Fighting for Phoebe

  Fighting for Phoebe

  Jennifer Ann

  Contents

  Fifteen Years Ago

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Fighting for Phoebe Playlist

  Also by Jennifer Ann

  KEEP READING!

  Brooklyn Rockstar (Book #1 in Kendall Family Series)

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  Adam’s List (Book #1 in NYC LOVE Series)

  ONE

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Naumann

  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.

  Wordmarks: Captain Morgan, Harley-Davidson Street Glide, Harley-Davidson Heritage, Chucks, Avenged Sevenfold, Instagram, Comic Con, Gremlins, Veronica Mars, Thor, Magic Mike, Darth Vader, Orange is the New Black, Metallica, Five Finger Death Punch, Funko Pop!, Skype, Spiderman, Kill Bill, Led Zeppelin, Rambo

  ISBN:

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Cover image © Eric Battershell Photography

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016917678

  For Corrie.

  Thanks for feeding my twisted imagination.

  Fifteen Years Ago

  Phoebe

  I stand at the entrance of the giant store, itching the back of my neck where the tag on the new dress rubs at my skin. Then I glance down at the pink polka dot print flowing around my legs and smile. Although it’s a pretty dress, it’s too nice. Way too nice for someone like me. I can’t take the tag off because it’s going back to the store. Doesn’t matter anyway… I know I don’t deserve nice things.

  A lot of people hurry back and forth, none of them paying attention to the little girl staring at everyone who enters. I’ve never been this scared. I don’t understand what I’m s'posed to do, or why she just left us here.

  “Hurry up and pick someone,” my big brother snaps in my ear.

  Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I turn to stare at him with butterflies crashing into my stomach. He is better at lying to strangers. Why didn’t she tell him to pick someone?

  “You’re gonna get us both in trouble if you take any longer,” he warns.

  Turning back to all the people, I ball my fingers into fists at my sides. My throat feels as dry as sandpaper when I spot a man with wrinkled skin and thick gray hair heading our way. He’s wearing dark, fancy clothes like Grandpa Eddie wore when he stopped breathing and they stuck him in the big box. I’ve been told anyone with a lot of money dresses like that.

  But the man looks mad about something. His mouth is tight like he’s sucking on a lemon and there’s a deep line between his eyes.

  “That guy,” my brother tells me, hitting my arm. “Go. Now.”

  My tummy feels sick as I hurry along to the man’s side and pull on his sleeve. “Mister? Can you help me?” When I remember I’m supposed to be crying, I stick out my lip and sniffle. It’s not so hard to pretend when I’m scared. “I lost my mommy.”

  Suddenly the man’s cold eyes become soft and he pats my shoulder. “Sure thing, sweetie. We’ll have someone working here call your mother’s name over the speakers so she knows where to find you.”

  His cold, wrinkled hand wraps around mine.

  That was easier than I thought. Maybe there’s nothing to be scared of after all.

  1

  Phoebe

  There are two things I haven’t allowed myself the pleasure of in what feels like ages, mostly because I’m broke and by all accounts I should know better by now. Getting blissfully drunk at the bar without worrying about the consequences, and shamelessly lusting after an attractive man that looks every bit the part of a bad boy.

  But in my defense, the stranger sitting three barstools across from me is hot beyond words. In every way imaginable. As in my panties get a little more soaked each time I sneak a look his way. And let’s be real. There are men who are born naturally hot, and men who get better looking after discovering they possess a charming personality or whatever bullshit desperate women tell themselves after meeting a fugly guy. The natural ones aren’t always easy to come by.

  I suppose it’s possible getting turned on from staring at a complete stranger makes me a complete perv in need of psychological help, but damn it, I haven’t been laid in a long time. Besides, he looks to be around my age and he isn’t wearing a wedding ring, so my ogling is harmless. Or so I keep telling myself.

  I watch his thick, tattooed arm rest on the cracked bar top in front of him as the other arm flexes to bring a glass of amber liquid up to his pouting, delectable lips, surrounded by a shadowed jaw. I’ve never seen a mouth that beautiful on a man. When I imagine getting a taste of those heavenly lips, soft and sweet like the rum he’s drinking, I bite down on a whimper.

  The rest of his face is every bit as memorable as his mouth, though a Yankees baseball cap pulled down to his fierce eyebrows obscures more than I’d prefer. Piercing blue eyes, sharp nose and jaw, beautiful cheeks that would almost give him a baby face if it weren’t for his strong jaw, and a dark scar running across one of his temples that catches in the dim light whenever he studies someone entering the bar. I’ve been staring at his features so long that if I had a lick of artistic skills, I could go home and paint him by memory.

  I’m pretty sure I’ve seen all 1,501 residents of this town at least once, and there’s only a minuscule percentage that could be categorized as decent looking. None could even touch this guy’s beauty, or his impressive build.

  Even if I hadn’t spent the last ten years in Chesterville, it’d be painfully obvious the guy wasn’t from around here simply by how he’s dressed in tasteful, designer jeans and a black button-down that hugs every beautiful curve, or how he wears his dark hair neatly cropped on the sides.

