Wild Distortion, page 1
Wild Distortion
Tina Saxon
Wild Distortion
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Copyright © 2020 by Tina Saxon
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN Digital: 978-1-7353272-0-4
ISBN Print: 978-1-7353272-1-1
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Cover design by: Hang Le
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Models: Wayne Skivington & Ivenize
Editing and Proofreading by:
My Brother’s Editor
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Blinding Echo Preview
Also by Tina Saxon
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Ryker
“You had ONE job.”
Coach throws the magazine down on his beat-up wooden desk. One that has traveled with him throughout his career. I try to hide my disdain for the stupid comment. My smiling face flashes back at me from the cover with the words Suspended for Three Games stamped across it.
“And that wasn’t it!” His voice booms in the compact room as he stabs his finger on my picture.
“That’s bullshit,” I snap, pointing at the magazine. “I passed my drug test.”
Hands on his desk, his mouth twists with anger as he leans forward. “Ryker, you were arrested because you had marijuana on you.” I open my mouth to argue that they set us up, but he growls for me to shut it. “In a fucking state where it’s illegal. And we both know; it wasn’t yours to begin with.”
True. We both know. But I’m not admitting shit. I’ve taken it this far, I’m not backing down now. At least it was a state that doesn’t sentence first-time users to jail time and my attorney got it reduced to a misdemeanor.
“I can’t believe you’re risking your career for that tool.”
I glance over at Bree, my PR rep, who has been silent the whole time. The tool that Coach is referring to is also a client of Bree’s. And a teammate.
She shrugs in agreement. He has potential. He just needs someone to guide him in the right direction.
That is my job. I’m the leader of this team and I made a snap decision in the moment to help him out. Do I regret it? Hell yeah, in hindsight. I never imagined they would suspend me for three games.
I had a terrible feeling when we left the bar that night. A bar in a town where we had just decimated their team. Emotions were running high and a few of our guys had just gotten into a fight with some local guys. I needed to get them out of there before the cops came.
I’m the dad of the group. The sensible one.
And now… the suspended one.
I’d bet a million dollars one of those guys called their local cop buddies because when they pulled us over, they weren’t doing a normal traffic stop. They already suspected we had drugs on us. Probably because Jarod had just bought some.
I didn’t know any of that until it was too late. I had already offered to hide it in my pocket because he was freaking out, thinking we were getting stopped for speeding.
The only thing that went through my head when getting cuffed was how disappointed my mom would be. And Coach’s berating is a walk in the park compared to the talking-to I received from Mom. When she started crying, might as well have stabbed stakes in my heart. It felt the same.
I glance over at Bree. “Anything you’d like to add?” She’s not only here to witness Coach rip me a new asshole. There’s a reason.
“We both agree it’s best to send you away for a few weeks.”
I sit up in my chair, straightening my spine, wondering where they want to send me. “What the hell does that mean?”
“We need you to stay out of the public eye while this dies down. You’re on every entertainment avenue there is. You are the hot topic. Good boy turns bad.” She air quotes the last part. I roll my eyes.
“Okay, so I’ll rent a cabin for a couple weeks and disappear.”
She shakes her head. “They’ll find you, Ryker. These people are vultures. We need you out of the country.”
“That’s extreme.”
“Maybe. But it’s a done deal. You’re going to Tahiti for fifteen days. Leaving tomorrow at six a.m.”
“You’re seriously banishing me to a small island in the Pacific? Holy shit.” I jerk my head to Coach, waiting for him to agree with me that this is asinine. Way overboard.
“Think of it as a reset button. You can come back and finish the season strong.” Not exactly what I expected him to say.
“So, I don’t have any say in this?”
They both shake their heads and I sigh in resignation. I guess it could be worse. They could’ve shipped me to Alaska. Pushing up to my feet, I put my ball cap back on. I was trying to be respectful while getting my ass handed to me.
“Guess I’ll see you guys in a few weeks.”
“Ryker.” I stop with my hand gripping the doorknob and look over my shoulder at Coach. “Three rules. Train. Stay focused. And for fuck’s sake, no women.”
I give a sharp nod.
Thank god he didn’t say no whiskey.
Chapter One
Aspen
“Girls just wanna have fun,” I sing out loud into the handle of my duster, terribly off tune to the eighties hit from Cyndi Lauper. Perks of the job. No one is around to hear me butcher songs. Swinging my hips to the beat, I round the corner to start on the bedroom.
