The Story of Me
Authors: Lesley Jones
Book 2 - The Story of Me
Lesley Jones
Carnage
Book 2 - The Story of Me
Lesley Jones
Copyright 2014 Lesley Jones
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Cover design by
Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting by
Swish Design & Editing
Editing b
y
Hot Tree Editing
Cover image Copyright 2014
Whether side by side
or miles apart
we are sisters.
We may not be connected by hand
but we are always connected by heart.
The following is a glossary of terms which have been used throughout this book. These euphemisms and slang words form part of the
United Kingdom’s spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.
Please remember, that the words are not misspelled, they are slang terms and are part of the everyday,
United Kingdom and Australian lifestyle. This book has been written using UK English.
If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.
I hope you enjoy a look into the United Kingdom/Australian way of life.
Arsed | Can’t be bothered doing something. |
Bespoke | Created especially for someone, in the same way that you say custom. |
Bird | A young woman. |
Bloody | Swearword originating in |
Bog | Toilet. |
Bogies | A piece of dried mucus discharged from the nose. |
Bollocking | When one is lectured, criticised or reprimanded. |
Bollocks | Generally indicates contempt for a certain task, subject or opinion. |
Brass | Prostitute. |
Charlie | Cocaine. |
Divvy | A fool or idiot. |
Faffing | To spend time on a non-productive activity; "to waste time". |
Fuckeration | The meaning is that whatever you have gotten yourself into, it is one holy fucked up, fuckeration of a mess. |
Gaff | House or place. |
Gissit | 'Give Us It' or just 'Give It'. |
Gobby | Talkative. |
Hark | Look at you, or listen to you. |
Gregory | Cockney rhyming slang: Gregory Peck – neck. |
Krypton Factor | A British game show that tested physical stamina and mental attributes. |
Mate | Buddy or a friend. |
Narna | To get very angry or to lose it. |
Mildred | Vagina. |
Off My Tits | To be VERY much under the influence of a substance. Most commonly used as either an excuse or a conversation starter. |
Off License | A shop licensed to sell alcoholic beverages for consumption off the premises. |
Plonked | Meaning to put something down, unceremoniously. |
Scooby | Clue. |
Shag | To have sex, or get your fuck on, to score, get some, hit it, tap it, do it. |
Shitfaced | Under the influence of drugs or alcohol. |
Skin Up | To make a cannabis cigarette. |
Soundo | This is London slang for asleep. It derives from the phrase "sound asleep" thus "soundo". |
Stellar | A word used when something is outstanding or immense. |
Swanning | Posing or posturing around. |
Take/ing the Piss | To take liberties at the expense of others, or to be unreasonable. |
Tarted Up | To improve the appearance of something. |
Telly | Television. |
Tits Up | Something that is no longer functioning or working. |
Tuppence Worth | Phrase used when someone has brought all the evidences to support his point of view. |
Whaz | Urinate. |
Whizz | Speed. |
So, where do I begin with the thank yous for this one?
When I wrote
Carnage
, I really did intend for it to be a standalone and I honestly prepared myself for some major backlash because of the non HEA, and although I have had that to some degree, the general reaction to Carnage has knocked me sideways. I truly never imagined it would get the response that it has. I really hope I’ve given Georgia the ending she deserved, and regardless of what team you are on, you have enjoyed reading the conclusion of her story.
So, the thank yous, the list this time, really is endless.
As always, I’d like to thank my family, especially my husband, my rock, my Tiger. Without him, this book and possibly the last may never have happened.
To my SC ladies, Vix, Kaz, Wendy, Chell, Tash and Nic, thank you for the chats and for keeping me grounded.
To my publicist, Jen Freligh, thank you, thank you, thank you for all that you do and for always having my back and for having the best HC pics, that somehow, just keep me inspired to write another chapter.
To the admin team and all of the members of the Carnage Support Page, you ladies really do rock. I mean, seriously, ROCK, YES, SHOUTY CAPS!
