Read Heavy: A Contemporary Romance Online
Authors: J. C. Mells
Heavy: A Contemporary Romance
HEAVY
A
New Adult Romance Novel
By J. C. Mells
Copyright © 2014 by Justine Mellows
Edited by: Little Green-Eyed Press
http://littlegreeneyedpress.com/
Cover designed by J. C. Mells using stock images from Dreamstime.com and some technical help from
http://www.fiverr.com/urbancreative
Heavy
is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For more information about the author or the series, please visit:
OTHER BOOKS BY J. C. MELLS:
The Pierced Series
(Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy)
Pierced
, Book 1
Escaped
, Book 2 (Novella)
Pinked
, Book 3
Perfect
, Book 4
Napoleon
, Book 5 (Novella, NA, M/M Romance)
In The Works
I’ve been invited to participate
in a project with five other Paranormal Romance
authors
in a compilation of short stories that we hope to release by Christmas 2014.
This
anthology will be offered for free initially, and further details can be obtained
by
contacting me at
[email protected]
The tentative list of authors involved are:
Mark
Henwick, Connie Suttle, Susan Illene, Debra Dunbar, J.T. Bock, and J.C. Mells.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book would have been impossible without the help, input and support of a few wonderful people. First of all, thank you, Mom. Without you, this would never have been written. Having said that, please don’t read it, Ma! I think there might be just a tad too much “sexy time” for your delicate sensibilities!
I would never have made it through the last few months without the encouragement, check-ins, support and input from my main go-to girl and head beta-reader, Terri. Thank you, Terri, for EVERYTHING! For staying up late and chatting about random topics from strap-
ons to menopause, to how to make my fifteen-year-old cat start eating again after she went on a mini-hunger-strike. Even though we’ve never met in person (yet!), I consider you a true friend.
Thank you to
betas, Brenda, Brandi and Melissa, who selflessly volunteered to read this book for me and take time away from their own busy lives.
A BIG t
hank you to my long-time friend, Hayley. We lost touch for many years and reconnected recently through Facebook, and ever since, she has been a HUGE supporter of my books and has been pimping them out left, right and center – thank you Hayles!
The final BIG thank you goes to out to the Book Lovers Anonymous (BLA) Facebook Group. The support and encouragement I’ve received from, first the generous and beautiful admins, Jacque, Christina, Tiffanie, Teresa, Victoria, Michele and Jennifer, and second, some of the truly wonderful members, like Patty, Lisa, Tish,
Sharlene, De, Naomi, Rebecca, Jen, KSunne and a whole list of others too many to name – is overwhelming and greatly appreciated. Thank you, ladies! Just knowing you are all out there in short skirts and waving pom-poms for me, warms the cockles of my heart.
Cali
“I say we just kill her and be done with this
monster fuck-up.”
Even from
down below in the dark basement where I was chained up, I could tell that was the guy with the red baseball hat talking.
I tried to swallow the sob of fear that escaped from the back of my throat.
“We never agreed to that,” Jimmy answered. His voice sounded nervous.
“We may not have an alternative,
Jimbo,” the man, who I thought might be Jimmy’s brother, countered. I’d only seen him once before, when Jimmy and I were twelve, right before I transferred schools…again. That was six years ago, so I wasn’t completely sure now.
“
Hell no!” Jimmy exclaimed. “You guys can’t be serious. I won’t let you do this.”
“Fuck you, Jimmy
! I’m not doing time again. No fucking way,” Red Baseball Hat shouted.
I heard the sound of a scuffle, followed by the heavy thump of someone falling to the ground.
Then, there was silence for what seemed like minutes.
“Are you sure about this
?” the brother’s voice finally asked in a hushed tone.
This cabin was little more than a shack in the middle of nowhere
. The thin walls, coupled with the silence of the surrounding woods, allowed me to hear just about everything.
The discussion on what to do with me had
been going on and off all day.
“She recognized Jimmy, for fuck’s sake!” Red Hat answered vehemently
. “Let’s just get it over with before he comes to.”
My body began to tremble violently as I heard the creak of the basement door open
ing, followed by the clatter of multiple boots on the dusty stairs.
“Should we do it here, or out in the desert?”
Jimmy’s brother asked. “She’ll be heavy to carry afterwards.”
“Let’s just
fucking get it over with,” Red Hat replied, his confident command betrayed by his shaky tone.
