Lost, Found, Loved

by London Casey

  Lost, Found, Loved

  A St. Skin Novel

  London Casey

  Jaxson Kidman

  Karolyn James

  Contents

  Welcome to Hundred Falls Valley and the world of St. Skin.

  Stay social with both authors here:

  Lost, Found, Loved

  Prologue

  1. BELLA

  2. ZAYNE

  3. BELLA

  4. ZAYNE

  5. ZAYNE

  6. BELLA

  7. ZAYNE

  8. BELLA

  9. ZAYNE

  10. BELLA

  11. ZAYNE

  12. BELLA

  13. ZAYNE

  14. BELLA

  15. ZAYNE

  16. BELLA

  17. ZAYNE

  18. BELLA

  19. ZAYNE

  20. BELLA

  21. ZAYNE

  22. BELLA

  23. ZAYNE

  24. BELLA

  25. ZAYNE

  26. BELLA

  27. ZAYNE

  28. BELLA

  29. ZAYNE

  30. BELLA

  31. ZAYNE

  32. ZAYNE

  33. BELLA

  34. ZAYNE

  35. BELLA

  36. ZAYNE

  37. BELLA

  FROM THE AUTHORS:

  About the Author

  Also by London and Jaxson:

  Welcome to Hundred Falls Valley and the world of St. Skin.

  From the minds of two bestselling authors comes a book and series about love, redemption, and finding fate in the place where you’d least expect to find it. Welcome to Hundred Falls Valley and the world of St. Skin

  Worldwide bestselling series!

  No reader order required!

  Written by London Casey (Karolyn James) and Jaxson Kidman

  Stay social with both authors here:

  Newsletter (part of the Outlaw Romance Obsession team): http://eepurl.com/b9BDKb

  St. Skin Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/stskinseries

  Lost, Found, Loved

  A St. Skin Novel

  It’s all supposed to be fake. Until it turns real.

  Bella: My car broke down. Now I’m getting tattooed by the guy who saved me… and I’m sort of engaged to him. Don’t worry, it’s all fake. Well, it’s supposed to be…

  Zayne: I’ve been staring at the wedding invitation for months. She sent it to me as one last jab to my heart. All I want is that one chance to get back at her. And that’s the moment I see the car on the side of the road… and a woman sitting on the hood… crying…

  Prologue

  YESTERDAY (BELLA)

  From business school to a shitty diner, that was my fate. And that had to be the worst of my fate, right? I tell myself that all the time. There’s only going up. When you get on your hands and knees in a baby blue dress that you’re forced to wear, a slightly crooked butter knife in your hand, a plate too, and you start scraping a-b-c gum with guys whistling at you to lift your dress up for an extra big tip, how could it get worse?

  I got the gum off the tables. And read some pretty nasty stuff that I hadn’t seen before. Did you know Teri was a bitch? Or that Beav has a small dick? I could never figure out the point of etching something like that under a table at a diner, or why someone would want to go under a table at a diner.

  I scrubbed my hands for ten minutes before Emilio barged into the women’s bathroom, black suspenders on his once-stronger shoulders, skin sagging on his face like he was melting. He still had jet black hair and perfect teeth. He sort of looked like a penguin with his height and size, but you’d never say that to his face. Hell, I wouldn’t even say it behind his back.

  “You go now,” he said to me in his accent that I could never figure out the origin of.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Go now.”

  I actually got off work early for a chance.

  That’s what had me sitting in my car, debating what to do. Get changed and go shopping or something. Or just hit the couch for some Netflix and…

  “Chill,” I whisper with a grin.

  I bit my lip, hoping that Parker is home, too.

  What an awesome surprise. Come home early and just forget the world for a little while together. I need a shower, which I can take as soon as I get home. With Parker.

  This is what we need.

  Me and him, together.

  I feel bad for how things have been going. Although I’m not sure it’s totally my fault. Fucking fate.

  I put the car in drive and am happy to see the diner waste away into the distance.

  It’s a beautiful thing to see, even if the smell still clings to my uniform.

  Sometimes I think about burning the uniform and handing it back to Emilio in scraps. That’d be a hell of a way to quit.

  But I fear if I do that, he’ll come burn my apartment down.

  He and his entire family are crazy.

  When I get home, I see Parker’s car.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Nothing else matters now.

  I look in the mirror and try to fix my hair the best I can. I hurry to touch up my makeup. Parker likes me in makeup. He says the only time I shouldn’t be in makeup is after a shower or in the morning.

  I open the middle console and take out a bottle of lilac body spray. It’s next to my secret pack of cigarettes that Parker doesn’t know about.

  After I soak my clothes, I get out and walk to the apartment. I bite my lip again as I sneak to the door and slowly unlock it. I open the door and he’s nowhere to be found.

  Now I hope he’s napping. I can go into the bathroom, strip, spray perfume to hide the smell of deep fryers and overcooked burger meat, and then climb right on top of him in bed.

  When I get to the bedroom door, I hear a noise.

  A moan.

  My hand turns the knob faster than my brain dares to process anything.

