you in your whole face!
Playlist
Most Girls - Hailee Steinfeld
Love Yourself - Justin Bieber
Thunder - Imagine Dragons
She Sets the City on Fire - Gavin DeGraw
Vicious Love - New Found Glory ft. Hayley Williams
Sick Boy - The Chainsmokers
Eastside - benny blanco, Halsey, Khalid
I Like Me Better - Lauv
Stay - Zedd and Alessia Cara
You’re the One - DJ Khaled ft. Justin Bieber, Quavo, Chance the Rapper, Lil Wayne
Somebody to You - The Vamps
True Love - P!nk ft. Lily Allen
Important Note
Promise Me Always is the third book in the Always Series and a standalone in itself. Promise Me Always follows Always There, which is also a standalone.
Although you don’t have to have read Always (Book One), I highly recommend that you stop and read it first before you continue on with Promise Me Always. There are spoilers in this book and I’d hate to ruin a book for you before you’ve read it.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this series.
<3 Lindsay
Chapter 1
Tatum
I’m a bitch.
You don’t have to tell me what I already know.
Many have made it clear throughout the years that they agree. I can’t really get mad at them for speaking the truth, especially when it’s a truth I agree with. I usually just raise a brow in a gesture that says, So? Sometimes I’ll even add a hand on my hip, with a pop for effect, if I really don’t care. I am what I am. I’m not trying to hide anything.
I haven’t always been this way, though. I used to be a sweet girl who painted her toes with her mom on the weekends, gushed about the newest, hottest pop star with my best friend, and even believed in fairy-tale princesses. Now, all of that seems like a lifetime ago, and I’m only eighteen.
You may ask: ‘What happened in your life to turn you from an innocent little girl to such a jaded, raging bitch?’ But it wasn’t just one thing. It was a bad combination of circumstances that, as they piled up, made me see the world with fresh eyes of clarity, and that clarity showed cruelty. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not so jaded that I live by the motto of ‘Life Sucks and Then You Die.’ I’m just not exactly excited to see when the bottom is going to fall out again, either.
So, what happened? Oh, where to begin… Lots of things. I have some of the usual ‘daddy issues’, you could say, from my dad being a dick and not being around, but that’s just the icing on this cake. A lot has happened, some good but a lot not great, and Dad-the-dick has been in the background, tearing me down the entire time. I’d like to think he wasn’t always so horrible. I’d also like to think that my bitchiness is the only thing I got from him. Ollie got the athletic build and good looks. I got the attitude and RBF. Or maybe it really is just all me. I don’t know.
I had to grow a tough skin early on, and if doing so made me a bitch, so be it. I’m a bitch. Whatever.
Now leave me alone and let me live my life, because right now I’m on a plane heading to Las Vegas to model for a big-name motorcycle company that specializes in sport bikes and racing.
I fought with my dad over this. Screamed, actually. In order for me to take this modeling job, I had to leave school early. I’d missed too much of the school year to be able to graduate, so I wanted to take my GED and be done with it. Because I was done. With. It. High school, living with my dad, feeling held back from what I really wanted to do.
I don’t know how or why, but my brother, Ollie, agreed to help me and managed to get Dad off my ass and let me do what I wanted. Wait, that’s a lie. Dad made it clear that if I took my GED and did this job, I wasn’t welcome in his house anymore. Done. Basically, he kicked me out, which worked out just fine seeing as how I never wanted to live with him anyway. I showed up at Ollie’s place, and between him and Travis, my stepdad, I had a job and a place to stay until I left for this assignment.
I’ll be gone for three months total. The first two months will be regular modeling for their bikes and apparel. Then, I get to be one of their Paddock Girls for the race week events during the IMR (International Motorcycle Race). The IMR has three different race brackets reflecting rider experience and bike size: IMR3 (250cc), IMR2 (600cc) and IMR (1000cc). IMR is the cream of the crop, and those guys are badass. They race on tracks around the world at speeds over 200 mph. Talk about an adrenaline rush.
The IMR has racetracks all over the world, and the European countries dominate it. They have one track in America, The Piston Ring, outside of Las Vegas in the desert of Nevada, where the company is based and where I’ll be spending most of my time.
I’m so ready for this. but I still feel nerves squeezing my stomach as the plane nears McCarran Airport. I’ve been modeling for the last couple years, but nothing this big. This is bigger than big. The fact that they sought me out still feels surreal. As the tires of the plane hit the runway, making my body jump from the force, my nerves spike again. Deep breaths, Tatum. Get your shit together.
