Cut So Deep: A dark second chance romance (Dark and Deep Book 1)

  Cut so Deep

  A Dark Second Chance Romance, Dark and Deep Series, Book 1

  Jax Colt

  Contents

  Copyright

  Cut So Deep (Dark and Deep, Book 1)

  Blurb

  1. Blake

  2. Carrie

  3. Blake

  4. Carrie

  5. Carrie

  6. Blake

  7. Blake

  8. Carrie

  9. Carrie

  10. Blake

  11. Blake

  12. Carrie

  13. Carrie

  14. Blake

  15. Blake

  16. Carrie

  17. Carrie

  18. Blake

  19. Blake

  20. Carrie

  21. Carrie

  22. Blake

  23. Blake

  24. Carrie

  25. Carrie

  26. Blake

  27. Blake

  Thank you for reading!

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cut So Deep, Dark and Deep Series, Book 1

  (Formerly the SEIZED Series by JC Coulton

  Third edition, 2019.

  Copyright © 2016 Jax Colt (JC Coulton).

  Cover Model - Depositphotos

  Cover Design - Jax Colt Books

  Cut So Deep (Dark and Deep, Book 1)

  Blurb

  A second chance, serial romance from author, Jax Colt.

  Blake always looked at me like I was special to him. Every time our eyes met, I could breathe.

  But then, one soul-shattering summer day changed everything. Life happened, and he was gone before I had a chance to tell him how much he meant to me.

  Years later, my best friend and I visit the Big Apple for a mini vacation. It’s supposed to be good times, but that all ends when we come face to face with the dark, sinister side of the city.

  Then, in my lowest moment, I lock eyes with him.

  Blake.

  He’s here.

  My high school crush is one of New York’s finest, and he promises to help me get my friend back.

  From the look in his eyes, I just hope the wound he cut so deep in my heart will finally heal.

  Cut so Deep is the full-length first book in the Dark and Deep Series, a five-part serial romance story. Each book is a full length story with a cliffhanger. This romance story was originally released in the Seized Series by Jax Colt’s alter ego, JC Coulton, and was titled Seized 1.

  1

  Blake

  It’s another late shift on Forty-Third Street, and it’s been quiet at the station for most of the time tonight. The shit going on here could be a lot worse. My career has improved tenfold since I made Detective. No more Saturday nights pounding the pavement. No more drunken partygoers and barhopping frat boys messing with me just for the sake of it.

  At five years on the force, I’m no longer a newcomer and I like it. I’ve been through more cases than half the cops ahead of me, but that’s my cross to bear. Age matters around here. It’s all about hierarchy and toeing the line. Still, I’m making my way up through the ranks. I could get up there faster if I could only work on schmoozing and office politics. Those two things are not my greatest talents, because I have little patience and a chip on my shoulder. I’m a cop with an attitude, so brown-nosing the top brass would piss me off way too much.

  I can’t say I’ve always dreamed of being a cop, but I feel lucky to be on this track, instead of the one I was on before. Back then, I was no damn good to anyone. Now, I’m grateful.

  Checking the time, I see my shift is near over. Soon, I’ll clock out and break and hit the weight room. The gym at my precinct was refurbished a while back, thanks to some extra funding in the budget, but thankfully it wasn’t all that bad before. This place makes me feel more at home than being anywhere else. There’s great food nearby, and enough machines and weights downstairs to satisfy any macho cop we get through the doors.

  It makes it that much easier for me to stay trim and fit. Someone around here has to be an exception to the donut-eating fat boy cop stereotype. There are enough of us fit ones around, to be honest. Maybe it’s the media giving us a bad name. Who knows why some people still believe we’re all stuck in the past with fat guts and curly mustaches. The department is a different beast these days.

  Lieutenant Jacob walks past. “How are you doing, Anderson?” she asks. She doesn’t smile. It’s all muscle and business underneath that pants suit of hers.

  “Good evening, Lieutenant.”

  I’m not in any new trouble as far as I know, but she looks sideways at me. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t bat an eyelid if I weren’t so new to this precinct. I shouldn’t be this paranoid. She could also be trying to get a handle on what’s going on for tonight’s shift.

  “How are you doing with the Lee case?” she asks in an inquisitive tone.

