by Olivia Chase
ZACK
The Beckett Boys, Book Five
Olivia Chase
Favor Ford Publishing
Contents
NOTE
Want To Be In The Know?
ZACK (The Beckett Boys, Book Five) by Olivia Chase
1. Autumn
2. Zack
3. Autumn
4. Zack
5. Autumn
6. Zack
7. Autumn
8. Zack
9. Autumn
10. Zack
11. Autumn
12. Zack
Epilogue
Bonus Content: Jackson (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One) by Paige North
1. Jackson
2. Emily
3. Jackson
4. Emily
5. Jackson
6. Emily
7. Jackson
8. Emily
9. Jackson
10. Emily
11. Jackson
12. Emily
13. Jackson
14. Emily
15. Jackson
16. Emily
17. Jackson
18. Emily
19. Jackson
20. Emily
Copyright © 2017 by Favor Ford Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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NOTE
This edition of ZACK (The Beckett Boys, Book Five) contains the following bonus content: Jackson (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One) by Paige North
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ZACK (The Beckett Boys, Book Five) by Olivia Chase
Autumn
I can’t believe I went to prison.
Well, I suppose if visiting counts as going to prison, then I went.
But now it’s mostly over, and I’m relieved.
I step into the sterile lobby and press a trembling hand to my stomach, which is filled with a riot of butterflies—I’m unsettled, to say the least.
But I did it. Despite all my fears, all my misgivings, I gathered my strength and did it.
I met my birth father, something I never thought would happen in my lifetime. Emotions of all kinds are exploding in me right now, overwhelming me. Confusion. Sadness. Discomfort. This prison, with its bland gray cement walls and thick bars and rigid rules, is far removed from anything I’ve ever experienced. And I certainly never thought I’d be here to meet one of the people responsible for bringing me into this world.
I’ve known for a long time that I was adopted, but it wasn’t until a couple of months ago that my parents told me about the circumstances of my adoption. That my birth father was reaching out to them and wanting to meet me.
With slow steps, I head toward the exit doors. My mind won’t stop whirring. Won’t stop thinking about what just happened. I didn’t know what to expect during this visit. Certainly not someone so gaunt and aged from years of hard drug abuse, which caused him to spend multiple stints of time in places like this. Someone whose regret over his past choices was etched in hard lines on his weathered face.
A stranger’s face.
I don’t know why, but I expected myself to instantly recognize him for some reason. But when I saw my birth father, there was no jolt of familiarity. Nothing that made me feel like we were related. He seemed wholly unfamiliar, like any random person I might have run into anywhere on the street.
Except for his dark brown eyes…they looked just like mine, down to the flecks of amber in the irises. It was uncanny, startling. He asked me a few questions about myself. Seemed proud that I was working on my Master’s degree.
At least he’s trying to get clean…and stay that way. I let that thought rally me a bit, even as I’m filled with worry. I don’t know anything about prisons, of course, but I’ve seen a couple of documentaries on Netflix. They’re filled with drugs, a real epidemic, it seems. I just hope he can find his inner strength to stay clean despite his circumstances.
I shudder and push open the doors, stepping out into the brisk November air. Drugs—another thing I know nothing about. My adoptive parents, my middle-class upbringing, kept me pretty sheltered, that much is for sure.
Hell, I rarely take over-the-counter meds unless I’m seriously ill. And none of my friends ever did anything more serious than smoke the occasional joint.
I tug my coat around me to ward off a stiff breeze of wind that causes the trees surrounding the parking lot to sway to the left. The last few dying leaves clinging to the branches are whipping furiously in the air. It’s frigid but pretty outside. At least the sun is out to keep it from being bitter cold.
“Hey, hey, girlie,” a deep voice says from my right.
I turn out of instinct to see if the person is talking to me. There’s a group of several rough-looking men, wearing beat-up leather jackets and covered in tattoos, leaning against the wall smoking. One man, the one I guess was talking to me, puffs out a cloud of smoke as he’s eyeing me up and down. He has several tattoos on his face.
The way he’s looking at me is like he’s ripping my clothes off right here in the parking lot. I give a stiff smile of discomfort and nod politely, then turn back around, searching for my car. Where did I park it? My fingers are fumbling in my coat pocket for my car key.
“Sweetheart, you looking for some fun?” that voice says.
I move faster without acknowledging his words, heading blindly up one parking lane. I keep my head high in a meager attempt to portray confidence. But my heart is hammering against my ribs, and my fingers are starting to shake. If he got anywhere close to me, he’d see it.
“Fucking snob, are ya?” The voice is moving nearer, and I can hear the thud of multiple boots behind me.
Crap.
I swallow and turn around, stopping in place. “Not interested, thank you.” I keep my words light and vague, proud that I don’t tremble when I say them.
