Cascade: (Unapologetic: Book 3) Read online

  Cascade

  Unapologetic: Book Three

  Pamela Ann

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Food For Thought

  Prologue

  1. Cara

  2. River

  3. River

  4. River

  5. River

  6. River

  7. River

  8. River

  9. River

  10. River

  11. River

  12. Cara

  13. Cara

  14. Cara

  15. Cara

  16. River

  17. River

  18. River

  19. River

  20. Cara

  21. River

  22. Cara

  23. Cara

  24. Cara

  25. Cara

  26. Cara

  Unapologetic Series

  End Matter

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  I ♥️ Heart Sexy Reads

  Also by Pamela Ann

  Synopsis

  Like the sands of time, it shifts, it's mercurial … unpredictable.

  I grew up stern, detached, like a person looking through glass, observing. But everything had come to the forefront, and nothing could ever prepare me for what the next chapter entailed.

  I could no longer be the observer but would become the one being observed.

  He ceaselessly watched, clutching me like a disease. His poison gradually possessed me until I was fully submerged under his twisted spell.

  The dark side of love—his perverse love.

  I was out for blood. Anyone would do.

  Cascade

  (Unapologetic Series)

  Copyright © 2018 by Pamela Ann

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  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 a written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

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  edited by alizon duckwall

  Food For Thought

  One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing material place.

  Emily Dickinson

  Prologue

  Cara

  My mind resurrects him constantly, ceaselessly. All I had to do was close my eyes, and he’d be there, holding me hostage, wreaking havoc, incessantly taunting, biding his time until I surrendered to the demons of his own creation, until I was fully his and his alone.

  Life threw me into a tailspin, driving on autopilot into a dark, winding tunnel with no course of direction but south.

  After months of fighting him and the evil he embedded inside of me, the will to battle had left me. With little strength, I yielded to him.

  I remembered how it felt. It was four in the morning after I had woken up from another nightmare that plagued my sleep on a nightly basis. Depleted from the constant tug of war of my mind, heart, body, and soul, I held my breath as I gradually felt my spirit steadily begin to wither, evaporating what little resistance I had left within me. Like a fading sun slowly setting, tears freely flowed as I savored the last remnants of its brightness while I helplessly watched the diminishing glow of courage leave me.

  I felt it—the shatter—the exact moment it released itself within me, abandoning me wholly, tossing me into the dark pits of oblivion.

  I fought a losing battle. I tried and monumentally failed. It was only a matter of time until Juan irrevocably possessed all of me.

  And he did—Juan caught me. Hook. Line. And surrender.

  Six months.

  Six long excruciating months of torment, mentally imprisoned in a warped cage with no means of escaping, had come to an end.

  Tonight was the culmination of it all.

  Utterly defeated and irrevocably shattered, I’d finally surrendered to the demons incessantly haunting me.

  So, I did what I knew best—I ran away from reality, submerging myself into my alternate world where I learned to embrace my blackened soul, fully immersing in its darkness in complete submission.

  Amidst the inner chaos, my career was rising, my name becoming more recognized. I had the fame I had fought so hard to get, the very thing I hadn’t wanted to sacrifice when River issued an ultimatum in Sweden. It was bittersweet. Yet I didn’t want to face my past and the very man who triggered all the bad and all the good I once had. He hated me, so it wasn’t difficult to avoid him whenever I could.

  While my popularity steadily soared, men clamored to have me. My nights were filled with endless parties, dinners, strings of events and unfiltered decadence of the flesh. The fawning and constant adoration was a welcome distraction, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the stark truth—it wasn’t over between River and me, even though I wished it were. The infuriating man would come for me. He wouldn’t knock—River would break down the damn door to announce his arrival.

  Time never existed between us.

  The thought of seeing him again left me breathless. Yet the thought of him finding out my secret shriveled my insides. And I couldn’t have that.

  I’d rather lose him forever than witness his hatred turn into pity. I’d rather have him hate me and remember me as I was—vivacious, full of life with the future ahead of her—and not this broken, unrecognizable soul of a woman.

  So, I would keep running until he found me.

  And he would find me. He always did.

  Chapter 1

  Cara

  Damn it, Carlos! I already told you—put that shit away!” I grimaced at the sharp withdrawal of pain exhibited from the forbidden entrance. My body recoiled, slowly hissing at the ebbing pain of his intrusion to my unprepared entrance. My nails dug into Ramiro’s shoulder as I furiously whipped my head to face the uninvited intruder, Carlos—Ramiro’s identical twin.

  My dark, unamused eyes pinned him to the spot. The intensity in my fathomless pools was so profound the Argentinian actually halted his vigorous jerking movements, which were wrapped around his proud member.

