CHAPTER ONE

Eight years later

It was amazing how alcohol had the power to make people think that

they were attractive, mused Jaxxon. Or, in this case, some sort of gift to

women. Thank God there was the bar to separate her from this bald, heavyset bloke who was so drunk that both his eyes were fighting for the one

corner. For the past half hour while he swayed and slurred he had been

flirting shamelessly with her. His ‘come hither’ smile revealed a set of

Nicorette stained teeth – oh wait, it wasn’t actually a full set. And ‘flirting’

wasn’t quite accurate. Not unless you considered dirty talk, sexual

innuendos and being given flashes of body parts to be flirtatious behaviour.

More like sick-minded crap.

Needless to say she wasn’t inspired to welcome him into her arms and

body. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t getting the message. Even the words

‘get the **** out of my face’ hadn’t fazed him. Jaxxon was now itching to

get out of the dingy, stuffy pub – she was tired, hungry and feeling

homicidal. But she was pretty sure that Joe, the landlord of the pub,

wouldn’t be too impressed if his barmaid up and left. Jaxxon cast a quick

glance at her quickly aging, flabby boss only to find him smiling at her in

mock sympathy.

After serving another bloke – this one smiling shyly at her and blushing

like a ****** on a first date – Jaxxon switched her attention back to the pen

and clipboard in front of her, noting what needed stocking up on, and all the

while wondering how she managed to attract oddballs and plonkers. Not

that there was much chance of her being approached by someone who

might spark her interest in here. The pub didn’t exactly appeal to the

youthful. In fact, looking around at the punters, the place looked like a

bloody nursing home.

The bald bloke was now suggesting a ‘fuck festival’ with him and his

five friends – all of who shared two things in common. One, they were over

the age of fifty. Two, they had beer guts. She respectfully declined, but his

persistence earned him a ‘sod off you sick perv’ from her. Still he was

unfazed.

Then he leant across the bar, and by the look in his eyes Jaxxon knew he

was about to touch her. Jaxxon and ‘touch’ didn’t go well together. “Don’t

dare,” she warned. He ignored that warning and abruptly reached out and

squeezed her ****** painfully hard. Pure reflex, she gripped the pen tightly

and stabbed the web-like skin between the thumb and forefinger of his

roaming hand, not enough to draw blood but enough to wrench a cry of pain

from him.

“Hurts like ****, doesn’t it,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t ever

touch me again.”

The creepy old sod actually grinned at her. Apparently pain made him

horny. Oh great – now, in his drunken mind, she had just flirted back. No

doubt he would have stayed exactly where he was, hoping for more, if his

friend hadn’t dragged him away.

Joe joined Jaxxon’s side, giggling. “Another satisfied customer.”

“He’s one sick bastard.”

“Sick bastards love you and your mean-arse streak.”

“It’s not mean to be honest and straight with people or insist on them not

being perverted.”

He nodded toward a particular table not far from the bar where a pair of

bashful looking blokes sat all leathered up. “The two Submissives are here

again. They still want you to be their Dom?” Joe giggled again.

“You enjoy all this far too much.”

“This place used to be boring ’til you started working here. I never

realised just how many blokes got their kicks from getting a good verbal

roast. It might help if you didn’t look even spicier when you’re fuming. It

seems to get their blood running.”

“You say all the right things,” said Jaxxon sarcastically.

“Oi, if I gave you a compliment or any sweet words you’d laugh in my

face just like you do with all the others.”

He was right there, which, she supposed, was why she had never been

with a truly decent bloke. Somehow she always ended up with controlling,

clingy weirdoes. It seemed like ‘nice’ blokes were often too intimidated by

her take-no-prisoners mentality to even approach her.

At the same time as the door flew open, a gruff voice rang out: “Jaxxon!”

Sigh. She had actually expected her twat-of-a-neighbour earlier. He must

have taken longer at his drug dealer’s flat than she’d anticipated. “Yes,

Sean, what can I get you? Budweiser? Guinness? Cyanide?”

