Cocked And Loaded (Lucas Brothers Book 4)

by Jordan Marie

  “What happened to Addie and where in the hell is she?” I roar, tired of having this overwhelming fear surging inside of me.

  “Black.”

  I hear this weakened, quiet voice that sounds like my Addie, but different. My gaze darts around the room searching it out with all the chaos and that’s when I see her. She’s standing over in the corner, holding onto the door of the back room. She looks fine. My eyes scan her quickly. She’s got on jeans and a buttoned up, loose shirt. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel like she just got out of the shower. She’s perfect… except… she looks sad. I don’t see tears, however. I practically run to her, relief washing over me so instantly my damn knees are weak.

  “Addie! Sweetheart, you’re okay,” I exclaim, picking her up and holding her tightly against me.

  “Black,” she whispers again, but this time I can hear tears in her voice. I pull back to look at her face and sure enough there are tears just silently running down her face, I try to swipe them away with my thumb.

  “Don’t cry baby. You’re alright, we’re together now. Please, don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it,” she wails. Her body trembling as the sobs take over and she clings to me as if her life depends on it.

  Frustration is surging through me. I can’t fix something when I don’t know what’s going on.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Addie,” I urge her because I’m one step away from screaming like a madman, until someone tells me what is wrong with my woman.

  Addie pulls away from me and I let her go, even if I don’t want to.

  She looks up at me and slowly takes the towel off the top of her head that she was wearing.

  As she takes it off she clings to it, holding it tightly to her chest. At first, I think I’m seeing things. I blink to just clear my eyes, in case I’m wrong… but I’m not. Addie’s beautiful blonde hair is now a bright florescent pink and has a little orange mixed in. It’s also short… really short… and frizzy. Addie’s hair was always long and silky.

  What the fuck happened? I’m about to take heads off, and if my sister did this I may take hers too. Before I can, Addie breaks down. She slides to the floor a complete broken mess.

  “I look like a troll doll!” she cries and I swallow my anger down. However this happened, it wasn’t Petal or anything Addie did… I have a sneaking suspicion that this came from Addie’s stalker, Lynn.

  And now, I’m convinced that Lynn is…Linda.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Addie

  “I look hideous,” I cry, throwing the comb down.

  It’s been four days since the incident at Petal’s salon. My hair is still a freaking mess, but I’m lucky. The forensic team did a search and though the color Petal used is still being tested for its components—they’re pretty sure it did contain trace amounts of Drano clog remover. They do know that the finishing conditioner had traces of boric acid. If Petal hadn’t pulled me out of the dryer and immediately started rinsing me, who knows what would have happened.

  I don’t really care at this point. All I know is that my hair is cut short all over my head. Petal did manage to wash it enough that the harsh pink has died down to a bright neon pink, which is still bad, but at least a little better. Petal and I were both afraid to add more chemicals to it right now. My hair needs to recover and we’re afraid something we use might react worse, since we’re not all that sure what Linda used. I’m pretty sure Linda is the culprit too, because Black pulled up her picture on the computer. The hair has changed but the face is exact. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she dyed my hair the same color that Little Kong had at first either.

  “You do not, you’re beautiful,” Black says and I sigh.

  I turn around to look at him.

  “You love me, you have to say that,” I grumble.

  “I do love you, that’s true. I’d even love you if your hair was green.”

  “Thanks… I think,” I half-laugh. “I guess worrying about your hair is kind of stupid. There are worse things to happen, right?”

  “Exactly. You could look like my brother Green,” Black says, with a fake shudder.

  “I don’t know, Green’s kind of sexy.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Black grumbles.

  I giggle, I can’t help myself.

  “I wouldn’t want to make love to you if you looked like my brother…” Black says, leering at me.

  “I really should be going over my notes for tomorrow’s try out at Amour Fou,” I tell him. “They moved up the appointment and I couldn’t tell them I can’t come because I’m having a bad hair day.”

  “You could have,” he shrugs.

  “And kissed the job goodbye,” I agree. “I mean, I don’t think they’re going to be too thrilled when they see my hair as it is, but if I cook well enough it may make up for it,” I respond with a shrug. “At least I’ll have a shot.”

  “That’s crazy. Women have those haircuts all the time.

  “Not in conservative restaurants with bosses like these,” I sigh.

  “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

  “Black—”

  “It makes me want to fuck you,” he growls.

  “You’re a pervert,” I laugh.

  Black picks me up and before I can even settle against him he tosses me on the bed. I wasn’t far away from it, but it’s been a long time since I’ve sailed through the air. I bounce on the bed a couple of times before I finally stop.

  “Now, let’s see if I can fuck the nerves out of you.”

  “You think you can manage that?” I ask.

  “I’ll do my best. Now strip.”

  “I’m too tired,” I tell him.

  “Too tired for sex? What’s this bullshit I’m hearing?”

  “Too tired to undress. I’m afraid you’ll have to do it for me,” I tell him, smiling up sweetly.

