Heavy: A Contemporary Romance

by Mells, J. C.

  HEAVY

  A New Adult Romance Novel

  By J. C. Mells

  Copyright © 2014 by Justine Mellows

  Edited by: Little Green-Eyed Press http://littlegreeneyedpress.com/

  Cover designed by J. C. Mells using stock images from Dreamstime.com and some technical help from http://www.fiverr.com/urbancreative

  Heavy is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For more information about the author or the series, please visit:

  www.jcmells.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY J. C. MELLS:

  The Pierced Series

  (Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy)

  Pierced, Book 1

  Escaped, Book 2 (Novella)

  Pinked, Book 3

  Perfect, Book 4

  Napoleon, Book 5 (Novella, NA, M/M Romance)

  In The Works

  I’ve been invited to participate in a project with five other Paranormal Romance

  authors in a compilation of short stories that we hope to release by Christmas 2014.

  This anthology will be offered for free initially, and further details can be obtained

  by contacting me at jcm@jcmells.com The tentative list of authors involved are:

  Mark Henwick, Connie Suttle, Susan Illene, Debra Dunbar, J.T. Bock, and J.C. Mells.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book would have been impossible without the help, input and support of a few wonderful people. First of all, thank you, Mom. Without you, this would never have been written. Having said that, please don’t read it, Ma! I think there might be just a tad too much “sexy time” for your delicate sensibilities!

  I would never have made it through the last few months without the encouragement, check-ins, support and input from my main go-to girl and head beta-reader, Terri. Thank you, Terri, for EVERYTHING! For staying up late and chatting about random topics from strap-ons to menopause, to how to make my fifteen-year-old cat start eating again after she went on a mini-hunger-strike. Even though we’ve never met in person (yet!), I consider you a true friend.

  Thank you to betas, Brenda, Brandi and Melissa, who selflessly volunteered to read this book for me and take time away from their own busy lives.

  A BIG thank you to my long-time friend, Hayley. We lost touch for many years and reconnected recently through Facebook, and ever since, she has been a HUGE supporter of my books and has been pimping them out left, right and center – thank you Hayles!

  The final BIG thank you goes to out to the Book Lovers Anonymous (BLA) Facebook Group. The support and encouragement I’ve received from, first the generous and beautiful admins, Jacque, Christina, Tiffanie, Teresa, Victoria, Michele and Jennifer, and second, some of the truly wonderful members, like Patty, Lisa, Tish, Sharlene, De, Naomi, Rebecca, Jen, KSunne and a whole list of others too many to name – is overwhelming and greatly appreciated. Thank you, ladies! Just knowing you are all out there in short skirts and waving pom-poms for me, warms the cockles of my heart.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  End Credits

  PROLOGUE

  Cali

  “I say we just kill her and be done with this monster fuck-up.”

  Even from down below in the dark basement where I was chained up, I could tell that was the guy with the red baseball hat talking.

  I tried to swallow the sob of fear that escaped from the back of my throat.

  “We never agreed to that,” Jimmy answered. His voice sounded nervous.

  “We may not have an alternative, Jimbo,” the man, who I thought might be Jimmy’s brother, countered. I’d only seen him once before, when Jimmy and I were twelve, right before I transferred schools…again. That was six years ago, so I wasn’t completely sure now.

  “Hell no!” Jimmy exclaimed. “You guys can’t be serious. I won’t let you do this.”

  “Fuck you, Jimmy! I’m not doing time again. No fucking way,” Red Baseball Hat shouted.

  I heard the sound of a scuffle, followed by the heavy thump of someone falling to the ground.

  Then, there was silence for what seemed like minutes.

  “Are you sure about this?” the brother’s voice finally asked in a hushed tone.

  This cabin was little more than a shack in the middle of nowhere. The thin walls, coupled with the silence of the surrounding woods, allowed me to hear just about everything.

  The discussion on what to do with me had been going on and off all day.

  “She recognized Jimmy, for fuck’s sake!” Red Hat answered vehemently. “Let’s just get it over with before he comes to.”

  My body began to tremble violently as I heard the creak of the basement door opening, followed by the clatter of multiple boots on the dusty stairs.

  “Should we do it here, or out in the desert?” Jimmy’s brother asked. “She’ll be heavy to carry afterwards.”

  “Let’s just fucking get it over with,” Red Hat replied, his confident command betrayed by his shaky tone.

  I struggled against my chains in desperation, even though I knew there was no chance of breaking loose. I’d been trying to for days and had the rubbed-raw wrists and ankles to prove it. The gag in my mouth prevented me from screaming and the blindfold covering my eyes was drenched in three days-worth of tears and dirt.

  “Sorry, Cali,” one of them, the brother I’m pretty sure, uttered as I felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the side of my head.

  I immediately lost control of my bladder.

