Never Lost (The Dirty Heroes Collection Book 5)

by Tl Mayhew

  How was it possible, the last ten minutes of the casting call he swooped in, shared lines with me, and got us both roles as extras on the film?

  It’s clear he’s good at what he does.

  I’m glad I got through it without passing out; a grand achievement for someone who’s afraid of large crowds, and public speaking. I know I should be celebrating, in fact Rook had offered taking me out to do just that, but I’d declined.

  He’s a nice enough guy; maybe even attractive with his lean stature, and hint of tats peeking out rolled-up sleeves, but he’s not my type and he’s not Preston. Not even close.

  Logically thinking, my chances with Preston are pretty much nonexistent, but like a girl with a high school crush, fantasizing one day we could be a couple is what’s gotten me this far through the process. “Just three more hours and you’ll be wiping the drool off your lip as you eye fuck the sexiest man alive. This time, in person,” I tell myself, fluffing my pillow and turning on my side.

  If I can get through tomorrow with even a lingering glance at the man who I’d let plant a seed in me for the Prestons of tomorrow, my life will be complete. For now, if I don’t get some sleep, they’ll surely escort me off the set because no one wants to see this face without a full night of rest—including myself.

  Closing my eyes, it’s only a matter of moments before complete darkness consumes me and I’m dreaming of a life with the man of my dreams, anywhere but here.

  3

  Winsley

  There’s a wail in the distance. Disoriented and thinking it’s the alarm, I pound the screen of my phone, but the sound doesn’t stop—it gets louder. “Dammit,” I mutter. It can’t possibly be six in the morning; I just got to sleep. Shoving my phone from its place on the nightstand. It comes free from the charging cord and lands on the wood floor with a loud thud. I drop my head back to the pillow and cover my ears on either side, protecting them from what I now realize is an ambulance just outside my window.

  My apartment is on the third floor, but the walls are paper-thin and pretty much every noise is unmistakable. I’ll admit, I don’t live in the best part of town. Even with Jennifer’s help, it’s been a struggle staying on my feet. The cost of living in LA is ten times what it would have been in Podunk, Nebraska, which is where I’m from. That means counting every penny and living in this ratty one-bedroom studio.

  Turning over, I swipe my phone up off the floor and check the time. “Seven-thirty!” I shout, throwing the covers off my legs.

  In a matter of minutes, I’m in the shower scrubbing my face and all my body parts like my life is on fast forward. There’s no time for shaving or washing my hair and it kills me because what was supposed to be one of the best days of my life is already starting off as one of the worst.

  I step out into the steamed room, quickly drying off then wipe the mirror down. The face staring back at me has puffy eyes, blotchy skin, and a messy bun on top my head dripping droplets of water on my shoulders. I can’t decide if I should call Jennifer and cancel or cry. Neither is what I want. If I cancel, I’ll probably never get the chance of meeting the man of my dreams again and if I cry, I’ll just get puffier.

  Instead, I pull in a deep breath, place my hands on either side of the sink, and pep myself up as best I can. “You can do this. You’re Winsley fucking Starling. Bold and beautiful. If Preston Pace doesn’t give the true you a second glance, it’s his loss. Not yours.”

  It’s stupid but true. His days are filled with beautiful, ageless women he could, and probably does, have with a snap of his fingers. Even if they are good people, I suspect the only thing they’ve ever done for themselves is swipe their own card at a coffee shop or a department store. If he wants someone real, like—living on the brink of poverty real—with an imperfection or two, then I’m his girl. Otherwise, I’ll just go on with my life as if none of this ever happened.

  After slipping on my bra and panties, I put a leg in my favorite pair of ripped jeans and hop around looking for a shirt. There are only two clean ones left in the closet. One is a T-shirt with the face of a cat wearing a Christmas hat on it, and the other is a spaghetti-strapped, burgundy tank top. It’s obvious which one I should choose, but in times like these—when my personality is screaming for the reins—it’s not an easy decision.

