Everly (Striking Back #1) Read online

  Everly

  Striking Back: Book One

  by S.M. Shade

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  Horns honking, angry voices cursing the rush hour traffic, the smell of exhaust, yeah, I’m home. “Welcome back, chick,” Amy exclaims with a grin, sliding into the booth at Huddleston’s, our favorite diner. “How was your trip?”

  “I’m covered in mosquito bites, sunburned, and I think I have poison ivy. It was amazing.”

  Amy’s face scrunches. “Sounds awful.”

  “The air in Tennessee is so clean. You can actually breathe without tasting the air. I swear I never realize how much the city stinks until I leave for a few days. The kids had a blast. We spent the days at the lake and had a campfire every evening. We slept in tents and roasted hot dogs for breakfast.”

  “Everly, every now and then I’m tempted to check your panties for a set of balls. You’re such a guy.”

  “Keep your hands out of my panties,” I reply, tossing a straw wrapper at her. Amy is one of my oldest friends and one of only two people in the world I actually trust.

  “Speaking of balls, tell me you got some action from that blond cutie that was chaperoning with you.”

  “The momma’s boy?” I scoff. “Hardly. He wouldn’t even join in the mud fight with the kids. A grown man that’s afraid to get dirty? I’ll pass.”

  “That’s your requirement of your dates? They have to like dirt?”

  “They have to be a man. Real men get dirty.”

  “I know you like them dirty.”

  Lacy, our waitress, arrives with our usual order of waffles and orange juice. “Eat up girls. You’re too skinny.”

  “And you’re far sighted.” I laugh. “You hire a new girl?”

  Lacy glances at the harried looking girl taking orders across the aisle. “We’ll see how long this one lasts. If she makes it through race weekend, I’ll make her a name tag.” Amy steals a slice of strawberry from my plate as a group of three men come in and sit a few tables away. “Whew, girls, must be my lucky day,” Lacy mumbles, darting away to wait on them. I don’t blame her. All three are cover model material, muscular, tan, and sweaty from the early spring heat wave.

  Amy fans herself. “God, he’s almost hot enough to make me reconsider my no dick policy. Did you see those eyes?”

  I can hardly miss them since they’re locked on mine. Bright, cornflower blue and so intense. A smug little smile lifts his lips and he winks at me. Great. Into the arrogant asshole file he goes. “He’s not bad,” I remark.

  I try to focus on my food and our conversation, but he’s distracting. As if the eyes and fantastic body aren’t enough, tattoos sleeve one arm and disappear under his shirt only to peek out his collar. His ink black hair hangs messy and wild around a face that would stop any woman in her tracks. This guy has trouble scrawled all over him.

  “Ev…” Amy snaps her fingers, laughing. “Everly! Get a grip. You look like you’re going to throw him down on the table and ride him like a circus pony.”

  “Sorry, I was…daydreaming.”

  “You mean dayfucking. Go talk to him.”

  A quick bite of my waffle gives me a chance to consider my response. “No way. That guy has danger stamped all over him. I don’t do bad boys.”

  “You don’t do anybody.”

  “How are things with Wendy?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.

  “Subtle, chick. We hung out again all weekend and I met her friends. She wants me to meet her family.” She looks up with a grimace.

  “Are you ready for that?”

  “I don’t know, but, I think we’ll be together awhile so…” She shrugs.

  “Holy shit. Is Amy Blaine entering a serious relationship?” Smiling, I peek out the window. “It doesn’t appear that hell has become a glacier, but…”

  “Shut up! I didn’t say that.”

  “Are you in love with her?” Amy remains silent, but a slow smile spreads across her face as she lays a twenty dollar bill on the table next to the check. Before she can escape, I grab her in a quick hug. “I’m happy for you, girl.”

  “Thanks. I have to run. I’m late for work. Tell Ian I said hi.”

  “I’ll call you later,” I reply, following her toward the door and trying to ignore the tatted Adonis as he meets my gaze again.

