Jacked (Men on a Mission Book 2)

by Kate Gilead

  JACKED

  MEN ON A MISSION BOOK 2

  KATE GILEAD

  Copyright © 2019 by Kate Gilead

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

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

  This story contains adult themes, sexual encounters and strong language. It is intended for mature readers only.

  All sexual acts described herein are consensual and all characters are 18 years of age or older.

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue Chapter 13

  Extended Epilogue Chapter 14

  BILLIONAIRE Sample Chapter

  Also by Kate Gilead

  Chapter One

  Jack

  Seven-fifty-three a.m.

  Sun’s been up for a few hours now. When things get into full swing here next week, I’ll be up before dawn for sure. But right now, I can still sleep in.

  After climbing down the ladder from my loft bed, I step outside into the cool morning air.

  The night creatures in the forest are all tucked away in their nests now…the lucky ones, with a full belly.

  There are lots of things with teeth and claws in the bush here, four hours north of Toronto.

  The full contingent of crew has yet to arrive, but the noise and activity over the last two days since the first few of us got here would have scared the big predators off by now.

  The thought hits me that I’m probably the biggest mammal in the vicinity. It’s safe enough, sure, but it still makes me a little sad.

  Naked except for my boxers, I’m standing on the rough plank deck outside the foreman’s cabin, my home and office for the season.

  The rest of the camp buildings are a ways down the thickly-treed hill behind the cabin.

  This much-needed privacy is a perk of the job, and the view doesn’t hurt, either.

  Up here, the cabin on the ridge overlooks the valley below, trees showing the pale green of their springtime foliage.

  It’s a clear view, all the way to the horizon.

  Just below the cabin, a small plateau holds a swimming pond, fed by an underground spring.

  The early morning sun paints a band of gold across the surface of the pond, highlighting a cloud of gnats hovering over the water.

  As I watch, a big dragonfly darts in and out of the cloud of smaller insects. The sun’s reflection off its wings makes it look like a fiery, living spark as it flies off with its morning snack.

  Deep breath… ahhh, that clean, fresh air…then I stand up straight and do some shoulder shrugs.

  Ow.

  Still some aches in my traps, pecs and arms. A few squats and lunges make me wince too. Yep, stiffened up overnight.

  No matter how fit and hard you think you are, out here, the bush is harder and it’ll kick your ass if you’re not careful.

  With no machinery or laborers on site yet, yesterday, me and Calvin, my second-in-command, hand-hauled a dozen seasoned, twenty-foot logs to the bucking area, dragging them with tongs on a chain like an old-fashioned mule team.

  With us being the mules.

  Then we wrestled all the plywood off the windows on the buildings, stored them away and opened windows to air the buildings out. Next we set up all the mess tables so Sven, the cook who’s getting up in years, wouldn’t have to.

  The rest of the day was spent cutting and stacking firewood for all the camp buildings against the sometimes-cool, damp and rainy summer nights up here.

  Yeah. Still feeling it today.

  The work involved just in opening the camp and getting it set up for the season is already showing me where I got soft over the winter, deadlifts or no deadlifts.

  Doesn’t matter how sore I get. The fact is, the camp boss is responsible for everything. And that means he has to make sure everything gets done even if he has to do it himself.

  When I was a kid, I always thought being the boss meant you had it easy.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  I drop to the deck and do sixty one-handed push-ups per side.

  Ow yeah that hurts. Damn.

  Stand up and stretch, and do a bunch more shoulder-shrugs, butterflies and stretches, my eyes on the red lights of a cell tower blinking away on the high ridge of the valley.

  It’s the newest one of a row that follows the line of the main road, servicing this area and points further north.

  Hydro lines on poles snake alongside the cell towers, a set of them branching off to come up the road that leads to this camp.

  And hydro’s not the only amenity out here.

  Claude Becker, the landowner, obviously plans to reap the resources here for some time to come. Infamous for money-making for the sake of it, he’s had many clashes with the local government and conservation authorities over his rough-shod contempt for the land and the creatures on it.

  This land is full of millions of dollars of old-growth hardwood alone. If there are any minerals worth extracting here…well, old Claude wants those, too.

  Not that what Claude Becker does is any of my business.

  Besides, I’ve had to make an uneasy peace with it because harvesting lumber is how I make my living. My employer, Cooper Timber Company, has the logging contract out here for the next three seasons.

  It’s really too bad, though.

  If not for that cell tower intruding on the view, I could be looking at a landscape from two hundred years ago, when settlers first started arriving; their villages, then, towns, then cities, built by the labor of men like me.

  Progress. It’s a double-edge sword. We need these towers, and roads, and infrastructure, and building materials. And people need jobs. For all its problems, civilization is a good thing.

  But we also need wildlife and nature and beauty. Not to mention, the carbon-oxygen exchange for the planet that all these miles of boreal forest provides.

  Time to get dressed, go get coffee and see if breakfast is ready.