Oh my!
Tall, tan, and toned is passed out cold on the bed. Did I mention, naked? Very naked. My gaze travels from his closed eyes down his muscular tanned stomach, ripple after ripple, to his… Wow! I mean, my island experience is limited, but I didn’t know they came in that size. It rests, long and hard, against his thigh. My cheeks heat at the sight and a tingle buzzes in my lower belly.
I whip around, yanking the earbuds out of my ears and fan myself as the wall holds me up. My gaze darts around the room. Empty whiskey bottles top the coffee table. Clothes thrown haphazardly on the couch. The sliding glass doors are wide open and salty sea air fills the room, but that’s normal. People that come to the island like the humid air.
“No. I’ll lose my job,” I whisper to my subconscious telling me to take another peek. “That, or the ancestral spirits are planning my punishment already.” I shake my head, fighting with myself.
What if he’s dead?
He’s obviously had a lot to drink and I have a responsibility to make sure he’s all right. Put the customer first. Always. My singing didn’t wake him up, he might very well need my help.
Pushing off the wall, I peek my head through the door and zone in to his torso. See, I’m making sure he’s alive. In the corner of my eye, his dick pulses, and I jerk my head up to see his face and our eyes meet.
“Whiskey, there’s enough room for you to join me.”
I gasp at the rough, sexy voice, not hearing a word he said, rather focusing on the fact that he was talking.
To me.
This is not good. Men that come here are usually arrogant assholes, and I was just caught watching one sleep naked. He could ruin me and I just handed him the power to do it.
“Orana.” The word flies out of my mouth, over my shoulder, as I rush toward the door. The word we’re trained to say whenever we interact with a guest. For a quick beat, I squeeze my eyes shut. Why did I just say hello?
Dashing out of the last bungalow, I speed walk, pushing my cart down the walkway, until I spot Mama Doe’s cart outside bungalow four.
Flustered and irritated with myself, I dash into the hut. Her singsong voice carries through the place from the back bedroom. I stand in the living room, shake out my hands while I gather my thoughts.
“Aspen, girl, what are you doing? You should be working.” I jump at the strong Tahitian voice coming from behind me. Spinning on my heel, I d ecide lying would be the best.
“I’m not feeling so well.”
“Girl, you look flushed.” She places the back of her hand against my forehead, her eyes filling with concern. “You’re sweating.” She would be too if she saw what I did and then got caught. “You need to go to Dr. Blaise. Maybe you caught the same sickness as the others.” The person’s shift I’m covering is out sick.
I shake my head. That won’t be necessary. “It’s not that serious.” Dr. Blaise creeps me out. He’s an old man that stares at me like I’m a buffet, waiting to be devoured. I’d like to tell him I’m rotten meat so he’ll stop. That is the last place I want to go. “Actually, I must have needed a break. I’m already better.”
She eyes me, crossing her arms over her chest. This was a stupid idea. One thing about Mama Doe, she can smell a lie. That’s one of the prime reasons she’s referred to as Mama Doe. She sees all and hears all.
“What has you rattled, girl?”
A man, built like a god.
“Your face is turning red.” Her howling laugh ripples out. “Did you walk in on something?”
It happens. I’ve learned while working at a hotel, there are some guests who like being caught in the act. Some things you can’t ever unsee. Except, we’re supposed to exit with a hushed sorry and act like nothing ever happened.
Not take a second peek.
Mama Doe goes back to her cart, grabs the window cleaner, all while chuckling and shaking her head. “Girl, you’ve been here long enough to see everything. Go back to work.”
I drop my chin and nod. Forget what happened and treat this like any other incident. All I need to do is make a note on the room order that the guest was busy and tonight’s staff will return to his room later. Crisis averted. Except, hopefully, he won’t remember waking to the peeping cleaning lady.
Chapter Two
Aspen
“Manu, please help.” Dante gets down on one knee on the beach, his smile reaching his brown eyes. I push his tattooed shoulder, and he falls back into a roll, hopping up to a standing position, arms out wide. A few hotel guests clap in the distance as if we’re putting on a show. It doesn’t help that he takes a bow.
“Would you stop? And stop calling me that. We’re not kids anymore. I have a name.”
