Fight Jamiee Read online

  Fight, Jamiee

  Four Fallen Souls Series Book Two

  Ellie R Hunter

  Fight, Jamiee

  Four Fallen Souls Series

  Ellie R Hunter

  Fight, Jamiee

  © 2020 Ellie R Hunter

  Self-publishing

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Editing by Dana Hook at Rebel Edit and Design.

  Formatting by Rachel Tonks at Affordable Formatting and Premade Covers.

  Cover Design by Tracie Douglas at Dark Waters Designs.

  Contents

  Also by Ellie R Hunter

  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

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Also by Ellie R Hunter

  Four Fallen Souls Series

  Smile, Alice

  The Lost Souls MC Series

  Biker Bait

  Biker Faith

  Biker Bound

  Biker Born

  Biker Saviour

  Biker Taken

  Biker Torn

  Biker Ruined

  Biker Salvation

  Sons of Lost Souls MC Series: His Father’s Son

  His Selfish Love

  His Ride or Die

  Her Crazy Life

  His One Regret

  His One Choice

  Their Fractured Souls

  His Last Chance

  Prologue

  The only high better than snorting cocaine is having the world recognise all your hard work by sending your debut album to number one. We all knew we would make it one day, but we’d all be liars if we didn’t admit to having moments of doubt on those long, hard days, when no one would bother to listen to our demos. We’d also be liars if we said we weren’t lapping up the attention we’re receiving, especially from the chicks. Life’s fucking awesome, and all we’d dreamed it could ever be—music, women, and more parties than there’s time for.

  I come to a finish and roll off the most recent fuck—just one in a long line of fucks. I barely remember their faces, and I sure as shit don’t remember their names. As long as my dick gets wet, I could care less who they are.

  Trying to catch my breath, I drag the sheet up my naked body while whatever her name is rolls onto her side, angling her arm so her head rests on the palm of her hand.

  “I must say, you’ve certainly lived up to my expectations.” Her voice is soft, preferable to the grating, high-pitched ones I’ve come to hear so much of these days.

  “Huh?” I don’t have the first idea what she’s going on about.

  “My boyfriend isn’t a fan. He talks trash about you every chance he gets.”

  Boyfriend? Well, I guess she isn’t winning any girlfriend-of-the-year award after having me inside her for the last hour.

  “Is that right?” I grunt.

  “You beat him to number one—”

  “Hang on,” I blurt out, cutting her off. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

  My breathing stills. I know—I just fucking know—who he is before she says, “Deacon Lockheart.”

  Bolting upright, my first instinct is to get the hell out of here, go back down to the party, and forget this ever happened. For the last eighteen months, Deacon’s band, Locks and Hearts, has been trying to kick us out of the number one slot on the charts. We don’t really know each other all that well, but it hasn’t stopped the critics from trying to make it out as some big rivalry. Though, when he hears I’ve fucked his girl, I reckon tensions will be amped to the max—without the help of the media.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re Lockheart’s girl, but you’re here, in bed, with me. Why?”

  “Who wouldn’t want to fuck one of the hottest guys in town right now?”

  I get it. She’s in a relationship until she can latch on to someone better, more well-known. But that someone isn’t going to be me. I’m not into conniving women, but I’ll happily piss Deacon off whenever and wherever the opportunity arises.

  Falling back on the mattress, I reach for Deacon’s girl, pulling her over so she’s lying on top of me.

  To hell with her relationship status.

  “Fuck me again,” I coax.

  She leans over to kiss me as the door swings open, slamming against the wall. Deacon looms in the doorway, his face red with anger. His girl scrambles off of me, snatching her dress from the floor as she goes.

  She’s not so brazen now.

  “The fuck, Cora?” he bellows, stepping farther into the room. “You’re fucking Tucker? You fucking whore!”

  I slip into my boxer briefs while he’s focused on her, but my movements catch his attention and he turns on me. Taking two steps closer, he points his finger at me.

  “And you! Taking number one wasn’t enough, so you had to fuck what’s mine too?”

  “I didn’t know who she was, man. She jumped on me the second I walked through the door.” It’s the truth. Not that he wants to hear it.

  He rushes across the room and barrels into my gut with his shoulder. The fucker winds me, but I get over it pretty quickly. Tumbling out of the room, my back hits the wall, jolting me into fighting back harder. This fucker isn’t going to get the better of me.

  Using the wall as leverage, I push us across the hall, but push too hard, forcing us both down the stairs where we land with thuds.

  Deacon hollers my name, getting closer. Climbing to my feet, I swing my fist back, ready to punch him as he staggers toward me.

