Lucca's Lust: The Luminara Series Book 3 Read online

  Total devastation.

  Sudden trauma.

  A fucking train wreck.

  Like me, she was a cancer survivor and on her way to having a bright and beautiful future. Her life was taken from her and I watched. I saw the whole fucking nightmare play out in front of me. I was part of the whole fucking nightmare. If it was not for my good friend, Casey Huddersfield and her therapy, I would still be pretty fucked-up about the whole experience.

  Jasmine—a smart, kind, and pretty girl— had been through more bad shit than anyone else I know, but she was positive and had a great outlook. She could have made it. Made a nice life for herself because she spent months rebuilding it and learning how to be a stronger woman. She deserved it.

  I often ask myself why God would give that girl another chance at living, save her, give her hope and a chance of being healthy and happy. A chance to get on with her life and look towards a brighter future, only to take it away in the blink of an eye. Darkness.

  She left me traumatised, shocked, and empty. She left me without warning, and she left me instantly … all because she ran from me. The only thing that can erase those awful images and horrific experience is to remember the one nice night we had, the months of friendship we shared, and the help we were able to give one another—the connection we bonded over. For that, I will always be grateful, and it is her I owe thanks to for being a better man.

  A man once more.

  A man thankful for being alive.

  A man thankful for light.

  After my surgery, I was left feeling agonisingly sorry for myself, stuck in a place of self-loathing and pity, totally pessimistic. I did not feel like a man.

  Jasmine helped me. She helped me accept that I was not weak. I was still a man. She was good distraction and showed me I was still every bit as masculine as I was before. Before, I doubted myself. She was my first sexual encounter after my surgery. I was nervous because I always had such a high sex drive and loved a good fuck, until I doubted myself. The psychological effects internally bruised my mind and put me off sex … until that one nice night.

  One nice night.

  We had one nice night together after months of friendship while we were both recovering from cancer. And she brought me back to my true self of appreciating my masculinity, and she taught me to enjoy sex again. God, did that feel good and was exactly what I needed. That one nice night of pleasure, one nice night of realisation, and one nice night of acceptance was all it took for me to find my balls and get my mojo back.

  That was the night before she was taken from me.

  Earlier that night we celebrated that we were given another chance at life. We accepted that we were in remission, and I even gave her a gift, a token of thanks. It was a special night. She was a special friend and she deserved recognition for her willpower and good news on her latest test results.

  I was lucky that night. I discovered I was still very much a man … between the sheets, against the door, and in the shower with help from Jasmine—my cancer-surviving friend, who suffered a terrible ordeal and then the worst fate of her life just hours after she helped restore my faith and willpower again.

  In the fucked-upness of the tragic event sealing her fate, I could not save her because she abandoned me. God stole her too early, and it changed my life forever. She left me. She left me bereft.

  I met Jasmine at group therapy in the hospital after my surgery and during my radiography treatment. She was recovering from ovarian cancer and joined a support group because I soon found out that her boyfriend at the time was a useless fucking bastard and abused her, physically and emotionally tormented her. She was so lonely, hurt, and fragile. She needed comfort, support, and a friend to rely on.

  I was that man.

  I was not sexually attracted to Jasmine, well not in the beginning, not until our one nice night. During our hospital visits, we became friends and listened to one another. I knew she was suffering, that she was sick and needed a friend. After our treatment, I helped her find her own house, away from her boyfriend, and I gave her some independence by giving her a job working for me.

  She wanted to help organise one of the cancer charities I had started donating to, and the research trust I support. Considering what we had both gone through, there was no better position for her. She was compassionate, understanding, and would have put her heart and soul into the charity organisation for cancer trials … had she had the chance to make a difference.

  I stopped seeing Fran long before I met Jasmine. When I found out about my cancer, I pushed Fran away. I just could not face the pity or sympathy, and I did not want to hurt her. Stubbornly, I wanted to go through it alone and man up.

  It was hard and it was challenging, but I did get through it, and it was Jasmine who gave me a piece of my old self back. A complete stranger who never judged me, it was easy talking to her. She restored my confidence and did not have the emotional history or attachment Fran, my family, or friends had with me.

  Opening up to her over coffee after one of my treatments just felt natural and easy. I did not even confide in any of my mates, my brothers, or my parents at the time. The only person I told was Marco.

  He had to hold down the fort for me when I was getting treatment, and I trusted him not to tell the family. I asked him to keep it close to his chest because that is how I wanted to deal with it. He understood because he had been through the same thing with his mamma and his first girlfriend, who sadly lost her battle with cancer.

  I battled it alone, and I wanted to. I would never hurt or upset my family, so I did not want to burden them with it or worry them. Jasmine listened. She was someone outside of my family and friend circle who I could easily talk to. She showed me she understood. She was going through similar emotions, but she also had her own demons to battle.

  We gradually peeled those emotional layers back together. Jasmine sensed I was feeling insecure. I knew, because I sensed the exact same things about her. She had tried to get away from her boyfriend many times and failed and had given up.