  “Mierda! Carlos, esperate! It’s my turn.” Ramiro gruffly stated as his hands gripped the sides of my hips, holding me in place, fearing his twin had screwed their chances of an all-night shag fest.

  I specifically detailed the dos and don’ts before this triad of sexual exploration began, but of course, there was always that one rogue stubborn head who was raging too hard to pay attention to the current mission at hand—me. This was all about me, after all, not them or what pleasures they sought tonight. I was to be catered to. Every ounce of flesh to be kissed and worshipped. I was to be their very reason for existence, or there wasn’t to be a deal. And even though I adored both men, I was quite ready to walk out of their apartment if one of them wasn’t willing to abide by the rules.

  “Lo siento, Cara …” Carlos murmured sincerely, his coffee-like dark eyes unabashedly glued to my bare breasts, salivating.

  “Cariña,” I snapped, correcting him. There was no mistaking the annoyance written all over me. The nickname was part of the bargain. Another rule he had conveniently forgotten.

  The spark of desire in his determined eyes accelerated tenfold. The struggle of his Latin temperament of needing to be in control and his unequivocal desire to possess me for
himself played beautifully on his chiseled face. But I was holding firm. This was my game—my rules. Best he remembered that.

  He could take it or leave it. As they said, there were a lot of fish in the ocean.

  For a moment, our eyes silently battled before he was possessed with lustful intentions once again. The instant shift in his dark depths was unmistakable.

  I had won.

  “Cariña, let me show you how sorry I am,” Carlos succinctly stated as his lustful gaze glued on to my breast, kneeling before me like a slave before his hungry lips captured my breast, catering to my wanton needs before I had the chance to reject his advances. His twin Ramiro immediately carried on with pummeling me vigorously.

  The little reservation I’d had moments ago vanished as their simultaneous ministrations intensified.

  “Five minutes,” I gasped as I let out a low, satisfying moan. “You guys have five minutes before we start.”

  When the Argentinian twins had approached me five hours ago, I had been shocked at my body’s immediate carnal response. Their accent and their dark coloring—everything about them reminded me of Juan Torres. The immediate pang of intrinsic disgust and undeniable arousal was a toxic combination I couldn’t resist.

  After all these barren months, Juan was going to come alive. I was to be the sacrificed just like the twisted Spanish did it—violating me all night long as he whispered his undying love and all the filthy ways he was going to fuck me until I submitted to him.

  Tonight was about the same reenactment of that perverted night in Barcelona.

  Lights out. Drugged out. Fucked out.

  And so it had begun … bonding with my captor.

  It was just as I had pictured it.

  Just as I had memorized it.

  Raging fire coursed through my veins, zinging through my body with an endless supply of euphoria. My body experienced the highest peaks of unparalleled ecstasy. And with each stroke of pleasure, my soul chipped away, gradually deteriorating the very interior of my being—the very fabric of me. Each illicit moan of surrender diluted the identity that made me who I was, reprogramming me into this powerless woman, enslaved by the very memory of a man who selfishly robbed her of everything she held dear, everything she prided herself for.

  I was a walking disaster, but I didn’t care. This was the first time I had felt alive in months, and if this was the only route to feel this alive, then so be it.

  I had nothing else to live for, anyway. Apart from my career, I had nothing else going on in my life.

  This …

  This was all I had. This was the gift Juan departed me with. A gift I was learning to treasure.

  A sick joke of perversion, Juan’s very signature of perversion, and yet it was one I couldn’t stop indulging in.

  It only took once before it became an addiction. The rush, the disgust, the unmitigated euphoria was too addictive to stay away from. So much so that it was unbearable to consider living without his corruption.

  This was, after all, my fate. Might as well accept the cards life had dealt me instead of denying what I had truly become—a broken soul with broken wings, too irreparable to fly to safer pastures, forever grounding me in this godforsaken prison.

  Chapter 2

  River

  Sweetie, where are you!” Petra bellowed from downstairs. It was followed by the loud thudding sound of the front door shutting right after her all too familiar heavily accented voice.

  “Fuck,” I impatiently muttered under my breath, irritated my plans for sleeping in late today were not happening. Not a fat chance.

  “Riverrrr!”

  Damn it. Why can’t people leave me the fuck alone?

  “I’m heading to shower!” I hollered back, instantly leaping out of bed as I hastily scurried into the bathroom to shower.

  The last thing I needed was to deal with her, but here she was, in my damn place, acting as if she owned it.

  Barely awake, I stepped into the black marble shower and turned on the dials, setting the perfect ice-cold water temperature to jumpstart my haggard physique. The immediate shock my body experienced when the icy water hit my skin made me inwardly cringe before a satisfying grumble roared out of my chest.

