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    Cascade: Unapologetic
    Cascade: Unapologetic
    Cascade: Unapologetic
    Ebook325 pages5 hours

    Cascade: Unapologetic

    By Pamela Ann

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    About this ebook

    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.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPamela Ann
    Release dateMar 5, 2018
    ISBN9781386398707
    Cascade: Unapologetic
    Author

    Pamela Ann

    is a New York Times and USA Today Best Selling Author. She studied Fashion Marketing in United Kingdom and has a degree in Business. She has a penchant for pastries, dogs, renaissance paintings, steamy angst-filled novels and traveling.  Get personal notification through your email when Pamela Ann has something new coming out. Join in on special two-chapter previews for upcoming releases, giveaways, current promos, announcements & more. SUBSCRIBE FOR THE NEWSLETTER HERE: http://eepurl.com/PnuMj YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW HER... Website: http://pamelaannbooks.com Blog: http://pamelaannbooks.blogspot.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pamela.annauthor Twitter: https://twitter.com/PamelaAnnAuthor  

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      Book preview

      Cascade - Pamela Ann

      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

      D amn 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

      S weetie, 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.

      Spotting those little red fuckers marking her neck … God, that feeling was indescribable. It was such a dark, destructive feeling—an ugly all-consuming void seizing your body, your soul. The viciousness didn’t creep in. It was a dark, vacuous, eviscerating, agony, desperation, mind and soul-crippling sensation hitting me all at once. A tidal wave of catastrophic proportion. After growing up an orphan, I had imagined I was equipped with all the essential tools to cope with all levels of pain and rejection, but nothing—not a god damn thing—could ever have prepared me for this.

      The all too consuming pain shut down something inside of me. Like a switch, it turned out the light in my soul, shrouding me in darkness. And without light to guide me, I was a lost man grappling for whatever I could hang on to in order to survive.

      And survive, I did. But I’d never been the same since.

      What pissed me off too was how I had actually begun to plan how to propose again, but this time, I wanted it to be perfect—with a proper engagement ring, violins, thousands of flowers, the whole shebang.

      Thank fuck I hadn’t, because had I done so and she’d accepted my proposal, I’d have flown to Barcelona myself and wrung her pretty lying neck the moment the news had come out about her getting fucked in the bedroom in the middle of a damn party.

      Fuck, what a cunning whore!

      And to think I almost married her! If it wasn’t so tragic, I’d be laughing my ass off.

      Damn him.

      Damn her.

      They both deserved their fates after the torture they’d brought me.

      No man—no person—should feel so worthless, so unloved. To feel so devalued, so belittled as if our long history didn’t matter at all.

      My pride, or whatever was left of it at that time, wouldn’t let Cara make a fool out of me twice. As a result, I had done what I did best—played the fuckboy they loved me to be.

      She had never dared reach out after she’d returned my grandmother’s ring. I had been informed she saved my life during the accident. Upon learning the fact, I hadn’t even felt a damn thing. Not a pang, not even a faint twitch—nothing. I was dead inside. A decent person would’ve sent a thank you card with flowers, at least, but no, not with me. She should’ve done me a favor and let me burn along with the car. Guess her conscience wouldn’t let her kill two men whose only mistake in life was falling in love with her.

      She had been the love of my life. I had no happy childhood memory that didn’t include her. She had been the reason behind the drive to succeed, to become a better man for her. A man worthy of her. Of her love. To be the deserving man she chose to share her life with and to feel honored that she was the woman I had chosen to bear my children and to the future I had been willing to work hard for.

      I had loved her, with no rhyme or reason. I simply … just …

      Like breathing, loving her had come naturally.

      I had fallen, and I had fallen hard.

      And for a time, Cara had completed me.

      Like a man finding himself powerless in the middle of a sandstorm, memories fully engulfed me. In a dizzying, heart-stopping moment, I was brought back to that beautiful yet hellish space in time.

      The past.

      Hell.

      Her.

      Images of the promise tree annihilated my senses. The dead look she pinned me with—the unmistakable hatred in it—was indisputable. I was certain its existence was simply because I was alive, and her precious Juan was dead and buried six feet under.

      How could she stab me in such a way? What had Juan Torres had that I didn’t? All I did was love her. She knew I lived and died for her. Wasn’t I enough?

      I obviously wasn’t, because had I been enough, she wouldn’t have chosen him over me. However, she did try to convince me in Sweden … the tears, the promises, her words of love …

      Lying whore, I gritted out as I ran a hand through my hair, savoring the bitterness on my tongue as I tasted the dripping water sluicing down my face.