  I tap a finger on my chin and look back and forth between the two. Settling on the logical choice, I grab the tank top and a pair of nude open-toed heels. Being true to myself doesn’t mean throwing my chances away before I even meet the guy.

  Once everything is tucked and fastened, I take one last check in the mirror. It’s not high-end designer clothing, but it also doesn’t matter because there’s a good chance they’ll put me in something different when I get there. I step out of view and it’s a moment before I realize what I’ve forgotten. I glance back in the mirror. My hair still sits atop my head in a tangled mess. More time has gotten away from me and there’s nothing I can do about it now. “The I’ve been sleeping for days look will have to do,” I tell myself before swiping the car keys from the counter and stepping out the door.

  4

  Preston

  The rustle of covers, and exposed bare ass, remind me of the guest in my bed. She means nothing to me. Just a one-night stand who’s one hell of a fuck and is now lingering in my personal space.

  Bringing them home is not something I do often, especially on the day we start shooting a new film I’m starring in, but this is the last shoot I’m doing in the US. The next three months we’re in Canada and the schedule is aggressive. It’s not like there won’t be opportunities, it’s more about the choice. My tastes are very specific and finding what I want is not always easy.

  Garret did me a solid getting this one. She’s fit and curvy in all the right places and last night had no problems doing what she was told—mostly—but her hour is now up. In fact, it was up four hours ago.

  She yelps when my palm connects with her ass cheek.

  “Time for you to go,” I tell her, tucking my hands behind my head and leaning back against the pillow.

  Turning over, her tits fall out of the sheets when she props up her head. She gives me a once over with a seductive gaze. “I thought you said I could come on set with you today.”

  Her whine grates on my nerves. “Not today.”

  “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” she asks, lowering a hand over my dick.

  I catch her wrist and toss her arm back to her side. “Yes, I’m sure. Now get up, get dressed, and get out.”

  On a huff, she tosses the covers back and hops off the bed. “Has any one ever told you you’re an asshole?”

  “Ever, yes. Today, you’re the first, but I’m certain you won’t be the last,” I counter.

  My reply only provokes her frustration and she briskly yanks up the delicate material of her panties, almost falling over in the process. It’s a sight for sure, watching her hurried pace as she swipes her clothes off the floor and heads through the door, slamming it against the frame—naked tits and all.

  Knowing I’ll never call her again is both a sense of relief and remorse, because with a little training she would have been the perfect submissive. That pouty lip almost got me hard. I’d debated on binding her hands and showing her exactly what she could do with those lips but when she reached for me, I shut down cold.

  Finding a woman who’s supportive of my unique tastes and understands in the bedroom, I call the shots has been challenging. There’s never been one who’s checked all the boxes. They’re either good at listening and doing what I say, but don’t have an ounce of backbone in their body. Or they’re so defiant my arm tires from punishments. “There’s someone out there, I can feel it,” I mutter, dropping my feet over the edge of the bed and heading toward the shower.

  I lather vigorously, scrubbing her scent from my body, then step under the spray and rinse away last night’s activities. It’s refreshing both physically and mentally. She’s in the past and someone new is on t
he horizon. Today is a going to be a good day.

  Once I’m toweled off and back in my bedroom, I stretch the muscles in my arms and legs, prepping for some time on the floor with crunches and push-ups, and then a few quick reps on the chin-up bar fastened in the doorway.

  The tightness in my arms and abs is invigorating. It’s been awhile since I’ve spent any time on the mat, mostly it’s a treadmill or weights, but today I’m running a bit late so an in-home workout it is. Something is better than nothing.

  Next the chin-up bar.

  Just when I’m pulling myself up and over for the final count, there’s a quick knock at the door. Whoever it is, doesn’t wait until I’m planted on the floor and covered in a towel, instead they walk right in.

