by Hamel, B. B.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 B. B. Hamel.
Sign up for my mailing list and find out about new releases, giveaways, and more. Plus, get a free book! Click here.
Keep reading for the full text of Jerked included at the end.
Prologue
The lights flashed as he put his hand on the small of my back.
Tingles ran up my spine.
“Smile real pretty,” he whispered in my ear. “I need to show you off.”
I glanced at him and felt that familiar thrill run through me, a mixture of fear and lust.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Show them that pretty ass of yours.”
He twirled me around in front of the cameras. My short dress barely concealed my ass, and the reporters all laughed.
He was handsome, charming, and the darling of paparazzi and serious journalists alike.
And he was also deadly as hell.
Later, back in the hotel room we were forced to share, he stripped off his shirt and poured himself a drink. “You did good today,” he said. “Wife.”
I stared at his muscular body, at the scars from a hundred battles dotting his chest and stomach, at the tattoos that snaked up along his skin. His crooked grin drove me crazy, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Your turn,” he said. “Take that dress off.”
I had to resist him.
He was an asshole, crude, rude, violent, and dangerous.
And I was only in it for a money.
“Don’t be shy. We have this big bed. I might as well work that sweet pussy of yours for a few hours while we’re here.”
I had to resist him.
Even if it was getting harder every day we were together.
In front of the cameras. At lavish dinners, expensive parties.
“That fucking body of yours drives me insane,” he said, crossing the room toward me. “I’ll have you begging my name by the end of this night.”
I shook my head. I was only in it for the money.
“You know you want this cock deep between those pretty legs,” he whispered.
Rude. Crude. And absolutely correct.
I was totally screwed.
Chapter One: Selena
I didn’t know anything about the military. As far as I was concerned, military guys existed only in the movies and on TV. I mean, I understood that our troops were living and dying every day for our freedom, but I didn’t really know any of them. They were just abstract people in my mind.
Until I got the assignment that changed everything.
I stood in line nervously. The campus bookstore was an absolute madhouse. I’d been in there hundreds of times, but I’d never seen it so full before.
I chewed my lip nervously. It seemed like the majority of people waiting to get their copy of Death From Below: The Story of An American Hero were women, and young women. There were a few macho-looking guys in camouflage shorts who were sporting beer bellies, but they were the outliers.
No, it was pretty obvious by now who the main target audience was.
It wasn’t like I didn’t get it. I had eyes, after all. He was tall, muscular, and handsome as hell. Women practically threw themselves at him, and for pretty good reason.
But he was just so arrogant. In every interview I’d seen him do, he had this cocky smile, this swagger about him. Sure, the book was amazing, and if it was even half true, then the man was incredible, but still. He acted like he was the best thing in the entire world, and it drove me insane.
I stood around impatiently, my copy of Death From Below dangling loosely in my hand, my notebook in my other. If I hadn’t been assigned to try to get an interview with him, or at least to get a quote from him, by my paper, well, I’d be anywhere but that line.
“Isn’t he so cute?” the girl standing in front of me whispered. She was wearing Ugg boots, black tights, a short skirt, and a top that was way too revealing for a bookstore.
“Cute?” her friend answered. “He’s a freaking hunk. I’d let him do anything to me.”
“Lisa! You’re so bad.”
“What? Wouldn’t you? I bet he could make me feel things I’ve never dreamed about.”
“Oh my god!”
I frowned, looking away, trying to tune them out. I wanted to pretend like they were an anomaly, but the truth was, most of the women in that line were thinking the same thing.
Slowly I got closer and closer to him, and I found myself suddenly nervous. I was only a few spots away, and I could see him clearly from where I was standing. Sure, he was surrounded by a bunch of people, probably bodyguards and publicists, but they seemed to fade into the background around him.
Nash Bell, Navy SEAL, American hero, and probably the hottest thing around at the moment. His mega bestselling book about his time in the military was being optioned for a movie, and everyone wanted a piece of him
Including, apparently, every woman within a twenty-block radius.
I watched him talk to his fans, smiling at them, cracking jokes. He seemed somehow both bored and totally engaged with every person that came near him. It was almost magnetic the way he spoke and looked at everyone, even if he was just asking their name and writing in their book.
I inched my way forward, more and more nervous with each step. I didn’t understand why, since I had no real interest in this man. He was just an assignment, just one more topic I needed to write about. But for some reason, he was intimidating. I’d gotten my books signed by other famous people, even spoken to a few for interviews, but I had never felt so strange before meeting someone.
And then it was my turn. Nash Bell looked up at me and smiled. My stomach twisted itself into knots.
“Don’t be shy, girl,” he said, grinning. “Come over here.”