Stepping off the plane, I see right away that we’re not in Graves, Illinois anymore, Dorothy. I’m still in the airport and already see slot machines everywhere, lighting up, making noise, coins spilling into the buckets of lucky winners. I feel overwhelmed as I take it all in. Spinning in a circle with wide eyes, I feel myself begin to panic.
“You OK?” I hear a deep, raspy, accented voice ask with a hand on my shoulder. It startles me and I jump, turning to see who’s talking to me.
Swallowing down my nervousness and schooling my features to hide my unease, I look up at the man in front of me, and his blue eyes pierce me. Not in a menacing way, but pierce straight through me, sending a swirl of tingles from the top of my head down to my toes.
“Y-yes, thank you,” I say, hefting my bag back up onto my shoulder.
“You need help finding where to go or getting your bags? You seem lost,” he says with a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, evident he’s trying not to laugh
at me.
Quirking my brow, I throw him my signature ‘fuck off’ look. “I’m fine. I know how to read signs,” I answer, rolling my eyes and reaching for my carry-on suitcase.
His hands go up in surrender, and this time he doesn’t hide his smile as he takes a step back. I look at him closely now, taking in his tattoos and piercings. Ripples of muscles stretch under his T-shirt and ripped jeans with untied biker boots. His light hair, buzzed around the sides and back but longer on top, hangs in his eyes, making them sparkle and pop. “Never said you couldn’t read, Sugar.”
“Please do not give me a pet name like you’ve earned that right,” I say while gripping my bag and turning to leave.
“Wait,” he says with a chuckle.
“What?” I snap, looking back at him.
“You’re going the wrong direction if you’re looking for baggage claim.” He smiles, then adds, “Or the exit.”
Huffing, I turn around and grumble a, “Thanks,” as I power walk past him, trying not to let him see how he flustered me. Making my way to baggage claim, I try not to die of embarrassment.
Vegas, I knew, would be different from Illinois, but I didn’t think it would be this apparent within the first few minutes of stepping off the plane. I already feel off-kilter and need to get my bearings back or I’m going to drown while I’m here. I’m the girl who doesn’t show her emotions and is in control, but right now, none of that feels true.
Before stopping at the baggage carousel, I take a minute in the bathroom to get myself together. Between feeling overwhelmed by all that is Vegas, in just the freaking airport no less, to that guy invading my space and making me feel weird, I need a minute. I splash some water on my face, put on a fresh swipe of mascara, dab my lips with some tinted lip balm and pull my hair to the side in a loose braid. Sighing, I look in the mirror and give myself an approving nod. Now, I’m ready to take on this city.
Grabbing my bags, I walk out and wait for my large suitcase to fall onto the conveyer belt. I type out a quick text to Ollie to let him know I made it, and when I look up, I see the same guy from before standing in front of me. His sudden appearance makes me jump. “Shit!” I yell as I drop my phone. “What the hell is your problem? I told you before I was fine,” I grumble, bending to retrieve my phone.
He lets out a low chuckle that stirs foreign butterflies in my stomach, and I feel off again. What is this guy’s deal? And why the hell do I keep having such conflicting feelings about him?
“I’m just here for my bag,” he says, still eye-fucking me like I’m his next all-you-can-eat buffet.
“Then go stand by someone who actually gives a shit,” I tell him when I spot my suitcase coming through the square door and beginning its journey to me. “Excuse me,” I say, shouldering past him to be ready to grab my bag.
But Mr. I-Can’t-Take-A-Hint follows, standing right next to me. I’m about to ream him out again, demanding he leave me alone, when he snakes around, reaching for a bag, and smiles at me. “My bag,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
I give him the finger with a smug, squinted grin of my own. But in my efforts to tell him to shove it, I miss my bag. “Dammit!” I race over to try to catch it but miss. Before I can do anything else, I see a large body fly past me, heaving my suitcase off the belt. It plays out in slow motion and reminds me of Thor with his blonde hair and flexed muscles as he picks it up, rotating it over his head. I stand there, fascinated, and swallow down the saliva that’s pooled in my mouth from watching him.
“There. Now we’re even. Sugar,” he says with a knowing smirk. “Have a great time in Vegas.” And then he takes his bag and leaves.
I stand there, still stunned, watching him walk out.
Yep. I’m definitely not in Graves anymore.
Chapter 2
Tatum
Seriously, Tatum, get it together. Rolling my shoulders back, I grab my bags and make my way to the airport Starbucks for my usual pick-me-up. Maybe that’s why I feel so off; I didn’t get my usual coffee this morning before I left. After ordering my venti vanilla latte with almond milk, I take a sip and already feel the tension leave my body. So. Much. Better.