I struggled against my chains in desperation, even though I knew there was no chance of breaking loose
. I’d been trying to for days and had the rubbed-raw wrists and ankles to prove it. The gag in my mouth prevented me from screaming and the blindfold covering my eyes was drenched in three days-worth of tears and dirt.
“Sorry, Cali
,” one of them, the brother I’m pretty sure, uttered as I felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the side of my head.
I immediately lost control of my bladder.
“No!” I screamed, waking up in my bed, soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably from the nightmare.
I sat up, wrapped my arms around myself and tried to gain control over my ragged breathing
. I rocked back and forth on the spot for a few minutes before I decided to head down to the kitchen. It’s where I always ended up after one of these nightmares.
It was three a.m. and my father and stepmother were in Europe, the house staff would be asleep
in the servant’s quarters above the garages, our small security team was housed in a different building on the estate, and my stepsister wouldn’t be home this early – if she even came home at all. In other words, I could make as much noise as I wanted; no one was going to hear. Just one of the benefits of being alone in a house of this vast size.
I threw open the double doors of the obscenely large refrigerator and
got down on my knees on the floor in between them. The fridge was packed – as it always was. I wondered for a second if Rose, our housekeeper, kept it so well stocked just for me.
I started with the leftover chicken from tonight’s dinner
. The dinner I’d barely touched. In fact, I’d barely eaten anything in the last two days.
I was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of euphoria
. I felt giddy, almost high, as my teeth tore into a deliciously seasoned, cold, fried chicken breast.
After the chicken
, I moved onto the apple pie. Rose made great pies. This was the point where, still floating on a sea of unadulterated rapture, I just switched my brain off and went into auto-pilot. Using my hands, I scooped out large pieces of apple filling and crust and shoveled them into my mouth.
After that,
the rest was a blur.
Just under an hour later I sat, crossed-legged, on the kitchen floor covered in
- and surrounded by - bits and pieces of food. Melted ice cream, pie, day-old spaghetti, empty potato-chip bags, cookie crumbs, and chicken bones. All of that and more were on my pajamas, in my hair, all over my face and hands.
Then the s
hame and guilt hit me - right on cue, as it always did.
I curled up into a fetal position on the cold, tile floor
; my body shaking uncontrollably as I sobbed.
It took
about twenty minutes before I stopped crying and calmed myself down.
Using the counter
, I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled over to the waste disposal. After rinsing off my hands, I opened the small makeup bag I’d brought down with me and had left next to the sink. It was the one my mother had given me for my fifteenth birthday. It had my name,
Cali
, embroidered across it and surrounded by pink hearts. I remembered laughing when it arrived in the mail from her. My mother, now living in Australia, was so out of touch and had obviously not realized it was better-suited for someone much younger. But, then again, for all I knew she may have thought I
was
younger. It wasn’t as if she’d remembered every birthday since she left. Maybe embroidered, heart-covered, makeup bags were all the rage in Australia? As it turns out, I ended up finding a use for it.
I dumped its contents out onto the granite
. These were my ‘tools of the trade.’
I picked up the hairband and tied my food-filled
hair up in a bun. Next, I put on the surgical gloves. I found over the years that the taste of latex worked better than just fingers alone. They also protected my hands and fingernails from the stomach acid. I twisted the water faucet to ‘on’ and started up the disposal.
Sticking my latex-covered fingers down my throat
, I proceeded to empty the contents of my stomach. The grinding noise of the waste disposal mixed with the sound of my retching echoed around the enormous, stainless steel and granite-accented space. I stayed bent over the sink until my back ached and there was nothing but dry heaves coming from me.
Removing my gloves
, I turned to my accessories and used the medicated facial cleanser, followed by my toothbrush and mouthwash. Stomach acid isn’t too great for your face or teeth either. My hair would be dealt with later when I showered. I had a kitchen to clean first.
The final items of my ‘kit’
would help with that.
I positioned the compact mirro
r on the counter and poured some white powder out of a vial onto it. Using an expired credit card, one kept expressly for this purpose, I formed two neat lines of cocaine across the compact’s reflective surface. Holding one nostril shut, I sucked one line through a rolled up dollar bill into my nose. I pinched the bridge, eyes watering, as I relished the bitter taste that hit the back of my throat. I swallowed a few times before I repeated the move for the other side. Wetting my finger, I ran it across the mirror to collect any residue before rubbing it on the gums under my top lip.
Okay,
now
I was ready to clean the shit out of this kitchen.