Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2) Read online

  Forgiving

  Gia

  By Gina Whitney

  Copyright © 2014 Gina Whitney

  All Rights Reserved in accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of author’s rights.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison along with a fine of $250,000.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resembelance to persons, living or dead or places, events or locals is purely coincidental. The characters are a reproduction of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  ISBN 978-1-63452045-4

  LCCN: 201491185

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Books by Gina

  Acknowledgments

  My Beauty~Abel Gunner

  I long to feel you slide, across my thighs…was that a sigh?

  Your soft skin a whisper of something akin to sin, my beauty...

  Feel my fingers against your heat

  my engorged tip...your lips...draw out

  something deep...

  An ache, a need, that laps against my shore,

  come let us open the door

  Show me the way

  past the waves...past the walls.

  Pull it from my balls baby...

  It won’t recede, it is my burning need

  that feeds this moment of atonement.

  Down on your knees! Don’t you see what it is

  To kneel to me...to please...

  My hand outstretched

  The sharp crack against your ass

  Don’t hold back your tears

  They are mine, Beauty...

  ~Elias Raven 2014~

  There was no life after death. I knew that after everything. There were no bright lights. No welcoming loved ones. No beautiful rolling hills. No sun, moon, stars—no nothing. Only darkness. The kind of darkness that you’d get down on your knees and pray to God you never meet again. Seconds turned into minutes, into hours, and finally into days—which felt like weeks, months even. Living in a shell with no soul. The only sounds that remind me of my life were the swooshing of blood going through my veins and the steady beep of the heart monitor. I didn’t know how long I stayed on that tarmac with my knees bleeding. My heart bleeding. My soul screaming.

  Woody phoned 9-1-1 before takeoff and then called Cindy. The plane took off without a glance back from him. That’s all I knew. He. Never. Looked. Back. Oh, God. I couldn’t put into words the pain I felt. Death was welcomed. Cindy left the office, changing from heels to sneakers as she ran to the car. Too late… I already took the entire bottle of sleeping pills. When she found me, I was an unconscious puddle of heartache and vomit. Incoherent sobs wreaking havoc on my body. She finally cajoled me into her lap while EMT’s worked on me. You see, I was gripping on to life, or what little I had left. And that little bit prayed to be in his arms.

  My life had quickly turned into a series of wishes. I wished I were with him. Wished that all this fucked-up shit never happened. Wished I were on the plane with him. Wished I would be under him that night. But that wasn’t the case. From a mere touch, I knew it wasn’t him. My body knew. My heart knew. A familiar scent reached my nose, but I couldn’t place it. The body holding me was warm, comforting, supportive, and cooing sentiments. My heart prayed he’d came back for me…begging me not to end my life as he named all the reasons he needed me. However, it wasn’t him. That was why I wanted to stay there in the depths of hell, never to return to my old life again. I wanted to be left for dead.

  As I plummeted deeper into the abyss, my voice became lost. I was unable to mutter a single word or plea—my brain superseding my mouth. I didn’t have anything worth shit to say, anyway. It was a bit late for that. If you had asked me if I thought I’d ever be pushed this far in my lifetime—I’d have hands down said, no! But I’d been pushed far enough to understand the type of pain my brother felt when he ended his life. I never understood it until now. The hopelessness you feel when you are literally living for someone. Or rather, when you start living because of someone. I finally understood. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone—ever.

  The thought of going home was terrifying. It was the last place I remembered being happy. The last place I was before the gates of hell broke open. I still craved darkness. I surrendered to it. Let it take me under. My eyes remained closed for what felt like years, unable to tolerate any source of light. The sensitivity had a sneaky way of making it to the pit of my stomach…knotting me up. Light was too visceral. Too bright. Too happy. Too alive. Without him…I was dead, inside and out.

  Who could have an appetite when you lost the love of your life? When you fucked up so badly the thought of food made you physically ill. How could I take any pleasure in eating when I was so lost? So cold. My thoughts always returned to that paper bag that had gotten caught floating in a gust of wind. Effortlessly cascading over and over again.

  God, why? Why was my life so hard? Why couldn’t I have been cut any breaks—ever? Where were my chances? Where? My frustration caused a primitive reaction. It wasn’t something I could control. In fact, my doctors said if I couldn’t stop palm planting my head, they’d tie me down. I just couldn’t get past my fuck-up. It was killing me. Have you ever been unable to face what you’d done? When you think back on it, it’s so fucking painful you hit yourself, trying to relieve the pain? That’s where I was. They didn’t understand. They wanted me to share in group. Fuck group! I became a window watcher, watching the birds by day and the fireflies by night. That was my new reality. My songbird was singing, but I couldn’t hear him anymore.

  I became a series of metaphors. And all I wanted was for someone to tell me how to get him back. Preferably, step by step. I was good at directions. What. The. Fuck. Was. So. Hard. About. That? Why couldn’t they just give me the instructions? I’d take my meds—as promised. I needed the formula to getting him back. Why wouldn’t they help me?