I walked over, frowning at him. “Uh, hi. My name is Selena Wood. I’m a journalist for the Penn Daily, the student newspaper here at the University of Pennsylvania.”
He nodded. “Okay, Selena. Want me to sign your book?”
I put it down on the table. “I was hoping I could get an interview with you, Mr. Bell.”
He flinched. “Call me Nash.” He looked back up at me, cocking his head to the side. “Now, why would I give you an interview?”
I paused. “It’d be good exposure. Every student here reads it.”
His smile curled into a suggestive grin. “You’re going to give me exposure, Selena?”
“My newspaper will,” I said quickly. “We can do it later, or even just a few quick questions right now.”
He paused for a second, staring at me. I suddenly felt completely alone in that huge room, like I was the only person he had any interest in. It was almost exhilarating the way his attention suddenly honed in on me and made me feel so absolutely looked at.
“You want to do it later? I’m not sure you could handle me, Selena.”
“The interview, I meant,” I said quickly, blushing deeply. “Sorry. I meant the interview.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I know what you meant. I like your dirty mind though.”
“So, uh, any interest?”
He stared at me for another second and then motioned for me to come closer. I leaned in toward him. “Are you sure you want to be alone with me?” he said softly.
“It’d be an honor to interview you.” I regretted the words as soon as they came out.
“An honor,” he grunted. “We’ll see.” He wrote something in my book and passed it to me. There was the name of a restaurant and a time.<
br />
“Know the place?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “It’s pretty fancy, over in Old City.”
“Meet me there at eleven. Wear something nice.”
I opened my mouth, surprised, but he was already looking away. Slowly I turned and walked away as another set of undergrads came over, obviously making lewd sexual jokes that he easily batted back at them.
I walked away, back through the crowds, but I felt a million miles away.
What the hell had just happened?
I looked in my book and, sure enough, the name of the restaurant and the time were both still written there, plain as day.
Nash Bell wanted to meet me at eleven at the type of place I’d never be able to get inside of, let alone afford. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to interview him or if I was meeting him for something else.
As I walked back out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but think about his reputation. Nash Bell wasn’t exactly known as a wholesome guy in the media. There were rumors of drinking, partying, whoring, and drug use, all the sort of things I tried to avoid. He apparently went through women like sticks of gum, chewing them up and spitting them back out. He left wakes of destruction behind him, all because he could.
And I was supposed to meet him alone for a drink?
I made my way back toward my apartment, still in shock over the whole episode. It almost felt like a strange, bad dream.
Why the heck would Nash Bell want to meet with some undergraduate girl in her senior year? It couldn’t be because he was interested in trying to seduce me or something like that. The man could get any woman he wanted; I doubted he would bother with someone like me.
And it couldn’t be for the tiny bit of exposure I could give him. I had fully expected him to say no, to maybe give me a quick quote before kicking me out. Instead, he was offering me some serious one-on-one face time.
It was the sort of access some journalists would dream about. Nash Bell was the hot thing, and if I got an exclusive interview with him, I could seriously get my name out there.
I made my way up to my tiny third-floor apartment, unlocking the door and pushing my way inside. Once there, I instantly started Googling him, searching for every little bit of dirt I possible could.
And as I did it, I found myself formulating a list of questions. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but for some reason some part of my brain must have assumed I was going to go through with the meeting.
A few hours passed that way, and what I learned about Nash Bell didn’t really help.
Nash was known as one of the best successful SEAL commanders in Afghanistan history. What exactly that meant was in his book, and apparently a lot more had happened that was highly classified. He’d done three tours of the desert, spent countless hours out in the field, and had a huge number of confirmed kills.
And he was barely a few years older than me, which was surprising. The man had a grizzled, veteran look about him, but he was only twenty-eight.
After he got back from his last tour, he went on a leave of absence for an unspecified amount of time and for an unknown reason. Around that time, he came out with his book, and the rest was history.
People loved his story. It was full of action, violence, and excitement. He was a small-town boy from the Midwest that went on to do incredible things with the military, a true American hero. He had saved his company numerous times, put his own life in danger for his comrades, and more; he was everything we were told military men were supposed to be.
And yet he was a drunk and a womanizer. He liked expensive cars, expensive dinners, and expensive parties. The man was a living hurricane, blowing through town after town. There were rumors that his publisher wasn’t happy with his behavior, but there was no sign he was going to slow down.
By the time I came up to breathe, it was already ten o’clock and I had a decision to make.
I could take what seemed like an impossibly lucky opportunity, suck it up, and go meet the man, or I could chalk this one up to a strange celebrity’s practical joke and decide to ignore it.
But I had already made up my mind hours ago. Really, I had made up my mind the second he’d invited me. When he’d looked at me with that intense stare, I had known I was going to do what he said.