  The moan sounds again.

  I already know it’s a woman’s moan as I open the door. I go from hoping to get laid to hoping to find my boyfriend watching porn.

  The room is dark. My eyes adjust. Light floods in from the open door and hallway to cast on the bed, showing two people in my bed.

  One is my boyfriend.

  The other… my best friend.

  1

  BELLA

  (TODAY)

  The smoke poured from the hood of the car and I shut my eyes. Probably not the smartest move while driving fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit. Not that I was worried about causing an accident or getting pulled over. The road was totally desolate. And, in fact, if a cop was hiding somewhere, I needed him to pull me over so I could get help with my piece of shit called a car.

  I hated the car.

  But you know what? It was my car. I worked for it. I paid it off. I took care of it. And whether I liked it or not, I was on the run. Meaning I needed my car.

  I wasn’t on the run from murder, although that would have been smart at the time. The truth was that I had no idea where I was going. I was just going. Getting away. Putting distance between myself and everything else that was supposed to make up my life.

  I faked sick when I called into the diner. Emilio hated illness so he was easy to work over for a day or two. The keyword was puke. All you had to do was mention that and he’d cough into the phone with some weak dry heave and you suddenly had the day or night off.

  Hell, for all I knew, I was never going back either. I took everything I wanted from the apartment. I got some bags, packed my clothes, took what I thought was valuable to me, and then left. I’d have to figure out the lease situation or maybe just not pay any more
rent and say fuck it. What were they going to do me? Take my assets?

  I patted the dashboard of my smoking car and forced a laugh. “Come get it. This is my only asset.”

  I slowly pulled the car to the side of the road. The car loved to overheat. It was actually better at doing that than it was at running. So I needed to just sit, wait, pour some water in some part of the engine, and keep cruising. A guy named Swank taught me what to do when the cover overheated. He was a big tough guy who worked in the kitchen and had a thing for me. Maybe I should have stayed back in town and let him fuck me and have Parker find us together.

  The funny thing was, my car overheated at some pretty interesting times. Like right then, when I needed a second to breathe and collect myself. It was like the car was telling me to just chill the hell out. That things would work themselves out. Which I already knew. I just didn’t want to be in town to have it happen. Things were too fresh. I still saw them together when I shut my eyes. I could still hear her groans. I could still see his bony white ass pulling back and pumping forward.

  So I stopped and started to think. I didn’t want to think, though. I wanted to keep on the move. Be on the run. Find the thrill of not knowing where I was going or how long I’d be there for. I had this wild vision of maybe choosing a town, finding another job, and just hanging out. After all, I had nothing to lose here. I was free, even though I felt completely captive by what had happened to me.

  I turned the car off and got out. I popped the trunk where I always kept a gallon of water from an old container of iced tea. Some kind of mango-infused flavor that really wasn’t that good at all, not that the flavor mattered. Water was water. And water would get the car running again.

  I grabbed the gallon and it flew right up into the air. Which meant either I had gotten some muscle or the gallon was empty.

  The gallon was empty.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as I shook it as though water was going to appear.

  That’s when I saw there was a small hole in the bottom.

  Which meant it had spilled…

  All over my trunk.

  I put my hand flat into the trunk and felt the cloth squish a little.

  “Just great,” I said.

  I threw the empty gallon back into the trunk, slammed it shut, and got back into the car. I turned the key and the engine made a puttering sound. Puffs of smoke rose up, like being under the bleachers back in high school when it was oh-so-cool to smoke cigarettes. I tried to start the car a few more times but it was a no go. She needed some water and I needed a damn miracle.

  With my hands gripping the steering wheel tight, my eyes went wide. I looked to the road and started to pretend I was driving. Far away. Off to a private beach. No. A beach town. That’s what I needed. Somewhere small and quiet, where everyone knew each other and everyone was chilled out and just enjoyed the simple pleasures in life. A place where I could hide, fit in, and forget about everything.

  It meant nothing, Bella. Okay? Seriously. It’s not even that big of a deal, right? You were shutting down on me. Always working. Always… distant. I mean, she and I talked about you a lot. So it’s like you were… involved. Like, we both felt so bad for you that…

  “You just decided to fuck each other,” I whispered, recalling the bullshit slew of words I had to deal with over and over until I finally packed up my shit and left.

  I punched the horn. It gave out a quick blip. Everyone always picked on me for having such a weak-sounding horn. Screw them. Screw everyone.

  So I was officially stranded. But it wasn’t like in the movies. It wasn’t like I didn’t have my phone. Or that my phone wasn’t charged. And even if it was dead, I had a car charger like any other normal person. And I wasn’t in some random dead spot somewhere in the middle of the country where I couldn’t get a cell signal. I had a full battery and had full bars. I could call for help. I could call anyone I wanted. The thing was, I had no desire to call anyone. I didn’t want to go back there. Hell, there were only two people in the world I trusted - well, used to trust - and if I called them it was merely admitting a pathetic defeat in my escape from reality.

  I just wanted fantasy. Fun, hot, fast. Bring it the hell on.