  “Have a good day, ladies,” he says, his voice smooth and deep.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Amy laughs at my flippant reply. We step out into the heat. “Do you need a cab?”

  “No, I’m going to grab a few things from the drugstore and stop in the bank.”

  “Okay, see ya.” Amy’s long blond waves bounce on her shoulders as she signals for a cab. Two taxis pull up instantly and I shake my head in amusement. Amy is my age, but aesthetically we’re complete opposites. She’s that perfect five pound blond all women love to hate. Beautiful face, beautiful body, and a great personality to boot. It’s enough to make you sick. My common brown hair, brown eyes, and fat ass make me invisible to the opposite sex when I’m with her. Still, it’s amusing to watch men trip over their tongues when she enters the room, knowing they aren’t even on her radar.

  Amy’s in love. Who would’ve thought? We met in our last year of high school seven years ago and we’ve been through a lot together. She was by my side through my horrible breakup with Sean, and I helped her through her struggle to come out to her family. She’s the closest thing to family I’ve ever known.

  After half an hour in line at the drugstore, my patience is thin. All I needed was a stick of deodorant and nail clippers for hell’s sake. Sweat drips down my sides as I enter the bank, the push of cold air like heaven on my clammy skin. At least the line isn’t too long.

  My breath catches in my throat when I look up from my phone into an intense blue gaze. He’s here. The hunk of inked up sex from the diner stands at the last teller window, a small smile on his face. His eyes travel from my feet to my head, dissolving every stitch of clothing in the process. Shit, Everly, don’t look at him. I’m not unattractive in a “she never outgrew her tomboy phase” sort of way, but this guy is miles out of my league.

  A sudden pop behind me causes my ears to ring and cold fear trickles down my spine. When I turn to face the source of the gunshot, I’m horrified to see four men with automatic weapons blocking the exit, their faces hidden behind white Playboy Bunny masks. Fuck me. It’s The Naked Bandits.

  A viral sensation the cops can’t seem to catch, they strike small banks in the mid-morning lull. They’re typical armed robbing assholes except for one thing. They force the employees and bystanders to strip. Cops can’t say if it’s a strategy to keep people from running, a way to fuck with people’s heads and keep them under control, or if they’re just perverts who get off on watching naked people. On the plus side, they never hurt anyone, and even remove the children and elderly to an office before the skin fest begins.

  The largest of the four bandits leaps to the counter, his voice carrying across the room. “You lucky fucks are in the presence of greatness. I’m sure you’ve heard of us so you know the routine. Get it all off and nobody gets hurt. Don’t be shy, now. You, sweetheart.” He gestures to the teller. “Fill up those bags. Don’t even think about hitting an alarm or you’ll be responsible for the pile of naked bloody bodies I’ll leave behind.” Nodding, the poor woman goes from drawer to drawer, filling the bag.

  His skinny partner stalks through the center of the room, sweeping the assault rifle over our heads. “He said get naked, bitches! What are you waiting for?”

  Shit. This can’t be happening to me. Especially not in front of the tatted Adonis. My hands tremble as I pull my shirt over my head, rev
ealing my plain cream colored bra. Is it weird that I’m more embarrassed than afraid? I’m not skinny by any account, but I’m not ashamed of my size eight curvy shape. Usually. Of course, I’m not typically naked in a room full of men, one too gorgeous to be real.

  Glancing around me, I see the others slowly removing clothing. A couple in their fifties huddle together, the man shielding his wife’s nudity as best he can. Two burly men who look like construction workers stand side by side, hands over their privates. A sympathetic pang shoots through me at the sight of two obese ladies, formerly dressed in designer clothes, lowering their panties with tears running down their faces. What a nightmare.

  My face ignites as I slip off my shorts, exposing my blue cotton boyshort panties that just scream sexy. Apparently, I’m not moving fast enough for the third gunman and he steps in front of me with a sneer. “All of it, sugar.”

