I bit my lip slowly and watched Holt’s cheeks flare as he rubbed the back of his neck and stuttered a bit. “It was taken care of.” He held up his hand to stop me from taking my wallet out of my purse.
I raised my eyebrow at him. “Really?”
He nodded. “Abel told me to put it on his tab. So you’re good to go.”
Wow. Sweet, mysterious, and hot. I might have to give this town and Abel a trial run.
“Thanks, Holt. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
He nodded. “Hope you get some rest.”
“I look that bad, huh?”
Holt smiled sweetly as he shook his head. “Nah, you just look like you’ve been traveling for a while and need a hot shower and a bed.”
“Well then I look the way I feel. That Abel guy, he’s all right?” I should have been more subtle, but I was worn out and beating around the bush seemed more draining than what it was worth.
“Yeah, he’s one of the best guys I know. Tough skin but a fucking heart of gold.”
“Good to know.” I chugged the rest of my beer and threw a couple dollars on the bar. Holt’s sweet smile spread wider as the guys came back out from the backroom, or abyss, or wherever they’d all run off to in such a hurry. To my dismay, Abel was not in the group that filed back into their bar seats. I waved goodbye to Holt and made my way to finally get the shuteye that I desperately needed.
Chapter 2
Rounding the corner, I saw the neon vacancy light shining bright above the motel’s front office door. The dimly lit gravel parking lot crunched under the tires of my crying car. It was time to put more power steering fluid in for sure. I grabbed the plastic bottle of fluid from the floorboard of the passenger side and fixed the problem. At least there were a few things I could do under the hood of my car to make it run at a somewhat decent level. Growing up where most of the guys around built mud trucks had its perks from time to time.
Looking around as I made my way into the office, I noticed a few cars scattered around the lot, all with out of state plates. It was nice to know that other out-of-towners stopped there. It shouldn’t have made a difference, but it comforted me to know that other travelers felt safe enough to crash there too.
The bell chimed above my head as I walked into the small office that smelled like mothballs and stale pizza. A sweet girl peeked up from a school book the was laid out on the counter. “Hey miss. Lookin’ for a room?”
I nodded. “Sure am.”
“Smoking or nonsmoking?”
Even though I was a smoker, the thought of stale cigarette smoke embedded in the pillows made me want to hurl on the spot.
“Nonsmoking.”
“All right. I just need a credit card to hold the room. How many nights will you be our guest?”
For not being more than thirteen, she was very articulate and polite. I was pretty impressed by her.
“I’m not sure, actually.” I dug my hands into my pockets; it felt unnerving as hell to not have any plan whatsoever.
“Longer than a week?”
I shrugged. “Possibly.”
“We have weekly specials, you’ll save fifty bucks that way.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Perfect.” She punched a few keys on the dinosaur of a computer that was in front of me. “If anything changes, just come on in and let us know.” Her kind eyes and sweet smile settled down my growing nerves as she handed me a key with a giant red plastic ornament-looking keychain on it.
“You’re on the first floor, three doors over on the left.”
I handed her my credit card and license. “All right, Miss Hayes. You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” With a quick wave, I was off to finally lie down in a bed for a much needed night’s sleep, even though it was still the afternoon.
The light shining through the window stung my tired eyes as I groggily started to wake up. I had no idea what time I had actually crashed the day before. I’d barely even had time to turn the lights off before I hit the pillow and passed out, let alone undress, take off my makeup, or look at the clock.
Rolling over, bright red numbers blared eleven fifteen at me as my stomach started to rumble. After peeling myself from the pillow-topped mattress that felt like a lumpy heaven, I dug through the duffle bag that contained my life until I found my favorite pair of jeans and a yoga top.
I glanced at the bright red smear on the pillow from my favorite lipstick and the black dots from my mascara. Thankfully I was not the one that was going to have to wrestle with those stains.
Within minutes the faucet was pumping steaming water into the tub. A nice long soak felt like a dream for my tired body. The trip hadn’t been emotional until it all crashed onto me as I sunk to the bottom of that porcelain bath. I was free. I was finally freaking free, and I felt bad about it.
The image of my mom figuring out that I was gone broke into my mind and ripped my heart apart. But who was I kidding? If she hadn’t started blowing up my phone yet, she had no idea. She was probably still in a haze of meth and booze from another week-long binge.
Right before I left, I could tell that’s where she was heading anyway. It was the perfect time to escape: I would be so far gone by the time she was halfway conscious that it wouldn’t matter.
“Critter!” Her hollow cry came from the back bedroom.
I rolled my eyes at her dumbass nickname for me. Wasn’t my real name bad enough?
“Yeah Ma?”
“Get me a fucking coke from the fridge.”
I grabbed the last can of soda from the barren wasteland she called a refrigerator.
I hurriedly popped the top and walked it back to her where she was laying in bed, sick as a dog from yet another withdrawal.
“Here. I gotta get to work.”
Her shaking hand wrapped around the can as her sunken, dark eyes begged me for mercy. She didn’t have to ask; I knew what I needed to do.
“Yeah. I think Vinnie is working tonight. I’ll see what I can get.”
“That’s my girl. Thank you, Crit.”
“I’ll be back late though. Try to sleep and don’t let anyone come over with you sick like this. I don’t want this place to get robbed again.”
I snapped out of my daze of strolling down terrible memory lane when the sound of splattering water echoed in the tiny bathroom. Looking over the side of the tub, I realized about half an inch of water was starting to coat the off white tiles.
Shit.