  The more I listened to Jasmine, the more I realised my worries were inconsequential. Compared to her fucking dark life, I had it pretty good and was extremely lucky to have family and friends I knew would support me had I asked them. I did not because I was scared … and I was embarrassed.

  Yeah, a big fucking pussy.

  I felt ashamed … it was personal and sensitive to me. My mamma would have been beside herself had I told her, and I wanted to spare her the agony because she was busy planning my brother’s wedding.

  Instead, I explained it to Jasmine because I knew she would understand. She never once judged me, and soon I became a shoulder for her to cry on. She trusted me … and shit, if I did not feel some sort of responsibility over her. She had no one else to take care of her.

  Jesus, the girl had just gone through chemotherapy alone, and then had to go home to get rag-dolled about the house, bruised and kicked in the ribs by a bad little bastard. How no one noticed, or reported it before then was beyond me, but I guess she did a pretty decent job of hiding it. He had threatened her and footed her private medical bills so she was petrified of the consequences and indebted to him. Poor fucking girl.

  She did not fool me. I saw her bruises even though she tried to hide them in the beginning. The vulnerability, nervousness, and pain seared in those weary, little grey eyes, I soon felt like a right fucking dickhead for even feeling remotely sorry for myself. My life was simple compared to hers. Jasmine … she was a huge concern and had bigger issues than I could possibly imagine.

  I had to get her out of that relationship and house if it was the last thing I did. I set her up in a modest little home, got her a new car, new clothes, paid her debts off, and made sure I visited her a couple of times a week. As friends.

  We talked, but Jasmine could be quite closed when it came to taking about her abuse. She could talk about cancer, treatment, and trials all night, but whenever I asked her about her boyfriend, or the
abuse she suffered, she would become withdrawn. I learned not to push it with her, instead focusing on her health improvements. It seemed to be good distraction.

  During that period of time, I kept in touch with Fran and saw her whenever I was in Tuscany, but I did not disclose anything about my previous treatment to her, not then anyway. I did not want to upset her.

  I hid the fact that I was spending time with Jasmine. She would have been jealous because she already thought I was screwing anything that walked. And I did before and after Jasmine, but not at that time. I avoided intimacy with Jasmine. The timing was off and I was not feeling one hundred percent and she was too sick and fragile. It never even crossed my mind.

  When I first met Jasmine, she looked plain, casual, and almost like a tomboy—the polar opposite of Fran who had just finished her fashion designing degree, always chic and stylish, dressed in designer attire.

  Jasmine dressed for comfort. She would wear those baggy casual clothes and long-sleeved checkered shirts and sometimes a beanie-hat thing covering her shoulder-length brown hair. It did not take me long to discover it was to hide her bruises. She was hiding herself.

  There really was no sexual chemistry or instant attraction where Jasmine was concerned. She was an extremely nice girl, vulnerable, hurting, and nervous, and I wanted to help her and be a good friend to her since she did not have many. I did not see anything in her that would make me attracted to her.

  She never wore makeup and spectacles always covered her grey eyes. Her skin was pale and the cancer treatment made her exceptionally thin. I never even knew she had a decent set of breasts under those shirts until our time together.

  The night that changed everything for us was in Edinburgh at a classic historic hotel with beautiful scenery of Edinburgh Castle. It was the night of the cancer trial gala dinner, a fundraiser and auction to support the cancer charities I had started donating to.

  I asked Jasmine to accompany me as my partner and guest. I remember the look on her face. She was delighted … I told her to pick a nice dress and add it to my account at the department store. I knew she was not used to dressing up or being treated before.

  God, she was so giddy and excited. I stayed at the hotel during the day helping to plan the event and prepare for it and told Jasmine I would meet her in the lobby outside the ballroom before it started.

  I knew she would be busy doing all the shit women do with hair and makeup, so I thought it best to let her get on without me. And she was not my girlfriend, so it would have been inappropriate to share a suite together.

  When she approached me in the lobby, I could not believe my eyes. It was as if she had turned into a butterfly. Her brown hair was down, loose with a curl in it, and she wore a tight-fitting black satin floor-length gown. It was plain apart from the huge slit that went up the side of her leg. Her face … she looked different. Makeup, no spectacles, and perfume that I had never smelled on her before. She was glowing.

  I was mesmerised. I had never seen her hair styled before. She looked so feminine and healthy, a complete contrast to the months I saw her in the hospital with greyish skin and dark eyes. Her eyes looked so much bigger … prettier, with makeup to accentuate them.

  I had to give myself a shake. Feeling attracted to her was not what I had planned. Not only was she a victim of abuse, she was a cancer survivor and soon to be my employee. We were friends, nothing more. But when I saw her that night, I could not help being attracted to her, and that caused a problem for me. A huge problem … I did not know how to address it.

  Before I had my operation, if I wanted a girl … I would have one where and when I wanted, but things changed for me that year. Fucking women was the last thing on my mind during those months, until I saw her stand in front of me wearing the slinky black number with her brunette hair fanning her shoulders. I wanted her. As much as I willed myself to deny it, I wanted her and it was obvious. Painfully obvious.