  “No!” I screamed, waking up in my bed, soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably from the nightmare.

  I sat up, wrapped my arms around myself and tried to gain control over my ragged breathing. I rocked back and forth on the spot for a few minutes before I decided to head down to the kitchen. It’s where I always ended up after one of these nightmares.

  It was three a.m. and my father and stepmother were in Europe, the house staff would be asleep in the servant’s quarters above the garages, our small security team was housed in a different building on the estate, and my stepsister wouldn’t be home this early – if she even came home at all. In other words, I could make as much noise as I wanted; no one was going to hear. Just one of the benefits of being alone in a house of this vast size.

  I threw open the double doors of the obscenely large refrigerator and got down on my knees on the floor in between them. The fridge was packed – as it always was. I wondered for a second if Rose, our housekeeper, kept it so well stocked just for me.

  I started with the leftover chicken from
tonight’s dinner. The dinner I’d barely touched. In fact, I’d barely eaten anything in the last two days.

  I was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of euphoria. I felt giddy, almost high, as my teeth tore into a deliciously seasoned, cold, fried chicken breast.

  After the chicken, I moved onto the apple pie. Rose made great pies. This was the point where, still floating on a sea of unadulterated rapture, I just switched my brain off and went into auto-pilot. Using my hands, I scooped out large pieces of apple filling and crust and shoveled them into my mouth.

  After that, the rest was a blur.

  Just under an hour later I sat, crossed-legged, on the kitchen floor covered in - and surrounded by - bits and pieces of food. Melted ice cream, pie, day-old spaghetti, empty potato-chip bags, cookie crumbs, and chicken bones. All of that and more were on my pajamas, in my hair, all over my face and hands.

  Then the shame and guilt hit me - right on cue, as it always did.

  I curled up into a fetal position on the cold, tile floor; my body shaking uncontrollably as I sobbed.

  It took about twenty minutes before I stopped crying and calmed myself down.

  Using the counter, I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled over to the waste disposal. After rinsing off my hands, I opened the small makeup bag I’d brought down with me and had left next to the sink. It was the one my mother had given me for my fifteenth birthday. It had my name, Cali, embroidered across it and surrounded by pink hearts. I remembered laughing when it arrived in the mail from her. My mother, now living in Australia, was so out of touch and had obviously not realized it was better-suited for someone much younger. But, then again, for all I knew she may have thought I was younger. It wasn’t as if she’d remembered every birthday since she left. Maybe embroidered, heart-covered, makeup bags were all the rage in Australia? As it turns out, I ended up finding a use for it.

  I dumped its contents out onto the granite. These were my ‘tools of the trade.’

  I picked up the hairband and tied my food-filled hair up in a bun. Next, I put on the surgical gloves. I found over the years that the taste of latex worked better than just fingers alone. They also protected my hands and fingernails from the stomach acid. I twisted the water faucet to ‘on’ and started up the disposal.

  Sticking my latex-covered fingers down my throat, I proceeded to empty the contents of my stomach. The grinding noise of the waste disposal mixed with the sound of my retching echoed around the enormous, stainless steel and granite-accented space. I stayed bent over the sink until my back ached and there was nothing but dry heaves coming from me.

  Removing my gloves, I turned to my accessories and used the medicated facial cleanser, followed by my toothbrush and mouthwash. Stomach acid isn’t too great for your face or teeth either. My hair would be dealt with later when I showered. I had a kitchen to clean first.

  The final items of my ‘kit’ would help with that.

  I positioned the compact mirror on the counter and poured some white powder out of a vial onto it. Using an expired credit card, one kept expressly for this purpose, I formed two neat lines of cocaine across the compact’s reflective surface. Holding one nostril shut, I sucked one line through a rolled up dollar bill into my nose. I pinched the bridge, eyes watering, as I relished the bitter taste that hit the back of my throat. I swallowed a few times before I repeated the move for the other side. Wetting my finger, I ran it across the mirror to collect any residue before rubbing it on the gums under my top lip.

  Okay, now I was ready to clean the shit out of this kitchen.

  {1}

  Thatch

  It was almost eleven p.m. when a member of Max Rivers’ security team escorted me up to the penthouse suite of Segher’s Hotel and Casino. Although Reston Tattoos was just a few minutes from the Strip, when you live in Vegas, you usually avoided it at all costs.

  Well, at least I did.

  For the most part anyway. A guy has his needs, after all.

  College girls in town for just the night and looking for a good time were easy prey – if I was in the mood. A one-night-stand with an out-of-towner was all I ever needed – or wanted. I haven’t had a…night out…in over a month and I was long overdue. Unfortunately, this visit to the Strip was for business and not pleasure.

  Yesterday, Max Rivers, the lead singer of the metal band Limber, had called and I couldn’t refuse a private, late-night sitting while he was in town. That meant tonight’s visit to Las Vegas Boulevard was strictly business and not a pussy-finding expedition. Too bad. Just being here has reminded me how long it’s been since I last got laid.

