Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  Brad didn’t knock. He just shoved the door open. That was a lovely sight. Ethan had her on all fours, and he was on his knees behind her, fucking her doggy style. He still had his shirt on, and he was holding a bottle of something. He seemed even hazier than I was, hands clinging to the robe draped over my shoulders.

  Ethan stopped but didn’t pull out. Kandy was pleading with him. “Fuck me. God, why won’t you just fuck me?”

  Ethan just looked at Brad. Brad asked, “What the fuck did you give her, Ethan?” Ethan’s eyebrows were raised, but he was having a hard time finding an answer. Brad leaned over, and his voice was dangerously low. I could barely hear him over the music. “Goddammit, answer me, man, or I’ll beat it out of you.”

  Kandy looked up then and acted like she was going to cry. But then she started laughing. “She’s tripping. Don’t you feel great, sweetie?”

  I couldn’t focus on her, and she seemed like a dream.

  Brad asked, “Acid?”

  Ethan let out a breath but didn’t change position. “I guess.”

  “Yeah. Now would you please either get out of here or help him fuck me?”

  Brad gritted his teeth and then asked, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Ethan?” When Ethan didn’t answer, he said, “I should beat you anyway, just on general principle.”

  Ethan took his hand off Kandy’s hips and held it and the one still holding the bottle out to his sides as if to tell Brad to go for it. I was pretty out of it, but I was starting to feel infuriated…full of anger not only because Ethan didn’t give a shit but also because he had the nerve to not stop screwing that girl in front of me. And that realization was all it took for me to lose it.

  Before I could even stop it, my right hand was out of the robe and my finger was pointing at my boyfriend. “We are over, Ethan Richards.”

  “Babe—”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  I turned around with what little dignity I could muster, pulling the robe back up and over my naked torso, and left the room. And the tears were falling again. Brad didn’t care about his party anymore. He just held me until the tears stopped, and I’d become sleepy. Then he laid my head on my pillow. “You gonna be okay tonight?”

  I tried to smile. I really did. It was just so damned hard. “Yeah…”

  He squinted his eyes. “Talk to me.”

  I took a deep breath. “I feel so weird. This is scary.” And it was. I still felt like I wasn’t in my own body. What if I died? My parents would find out I’d been drinking…and that an entire crowd of people had seen my naked boobs. It was horrifying.

  That was when Brad stretched out next to me and just held me in his arms until I fell asleep. And I didn’t think he’d stayed there all night, but he was there when I woke up the next morning.

  I didn’t even want to see Ethan, let alone interact with him. I was wishing I’d had to work. I considered getting out of the house, but I’d eventually have to return, so I shut myself in my room and just wrote and did stuff on my computer—catching up on emails and that kind of thing. But sometime in the afternoon, he decided to knock on my door anyway. He caught me off guard because I hadn’t heard him up at all, hadn’t heard the stupid blonde girl with him. In fact, the apartment was eerily quiet.

  I should have asked who was at my door, but instead I said, “Come in.” When I saw Ethan’s puppy dog face, I said, “Oh, not you. Get out.”

  “Val, just hear me out.”

  “No. You had your chance. Get the fuck out.”

  “Val…”

  “Go.”

  He turned around, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t open the door. He just stood there. And then he said, “I thought it was what you wanted.”

  Oh…I just had to ask. “What? What was what I wanted?”

  “You said it. You said you wanted to be with both of us last night.”

  I took a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

  “Kandy propositioned you…us…and you said yeah.”

  I had? I’d wanted to have sex with Ethan and that girl? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I shook my head. “So…it was my idea?”

  “No. But you agreed to it. Val…babe…I wouldn’t have done it if you’d said you didn’t want to.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. I mean it. I wouldn’t have.” He got brave and moved closer to the bed. “I just thought you wanted to have fun.”

  I clenched my jaw and scrutinized him. “So then…why were you fucking her after I left?”

  “Christ, Val…I was fucked up.”

  “And what the hell did you give me?”

  “I swear—I didn’t give you anything. Kandy gave me a hit, and I think she slipped some in your drink when you were kissing me.”

  “A hit?”

  “LSD.”

  I considered it, and when he sat on the edge of the bed, I let him take me in his arms and hold me close. And he comforted me as the tears began to fall.

  And thus began chapter three of our fucked up relationship.

  * * *

  Spring is a time of renewal, and Ethan treated me better than he ever had before. He was loving, sweet, and attentive. Did Brad have something to do with that? I wasn’t sure, but I suspected, only because I caught my friend giving Ethan looks once in a while…looks not meant for my eyes.

  But Ethan opened up more to me than he ever had before, and—in spite of my tiny twin bed—he started spending the night with me once in a while. One night after making love, he was holding me closely in spoon fashion, and he said, “I do love you, Val. It’s hard to admit, but there it is. I love you.”

  He’d said it before, and maybe it hadn’t meant much to him because all the other times he’d said it, he’d been under the influence of something. This time he was as sober as could be. I rolled over and kissed him, just a soft, gentle kiss, but I wanted to communicate to him that those words meant a lot to me. I touched his cheek. “You know I love you too, right?”

