Irrevocably Mine (Imagine Ink Book 3) Read online

  IRREVOCABLY MINE

  Verlene Landon

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Dear Reader

  Sneak Peek - Imagine Ink 4

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Verlene Landon

  Copyright

  Irrevocably Mine

  Imagine Ink 3

  Copyright © 2016 Verlene Landon - Rusty Halo Books

  All rights reserved.

  Editing: Twitching Pen Editing

  Cover Photo: Wander Book Club

  Cover Model: Jacob Rodney

  Cover Design: Blue Sky Design

  Proof Reading: Kim Ginsberg

  License Notes:

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  Publisher’s Note:

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  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, resold (as a “used” e-book), stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To every cashier who has carded me to buy alcohol since 2005.

  Thank you, y’all rock hard AF.

  It’s fucking déjà vu all over again, Big Dax mused with a reflective sigh.

  Me, sitting here eye-humping Stacy; her, pretending not to notice; the rest of this patchwork family that I fucking love stupid, blind to it all, as usual.

  His hungry gaze devoured her from the top of her platinum head to the four-inch spikes of her red-soled heels but he somehow managed to catch snippets of the conversations taking place around him.

  Gus was seated to his right, debating the finer points of MMA with Stacy’s brother, John. Dax would bet his right nut—yes, it’s my favorite—John didn’t give two shits about MMA, but he damn sure did about Augusta, or Gus as everyone called her. John was so far down that rabbit hole, he’d probably sit there and discuss vagina maintenance tendencies in the elderly community of The Villages if that’s what she wanted to talk about. Good thing I’m not that deep.

  Before the “p” sound faded in his gray matter, a realization he wasn’t ready to accept yet reared it’s ugly head and taunted him…again. Aw, Hulk’s hairy green taint, John is just following the Goddamn trail I blazed.

  Dax was beginning to realize he was similar to a hunk of oak he made tables from or a chunk of metal he forged into something lethal—a metaphorical blank dermal canvas that could be inked into a living work of art. It was all just raw material until a craftsman carved, forged, or inked it into something more. In the past few months, Stacy had made her marks on him. He was no longer completely raw. Something different was taking shape, a chrysalis effect.

  Stacy is already my master craftsman and I haven’t even kissed her yet.

  Tori and Erika, the two ladies he considered sisters in every sense of the word, were just inside the kitchen chatting it up. You know, love ‘em to death, but they make your life hell with their meddling; sisters. They droned on about the same thing they'd been plotting for over a year now, throwing Dax at Gus, or Gus at Dax—different path, but same destination.

  Those two adorably well-meaning, but clueless, women were the reason four of the ten adults here at the Reid’s home on this fine summer day in Florida were more miserable than the investors in the Member’s Only corporation in 1990. It wasn’t like he was the only one with ears. Gus suffered their misguided attentions, too. It was pretty much public knowledge at this point; they were playing matchmaker for Gus and Dax.

  Even though they weren’t the least bit interested in each other that way, neither had the guts to take a piss in Erika and Tori’s Cheerios. Dax wasn’t one to sprinkle feel good between all the truths, but he was loathe to upset the fragile balance this family-by-choice had finally achieved after a year that would make even his ancestors, the historic Vikings, cringe.

  In just twelve short months, this clan had seen tragedy, assault, death, birth, and, lucky for them, much love too. His attention was diverted back to Stacy as she gracefully swept past where he sat and disappeared down the hall. As he was being hypnotized by the perfect sway of hips, Francis’ heated words almost gave him whiplash as he spun his head around like Linda-freaking-Blair.

  What? Dax stuck a finger in his ear and shook it in an attempt to clean it out to ensure he was hearing things correctly and he stared, dumbfounded, in the direction of Francis’ voice.

  Francis was the matriarch, the thread that held the scraps of the quilt of this family together. She was short, sassy, and southern, but she would turn into a freaking beast to protect every single one of them against anyone, even each other. She was intuitive, like him. They both seemed to observe things on a deeper level than most, and neither shied away from saying so as a rule. The evidence of that trait in her is blowing me away right now.

  She was standing up to his sisters. He knew she was serious too, because she was using phrases like “bless your heart,” “just because you slap butter on it, don’t make it a biscuit,” and “for the love of grits.” She knows, she fucking knows. Well, bless her heart, and not in the sarcastic southern way either, Dax thought.

  Francis could see he and Gus were a no-go, but more than that, she could see what Tori and Erika’s TattooArtistMatch.com efforts were doing to the people they called family. She was spelling it out for them and telling them to back the truck up, but in a sweet as iced tea way, of course.