  “One day, you piece of shit, you’re going to pay for this,” he vows.

  That’s all I hear before my fist connects with his cheekbone.

  I didn’t take his warning seriously, and as it turned out, I should have. Maybe it wouldn’t have cost me my heart.

  1

  Freddie

  Ten Years Later

  The lights cut out, bathing us in darkness. The vibrations from the music are still coursing through my body, like my nerves are on fire. It’s always like this after playing for a crowd of this size.

  Being nominated for six awards, there was no doubt we were going to be asked to perform for the show. Our new album has rocketed up the charts, taking our success to a whole different level. Life’s pretty perfect right now, apart from one aspect—Jamiee fucking Coleman. Over the last four months, she’s ignored my calls. I’d heard through Alice, who heard it from Damon, that Jamiee was going to be here tonight with that prick, Deacon Lockheart.

  “Whoo! This shit never gets old,” Baz roars as we’re guided from the stage to the greenroom to freshen up be
fore we’re led to our table for the remainder of the awards show.

  Locking myself in the small bathroom as soon as we’re in our room, I pull my tee over my head and let it fall to the floor. Turning the faucet on, I splash cold water over my face and down my neck. It’s fucking hot on stage, and I can still feel the blaring lights heating my skin.

  My cheeks are sallow. My eyes are bloodshot—the dark, heavy bags underneath making them look worse. It doesn’t matter how many times I freshen up with ice-cold water, I still look like shit, and tonight, I want to be on my game. I’ll find a way to get Jamiee alone, and then I can begin to make everything right with her.

  Turning off the water, River bangs on the door, yelling for me to hurry my ass up.

  I glance one last time in the mirror, sweeping my hand through my hair. It doesn’t matter what the fuck I look like. I’ve known Jamiee nearly all her life, and I know she loves me, no matter how I look.

  Throwing the door open, River pushes by me and locks himself inside. Damon has already left, and Baz is chatting up the redhead who caught his eye before we went on stage. No one pays attention to me as I quickly change out of my clothes, refraining from helping myself to the liquor once I’m ready to go.

  We’re spoiled for choice, as usual, with everything from whiskey, vodka, tequila, to beers.

  River shoots out of the bathroom, ready to go, looking fresh and dressed in a clean suit. He nudges Baz as he passes, heading my way as I lean against the wall by the door.

  “You might want to dispose of the powder around your nose before we leave,” I advise Baz. “Cameras are everywhere tonight.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Baz, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you go one night without the shit anymore?” River admonishes him.

  Baz snorts, hooking his arm around his hanger-on.

  “I’m fine. Besides, tonight’s our fucking night, and Fiona and me intend to celebrate—”

  “My name’s Violet,” the girl protests.

  “Huh? You look like a Fiona to me,” Baz mumbles, not really giving a shit.

  “Whatever. Let’s go,” I growl, opening the door.

  Waiting on us, our escort jumps up from sitting on the floor out in the corridor, mumbling an apology.

  River walks up beside me while Baz lags behind with the redhead as we’re led to our table. I stand by my chair, not quite ready to take my seat as I scope out the numerous tables.

  I don’t see Jamiee, but I do see Lockheart, and the urge to break his nose overwhelms me.

  “Sit next to me, Freddie.”

  I hear Alice before she’s tugging on my hand, but I can’t focus on anything but him. The guy who swooped in and took the girl of my dreams from under me because I was too much of a pussy to tell her how I really felt.

  Large hands land on my shoulders, pushing me down onto the nearest chair, and Alice’s face becomes the only one I see. It’s a fuckload better than Lockheart’s.

  “She isn’t here,” she whispers and leans back, allowing Damon’s arm to wrap around her shoulders.

  “He’s here, so where is she?” I whisper back.

  Passing me a beer, Alice shrugs. Tipping the bottle to my lips, I swig the cold beverage, but it does nothing to stop me from wondering where she is. The only times I’ve seen her in the last couple of years, she’s been attached to Lockheart’s hip.

  What does she see in him? He’s arrogant, selfish, and only looks out for himself. He doesn’t possess the qualities to take care of her.

  “Seriously, man, pretend he’s not here. They’re about to announce the winners. Let’s focus on winning.”

  “If we lose to him, I’m slitting my wrists,” I huff.

  Shit. I was so pumped to see Jamiee.

  Leaning across the table, I reach for the bottle of whiskey and chug it from the bottle. People expect the rock and roll persona, and tonight, I have no problem delivering.

  “There’s a party over at the Golden Bay Hotel after this. You up for it?” Baz asks.

  It wasn’t how I wanted to end the night, but it’ll do now. If I drink enough, maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight without her haunting me.