  “Don’t touch her.” A cold voice cuts through the room, silencing the sobs and whimpers. I know that voice. When I dare to look up, I’m met by those intense cornflower blue eyes. Completely naked, Mr. Adonis steps between me and the asshole with the gun.

  “You want to be a hero? I can get your face all over the news. Give you fifteen minutes of fame when you’re the first to die.”

  “Stop!” I cry. “I’m doing it! Don’t hurt anyone, please.” I unfasten my bra and rip down my panties before I can chicken out. At least I waxed. The stupidity of that thought makes me giggle. The gunman moves away, but my protector stays in front of me, shielding me from the view of the others.

  His eyes never drop below my chin when he faces me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, one arm draped across my breasts, my hand cupped between my legs. “Just wondering if one can die from embarrassment.”

  “No one can see you right now.”

  “You can.”

  “I’m trying not to look.” My face grows warmer at the sight of his impish grin.

  “I appreciate that. I promise to keep my eyes above your waist.” There’s plenty to look at there. A chiseled chest and rippling abs lead down to a trim waist and hips, the distinctive v of abdominal muscle stretching down to…

  “Ahem,” He clears his throat. Shit, that’s not keeping it above the waist. “After the way you were checking me out in line, feel free to have a peek, love.” His voice is thick with amusement.

  “The grandma and the designer sisters are gawking at your ass. Isn’t that enough attention?”

  “I don’t want their attention.” Is this seriously happening right now? Am I dreaming? Did someone slip acid in my orange juice? I’m standing in the middle of a bank robbery, bare ass to the wind while a nude muscled god flirts with me. Two of the bandits lead the bank manager back to open the safe while the other two guard a group of naked hostages intent on staring at the floor.

  “Do you always hit on naked women in banks?”

  “Only the beautiful ones.”

  “I guess you really didn’t peek.”

  A chuckle rattles his chest. “I promise I didn’t see anything…below the waist.” Way to say you saw my tits, asshole. “What?” he says, a little grin lifting his lips at my glare. “Above the waist was the deal, wasn’t it?” We’re interrupted by the bandits ordering everyone to lie face down on the floor.

  “Guess that’s about to change,” I groan, lying on my belly. No way to hide my ass in this position. My eyes betray me by sneaking a peek at his round cheeks.

  “I’m Mason, by the way.” Propping his chin on his elbow as if he’s just lounging in his living room, he waits for me to reciprocate.

  “Mason, thank you for protecting me. I’ll admit our little conversation made this situation far more bearable, and the sight of your toned ass didn’t hurt. I’ve had quite enough humiliation for one day so please don’t be offended when I say I hope we never see one another again.”

  “You get to check out my ass and I don’t even get your name?”

  “It’s Everly,” I reply with a sigh.

  “Well, it’s been fun, Evie. And we’ll see each other again.” Before I can respond, the S.W.A.T. team storms into the building, long minutes after the bandits have fled.

  My next two hours are spent being questioned by FBI agents. The burglars wore masks and saw us naked. How many ways do they want to hear me say it? Their questions are exhausting and when I’m finally free to go all I want is a nap. At least I manage to leave while they’re still questioning Mason in another room. This whole thing was humiliating, the only saving grace that I’ll never have to see any of these people again.

  The city bustles and blares around me on my walk home, but I’m lost inside my own head. It’s a wonder I don’t get run down in the street. Indianapolis isn’t known for its patience.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Hall.” Jeremy, the doorman greets me as I zombie my way through the lobby of my building.

  “Afternoon,” I mumble, rushing into the elevator and up to my fifteenth floor apartment. Locking the door behind me, I shed my clothes on my way to bed and curl up under the comforter, blocking out this shitty morning. It’s after five when my phone wakes me. A familiar face grins at me from the screen. “Hey, Ian.”

  “Hey, Ev. We still meeting at Mann’s Grill?”

  “Yep. I need a roast beef manhattan in the worst way.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Oh, you know, met Amy for breakfast, shopped a little, had to strip naked in front of a bunch of strangers at gunpoint, the usual.”

