Crank

by Shauna Allen

  The Cupid Chronicles

  Inked by an Angel: Book I

  The Halo Effect: Book II

  Wounded Wings: Book III

  Cupid’s Last Stand: Book IV

  Charlie’s Angel: A Novella

  Standalones

  Elvis is a Keeper

  Circle of Redemption: A Tre Donne Anthology

  Coming Soon in the Jack ‘Em Up Series

  Burnout: Prequel (Blake and Delilah) OUT NOW!

  Torque: Book II (Jesse and Rachel)

  Throttle: Book III (Trace and Tori)

  Rev: Book IV (Micah and Jewel)

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for picking up Crank! I hope you fall in love with Blake and Delilah again as we finish out their love story. If you missed the start of it, you might want to grab Burnout, the prequel to this Jack ‘Em Up series.

  Your support means more to me than you’ll ever know…I’m still humbled that anyone would read what I write. Authors can’t do without readers, and I thank you, thank you, thank you. If you can find it in your heart to leave an honest review, I’d be ever so grateful.

  I’d also like to invite you to sign up for my Angel Kisses Newsletter for all my latest news, book release information, fun, and giveaways.

  I hope to see you around and that you’ll show the rest of the Jack ‘Em Up guys some love!

  Until next time…Giant Hugs!

  ~Shauna

  xo

  For Jase. My first true love.

  Blake

  My body sizzled to life as hot fingers cruised along my inner thigh. Groaning, I kept my eyes closed and gave myself over to the sensations that were awakening my heartbeat as long fingernails grazed my groin, lips pressed to the flesh of my chest.

  God, she felt good.

  I’d missed this.

  I sunk my fingers into her hair and yanked her up for a kiss that still tasted of the whiskey I’d consumed by the boatload last night, lust beginning to ride my veins and consume me cell by cell.

  “Oh, baby,” I moaned against her lips as she thrust her tongue past my teeth.

  I clutched at her waist. She felt different . . . rounder. She smelled like cheap perfume instead of the berries and sunshine I remembered . . . and when had she become this eager? It had been ages. I wasn’t about to miss the opportunity. Groping for the edge of her T-shirt, I yanked as she fumbled with the button of my jeans and snaked a hand inside to slide up and down my painfully rigid length.

  Shit, it’d been too long. I wasn’t going to last if she kept that up.

  “Stop, Delilah,” I panted, my groggy mind waking and slowly easing back into itself. I slid open my whiskey-coated eyes for the first time and focused. The squeaky leather of my office couch squawked beneath me, the dim light from my computer screensaver lit the room in blues, an empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor, and . . . no.

  This was totally fucking wrong.

  “Yes,” a silky voice said from the doorway of my office. “Stop, Delilah is right.”

  I snapped my head around at the same time as the gap-toothed blonde on top of me, and honed in on the very pissed off brunette bombshell perched in the doorway. I swallowed as I took in her skin tight jeans, mile-high heels, and the black lace number that was a poor excuse for a shirt as her perfect breasts nearly spilled out the top.

  “Um, who’s that?” Blondie asked, her hand still down my pants.

  I scrambled to sit up and tossed her off, my gaze stuck on the storm brewing in those blue eyes. “Delilah. My wife.”

  Now razor-focused on only Delilah, I fumbled with the button on my jeans and chased her down the hall and out the back door. The cold November wind blew in from the Gulf and smacked me in the face. I sucked in a breath, loping to keep up, but she was way ahead of me, her sweet little ass already sinking into her cherry red ’69 Corvette before I caught up to her.

  She slammed the door just as I skidded across the gravel of the parking lot on my bare feet and tapped on her window. “Please, Delilah,” I begged.

  She ignored me and revved the engine with an angry roar.

  Damn it.

  “Please!” I yelled, not caring if I sounded desperate. Surely she realized that shit back there wasn’t what it looked like. Fuckin’ A. It kinda was what it looked like. But why couldn’t I remember last night or who that girl was? How had my solo drinking binge ended up like that? Because I sure as shit would never sleep with anyone else. My Princess had to know that.