  Aw, fuck me stupid. Dax’s brain turned to oatmeal, his lungs, frozen. His heart hammered in his chest like a muscle car piston and his dick tried to break out of Levi Prison and hump Stacy’s leg like one of Tori’s Great Danes.

  Stacy was emerging from the hall in a white, one piece swimsuit and some see-through sheer cover-up that covered absofuckinglutely nothing, and those fuck-me pumps. As she turned to open the screen slider, he caught a glimpse of that delectable crease at the bottom of her ass cheek that led into a soft thigh that would feel like Heaven on his shoulder. Fuck yes, that is the exact location I will grip her sweet body while I wax my beard.

  Dax rose from his seat and trailed Stacy out onto the pool deck where the rest of his family was hanging out. This is going to happen, damn it. Stacy will be mine. Francis had paved the way and basically stamped her approval on it with her words to his sisters.
She’s the sheriff around these here parts, and we are all just lawfuckingabiding citizens.

  Even though he wasn’t biologically related to the Reids, Francis was standing up to the daughter she gave birth to, Tori, and Erika, her daughter-by-marriage to her son, Walker. She was standing up for Dax, her son by choice, and by extension, she was fighting for Gus, Stacy, and John. She loved all her “kids” with equal ferocity.

  One thing Francis had said in her efforts to explain to Erika and Tori what their good intentions were costing really resonated with Dax and spurred him into action sooner, rather than later. “Erika, honey, life is made up of opportunities disguised as run of the mill moments. If we fail to see them as the opportunities they are, then they cease to be so. Once they pass, they were simply ordinary moments because we failed to seize them and make them otherwise. Is that what you want for two people that you love like crazy? Actually, four, because the effect isn’t confined to Dax and Gus.”

  That was all he needed to hear, he would not let Stacy slip into The History of Daxton Magnus Askrsson as an ordinary moment.

  Depositions were one of Stacy’s favorite parts of her job. She loved the drama of the courtroom and cross-examinations, but depositions were even better. She received the same rush when she got the opposition to say exactly what she wanted, but with the more intimate feel of a conference room and no judge. Not having to keep such a tight leash on her attitude was a major fucking plus. Being able to look in the eyes of all the key players at once gave her a better read on the entire situation, too.

  When Miracle Stevens entered the room, Stacy had her sized up in no time. Who in the fuck names their kid Miracle, anyway? Rich fucking douchebags with money to burn but zero time to teach their own children that being rich doesn’t entitle you to everything you want, that’s who.

  Stacy couldn’t wait to put this cunt in her place, and make her pay for raping her client, Jeff.

  Her appraisal shifted to Miracle’s counsel. Although she had never faced him before, she had seen him in action. Dick with a capital D. Perfect, I can take down two arrogant jerks at once.

  It didn’t matter that this was one of her pro-bono cases for the advocacy center. Her client would get the best representation money could buy, whether he was paying or not. If she could, she would work full-time for male victims of sexual assault. While she personally felt there were too many clients needing to be heard, it wasn’t enough to pay the bills. She would still trudge along daily with her firm, but her heart would always be with these clients—the ones whose voices were silenced by society, the ones she had dedicated her life to helping.

  Once they were officially on the record, the court reporter swore in Miracle. The minute Stacy heard the woman’s grating voice say, “I do,” and saw the smug arch of her brow, she knew that woman was not naïve to the crime she’d committed.

  Many women who Stacy dealt with were just clueless, as in Michael’s case. His rapist was just a dumb bitch with no concept of the depravity of her actions. Regardless, Michael still suffered the emotional backlash of what happened. His wife, Tori, didn’t fare much better. They were both still fucked up over it and would probably be in therapy for years to come.

  However, therapy was better than dead any day. With every case she took, her heart ached for her late brother, Troy. If only he’d had someone to give him a voice, real representation, he might still be here, maybe even found the love of his life in spite of everything, like Michael had, and she’d be an aunt a few times over. Stacy tamped down the ache in her heart, and focused on the present, not the past. She couldn’t change what happened to Troy or Michael, or shit, even Jeff who sat beside her, but she could make this bitch pay.

  This woman knew exactly what she’d done. It was in every mannerism, every purse of her lips, every goddamned eye roll before she answered Stacy’s questions.

  Stacy felt Jeff tense to her right as Miracle told her account of the evening in question. It was time to shut this bitch down and not drag Jeff through the lengthy process of waiting on this arrogant bitch to incriminate herself.

  Time to employ my five-second flash assessment. It was a technique Stacy taught herself when she needed a fresh take on things.

  Sometimes, she looked so hard that she missed the forest for the trees. That’s when she would do a flash assessment—clear her mind, close her eyes, and then look at things under a new light, rapidly taking in any details that jumped out. She did it with no thoughts, no idea of what she was looking for, and just took in what was actually there, not what she wanted or expected to see.