  “So far so good, but I’d like to have made more headway than this.” I don’t offer much further. She leans over the desk to see my files. It’s a human trafficking mega-case that gets me in the gut every time I think about it. Right now I’m working on one that connects three victims. The photographs of the three teenage boys’ bodies are brutal. They’re eight-by-ten glossies of pure misery, and they’re not the only ones the Lee ring is suspected of causing.

  She meets my eyes. “Detective, are you doing all right here at Forty-Third?”

  I know what she’s really asking, and fair enough, I guess she has good reason to wonder. When I came on board, my psyche files were supplied in full. I’m a cop with a shaky past, and therefore she needs to keep an eye on me regardless of how well I perform.

  “I’m doing fine, Lieutenant.” I keep eye contact as I speak, to reinforce me answer.

  Nothing is wrong. Finally she gives me a nod and moves on. I can’t help but respect a woman who knows how to lead a group of tough-as-nails cops. I’m glad she’s got a strict policy against on-the-job romance, too. The last thing I need is another distraction from police pussy. I’ve already got enough on my plate.

  At the moment I’m practically a parent. My sister and her son live with me, and I’ve wholeheartedly taken on the responsibility. She’s my only family, and her kid looks up to me, so the only commitments on my mind outside of nailing this case and keeping in shape is to be around to take care for him the way he deserves.

  Looking back down at the file, I’m reminded that I’m not the first cop to try and take down Jessup Lee. The guy has a suspect sheet that goes back decades, but no one’s even gotten close to charging him with anything that sticks. He should be the poster boy for an untouchable organized crime lord. Just as it’s always been in this city, organized crime in New York City is booming, and I can easily imagine the barriers Lee and his people have put up to stop the Detectives before me.

  The tentacles of the mob continue to subtly infiltrate the New York City Police Department at every level. Sure, it’s nothing like the last hundred years, but there’ still a stubborn foothold we can’t seem to take apart, and most people around here know the reason—power and money are always secretly married, running things from behind the scenes, from behind closed doors, from a place where the little guy has no access.

  That’s the main reason we have an Organized Crime and Trafficking Task Force, and why we operate at somewhat of an arm’s length to the usual hierarchy. We need that independence in order to not be swayed by power or money. We also need officers in every jurisdiction to keep an eye on what’s
in play. For this reason, as a member of that task force, I spend most of my days alone. I have no partner, or at least none who works with me from this precinct. It does tend to get lonely and isolating sometimes, but people are there if I want to reach out and talk to them. Most of the time, I don’t make an effort, so in a way, I have no reason to complain.

  I’ve been on the task force for three months, and I’ve wanted to join from the moment I made rookie. The shit is real, the game is long, and the results of closing a case makes a big difference. Some of the senior guys have devoted a career to taking down the key players in an organized crime ring, be it for drugs, guns or prostitution. I have a lot of respect for the work they’ve done before me. I read and re-read everything in my case files and now that things are quiet again, I decide I need another cup of coffee.

  Heading over to the pot, I start to feel some relief. My shift is almost over. I’ve had enough for tonight. All I want to do now is work out, hit the showers, and head home. I check out the officer on the booking desk. He’s processing the usual motley crew of overnight hookers, troublemakers and drunks. There are a few token assholes making noise, and as usual, I ignore it.

  I’m used to it. Saturday nights in the city make people want to cut loose and end up in a police station. They seem to forget they’re just going to wake up in a jail cell. For some of them, the idea of consequences disappears when they have some booze or drugs in their system. For others, it’s the drama of getting into a bit of trouble with the law that has some appeal. They get to say they’re a badass now, but some of them forget that their record will follow them, even if it’s a misdemeanor offense. I shouldn’t be so judgmental. I was one of them back in the day, and just lucked out and straightened my shit out before it came back to bite me in the ass.

  One mean-looking homeless man spots me through the door and begins to stare. This guy must be wasted. He’s so blatant I should find it funny. I don’t engage, but instead, I start prepping the coffee pot. The man has to have an appetite for trouble. He starts mouthing off at me from the waiting room. Maybe at this distance he thinks he has some balls. I have two feet on him. At six-foot-seven, I’m the tallest person at this precinct. I don’t take that shit for granted, though. I keep it tight. I take no extra risks out there, because I may only be twenty-five, but I’m a natural born brawler and I have to make an extra effort to keep the peace.