My betas and my Angels, again a massive thank you for your tireless pimping and getting the word out there.
To every blogger out there who has allowed my book to be mentioned on their page or who has gone all the way and reviewed my work. I thank you for all of your support and just want you to know how much you are truly appreciated.
Thank you to Margreet Asselberg for my amazing cover and to Mandy and Becky from Hot Tree Editing. It’s been an absolute pleasure to work with you.
To each and every one of my readers, I thank you for your support and your dedication. You’re a fearsome bunch and I love the passion that you show for my books. Hopefully, over the next year or so, I will get to meet a whole lot more of you.
Table of Contents
“No, Tamara, not tonight, not this weekend at all. I’m busy.” Fuck, this woman was getting on my nerves.
“What about lunch on Sunday? We could eat out or I could cook. Then you could have me for dessert. Please, Cami, I didn’t see you last weekend.” Seriously, this bird could not take the hint. I got up from my desk and walked over to the window of my office; it was snowing heavily again as I looked out onto the street below. It was only just after six in the evening, but there was hardly anyone about. The pavements and roads looked white and pretty, hiding the fact that they were in fact slippery and dangerous. I wondered if this would have an impact on the numbers we’d get through the doors of the club tonight. I doubted it. Most people didn’t drive to us anyway, most coming by cab and so Charlied up they think they’re invincible; a bit of snow was not gonna stop them. They loved the white stuff, any way it comes.
“Is that a yes?” Tamara’s voice whined down the phone. If it wasn’t for the fact she gave such good blow jobs and took it up the arse like a retired rent boy, I would’ve kicked her into touch years ago
. I have a big dick; what can I say? I’m a big bloke. At six-feet-five inches, I would’ve been laughed at with your average six inches. It would’ve looked lost on my big frame and so the Cock Gods blessed me with about nine, I think. I’d never actually measured it. Well, not since I was thirteen, anyway, or was it twenty? Anyway, the down side of having a big dick was that women gagged when you face-fucked them with any enthusiasm, and they didn’t like the idea of anal and I did, a lot. I could usually talk them round with a few drinks, but Tamara, she was just always up for it, which is why I kept her around.
“So, shall we say one o’clock?”
“What?”
“Lunch, Cameron, Sunday at one. Does that suit?” I blew my hot breath onto the cold window and drew a cock and balls on it, and just to show my maturity, I added spunk spraying from the end.
“No, Tamara. As far as I’m aware, Sunday is still a part of the weekend and like I said, I’m busy all weekend.” I wasn’t; I was going to watch football tomorrow with my brothers and going clay shooting on Sunday. I could’ve made it, but I didn’t want to. If I needed a fuck for the weekend, I would just pull a bird at the club and bang her on a sofa downstairs once we closed, or in my car or hers; never up here in my office, though, never. There’s only one woman I’d ever fucked in this office and that’s the way it would stay, always.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass as my heart felt like it was being squeezed. My balls tightened and my cock twitched as I thought of her, her long legs wrapped around me as I fucked her hard against my office door, well over a year ago now. I turned my head so I could see my chair; the same chair I had at the wine bar, the ‘twirling’ chair as she had called it. Despite the fact it was old and
cracked, I’d kept it and had it moved to my office at the new club, all because it reminded me of her. I swallowed down the all-too-familiar ache I felt inside whenever I thought of her.
My office door flew open and Benny filled my doorway.
“Boss, you need to put the telly on now.” He was sweating, more than usual, and looked panicked. Tamara was still waffling on in my earhole. “Gotta go.” I ended the call and threw the phone on my desk as I picked up the remote to the huge flat-screen telly I’d had put on the wall.
“Ben?” I had no idea what I was looking for, but I assumed it was something bad.