He quirks a brow and gives a wide grin, flashing crooked, brown-stained teeth. “Oh, ‘not interested.’ Well, ain’t you fancy. Too good for us regular guys, huh? What are you doing here—your old man get arrested for some kind of rich-guy bullshit? You here for a conjugal visit or something?”
My jaw clenches. I’m not going to bother explaining myself to them. The guys form a semi-circle around me. They’re hulking, with sinister grins, and now a frisson of genuine fear shivers down my back. I freeze in place out of panic, unsure what to do, my body flashing hot and cold.
Out of nowhere, a hand wraps around my elbow, and a tall man is leaning beside me, saying in a low tone, “I’ll walk you to your car.” And then before I know what’s happening, he and I are turning around and I’m heading down the asphalt.
The guys behind me mutter a few phrases I don’t fully hear, laden with some choice cuss words that punctuate the air, but I try to shut them out and focus on moving away from them. I glance up at my rescuer to thank him, and my heart gives a crazy kick-start beat against my ribcage.
God, he’s hot. Insanely, impossibly hot. His dark blond hair is clipped short on the sides, but longer on the top and swept away from his face. He has piercing green eyes with thick lashes, a firm jawline, and sexy lips. Lines of a black tattoo peek out from under his coat collar on his neck.
Our eyes meet. In that moment, there’s a crash of se
xual awareness that makes me flush all over, sends a swell of heat to my lower belly. And intensity I hadn’t expected. A connection.
The man suddenly stops in place and spins around, and I realize that the group behind us hasn’t left us alone after all. But I hadn’t noticed, so distracted by my rescuer’s looks. He shoots the men a glare, his body tensing visibly. “Do we have a problem, guys?” He removes his hand from my elbow and cracks his knuckles.
The tattoo-faced guy narrows his eyes at him. “You Butch’s kid?”
“Yup. I’m also the guy who’s going to fuck you up if you don’t back the fuck off right now,” he replies in an even tone.
My lips part in surprise, and I blink in shock at the aggressive words. I’ve never heard anyone speak like that in real life before.
The group’s attitude seems to change in an instant. They pull back, and tattoo face holds up his hands. “No problem, man. No problem. I got respect for your pop.” They spin on their heels and walk back toward the prison building.
“Thank you,” I whisper to my protector.
He doesn’t reply, just takes my elbow again and turns me back toward my car. As we walk, I do my best to focus forward, not think about how the breezes are sending wafts of his rich cologne to me. Or think about the strength, the heat, I feel emanating from his lean figure beside me. He screams sexiness. Wickedness. He’s hotter than anyone I’ve ever seen. I’ve never felt instantly attracted to someone this way before.
Especially someone who is clearly dangerous.
But even odder, the moment this man approached me, I felt completely safe and taken care of in a way I’ve never experienced before. He didn’t owe me, a stranger, any protection, but he gave it to me anyway. Gratitude warms my chest and mingles with the attraction I’m feeling for him, and my cheeks start to burn in response.
I finally see my car. Relief washes over me. We stop at the trunk, and I turn toward him. “Um,” I say, shoving a strand of dark hair behind my ear. “So, thanks again. I really appreciate it. Those guys kinda freaked me out.”
Lips thinned, he raises an eyebrow, his eyes raking over me with a frosty scrutiny that makes my pulse stutter at the mood shift. Did I just imagine the chemistry between us before? “If you really wanna thank me,” he says in a flat tone, “stay the hell away from here. You don’t belong, princess.”
The term “princess” grates at me. Like I think I’m better than everyone else or something. I frown. “My…father is in here, and I may come back to visit him.” Not that it’s any of his business—why did I even bother to explain that to him? I lift my chin. “And I’m not a princess. Don’t call me that.”
He barks out a laugh. “Sure you’re not. You practically ooze privilege.” He shakes his head. “You don’t belong in a place like this. You should stay away from these kinds of people—including me. Next time, there may not be someone around to rescue you from the wolves.”
I feel a hot flush of embarrassment on my face and throat.
And then before I can say a word in response, he stalks off.
I bite my lower lip and get into my car, flipping the heater as high as it can go and warming my icy hands in the lukewarm blast of air. Irritation wars with confusion in my mind. Evidently I imagined the way he looked at me when our eyes first connected. He’s from a different world—tattooed, comfortable with aggressive physical confrontation…and way out of my league in the looks department.
Time to get him out of my mind.
To get back to my apartment and try to shake off these unsettled feelings I have. Maybe call my friend Harper and see if she wants to hang out tonight. She also teaches at the elementary school where I’m working while finishing my Master’s degree. We do a lot of after-work cocktail hours, especially during testing weeks.
After the car is suitably warmed up, I pull out of my spot and head toward the parking lot exit. I pass my surly rescuer standing in front of his black car with the hood up, peering inside the engine area. Something must be wrong.