  “Just remember you asked for it,” he warns, then he grabs the collar of his t-shirt I’m wearing—because let’s face it, lately when I wake up I’m wearing one of three things. It’s either his t-shirt, Black himself, or nothing. If I had to pick a favorite, it would definitely be when he’s over me and his cock is deep inside.

  That’s the best way to wake up in the mornings.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Undressing you, Princess.”

  He’s barely finished the words when he rips the shirt apart, baring me to him.

  “I really liked that shirt.”

  “It was mine,” he says.

  “I know but it was my favorite of yours to wear,” I pout.

  “I’ll give you your other favorite thing of me to wear instead,” he says thoughtfully, and as he grabs his cock and starts stroking it over me, there’s not a doubt to be had about what he’s talking about.

  “That’s nice of you,” I grin.

  “I’m a nice guy,” he says.

  I watch as his hand moves up and down his hard cock. Pre-cum is already drizzling from the head and sliding down his shaft. Some of it drips down and makes its way to my chest.

  “I thought nice guys finished last,” I respond.

  “Not this time,” he grins.

  I lean up to lick the head of his cock and take some of his pre-cum into my mouth.

  He lets me do that, but then he pushes his hand on my chest and firmly pushes me back down onto the bed. Black knows what he wants and I decide to let him have it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about him—he will reciprocate… excessively. Which, it must be said, I really like.

  So, like a good woman, I lay back and let him have his way and as jet after jet of his cum splashes against my chest, and runs down my breasts, I have to agree. This is another favorite thing of his I like to wear.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Addie

  “You have less than ten minutes,” the guy says, sticking his head in the kitchen. I want to tell him to kiss my ass, but I don’t. I nod and smile and go b
ack to working on my roux. Ever since I got to the restaurant it’s been a complete disaster, so I’m not holding out hope that this is going to work.

  First I arrived and setup. I learned then that the kitchen was still going today and I’d essentially be running the kitchen and overseeing the orders as well as cooking. It’s not so much as trying out for the job, as giving them one day of free labor to see if they like me. I’m pretty sure that kind of crap is illegal and it doesn’t fill me with warm fuzzy feelings about working here. I suck it up though.

  I’m out to prove myself—not only here, but in my industry, so I shake it off. Then the owner keeps walking around, watching every move I make. I mean, that’s his right but it’s starting to get on my nerves. It wasn’t so bad until he had the audacity to comment on my hair.

  “I hope you cook better than you choose your hairstyles,” he murmurs.

  His words cut, because I’m still mentally trying to recover from everything to do with my hair, but I suck that up too. I’m frazzled, but everything seems to be going really well and by that I mean in ten minutes I’ve completed an entire shift and I’ve not had one issue and no real complaints. By this time, I’m feeling like the job is mine. I’ll admit that I’m starting to wonder why I want to work for these guys, but all the same, I’m feeling accomplished.

  “Chef Harrington,” one of the waiter’s holler.

  “Yes?”

  “You have a call.”

  I frown. Very few people know I’m here. Black and his family and my father. That’s it and none of them would call unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “We don’t allow personal calls during working hours,” the owner says, his stern face looking down at me with disdain. I’ve felt like he’s judged me all day and this doesn’t help.

  “No one would bother me here unless it was an absolute emergency,” I tell him, but I can tell that he doesn’t believe me.

  I dry my hands on a dish towel, after instructing one of the line cooks to continue stirring the roux. I hustle over to the phone, my eyes on the clock overhead and I’m pretty sure I’m about three steps away from panic—not only about my cooking, but I’m afraid something has happened to Black or to my father.

  “Hello?” I hold the receiver and wait for an answer. I hear nothing. “Hello? Is anyone there?” I ask, but again no one is there. It’s just a second later that I hear a recording.

  “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try your call again…”

  I frown, but hang up. I rush back over to my station, but there are two waiters already heading out the door with orders.

  “Wait! I didn’t get to check the plate,” I cry, but it’s too late, they’ve already entered the dining area.

  Crap.

  “I gave orders that nothing leaves the kitchen without my approval,” I mutter.

  “You were tending to personal business on company time. My patrons can’t wait for you to get off the phone. I gave the order,” the guy says, coming up from behind me.

  I jump, because I wasn’t expecting him to be there.

  “Did you check the plates?”

  “That’s not my job. That’s yours,” he dismisses, and my mouth goes tight as I bite my tongue and don’t tell the guy what I think of him.

  I try to put the plates out of my head and instead, go back to dishing up the last plate of the day. I’m feeling even more confident until the unexpected happens.

  “This was returned,” a waitress says, bringing back one of the plates that I didn’t get to oversee.

  “A hair!” the owner gasps. Just the sound of his voice makes me wince.

  “There can’t be, or at least if there is, it didn’t come from the kitchen,” I defend.

  “I don’t think you can be so sure.”

  “But I can. The entire staff has the proper netting in place and their hair pulled completely away. I made sure of that,” I argue.

  “Be that as it may, there’s a hair in the food, obviously,” he replies.