  * * *

  Walking down the dirt road to the main camp, I can already hear Sven’s deep, robust voice floating up from the kitchen. He’s singing Italian opera, at the top of his voice by the sounds of it.

  I round the corner of the mess building and spot an unfamiliar car in the dirt parking lot.

  But I don’t have time to wonder whose car it is. From within the mess building, Sven’s song comes to an abrupt stop, replaced by the sound of his voice giving a short, startled scream.

  Immediately following that comes the high-pitched, startled shriek of a female, followed immediately by a clanging thud.

  Followed by Sven cursing.

  What the hell?

  Hurrying to the screen door, I fling it open, and there’s Sven, our sixty year-old, Croatian ex-patriot camp cook.

  His oven-mitt-clad hands are clasped to his ch
est over his heaving belly. He’s looking wild-eyed down at the floor. “Oi! Look diss mess! You son-a-ma-gun!” His gravelly voice is breathless.

  And…there’s the other screamer.

  It’s a petite blonde girl, not much taller than five-two or three. Young. Maybe nineteen or twenty.

  She looks at me, then back at Sven, then at Calvin, who’s standing in the doorway to the dining area.

  Hmm. She’s cute.

  Standing a few feet away from Sven, she’s holding a handbag to her chest and wearing a stricken expression.

  A mound of blonde hair is tied on top of her head, held in place by who knows what.

  Blue eyes, huge and alert, blink under a fringe of that sunshine-colored hair.

  Big, firm breasts atop a sturdy waist, below which wide, seductive hips and a booty flare in a shape they used to call child-bearing, back in the day.

  I call it, built like a brick sh…

  “Jesus! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her voice is sweet, high-pitched and slightly breathless.

  There’s a big puddle of water on the floor by the restaurant-style range, tendrils of steam rising from it. Next to it, an eighty-quart boiling pot lays on its side. A pile of steaming boiled potatoes is scattered beside that.

  A quick look at Sven shows he appears to be uninjured. Same with the stacked blonde.

  Calvin lets out soft laugh, then leans a shoulder against the doorjamb, crossing one booted foot over the other. He takes a sip from the mug he’s holding.

  “Morning,” he says, grinning.

  Sven and the girl both turn to look at me. “Jeck,” Sven says, “Look vhat hoppen. Who is diss voomen?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I reply.

  “She skere me, I trop pot,” Sven says. “Look!”

  “Yeah, I see. Well, shit happens,” I say. “You okay, miss?”

  She nods, eyeing me nervously, then backs away to stand beside the butcher-block center island.

  “Um…can we help you?” I ask. “Are you lost?”

  Twisting her hands nervously together now, she says, “Yes. I mean, no, no, I’m not lost. I’m reporting for work. Could…can you call the, uh, manager, and let him know I’m here, please?” Back and forth her eyes go, flitting between us all, as if she’s afraid we’re going to rush her.

  “I’m the boss, Miss. What do you mean, you’re reporting for work?”

  “Work. I work here. I was hired for the season.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes.” She looks at me with a tiny frown, they way you look at someone when you think they might be slow in the head.

  Cal chuckles, and I can’t help but smile myself.

  I look at Calvin. “You know anything about this, Cal?”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t…you’re not expecting me?” With one small hand, she pushes the fringe of hair out of her eyes. “My name’s Molly Malone. It was hired only a week ago, so, it was kind of last-minute. But, um, I drove up here from Bracebridge, and…”

  She trails off as Calvin, Sven and I all look at each other, expressions baffled.

  None of us knows what she’s talking about. “Huh. This is the first we’ve heard,” I say. “Camp personnel are usually hired quite far in advance.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m supposed to be a kitchen assistant and uh, general helper, I guess.”

  To the girl, Sven says, ”You gon’ vork vit me?” He scratches his belly absently. “I no vork vit voomen, yooshully. Hah! See vhat hoppen? You snick, you skere me lak dat, I trop pot, you son-a-ma-gun.”

  “Snick?” She looks at Sven quizzically, then at me. “Sonahmagum? I don’t understand.”

  “Sneak,” I explain. “Not sure about the other word, to be honest. It’s just an expression he has.”

  “Yah,” Sven says, reasonably. “Chust expression, dat.”

  “Oh. Well, I didn’t sneak, I walked right through the door.” To me, she says, “He didn’t hear me because he was yelling.”

  “Oi,” Sven says. “No yelling. Vas sinking hopera.”

  Calvin laughs. “Same difference. Oh, Jack? Norm’s gone to bring the skidder up from the south harvesting site. He says it’s been acting up.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “I’ll be back for breakfast, Sven.” He turns and walks out, whistling.

  “Vhat’s wrong vit hopera?” Sven asks. He takes a deep breath, and belts out: “Funiculì, funiculàaaaaaa….!”

  The girl jumps.

  “Sven!” I say. “Knock it off.”

  Turning her blue eyes to me again, she flattens her palm on her chest, laughs, and says, “Geez!”