  Digging my phone out of my pocket, I’m scrolling through my contacts list when suddenly, Jamiee’s name flashes across the screen.

  In all these years, she hasn’t once returned my calls.

  Not even a text.

  Swivelling around on the chair, I turn my back to the table and answer, my heart pounding against my chest when I hear her voice.

  “Freddie? Are you there?” she sobs down the line.

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m at the Rose Hotel. I need you.”

  Finally. The words I’ve been longing to hear from her.

  “I’m on my way.”

  I’m on my feet, sliding my phone back into my pocket while looking for the exit before anyone can ask questions.

  The hotel she’s at is halfway across town. Hailing a cab, we pull up twenty minutes later outside the hotel.

  Digging out my phone, I call her back, thankful when she answers.

  “I’m here. I need your room number, sweet thing.”

  “Three-seventy-two.”

  She doesn’t sound as upset now, but I still move quickly. Walking into her room, I find her sitting in a long tee, her bare knees pulled up to her chest in the middle of the bed, blood trickling down her chin, and a bruise forming over her perfect cheekbone.

  Rushing over to her, I climb on the bed and tip her head back to get a better look—being as gentle as possible—as her eyes flutter closed.

  “What the fuck, Jamiee?”

  “Please, get me out of here. I don’t want to be here when he gets back.”

  When she opens her eyes, they’re full of sadness.

  “Are you saying Deacon did this to you?”

  “I’m asking you to get me out of here. Then, I’ll tell you everything,” she pleads.

  “I packed my things while I was waiting for you.”

  I look over to the two bags sitting by the door and turn my attention back to her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Shaking her head, a single tear falls. But before I can catch it, she swipes it away and climbs off the bed.

  Following her, I grab hold of her bags while she shrugs into her coat. She can barely look me in the eye, but when we leave, she comes to my side and I wrap my arm around her. If she needs to be close to me to feel safe, I’m here for her, and I need her to know it.

  As we step out into the corridor, she tenses against me, like she’s afraid we’ll bump into Lockheart. I can’t distinguish if my heart’s breaking for her, or if it’s my blood boiling with rage, wanting to see him.

  We make it out onto the street where the doorman flags us down a cab. Jamiee keeps her head down, hiding the marks on her face from everyone who passes by. Once the cab slows to a stop in front of us, I move us forward and usher her into the back seat before handing her bags to the driver. Slipping in beside her, she snuggles against me. For a split second, I forget why she’s clinging to me and breathe in her cherry-scented shampoo, bringing back memories of showering and washing her hair with the stuff. Before I can get lost in those memories, the cab is pulling up outside my hotel. Shit! I gave the last of my cash to the cabby who drove me to her. Seeing my dilemma, Jamiee digs out two twenty-dollar bills and throws them over the driver’s shoulder.

  Walking briskly through the lobby without incident, and up in the elevator to our floor, I swipe the key card and lead her into our suite. Once inside, I take her into my room and sit her down on my bed.

  Crouching before her, I ask, “Do you need anything?”

  Her head nods slowly. As I stare into her eyes, her hand latches onto mine.

  “I need to wash him off of me.”

  Tugging my hand away from hers, I head for the bathroom and turn on the faucets, adding the hotel’s luxurious bubble bath to the hot water.

  He fucking hit her, marking her beautiful, go
lden soft skin, and went off to the awards show like he isn’t a piece of shit. What the fuck is wrong with him?

  Focusing on the rising water, I try to calm myself, but it doesn’t help. Not one little bit.

  When the bath is ready, I go to shout for her, but she’s standing in the doorway, clutching my hoodie around her.

  “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything else.”

  She sighs. “You’ve already seen everything. I want you to stay.”

  When my phone rings for the tenth time, I switch it off and busy myself with collecting some fresh towels while she undresses and climbs into the water.

  Setting them on the shelf by her head, I slide down to my ass and lean against the bathtub.

  I don’t particularly want to know the details, but I feel like I should know what the hell went down. “Why did he put his hands on you?”

  I can’t believe those words have to leave my mouth. It makes me sick to see what he’s done to her beautiful, perfect face. Never, not once, has it occurred to me to put my hands on a woman.

  “I was breaking up with him and he didn’t like it. He said with the awards show happening tonight, and you two being in the same categories, that I was being selfish. I went to call Damon, and that’s when he flipped.”

  It’s so hard to stay where I am and not go after him.

  I could easily call Damon, who’s in the same room as him, and tell him what Deacon’s done, but I don’t. I’ll look after her tonight and bide my time until I next run into that motherfucker.