  I just got back last night, and I had planned today to be a lazy day, but after hearing Petra’s voice, I knew that would be impossible to achieve.

  Never had I met a person who would “borrow” my keys and end up making themselves a copy so they could happily barge into my life uninvited at all hours of the day. Imagine my fucking horror when I found the model sleeping in my bed when I got back home one weekend.

  There were persistent women, and then there were the likes of Petra.

  Admittedly, she had disclosed her borderline personality since day one, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock. There was always a first for everything, I guess.

  If I hadn’t been too stoned that night, I could’ve just kicked her out. Add the fact that I had actually been kind of lonely after a few weeks being on the road, so I guess I hadn’t minded as much. BUT that was four months ago. The cuteness didn’t have the same effect anymore. I needed my damn privacy, but I couldn’t tell her straight up because the woman had a bad habit of crying. Not the silent cries, either.

  This chick would go all-out bawling as if one of her loved ones had just died. She would make these loud, hacking, howling cries. It was fucking embarrassing. It didn’t matter if it was in a public place; she’d make a scene just to prove a point. If I said no to anything she enthusiastically suggested, screeching waterworks would ensue. Missed out on her fashion show? Cue the fat tears. Late for her dinner party with friends? You guessed it—pain in the fucking ass! So, little ole insensitive prick like me couldn’t even demand space when I needed it without looking like a total jackass.

  It wasn’t even about the sex anymore. Okay, sure, sex was good, I guess. I mean, if it wasn’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t be staying around. Sex was the only thing that made me feel human these days. But lately, I’d been feeling more than empty. As time went on, it was as if the emptiness rotted and transformed into something much more incapacitating—a great hole of barrenness, decaying me from inside out.

  In these profound hopeless moments, even sex was useless to temporarily calm the chaos within me. Only music could silence the riot in my head. Through the beauty of sound, I could openly express my soul, letting the floodgates of misery run through me instead of letting it fester and stagnate. It was the only place I could find solace, hushing my poisoned mind, my damaged heart. It was a profound time to start thinking about new beats and writing lyrics. My fingertips craved to string new sound. Pen new songs. Music was the only way I could mute the voices in my head. But I couldn’t damn well tap into my creativity when Petra wouldn’t leave me alone.

  Each day, I asked myself why I hadn’t moved on to the next … I supposed it was due to Petra’s warmth and easy personality (when she was in a good mood, which she was most of the time). Everything was surprisingly cool with her. She wasn’t the kind to demand commitment. I could date whomever I wanted, fuck whomever I desired, and she’d still be smiling the next day. So, it was kind of a win-win for me. What man wouldn’t love that arrangement? It was drama-free, my emotions were safe, and I didn’t have to deal with all the bullshit being in a monogamous relationship demanded. So, this was all good—well, except for the exaggerated crying. But then again, I needed all the distraction I could get … anything to lose myself in just so my mind didn’t wander back to Cara. And in some perverse way, waterworks was distraction enough.

  Evil took embodiment in the form of this beautiful creature named Cara Quinn.

  My Achilles heel.

  My hamartia.

  My kryptonite.

  Yes, Cara Quinn was the conniving, back-stabbing, cheating ex-girlfriend of mine who constantly fucked with my mind. I despised her—no, I loathed every single fiber of her existence. She had made me into this feeble, spineless man, barely existing as
I limped along in life.

  I was wounded, scarred for life. She had played me for a fucking idiot. Oh, how I had fallen for the bait she cast. She was a damn good actress … and an even better liar at that.

  There was no denying how I’d always been completely blinded wherever she was concerned. And I was paying the heavy price that came from wholeheartedly placing trust in someone unworthy of it.

  But, in some way, I could comfort myself that karma finally caught on to her. Sure, it was fucking tragic how the asshole had fucking died, but I couldn’t honestly say I was sympathetic about it. I guess she and I were in the same boat, mourning someone we loved, someone who had died. Her Juan Torres died, and my love for her died the second I found out what she’d been up to.

  Her betrayal didn’t only sting. It downright eviscerated me. It robbed me of so many things, but worst of all, it made me question my worth as a lover, as a man.

  Her infidelity fucked me to hell so badly it deprived me of sleep for weeks. I had to cancel a show because I couldn’t fucking function after drowning myself in alcohol and drugs. Heck, if she had wanted him that much, so much that she couldn’t control herself any longer, she could’ve broken up with me. I wouldn’t have been all that welcoming about her breaking up with me, but at least she would’ve come clean of her intentions. Instead, she chose to betray me.