Commanding Casey
By
Nicolina Martin
Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Nicolina Martin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Martin, Nicolina
Commanding Casey
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by DepositPhoto/kantver, Shutterstock/Mumemories, and Shutterstock/Reimar
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Nicolina Martin Links
Chapter One
Casey
“You want some of this, baby?”
I open my mouth to answer, but he puts a finger to my lips.
“Shhh, I know you do. Stop fighting what we have.”
He towers over me, moving in. I back and slam against the rough brick wall, managing to knock the breath out of myself from the force.
“I’m just going home,” I repeat morosely. Same thing I said when he tried to chat me up back at the club. “Look, I’m not into...”
You.
“A relationship.”
Same thing I said when I first met him back at my workmate’s place.
I could have wanted to date him, if he hadn’t been such a player. I don’t know why he’s got his eyes so fucking set on me. He can have anyone. Is it because I’m not giving in?
All the blood seems to leave my head as he pushes against me. I feel every part of him. His cock is hard against my stomach and a shudder runs through me that turns into nausea. No. No, this isn’t happening!
He barks out a laugh, then he leans in, grabbing my hands as I try to push him off me. “Little Keagan. I’ll fuck you raw for being such a fucking tease. You’ve blue-balled me for weeks. I keep feeling those pretty eyes on me whenever we meet. I know you want me.” He pinches the inside of my thigh so hard that I shoot up on my toes, trying to escape.
Sucking in a deep breath, I then let it out on a scream, but he crashes his mouth to mine, swallowing my cries of fear as he begins to tear at my clothes.
* * *
The increasing pressure in my ears makes me jolt awake. In the first few moments, my skin aches as if I had just been hit, but looking around me in the quiet airplane cabin, I come back to the present. It’s been two years since the assault. He will never get to me again. I rub my thighs as if rubbing off the memory of the pain. The dreams still come on occasion. Hearing the name Alex makes my heart race. Still.
We’re descending fast. It’s the second time we switch planes on this seemingly endless journey.
There is time for a coffee, a sandwich, and a phone call.
“Mama?”
“Casey! How are you? Where are you?”
“I’m somewhere in Canada.”
“So many hours, dear. Your father has worn down the floor with his pacing. You know how he feels about you leaving.”
“He knows why I’m leaving. Can I talk to him?”
She sighs. “He still talks about shipping that monster off on a boat, just leaving him with no engine in the middle of the Atlantic.”
I laugh, despite my gnawing worry that this trip is an awful idea. The further I get, the more my insides hurt. I’d pace a floor too if I could. “He’d only float on the Gulf Stream down to the Bahamas, and then find a way back.”
“Are you doing all right? Are you eating?”
“Mm-hmm.” I take a bite and chew loudly.
“Okay, I hear you.”
I glance up at the monitor. Boarding has begun. “I gotta run.”
“Your brother says... I’ll translate that to ‘hi.’” Her voice is muffled when she tells my teen bro that ‘dickhead’ isn’t an appropriate word to call his sister. “Call us when you get there.”
“As soon as I can.” I grin. I love my kid brother. He loves to tease me. I’m eight years his senior and I was always the stronger when we fought, up until a year ago when he started packing.
We say our ‘I love yous’ as I make my way to the gate and the stewardess for the final leg on my journey.
The plains below us make me think about plane crashes, about what would happen if we went down in the Alaskan wilderness. There’s nothing here. I haven’t seen any signs of civilization for a long while. I can’t believe this state is so vast.
Glancing around me, at the other five passengers in the little cabin, I wonder if we’ll start gnawing on each other’s flesh. Who will perish first? Who will take the lead? I don’t have a lot of meat on my bones, but I think the sweaty guy with the comb-over in the front, the one who pushed me on his way up the stairs, would make a fine meal. He’d last for days.
I swallow and glance out the window again. At least we’d have water. I have seen nothing but snow for a long while.
Rubbing my face, I try to shake off the morbid thoughts. I don’t need to get crushed in twisted metal in a plane crash; I feel like I’m dying anyway.
It all started with a tense call from Susan, my lawyer. She sounded professional, as always, but I heard in her voice that something was wrong. Alex is being released early, in exactly three days from now, for ‘good behavior.’
Good behavior. He’s a monster, a predator. He should never go free again.
I would have laughed, had I not been so afraid. He had beaten me bloody when people came to my help. It happened so fast. He cornered me in that alley. A few more steps and I’d have been safe inside the Uber I’d called. I didn’t know that he was following me. I hadn’t teased him. He was flirty, I was flattered, maybe there was a blush and a giggle, but fuck, I hadn’t teased him. I don’t even dress like a girl with my Doc Martens, my dirty overalls and messy hair. I thought he was fun, a friend, and he tried to rape me.
He tried. But someone heard me.
I was saved, but that’s such a fucking joke. I haven’t felt safe a single day since.