  I can’t see them so depending on where they enter from, they’re either getting a full view of my ass or a close-up of my dick. Both of which are equally impressive.

  “Good, you’re getting your workout in,” he says, slapping my ass as he passes by.

  It’s Garret Scott, my agent. I drop from the bar and turn on him with arms flexed, prepared to lay him out. “How many fucking times have I told you not to do that?”

  “What?” he asks.

  “Don’t play innocent with me, Garret,” I bark, stalking toward him. “Coming in without permission. And for fuck’s sake, it should go without saying, touching my ass.”

  He shrugs in response as if he’s not being threatened by a man three times his size. “No need to get all bent out of shape about it, man. Perfectly harmless gesture.”

  “Don’t do it again,” I warn.

  “Noted,” he mumbles, dropping into the chair by the window.

  Stepping into a pair of gray sweats and snatching a bottle of water from the nightstand, I lean against the doorframe. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here anyway?”

  He shifts in the seat and looks everywhere but at me.

  “Garret?”

  Glancing nervously at me, he says, “You told me I should let you know when Rook was back.”

  It takes a moment for his words to sink in but when they do, I’m livid. “That motherfucker!” I shout, squeezing the bottle in my hand, water goes everywhere.

  Rook has been nothing but a deceitful bastard since I first met him on the set of Brothers Reunited.

  It was a high-action military film. The plot was, as the title implies, about long-lost brothers who’d went off to war in separate armed forces divisions. Each had been injured while serving their country and they’d reconnected once they returned home.

  You could say we played our parts very well, if our parts were about siblings who fought all the time.

  He was always late and occasionally drunk, which resulted in forgotten lines, disrespect for the director, producers, and anyone he met for that matter.

  Early on I confronted him, but even a black eye and a bloody lip didn’t stop his reckless behavior. The last night of shooting, we found him passed out on a prop made up to look like a bed. It was hours before he was sober again and twenty-five takes before the film finally completed.

  Rook was escorted off the premises right after—ordered never to return.

  It makes me wonder why he’s back now. “Where’d you see him?”

  “He was on set yesterday, when they were running through placements and lines of all the extras. He’s not playing an official role, Preston. He’s an extra.”

  This surprises me. Someone of his stature, who always needs the spotlight on him, is taking a place in the background. Not possible. He has a plan, an ulterior motive of sorts, and if we don’t find out what it is, there’s a chance this film will be at risk for losing millions as well.

  Marketed as my comeback after a difficult breakup, there will be a lot of focus on this movie, and me. There’s no way I’m going to let someone else fuck this up and risk the chance at a golden statue perched on my mantle.

  “We need to get down there early. I’m all up for a confrontation this morning,” I say, heading toward my clothes closet.

  “Ahem.”

  Now what? I think. “He deserves what he gets, I’m not holding back this time.” When Garret doesn’t respond, I turn and find his judgmental stare on me. It’s no surprise why. Working out after a shower is not the order in which things should be done. Collecting my clothes, I head back into the bathroom. “Give me five minutes,” I toss over my shoulder before shutting the door behind me.

  True to my word, I’m out in five and shortly after we’re stepping out the double doors of the building I live in. There’s a driver waiting for us with the rear door of the limousine open.

  My control is hanging on by a thread right now. Just thinking about being in the same room with a rat such as Rook makes my nerves twitch. He’s put one too many nails in his coffin and if he’s not careful I’ll seal it shut.

  5

  Preston

  The place we’ll be filming in is an abandoned factory in a brick building across town, and the aesthetics are from an era when craftsmanship meant something. The perfect backdrop for the restaurant where I’ll be taking an on-screen cooking lesson from the female lead, Gina. She’s playing Juliette, a French chef.

  This is not a part I would have taken normally. Most of what I’ve done has been action, jumping out of helicopters, or being in a high-speed car chase, those are the parts I like playing. This time I’m a wealthy bachelor, who has trouble keeping it in his pants until Juliette catches my eye. The entire story line has been described as a chick flick.