  I gave her a gift before we sat at the table as small token of my thanks for helping me, for listening and supporting me. We were celebrating being healthy. Her face was an image when she opened the box containing the small diamond earrings. She cried, filling with sentiment. My heart clenched, because she obviously had never been shown affection or any act of kindness by that fucking bad bastard ex-boyfriend.

  She loved them and they matched her attire beautifully. She looked beautiful to me … more than I ever truly realised. There was a moment during dinner I had to disappear to the bathroom to splash my face with water. I tried to tell myself that I was only feeling attracted towards her because my balls were blue. My cock twitched; it had been months since I had a good fuck. I was hanging like a fucking donkey.

  We had wine and a few drinks and ended up back in my room. We were tipsy drunk and had been flirting with one another. She leaned over and innocently wrapped her arms around me, kissed my lips, and thanked me again for the gift. My body responded, and shit, if I did not need to get laid. I needed her but still I was apprehensive.

  I confessed that I still had psychological issues and worries since after my surgery, and she said she did too. She worried it would not be the same for her, and that she had never been with anyone since her boyfriend … a long time before she had her surgery. It was as if we were on the same page. We had both lost a part of ourselves and needed to find ourselves again.

  We discussed it and were both willing to try and decided that we both needed it. It would help both of us get over our insecurities. I found a few packets of condoms at the bottom of my overnight bag—my secret stash I kept for when I was very much in the game of pulling women after events or on my work trips.

  One thing led to another and after comforting each other, fondling, drinking more wine, we began to undress one another. I was buzzed from the alcohol, but from what I remember I still had it, very much had it, and it was good to be sexually active again. Jerking off in the shower was wearing thin. We had sex several times during the night until we were both exhausted.

  Early in the morning around 6:00 a.m. we had a shower, fondled some more, and I wondered what would happen between us after we left the hotel. I had a rule never to date women or give them my heart. I had only ever dated Fran. I was not sure what that would mean for us, or if we would start an affair of sorts.

  My worries and thoughts were insignificant.

  We said goodbye downstairs early in the morning. We were leaving separately, so while I made one last call in the lobby, Jasmine left to pick up her car which was parked in a multi-storey car park on one of Edinburgh’s city centre’s side streets. It was still quite dark at that time of morning because of the time of year. We had to check out early as I had a meeting back in Glasgow first thing.

  By the time I finished my call and went to pick my own car up, I heard screaming from the stairwell of the car park and panicked. My whole body went on alert and I shouted for Jasmine. I heard her scream and shout my name, then footsteps running and doors slamming. I ran towards the stairwell. She was in danger and I could not get to her fast enough. When I barged through the doors, I could not fucking believe my eyes.

  Jasmine was shaking, slumped and curled in the corner against the wall. Her skirt had been ripped off her, her blouse torn open. She had been attacked. Worse, she had been sexually violated. I ran to her, but she was screaming so loud, hitting me, punching me, still in defensive mode. She was trying to protect herself.

  Her attacker had bolted when he heard me shout. I could hear fast footsteps pounding down the stairs. I could not leave, Jasmine was in shock. I held her, picked her up, and tried to calm her. Fuck, her face was covered in bruises, lip split open, eye bleeding, nose busted. She was shaking, kicking, and panicking.

  I wanted to run after the fucker who did that to her and kick his fucking head in, give him a good sore one he would never forget. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands, but I could not leave her.

  She fought, kicked, and screamed until she broke free and ran towards the c
ar park. I chased her, told her to wait, that I would help her and never hurt her, but she was hysterical while sprinting, trying to get to her car. I caught up with her, but just outside the stairwell I saw a man running towards a car in the other direction. I knew it was him, it had to be. He must have run down the stairs, came out at the lower level, and then ran up the ramp towards his car on the upper level.

  I saw red. I could not let him away with it. I bolted towards him, grabbed him, and tossed the fucker over his car bonnet, kicking, punching him in the face, gut, and head, until he collapsed. He had an Irish accent, threatening me. I wanted to shut the fucker up.

  I was brutally rough and could not control my actions. Adrenaline zapped through me, blood pumping fast, heart beating rapidly. I grabbed his hair, was about to pulverise him and smash his face off the ground, when I heard screeching, brakes, screaming, and an almighty thud … then a smash.

  I dropped the fucker, leaving him barely breathing in a pile of blood on the ground, and I bolted. Petrified of what I would find. That was when my heart stopped beating for the first time in my life, and I witnessed a sight no person should ever have to see.

  Jasmine had been running down the ramp towards the lower level, at the same time a woman in a 4x4 unknowingly swung around the corner and accelerated up the ramp at a fast speed … straight into Jasmine, sending her flying over the top of her car, until she was thrown across the car park like a rag doll. Everything happened in slow motion. It was a messy, chaotic, fucking blood bath. The most horrific thing I have ever witnessed in my life.

  By the time I reached her she was dead. The impact and injury to her head caused her to bleed from her brain almost immediately. I fell to my knees, kissed, touched, and begged her to come back .With my head in my hands, I shouted to the open space and screamed like a deranged lunatic. I noticed her diamond earring sitting next to her head in a pool of spilling blood. I picked it up and scrunched it tightly in my hand.