Pocketful of Us: Pocket #4

by Chloe Walsh

  Pocketful of Us

  Book Four

  Chloe Walsh

  The right of Chloe Walsh to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright and Related Rights Act 2000.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system – without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Chloe Walsh

  Copyright 2014 by Chloe Walsh

  All Rights Reserved. ©

  Pocketful of Us,

  Pocket #4,

  First published, September 2019

  All rights reserved. ©

  Cover designed by Sarah @ Opium House Creatives.

  Edited by Aleesha Davis.

  Proofread by Brooke Bowen Hebert.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The author acknowledges all songs titles, song lyrics, film titles, film characters, trademarked statuses, brands, mentioned in this book are the property of, and belong to, their respective owners. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized/ associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Chloe Walsh is in no way affiliated with any of the brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

  All rights reserved ©

  For Nikki Ashton.

  My best friend.

  My lifeline.

  Author’s Note

  Pocketful of Us is the fourth and final story in the four-book series.

  Because of its explicit sexual content, mature themes, triggers, and bad language, it is suitable for readers of 18+.

  Thank you so much for joining me on this adventure.

  I hope you enjoy the final stage in Sketch and Romi's story.

  Lots of love,

  Chlo xxx

  Blurb

  "Nothing in Pocketful is as it seems."

  Loyalty.

  Family.

  Power.

  A code I never knew existed until now.

  A code that could destroy us all.

  Drowning in the sins of our fathers, everything is coming to a boil.

  It’s sink or swim time.

  Too bad I’m already drowning…

  Pocketful of Us is the final installment in a four-book series. Because of its explicit sexual content, mature themes, bully themes, potential triggers, and bad language, it is suitable for mature readers.

  Series in order

  Pocketful of Blame

  Pocketful of Shame

  Pocketful of You

  Pocketful of Us

  Preface

  Three years ago

  Romi

  "How much do you think he'd sell her for?"

  Holding my breath, something I found myself doing a lot lately, I remained perfectly still, eyes clenched shut, and listened to the men hovering around my bed.

  "How much do I think Cal Dillon wants for his pretty little princess?" Laughter filled my ears. "You couldn’t afford her in your lifetime, asshole."

  "Then how about a sample of the unfinished product?" I felt a finger trace my cheek and I willed myself to remain motionless while terror seized my heart. "Fuck, I get hard just thinking about that tight snatch," the man with the thick accent said. "Her ripe little body and that virgin cunt." His fingers trailed down my collarbone and drifted under the neckline of my nightie. "One little taste before he..."

  Wake up, Romi.

  Wake up now!

  When he pinched my small nipple, I was grateful for the darkness in my room because it disguised my terror.

  Please wake up.

  Oh God…

  "You sick fuck," one of the men chuckled. "If she wakes up, you're a dead man."

  "I don’t know, man, I reckon she might be worth it –"

  The sound of a tree rustling filled my ears and caused one of the men to groan. "That little bastard." His hand disappeared from my body. "Every fuckin' night, without fail."

  "Looks like you're not the only one obsessed with her, Catochi," one of them mused. "Come on. Let's get out of here before baby Toretto gets you skinned alive."

  The sound of footsteps retreating filled my ears, right along with my violently pounding heart.

  My bedroom door clicked shut at the same time as my window pushed open.

  It's okay now, Romi.

  He's here.

  "Ro? You still awake?"

  Open your eyes.

  You're safe.

  Blinking the tears from my eyes, I rolled onto my side, facing him. "Hey," I whispered, feeling a wave of anger towards the boy climbing through my bedroom window. "You're late."

  "Yeah, I know. Sorry about that." Carefully closing the window behind him, Sketch quickly kicked off his sneakers and stripped off his hoodie. "Chris and I were playing Call of Duty and I lost track of the time." Pushing his sweats down his hips, he stepped out of them and tip-toed over to my bed. "I totally beat his ass, by the way," he added with a satisfied snort, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed with me.

  I didn’t waste a second scrambling onto his chest. Burying my face in his neck, I clung to his big body for all I was worth. Limbs locked tight with tension, I forced myself to relax and just breathe.

  He was here now.

  The nightmares would stop.

  Nothing could hurt me when he was in this bed with me.

  See? You're totally safe.

  "You should have seen his face, Ro." A small laugh of contentment escaped him. "He was so pissed."

  So unbelievably relieved to have his arms around me, I clenched my eyes shut and absorbed the heat of his skin against mine, the sound of his beating heart as it thudded steadily in his chest.

  Strong and steady.

  Fearless and safe.

  A sob of relief escaped me and Sketch stiffened. In one swift movement, he was sitting up with me straddling his lap. "What happened?" His hands were on my shoulders and the moonlight wafting through my window illuminated the concern in his eyes. "Another dream?"