  Thanks to an elaborate back piece I’d done on Max several months ago, I was beginning to make a name for myself in the tattoo world. Others might have to wait months for an appointment with Thatch Reston – but I wouldn’t refuse Max, even on my day off.

  The elevator let out directly into the foyer of the suite. To my right, and in the direction I was now being ushered, I could hear the sound of a party in full swing going on behind the large double doors.

  The security guard opened one of these doors and motioned for me to go through.

  I recognized several of the members of Limber surrounded by scantily-clad women, metal-heads, and several business-men types in designer suits that stood out from the more casually dressed.

  One of these ‘business-men’ was doing a line off the well-enhanced chest of a young woman sitting on the chair near to where I stood. To my right, the man I recognized as the drummer for the band was doing body shots with two girls who looked like they could be twins.

  “Thatcher!” A voice called out to me from the depths of the dimly lit, smoked-filled room. Max Rivers walked towards me, pulling a redhead with an obscenely short skirt along behind him. I noted the skirt only because it was the only thing she had on.

  “Hi, Max,” I answered as he pulled me in for a bro-hug, letting go of the half-naked redhead’s hand.

  “Hey everyone! This is Thatch Reston, the tattoo guy I’ve been telling you about,” Max addressed his party revelers.

  A drunken cheer of greeting sounded through the small crowd before they all turned back to whatever it was they happened to be doing before being interrupted. I wasn’t famous or important enough to warrant anything more.

  “Do you have somewhere quieter for us to do this?” I asked him, a little annoyed that I’d been called into the middle of a scene I wanted no part of right now.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about chasing tail. It’s the drugs and alcohol scene I stay clear of.

  “He’s cute, Max,” the redhead slurred. “Can we invite him in to play with us?”

  Max laughed. “I don’t think he’s into that, Dee-Dee. Unless you are into that, Thatch? Interested in…relaxing…a bit before we start?” Max wagged his eyebrows at me suggestively.

  I wondered for a second if Dee-Dee was her real name, or just something she’d come up with referring to her bra size.

  I like sex – a lot. But a threesome with this woman and the fifty-something year-old rock star was not going to happen. I smiled apologetically at her, and then turned back to Max. “No, not interested, sorry. Just want to get the tat done and head back home. You ready now?”

  “Give me ten minutes - fifteen tops - and I’ll be good to go.” Max handed me a key card and led me back out into the foyer by the elevators. “Use this to get into the room across the hall. Set up your stuff and I’ll be with you in a few.”

  I nodded at him as he and Dee-Dee left me and made their way back into the party. I could already tell this was not going to be the ‘quick and easy job’ I’d been promised. Walking over to the door, I swiped the card and went into the room.

  I found myself standing in a small alcove that only allowed me a partial view of the suite. I knew immediately that I was not alone.

  Out of sight around the small partition wall, I could hear the sound of someone singing along to Lana Del Rey’s Blue Jeans.

  I looked around
the corner and saw a girl, her back to me, dancing slowly and hypnotically in time to the music while giving Lana a run for her money in the vocals department.

  To my left was the bedroom area, complete with a king-sized four-poster. To my right, where the girl was dancing, there was a private sitting room: two sofas, two high-backed armchairs, and a large flat screen. The T.V. was on, a black and white movie playing, but the sound was off. This flickering screen was the only source of light in the room and served as a spotlight of sorts for the nymph dancing in front of it.

  And a nymph she sure was.

  She looked a little younger than me, maybe nineteen or twenty. Her hair was a dark brown that glowed reddish when the light from the T.V. hit it in certain places. It was up in a messy bun on the top of her head, loose tendrils delicately framing her face, which I could only see in profile from my current position.

  She was wearing those panties that look like mini-shorts and an over-sized blue T-shirt. Because I was watching undetected, I gave myself license to unashamedly stare at her ass in that tight underwear. It was only visible because she brandished a brandy snifter high above her head as her hips swayed sensuously in time to the – more or less – striptease-type music.

  Sexy doesn’t even begin to describe the entire scene.

  I had a semi just listening to her deep, sultry voice. Her bouncing ass cheeks might have helped with that, too.

  Right as she was getting into the part of the chorus that goes, “Promise you’ll remember that you’re mine…” she turned and saw me leaning against the entryway to the room.

  “I promise,” I answered, giving her a wink.

  On the outside, I was going for my usual cocky. On the inside, now that I’d seen her face, I was going, holy fuck!

  Her skin was pale, complementing and highlighting her lush, pink lips to perfection. Her eyes, devoid of make-up, were a deep, almost iridescent, blue. The dark lashes surrounding them, thick and long.

  An unfamiliarly strong pull of attraction hit me from straight out of nowhere.