  “Holy fuck, Everly! You were at Mideastern when it got hit? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “They said there were shots fired.”

  “One shot. Into the ceiling.”

  A relieved sigh rattles the speaker. “Ev, are you sure you’re okay? I can just come over there and bring takeout from Mann’s.”

  “I’m fine, but I’m not going to argue with a meal on wheels tonight. Supernatural is on at eight.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour, pup.”

  Amy may be my go-to for guy advice and other general girl stuff, but Ian is my rock. We were placed in the same group home when I was ten. I was pissed off and miserable, refusing to talk to anyone or participate in anything. It didn’t endear me to the other kids. When two boys cornered me, threatening to jump me unless I showed them my non-existent tits, Ian came to my rescue. He got a bloody nose for his trouble, but they never bothered me again. I stuck close to him after that, or in his words, I “followed him around like a lost pup”.

  We kept in touch when he aged out of the system. He went to college on the state’s dime and moved on to become a very successful accountant. I’m still amazed at the man that gruff, sullen teenager grew to be.

  An hour after our call, Ian stares at me over my dining room table, jaw agape as I recount my eventful morning. “He stepped between you and the gunman, then blocked you from being seen by the others? Did you get this white knight’s phone number?”

  “Of course not!” My wadded up napkin bounces off his forehead.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You didn’t see the guy. Way out of my league. Plus, he saw me standing naked in public. It was humiliating.”

  Ian’s dark brown eyes meet mine and he frowns. “No one is out of your league. How many times do I have to tell you that? He obviously liked what he saw. And you need to get back out there. Don’t let one disastrous relationship ruin your chance to find a decent guy.”

  “My head is filled with clichés of glass houses, pots, and kettles.”

  “I date!”

  “You don’t date. You fuck. A different girl every week, seems like.”

  “So I like to shop around before I settle.”

  “Well, you’re going to run out of floor models to sample if you aren’t careful. You need a good woman.”

  He tugs me onto the couch and slings his arm around my neck. “I have a good woman.”

  “One who also sleeps with you.” A teasing smile c
urves his lips, and I smack his arm. “Quit it. We tried that, remember?”

  His wind mussed hair flops over his forehead as he shakes his head, laughing. “I’ll never understand how two gorgeous people can love one another yet have zero chemistry.”

  “Can I borrow some of your arrogance?”

  “Confidence. And yes, if you use it to get laid.”

  “Shut up. Sam and Dean are on,” I exclaim, turning up the T.V. and leaning my head on his shoulder as Carry on my Wayward Son begins to play.

  “Dean is such a badass.”

  “You have a man crush on him.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Ev.”

  “You’d totally blow him if you had the chance.” A yelp escapes my throat when he pinches the back of my arm. His fingers thread through my hair, a comforting gesture we always share. “Thanks for coming. I needed this.”

  “I got you, pup.”

  Chapter Two

  Determined to get back to normal, I ring the back buzzer at Striking Back at ten the next morning. “ID, honey.” Aggie’s voice says through the speaker as I hold my driver’s license up to the camera. Of course she recognizes me, but this place houses abused women and children. They can’t be too careful.

  “Five-by,” I reply cheerfully. Jensen, the guy who manages security for Striking Back is an ex-military man. Apparently, five-by-five was military code for “all clear”, but we use our version to mean “everything’s fine”. In this case, I’m not being threatened by some crazy jilted husband into letting him through security. I’m buzzed inside where I nearly get bowled over by Ms. Den.

  “Thank god! We’ve got a large donation in Bloomington and need someone to make the trip out there.” Ms. Den is the head counselor at S.B. but everyone calls her the house mother. Plump and friendly, she’s the backbone of this place and everyone loves her.

  “Bloomington? That’s an hour away.” An hour sitting in traffic on the highway, ugh.

  “I know, dear, but they’re donating beds, mattresses, and clothing. We can’t pass it up. You can take the van. They’ll load it for you.”

  “Alright, give me ten minutes to say hi to the kids and grab a drink.”