The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  A blind man without a guide dog could find Grady’s hiding spot behind the couch, wrapped in Tatum’s brand new drapes. However, where my boy sucks at hiding, he’s got the puppy dog eyes that melt my wife in seconds down pat.

  “Boy, you’re screwed if your mom catches you fucking with her drapes. You remember what happened the last time you messed with her newly decorated kitchen?” I remind my son, quirking a brow at him.

  Grady, dragging Seb along for the ride, figured he’d let his mom and I have a much-needed sleep in one morning, and do us a favor by making breakfast for everyone. Credit where credit is due; we appreciated the thought, however, not so much the fact that they managed to set half the kitchen on fire by cooking toast.

  I’ve got to say, though, all in all, my wife took the loss of her newly renovated kitchen really well. Or, at least, I thought she did until the middle of the night, three nights later when I woke up to my son’s unholy scream of terror.

  See, Tatum believes in payback. And no one, not even her boys are exempt from said retribution. One hundred percent aware of Grady’s irrational fear of clowns, Tatum hired a seriously fucked up, scary as shit clown costume. She woke Grady up by whispering in his ear that she wanted to play, which clearly, had the intended effect because my son was terrified.

  When I managed to stop laughing my ass off at Grady’s horrified expression, I asked my wife is she thought that maybe, she’d taken it too far this time. Her response was, “He should have thought about that before he burned half the house down.”

  Grady got Tatum back, though. He ended up sleeping in our bed for a month afterward, which meant I wasn’t getting laid and neither was she. And my wife without getting it on the regular is like a bear with a sore tooth. Moody as fuck.

  Shaking his head sadly, Grady sighs and unwinds his little boy body from his piss poor attempt at a hiding place. “It really wasn’t my fault.”

  Yeah, like I’m going to buy that shit. I’m willing to bet it was his fault, and he’s just trying to get me on side, so I’ll save his ass. No way. Not going to happen. I like getting my dick wet way too much to save him from the woman sucking said dick.

  “What’d you do?” I ask, bouncing Amelie gently with the toe of my boot.

  “Those kids were picking on, Tia again. I told them to stop, but they just kept pushing her down and calling her names. When she started crying, I picked her up and told her to run home and tell her dad,” he tells me, fisting his nine-year-old hands at his sides.

  “And?” I prompt, knowing already where this is headed.

  “And then I punched the kid that pushed her in the mouth. Not hard or anything, but he cried and went home and told his mom. Then his mom called my mom, and now mom’s pissed. At me!” He shouts the last two words indignantly.

  Stretching my closed fist out for him to bump, I wink at my boy. “I’ll deal with your, mom. Proud of you, bud,” I tell him and mean it.

  Hours later, when both hoodlums and my precious baby girl are fast asleep, I roll Tatum’s sated body over and slide my spent cock out of her heat. “He did the right thing, you know,” I mutter into her neck before biting down on her earlobe.

  My cock stirs to life at Tatum’s breathy whimper and goes rock solid a matter of seconds later when she rubs her dripping wet slit up and down my thigh.

  “Mmhm,” she murmurs, sliding her body underneath mine and lining her pussy up with the head of my now hard cock. “And what do I tell, Seb when he decides to punch some little asshole in the face for messing with one of his friends? That it’s okay. That it’s forgivable because he deserved it. Nuh-uh. I don’t think so, big guy. Violence isn’t the answer.”

  Proving her point and doing it spectacularly, Tatum flips us over until she’s on top, and rides me until I give in and promise to talk to Grady tomorrow.

  What my wife doesn’t know is that while I will indeed be having a conversation with my son about hitting other kids, it’ll be a little different than the one she wants me to have. Instead of giving the boy a hard time, I’ll be teaching him how not to get caught. An important life skill if you ask me, and one I’m going to have to employ if I plan on my wife ever letting me share a bed with her again after I’m done corrupting our son.

  About the Author

  Born in, New Zealand, Natasha moved to Australia the year she turned eight. Growing up with a younger brother and two loving parents, it wasn't long before she realized my love of reading, creative writing, all things rock 'n' roll, concerts, ripped jeans and vintage, heavy metal t-shirts.

  With the support of her husband and three children, she was able to break into the Indie Author scene with her first self-published title, Burnt, Book One in the Devil’s Spawn MC series. Since then, Natasha Thomas has gone on to write many titles in both the MC and Contemporary Romance genres, many of which have made the Amazon Bestsellers list, and become an International Bestselling Author with the release of Knight, Book 6 in the Vengeance MC

  series.

