by Jo Raven
I can’t fucking believe I’m back here. This is like a fairytale ending. One I’m not sure I deserve.
Mom and Seb are dead.
Will the rest of the gang come after me? Declan is dead, along with Angel and Mav. So are Shem and Elena.
All of them dead. I doubt Jorge cares whether I’m alive or not. The rest of the gang have scattered.
Yeah, this doesn’t feel like a fairytale at all. Except, not all fairytales are about fucking roses and rainbows. Some are woven from thorns and blood, Connor used to say. Just as long as they end well. As long as you end up alive.
That’s the main thing. As long as you survive. As long as you find happiness.
Am I happy?
Maybe I will be some day.
Being with Gigi makes me happy. Could it be as simple as that?
I wipe a hand over my mouth, stare at my suitcase without really seeing it. Gigi kept it here all these months, but she said she put away most of my clothes in her closet.
Like I live here. Like I belong here, with her.
I guess I do.
A smile spreads on my face. Not cuz of where I am, on her hot pink quilt, in her cute girly room, but cuz I’m with her, and she’ll spend her night with me.
Hopefully her life, too.
I take a deep breath. She waited for me, just like she said. She kept me sane. And I want her more than ever, like no other girl before, and miss her every minute she’s away from me. This is it, right? This is it for me.
She’s my girl. I love her. And she says she feels the same way.
Could I be so lucky for once in my fucking life?
The door opens.
“Hey. There you are.” She’s standing there, smiling, so fucking pretty just dressed in jeans and a red sweater, her long hair loose on her shoulders. “I was looking for you.” She comes inside, shuts the door, and sits down beside me. “You disappeared. I went to play with the baby and then I couldn’t find you.”
I nod. Stare at her, drinking her in.
“I got scared,” she admits, her voice low. “I thought maybe you’d left.”
“Left?” That word makes no sense.
She shrugs. “Maybe you don’t really want to be here. I assumed you’d want to come here, but…”
She doesn’t get it, does she?
I take her hand, study it where it lies on my palm. “My home is where you are. If you’ll have me.” I lift her hand, place it on my face, sighing at the feel of her warm fingers on my skin. “If you haven’t changed your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind.” She leans into me, eyes shining wet. “My heart won’t let me. You’re the man I love.”
“Gigi…”
“Even if I don’t know your middle name.”
“What?” I laugh, so fucking giddy with relief. “My middle name.” I shake my head. “It’s Channing. Jarett Channing Fenris. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.”
“I think it sounds just fine.”
She tilts her face up, and I kiss her. I’d dreamed of kissing her so many times in prison. Remembered her taste, the feel of her lips, of her hands on my face. Fantasized about it. Replayed it a thousand times in my mind.
And now she’s here, warm and real, tasting of candy and pretty girl, with our whole lives before us, with all the paths, all the possibilities.
I need her closer. I draw her to my lap, and we kiss and kiss as I map her curves with my hands, relearning her shape, her softness.
Fuck, it’s not enough. The more I taste her, the more I want. I tug on her blouse, and she lifts her arms to let me take it off. Her bra is black lace, pushing her pretty tits up, and I’m so fucking hard I have to shift her on my lap, the pressure driving me nuts.
“Rett…” She sounds breathless as she reaches up to trace my jaw, my mouth, and I kiss her again, unable to stop. It’s been too fucking long without her.
She fumbles with the hem of my T-shirt, and I break the kiss just long enough to rip it off me and throw it away, then her mouth is on mine again.
Oh yeah. My hands dip under her skirt, pushing it up, and she straddles me, her hands working at my zipper. She seems as frantic to get me naked as I am to feel her rub against me, warm and bared, and it eases the lingering panic in my mind.
She’s here. She waited for me. She wants me.
This is real.
I fall back on the bed as she pulls my jeans down to wrap her hand around my hard-on, her lashes lifting, her eyes fixed on my face.
Goddammit. Can’t remember the last time I jacked off. No privacy in prison for that, unless you did it in your bunk, and in any case my fantasy was always Gigi, and…
Fuck… Feels amazing. I arch up, helplessly, rocking into her grip.
It strikes me again that she’s right here. I came back from the cage, back to life, back to her. Not everyone gets a second chance.
“My girl.” I grab her hips and roll her under me, grinning at her gasp of surprise. Having her ride me is awesome, but today, tonight, I need to own her, to mark her. “Mine. Got to have you right now.”
“I’m yours.” She writhes when I pull down the straps of her bra and bend over to suck and bite at her rosy nipples, loving how they tighten and flush. How she moans and reaches for me, threading her fingers through my short hair. “Please.”
The sounds she makes, the way her back arches, the warmth of her skin, the smell of her hair… it’s all winding me up tighter than a drum. My balls ache, my dick’s weeping, and my stomach’s clenched so tightly I can’t fucking breathe.
Cursing, I reach between her legs, yanking her flimsy lacy panties down. They rip. And she’s exposed, bared below me, her pussy rosy and wet.
For me.
I dip my fingers inside her, and she moans, low and sweet, and fuck, she’s hot and tight, and I almost come on the spot just from feeling her clench around my fingers.
