Jacked Up Read online

  Jacked Up is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Kane

  Excerpt from Misconduct by Samantha Kane copyright © 2016 by Samantha Kane

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Misconduct by Samantha Kane. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399593185

  Cover photograph: vishstudio/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Samantha Kane

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Misconduct

  Chapter 1

  JULY

  “It’s good to be King.” King Ulupoka, one of the best nose tackles in the NFL, spread his arms wide as he made the declaration, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

  Sam Taylor looked over at his best friend in amusement. “King of what?” he asked. “Fishing?” They were walking down one of the crowded, closed-off streets at The Wharf in Orange Beach, Alabama. King had dragged Sam to the Blue Marlin Grand Championship of the Gulf. King was nuts for sport fishing.

  “I think I like fishing more than football. At least today I do,” King said with a laugh, his voice rich and deep and full. People looked over and Sam could see them smiling, some even moving closer. King’s laugh was like that. It was what had drawn Sam to him. He liked King’s Samoan accent. What he liked most was, if he concentrated on that accent, and on King’s laughter, then the crowds didn’t bother him so much. He hadn’t liked crowds since he’d come back from Afghanistan. They made him nervous. Which made his decision to pursue his dream of an NFL career seem really stupid in hindsight.

  Sam and King played for the Birmingham Rebels, the redheaded stepchild of the NFL. King was one of the league’s best defensive linemen, and he looked like it. He was one of the most jacked players in the NFL, with muscles on his muscles, a mountain of a guy, covered in traditional Samoan tattoos. Sam almost grinned. On the outside, King looked big and mean. Inside, he was a just a big, old teddy bear.

  “Just wait, Sammy,” King said, leaning closer so Sam could hear him. Sometimes Sam thought King could read his mind. “The weigh-in is the greatest show in sport fishing. It’s a spectacle. Live streaming online, jumbotrons, light shows, concerts. I love it!” He laughed again and a group of young women standing off to the side giggled and waved at them, flirting with King. King was big, but he had that exotic thing going for him, with his light-brown skin and wild hair, like that guy from Game of Thrones. His eyes were so brown they were like dark chocolate, and he had eyelashes like a girl’s, thick and dark and curly. The other guys on the team teased him about it. His nose was wide and flat and flared on the end, like a lion’s.

  King blew the girls a kiss and they squealed with delight. The girls wore tiny shorts and tank tops, and had toned stomachs and long, glossy hair. Sam couldn’t have cared less. He had no desire to get involved with some giggling little girl. That kind of thing left him cold these days. He’d had too much shit go down for that.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” he belatedly agreed with King. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the photo in the pocket of his shorts with the tips of his fingers. He’d discovered it was easier to agree with King on most things. Then he did whatever he wanted, which usually turned out to be whatever King wanted anyway.

  “I know a guy,” King said with a wink. “He can introduce us to Miss Billfish.”

  “Who the hell is Miss Billfish?”

  “The beauty pageant winner,” King said, shoving him. Sam nearly fell over.

  “Uh, no thanks,” Sam said, shuddering. “Not interested.”

  “You better get interested,” King scolded. “We came here to get you laid. That was the deal.”

  “Not my deal,” Sam protested. “I came here because you have a jones for marlin fishing and wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”

  King sighed with a long face. “I miss Samoa, man. I miss fishing for marlin off Apia, just past the reef.” He turned to Sam. “You’ve got to come. You’ll love it.”

  “Why didn’t you go back this summer?” Sam asked, even though he knew why. Because of him.

  “Ah,” King said dismissively. “No time, brah. Too much going on.” Sam let the lie go. “Besides, we have a good time, yeah?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Sam said. He caught sight of his reflection in one of the windows as they passed. “How the hell did I let you talk me into this haircut?” he said, changing the subject. He ran his hand along the side of his head with horizontal lines shaved on it.

  “You look great,” King said, slapping him on the back. Sam stumbled. “Like that singer who used to play football for Alabama. The one my little sister Talia likes so much. Very edgy.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Sam muttered. “Do I seem like an edgy kind of guy to you?”

  “Sure,” King said. “You’re always on edge.”

  “I don’t think they mean the same thing,” Sam said, rubbing the shaved spot. He didn’t like it. It itched, like when his burns and stitches had healed. The scars on his back were itching in sympathy.

  “On you, they the same thing,” King said with a half grin and a nod. “Trust me.”

  Sam sighed. Whenever King said “Trust me,” Sam was in for a rough time. It usually meant King was going to try to make him rejoin the land of the living. King didn’t get it. The life Sam had now was pretty damn good, considering where he’d been a few years ago. Sam figured this was about as good as he was going to get.