  And then there’s the colorful ink snaking up each of his arms. From what I can tell, one is of the US flag and another has something to do with an anchor. Doesn’t matter what they are because just possessing them seriously increased his attraction factor. Having several tattoos somehow made me the town freak, which would make this guy the ringmaster.

  It’s obvious he’s no stranger to the gym without being grossly overly muscular like someone popping steroids and ready for competition. He’s more like the buddies my big brother, Logan, would bring home when I was a hormonal teenager who hadn’t yet been deflowered and easily developed a crush on every damn hottie to walk through the door.

  Someone that beautiful doesn’t belong in this rundown bar among dusty beer ads on the walls and carpet so old that the pattern is no longer distinguishable from the literal shit the farmers tracked in.

  Mr. Gorgeous suddenly stands from his stool and cuts a sharp look toward the rickety metal door to the bar’s entrance like he’s waiting for someone to bust in. Just when I’m afraid he’s preparing to leave, he veers toward the bathrooms in the back. As I watch the muscles in his ass and backside flex and turn with each step, I imagine him carrying me up the steps to my apartment with ease, and let out a long, dreamy sigh.

  Did I mention I need
to get laid?

  “Phoebs, did you hear me?” Kory asks, snapping a ratty old towel my way. When his blue eyes follow my gaze to the hot guy disappearing down the dimly lit hallway, Kory releases one of his howling laughs that always makes me adore him a little more. “Put your tongue in your mouth. You’re going to scare the poor guy away.”

  “What the shit?” I whisper back, leaning closer to Kory. “Who is he? Where the hell did he come from? My wildest fantasies?”

  Throwing the towel over his wide shoulder, Kory settles back against the pull-tab containers and shrugs. “Don’t know. He showed up a few minutes after I opened and he hasn’t said much except to order a few—”

  “Captain and Cokes,” I finish. “Believe me, I know. I’ve been secretly watching him ever since I walked in.”

  “You might want to work on your stealth mode,” he says with another cruel laugh. “You can tell it’s been awhile since you’ve been interested in someone. You’re rusty as shit.”

  “Whatever. Suppose you could do your favorite patron-slash-old-classmate a solid and help me find a way to interact with him? He’s so quiet that I’m afraid if I open my big mouth and do my usual blabbering thing, he’ll bolt.”

  Kory glances toward the bathroom uneasily. “He seems pretty content on keeping to himself.”

  The front door suddenly squeaks on its rusty hinges, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet.

  “Would you look at that, boys?” a familiar voice roars from the entrance. “It’s our lucky night!”

  Turning in my seat, I cringe with the sight of my ex and his wild pack of morons entering. The last few months have been blissfully quiet since he only ever used to set foot in this bar when we were together. Decker’s not the type to belly up and chat with the locals, because that would require social skills beyond trash talk. His idea of a good time involves beers, campfires, and emptying live ammunition in the woods behind his house.

  “I’ve been looking all over fucking town for you,” he tells me with a little hiss. His nostrils flare as something dark passes through his gaze. “The two of us need to have ourselves a chat.”

  Though I’m rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I inwardly brace myself for what he has to say.

  “Go home, Decker,” Kory warns, squaring his shoulders and jutting out his chin. My loyal friend isn’t a small guy by any means and was a force to be reckoned with on our high school football team. But since he’s become a daddy? Soft as a teddy bear. “I’m not going to serve you guys when you’re obviously loaded already.”

  “Who said anything about drinking?” Decker replies with a nasty sneer. “Maybe we just wanted to stop by and play a game of pool.” He begins to slink my way with his buddies hot on his heels.

  This crew has the good ol’ country boy who’s served occasional jail time look down to a science. Tall and beefy with shaggy hair, fleet store jeans, flannel shirt, and several hundred dollar work boots. There’s even a chunk of chew bulging from most of their bottom lips. The memory of kissing Decker sends a shiver rippling down my spine. Whenever he was drunk, it was like making out with a fish. Cold and disgustingly wet.

  How did I ever agree to have sex with someone so vile? In my defense, alcohol.

  As he closes in on me, the odor of whiskey and tobacco on his breath mixed with the oil on his shirt becomes so strong that I feel the need to cup my hand over my nose.

  “You smell fuckable, baby.”

  I lean back, my shoulder blades hitting the vinyl covering the bar. “And you smell like ass.”

  Admittedly, talking shit to his face probably isn’t the smartest move. In the end of our relationship, things got ugly. And when I told him that I was moving out, he hit me hard. Nothing like the usual slap against the face or shove I’d grown familiar with.

  I should’ve probably gone to the ER, but I stayed with my cousin in The Cities for a week until the swelling on my eye went down and I could use my wrist without crying. I told Ellen I fell off a table when drunk. It was a cowardly way out, but shit would’ve hit the fan if she knew I let a man hit me, and I didn’t need to give her another reason to feel superior.

  “Something of mine went missing,” Decker says in a tone that’s sickeningly sweet. The asshole’s eyes drag down my body as he wets his lips. “And I don’t just mean this tight little body of yours.”