  I rapped on her window rapid-fire again. “Come on, Dee. Please.”

  Her raging blue gaze finally met mine. “Fuck you,” she mouthed, her middle finger up in a third-finger salute. Then she peeled her car outta there in reverse like she was Daisy in “The Dukes of Hazzard.”

  Confusion and self-directed anger poured through me like acid as I watched her go.

  “Come on, baby,” I mumbled to myself as she sped off toward town. Surely she’d come back. Surely.

  But no.

  My heart sunk in my chest as Trace’s turquoise blue ’55 Chevy pulled in, purring like a kitten.

  Trace and Micah, my two best friends and business partners, stepped out after parking and eyed me quizzically. Trace whipped off his shades and spoke first. “Dude, was that Delilah we just saw ripping out of here like a bat outta hell?”

  I nodded, my eyes still glued to the road as if she’d somehow magically reappear.

  “Everything okay with her ride?” Trace asked, pocketing his keys in his leather jacket.

  I faced my friends. Of course they’d assume it had something to do with the ‘Vette. The hot rod that I’d built for her myself as a wedding present. “Yeah. She . . .”

  All eyes pivoted as the busty blonde came strolling out the front door, adjusting her blouse. Way too few clothes for this weather. She grinned at all three of us. “Good morning, boys.” She winked at me. “See ya round?”

  I said nothing as she strode to her car, which I was disgusted to note was a crappy little import.

  “Holy fucking shit, dude,” Trace said.

  I snapped my eyes back. “What?”

  Even Micah, stoic ass Micah of the post-Afghanistan poker face, seemed to be shocked.

  “You banged her?” Trace didn’t wait for a response as we all watched the tiny car putt out of the lot. “You cheated on Delilah with Candace freakin’ Carmichael? Really? What the hell, man?”

  I looked to Micah for some support but found only questions in my friend’s eyes. “What? No! Never!” My gaze ripped desperately back to the now empty road. “I’d never cheat on Delilah.” Though I spoke with conviction, my brain was scrambling for any memory of last night to contradict what I was saying. Had I done something stupid in my drunken stupor? Had I sunk to the level of my father? I’d always known this day was coming . . .

  No.

  I may have drunk myself silly as I mourned the deterioration of my marriage, but I’d woken up fully dressed.

  “Then what was she doing here?” Micah asked, speaking for the first time.

  “And why was Delilah driving like a rattler with a stepped on tail?” Trace added.

  I dropped my head into my hands. “Shit. I don’t know. I was drunk.” I glanced up at my buddies again. “I did not fuck that skank, I swear it. But Dee obviously thinks I did, and that’s what matters, huh?” Just one more sin to add to my endless list, paving my way to Hell.

  God. Thinking back on these past few months, maybe years, it was obvious why she’d think the worst. The long hours I put in at the garage, the emotional distance I kept, my escapes into the bottle, had all increased in frequency in direct correlation to the crumbling of our marriage. A pebble of misunderstanding, of pain, had become an avalanche, and I just didn’t know what to say to her anymore. What to do. S
he hadn’t set foot in Jack ‘Em Up in months. Why today?

  Shit. What a clusterfuck.

  Delilah

  Pain ripped through my heart with all the finesse of a hacksaw.

  I unleashed a painful sigh. I’d married that no-good, cheating SOB. And what did I have to show for it? A broken—no, make that demolished, obliterated, incinerated—heart, and my pride in the gutter. Because now Daddy could say ‘I told you so.’ He’d warned me not to marry straight out of high school, that Blake was just a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Trash. Definitely not good enough for the daughter of the town Sherriff and County Judge.

  But I didn’t listen. I was sure we had something special. Once-in-a-lifetime precious.

  I rubbed the middle of my chest, as if that could ease the ache, and pressed down on the accelerator of the stupidly gorgeous Corvette Blake had built me. If only I didn’t love the asshole so much. Even after all these years. After everything.

