Whiskey Rebellion Read online

  It makes me a hoor.

  Turning the water to the hottest setting, I get in, falling to the bottom of the shower as the tears pour out of me. It wasn’t supposed to end like this with Jackson. I was supposed to have fun. But here I am, crying my eyes out over a wanker who meant nothing to me.

  And who made me feel nothing but more pain.

  I basically don’t leave my room for the next week.

  Instead, I binge-watch Stranger Things and eat my weight in hotel food.

  Or better yet, hotel ice cream.

  I never got to eat much ice cream back home. Ma always said it put the pounds on the arse, so she made sure I stayed away from it. I had to look perfect so I could attract someone who would accentuate our name. I always hated that. I had this crazy notion when I was a little girl that I’d find my prince in the woods, singing to Bambi or whatever. Instead, I was matched with Micah Jennings. A good mate, a nice mate, but I never really loved him.

  Along with the fact that I wasn’t attracted to him in the least, I had still been so hung up on Casey that I never really gave Micah a chance. I don’t think he ever loved me either. He was in it for the name, for the money, and I don’t blame him one bit. I felt the same, and oh, I acted like it. I gave an Academy Award-winning performance every time he was around. And even with my ma ’cause I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell her I didn’t love him. She’d have lost it. When I did break it off, she got angry, but I left. I moved away to live on my own, and boy, was it great.

  So damn great.

  Lying on my side, I catch a glance of my arse hanging out of the short shorts I’m wearing. I guess Ma wasn’t lying; me arse has grown a bit. Not that I care. I love ice cream more than I like a perfect arse. Licking the cookie dough flavor from the spoon, I moan softly. This is by far the best ice cream I’ve ever eaten. But the peanut butter is a close second for sure. Reaching for my other bowl that is on the nightstand beside my bed, I glare at the drawer that holds all my condoms.

  Stupid maggot of a man.

  Jackson.

  Ugh. Still so mad.

  He is probably another reason I haven’t really left my room. I feel dirty. No matter how much I shower or wash me skin raw, I still hear his words. Asking me if I wanted the money first. Wanker. I guess I get why he would assume that—I am a bit wild in the sheets—but shouldn’t he appreciate a girl who has a drawer of condoms? She’s safe, yeah? I think so. But now, all I want to do is dump the drawer in the feckin’ trash and never do it again.

  Which is bollocks. I love me some sex.

  And I really loved it with Jackson. Ah. His body. Those shoulders, and the cuts in his arms, I swear I’ve never been with someone so big. He enveloped me in his arms. He made me feel like nothing could come near me, he was so big. His back went for days. And that chest… Fuck, my mouth waters at the thought. He was so gorgeous too. Not only was he built like an ox, he was also beautiful. His eyes had a wee touch of caramel to them, but then they were dark too. I don’t know, they were just spectacular, and what kills me is, even after a week, I can’t get him out of my head. I can still feel his lips, his eyes, his touch on me. I want to be disgusted. I want to hate him for what he said to me, but I can’t get the feeling of him touching me out of my head. It’s like his touch is a sunburn that won’t heal.

  So why he had to go and fuck it up is beyond me. We had so much more time to go at it. I know he was enjoying it too. He had those sex eyes, and that cock was so hard, I could have broken a wee barrel over it. His eyes. Those lips. That body.

  Fuck, what an arse!

  Leaning back in the bed, I spoon the peanut butter ice cream into my bowl along with my cookie dough and start to eat it as my thoughts swirl around Jackson. I don’t know what it is about him. I’ve been tempted to go to the bar, kick his arse, and tell him he needs to apologize so I can kiss that mouth of his again. While I know he said it, I don’t think he really meant it. It has taken me a good five days to decide, but it has also made me think of my lifestyle and how I don’t like it.

  I love my freedom, and I love that I don’t have to answer to anyone. But the drugs, the alcohol, and the men have all gotten a wee bit out of control. I didn’t even know Jackson; he could be a feckin’ murderer, and I brought him to my room to ride him to kingdom come. I’m not making wise decisions, and while I know I didn’t get a chance to go crazy like this in my teenage years since I was under my ma’s thumb, I really don’t think I should be doing it now. Or maybe the last six months are enough. I don’t know. Yesterday, I wanted to be good, clean up my act, wash my hair, and straighten it. But today, I want to ride Jackson some more.

  Ah, I’m mad.

  Reaching for the bottle of Cathmor I had sent up for me, I drink from the bottle and I laugh. Guess I’ll try to be good tomorrow. And also, I need to remember to tell Declan that Cathmor pairs wonderfully with ice cream. He’d get a laugh for sure. If I talk to him. I haven’t answered any of his calls. Not returned even one. I texted him and told him I was fine, which resulted in call after call. I just can’t. While I don’t like who I have been the last six months, I can’t go home. My family would want to admit me to some kind of rehab. I also feel I might spiral even worse, being in the same town as Casey.

  Especially living near a distillery where there is a bottle of whiskey in every room.

  I don’t want to feel.

  I want to be numb.

  Laying my head back, I take a long swig of the thick liquor, the burn rushing down my throat and warming my chest. Gah, my ma would be so upset if she saw me now. I can hear her now.

  “Lena, what in the world? Ya look a mess. What are ya wearing? Put that down, and get me a brush!”

  I smile as her voice shakes my soul. I haven’t spoken to her in so long. I miss her greatly, along with my da. Declan, the most, though. As each day passes, I think more and more of my wee nephew, Ronan. I wonder if he looks like Declan and if he has Amberlyn’s auburn hair. I haven’t gotten a picture, probably because Declan is so upset with me. I can’t blame him. I’m not behaving like the person he grew up with. I’m not wee, sweet Lena, doing what everyone tells her to. No, I somehow found my voice when I left, and I like that. I just have to figure out a way to get the heaviness that is Casey off me, and I think I’ll be okay.

  Problem is, I don’t know how to do that.

  I don’t know how to be sure he’ll never touch me again. That he’ll never find me. Funny thing is when I was with Jackson, I didn’t even think a bit about Casey. It was like when I’m drunk or high. I don’t think. I just live and feel in the moment. It’s nice, and I’m craving it like mad. Looking down at the bottle of Cathmor I’m holding, I don’t even want it. I place it on the nightstand, and my gaze catches on the drawer once more. I can hear his voice, the guttural moan that left his lips.

  Bloody hell, I want him.

  Am I seriously considering going down to find him? What will I say? “Oh, look here, Jacks, I’m no hoor, but ya wanna go play in my sheets?” He’d laugh me out of the pub. Or he’d kiss me right there. Ah, his lips. Shite, I’m going.

  If there is one thing I’ve learned since I left home, it’s that I go for what I want.

  Hopping off the bed, I put my bowl down and look on the floor for a sweatshirt to wear. The condition of the room is downright pathetic, but I don’t care. With a little giggle, I reach for a pile of black, and when I lift it, I see that it is massive.

  Oh. It’s Jackson’s pully that he was wearing.

  I fall back on the bed, lifting it to my nose, his dark, spicy cologne tickling my senses. I believe in signs, and if this isn’t a sign to go find him, I don’t know what is. It’s still the day shift, so he should be down at the pub. Throwing his shirt on, I laugh at how much it swamps me, but I enjoy it immensely. Ma would disapprove and probably burn it, but I want to live in this shirt. After sliding my tennies on, I rush through the room and down the elevators.

  When I reach the pub, unlike a week ago, i