Stomach flipping from nerves, I stood up and began to root through my closet for something appropriate to wear.
Something dressy and classy, but not too inviting for him.
This was strictly business, after all.
I had to keep telling myself that. With Nash Bell, everything had to be strictly business.
He was just too dangerous to get involved with.
Chapter Two: Nash
Two Weeks Earlier
I woke up, hangover pulsing through my skull.
Another fucking hangover. I could barely even remember the night before. I had a vague idea of some fucking club, loud music, plenty of sluts throwing themselves at me.
I looked across the sheets and, sure enough, some blond stranger was wrapped up in the comforter.
I groaned, rolling out of bed. What a fucking shit storm. I walked into the bathroom, rinsed my mouth out, and drank a cup of water.
“Baby?”
I looked back into the main room. The blond thing was sitting up, her thick hair spilling down around her shoulders, her bare tits standing firm and ripe.
“Not your baby,” I grunted at her.
“Whatever.” She smiled, crawling across the bed. “That was fun last night.”
“Sure,” I said. “I bet it was.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Eventually.” I looked at the time. “Got a fucking flight in a few hours.”
She stopped at the edge of the bed and motioned for me. I sighed, walking over to her.
She reached out and grabbed my cock through my thin boxers. “You have a few extra minutes, right?”
Another pussy, another city, another night. I stared at the girl and tried to remember her name, but I was drawing up a blank. Frankly, I couldn’t even remember what city I was in, let alone what club slut I had brought home the night before.
What the fuck was happening to my life? One day I was at the top of my game, killing fucking scumbag terrorists in one of the most dangerous places in the world, and the next I was rolling around the country getting my cock sucked by horny fans.
“Maybe another time,” I grunted to her, turning away.
“What?” she pouted. “Come on.”
I looked back at her. “Get your shit and get out.”
She stared at me, not sure if I was joking. “Come back here,” she said. “I’ll suck your cock, make you feel better.”
“Guess I wasn’t clear,” I said. “I’m taking a shower. Get the fuck out.”
I turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it.
I heard something thump against it. “Asshole!” she yelled.
Just another normal morning in my fucked up whirlwind of a life.
“You’re late.”
I frowned at my watch. “Two minutes.”
“Still late.”
“What’d you sleep on, a fucking rock?”
“You know I like to be punctual, Nash.”
I grinned at her. “Yeah, I know that, Livy.”
She sighed and looked down at her phone’s calendar. Livy Green was my publicist and handler, and basically the bane of my fucking existence. If something was fun and felt good, Livy wanted to destroy it with fucking fire. The woman was a professional at keeping me on schedule and keeping me bored out of my fucking mind.
“Look,” she said, “we need to talk.”
“Can we talk on the way?”
She nodded and stalked off. I followed her, my skull pounding. I wasn’t looking forward to another lecture about my “conduct” and my “professionalism,” but it would be over soon enough.
Thing was, I didn’t exactly disagree with her. Yeah, I was partying
too much, drinking too much, fucking too much. Yeah, I was enjoying the fucking fruits of my labor. Could anyone blame me? I had a thousand female fans that all wanted a piece of my cock and a thousand dollars in the bank begging to get blown on the next bullshit attraction.
I had just spent the better part of my life in the fucking desert, my balls owned by Uncle Sam. Didn’t the world owe me a tiny bit of fun?
This damn book. Truth was, I didn’t even write the thing. The stories were all more or less accurate, though some of them were fucked up a bit because of security reasons. I’d had a ghostwriter who actually did all the hard work, though. I told him what happened to me, the shit I did out there, and he made me look like some kind of fucking hero.
Which I wasn’t. I was just some asshole with a lot of particular skills that did his job. I wasn’t a hero, never asked to be one.
Didn’t matter anymore, though. Wasn’t like I could somehow go back in time and change things. The book was out, the world was fucking crazy for me, and I was stuck dealing with all the shit. Orders were fucking orders, even if they were some weird fucking orders.
I followed Livy outside. The guy working for the hotel out front wanted to take my bags, but I shrugged him off. I hated being treated like a celebrity. I could carry my own fucking luggage.
Soon we were in the back of a private car and speeding out toward Midway, one of Chicago’s airports.
“I spoke with Chuck this morning,” Livy said.
“Who?” I grunted.
“Chuck Davis. Your publisher.”
“Oh. Okay.” I stared out the window, barely listening.
“He’s the man that owns you now, Nash.”
That got my attention. I looked back at her. “What did you say?”
“Nash, I’ve been warning you for weeks now. I’ve been warning you that your behavior has been deplorable, that you couldn’t keep acting like a drunken idiot all the time.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re supposed to be the face of this war, Nash. You’re an all-American boy.”