  But, God, Blake Travers had been so damn alluring. Perfect in so many ways. He treated me like I was his world. He’d never kowtowed to my family; even when he was shaking in his eighteen-year-old boots when we faced down my parents together. Or when we said our vows in front of the JP with timid voices and our best church clothes, me clutching a small bouquet of white roses. Never once had he simpered or acted less than a man.

  And what a man he’d grown into these last ten years. Sometimes it still blows my mind that he wanted me. That body . . . well, hot damn. He’s filled out in all the right places since high school and decorated his body with piercings and tattoos that make me hot. Especially my name inked down his left forearm in flowing script. A declaration that I was his and he was mine, and I loved it.

  Eighteen or twenty-eight, he was magnificent. No doubt about it. I’d always kinda wondered how I’d managed to snag him.

  But it didn’t matter now. Candace the Whore had him.

  I’d overlooked his drunken escapades and his slow fade from my life for too long now. I couldn’t be made a fool of again. Candace Carmichael was my slutty line in the sand.

  We were done.

  I choked back a sob as I turned into our driveway and parked. We’d automatically come back to Baybridge right after we both finished college in Austin, and we’d bought the house when he started turning a profit at the garage. It seemed the natural thing to do because neither of us enjoyed the big city and all of our friends were here. It was home. But it suddenly felt incredibly lonely.

  I took in the flowerbeds I’d worked so hard on, still blooming with all colors of Impatiens, the bright yellow curtains I’d made myself, the fresh paint job, and I realized it was all in vain. This was supposed to be our home. Our refuge from the world. But it was nothing more than a shell where I spent most of my time alone. Grieving. Lost. Desperate for my husband.

  How was I going to go on without him? He was so ingrained in me, it was like we shared the same DNA.

  And to think, I’d gone there this morning in my sexiest clothes to try and seduce some life back into our marriage . . . to win him back after all the heartache.

  Overcome, I laid my head against the steering wheel and sobbed.

  After a long, sleepless night and having to shut off my phone to ignore Blake’s calls and text messages, I found myself wondering why he hadn’t just come home? I guess he was too scared of the blow-up that was coming.

  I just wasn’t sure I had a blow-up in me. I was so emotionally drained, I could literally feel the exhaustion in every cell. Ten years we’d been married. Ten years I’d barely seen him as we finished school and as he worked every overtime hour he could get so he could open his own garage, Jack ‘Em Up. College was expensive and sucked up a lot of my time, so I’d gladly given up sports medicine and gone into massage therapy instead and I loved my work. I enjoyed helping the human body and getting to know my clients. I’d worked hard, helping to support us as he built the business. I’d also worked hard to hold on to the hope that there would be a light at the end of this tunnel. But the tunnel was closing in on me. We’d made it. It should’ve been a joyous time. But, no. It had become my worst nightmare as his dream shred every one of mine, stealing every bit of my husband’s time and attention . . . and I’d swear his love.

  The good times and sweet memories that used to define us were getting harder and harder to come by. When was the last time we’d laughed together? Had Sunday morning breakfast? Made love?

  I clung to each painful memory and shred of hurt as I rolled out of bed, showered, and dressed for the meeting with my lawyer. Well, my best friend and lawyer, Rachel. I wasn’t sure if going to her was a good or bad thing since she knew all my baggage, but she was a damn good attorney, and that’s what I needed today.

  I plopped on the unmade bed and yanked on my favorite red heels. Might as well feel empowered, right?

  I rose and checked myself in the mirror. Satisfied I looked the part of a strong woman filing for divorce, I strode down the hall, my heels clicking on the new wooden floors Blake had installed. As I walked, my eyes skimmed over the multiple frames that held images of our life together. Our history. I paused at our wedding photo. I brushed a gentle finger over the bright-eyed, naïve, eighteen-year-old girl who’d believed in happily-ever-after and Prince Charming. The girl who had faith that the bad boy with rough edges loved her enough to change for her. The girl who knew this marriage would work because we loved each other enough, because we were each other’s world. Nothing had ever felt more right in my life.

  What a load of shit.

  With tears brimming, I pressed on and snatched up my purse. Might as well get this over with.