My brain tells me to keep on driving. Reminds me that any guy who warns you off him should be listened to. He’s likely on the same level as those other thugs. No, he’s probably even worse, because once they figured out who he was, they backed right off. My protector scared them.
But my conscience won’t let me just leave the man out here. It’s cold outside. And he did me a favor with no expectation of getting something in return.
The least I can do is pay him back as thanks.
I circle around and stop, rolling down my window. When he sees me, his brow furrows.
“Need any help?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I’ll call my brothers for a ride. I don’t live too far from here.”
“Since I’m already here, why don’t you let me give you a ride to where you need to go?” I don’t know why I’m pushing the issue. I can tell myself that this is just about returning a favor, but deep down I know it’s more.
He’s compelling.
And I’m drawn to him against my better judgment. I raise an eyebrow to cover up my internal confusion. “Are you always this stubborn about accepting help?”
He lips curve in what comes dangerously close to a smile. “In fact, yes. Nothing comes for free, you know, princess.”
“Oh? So are there strings attached to the help you gave me earlier, then?” When he scowls at that, I laugh. “Yeah, I thought so. Just get in the car, Mr. Mysterious. I can drop you off. It’s not a problem.”
“Name’s Zack,” he mutters as he walks toward the driver’s side of the car and slides in. My car feels about half its size with him beside me. It’s not just how tall he is. He has a presence about him that makes him feel larger than life.
“I’m Autumn,” I reply and try to focus on driving. Which is hard when he’s so dang distracting. Heat pours off his body, and every passing minute, I feel myself growing tighter and more sexually aware of him. Noticing the length of his fingers. His muscular thighs, clad in faded jeans.
The tattoos on his skin that hint of danger, of drink, of late nights with caution thrown to the wind…
He gives me minimal directions for navigation but other than that, sits quietly in the seat. Doesn’t really fidget. Just…owns the space with self-assurance. I’ve never met someone like him before. It’s unnerving, and I’m totally unused to it.
I clear my throat. “So. Zack. What do you do for a living?”
He gives a soft snort. “Well, I make money doing this and that.” His voice is husky and sexy as hell. Hearing it fill the space of my car makes me hyperaware of the scant few inches between us. We’re both fully clothed, but I can’t help but imagine what he’d sound like whispering against my ear, touching my naked flesh.
I turn the car onto a side street. “That’s a little specific, don’t you think?” My voice is flat in a purposeful effort to shake off my dirty thoughts. “I suppose you work ‘here or there’ as you earn this mysterious money.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
My eyes roll of their own volition. “Excuse me for trying to make polite conversation. It was a skill I learned in princess school, I guess.”
I’m rewarded with a brief chuckle. “You’re feistier than you look, Autumn.” The words roll over me with warmth, despite the snarkiness. He’s teasing me.
I turn toward the outer perimeter of Rock Bridge, where I’ve never gone before, and the change in the neighborhood is almost instantaneous. Houses are run down and depressing, with sagging fences and broken cement stoops. Faded paint and missing shingles on the roofs. Nothing like the place where I grew up, on the other side of town. I’ve never seen a place like this before—my parents always told me to stay clear of this part of Rockbridge.
Zack doesn’t say a word as I pull into his driveway. His house is cleaner-looking than the ones around it, obviously better maintained. A cranky-looking bald man in the house on the right steps out onto his porch and glares at me. He must automatical
ly sense that I don’t fit in here.
I swallow.
“I told you that you don’t belong with these kinds of people,” Zack says, as if reading my mind. “Including me.” Zack’s voice is tinged with an edge of something. A challenge?
I put the car in park and spin to look at him. When our eyes meet, that shiver of deliciousness tightens my gut. I try not to think about my reaction to him as I say, “Maybe you don’t know where I belong or what kind of people I want to be around.” Because truth is, I’m frustrated.
It’s a childish thing to say to him, but I’m tired of him making assumptions about me. He doesn’t know me. I’m not fragile—I won’t break so easily.
Zack’s voice drops to a deadly murmur. “Is that so?” He doesn’t stop staring at me. His eyes are molten, fixed on mine.
I feel like I’m drowning in something I’ve never experienced before. Arousal so strong it steals my breath. My lungs are clenched, my lower belly is throbbing, and I don’t know if I want him to touch me or exit the car, because these feelings are so intense.
And then his mouth is on mine.
Zack slants his lips and takes me in a kiss to deep and desperate and hot that I groan right into his mouth and reach up to grip the back of his neck. One of his strong hands slides up to cup my throat, stroke my jawline with his thumb. His touch is sin, is heaven, is decadent.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but taste and feel. Zack overwhelms my senses.
Then he pulls away out of nowhere, way too soon, leaving me gasping, my lips swollen, my body aching for him in a way I’ve never felt before. He opens my car door and gets out, walks away, striding up his front steps and closing the door to his house behind him.
I just sit there in shock for a moment, staring dumbly out the front windshield. I can still feel his mouth burned on mine.