  —

  King tried to hide his impatience with Sam. He knew that Sam responded much better when you were patient with him. King badly wanted this weekend to work out. It hurt to see his best friend standing on the sidelines watching life go by, instead of standing by King’s side living life to the fullest. To King, each day was an adventure, and he wanted to share that with Sam. As soon as he’d seen Sam that first day of minicamp, King had taken him under his wing. He’d never seen someone so in need of a friend. King had been inexplicably drawn to the stern-looking, quiet veteran
. Maybe it was true that opposites attract.

  Sam was just trudging through life, like he still had a pack on his back and a rifle in his hand, weighed down by the past and worry over his future. He was living the dream, playing in the NFL, but you sure couldn’t tell from his attitude. King wanted to change that, wanted to bring some peace and fun into his life. For some reason, Sam’s happiness had become very important to King. If Sam would just loosen up, it might help his game, and then he wouldn’t have to worry so much. But Sam was making it damn hard to help him. This whole thing with women, for instance.

  “Don’t try to set me up,” Sam said, as if he could read King’s mind. It was eerie, the way they did that.

  “I think you’re stupid to refuse to sleep with anyone because you’re worried you might lose your shit. I’ve never seen you lose it. I think it’s just an excuse.”

  “I told you I used to have nightmares and flashbacks when I first got out of the hospital,” Sam said tightly. He didn’t like to talk about stuff like that and King hated that he was forcing the issue. But he’d let Sam off the hook for a year now. It was time to be more proactive. Maybe the problem was that he hadn’t pushed Sam out of his comfort zone. “It’s best not to risk it,” Sam said in a voice that indicated the conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over.

  “Personally, I think some poon is worth the risk,” King told him sincerely, ignoring the warning in Sam’s voice. “A soft, warm woman soothes a man’s soul.”

  “I’m pretty sure if any of these ladies heard you say that, they’d brand ‘Sexist Pig’ on your forehead,” Sam observed mildly. “And I think it’s going to take more than a fantastic fuck to make me normal again.”

  “I think you underestimate the power of a fantastic fuck.” King sighed with pleasure, remembering some of his best encounters. “And I am not a sexist pig. I respect women. My mother made sure of it. Respecting women and enjoying a good fuck are not mutually exclusive.”

  “You could talk your way out of a firing squad,” Sam told him. “You must, I don’t know, hypnotize people with your voice or something so they do what you want. That’s the only way I would have agreed to your crazy plan.”

  “It’s not crazy,” King insisted. “You’re worried about hurting a woman if you sleep with her. So I’ll stay with you to make sure nothing happens. It’s not like we’re Cass and Beau, fucking the same woman. I’m just going to be there, like a chair or something. You won’t even notice me.”

  Sam looked King up and down, his expression dubious. “You’d have to be a hell of a lot smaller to be invisible.” He shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

  “You agreed. You’d have sex if I stayed near in case you went crazy. You promised.”

  “Okay, first of all, your obsession with me having sex is getting kind of creepy. Second, I only agreed because I knew it was never going to happen. Where do you think we’re going to find a girl who’d agree to do that?”

  Chapter 2

  Jane glanced around the bar, sucking on the orange they’d stuck to the lip of her glass. Actually, on size alone the glass should be called a schooner. A bucket? She wasn’t sure, but that was a hell of a lot of tropical punch. If she didn’t want to end up in bed with one of these fishermen, she was going to have to pace herself. With a nurse’s eye she glanced around the bar, looking for people who might be suffering from alcohol poisoning. No CPR required yet, but it was still early.

  She still wasn’t sure how she’d let her cousin talk her into coming to Orange Beach. She didn’t go to clubs and hang out with strange guys. She was sober, responsible, dependable Jane. She and David had come here before he deployed. At the thought of her older brother, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. With him, all of this had been fun. Tonight it was just insanity. Who the hell came to watch a bunch of strangers hang poor, dead giant fish from hooks anyway? The memory of David standing next to her cheering as they announced the weight of the winning fish flashed through her mind and she sniffed. She supposed he’d been the kind of guy who came to watch that, dammit. Now she was going to cry and everyone would think she was drunk from her schooner of punch.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” a man said from her left. “Like to fish?”