“Where is she?” he demanded as he stood opposite Jaxxon panting like a

Bull Mastiff.

“She?” enquired Joe.

Sean looked at him, wearing a bitter smile. “Imagine my surprise when I

get back to my flat to find no Celia and no kid. Gone. Clothes and all.”

“Good,” said Jaxxon. “All’s going to plan then.”

“You helped his woman run off?” asked Joe, not all that surprised or

bothered.

Jaxxon held up her hand. “Correction: I helped a beaten, mistreated,

petrified woman and a bruised, starving, frightened little girl have a new

start somewhere away from this threat to their lives and sanity.”

“You interfering *****,” growled Sean.

“What can I say – it’s a gift.”

“You put ideas in her head. Celia wouldn’t have left me like that.”

“No she wouldn’t have,” agreed Jaxxon. “She was too scared to take a

piss without your say so.”

“Where did you get the idea that you had the right to stick your nose in?”

“I’m sure Jesus said something about loving thy neighbours.”

He spread his hands over the bar, his face contorting as his anger

intensified. “Where’s Celia?”

Jaxxon then noticed the tear in the arm of his jacket. She smirked. “So

you tried to break into my flat and ended up being used as a chew toy.”

“That dog is a hellhound.”

“A much loved hellhound. And I better not get back to find your blood

all over the carpet of my flat.” She had found the beautiful Great Dane,

Bronty, about a month or so ago lying in an alleyway covered in bites and

scratches. Without hesitation she took him back to her flat and got to work

on his injuries. From that point on Bronty had seemed to decide that she

was his, and had remained with her even once he was fully healed. Since

then, her flat hadn’t been broken into.

The first time her flat – which was more or less one single room – had

been ‘visited’ she had been both shocked and enraged, but soon she got

used to these regular ‘visits’ from who appeared to be mostly drug addicts

looking for money. Occasionally they took some of her underwear, too. It

was difficult to experience any anxiety over it anymore. How could she feel

territorial about a place that, to her, was not ‘home’ but merely just shelter?

Besides, Jaxxon didn’t have much by way of possessions that she could call

her own, especially not anything of worth.

She would never forget the day about three months back when she got

back to find that not only had her flat been broken into, but the culprit was

still inside. Not an addict looking for something they could sell, but a

twelve year old boy looking for food. Little David revealed that although he

lived with his mum in the flat above Jaxxon’s, the woman was hardly ever

home and when she was she barely took any notice of him. Despite his

insistence that he remain with his mum, who he was very protective of,

Jaxxon might have contacted the authorities if she hadn’t known from

personal experience that going into care didn’t mean you would be any

better off. So she had taken him to meet a friend of hers who worked in the

bakery at the corner of their street. Nora had told him that if he came each

day just before closing time she would give him any pastries or other foods

that were left over. Thank God. Jaxxon made a mental note to check on him

later.

“Where are they?”

Sean’s growl snatched Jaxxon from her thoughts. She groaned. “Are you

still here?”

“I won’t ask you again.”

“I’m curious, Sean, do you even know how old your little girl is? What

date her birthday is? What her favourite food was to eat – when you

bothered feeding her, of course.” If the man had truly known anything about

Celia and their daughter then he would know about Celia’s sister who lived

a few towns away. And if he had then suspected that that was where they

were, he would have been right.

Sean leant across the bar, his face becoming an ugly shade of purple, his

bloodshot eyes bulging. “You’ve always looked down your nose at me.”

“Now really, Sean, you make it impossible not to: You’re an abusive,

twisted, weak little twat who enjoys trying to assault young girls in his free

time.”

His smirk was crooked and callous. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t

you?” So close, he’d come so close to having that delicious body once.

Even though it had been something like eight years ago he could still

remember how arousing she’d looked in her school uniform that day. And

just how much more arousing she’d looked when they were tearing it off

her. So close. “I’d told Nick you wouldn’t just lie there shaking with fear

and not fight back. McKenzie had taught you better than that – before he

went off and became famous as a Formula One driver that is. If Nick had

listened to me and tied you up like I told him to, I reckon that afternoon in

the alley would’ve turned out very differently.”