  I bit my lip and an idea came to me. I hurried to find an old pack of cigarettes. I technically kicked the habit a while ago but still enjoyed a smoke here and there. Probably more than I should. In some ways, I had been lying to Parker myself. I lied about smoking. He lied about fucking my best friend. I guess in his eyes that made us both even.

  Right.

  I got my smokes and got out. I sat on the hood of my piece of shit car and lit up a cigarette. It tasted horrible and I wanted more. I leaned back a little and started to think. The one thing I really didn’t want to do. But I was stuck there to doing it.

  I took a few deep breaths and a few deeper drags of the smoke. I felt myself trying to calm, trying to ignore that I had a problem. Actually, I had a lot of problems. I just wasn’t ready to deal with those problems yet. I was good. Right there, on the hood of the car, counting the clouds. I figured eventually someone would drive by. If not, then I’d have to use my phone to call for help. But I would ask for help in a different direction. No way I was going back.

  “No fucking way,” I whispered.

  I sucked in a breath and wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye.

  I took another drag.

  That’s when I heard a sound in the distance. I looked over my shoulder and saw a headlight way off. It was a single headlight, too.

  After a few seconds I realized it was someone on a motorcycle.

  “Nice,” I whispered.

  I was stranded. And there was a bad boy on a motorcycle coming my way.

  Hey, what could go wrong here?

  2

  ZAYNE

  “Hey, Z, brother.”

  I looked up from my finishing touches on a sketch that would end up on the shoulder of a beautiful woman. It was a picture of an old house, almost haunted-looking with its peaked roof and peaked windows. When I first met her and she told me her idea I thought maybe she was just some horror fan. But then she explained to me it was the house she grew up in. An old, beat-up house that was slated to be knocked down for some retail. She didn’t want to lose the image of it and now that rested on my shoulders to make it look fucking perfect for her.

  Tate stood in the doorway, stealing my attention away from the sketch. He owned St. Skin and was giving me some space to earn a little extra cash because I wanted to go to Miami to set up my own shop. He was making a serious play for me to stick around, though. And I had to admit there were times when it became more and more tempting to stay. The business was booming, the town was small and secluded, and the woman were willing and spectacular at taking away any stings of thinking about the past.

  But I needed distance. I needed a lot of fucking distance. For my own good.

  “Tate,” I said.

  “I’m hitting the road for some food. You want anything?”

  “No. I’m good. I’m just finishing up a sketch. Trying to get this thing beyond perfect. Sometimes it gets to you when someone wants a memory on their skin, you know? That’s why I don’t mind handing off the portraits.”

  “What are you working on?” he asked.

  I generally didn’t like showing off my work before it was on someone’s skin and the person paying saw it first, but it was Tate. It was his shop, his business, and I could use the opinion of someone real quick.

  “It’s a house,” I said. “She wants it on her shoulder.” I stood up and held the sketch out for Tate to take. “She’s a tiny woman, too. Really slender shoulders. Not some meaty dude with space, you know? So I’m going to have to angle this thing to fit but I don’t want it to look like a cheap cartoon.”

  Tate stared at the sketch, nodding. “A house?”

  “Her old house. Grew up with her grandparents. Lost the house in the estate sale of everything. She was burned out on addiction and regre
ts not getting the house. Some developer bought the land, including the house, and it gets knocked down.”

  “Shit,” Tate said. “No pressure, huh?”

  “None at all,” I said with a grin.

  “Well, if it means anything, this is fucking solid. I mean really fucking solid, Zayne. You sure you want to go to Miami?”

  “It’s hot there, Tate,” I said. “And the women…”

  “You stay here and I’ll fly women in from Miami or wherever for whatever crazy, fucked-up fantasies you have.”

  “Who am I now, Prick?”

  “Did someone say my name?” a voice asked.

  Prick burst through the door.

  Standing there in his black clothes, messy hair, eyebrow cocked, he smirked.

  “Your ears ringing?” Tate asked.

  “No. I heard my name as I was passing by. I have someone out there waiting. Just a nose piercing, though. Couldn’t convince her to let me pierce other parts. But that doesn’t mean I won’t see those other parts. Or taste them.”

  Prick licked his lips.

  “Tate, how do you not get sued?” I asked.

  Tate laughed. “That’s a good fucking question. I have a Buddha guy in my office and I rub his belly for good luck.”

  “He doesn’t get sued because when I show these women my prick, they get it. Plus, I always rub my dick for good luck. Never fails.”

  “This is why I’m going to Miami,” I said.

  “That’s the reason?” Tate asked. He looked back. “Prick. You’re fired.”

  “Yeah right,” Prick said.

  “I’m serious,” Tate said.”If firing you keeps Zayne here, then you’re out.”

  “Whatever,” Prick said. “Hey, how hot is a nose ring?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Seriously,” Prick asked. “This woman. She just wants her nose pierced. Nothing else is pierced, though. Not even her ears. There’s just something about a nose piercing. It’s just…”

  “Prick,” I said. “Get out of here.”

  “Fine. See you later.”