  Also by Natasha Thomas

  Tools series

  Screwed

  Vengeance MC series

  Call Me…Vengeance

  Fury

  Jonas

  Gage

  Cash

  Knight

  Jump

  Sarge

  Diesel

  Devil’s Spawn MC series

  Burnt

  Floating

  Savior

  Captive

  Broken

  Forged

  Legacy

  Forever After Novella series

  Mine

  Yours

  Claimed

  Owned

  Seduced

  Desired

  Patricks’ Brothers series

  Staking Her Claim

  Eye See You

  Eye’ll Find You – Coming soon

  Dark Knights series

  Tainted

  Tarnished – TBA

  Under the Bridge

  THE DIRTY DOZEN – DAMSEL EDITION

  Tee Smith

  UNDER THE BRIDGE

  Copyright © 2020 Tee Smith

  The right of Tee Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To everyone who has loved and stayed, believing they were doing the “right” thing. You are not wrong. You have a big heart, and you are amazing. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

  Part 1

  Chapter One

  Kiera

  Hot, salty tears rolled down Kiera’s cheeks as she peered over the railing. A truck rumbled overhead, causing the vibration of the massive concrete structure to rattle through her bones. A slight breeze tickled her skin, and her dress clung to her thighs, threatening to ride up and expose her to the elements.

  Allowing herself to lean over the railing for the first time, she watched as the current carried flotsam downstream. Her tiny frame weighing in around fifty-five kilos was heavier than the sticks and bric-a-brac tossed away, but she couldn’t help wondering if the water would carry her away too. Where would they find her? Who would find her? She hoped it wouldn’t be a child. No, probably a dog-walker, or a jogger. They were always the ones to find bodies.

  It seemed fitting somehow to be found by a stranger. Karl would make it all about him. It was always about him in life, death would be no different. He would relish in t
he sympathy. If her story made the six o’clock news, that would be an even bigger win for his already over-inflated ego. She just couldn’t stand it any longer.

  It hadn’t always been that way, or perhaps it had, and she just hadn’t noticed, but as the years wore on, he became little more than a tyrant and she a prisoner in her own home. He would be furious when he woke to find she had taken his car. But, of course, that would all change once they discovered her lifeless body. Then his fury would turn to something else … or would it? He might still be angry at her for finally leaving him. There was no way he would take any responsibility. No, that would rest on her.

  She swiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. There would be no more time for crying. She had come to end all that. There would be no more tip-toeing around, careful not to wake him. No more rushing to prepare his favourite meal, only to be told it was too hot, too cold, or that he no longer ate the same brand of cheese she had always served him. If only she paid more attention, she would know how to make him happy.

  Seventeen years! How could she have wasted so much time on him? At thirty-two, it was more than half her lifetime. Gone. Wasted on Karl.

  The hum of the cars ebbed and waned over the bridge above. It was oddly calming. Kiera closed her eyes and listened to the rubber on the asphalt. A clicking noise called out as each tyre hit a certain point above her. She knew it must be something along the road, a metal join, or perhaps one of those vehicle counters, she couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was created a rhythmic motion, and she swayed gently back and forth.

  She needed to calm her mind and prepare for the plunge. Fear would stop her from doing what she knew she must. It was the easiest way. She would have preferred to take a handful of pills and go to sleep; she had tried that once and failed. From then, Karl kept all the medications under lock and key. Just as he did with her.

  Opening her eyes once more, she focused on the feel of the heavy rail under her fingertips. It was higher than her hip; she guessed they didn’t want anyone to fall. The walkway was barely used these days. Not since they had built the new bridge further up the river. That one was frequented by families and people would ride their bicycles along the purpose build path. This one was narrow. Built all those years ago for bridge maintenance, she assumed. Making it the perfect place to fall.

  Steadying her breath, she looked over the edge once more. She didn’t like heights. Mostly because she had always been afraid of death. Somehow, death didn’t seem so scary anymore, not when the alternative was living. Living with Karl at that.

  Leaving him was not an option. He had made that perfectly clear. Not that she had anywhere to go. No friends, no family. They had all turned their backs on her years ago. Some had tried to get her to see him for who and what he really was, but she thought she knew better. Thought she loved him. That he loved her. Karl loved no one but Karl.

  The vertical posts made the fence difficult to climb. Kiera laughed to herself at the irony she might fall, as she pushed her foot against the post to hoist herself up. She had been strong once, enjoyed dancing. Karl had vetoed that. “I don’t want other men looking at you,” he had said. At the time, she had felt honoured, special even. He had wanted her all to himself.

  Swinging her right leg over the rail, her shoe flung from her foot, spinning through the air. As if in slow motion, she watched as the footwear tumbled smoothly down to the water. What would it feel like to fall through the air like that? Would it hurt when she hit the water? Would she feel the cold? She shuddered slightly at the thought. She didn’t want it to hurt. What if she didn’t actually die? She remembered reading once about a man who had tried to shoot himself. He had placed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet had taken the roof of his mouth, his nose, and one eye. But he had lived.

  A waterbird called from below, like a mermaid calling to its prey. Year after year, birds would fly around the bridge, always returning to their home. If they could fly, why did they always return? Why didn’t they fly somewhere else? Somewhere better? If she had wings, she would fly away. If only.