“Such a shame.” She didn’t let it show that the memories were grating on

her control, or that the mention of Connor, however fleeting, had brassed

her off.

“You think that what we had in mind for you that day was bad? You think

that what I did to Celia and the kid was bad? It will be nothing compared to

what I do to you if you don’t cough up what I want to know. Oh yeah, I’d

have a lot of fun with you. Even more fun than what I had with that little

daughter of mine.”

Sick, perverted, evil bastard! Anger made her quick; without thought she

grabbed a fistful of his greasy dark hair and slammed his face down hard on

the bar. Once. Twice. Three times. “You ever even attempt to touch me with

these paedophilic hands of yours and not only will I castrate you but I’ll

ram your balls up your arse when I’m done.” She released her hold on his

hair with a shove.

Although Sean, steaming with infuriation, quietly made his way to the

door with that stealthy walk he had, she wasn’t mistakenly under the

impression that that was the end of the matter. She was right.

“Don’t be surprised if Don decides he wants his rent money early,” he

yelled as he reached the door.

Ah, yes. She had the company of her wookie lookalike landlord and his

grubby paws to look forward to later when he came asking where his rent

money was. It wouldn’t take much convincing from Sean to make Don be

awkward. It was even possible that wookie Don would repeat his cheeky

offer that Jaxxon could pay her rent with her body. She’d just have to knee

the perverted old fart in the balls like she did last time.

Sean began, “And another thing -”

“Oh for the love of God why don’t you just piss off out of here!”

A moment after a scowling Sean had left, she heard Joe groan loudly.

“What?” asked Jaxxon.

“There’s a bloke over there who’s been watching the whole thing and

rubbing his crotch like crazy at the same time.”

Oh bloody wonderful. Another sick perv.

Richie eyed the masturbating old age pensioner with the same disgust

as the young barmaid and the landlord were. Not that Richie blamed him

for being affected so strongly by the barmaid he had heard being called

Jaxxon. God, no. This girl was a walking wet-dream. He was willing to bet

that she could make even a gay **** rise to attention. She was unique.

Fresh. And exactly what he had been scouting for. The tabloids would love

her. He could have her on billboards all across the country.

Christ, it was difficult not to be mesmerised by her. She didn’t even seem

to realise how she naturally commanded the attention of those around her.

He doubted she was aware of just how sensual her every move was either.

The fluid, graceful way in which she conducted herself was almost feline.

The inner strength she had was so apparent it was like she wore it. Yet there

was no conceitedness about her; she wasn’t gazing around to see who might

be looking at her and she wasn’t dressed to impress. She just was. And that

was enough for any bloke to want her.

There was also her beauty. No, ‘beauty’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Beauty’

seemed to imply a certain degree of innocence. This young woman’s

appearance was not in the least angelic. That face, that body, that sultry

voice…It was a package meant to tempt a man to sin.

When looking at those long, wild, chocolate-brown ringlets a bloke

would only think of fisting his hands in them while covering her mouth

with his own. When gazing at those large, wild, brown eyes framed by a

thick set of eyelashes a bloke would want nothing more than to see them

looking glazed over and dreamy after an ******. And those lips…Christ, it

was as if they had been purposely designed to service a man’s ****. The

smooth olive skin would beckon even a priest. What’s more, she wasn’t

wafer thin like most of the girls he worked with. No. This girl had curves in

all the right places. Very nice set of breasts.

And, God, when her emotions were running high it was impossible to

look away from her. Anger was a good look for her, making her unique eyes

feral and become somehow hypnotic. There were no real words to explain

it. Whatever it was, it made his **** twitch. Just like everything else about

her.

Sinful. That was what she was.

Just what he needed.

Jaxxon had long ago noticed the long-legged, sandy-haired bloke who

was sat in the far corner, alone. She had also noticed that his eyes seemed to

follow her every movement. She was used to being stared at in this place,

though she could never for the life of her fathom what it was that people

thought was worth staring at. She blamed the big breasts and the fact that

she was usually the youngest female in here.