  We pull into the entrance and stop at the lowered gate arm, where a security guard approaches the driver window. He requests our chauffer’s credentials while another guard walks around the long black car with a mirror beneath. Both are an inconvenience but a necessary precaution and something I’d never protest. There’s been one too many bomb threats.

  Once cleared, we’re directed to the parking area and I’m pleased to find it empty. That means we’re here early and he’ll not suspect a thing. “Is there anything else I should know before he gets here?” I ask flatly.

  “Nah, he’s the same scrawny jackass as the last time you saw him. I feel bad for the hot blonde they’ve paired him with. Although, when he was fifty minutes late, she gave him crossed arms and a death stare for days. I don’t think she has a problem seeing right through him.”

  The image of him and a blonde reminds me of Tinka. There was a time, although brief, when they were a thing. It didn’t last because once he’d shown the true side of himself; she was the one who ended up with a black eye. It was an accident, he’d swung at another man in a drunken fight and hit her by mistake, but it was the last straw, and she’d left. Yet another reason our lives would be easier if he was in another town, in another state, or even better, another country. “You know it’s only a matter of time before he does something stupid,” I tell Garret.

  “I know.”

  “Well, you’re the agent, why don’t you do something about it?” He shakes his head as though it’s not his problem and it pisses me off. “You’ve always told me you can work miracles. I guess this is just not one of them.” Those are the last words I leave him with before reaching for the door handle and stepping from the car, not even waiting for the driver.

  Thinking about what I expect the reaction on Garret’s face looks like at the challenge I just laid on him, tips my lips up in a grin. He’ll take this seriously. He’s a good guy just sometimes with his lack of backbone he needs a push. It does make me wonder if I should get a new agent, but then I check my lineup of movies and decide he’s good for something.

  Once I reach the building, and step inside, the room is pitch-black. It’s so dark I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, and it forces me to fumble around until I find a light switch on the wall. When the switch is flipped the unexpected happens, an entire city comes to life. From a barbershop to a bank and even a thrift store—the level of detail is almost uncanny—the stagehands have outdone themselves.


  I knew the budget would be large, but there was never a number put on paper and I expect this is why. What moviegoers don’t realize is how much work goes into making sure every detail is just right. From the etching of a storefront window to the red, white, and blue barber pole perched just above the door; the researchers, designers, and artists put in a lot of hours making it look this good.

  The first place I’m headed is Le'Miserie where we’ll be stationed for the next couple of days, depending on how quickly we can get through this part of the script.

  Garret stalks up behind me. “It feels like we’re lost in a ghost town of what used to be downtown LA.”

  “Yeah, well, we don’t have time for window shopping.”

  We enter the restaurant, perusing the place as though we’re high-end chefs considering more real estate for our chain. Cooking food for others has never been a dream of mine and never will be. I have people for that. It makes me wonder why I took this part.

  Tinka, she’s the reason.

  If she were a guy, the saying would go, “She couldn’t keep it in her pants,” but in this case she’s just a promiscuous bitch who fell on the first dick she found that wasn’t mine.

  “Where did they seat him?” I ask Garret, wondering where Rook’s table will be.

  “This one, I think,” he says, pointing at a table tucked back against a wall.

  Nodding I turn toward the exit. “Let’s find my trailer, we can wait in there.”

  There are three RVs parked around the side of the warehouse, each a different size and each with a burgundy and gold nameplate perched on a stake near the door. Walking past the eighty to one hundred grand machines, I’m impressed by their size and sleek design. They’re basically only used for staying in between scenes, during our twelve to fourteen-hour workdays, so over-the-top luxury isn’t necessary but it is required for me anyway, and this time it appears they didn’t spare any expense. I find mine at the far end. It’s the largest of the three and I whistle with approval without even seeing the inside. “Nice job, man. This is definitely better than the last dump you arranged for me.”