  She turned to see a tall, tanned blond standing there grinning at her. Or, to be more precise, grinning at her cleavage. In his defense, she was wearing a bikini top. That would be number two on her list of this evening’s stupid decisions, number one being coming here in the first place. She definitely should have changed before coming to the bar. While in a perfect world it shouldn’t matter what she was wearing, in the real world a bikini top at a bar, even in Orange Beach, usually meant a girl wanted attention. Jane didn’t want attention. At least not that kind. As boring as it was, she was a good girl. She glanced around, searching for her cousin Margo. Margo would kill her if she left without telling her. The whole purpose of this trip, in Margo’s head at least, had been to get Jane to loosen up and have some fun. She reached for her phone in the back pocket of her cutoff jean shorts so she could text her, but the blond fisherman grabbed her arm, spilling her drink a little.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his grin still in place and looking a little too predatory for her taste. “Catfish got your tongue?”

  “That wasn’t even funny,” she said, shaking her head. “Was that supposed to be funny?” She tried to pull her arm away.

  “She speaks,” he said, pulling her closer as she tried again to yank her arm free, no longer worried about spilling her drink. “Don’t be shy. We all came here for a good time, right?”

  “If you don’t let go of my arm I’m going to be forced to defend myself,” she told him seriously. “It will involve a lot of pain on your part, and possible police involvement. Do you really want to go there?” She made a mental note of the best way to reach the lymph node in his neck. One well-placed thumb and a hell of a lot of pressure and he’d be screaming like a little girl.

  “Jeez,” he said, curling his lip as he shoved her arm away from him. Most of her punch ended up on the floor. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it. No wonder you were standing over here alone.”

  “Alone is preferable to being with you,” she said. She was about to turn away when he pushed it one step over the line.

  “You probably suck in bed, anyway,” he sneered loudly. “A bitch like you won’t give it up without a fight.” She heard male laughter from behind him.

  “Do you honestly believe I care what you think about me?” she asked incredulously. A little voice in her head said to leave it alone and walk away, but she just couldn’t. If there was one thing she hated, it was bullies. “I know, without a doubt, that you are horrible in bed. You are clearly selfish, self-centered, and egotistical, and believe that any woman is lucky to be a receptacle for your dick. And FYI, if a woman tries to fight you off before you fuck her, then that’s rape, asshole.” She grabbed her phone and quickly snapped a picture of him. “This is for the police in case they have any cold cases of rape that fit your MO.” He made a grab for her phone, but she yanked it out of the way. She stumbled, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach for her arm again, but before he touched her, a big guy stepped between them. She straightened and stared at the wide expanse of back and shoulders in front of her. The man was huge, completely blocking her view of the guy who’d been harassing her.

  “Is there a problem, ma’am?” another male voice asked politely from her right. She turned to see another big guy, not quite as large as the first, looking her up and down. He wasn’t leering, but rather assessing her, as if checking for injuries. When his light-colored eyes met hers at last, she felt a jolt of awareness. Those eyes alone could make a girl lose her panties. Paired with a sinfully hot body, they made him dangerous to her equilibrium. For this guy she’d be willing to forget she was a good girl.

  “I was saying no, and he didn’t like it,” she said, flustered. “I can take care of myself, but thanks.”
<
br />   “You shouldn’t have to,” he said calmly and quietly. He turned away before she could answer. “King,” he said.

  The big guy in front of her turned and regarded her over his shoulder, his look similar to his friend’s. He was even better looking than his friend. When he was obviously assured of her well-being, he stepped out of the way. “Apologize to the lady.”

  “Holy shit,” her harasser said. “You’re King Ulupoka. Can I get a picture?” He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, but the one named King put up a hand.

  “After the apology, huh?” He had a lilting accent, maybe Pacific Islander. His warm-caramel skin and shoulder-length, kinky brown hair fit his voice, too, not to mention the tribal tats on his arms.

  “Sure, sure,” the jerk said, fawning. “Sorry I took offense at the brush-off, babe,” he threw her way. “But you were pretty harsh.”

  She turned to her rescuer with the light eyes. Her stomach did a somersault when she found him watching her carefully. “Did that sound like an apology?” she asked sarcastically. “Or did I miss something?”

  “Want a better one?” he asked. “I can make that happen.” Something about the way he said it gave her a little chill, but she wasn’t sure if the goosebumps were because at that moment he was scary as hell, or if it was because his tough confidence was also sexy as hell.

  “Uh, no thanks,” she said, quickly declining. “The sound of his voice is just too annoying at this point.”

  While they were talking, the one named King had allowed the jerk to take a photo with him. “Let me post it for you,” King said, smiling as he took the phone. The other guy was practically wetting himself with excitement.