BEAM – The Men of Whiskey Mountain Read online Frankie Love

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
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BEAM - The Men of Whiskey Mountain

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Frankie Love

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B084P28ZWJ
Book Information:

The moment I saw her, I knew. She'd be mine someday. Of course the feeling wasn't mutual.
She was all sunshine and optimism ... I was burly, broken, and hell-bent on keeping my word. Don't touch the girls. No matter how tempting. And damn, how Julia tempted me.
It's been a year since I saw her, and things are different now, the trouble we faced in L.A. is behind us. Isn't it?
When I hear that she's up in Alaska, same as me, I know this is my chance. I've done lots of terrible things in my life -- but I have only one regret. I never told her how I truly feel.
I love her. And it's high time she knew. Even if I have to kidnap her in order to make that happen.
I may represent everything she's running from, but I can be more than a ghost from the past. I can be her future.
Books by Author:

Frankie Love



Chapter One

Beam

Coming here to Wavy and Walker’s cabin, to meet their newborn twins, was the right thing to do. I’ve known Walker a long ass time, and we’ve been through some hell together. So seeing him here now, with his wife and kids, makes the shitty parts of our story a little easier to swallow.

And if he can forgive me, I figure anything is possible.

Doesn’t seem like Jemma, Wavy’s sister, shares the sentiment.

And I get it — I do. When we all met, down in L.A., Jemma was an escort and I know being around me — the bodyguard to her boss, Maker — only reminds her of the past. One she’d rather leave buried.

Wouldn’t we all?

“How’s the fishing going these days?” Wavy asks me, trying to distract us all from the fact her husband is stitching up Jameson’s back. Jameson and Jemma just showed up after dodging the goddamn mountain militia.

We all came to Alaska for peace and quiet but it seems with these folks it’s anything but.

“Ever get lonely?” Wavy asks. I’m guessing she’s wanting to know if I’m seeing anyone.

I run a hand over my beard, cocking an eyebrow. “Hell, it’s quiet on the water, but it’s just as quiet when I’m on land.”

Jameson takes another shot of whiskey as Walker pulls the final stitch through and cuts it off. I wince, knowing that with a bullet wound like that, he’s lucky to be alive.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Walker jokes, wiping his forehead with his wrist.

Jameson touches the skin around his handiwork. “Look at that,” he says. “You’re a motherfucking artist.”

Walker takes one of the babies from Wavy’s arm and sways soothingly. I shake my head, never having thought I’d see something like this. A year ago we were all on the run for different reasons, and somehow we managed to make it up to Alaska in one piece. At least most of us.

There is one woman I haven’t seen in a long ass time. The only woman who really mattered to me. I would do anything to see her again.

Jemma and Wavy begin cleaning up the medical supplies, and they hiss at one another the way only sisters can, discussing something I can’t hear as they walk to the kitchen.

“What now?” Wavy asks her as they walk back into the living room.

I strain my ears to hear Jemma’s response.

“I’d love to stay and help with the babies,” Jemma says. “But I’m going to leave as soon as I can.”

Interesting. Figured her and Jameson were together — the way he keeps looking at her makes me think there is something going on. But Jemma just fiddles with her niece’s blankets, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’m going to find Bellamy.”

“Bellamy?” Jameson asks. “Who is she?”

“Well, she was Marta… but she changed her name when she left California.”

Marta? Bellamy? Fuck. Names that bring me back to life. Back to the past.

“That makes sense,” I say, running a hand over my beard.

“What does?” Jemma asks.

I clench my jaw, the past surfacing. I’ve known her — Bellamy — for so damn long. “That she would change her name back to what it used to be.”

“She used to be Bellamy?”

I nod, but don’t say any more about it. She wanted to erase her past when Maker met her, brought her in as an escort. Whoever and whatever she’d been before, she wanted to leave it behind.

So why go back to the person she wanted to bury?

“So who is she?” Jameson asks again.

“One of the yacht girls, from when I worked with Maker,” I tell him simply. With a grunt, I run a hand over my beard, trying to focus, but it’s hard when the room seems to be spinning. I pull at the collar of my flannel shirt.

Wavy and Jemma leave the room, whispering, and I try to make a plan. I need to find her.

Jameson frowns and looks me up and down. “You like her,” he says. “Bellamy.”

I don’t respond, what the hell would I say? I more than like her. I love her. I would do anything for her — and I regret so damn much. Everything. Because it means I don’t have her.

Jameson winces as Walker presses a thick bandage over his wounds, front and back. The militia got him pretty good, but they didn’t kill him. And he may feel like shit right now, but in a few weeks he’ll be okay.

“What happened to her? Where would Jemma even go looking?” Jameson asks.

“Marta, well, Bellamy, moved to that cult, Father John’s, about a year ago,” Walker tells us. “They almost got shut down by the feds, and I don’t know how they wormed their way out of that. They’re still up and running somewhere here in Alaska.”

I walk back to the room where the woman are. “Jemma?” I ask, knowing talking to me isn’t exactly on her list of to-dos.

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