I manage to get a cab and make it to my hotel, feeling much better about being here. My hotel is off the Las Vegas Strip, and while it’s not luxurious by any means, it’s perfect for me. After I unpack, I look at my itinerary and see that it’s pretty full, with not many open days. Actually, I only see four full days off in the three months I’m here.
Oh well. It’s not like I know anyone in Vegas, and I am far from looking for any boys to fill my time. I left high school to get away from that, and I didn’t come all this way to fall back into those bad habits.
When my mom died, I felt lost. My brother was away at school, my dad couldn’t have cared less, and Travis was working through his own grief, too distraught to help me with my own hurt. I don’t blame any of them for my choices, but their absence was felt. To fill the void of feeling alone, I started to jump into any available bed just to be with someone. Even though I knew it wouldn’t last and I was simply an easy ride for them, it was more than I was getting from anyone else. By the time it all caught up with me, I couldn’t do anything to change the past, but I could change who I was moving forward.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I love sex. I’m not saying I won’t get any at all while I’m out here, but I’m not going to go looking for it every night, either.
No, I plan on this being my fresh start, a new beginning. The foolish, teenage Tatum is gone, and now I’m standing on my own two feet as the adult Tatum. I’m strong, I know I’ll kick ass at this job, and I can do anything I want. Everyone else better watch out because I will eat anyone who tries to stop me or gets in my way.
“Good. Yes! Just like that, beautiful!” the photographer directs me in a test shoot.
Thank God I got here when I did. Turns out, this job wasn’t as much of a total package as the company lead me to believe. When I arrived at the studio the day after my flight, I came face-to-face with twenty other girls, all of them interested in one thing: modeling. I wasn’t here to make friends, so I took no prisoners and didn’t care to do anything other than show the company that I was what they were looking for.
The past four weeks have been trial after trial as we all lined up and waited to see if we’d make the next cut or not. Guess who did? That’s right, yours truly. But did you really question whether I would? Rude. Anyway, four other girls, along with myself, became the new faces of Royal King Motorcycles.
Royal King’s headquarters are here in Las Vegas, and although they aren’t one of the oldest companies around, they quickly gained respect from the other companies. They’re more modern than most, setting themselves apart. They have come close to making the podium of the IMR but have yet to. There are high expectations for their new rider this year. Benton King is the son of the founder of Royal King and is said to be a force to reckon with. It should make working with this company a fun time.
Today the five of us King girls are doing our first shoots in apparel. At the moment, I have on a crop top with the logo across the front and a leather jacket, painted-on jeans and black biker boots. I feel sexy as hell, which makes doing a shoot like this, where we are supposed to ooze sex, easy.
“Damn, girl. You are rocking that,” Dave, the photographer, says as he checks the images he’s taken to make sure the lighting is right.
“Thanks,” I say with confidence.
“I think you’d pair well with the new rider. I’m going to let the bossman know I think you’re the one to be the face for this season.”
Inside I’m jumping for joy, but I keep my face void of too much excitement, with the exception of the smirk on my face. “Do you know when that’ll be?” I ask him.
“Gotta be somewhat soon. Those guys have to be in the zone when race week starts.” He keeps clicking through the pictures we’ve taken with a growing smile on his face. “Yep. You’re it.”
And that�
�s a win.
Dave and I finish up for the day, and I make my way back to my hotel. Most people assume that this is all easy, but it can be exhausting. After long days in the studio on my feet, all I want is a hot bath and my bed.
When I arrive, I’m so busy daydreaming about the jacuzzi tub in my room that I miss the person stepping into the elevator at the same time as me. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Hey,” a raspy voice says as his hand hits the elevator door, making it snap back open. “You. From the airport.”
I look up and see the same piercing-blue eyes that sent me into a tailspin when I first got to Vegas. “Stalk much?”
A sexy grin spreads across his face. “I’ll follow you up your room any time, Sugar.”
“No thanks.” I give him a sarcastic smile. “Now, please let the door go so I can get to my room.”
“Sure thing. Right after you agree to get a drink with me.”
“Not old enough.”
His eyebrow shoots up to his hairline in surprise. I’m used to people thinking I’m older than I am; it’s nothing new to me. “Dinner then?” he pushes.
“Look. I’m here for work. I’m not here to hook up. Please let me go to my room. I’m not interested and I’m exhausted,” I say stepping off the elevator at my floor. I hate that I sound like I’m begging, but I really want that bath. “Are we done now?” I ask with a bored expression noticing his hand keeping the doors from closing.