  Casting her gaze upward one last time, she took in the blue of the sky. It was the same colour as her dress. She had chosen this dress to die in. It was her favourite. Karl had allowed her to buy it during one of his softer moments; he did have them, occasionally.

  Closing her eyes tightly, she sucked in one last deep breath. It would be over in a few short seconds. Perhaps she could hold her breath for the entire time. She focused again on the click, click, click of the tyres, as the world above went about its day. She inched closer to the edge. Steeling herself, she planted her hands firmly on the rail and pushed off.

  She felt her body leave the rail before she heard the voice. “No! Don’t!”

  Her eyes flew open, but it was too late.

  Chapter Two

  Fear coursed through her veins as she saw the water below loom towards her, then out of nowhere, she stopped falling. Strong arms wrapped around her. One firmly grasping her left hip and the other her right thigh. Thick fingers dug into her skin as her body was thrust back against the metal fencing then hoisted over the rail.

  “What are you doing?” a man’s voice boomed in her ear as she felt her feet hit the concrete below with a thud.

  “What are you doing?” she retorted, unsure if she was grateful for being saved, angry that her attempt to fall from the bridge had failed, or frightened at being handled by this random stranger. “Let me go,” she screamed as his arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

  “I don’t know if that’s safe.”

  “Let me go!” Kicking back, her heels found purchase against a trousered leg, but her captor held firm.

  Hot, heaving breaths fell on her ear. “Only if you promise not to try to jump again.”

  “Let me go,” she repeated.

  “Promise!”

  “Okay. I promise,” Kiera relented, not sure why this random stranger might care if she jumped. She just needed to be free from his grip so she could run.

  Slowly, the arms that had pulled her back from the edge of death released her, and instead of running, her legs buckled beneath her. Like a lump of jelly falling from a spoon, she slid to the ground below, unable to sustain her own weight.

  “Are you okay?” The voice came softer now, with less force.

  Was she okay? She shook her head from side to side. “You just stopped me from throwing myself off a bridge. Does that seem okay to you?”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Kiera scoffed. As if talking would fix anything.

  When she felt the man’s body come to rest beside her, she looked up and shielded her eyes to take in her rescuer, if that’s what she could call him. He was big. His shoulders broad; no wonder he’d had no trouble stopping her from falling. His dark hair framed a strong, masculine-looking face, with a square-set, clean-shaven jaw. There was something soft in his blue eyes, though, like he could see her and feel her pain.

  By contrast, Karl always wore a beard. His eyes were dark, and when he was angry, they grew almost black. She sometimes thought she could see the devil in his eyes. There was no softness, just scheming, no empathy or compassion, only hatred and jealousy. In fact, if he knew she was talking to this man right now, so help her when she returned home.

  Home. She didn’t want to go back there. She had tried to escape. The reality of the morning's events cascaded over her like a tidal wave. She was still alive. That meant she would have to go back and face Karl’s wrath. The realisation made her crumble. She had finally found the courage to end it all and this supposed kind stranger had ruined it for her.

  “Why did you stop me?” she asked, her voice small.

  “Why?” The man let out an exasperated laugh as if the answer were obvious for all see. “You would have died.”

  “So why didn’t you let me?”

  “Let you? You want to die? You want to kill yourself?”

 
“It’s better than living. It’s better than living in hell.” Her voice broke on the last words of her sentence. Hell was the best, and the only way she could describe what her life had become. She had no love for Karl. He made her feel worthless and now . . . “I can’t even kill myself properly.”

  “What’s your name?” the man asked, turning his big body to face her, pulling one leg up in an arch and tucking the other under it.

  “Kiera.”

  He held out his hand. “Hi Kiera, I’m Lucan.”

  “As in Sir Lucan?” she asked, feeling somewhat amused. “From the knights of the round table?”

  He winced, and colour touched his cheeks. “You know it?” He withdrew his unshaken hand, and she felt a pang of guilt. “My parents were huge fans.” He chuckled, “I’m just grateful they didn’t call me Mordred.” Kiera allowed a laugh to rise to the surface, momentarily forgetting herself and her situation. “You have a beautiful smile.”

  “I studied King Arthur in school,” she explained. The memory reminding her of happier times. When she was carefree and in love. She had met Karl in her final years of high school; they had fallen hard for each other right from the start.

  “So, do you want to talk about what brought you here today?” Lucan pressed.

  “Not really.”

  He nodded his head slowly in understanding before asking, “Do you want me to call someone for you?”

  “I don’t have anyone.”

  “No one?” He raised a questioning brow. “Everyone has someone they can call on.”

  “Not me,” she sighed. “All I have is Karl, and when he finds out I tried to kill myself, I might as well be dead.”

  “Is Karl your boyfriend? Husband?”

  The gold band on her finger burned, scorching her skin, reminding her of her vows to him; she had promised to love him until they parted in death. A death she could not even manage to bring about.