  "Yes… No… I don’t know anymore." Sniffling, I shook my head and then nodded, feeling both conflicted and concerned. "It always feels so real, Sketch, and it's getting worse." Shivering violently, I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him. "Just…just don’t be late again, 'kay?"

  "Okay," he whispered, hands moving to my hips. "I won't be late again."

  "And don’t go, okay? Don’t leave me alone at night."

  "I never leave you at night, Ro." His voice was laced with confusion when he added, "I sleep here every night." Reaching up to cup my face, he wiped the tears from my cheeks with both thumbs and pressed a kiss to my lips. "I've got you, baby," he whispered, pulling back to study my face. "Always."

  Trembling, I leaned my face into his touch. "Can you do one more th
ing for me?"

  "Anything."

  Swallowing back a sob, I took one of his hands in mine and placed it inside the thin fabric of my nightie.

  "Ro, wh-what are you doing?" He sounded nervous and unsure. "I'm, ah, should we be doing this right now? I thought that we agreed we weren't ready for –"

  "Please," I begged, tears still trickling down my cheeks as I pressed his hand to my small breast and held it there. "I need you to make it go away." Shuddering, I rested my head on his broad shoulder, absorbing the feel of his hand on my skin as it eliminated the touch of the man from my dreams. "Make the dreams go away, Sketch."

  Breathing hard and ragged, Sketch hooked an arm around my waist and pulled my body flush to his. "Like this?" he asked, keeping his hand pressed to my bare breast, his touch achingly gentle. "Is this what you want?" Leaning close, he pressed his brow to mine. "Tell me what you need, Ro."

  "More," I sobbed, reaching a hand between our bodies to pull at the hem of my nightie. "I need more." A deep shiver rolled through me as I yanked the fabric over my head. "I need to feel you everywhere."

  When I bared myself entirely to him, Sketch went completely rigid. "Ro…"

  "It's okay." Still sniffling, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his before rolling onto my back and taking him with me. "We don’t have to do anything," I breathed against his lips. "I just need to feel your skin on mine tonight."

  His breath fanned my lips as his touch caused my skin to break out in the most glorious goose pimples. "You know I'll give you whatever you want, right?" Pressing another soft kiss to my lips, he leaned his weight down on me, smothering my body in delicious warmth. "I'll do anything for you." Our lips brushed softly, slowly, sweetly. It was everything and not enough all at once. "Can you feel my heart?" he asked then, tone soft and coaxing. I immediately knew what he was trying to do; distract me. "It's bucking like crazy in my chest." He kissed me again, deeper this time. "Just for you, Ro. Since forever and..."

  "For always," I finished for him, wrapping my arms and legs around him. "I feel you, Sketch. I feel all of you."

  "I've got your back, angel. I'll chase your demons," he whispered against my lips, cloaking me in a blanket of security and love. "All you have to do is dream of us instead…"

  Tenderly stroking my nose with his, he pressed his lips to my ears and began to recite the lyrics of The Everly Brothers' All I Have to do is Dream in my ear.

  Nuzzling me like I was his favorite person in the whole entire world, he quietly hummed my favorite lullaby in my ear.

  It was sweet and innocent and the lyrics cloaked me in warmth.

  "Whenever you're scared, all you have to do is think of this song, Ro," he whispered. "Even if I'm not around, just sing the words and I'll hear it and protect you."

  "How?"

  "I just will."

  "You promise?"

  "Yeah, Ro, I promise."

  Shivering into his touch, I clung to his big body as he slowly comforted me back to sleep…

  1

  Sketch

  I remembered once reading somewhere about the five stages of grief.

  Denial.

  Anger.

  Bargaining.

  Depression.

  Acceptance.

  Five words. Five stages. So many different meanings. Was that what was happening to me now?

  It sure fucking felt like it.

  Goddammit, the world needed to stop spinning because I needed off.

  No, scratch that, Quinton Presley needed to stop talking. The pain in my heart was his fault, dammit. He was the one lying to me, spurting the most terrible things that made zero fucking sense. He needed to stop making it hard for me to breathe.

  Drowning in waves of too many tumultuous emotions, I barely blinked, keeping my eyes glued to my dead brother's lover, as he continued to blow my world apart with word after reckless word.

  Every asshole in the room was looking at me, waiting for a reaction I wasn’t sure would come because I couldn’t take this in.

  Not one goddamn word.

  "Stop talking." They were the only two words I could think in this moment. They were the only words my lips could form and say. "Please." Another word. This one laced with more desperation than I'd felt in my whole life. "Please stop talking."

  "I'm so sorry, Sketch." Releasing a pained groan, Presley kept a death grip on his pool cue as he paced the floor. "I hate that I'm the one who had to tell you all of this."