“If I call you by your actual name, will you help? Ari’s sick and I can’t take out ten people by myself.” Is everyone sick on this island? He follows me as I make my morning delivery to one of the many hotels on my list.
I let out an exasperated sigh, knowing he won’t give up. “What time?” If I didn’t need money, it’d be easier to say no.
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The boat glides to the dock at the upscale resort. Dante hops out to grab the list of passengers from the excursion desk and round them up. Rather than help him, I use the time to mentally prepare for the foreigners by pulling out masks and snorkel gear, throwing them in a pile to hand out. Most people are nice, but there’s those that ask too many questions, or end up getting seasick, or worse, hit on me.
Why did I agree to help Dante? Money. Just remember it’s about the money.
As I bend over, the breeze whips my wild hair, right into my mouth. “Merde,” I sputter as I fish out a lone strand of hair on my tongue.
“Is that Tahitian?” A deep voice comes from behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, my heart stops beating as I stare into the eyes of the naked man from yesterday. Except he’s not naked now. He’s wearing turquoise board shorts and a white t-shirt that fits him like a glove, especially around his biceps.
I jerk around, redistributing the gear from one spot to another to make it seem like I still had a job to do. Without turning, I reply, “French.”
As he talks to Dante, I grip the edge of the boat and take a few calming breaths.
This is not good. Not good at all.
The boat drifts from the dock. I push up on my feet and spin in place, swallowing the panic lodged in my throat before speaking. “Where is everyone else?” Our only guest stretches out on the rear bench of the empty boat, his long muscular legs out in front of him and arms across the back. Dante steps to the boat controls, starts the engine, ignoring the fact I’m about to implode.
“I didn’t want to be with a bunch of people,” the guy answers as a matter-of-fact, completely uninterested in us as he stares out to the water. Can he do that? Dante is a charter boat for excursions, not a private rental.
I glance at Dante and he shrugs. “Simple day for us.”
No. No, it’s not.
I slink down the seat in front of the captain's chair, wrapping my hair up in a bun, saltwater misting me as we glide over waves. My mind replays yesterday morning and I try to erase the thoughts from my brain. Who am I kidding? It’s been on repeat since I ran out of there, and that was before he was a mere three feet from me. Now, I’m stuck with him on a boat for five hours.
“Manu.”
I shift and glare at Dante as the boat slows. At what age will he stop calling me by my childhood nickname?
He tilts his head to the guy. “Offer him some water.”
“Why don’t you?” The words fall out of my mouth and Dante’s eyes widen in surprise. I even surprised myself. This goes against everything they taught us. Mama Doe would be disappointed.
I blow out an irritated breath and grab water from the ice chest. “Would you like some water?” I hold it out and he angles his face to me. I can’t see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, but I can sense them dragging up my body, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.
I’m used to men staring at my body. A long time ago, I learned that foreigners see the body as a sexual tool, one that got me a lot of things. Except the one thing I wanted most; a way to escape the island. Tools are meant to be used when needed. Men didn’t need me once they left. I was part of the experience. But not anymore. That’s the old me.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottle from me. I ignore the spark inside my belly when his warm fingers touch mine.
Don’t go down that path again, Aspen. He’s off-limits.
I swore men like him off years ago.
Dante gives me a quizzical look when I wrap a pareo around me. The colorful cloth hides my bikini-clad body, which is strange since we’ll be in the water shortly. And I’m not shy. I shrug a shoulder. “The wind is chilly today.”
“Eaha te tumu?” he asks, lowering his sunglasses on his nose, dipping his head. Dante has been my best friend since we were little. And we’ve lived together in the past. Sometimes I hate that he can read me like a book. Like right now. Covering my body usually means I feel guilty for something.
“Nothing is wrong,” I answer quietly. Even though I grew up here and speak fluent Tahitian, my father forbids it. He allows only French or English. But the French only comes out when I’m excited or mad. Dante’s eyes narrow, not believing it for a second. “Fine. I used salt instead of sugar in one batch of cookies last night,” I fib. “You know I hate when they come out bad.”
His laugh carries above the wind, causing the man to turn his attention to us. “Manu, please tell me you gave them out.” I gasp that he finds my lie amusing. The guys would love for me to give foreigners messed-up cookies. That’d give them a story to tell for decades.
“Of course not. But what if I had? That could’ve ruined my business.” I’m getting worked up over something I know would never happen.