      When’s the last time I had a meal? The random question popped into my hazy brain. Rum and coke and coke sure as fuck didn’t count as a nutritious meal. It had been over twenty-four hours since my stomach had been fed. The party scene sure was fun, but food was scarcely noticed when one was surrounded by other things that whetted one’s other appetites.

      I wasn’t one to appear to mope around and be depressed, and even though I was brilliant at hiding it, when I was alone, stripped of any pretenses, I was back to being the vulnerable moron again. I didn’t even want revenge; I just wanted her gone, out of my mind. Was that so much to ask for? I was almost certain in a year, Cara wouldn’t even cross my mind, or the very thought of her wouldn’t gut me as it did now. I hated being in this position—pitiful, helpless, and exposed.

      Fuck her. Fuck ’em all.

      My jaws locked as I silently repeated the words like a damn mantra before drastically shutting the shower off.

      Fuck you, I grit out. My body slightly shook at the potency of the words.

      It was what I deserved for being such a lovesick sucker who couldn’t let go of the one woman who’d left him without a word of goodbye. Too much ego, pride, and curiosity had gotten me to this broken place. Add the pathetic fact that I had a tough time controlling my dick where she was concerned, and it was a recipe for disaster. A beautiful disaster, but a disaster all the same.

      Once a man submitted to being pussy-whipped, that was the inevitable outcome. Women lost respect once an alpha male like me gave in to their whims. The moment women got too comfortable in the relationship, they, in turn, become bored; their eyes start to wander; and it’s all downhill from there.

      No faithful man should be treated so unfairly, but here I was, pondering the same problem every damn day.

      When would this insanity end?

      I’d done everything possible to numb the ache, to temporarily forget it all, but nothing worked. Each passing day, slipping the blasé mask on was getting harder and harder to do.

      I winced at the pathetic sound of my thoughts. Lock it down, you little bitch. My jaw locked, disgusted by the pitiful excuse of a man I had become.

      No woman will make a fool of me again, I silently vowed. She was the first and last one. Cara’s effect would last in me forever. A lifetime of regret. Of hatred. Of anguish.

      Love had done this to me. An emotion so powerful, so profound, that it could be weaponized to be every man’s destruction.

      I understood now why some men avoided marriage and long-term relationships. Somewhere along the way, long before they became these self-serving, egotistical jackasses, they fell in love. The only surefire method for men to preserve their existence was to avoid it at all costs. Moreover, I sure as hell didn’t have the capacity to nurture another person. I could barely do that for myself, so adding another into the equation would only mess with my barely hanging by a thread equilibrium.

      As Arthur Miller once said, Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.

      Damn right! So, with that in mind, definitely no more falling in love for me—end of story.

      As long as there was breath in my body, I’d fight tooth and nail to vanquish Cara from my heart. The journey wasn’t going to be easy, but I would eventually get there even if it killed me.

      Fat, heavy droplets of water hung onto my skin as I pushed the glass door open. The immediate gust of coldness from the air-conditioning directly hit me. My body felt its strong energy upon impact, zapping me to life, recharging my depleted batteries. It’s as if the man upstairs had just given me a good punch in the face, ordering me to keep moving forward, and it felt marvelous.

      A dark, satisfying smile played about my lips as I deliberately avoided glancing at my reflection in the mirrored wall. For some Godforsaken reason, I couldn’t fucking look myself in the eye. There was too much going on in there. It was best to just ignore it, shrug it off, and keep on living as if nothing was bothering me, even though I was quietly battling a never-ending hollowness fixing itself into my system. It festered like an infected open wound, inflamed, as the continual pain lingered on, constantly mounting, exacerbated by each passing day.

      Broken trust was the gift that kept on bleeding … a present I had to learn to accept some way, somehow.

      I was lazily toweling my hair dry when I heard footsteps enter my domain. For a brief moment, I completely froze before realizing that it was Petra, not her. How the heck did I manage to forget Petra invited herself in? And why the fuck did I think it’d be Cara in the first place?

      Diverting my eyes away from the bathroom door, I released a shaky breath, hopelessly trying to kick the painful pang heavily dwelling inside my chest.

      Cara was the past. This was my present … as was the ever-loyal Petra.

      Muffling a strangled groan, I muttered a curse for being a complete idiot. I was so caught up in my nostalgia that I had briefly forgotten my reality.

      Get a grip, you idiot.

      Ah, you’re finally done! Said the unwanted beaming guest. I would’ve joined in, but I had to take an important call. The stunning model sauntered into the bathroom as if she was strutting on a runway. From the

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