And then my lawyer called.
Alex’s threats to come after me were real. I know it. After a few sleepless nights filled with frantic panic, I knew I had to run.
He got three years. Three measly years for what he did. My skin still aches when I think about what happened. The scars will never go away, neither the ones on the inside nor the imaginary ones I feel across my breasts, belly, and thighs. The nightmares don’t come as often, or they didn’t until I realized he was getting out. Now they haunt my every night.
I hate the Florida penal system with all my heart. He hasn’t changed. Being incarcerated hasn’t shown him to the right path. He kept putting the blame on me throughout the process and i
n a way that helped me heal, because seeing how the lawyer, how my parents and my friends reacted to his words, I realized they weren’t true. I’m not shit. I kick ass, and I know it. I might still work in my daddy’s garage, with the racing cars, but I’m becoming a name in the circuit, and I’m the only woman who is allowed on the team in Daytona.
He got three years, is being let out after two, and I’m giving up my life because I can’t stay. He’ll kill me.
The pressure builds in my ears. I force a yawn and look out the window again at the same time as the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign lights up with a soft chime. We’re descending. My heart rate picks up. This is it. Whatever awaits me, at least I’ll be safe, and I can do this, I know my stuff. An engine is an engine everywhere, it’s just the size of the parts that differs.
I follow the stewardess with my eyes as she makes her way along the aisle, waking up a couple of guys who fell asleep. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t people please for the life of me. I’m too awkward, too asocial. The guys in the garage, their stupid jokes and rough jargon, that’s my forte. They don’t demand that I behave or follow some unspoken rules, I can just be me, a little bit aloof, a little distant.
A pipeline construction site in Alaska doesn’t scare me. Replacing the damp Floridian heat with dry, bone-gnawing cold is a little intimidating, though, but I need the distance and the change. I’m really excited to see what snow is like. I have never touched any ice besides the stuff I put in drinks.
* * *
The airport consists of one lonely building at the end of the strip and a small flight tower a little to the side. There are gigantic hills of snow at the edges of the field and everything is white, so blindingly bright that my eyes ache. The frigid air immediately seeks to penetrate my jacket, and seeps in beneath it because I was stupid enough not to close it. Everybody disappears in different directions as I fumble with fingers that quickly get stiff from the cold. It’s me and the man who unloads our bags; apart from that the field is empty.
I’m just getting my zipper up when someone taps me on the shoulder. It’s the stewardess.
“You can’t stand here, dear. Follow the indicated path over to the arrivals terminal and you’ll find some warmth.” She nods toward yellow painted lines, barely visible despite the runway having been plowed.
“Of course.” I pull at my jacket, fighting the zipper. “I’m just gonna—”
I lift my gaze to the plains surrounding us, and track the silhouette of the blue mountains in the distance. What have I gotten myself into? Then I think of Alex, and being here on the other side of the US, with a whole country between us, feels pretty damn good.
“Not used to the cold?”
I’m pulled out of my reverie by the stewardess’s voice. “Yeah, no. I have never seen snow before. It’s really cold.” Grabbing my suitcase and my bag, I begin my second to last leg of this journey toward the unknown, toward the tiny house that is the airport. There are no other buildings in sight, and no other signs of civilization.
My new home for the foreseeable future.
* * *
Cole
“Hooper!”
I inspect the glowing, smoldering seam, closing up the last few inches before I switch off the gas flow, killing the welder. Hanging it on the rack, I push up the mask and turn to the voice, finding the boss right behind me.
“What?”
I don’t like interruptions. We’re on a tight schedule, and we’re doing well, but only because we work like machines, all of us. Plenty do it for the pay, sending money to their families each month. Some just want to work, just want to forget. Like me. Work, go back to the trailer camp, shower, eat, sleep like the dead, then work again. I’ve been here a year and a half. It was this, or drink myself to an early death.
“You’ve got a pickup.”
I groan. “Go get someone else.” Slapping the mask down again, I lift the welder, knowing already this won’t be the end of it.
“Hooper! Fuck’s sake. We’ve finally gotten ourselves a new mechanic. He’s arriving at the airfield in a couple of hours. Take the truck and go.”
“No.”
“You’ll get your day’s worth of pay, don’t worry ‘bout that.”
That’s not what I’m worried about. Two hours in the car to get there. Two hours back here. Four hours to try to keep my mind on something else than my shit back home. The thought is unbearable. I pull up the mask again. “Dude, Beanie hasn’t made a run in a long while.”
“He went a week ago to pick up the replacement to the faulty hose.”
Well, fuck. I can’t think of anyone else. We’re on a rolling schedule to make runs to the nearest civilization. I’m up. After this, it’ll be a long while until I have to go the next time. Rubbing my dirty glove across my face, I flinch and realize what I just did. There is now months’ worth of dirt all over my cheeks. The boss looks me over but his expression betrays nothing.