Okay, that’s it, foreplay is over. I can’t wait a second longer, not today. Pulling out my fingers, I replace them with my cock, shifting so I can push into her, planting my hands on the bed for leverage.
She gasps.
I groan.
Dammit, it’s so much better than I remembered. Hot, impossibly snug, perfect. Always better, every time, every second I spend with her, every day and every night.
I rock into her, and she rocks with me. We move together, her legs wrapping around my hips, her arms coming around my neck, and we’re kissing once more, swallowing each other’s moans as everything in me grows tight and urgent.
Oh shit. I break the kiss and try to pull out of her. “Gigi. I can’t…” I can’t stop the orgasm from rushing through me, but her legs tighten around me, and she cries out, clenching and coming on my cock.
Fuck. My vision sort of goes white as I let go. My dick jerks. I bend over her, slamming into her as I come, the pleasure crushing me. Our bodies rock together, drawing out the aftershocks, the release not only physical.
It feels like all my fucking pieces have come together. The past. The present. The future. For the first time in my life, I feel whole.
I roll beside her and gather her in my arms, so close that nothing can get between us, time or distance, problems or lies.
“I love you, Gigi,” I whisper against her hair as she curls against my chest.
And even that is too weak a word. I need her. I’m happy with her. So damn happy. She’s all I could ever want.
I know I fucked up way too many times. But I’ll do better. I’ll be who she needs. The one to take care of her and love her like she deserves to be loved.
And that’s a promise.
I hope you have enjoyed reading BAD WOLF
If you want to know the story of Gigi’s sister Octavia and Matt Hansen, you can read it in CAVEMAN (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0714MYPVH)
Meanwhile, for your reading pleasure, I have included as a bonus book JESSE, a standalone novel (set in the world of the Damage Control series) to introduce you to another one of my misunde
rstood and tortured bad boys...
Enjoy!
Love,
JO
Jesse
Damage Control 2
Returning to Madison hurts. I thought I’d left my past behind, but the past goes on living. I carry it inside of me, it’s a piece of me. People have marked me in indelible ways and I drag the shreds of my soul behind me, trying to put my pieces back together. I’m not the Amber I used to be. I fly under the radar, try to be invisible.
It doesn't always work. Drawing attention scares me. It always spells trouble. Returning to my home town is a last ditch effort to lay my demons to rest and start anew, for good this time.
Meeting Jesse Lee wasn’t in the plan. Yet here he is with his heart-stopping, sexy grin, handsome like a god, shining bright. He’s full of life, full of heat, packing the energy of a thousand suns in his gaze and muscular body. Jesse burns, and the pain of being near him is sweet.
But he’s foiling my plans. It’s hard to remain a ghost when he’s around. Hard to avoid his attention, to remain invisible. He sees me, really sees me, and behind his bright radiance, I can see shadows from his own past crowding in. He’s swimming hard to stay afloat even as he reaches for me.
What is he afraid of? And how can he save me from drowning when he can’t even save himself?
A good talisman is one you have for yourself and offer freely to another.
The greatest talisman of them all is your heart.
Part One
“Fucking retard!” Nick backs me up against the lockers at school where everyone can see and hear. “Who has problems reading at the age of sixteen, huh? Only you, dumb bitch, making the whole class look stupid like you. You piece of shit.”
I cower and shudder, the words echoing in my ears, robbing me of my confidence and self-esteem. It’s not happening now, it was more than three years ago, and yet…
And yet the memory thunders through me, knocks about in my head like a living thing trying to get free. Even though I haven’t heard Nick’s voice since then, since my parents decided to take me out of the school where this was happening and move away.
Chewing on my lip, drawing on the tiny shock of pain, I fight the memory, wrestle it down and lock it away.
I’m okay. I will be.
Not that I haven’t thought of ending it—ending the dark crowding inside me, the self-doubt, the feeling I’m worth nothing.
But I’ve made it so far. Alive. Heart still beating, a voice in my mind telling me Nick was wrong. I am worth something. After all, I’m here and I have my art: my beads and strings to make jewelry. To create beauty. If nothing else, I’ve got this.
And the sad days, the calm days, they sift through my fingers like cool beads. I string them up and hang them around my neck, count them, measure them. Weigh them.
I do this to remind myself I survived. Survived the mindless hatred and violence that shaped my nightmares. That the string of days that is my life lies in my hands, and that it’s up to me to be happy.
Somehow, one day, I will.
~ Amber
Chapter One
Amber
Returning to Madison, my hometown, feels as good as a car collision. Yeah, that good.
Being here makes me feel frightened, unimportant, worthless… and the scary part is that it’s a familiar feeling. The past three years I spent in Chicago I thought I made progress. That I became stronger, more confident. Free and happy.
Now that I’m back, if feels as if I have nothing to show for it. All gone down the drain. As if I never left, and my past is wrapping tentacles around me, leaching the life out of me.
Truth be told, right now I wish I’d never returned, and the reason for my bad decision—the one convinced me it’s be a fabulous idea—is currently making faces at me in the mirror, standing by my shoulder.