  "I thought you liked me." My throat felt like it was closing up. "I thought you were my friend, Pres."

  He winced, looking genuinely pained. "I am your friend, man."

  No. He wasn't. He couldn’t be. Not if… "Then why are you doing this to me?" The pain in my heart had grown to epic proportions and I couldn’t soothe the ache.

  Rubbing the throbbing part of my chest that was covered in bandages, I didn’t dare look down for fear of seeing my own heart hemorrhaging through my ribcage. Because that's sure as hell what it felt like right now. My whole world had just been shot to pieces – my body included, courtesy of Cal the dick Dillon – and I was reeling.

  Holy fuck, was I dying?

  Was this real?

  Am I still in a coma?

  Fuck, I hoped so.

  "You're not a Capaldi, Sketch," Presley continued to torment me with his cruel words. "You've been lied to your whole life. Chris wasn't your brother and he was killed to prevent you from finding out."

  Hands balled into fists on my lap, I tried to concentrate on the words spilling from Presley's overactive lips, I really fucking tried, but it was hard to focus when I was wedged between my kidnappers. "Can y'all back the fuck up?" I bit out, trying and failing to free myself from Pinky and the goddamn Brain. "Seriously, dude, you need to learn about personal space." Wrinkling my nose up, I glared at the fat one with the yellow teeth. "And you definitely need to learn how to take a shower."

  "That's what I said!" Presley chimed in enthusiastically. "It's basic human hygiene, Mr. Gonzalez, sir. Soap, water, and a wash cloth –"

  Gonzalez slammed his fist on the table. "One more word and I will cut you open and feed your tiny bones to my dogs."

  "Okie-dokie." Presley held his hands up and chuckled nervously. "No Christmas basket of scented soaps for you this year."

  "Your boy here's not lying to you." The blond one called Lucky flicked his cigarette butt in an ashtray and rubbed his stubbly jaw. "You are up shit's creek without a paddle, fullback."

  Drowsy as I felt, I knew I had to be on full alert around this one. There was something very off about him. Much worse than the others. When I looked into his pale-blue eyes, it felt like I was in the presence of death. "I don’t know who you are, or what your motive for helping Presley is, but I've got a girl back home who needs me and I ain't planning on wasting another damn minute with you people."

  "Yeah?" He arched a brow. "Then by all means, be my guest and leave, kid. But fair warning: you'll be dead before you reach the state line. Your girlfriend's daddy will make damn sure of that."

  I stared hard at Lucky for the longest time before letting my gaze drift around the warehouse.

  Crooks and criminals.

  Guns and knives.

  Drugs and death.

  I was surrounded by it all.

  "Fuck it," I finally replied, shoulders bunched tight with tension. "I think I'll take my chances."

  "This one is as ballsy as you, Bolillo," Gonzalez laughed. "Spine of steel."

  "He's a mob baby," Lucky replied with a smirk, like that explained everything.

  "Sí." Apparently, it did for Gonzalez whose eyes lit up with interest. "Catalinian." He gave his friend a pointed look. "It could be beneficial for business to keep him."

  "Uh, hello? Earth to the criminal masterminds?" Waving his hands around aimlessly, Presley eyeballed the men. "I'm awfully sorry to disappoint you, Mr. G, but you can't keep my mob baby. I'm rather fond of him, and well, he's not for you –"

  "I think I
know what's happening here," I interrupted, eyes shifting from the grizzly looking gangster to my left back to Presley. "You smoked something with these assholes, didn’t you?" That had to be it. A pained laugh escaped my cracked lips. "Hell, I'll take a hit of whatever he had if it's on offer."

  "Contrary to their physical appearance and our current location, they've been perfectly polite hosts – and I haven't been offered any illegal substances." Setting the pool cue down, Presley plucked a leather-bound journal from a nearby table and held it out to me. "Look, just read the journal, Sketch. It'll help you understand. Chris wrote it all down in here –"

  "Keep that thing away from me!" I spat, holding a hand up to ward the madness off. "I don’t want to read that shit."

  "You have to."

  I shook my head, feeling weak to the damn bone. "No."

  "Nothing in Pocketful is what it seems," he repeated the words that had been thrown my way more times than I could count. "Chris said it first and then Romi. She's been prattling on about it for months. Now we know why." He winced again, looking a little green. "It's because Pocketful is a coverup, Sketch. It's a mirage, man. An illusion. Your families moved there because it was the one place on earth they could, quite frankly, get away with murder without arousing suspicion. A one-horse town so far off the beaten track that no one would think to look too closely at it. Not the feds or their foes. Easily bought and even more easily conquered. The perfect HQ for an underworld organization. Pocketful was the perfect place to bury their skeletons and keep their secrets hidden." He swallowed deeply before adding, "It was the perfect place to keep you hidden."