“Sky News, boss, or any channel. It’s on all of them.” I let out a long sigh. I wasn’t really known for my patience, and Benny’s cryptic clues were beginning to piss me off. I folded my arms and leaned back against my desk, my legs stretched out and crossed in front of me. As I listened to Ben’s heavy breathing next to me, a reporter appeared on the screen. She was on a snow-covered street, with a section of pavement taped off and what looked like an old Mercedes on the path, rather than on the road; the reporter looked freezing as the snow fell around her.
“Lisa Mitchell, Sky News, Brentwood in Essex,” she said into the camera. I looked up at Benny and opened my mouth to say something, as a horrible, indescribable wave of fear, terror even, washed over me as the anchor in the newsroom began to speak. At first, I didn’t hear her words. I just looked at the images behind her head; it was her and him, Kitten, my Kitten, but why was her picture on the news? Then I realised, her baby was due any day. She’d probably had her baby, and because it was his baby, it’d made
the news. I didn’t want to know this. I didn’t want to hear about her happy little family. I turned to pick up the remote, about to bollock Benny, because why the fuck would he think I would want to hear this shit? But as I turned back to the telly, there was another reporter outside a hospital.
“Andrew, there is still no official news from the hospital, but from what we are being told, unofficially, is that the lead singer of Carnage, Sean McCarthy, and his heavily-pregnant wife, Georgia, were air-lifted here just before five this afternoon after being hit by an out of control car on Brentwood High Street. The young couple are both said to be in critical condition and are both believed to now be undergoing surgery.” The camera panned around to show a large crowd of reporters, a number of police and what were obviously fans, crying, sobbing and looking stunned.
I knew my mouth was open. I knew I was standing awkwardly, half-twisted between my desk and the telly on the wall, but I couldn’t move. My legs were locked. If I unlocked them, I knew they would give way and I’d hit the floor. Benny passed me a tumbler filled with what looked like whiskey. I drank it down.
“Get me Bailey Layton on the phone. If you can’t get Bailey, try Frank or Finn. Find out what hospital they’re in.” Benny started making calls from two phones at the same time. I held onto my desk as I walked around it and sat down in my chair, our chair. Benny topped up my glass as he passed me a phone. “Bailey,” is all he said.
“Layton, it’s Cameron King. I’m… I just…”
Fuck
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t form words.
Fuck
A strange, strangled sort of sound escaped from my chest and made its way out of my mouth.
Fuck
I needed to know; good or bad, dead or alive. I needed to know.
“How bad?”
“As bad as it gets.” I wanted to throw up; the glass I had in my hand shattered as I held it.
“Is she… Fuck, what does that mean?”
“She’s in surgery. They’re trying to save her. The baby…” I heard a sob. This big, hard man, who I dealt with on many occasions, who was scared of no one and nothing, was sobbing down the phone to me right now.
“The baby’s dead, Cam. She’s lost her baby. Now they’re trying to save her, but they can’t stop the bleeding. She keeps bleeding out and they can’t stop it.” He takes a few deep breaths. “Maca’s gone, it was instant. They’ve got him hooked to a machine, but it’s just so George can say goodbye. There’s nothing they can do…
Fuck
. I don’t know, Cam. Perhaps it’s best if she goes, too. She won’t survive this. She’ll never get through it. I just, I don’t know if we’ll get her back from this.” His sobs were louder and I shouted to make myself heard. They had to get her through. I couldn’t…
I wouldn’t
live in a world without her in it, but he was right. I didn’t know how she would get through this.
Fuck
, I would’ve gladly taken Sean’s place if it meant my Kitten living a happy life. I would’ve given my life for his and the baby. I would’ve given anything to make her happy, to keep her safe.
“She will. She fuckin’ has to.” She couldn’t die; I wouldn’t let her. I’d do whatever was needed. I’d be there. I’d stay away; whatever it took. I would do whatever was needed, but I would get her through this. I had put her back together once, and I’d do it again when the time was right. When she finally realised she needed me, I would be there and I’d put her back together again.