“Ev…” I sigh. “What are you doing?”
Evangeline sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her hazel eyes. “Trying to get you to quit scowling. Hey, I think it’s working!”
“Stop it.” My mouth twitches, my mind veering off its true, beaten path of regret and fear. She really does look ridiculous like that, her copper curls all over the place, forefingers pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Ev!”
She giggles and falls on my shoulder, completely spoiling my efforts at applying mascara to my lashes. Not like I want to, anyway. But apparently there’s going to be a party, and I’m hosting it.
Ev is moving out of the apartment she’s been sharing with her friend Kayla, and Kayla already agreed I could take Ev’s room. Now the two of them are throwing a sort of farewell party for Ev—who’s only moving to another neighborhood and not another continent—but hey, who needs an excuse, right? Getting drunk is a goal all on its own.
And I agreed to the party, but only because I don’t want my new roomie to think I’m stuck-up and weird. I’ve only just moved back to town, and the room is cheap and nice. I should at least give it a chance, right?
Right.
“You’ll see, it will be fun,” Ev says, smearing glossy lipstick on her lower lip with her fingertip.
Maybe for her it will be. I barely know Ev anymore. We went to school together and used to be besties, back before I ran away to Chicago to hide and lick my wounds.
“Since when did you turn into a party animal?” I mutter and then bite on the inside of my cheek to shut myself up before I say anything else I might regret.
“I didn’t.” She adjusts the cleavage, revealing a hint of blue lace. “It’s my farewell party.”
I stare at her.
She looks pretty as a picture in her short, flared lilac dress and ballerina shoes. She still limps a little from an accident she won’t talk to me about, more than a year and a half ago, and can’t wear heels yet.
“And Micah will be there,” I mutter.
She gives a smile so bright it hurts the eyes—but softens my heart. “Yeah.”
“You’re happy with him.” Not a question. She answers anyway, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“I am.”
“Good,” I say gruffly and adjust my pendant, one of the last ones I made before moving here, and then grab the eyeliner like a weapon. I shake it at her. “He’d better treat you right, or so help me God…”
She lays a hand on my shoulder and beams at me. “He does, Amber. You should never worry about Micah.”
But I do. I try to laugh it off, but I worry about men. I worry about people. I don’t understand them, don’t get what makes them tick, what makes them do the things they do. Good things, and bad things.
Mainly the bad things.
Ev shakes her head. She knows bits and pieces of what happened to me back when I was sixteen, but nobody knows the whole truth. Not even my father who yanked me out of school and moved me a hundred and forty miles away, give or take a few, to get a fresh start. He knew enough, though, to decide the move was necessary, and Ev does, too, so no need to scratch old scars and open wounds that I’d rather forget all about.
If only I could.
And what difference would it make? My past is in the past, although this town is drenched in it.
“You’re making a mess. Let me.” Ev grabs my hand, and I automatically jerk it back, before I can process her words.
Oh shit. The eyeliner flies away and hits the floor. As if in slow motion, I see the black liquid spill on the beige carpet. Like blood, dark and viscous.
I’m shaking. I’m cold. In degrees, my senses return, and I realize Ev is still holding on to me.
I pull my hand again and it’s suddenly free.
“Crap,” I mutter, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Ev whispers, dropping to her knees and gathering the small bottle, then starts blotting the ink with a tissue. “I shouldn’t have.”
Shouldn’t have grabbed me like that. Yeah, she shouldn’t have, but it’s not her fault I’m not normal, is it? I suppose I was a girl like any other once—shy, kind
a chubby, and always doodling or crafting one thing or another to keep my restless hands busy.
But that’s in the past, that past in which my life is now steeped, and we’re in the now.
So I apologize, insist I’m too clumsy to live, and that Ev should help me with my make-up. Honestly, it’s not as if I have much experience with eyeliners and mascaras anyway.
Ev accepts the task with obvious relief, which makes me wonder how big of a mess I was making of it. I sit primly as she runs the brush through my long dark hair until it’s a shiny fall, paints my blue eyes with black, and dabs red on my mouth.
It’s like war paint, I think randomly, my hands clenching in my lap. I fight the itch to grab the lipstick tube and draw red lines on my cheeks and nose.
Don’t, Amber.
I can do this. Pretend to be normal. Pretend coming back to Madison isn’t killing me, bringing the past to life. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, it will come true.
Ev’s former room is now officially mine. I moved my stuff there this morning and spent the rest of the day helping with the cleaning and preparations for the dreaded party.
At the last moment, of course, Ev decides we need paper napkins and sends me out to get some. I’m more than happy to escape for a while, walk about on my own. I find the small grocery store she mentioned and take my sweet time returning.
To my shock, I find the party is in full swing when I arrive. Ev told me it wasn’t supposed to start until after ten, and I didn’t expect to have to wade through hordes of guests at half-past nine to get to the kitchen, the package of napkins clutched to my chest.
Should’ve known better. I mean, I did go out on occasion in Chicago. There were certain student apartments you could drop by any time of the day, any day in the week, and always find a party happening. No beginning and no end.