  Just as she hoped, it cleared her mind and put her on the right trail to root out the truth.

  “At what point did my client say no?” Stacy questioned. She knew what the answer would be. It was one of the things lawyer’s referred to as “a bad fact,” but for Stacy, it was merely a road bump on the way to ultimate victory. The twat answered as expected, but with arrogance that said she thought she had just won instead of the other way around.

  “Never, Ms. Roberts. The word never left his lips.”

  “Let me get this correct, Ms. Stevens. Since according to you, my client never said the word no, then in your mind, that was a firm yes?”

  “Of course. I mean, he wasn’t as into it as I was at first, but he wanted me, I could tell. He wanted me, I wanted him, we enjoyed a night together and that’s that.”

  “No means no, and anything else means yes. Am I understanding you correctly, Ms. Stevens?”

  This caused Miracle to sputter before Counselor Douchbag finally made an attempt to earn his money. “Don’t answer that, Miracle.” Turning his attention toward Stacy, he continued, “Where are you going with this Stacy?” The dick used her first name to try to intimidate her. He was a typical member of the boy’s club, underestimating her because she had a vagina, but she was used to it.

  They don’t call me Killer for nothing, taint biscuit.

  “My client has already sworn that Mr. Jamison never said no. Why are we still here?”

  Stacy adopted the same condescending tone, but with enough femininity to play into his expectations. “Please, indulge me, Mr. Harris. I just have a few more questions and then we’ll be done here, I assure you.”

  At his dismissive nod, Stacy turned back toward Miracle.

  “Am I correct in saying your understanding of no is simple, it’s a spoken no?”

  “Yes,” Miracle spoke before Counselor Douchebag could interject. “Legally speaking, he never said no, therefore, how would I know if he meant no?” Oh, so she’s a lawyer now. I couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect answer.

  “So, next time you meet a man in a bar and take him back to your place, but you’re just not that into it, it will be fine if he shoves his cock inside you because you never said the word no?”

  That was it. There were no words that could be spoken that would turn the table back in Miracle’s favor.

  Stacy mentally fist-pumped all the way to the parking garage. The deposition couldn’t have gone better. There was no way it would go to trial. Counselor Douchebag was probably still choking on his fucking tongue. He was not happy being bested by a woman.

  Once she was in her car, Stacy actually did pump her fist and congratulate herself aloud. Winning cases always hyped her up, leaving her with an abundance of pent-up energy. Sex was the best way to release that energy. It was almost a routine for her. Win a case, go for a stiff drink and a stiff cock. Stacy didn’t do attachments or relationships. She had sex, period. No strings attached sex. What are strings good for anyway but binding? The only relationships I’m destined to have start and end with one word, tequila. That, and one rule, no names.

  The problem was, the only person she really wanted to have sex with was Dax. There was just something about the man that ruined her for others. Not that they had been together or were anything more than friends, but Stacy hadn’t been able to do the casual sex thing since they became close.

  It felt weird som
ehow, hanging with Dax, watching movies, and eating pizza after she came from some stranger’s bed. So, she gave it up and relied on the tools God gave her, along with those that needed batteries, to relieve tension. But they were just not cutting it anymore.

  Dax was a tall, hot, lumber-sexual, Viking god. He towered over everyone she knew by at least half a foot. That familiar itch started at her fingertips the longer she thought about him—one she recognized as her hands begging to be buried in his espresso locks.

  Maybe it was his dark, mysterious eyes that called to her. Or the twinkle they got when he said one of his off-the-wall curses. Possibly, it was the ink that she desperately wanted to see up close and personal, or the big hands she wanted to feel all over her skin, or the tall body she wanted to mount like a fucking cowgirl in a rodeo, or maybe it was his orgasmic scent?

  Dax’s scent was locked into her memory—pipe tobacco and heat. Yes, the scent of heat. He always smelled hot, whether from his forge or his pipe, she didn’t know, but heat had a scent, and it was Dax.

  Most likely, it was a combination of all those things that made her horny just thinking about fucking him. The one thing that kept her from his bed so far was complication. As a rule, it tended to get dicey if you had casual sex with someone in your circle. Either one person got attached or it made group dinners awkward.

  The shrill ring of her cell pulled her from her mental inventory of Dax. She looked down at the display and smiled. “Speak of the devil.” With a swipe of her finger, she accepted the call.

  “Hey, Dax, what’s up?” She sounded like an eager teenager waiting on a call from the popular boy. Where the fuck did that come from?

  “Hey, beautiful, how’d it go?” She should’ve been expecting his call. Anytime she had a case, her brother, John, Michael, and Dax always called later that day to see how it went.