  “This body was never yours.” I glare into his glossed eyes. “You must have me mistaken for whatever twat waffle of the week you’re banging these days.”

  Setting his hands on the bar on either side of me, he leans in and I feel the urge to regurgitate an entire week’s worth of food with his stench. My heart races into double-time as I wait to see how he’s going to respond. At least I know his hairless balls aren’t big enough for him to hit me when there are witnesses.

  “That mouth of yours could be put to much better use. You find someone else to keep you satisfied, or has everyone in this town realized by now that snatch of yours is worn out?”

  I release a barking laugh. “Wow. Is that all you've got for me this time? Please tell me you’re just warming up, because that’s a pretty lame delivery by your standards.”

  The second he grabs me by my forearm, Kory snarls, “Leave her alone.”

  Someone clears their throat, slow and deliberate. Our heads all swivel to where the hot stranger stands with his hands on the back of a stool, chest puffed out, dark eyes narrowed on Decker. He looks undeniably dangerous and scary as hell. A suffocating rush blossoms throughout my chest with the sight of him.

  Without having to say a word, the man comes off as a legitimate threat that even my dip-shit ex is apparently smart enough to take seriously, because Decker releases me and steps back. “You and I need to have ourselves a talk, so don’t go anywhere,” he whispers. He cuts the stranger an annoyed sneer before leading his minions to the back end of the bar.

  Shaky, I turn to take the last swig of my fifth beer, giving my nerves a chance to calm. There’s a loud crack of pool balls followed by laughter as Decker and company settle in for the night. Even though I want to get far away from the band of douche-nuggets, going home to my empty apartment seems more depressing, and I feel at ease with both Kory and the stranger nearby.

  “Want me to have Classon chase them out of here?” Kory asks, popping the top on a fresh beer and setting it in front of me. “I know he’s on duty tonight and the sheriff isn’t.”

  I shrug and hand Kory my empty bottle. “Don’t bother. I don’t need a reason for Decker to start harassing you too.”

  “This is bullshit,” Kory mumbles before moving over to serve the town drunk sitting on the other end of the bar.

  Embarrassed when I realize the stranger most likely heard Decker’s comment about my “snatch”, I swipe beer number six and take a long gulp with my eyes closed. The icy-cold drink does little to take away the heat that has settled in my cheeks or the wave of nausea that ensues whenever Decker is near.

  “That punk-ass needs to be taught a lesson,” a deliciously low, scratchy voice says at my side. “Are you okay?”

  Biting back a squeal, my eyes flip open to find the stranger has slid into the seat right next to me. Beautiful, cornflower blue eyes stare into mine, waiting for me to answer. His woodsy scent tickles my senses until I’m sure I’ll melt right off my seat. My body’s so heady with the sight of him that it doesn’t seem like that big of a stretch of the imagination.

  “He can’t help it, he was born a puke bandit,” I assure the man, feeling my entire face warming. “But thanks for making him run off with his tail between his legs. Whatever you heard—”

  “It’s none of my business.” He pauses with his glass held to his lips and adds, “But there’s still no excuse for talking to a woman that way.”

  No lie, I shiver with the darkness in his voice as he takes another pull of his drink.

  When several minutes pass and it seems he’s slipping back into his world of solitude, I tuck a stray strand of my hair back
behind my ear to get a better look at him. Up close his complexion isn’t as perfect as it seemed from a distance. Day old stubble makes his features more rugged and manly as hell. A nagging part of me worries this is all an alcohol-induced dream and I’ll wake in my bedroom with a wet sheet tangled around my legs.

  I smile and offer my hand, surprised when I have enough willpower not to reach out and paw him. “Phoebe Carson.”

  Those piercing blue eyes shoot back up to meet mine as his warm, large hand wraps around mine. Rather than shaking it, he squeezes gently before letting go, sending a ripple of pleasure racing through me. “Jace.”

  “What brings you to the lovely town of Chesterville, Jace?” I ask, loving the sensual way his name rolls against my tongue. “Bad GPS directions?”

  His gaze darts back to his drink as his shoulders become rigid. “Just passing through.”

  Okay, so maybe he doesn’t like talking about himself. Picking at the label on my new beer, I wonder how in the hell to make things less awkward. Then I motion to the nearly empty glass clutched in his hand. “Can I buy you another drink? It’s the least I can do after you saved me from more public humiliation.”

  “I have to get going,” he answers quickly before working his jaw.

  Hells bells, it’s like pulling teeth and I’m sure as shit no dentist. Why did he move closer if he’s not in the mood for friendly conversation? Am I laying it on too thick? Damn Kory for making me question my moves. I tear the entire label off my beer and begin working on the other side. Maybe I should call it a night. This is obviously going nowhere fast.

  “Are you from around here?” he asks after another long pause.

  “Most unfortunately, yes.” I look back his way. His beautiful lips turn up at the edges with a small smile, so I decide to run with it. “You’ve entered redneck country, my friend. You have no idea. Decker and his buddies are the norm. Anyone who sets foot in this bar is a blue-collar worker who has been on the wrong side of the law at least once. It’s guaranteed every last one of them is into shooting things and has a closet full of camouflage.”