  Thirty minutes later, I was settled in Rachel’s office with a mug of steaming tea in my suddenly cold hands, the bright fall sunshine blasting through the windows.

  “So,” Rachel started, eyeing me with a pointed stare over her librarian glasses, the sun catching in her auburn curls like fire. “You sure you wanna do this?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Positive.” I bit off any regret as I blew and sipped the scalding fluid.

  Rachel tapped the papers in her hand into a neat pile and set them aside before leaning forward, her chocolate eyes sympathetic. “Sweetie. We’ve been friends a long time—”

  “I know,” I interrupted her. “Just file the damned papers, okay? It’s over.”

  Rachel tilted her head. “What makes you so sure? Don’t you love him anymore?”

  My heart caught. Yes, I loved him. Of course I loved him. More than I should. But that wasn’t the point anymore. Mentally steeling my spine, I choked back a sob and studied the business-grade gray carpeting. “Just do it, all right?”

  Silence.

  “Look, Rach, you’ve been there for all of it. You saw how he didn’t have time for anything but that damn garage. Not for friends, not for fun . . . and definitely not for me. He wouldn’t even make time for counseling, Rachel. What do you want me to do? I can’t fix things alone.”

  Sigh. “Fine.”

  “Thank you.” But there was no relief like I’d hoped to feel. Just utter sadness. I hated this. It was like amputating my arm. Or my heart.

  I stood on wobbly legs and collected my purse.

  “Don’t thank me,” Rachel said, her voice grim. “I think this is a mistake.”

  My gaze snapped up. “What?”

  “Look. I know Blake’s been . . . going through something since you guys lost the baby.” Her gaze skittered to the window, then back. “And he’s not exactly been husband-of-the-year material. But you guys love each other. I know you do. And I think if you give it time, you can find your way back to each other.” She sighed heavily again. “And, honestly, it breaks my heart that the golden couple I’ve epitomized since high school would throw in the towel like this.”

  “We’re no golden couple, Rachel.” I blinked back the flurry of tears as my heart constricted with a tug of guilt. Had I ignored whatever Blake had been going through since the miscarriages? We hadn’
t even told our friends and family after the first one, it had just been too much for me. But had it been just as torturous for him when we lost the second? The third?

  I knew it had shattered my heart, my dreams, but he’d never said anything . . .

  I pushed the idea away.

  Hurting or not, he had no right to find solace in Candace Carmichael’s arms.

  I sucked up my resolve and met Rachel’s questioning gaze. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. I really am. But please, just file the papers and let’s get it over with before it gets any more painful.”

  Rachel finally nodded her reluctant agreement. “Okay. I’ll get right on it. But only because you’re my best friend and I hate seeing you like this.” She sighed and glanced at her desk calendar. “He’ll hopefully be served by next week, then once he signs, it’ll be final in thirty days . . . you’ll be a single woman by New Year’s.”

  My gut knotted. Instead of welcoming the baby I should’ve been, I would be ringing in the New Year alone.

  Blake

  Ten days later, I still hadn’t gone home. I just couldn’t face Dee yet. I was burned up with shame and just wanted a little longer to figure out how to apologize. How to make this right.

  All I knew was that I hadn’t touched a drink since that night. Or Candace Carmichael. I needed my wife back. But how?

  In the back of the garage, I tinkered with the water pump on old man Gallion’s Oldsmobile 442, idly remembering the days when Delilah had helped me work on my Camaro after she’d smashed the shit out of the quarter panel with her Beamer. She was adorably out of place in a garage, but it had felt right to have her there. Natural. Like having a wrench in my hand. I’d always felt most at home with grease under my fingernails, surrounded by the smells of gas and oil and brake dust. Jack ‘Em Up Garage was the only thing I hadn’t screwed up in my life.

  The big bay doors were open, allowing in the cool Texas breeze and just a hint of the cold front brewing twenty miles south in the Gulf of Mexico. The crunch of tires on gravel sounded behind me, but I ignored it, figuring Micah would handle it since his lazy ass wasn’t doing much of anything besides holding up the desk this morning, and Trace was welding on an exhaust in the corner.