  He smiled. “Yeah.” He stroked my hair, but his eyes got a faraway look. “Everyone thinks love is so great, and I guess it is sometimes. But it hurts too. I mean…just look at my mom.”

  The last time I’d seen his mother, she was happy and in love, so I had no idea what the fuck Ethan was talking about. She was still with Jason, a man who appeared to love her back and only wanted the best for her. So I just said, “What about her?”

  “My dad…he abused her for a long time, and she just took it. She laid down and took it. Over and over. Love isn’t a good thing, Val, no matter what the fuckers tell you. It makes you vulnerable and weak.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “No, but it is. Just look at me. I’m so fucked up, it’s not even funny. But I love you so much, Val, I’d do anything for you. Anything. I’d even take a bullet for you. And that’s fucked up.”

  I tried not to get judgmental on his ass, but his thinking was messed up. “It doesn’t have to be, Ethan. You still have your values and your own good sense. If I asked you to kill someone just because you loved me, would you?”

  He just looked at me, and his eyes scared me. He would. And, yeah, that was fucked up. So I quit talking. Instead, I rested my head against his chest, one of my favorite things in the world to do, and rubbed the smooth skin on his pec. “Val, you and me…we come from different worlds. I’d bet you never had to wonder if you were gonna get breakfast after not having dinner the night before or how the hell you were gonna hide the big bruise on your arm so your teachers wouldn’t see it. You didn’t have to dread the fuck out of coming home one night ‘cause you got another D in class…and the very person who made sure you couldn’t study the week before was the reason you got the goddamned D in the first place.”

  He was right. I might have complained about being sexually repressed, but my parents had been loving, kind people who had wanted the best for me. I’d never known starvation, neglect, or abuse, some things Ethan had apparently survived. But these were
the kinds of things he rarely talked about. So I just nodded my head slightly, but I didn’t want to say a word. After a few seconds, he said, “I’ll bet you never had to see your mom getting the beating of her life, just laying helpless on the kitchen floor, while you had to watch…and just listen to her begging that he wouldn’t touch me. Jesus…you’re little, but you try. You grab him around the knees and cry and beg, but he just swats you away like a fly. Like you’re nothing. And you watch while he just unleashes on her. Her eye gets so swollen she can’t see through it…it’s black and purple and so ugly, you don’t even want to look at her. It makes her look…ugly, so ugly. But at least it blocked out the scared animal look in her eyes.

  “And I’ll bet you never had to hear that the only reason why they ever got married in the first place was ‘cause the stupid cunt let herself get pregnant. And so that makes you the most worthless little stubborn sperm alive.”

  He was quiet for a while before he resumed. “But…one day he left her for dead. She was on the concrete floor in the garage…blood everywhere. I called 911 first, then my grandpa, and Burt was never to be seen again. I find that fucker, though…he’s dead.” He whispered, but I heard him say, “And I’m comin’.”

  What should I say? What could I say? Anything would sound lame at that point. He was right. I’d never seen or felt any of those things. And, knowing what little I did from basic psychology courses in high school and college, I supposed I should count myself lucky that he didn’t think beating women was normal. What the hell kind of relationship would we have had then?

  But I felt like I had to say something. I couldn’t just say nothing. I wanted him to feel like he could talk to me and that I was there for him. I stroked his chest again and said, “I will never hurt you, Ethan.”

  Then he snorted. Actually snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause women are innocent, right?” I took in a breath, but I didn’t want to look in his eyes. I knew the look that would be in them—that distant, angry, mean look, the one his face reverted to when he wasn’t trying.

  “I didn’t say all women, Ethan. But I will never hurt you.”

  He was quiet. I was too. He was in a dark place, a place I couldn’t save him from. I knew that already. He was too far away. Only Ethan could choose to save himself. And he had to reason it through without me. So I decided I’d be there, but I wasn’t going to say another word. “Heidi…she was a hot little thing. She liked to wear these short skirts, and she’d drop her pencil in front of me and bend over to pick it up, just so I could see how her underwear hardly covered anything. She didn’t have a reputation as a bad girl. I know. I would have known, because…we dated. For a long time. I found out later how much she liked older guys. Lots older guys. Teachers, coaches, some guy at the bank. But she just had to make a move on Brad. I hadn’t said a word.

  “She started sleeping around on me…but she stayed with me, still trying to get to Brad. She knew my weakness, and…I guess she was right. As long as you love somebody, why should you let it bother you if they’re with someone else? But Brad…that was like a punch in the gut.”

  Did he not see how he was doing to me what this girl had done to him? I stayed quiet, hoping he would come to that same conclusion himself. But he didn’t say anything else, not a word, and I fell asleep wondering if he would ever see that he had become that which he hated. In the back of my mind, though, I also wondered how long I would be able to hold on, to fight to keep him…to fight to keep on loving him.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Present

  THE BABY WAS a year old in what seemed like no time to me. He’d already passed so many milestones in his short life, and I was glad I’d been home with him to enjoy them all.

