Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax Read online

  The Bittersweet Chronicles

  Pax

  Selena Laurence

  Published by C.P. Writes, LLC Copyright 2015 © Selena Laurence All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by E.M. Tippetts.

  Proofreading by Mickey Reed.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, products, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase and read only authorized editions. For permission to use any portion of this material please contact the author at: author@ selenalaurence.com

  Author’s Note:

  This book was originally released in a serial format in six parts. This edition contains all six parts as well as new additional material that increases the heat level of the romance.

  Happy Reading!

  Selena.

  Part One

  Pax

  “Pax!” Vaughn’s voice comes through the cellular waves like a reincarnation of something from another lifetime. I haven’t talked to him in over a year.

  “Vaughn? What the hell’s up, man?”

  “I’m so glad I tracked you down, dude. How are you?”

  I look around at the ocean in front of me, the sand under my feet, and the blonde lying on my beach towel with her top untied while she sunbathes. “Not bad, I got to say. Not bad.”

  “I ran into your old man over at Studio B when I was doing some engineering work the other day. I guess he has a new album he’s laying down?”

  I think about the last conversation I had with my dad. The one where he begged me to come home. “You’re breaking your mom’s heart, son. Please come home—at least to visit. I’ll stay out of your career, I promise. Not one phone call or suggestion.”

  “Yeah, we don’t talk much about work, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “Well, I was stoked when he gave me your new number. I’m coming out that way and I was hoping we could hang.”

  I grab the bottle of sunscreen and smooth some more on my date’s back. She’s as dark as any blonde I’ve ever seen, but I’ll feel bad if she gets burned on my watch.

  “Great, dude. I’d love to see you. What the hell are you going to do in Bittersweet, Alabama?”

  “I have a cousin out there. Her dad died a few weeks ago and she’s only eighteen, just started at the college, so the family wants me to check up on her. My mom was there for the funeral, but she had to come back for work, so we’re sort of tag-teaming it.”

  My chest aches for a minute when I think about my dad and what it would feel like if he weren’t in the world anymore. I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to act like he isn’t in most ways. Sometimes, like right now, that makes me feel like crap.

  “I’m sorry to hear about that, but I’m stoked you’re coming down.” I get the details of Vaughn’s visit, give him directions to my place, and we disconnect.

  Darla, the sunbathing beach bunny I’m hanging out with today, mumbles, “Can you tie my top, baby?”

  I do up the strings of her bikini, and she rolls over, reaching for her sunglasses. She sits up, adjusts the nearly nonexistent triangles of her top, and then runs a well-manicured finger down my arm.

  “You want to go back to my place and have a couple of drinks?” she asks in her husky voice.

  “I’d love to, peach, but I need to get ready for a show tonight.” I lean over and give her a quick peck on the lips.

  She shrugs. Darla and I get along well, but she can take me or leave me. She has another half dozen guys lined up for my spot any time I can’t oblige her. It works for us.

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to go. Grab me next time you want to hang out? Maybe I’ll see you at Burn this weekend.”

  “Sounds good. Text me when you get home.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I still can’t believe you’re not from the South, Pax. You’re such a gentleman.” She kisses me hard then hops up and trots off toward the parking lot.

  I sit and look out at the ocean, gentle waves wash up onto shore as the sun falls lower in the sky. Most of the sun worshipers have gone home. There’s a guy playing fetch with his dog a few dozen yards down the beach, and a couple of college girls packing up their picnic stuff beyond him. Maybe it’s because no one’s around, I hear her when normally I might not have. She’s screaming like she’s in genuine pain, and I hear the words, “It’s not true!” Then, “No!”

  I jump to my feet, scanning the beach for any sign of someone being murdered right here on a public beach. I finally spot her out in the water, a man dragging her toward shore. They’ve reached shallow water so they’re standing up, but she’s fighting him and even as far away as I am, I can see he’s being none too gentle with her.

  I don’t hesitate a moment before my feet are pounding the sand as I sprint toward the water. I hit the broken shells along the shoreline and feel the sharp edges digging into my skin, but the girl’s screams are closer now, and I see the guy dragging her by her long dark hair. They splash to shore about ten yards down from me, and I turn to intercept them as they struggle onto the beach.

  “Hey!” I yell. “You need to let go of her, man. Right now.”

  The guy yanks her up against him hard and she makes a small sound in pain. Her face is twisted and tears stream down her cheeks.

  “Just back off, kid,” the guy snarls. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Anytime a woman’s being hurt by some guy in public it concerns me. Let. Her. Go,” I warn.

  He’s fast as he shoves her away and lunges at me. Luckily I played a lot of hockey in high school, and I’ve been in my fair share of brawls. I bring my knee up right as he reaches me, forcing him to stagger back. It gives me just long enough to land a solid punch to his right jaw. I’m a lefty. It comes in handy in fights. Most guys aren’t expecting to get hit on that side.