However, this bloke looked at her differently. Like he was studying her.

Like she was some kind of weird artefact that needed to be carefully

appraised. She didn’t like that. Although he was dressed as casually as all

the other punters, there was something about him that suggested he

somehow didn’t belong.

When his eyes met hers, Jaxxon raised a brow questioningly. Her

philosophy had always been that if you had something to say, say it. In

response he mimicked her movement. His expression seemed to be daring

her to approach him and act on her agitation. She merely snorted. The bloke

was very much mistaken if he thought that a little staring would unnerve her

– when you worked in a dodgy place like this you had to learn to get used to

it pretty quick. Maybe he would have had a chance at unnerving her if he

was dressed in leather and wearing a collar like the Submissives…Why

were they even still here?

Throughout her entire shift his gaze remained settled on her. Though it

hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still she had

ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His glare was studious. When

he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected that he might approach

her. He didn’t. It was Joe who he went to. For a moment Jaxxon wondered

if she had got it wrong and it had been Joe that the glarer was concentrated

on all along. Quickly she discarded that notion. No, she had felt his gaze.

“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side.

“This punter here would like to speak to you.”

“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking

here to want have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered

preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid

territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any

of them.

“So he’s paying me one hundred to accommodate a ten minute talk with

you, and I’m really fond of money so -”

“One hundred…to talk?”

“Just a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a

shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all.

What kind of person pays that kind of money for someone to talk to them?

Why didn’t the oddball just approach her himself?

Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seen as your shift

hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your

employer.”

She scowled at Joe but he simply giggled and left them to have their

private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was

reassuring.

“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a

conversation with someone -”

“Oh really, you think so?”

He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight,

that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me

very far.”

She nodded, conceding that.

“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately and I understood that it

would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision

you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”

“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a

business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling

Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes.

Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach

her thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a nonexistent modelling job, but a partner of a modelling agency?

“You are wondering why the top of the food chain would bother

personally with the hunt,” he guessed. “Please allow me to explain.” He

perched himself on the stool beside him. “A close friend of mine runs a

very successful cosmetic company, and he and I have come together on a

project, a joint venture you might say. A new range of cosmetics was

designed between the two of us; a line that is dramatic and echoes a bold

yet carefree mind-set, a collection that will cater for both the everyday look

and the socialising evening.”

“You really think you have products that can pull that off?”

His grin was dripping with confidence. “Oh indeed I do. And so now we

are searching for the face that will set it off. When you open magazines you

have your sweet, open, angelic faces that look ridiculously happy, and you

have those who have mastered the sexy, seductive, erotic look. In both mine

and my partner’s opinion, neither are particularly representative of true life.

After all, if all people were truly so happy or so sexy, there would be no

need for cosmetics or other such things.”

She guessed that much was true but she didn’t comment.

“Neither look echoes the product line. What he and I have been looking

for is someone real. Someone truly representative of life as it really is. And,

unfortunately, life has its fair share of pain, suffering and tests.” It had

therefore been Richie’s idea to look in areas like this where poverty and

crime was prominent, where silver-spoon lifestyles were alien. Thank God

he had. “I believe that you, Jaxxon, know a depth of pain that some may

never experience. I have sat and observed tonight as many others who know

pain were drawn to you; as if they look at you and see another wounded

soul, and your strength is like a homing beacon to them.”

Homing beacon? This all sounded like psychological bollocks to her.

Jaxxon gave him a sceptical look but he seemed to ignore it.

“That kind of strength can only come from being accepting of what you

have endured and who you truly are. I like that you refuse to act as society

expects you to act. You’re not civil if you do not believe the person you are

speaking to deserves it, you’re not patient if you do not believe the person

trying your patience is worthy of it. You’re true to yourself, you’re real.

And that is what we need: someone who is bold and dramatic just like the

range itself.”