  Now, though, he was experiencing one of his worst illnesses. He’d been feverish and throwing up, and I called the pediatrician. It was evening and, while I knew I could take him to the emergency room, I wanted to find out if that was actually warranted or if there was something I could do at home to care for him. It was cold and snowy out, and if I could keep him out of the weather and then take him to the doctor in the morning, I’d feel better about it.

  The doctor on call asked me lots of questions and gave me plenty of advice too. Bottom line—I needed to keep my baby hydrated or I would have to rush him to the hospital. The doctor recommended that I give Christopher Pedialyte, among other remedies.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have Pedialyte at the house, so I was back to square one: taking the baby out in the cold. Ethan and the band had started getting together two or three nights a week again as they started working out new songs, writing and practicing before recording. I decided to call Ethan to ask him if he could pick up some Pedialyte on the way home. Maybe I could persuade him to come home early too, explain that the baby was sick. I could use his moral support if nothing else. I’d been nervous and almost sick myself with worry over my precious child.

  I held Chris in my arms as I speed dialed Ethan’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. That wasn’t surprising because he hated to be interrupted when they were working on music. I’d always known the music was the most important thing in Ethan’s life. I respected that, but I knew he would want to know what was happening with his child. I left a message, but called again fifteen minutes later. Impatient, I finally decided to call Brad. He could let Ethan know what was going on.

  Unlike Ethan, Brad answered his phone after two rings. “Val. How are you?”

  “I’m doing fine. What about you?”

  “Can’t complain. And what about the little guy?”

  “Well, actually, that’s why I’m calling. He’s been really sick tonight, and I can’t get hold of Ethan. I wondered if you could pass a message on to him.”

  His hesitation was palpable. “I haven’t seen Ethan since Tuesday, Val.”

  My heart sunk. I didn’t want to give away the ideas already forming in my head. “Uh, well…if you see him, would you please ask him to call me right away?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Goddammit. I knew what Brad was thinking, because I knew his mind had already formed the thoughts mine had about where Ethan was and what he was doing. It had to be one of two things: either drugs or women.

  Knowing Ethan, it was probably both.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Past

  IT WAS ONLY a matter of time, but now that it was here, we were nervous as hell. An indie paper reviewed one of our concerts. Jet called Brad to let him know. Brad pulled up the paper online and found that we’d have to find the actual fucking hard copy to read the review. The website listed locations of where the paper version could be found, one of which was at a nearby Chipotle. Ethan and Nick couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed, but Zane, Brad, and I got in Brad’s van. We had to wait a few minutes for the restaurant to open, but as soon as they did, we went in and found their newspaper racks.

  The little paper was free. To be cool, we all bought a drink and then sat down to find the review. It might have been excessive, but we each had a copy.

  I was painstakingly turning each page, afraid I’d miss it. Zane finally said, “Found it. Page forty-four.” Brad and I both turned the pages of our copies in haste.

  But I was nervous too. I got there and saw a grainy black-and-white photo of us onstage. Wow. That was pretty cool. I read through part of the review and wasn’t sure if it was positive or not. It described our band sound as gritty and raw, unrehearsed and unpolished. I started feeling angry. And then I saw my name. “Oh, God…I can’t read anymore.”

  That didn’t stop Zane. “At first, Quinn seemed to be holding back. By mid-show, however, her vocals were strong. Her style alternates between singing and screaming, and she can hold her own doing either.” It also mentioned that by about song three, I’d whipped the crowd into a “headbanging frenzy.” Whew. That was it. Short and sweet. There were also some other small compliments about the band and some of our songs. The reviewer mentioned that (as I’d observed in the past) it seeme
d like Ethan was in another world while onstage but he didn’t say if that was good or bad.

  But the reviewer heaped the praise on Brad, complimenting him on his precision, his energy, and his shredding abilities. But Brad was humble about it. He almost acted embarrassed by it. “Brad,” I said, “you should be proud. Everything he said about you is true.”

  He looked down at his hands. “Not everyone in the band is going to be as enthusiastic as you, Val.”

  “Yeah, well, he needs to get the fuck over it. It didn’t say anything bad about him, and you deserve every word the article said.” I smiled and patted his hand, resting mine on his. “I’m proud of you and glad to be your friend.”

  He smiled back. I looked over at Zane. “And you too, Zane.”

  Zane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but the article didn’t gush about me like it did Mr. Guitar Man. I know. I get it. Guy who plays bass is the low man on the metal totem pole.” He chuckled. “At least it doesn’t affect how much pussy I get.”

  I snarled at him. “Yeah. God forbid.”

  Brad looked at us both. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and let the guys know. This is just one of many things that will help us get recognized. No time to rest on our laurels, ladies.”

  And that’s why Fully Automatic would never die—because Brad kept it alive. Every move was calculated, and not only did he have us working steadily, he was constantly pushing us to add to our repertoire, to try new things, to learn something different.

  And we’d survived our first review. That felt pretty good.

  * * *

  One day late spring, Ethan was in a worse mood than usual. He’d been suffering from one of his bouts of depression, where he’d be glum and quiet most of the day. He’d also sleep a lot, but that’s when he’d indulge more in the illicit substances too. I was never sure what triggered those spells, but they seemed to be coming more and more often, and I didn’t know how to handle them.