  The dude crumples to the ground, falling on his hands and knees. Without shoes on, a kick won’t be very effective and might end up breaking my foot, but I don’t have to figure out what to do next because the girl has grabbed a piece of driftwood from nearby, and she brings it smacking down on the back of his head. It sends him sprawling face first into the sand where he lays groaning in pain before he stops making any sound at all, his back rising and falling with his breaths.

  I look up at her. She’s young, probably not even my age, and she’s beautiful, even with her face tear streaked. She’s got long dark hair that falls in a tumbled mess around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a tank top and shorts, but I can see her green bikini top underneath the damp tank. When her eyes meet mine, they’re wild and terrified.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, holding out a hand to her. She recoils, taking a step back, her eyes darting all around.

  I drop my hand. “I’m sorry. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

  She nods and folds her arms around her waist protectively. She’s still sniffling. I can tell I need to be careful how I handle her, but I also want to get her far away from her attacker before he comes to.

  “Can I walk you to the parking lot? We can call the cops from there. There’s more people around, you’ll be safe.”

  “No. I mean, yeah, let’s go to the parking lot, but no police.” Her voice is like a shock to my core, it’s whiskey rough, and I can imagine wanting to listen to her sing songs low and slow in a darkened room with nothing but
a piano playing in the background.

  I decide to fight the battle over calling the cops when we get away from the bad guy, so I gesture for her to take the lead and we set off toward the parking lot.

  “Are you okay?” I ask once we’re on our way. I keep checking behind us to make sure the dude hasn’t woken up and followed. He looks to be down for the count.

  “I’m fine,” she answers. She straightens her spine and takes a deep, shuddering breath. She rakes her hair off of her face and I look at one of the world’s most perfect profiles. Her nose is straight and small, her cheekbones high, sculpted, and a perfect shade of pink against her fair skin. She’s got long dark lashes to match her hair, and delicate arched eyebrows.

  But in the end, it’s her lips that get me. Yeah, I’m kind of a lip junkie, and hers are fantastic. Maybe the best pair I’ve ever seen. They’re plump without looking fake, soft and cushy, not plastic and puffy. I’m struggling with what color to call them—pink, red, something in between?

  As I ponder this earth-shattering question that voice of hers breaks through my less-than-pristine thoughts. “Um, thank you for rescuing me,” she says, her voice blank and quiet “My car is just over there. I can take care of myself now.”

  I look to where she’s pointing and see an ancient Volkswagen bug, rust and dirt covering the bumpers and fenders, the paint oxidized to the point that there’s no shine left at all.

  “Hey,” I say, touching her arm to get her attention. “I don’t even know your name. And I mean who was that guy? Just a random creep? If so, we need to call the cops. He might hurt someone else, you know?”

  She sighs and looks around before answering me. “He wasn’t a random guy. He was after me—in particular—so no one else needs to worry. And my name is Carly.”

  “Carly,” I respond fast before she can try to leave again. “I’m Pax. And you’ve been through something pretty rough. I wouldn’t feel right just sending you home alone. Is there someone you can call to come pick you up? I’ll wait with you.”

  She looks at me warily, and I see something dark pass over her expression. Then it’s gone, almost as fast as it appeared and she’s back to the beautiful girl trying too hard to be tough. No matter how tough she is though I just can’t let her leave until I know she’s safe. It tears me up to think about sending her off alone. Something in her eyes makes me want to keep her close and safe. Plus something in her lips makes me want to taste them. None of it’s encouraging me to let her walk away.

  Finally, a ghost of a smile flits across that succulent mouth. “I guess I could call my roommate. I mean we don’t know each other very well—school just started—but she’s got a car, and she seems nice enough.”

  “Great. Here, do you need a phone?” I ask as I hold my iPhone out to her. She shakes her head and digs her own out of her back pocket. I raise an eyebrow wondering how it’s still functional after her dip in the ocean.

  As if she can read my thoughts she says, “Lifeproof case,” as she waves the phone at me.

  After a brief conversation with her roommate, Carly disconnects and tells me, “She’ll be here in half an hour or so. You don’t need to wait. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, I’ll wait. And if you expect me to skip calling the cops you’re going to have to tell me what the hell that was all about,” I say in my sternest voice, which I’ve been using on my little sister since I was about five.

  I see her lips tighten and she takes a deep breath. “So after rescuing me you’re going to be a jerk now?”

  I take a step closer and see her swallow hard. But she doesn’t back down, looking up at me with her eyes narrowed and her jaw set. Damn she’s hot.

  “I’m not trying to be a jerk, I swear.” I glance back toward the beach we came from. “But, if that guy’s hurt he needs to get to a hospital and I could be picked up as an accessory to assault. We weren’t the only people out there, someone probably saw us.”

  She runs a hand through her hair and paces a couple of steps before turning back to me. “Fine. I’ll tell you the whole story. Will you promise not to call the cops?”