  No. Instead, they went on and on about obsessive-compulsive disorder and break with reality. They put me on Risperdal. An antipsychotic medication to change the effects of chemicals in my brain. Fuck. Most commonly used for schizophrenia and extreme bipolar disorder. I was quickly becoming a commercial for psychiatry. We’ve all watched those annoying commercials about medication you’ve never heard of ever.

  A side effect of the medication was that it was extremely sedating. I slept for days. My tongue was thickly laminated to the roof of my mouth. I was put in a wheelchair for five minutes while they changed my sheets. I didn’t speak. Didn’t think. Didn’t eat
. But what it didn’t take away from my consciousness was the nightmare that was on a constant replay loop. The day he left. The day he wouldn’t listen. Nothing took that away. Nothing took the wrenching pain from my heart. Nothing.

  However, I was the only one at fault. I wished I could’ve blamed someone. I couldn’t. It was all me. I destroyed us. I listened to my mother. Took part in her plot. Exercised without caution. I never thought in a million years he’d be my forever. No. I never thought I’d ever feel an ounce of what he’d given me in such a short time. Certainly, not a man with all his attributes and possibilities of love everlasting. Possibility, a word that was never in my vocabulary growing up. It’d been a while; all that fucked-up shit in my life had disappeared while I was with him. Sitting there…I could still remember the way he tasted. His essence. His touch.

  All I wanted to do, more than anything, was to say sorry. But that was the story of my life. What I created. He left me with nothing—just my lies.

  Self-loathing was a word I was very intimate with. It slithered its way in and out of my veins…feeding and nourishing my brain with antipathy. I was fucking overdosing on it. If I wanted him back, I needed to try. I could do that. I could try for him. It couldn’t be worse than this…could it?

  Dawn broke over the mountaintops, giving way to a blood orange sun warming the valleys below. Green foliage draped the mountainside like a curtain of wild beauty. Gerber daisies painted the countryside, begging to be picked. I sat in my favorite chair, nestled up to the window and breathing what little fresh air I could. A gentle hand firmly squeezed my shoulder. Cindy?

  “How are you feeling today, Gia?” The timber in his voice stuck to me like glue.

  I turned disbelievingly. “Mr. Gunner?” I croaked. “What are you doing here?” For a moment, I let his voice float over my skin, caressing me…comforting me.

  “I came by to see how you are. We’re all worried about you, Gia. You’re still an employee, are you not? But I think of you as more. I have a vested interest in you as well as your health and well-being.” He came around and sat in the chair next to me. He grabbed my hand and squeezed, never letting it go. A show of solidarity. Why though? After all the pain I caused.

  “Look at me, Gia,” he commanded.

  And I did. It took everything in me, but I did. Shame still had its smarmy hands all over me. But he was every bit as dominant as Abel. My body responded at once.

  He took my chin his hands, gently directing my eyes to his. “Do you love my son?” He waited. “I mean…really love him?”

  I blinked a few times trying to comprehend the question. Of course, I loved him. He already knew that, didn’t he?

  “Yes, sir. I really, really love him.” A small smile broke across my face. I couldn’t help it. His name elicited happiness soul deep. It was contagious, too, because he smiled brightly. An honest to God, genuine smile.

  “Good! I was hoping you’d say that. How about we go get our boy?” His beautifully sculpted eyebrow rose, waiting for my answer. His hand gently squeezed mine as he coaxed my answer.

  “We?” I stuttered. “I looked around my hospital room. It was drab. All be it, but the flowers Cindy brought every day. Feeling self-conscious, I pulled at my hospital gown.

  “Stop, Gia. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t second guess yourself. I need you to be the woman I know you are. The woman you’re meant to be. If you’re to be by his side, you need to be confident. He needs you and you need him. I’m just offering you a vessel back to each other.” He was as dark and foreboding as Abel.

  All I could do was nod. I had so many questions and no fucking answers. I was taking a big risk. Risking everything, as well as my fucking mental health. Could I afford to be dropped on my head again and left for dead? No, I couldn’t. But…there was a big fat fucking but there…It was Abel. I couldn’t deny him anything—ever. Was I risking my own sanity, though? Fuck yeah I was. Was he worth every last ounce of me? A resounding fuck yeah. I could rise above my insecurities to try to get him back. After all, his father was helping. That had to mean something, right?

  “I’m sorry,” I squeaked. My eyes roamed the floor for any miscellaneous particles. “I’m embarrassed and feel self-conscious. I can’t help but think what your opinion is of me…what I did. Why would you want me to be a part of your son’s life?” I asked and made sure to look him in the eye. It was true. If I wanted my Dom—my Abel—I needed to get my shit together, and fucking quick.

  “My doctors have been taking care of you since you arrived. I’m a good judge of character, Gia. You, my dear, are just a product of your environment. I can empathize with that. My son doesn’t know this, but I grew up in a similar circumstance. We had money. That was the only difference. But money doesn’t take away the ugliness of it all. I know my son. I know what’s good and what’s not. Something real. Something that’s tangible…that’s what he needs.” He ran his hand through his hair, much like Abel.