Richie gave her a moment to digest all that he had said. Anyone else may

have become defensive during someone’s analysis of them, or argue with

the conclusions of that analysis. But no, this young woman was totally

accepting of who she was and cared not what others thought. He deeply

admired and respected her for it.

“As you are undoubtedly aware,” he continued, “in my line of business,

beauty is a large part of a model’s success. You have a natural and uniquely

strong glamour. Your desirability is not something that need be enhanced;

your appearance is just as compelling as your character.” He smiled widely.

“What will be the key to your success, young Jaxxon, is that pair of eyes

you have. They take on a certain intensity when you are…shall we say

frustrated? They literally smoulder. It is most entrancing. I’ve honestly

never seen anything like it. I’m sure we can somehow manage to frustrate

you a little during the photo-shoot.”

The latter sentence distracted Jaxxon from her contemplating whether he

was a little nuts and had missed his medication. “Photo-shoot?”

“Yes, I’d like you to come and meet my business partner, have some test

shots, and then together we can go from there if this is something that we

would all be happy with.”

Jaxxon might have sent him on his way with a snort and an insult if it

weren’t for the fact that her instincts seemed to like him. She trapped his

gaze with hers, searching for the truth. “You’re really who you say you

are?”

Richie wondered if she had any idea just how enthralling her gaze could

be. Like she was literally yanking the truth from his soul. “Indeed I am.”

“This isn’t some kind of scam?”

“No, it is not.”

“You are honestly considering me as the face of your new cosmetics

range?” She didn’t hide how idiotic she found that idea.

“Yes I am.”

“You’re not a fruitcake?”

Richie laughed at that. “I understand this may seem a little surreal. I

don’t suppose opportunities like this just crop up all the time.”

He had that right. It was certainly not every day that someone like her

was approached by a modelling agency, and then be told that she was super

because she was sort of damaged and rude. It would have made sense for

her to be experiencing some kind of shock at this moment. However Jaxxon

had long ago concluded that life had so many twists and turns that trying to

anticipate anything in life would be downright stupid. Expect the

unexpected – isn’t that what they say? She still lived according to the theory

that it was best to always roll with the punches. And as punches went, this

risk wasn’t even a slap. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose.

And yet, for her to reach for this opportunity would make her feel

somewhat of a fraud. Sure she knew suffering and pain but so did a

gazillion other people, it made her nothing special. “Listen, if what you’re

looking for is someone who’s experienced real pain then you should go

further down the poverty drainpipe; plenty of people have been through

worse than me.”

“True, but the depth of your pain is not the main factor here.”

“And I really don’t get this ‘entrancing’, ‘compelling’ crap that you’re

saying about me.”

Richie’s lips curved into a smile, he liked that she wasn’t vain. “That is

merely a matter of self-confidence. We can work on that.”

“The trouble is you’re not really considering what you’d be letting

yourself in for. Something tells me I’m not the kind of person you’re used

to having around you.”

“How so?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not friendly or polite.”

“Most pleasantries, pleases and thank-yous are insincere, I find.”

“I don’t smile much.”

“Your intensity is what I like.”

“I don’t pose and I don’t know how to strut – nor would I want to learn.”

“Has nobody ever told you that there is an effortless sensuality to your

movements?”

God this bloke was persistent. “I don’t work well by myself or as part of

a group.”

“Then you’ll be dearly frustrated which will very conveniently bring that

incredible spark in your eyes for the photos.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about hurting someone who tried to touch me if I

felt I needed to.”

“I shouldn’t worry about that; you’re scary enough to make people

hesitate to touch you anyway.”

“I curse like a sailor.”

“We can always say you have Tourette’s Syndrome.”

“Even someone with Tourette’s Syndrome would be wide-eyed by some

of the things that come out of my mouth.”

He shrugged. “That is simply because you are an expressive person.

There is nothing at all wrong with that. It is part of what makes you so

intense and puts that look in your eyes.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you want me as the face for this

range of yours because I’m a ***** who doesn’t care that she’s one.”

He grinned at her opinion of herself. “Even bitches can get a break in

life.”

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