  Her smile is fleeting but it turns her look from cute to…something else entirely.

  Mmm-mmm. Lovely girl.

  “Well, hmm.” I say. “You’re definitely not on the last personnel roster I received, but maybe HQ got behind on paperwork.” To Sven, I say, “I thought your assistant was gonna be Travis, same as last year. I’ll call HQ when the office opens,” I check my watch, “which should be any minute.”

  “Yah. Hokay.” He shakes his head. “All dis padaydoes, mek hash prowns for whole veek! Now, gotta t’row out. Beek vaste!”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Yah, yah.” He flaps a hand at me, then takes up a spatula and starts shoveling the still-steaming spuds back into the pot.

  “Let me help you,” the girl says, stepping forward.

  “No, I geddit,” Sven grumbles.

  She blinks at him, frowning. “I…well, I’ll peel the new batch of potatoes, then. It’s not fair that you should have to do it again by yourself.”

  Sven looks at her suspiciously, then softens. “Is ‘lectrek peelah beck dere.” He points behind himself with his thumb. “Von’t tek lonk.”

  She nods. But the contrite look on her face would melt a heart made of hardwood.

  Aww, shit. She…she’s…very cute, actually.

  I don’t want to stare, but she’s so easy on the eyes, it’s hard not to.

  That sexy shape…that fleeting smile…damn.

  “You shouldn’t even be on the worksite, liability-wise,” I tell her. “But I think we can offer you coffee at least, if you’re interested?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Alright, come on.” She follows me to the coffee station in the dining room.

  “Molly, is it?” I say. She nods. “My name’s Jack Sawyer.” I hold my hand out.

  “Nice to meet you, Jack.” she says. When she takes my hand to shake it, I could swear I can almost feel a…what? Some kind of… sensation.

  And not just in my hand, either.

  What the…? I’ve only been in the bush a few days, it’s not like I haven’t seen a woman in months or something.

  I fill two thermos mugs with the fresh-made, fragrant brew. She adds three heaping teaspoons of sugar and a generous serving of cream to hers.

  Smiling, I say, “You like a little coffee with your cream and sugar, huh?”

  She looks up at me from under her lashes, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I’m not sweet enough.”

  I smile, thinking: You look pretty sweet to me.

  Putting the sipping lids onto the two thermoses and tightening them, I say, “So, Molly. I don’t know how the wires got crossed here, but we can’t have people wandering around. Employees all have to be covered by the company group insurance.” I hand her mug back to her. “I’m sorry no one’s expecting you. I’m not even sure what to do with you until we figure this out.”

  My mind tries to offer an x-rated idea but I push it away.

  “I was told it would all be taken care of,” she says. “I don’t know what went wrong.”

  “You better come up to the office with me,” I say. “I’ll call HQ and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Chapter Two

  Molly

  Welp, this logging camp thing’s getting off to a great start.

  S
hould have expected it to go south, like the rest of my life lately.

  Mom’s whirlwind second marriage, then the three of us moving away from everything we knew to go live with her new husband. And then my brother getting sent away to school above his–and my–objections.

  Can’t start worrying about that again now. I’ve got a plan and I’m gonna make it all work out.

  It’s just…maybe I’m more stressed out than I thought.

  Because I could have sworn I got a shiver when Lumber Jack here shook my hand a moment ago.

  I dart a quick look at him.

  Yeah. Probably imagined it and no wonder.

  The more I look at him…the more I want to look at him.

  Shit! No, I don’t.

  But..I kind of do.

  No, I don’t! Stop that! Don’t lose your shit now, girl.

  Gotta stay strong.

  Still, leaving the mess hall, I can’t help but glance longingly at my car, parked in the gravel lot. I wish I could get into it and drive all the way back to Toronto.

  If I still had a home there, I’d be tempted.

  But I don’t. I have to make one for myself, and my brother. That’s why I’m here.

  I wonder if Claude would care if I quit. I doubt it, as long as I’m out of his way.

  But Mom would freak. She’s been worried about my future and keeps trying to play peace-maker between me and Claude. She thinks me taking this job is a step towards that.

  What she doesn’t know is that it’s a step towards freedom. I love her so much, but it’s time for me to make my own decisions now.

  So I’ve got to stick this out and collect that fat, twenty-grand paycheck plus bonus for only four months work.

  Feeling slightly surreal, I follow Jack down the wooden steps from the mess hall.

  Just to break the ice, I say, “So, um…your cook is Swedish, is he?”

  “No. He’s Croatian.” Jack scratches the back of his head and chuckles. “He’s quite a character, huh?”

  “Heh. Seems like it. What’s his story? I mean, how’d he end up out here?”

  “He…well, there’s a huge population of Croatians and other Eastern Europeans around here. You didn’t know that?”

  “No.”

  “A lot of them came to work in the gold mine in Timmins over a hundred years ago, and spread out from there I suppose..”