  “Well it didn’t come from the kitchen. If there’s a hair it came from the waitress or perhaps the customer themselves!” I argue stubbornly, crossing my hands at my chest.

  The waitress shoots me a dirty look, which I could understand, I’ve pretty much thrown her under the bus.

  “Open the tray and let us look,” the owner says haughtily.

  “I can assure you it’s not mine,” the waitress says, lifting the top.

  “How can you be so sure?” I ask.

  “Because it’s not… hot pink,” she responds once the lid is clear. I look down at the food and sure enough there’s pink hair beside the steak. Worse, there’s more than one. There’s like four.

  I close my eyes. When I look back up at the owner, I know it’s over.

  The worst part is, I’m not upset at losing the job. I’m more upset because I know that the hair didn’t fall off my head. I go straight to the double doors that lead to the dining room. I fully expect to see Linda there.

  “Where are you going?” the owner asks, the waitress right beside him. I stop long enough to turn to them.

  “Show me the customer. I want to offer an apology,” I lie. If it is Linda, I don’t want to apologize, not at all. I want to strangle her, jump up and down on her and possibly cut off her hair even shorter than mine—and that’s just the start. Mostly I just plain want to kill her.

  “She left. She was highly upset,” the waitress says.

  Crap.

  “I just bet she was,” I mutter.

  “You need to clean your filth out of my kitchen,” the owner says and it takes everything in me not to slap him.

  In the end I don’t, but I’m fuming. All the way home I wish I could go back and make him eat that damn chef hat on his head.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Black

  “What do you mean there’s no sign of Linda? It’s not like the bitch could just disappear!” I growl into the phone.

  “Buddy, we’re doing all we can. It’s not like we even have proof Linda is behind all of this. We’ve basically got nothing. All we can do is question her—and that’s if we can find her.”

  “Then, we need to put out—”

  “I can’t put out anything. She’s innocent in the law’s eyes right now. I can’t have state police out searching for her.

  “Fucking hell,” I mumble, understanding what Luka is saying, but not liking it one damn bit.

  “I know you’re upset,” Luka starts.

  “I’m beyond upset. I can deal when it’s my life she fucks up. I figure that’s what I get for tangling up with the bitch in the first place, but this is Addie’s life she’s messing with.”

  “I know you’re not happy, but we really are doing everything we can. Addie’s father is even using his connections to have the Dallas P.D. on alert for her.”

  “He told us, but it’s like I told him, I doubt Linda is in Dallas. It wouldn’t surprise me if she isn’t hiding out here in Mason somewhere.”

  “We’re checking that out too, Black, I promise. We can’t do it officially, but we are doing it.”

  “I know,” I sigh, knowing that taking my anger out on Luka isn’t going to accomplish anything. “It’s all just so damn frustrating.”

  “I get that. Petal isn’t exactly too happy these days either,” Luka says and I know he’s right. I scratch my forehead and do my best to rein in my anger. It’s not Luka’s fault.

  It’s mine.

  I’m the one that allowed that toxic woman into my world, and to affect my family.

  “You still coming back to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Addie’s demanding it. She says I’m smothering her.”

  Luka laughs in response to that. I wish I could find something funny. The truth is, since she came back from her job interview I’ve stuck by her side like glue. I want to protect her from Linda and until I locate her, I need Addie in my sight at all times. I didn’t want to go back to work, but she insisted. She s
aid that her and Mom are going to can tomatoes tomorrow—which is what they were doing today when she shooed me away like I was a pest. She loves working in the kitchen with my mother and it’s a good distraction for her—so I guess I should be thankful. Part of me is, I guess. Another part wishes she was with me right now. Which would be bad. I’m on a top secret mission and I’m doing it in hopes of surprising Addie.

  I just hope she sees it like that…

  “I’ll talk to you later, Luka. I’ve just pulled into the old Collins building.”

  “Good luck, buddy. Hope it works out.”

  “Me too,” I tell him and then quickly hang up the phone.

  “Mr. Lucas, I’m glad you could make it,” Peter Graves says, reaching out to shake my hand the minute I get out of my truck.

  “Mr. Graves. I appreciate the call. I didn’t realize it would be you I was meeting with,” I respond, feeling a little uncomfortable.

  “Please. When Ida Sue called me and told me what you were looking for, I just had to show you first hand. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” he asks, looking up at the building like it was a work of art.

  I study it for a minute. It has always been one of my favorite buildings. It’s outside of downtown, but it’s within ten minutes of the bowling alley, and the city park. It used to house Stampede, a popular steak house. The business shut down when the owner died. The building itself is covered in white brick and is two stories. The entire lower half—which is huge—is mostly glass in the front and there’s a large deck to the side for outdoor eating. The landscaping is non-existent but with some work it could be just as nice as any of those fancy restaurants in Dallas.

  “How big is it?” I ask, my mind working now to try and see it in Addie’s eyes.

  “The restaurant dining area—not counting the kitchen is around eighteen hundred square feet, so for fine dining that’s around ninety give or take and that doesn’t count the outdoor area.”

  “I see.”