  I consider it for a minute, coming up with a solution. I can text my buddy Nix at the Fire Department and have him send out an ambulance to check on the dude she clocked. I can skip the cops and keep her out of it entirely. “Ok.” I nod. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something? There’s a café right across the street there. You can tell your roommate to get you there. You ever been to the Armory? It’s a pretty cool place.”

  “I do know the Armory. In fact it’s one of my favorite places. So, yeah, I guess a cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt anything.”

  “Let’s go then,” I tell her as I lead her through the parking lot, across the old wood boardwalk and into the restaurant.

  Inside, I order our coffee at the counter, texting Nix while I wait in line, and then join her at a small table toward the back. If bad dude does start cruising the boardwalk I don’t want to put Carly on display in a window for him.

  I sit down and hand her the croissant and coffee she asked for. Then I sit back and watch. As her lips—those lips—close around the flaky pastry, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. They make a perfect ‘o’ as she bites down and carefully tears off a piece. Her eyes close for just a moment, as the flavors hit her tongue, and I see her face relax, becoming even more beautiful in that one second, like some sort of a filter has washed over a photograph, brightening and softening the picture.

  Inside my chest, my heart is racing, and something in my stomach leaps around. I want to watch this girl eat that piece of bread for as long as I can. It’s so simple.

  I clear my throat and try to focus on my words. “So, why was that guy assaulting you? And please don’t say he was your boyfriend, he’s got to have twenty years on you at least.”

  She laughs, and coughs a little as she tries not to spit out a mouthful of coffee.

  “No, not my boyfriend.”

  I wipe my hand across my brow in what is meant to be mock relief, but is more genuine than she could guess. “Thank God for small favors,” I say.

  She gives another little chuckle. “He is…was…someone my dad knew.” She pauses, and I can see her debating whether to tell me the truth or not. “My dad owed that guy’s boss some money, and now they want me to pay it back.”

  A loan shark. Kind of starts to make sense now.

  My phone beeps and I pull it out of my pocket to read a return text from Nix:

  Dude was coming to when we got there. He refused a ride to the ER. Watched him get in his car and leave. Everything okay?

  Thanks, man. It’s all good. I type back.

  “Where’s your dad that they can’t collect from him?” I ask as I put the phone away.

  Her face gets that taut, stressed look again, and it makes me regret the question. I don’t want to be the man that put that tension there.

  “He passed away,” she says. “A few weeks ago.”

  “God, I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “And your mom?”

  “Gone. Since I was tiny.” Her voice indicates it’s not a topic she’s willing to discuss.

  “So this guy just tracked you down and thought he’d beat the money out of you? I mean what are you, nineteen? They can’t think you’re able to pay back your old man’s debts,” I say, taking a sip of coffee just to have something to do with my hands, because all I want to do is take her in my arms and tell her it’ll all be okay even though I don’t know her or the first thing about her life.

  I see the color creep into her face as she lowers her gaze to the table. Then she tenses even more as her head comes up and she looks me in the eyes, jaw set and expression guarded, daring me to challenge what she’s about to say.

  “They know I don’t have the cash, but they’re saying my dad used me as collateral.”

  “What?” I try to process what she’s told me.

  “He sold me. To J.J. Lagazo, for a hundred thousand dollars.”

  Anyone
who’s lived in Bittersweet for more than a few months has heard about J.J. Lagazo. He’s the local strip club owner, escort service purveyor, and all-around scumbag who manages to keep out of the clutches of the local police, but just barely.

  My head swims with the implications of the whole thing. What kind of person does that to his own child? That’s when the anger surges through me like some sort of poison spreading in my veins. I shake my head in disbelief.

  “No way,” I tell her. “No way a dad would do that to his kid.”

  Her chin lifts up a notch higher. “My dad loved me.” Her tone brooks no argument. “And I don’t want to believe Lagazo’s guys, but my dad’s not here to ask, so I don’t know what’s true or not, all I know is that they want me to work in one of his clubs, and if they catch me I’ll have to.”

  I reach across the table and put my hand over hers. I get almost giddy when she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is soft and warm, it reminds me of heated satin. “Do you have someone to help you? Why won’t you go to the police and tell them all of this?”

  “First of all, Lagazo has half the police in his pocket, and secondly, if I do happen to find one who doesn’t take bribes from him it’ll only make him more angry. The police can’t protect me twenty-four seven, and that’s what it would take to keep Lagazo from getting me.”

  “What about friends or family?” I ask again.

  She shakes her head. “I’m not going to get anyone else involved in this. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.” She pulls her hand from underneath mine just as her phone chimes. She looks down at the screen then sends a rapid return message. “That’s my roommate, she’s outside in the parking lot. But hey,” she pastes on a bright and unconvincing smile, “thanks again for the help. It was nice to meet you, Pax.”

  “Can I at least have your phone number so I can check on you?” I ask. “I feel like, now that I’ve rescued you, I have responsibility for you or something. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”