Ripping the mask off entirely, I stomp past the man, getting a few sideways glances from my coworkers. “Fine. Airfield?”
“Why you always gotta be so fucking difficult, Hooper? And yes. Airfield. Some guy. Can’t be that hard.”
“Got a name?” I mutter.
“Casey Keagan.”
“Got any credentials?”
“They’re fantastic. We’re fucking lucky.”
“Got any muscles? Can he pull his weight?”
“How the fuck should I know? I haven’t met the dude, now have I? Who would apply for work here if they haven’t got what it takes.” He pulls up his sleeve and glances at his wristwatch. “Clock’s ticking. Get a move on or he’ll freeze his ass off.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I make my way along the stomped narrow path through the thigh-high walls of snow as I glance at the overcast sky. The clouds are a dusky blue. More snow is on the way. I hope it will snow overnight and not while we work because then we need to raise the tent, will be delayed, and everyone will be in a shitty mood. Taking an extra minute, I make a quick detour into the cantina and pour a cup of coffee into a paper mug, slap a lid on it, and then head for the pickup truck.
At least the vehicle has been defrosted at some point today and we just had lunch. I’ll be back in time for the shift to end, dinner, maybe a game of cards, and then sleep. I start up the engine, rip off gloves and jacket, throw them in the back seat and jump in. One of my work mates, Ray, cuts me a glance, raises his shoulders and throws out his arms, looking like a question mark. I nod to him and shrug, put the gear in reverse, say goodbye to numbing bliss and hello to hours of wallowing. I need a whisky. I don’t have whisky, and right now I feel really fucking sorry for myself.
As if on cue the faces of Alicia and Sage appear before me, twisting my heart into a knot, making me wish again that I had a fucking bottle of booze. They’re eight and ten now. I’ve missed their birthdays. Their mom... she made my life hell, made me a monster. In my darkest hours the thoughts I’ve had regarding my ex would have put me in jail for life if I’d have gone from thought to action. Finally I had to move away before I did something I’d regret for the rest of my life. I don’t even think they have a good life with Sandra. They’re with babysitters more than they see her while she’s chasing fame in fucking acting. She was always a shallow bitch and why I fell for that shell of beauty is beyond me. I pride myself in having a brain, but facts speak against me. We met before she got the little B-actress status she’s achieved, before she started sleeping around with producers and directors. Before I started looking too deep into the bottle. She was an ass, but so was I, and the regret eats at me every day.
Images of my last moments in our shared house flit mercilessly before me. I trashed our home, punched holes in the walls, roared, and I came so fucking close to hitting her. She’s half my size. I would have fucking killed her. The kids cried, screamed at me to leave Mommy alone.
My throat tightens. I have to stop driving before I end up in a pile of snow. The pickup skids on the s
lippery ice and come to a halt by the side of the road. Nausea rises and falls in me, as always when the memories pound at my mind. Killing the engine, I fall over the steering wheel and breathe.
She left me. Or I left her. I don’t know anymore. I had lost my job as an EMT, and I was a drunk. There’s no denying that. We were toxic together and when she fought to get the kids away from me, I had nothing. I just gave up.
I pull myself together and keep driving. Two hours feels like forever. I finished my coffee a long while ago, and I’m miserable.
When I pull up outside the terminal, I physically ache. I never knew that was a thing, that mental agony can manifest itself in your body, in your joints. It’s not the same pain as after a hard day’s work or working out. It’s a bone-deep, flu-like gnawing ache that nothing can cure.
This is why I don’t think. I don’t want to remember. I flee, and I’ll keep running for as long as I live. Maybe someday it will fade? I don’t fucking know. Fuck it all.
I plowed through every single girl in town after the divorce to keep my mind off everything. They lust for my body, and are scared to death because of my strength, my roughness, and my kinks. Absolutely no one asked how I was doing, or who I am.
Finally, I’d just had it. I prefer the solitude here, the simple camaraderie. No questions. I stay off the booze, there are no girls and no temptations. We live in the now, work, eat, shit, and sleep.
Outside the building stands a small person. Short and skinny. A duffle bag and a suitcase by their feet. I squint, trying to make out the face under the hood that’s pulled up to protect from the wind. Lush lips, a straight little nose, big dark eyes. That’s no guy. I wonder what a chick is doing here, but that’s none of my business. I leave the motor running as I unbuckle and wait. Clearly the dude hasn’t arrived yet. I frown as a thought strikes me. There’s only one plane arriving. Per week. Behind the corner of the building I see the tail end of a plane. I glance at the girl again. What the fuck? Where’s the guy? Is he inside? That’s a little sissy if I’ve ever seen one.
“Fucking hell.” I turn off the motor, put my jacket back on, and hop out. The girl keeps me pinned with her gaze, grabs her bags and moves toward me. I look past her, striding toward the terminal, frustration mounting in me.
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