  There was a certain amount of comfort in that. But the fact still remained, he left me. He never waited for an explanation or an excuse.

  While mind-fucking myself into oblivion, a knock sounded at the door.

  Chance. His smile was bright and cheery. “Well, how’s our girl?” He rushed in with shopping bags, dropping them at my feet. He engulfed me in a signature Chance hug, full of kisses and comfort. It was just what the doctor ordered.

  I returned his embrace with a pat. “I’m doing much better, thank you.” I smiled up at his beautiful face. Sigh. He felt a step closer to home. I couldn’t help but get lost in the moment.

  “I just want to say…” I didn’t get the words out before he was kissing the whole of my face.

  “Don’t you fucking dare—Gia.” He held me against his muscled chest, squeezing the oxygen out of me. “Mr. Gunner filled me in. That fucking cunt. I want to kill her for you. I swear to God I do…and I’m a lover, not a fighter. That should tell you something.” He sighed loudly. “Tell me what you need. Anything and it’s yours.” He stepped back, taking a long look at me and the room I occupied. “Let’s get you out of here, baby girl,” he said, cupping my chin.

  I nodded as Dr. Westin walked in. He walked directly over to Mr. Gunner, shaking his hand firmly. Chance tucked me under his arm securely. The doctor took notice and just nodded toward him.

  “Gia, are you ready to give life a shot again?” He reached into his lab coat and placed three bottles of medication on my tray-table with a resounding clack.

  I tensed. Chance squeezed my shoulders in support. “Yes, I am. I’m more than ready, Doctor.” I stepped forward and noticed the smirk of approval on Mr. Gunner’s face. “I’m ready.” I looked him in the eye.

  Dr. Westin handed me my release forms with a litany of instructions. Fuck. That was embarrassing. What choice did I have? None. I needed out of that asylum. Meds or no meds, I needed to grasp at the tiny thread that was tethered to Abel. Grab on to it for dear life.

  “Pen, please?” I motioned for the doctor to hand me his pen. He did. I signed that shit in a second flat while Chance patted my back and kissed my cheek.

  “Best of luck, Gia. Remember, you have alternatives, little one. There are always alternatives.” He pocketed the pen, shook Mr. Gunner’s hand, nodded his goodbye, and left.

  “Come, baby girl. Let’s get you out of these…umm…these clinical clothes.” Chance grabbed my hand and led me to the bathroom with his bag of tricks. “Peaches and cream, baby girl. Your skin’s peaches and fucking cream.” He closed the door behind us.

  “Sorry, it’s not really a big enough bathroom for the two of us.” I frowned up at him.

  “It’s perfect! Let’s get you in to what fabulousness I picked out for that gorg body and face of yours.” He smiled brightly, making him look like he belonged in an Orbit gum commercial. Perfectly white teeth against olive skin.

  He gently untied the back of my hospital gown. I lifted my hair out of the way. Bending into the mirror to take in the dark circl
es under my eyes, I cringed. “Don’t, Gia. You’re beautiful, my darling. And you’ve been through an ordeal. Don’t nitpick.” He frowned.

  “Ugh. Fuck me sideways.” I fingered my gaunt, pasty white skin. I purposely disregarded the mirror for that singular purpose. Natural beauty my ass…

  “Let’s not and say we did.” He grabbed my arms, staring into my eyes with a wicked gleam.

  I smirked. God, he was beautiful. Too bad he batted for the other team. “Okay, let’s see what you brought for me.” I winked.

  “There’s our girl.” He winked back, tucking my bangs behind my ears. “I happened to get my hands on the perfect Narciso Rodriguez dress…fresh off the runway, doll.” He unwrapped the tissue paper, exposing probably the singularly most beautiful dress known to man. Cashmere crepe. Long sleeves with a deep cowl exposing my ample cleavage while still conservative and demure. He held up a pair of nude Jimmy Choo pumps.

  “You’re traveling with Mr. Gunner, so I couldn’t do fuck-me-here-and-now sexy.” He kissed my hand. “But this is as good as it gets. You will have him on his knees. Let’s go get Abel, baby girl.” He twirled me around, blowing in a fresh breath of confidence. Yes, Abel. Mine. He carefully aided me in dressing, paying attention to every detail. In his bag of tricks, he had my favorite MAC makeup. I couldn’t help but fall in love with him even more. He thought of every comfort to make me feel better and took his time with me as if I were a porcelain doll.

  It was time to screw my head on straight and get my man. There was no time for intensiveness. No time for self-refection. I needed to own who I was. Finally gain my independence from the witch who birthed me. It was the time for the mighty Gia to show her face. Shake the dirt off of me and be the woman I was meant to be—his woman. I needed to get my love, my heart, and my soul back. With a mental shake, Gia Mastro, his beauty, appeared. That was where I was meant to be. God, I missed myself. One breath in…one deep breath out.