I lunged for the faucet, turned off the water, and sunk back in to relax and let my fingers and toes get pruney. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had time to relax like that. The quiet and the peacefulness were almost disturbing. It was a far cry from the cursing, fighting neighbors and my mom hollering at me or moaning in some john’s ear all the time.
Good riddance to all that bull crap.
Giving in to my roaring stomach, I drained the water and got dressed. I laid towels on the floor of my soaking wet bathroom to lap up the water that had spilled over.
I made my way to the closest Waffle House my phone’s GPS could find. Luckily it was just up the road and I had a hankering for greasy cooking and a pot of coffee. I quickly scarfed down some scattered, smothered, covered, and chunked hashbrowns with two eggs over easy on the side and tried to think about what my next move was going to be.
Not having a plan was both liberating and frustrating. I knew that the money I had was going to go faster than I could admit to myself. I checked the classified section for jobs while I sipped on hours-old coffee. I wasn’t really built to be a stable hand, and I didn’t think there was a strip joint in Vilas.
As I was getting up to pay my check, Holt and the older bartender walked through the front door. Holt ambled over to me with a sweet smile on his face.
“Nice to see you haven’t left our little town yet. Thinkin’ about sticking around?” He spit into a Dixie cup and I could smell the wintergreen chew that was wadded up in his lower lip.
> I held up the paper and shrugged. “A girl’s gotta eat and there ain’t any jobs here for me it seems.”
“Hey Bucky, aren’t we still looking for a daytime bartender?”
He nodded. “Yeah, the one Abel hired last week quit on me Monday night.”
“Well there ya have it. I’ll talk to Abel about it. Come by in a few hours and we’ll get ya all set up.”
Just like that I had a freaking job in a town I wasn’t even sure I was going to stay in. At least I knew I was going to be able to keep a roof over my head and hopefully finance another move, if nothing else.
Want more of Unacceptable?
Download your copy now!
All books by Kristen Hope Mazzola
The Crashing Series:
Crashing: The Wedding: Cali’s Story (Crashing #0.5)
Crashing Back Down (Crashing #1)
Falling Back Together (Crashing #2)
The Unacceptables MC Standalone Series:
Unacceptable
Unspeakable
Unbreakable
Untouchable
Unbearable
Undeniable
The Hysterics Standalone Series:
The Hysterics
Colt & Serena: A Hysterics Short Story
Shots On Goal Standalone Series:
Hat Trick
Cross Checked
Cherry Picked
Low Blow
Playoff Beard
Off Duty (Releasing Dec. 1st)
Standalones:
Stupid Hearts
Rough & Tumble
Boxsets:
The Crashing Series
Lust & Love
The Huntress Series (co-written with Dawn Robertson):
The Huntress (Book 1)
The Hopeless (Book 2)
The Nameless (Book 3)
The 69 Series:
(multi-author collaborations for charity)
Hook & Ladder 69
Bleed Blue 69
Acknowledgments
First off, I want to thank the entire book community. Over the last five years I have seen my dreams come true in more ways than could have ever imaged, I have made more friends, seen more success, and traveled all over. Without this amazing book world that I have found myself in, I would not be the person I am today or live such a wonderful and fulfilled life. I truly and grateful to this community for helping me rise form the ashes at one of the lowest times in my life. The book world saved me.
To Patti: You are amazing and one of my biggest supporters. I truly love you!
To Mikey Lee and Heather Roberts: I honestly don’t know what I would do without either of you in my life!
To Amy Briggs: Words cannot even express what your friendship means to me! I am so thankful to have you!!
To Aubrey Parr: You truly make my heart smile! Thank you for being a friend, colleague and a lover of the Unacceptables!
Note From the Author
Thank you for reading Undeniable. In doing so, you have helped fulfill a very important goal of mine. From every purchase of any of my books, I donate to the Marcie Mazzola Foundation. The mission of the foundation is to "help better the lives of abused and at-risk children, and to build community awareness regarding the needs of children."
The Marcie Mazzola Foundation was established in 2003 by my family. On July 6, 2002, Marcie died tragically in an automobile accident. Although she was only 21 at the time of her death, Marcie had experienced many things and touched many lives. She was a beautiful young woman whose inner beauty surpassed even her physical beauty because of her compassionate nature and treatment of others.
At the time of her death, Marcie was involved in a civil lawsuit against a school bus driver who had sexually abused her when she was 11 years old. Prior to her death, it had been expected that the case would be won, but since Marcie could no longer testify, it was going to be next to impossible to win. Marcie’s attorney met with her family to determine if the suit should be continued. He advised the family that Marcie had confided in him her intention to donate her entire award to help sexually and physically abused children if she won the case. Once this was known, the family had no doubt that the suit had to continue.
The attorney’s strong commitment to Marcie prompted him to proceed with the case, and against all odds, it was won. Marcie’s estate was awarded a monetary settlement. With her attorney’s guidance and continued support, the family established a foundation as a tribute to Marcie’s life, which would continue her legacy to help children.
To learn more about The Marcie Mazzola Foundation, please visit: http://www.marciemazzolafoundation.org
Marcie Mazzola Foundation
158 Burr Road, Commack, NY 11725
phone: 631-858-1855 • fax: 631-462-8544 email: [email protected]
About the Author
Bestselling author, Kristen Hope Mazzola, is a Florida native that now lives in a small town in North Carolina. She writes contemporary romance ranging from steamy romantic comedy, angsty new adult, all the way to sports romance – with dirty bikers, hot military men, and swoon-worthy rockstars in between. A portion of her royalties goes to the Marcie Mazzola Foundation.
Stay Connected
www.KristenHopeMazzola.com
[email protected]
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Undeniable: An Unacceptables MC Standalone Romance (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 7