  My colleagues who know me understand. Back in police training academy, they called me Knuckles because sometimes my temper got the best of me and the fist would engage before I could even think. I’m not proud of it. I was raised that way. When you’re brought up in an abusive home like I was, you need to know how to fight and defend yourself and the people who matter to you.

  I picked up boxing when I joined the force to keep things in check, and on most days it helps. It keeps a lid on things and helps me relax. It also helps me ensure I never show up at home with anything unresolved. My nephew, George, doesn’t need that shit in his life. I know that first hand, and had enough experience with my old man to know that George deserved better. The kid’s got no dad in his life, so I have to be an example. I have to look out for him the way my father never did.

  It’s kind of funny the way George looks like me. We have the same blue eyes, blond hair and we both got stuck with my father’s jawline. George is tall already, and he’s going be a lady killer one day. My sister, Brenda, won’t know what the hell to do with him in a few years, so I need to be a good uncle now. I’ll show him the right way to make the world work for him. I’ll show him how to use his brains instead of his fists.

  2

  Carrie

  A surge of raw power fills my body.

  I feel so alive. It’s beautiful. I love to dance. Getting lost in the music makes me forget everything bad. It reminds me of who I am, and who I’m so close to becoming.

  The bass is pounding. My hips are fluid, and April and I are owning the dance floor. Lights flash on the writhing bodies around us. The nightclub is crowded, but through the sweat and the lights I see that my friend is finally starting to loosen up.

  We’re officially on vacation, dancing and drinking the night away. This hip Times Square club in New York, Caliber, belongs to April’s uncle, and the staff has been treating us like queens. I’ve sensed more than one set of eyes on us since we got here, but tonight is not supposed to be about guys, so I block out everything else to concentrate on the beat.

  The DJ takes the crowd into another frenzy, and all around me sweaty bodies raise their arms in the air. I’m cheering along with them. It’s addictive. I can’t get enough of this night. April is dancing beside me, eyes closed, her white dress hugging her slim body in the strobe lights. Then, a heavily muscled guy in a blue shirt starts to edge in behind her.

  He’s looking cocky, pressing himself closer and making bottle to mouth motions to see if she wants a drink. Shaking her head, she pulls away quickly. I think he gets the message, but April signals to me that she’s had enough.

  “Carrie, let’s go!” she screams to me through the music and the noise. I follow her off the floor. She obviously needs some distance from hotty over there, and I’m keen for a breather after what’s become an epic night.

  April has not been herself. She’s been super dark lately, and I guess I could say it’s understandable. It’s been a hell of a year. Sometimes I don’t know how she’s coped with it all. But then I remember. Humans are resilient. We can heal from anything.

  A rush of love overtakes me, and I grab her arm. Together, we wheel toward the bar of the busy nightclub. This is the girl I grew up with, and we’ve shared everything. She’s the one I told about my first kiss. We had sleepovers in the tree hut her dad built. We even got our drivers’ licenses on the same day. I couldn’t have made it through tenth grade without her, and it’s great to see her finally beginning to look happy.

  We take our place in the throng of party people waiting for drinks at the bar. I watch as three hot bartenders work the crowd. The combination of slicked back hair and Japanese tattoos is paired with stylish white shirts and aprons. It makes them look delectable. I can see the club is all about aesthetics, and it’s hot in more ways than one. Everyone is sweating. Even behind the bar, Mr. Barman has a sheen of sweat on his skin. For a second, I imagine what it’d be like to have him press his chest against mine. Giving nothing away, I smile at him and motion for service. I know I’m safe in my thoughts and my fantasies. They’re all I allow myself these days. Men can’t be trusted. It’s better to just enjoy myself, and walk away. I know the barman has been told to look out for us tonight, and I flutter my lashes at him anyway. No harm done.

  Just as he begins to make his way over, I feel April let go of my hand and start to pull away from the bar, leaving me behind. I lean in close to put in my order, and catch an alluring scent of aftershave as the cute bartender smiles back at me. He must be just twenty-one, all boyish good looks, firm muscles and clean white teeth. It’s not like I’m over the hill or anything—far from it at twenty-three years old—but this puppy seems a little young, despite his sexy exterior.

  I turn to see what April wants—our drinks are on the house of course—but she’s got her phone in her hand and is furiously scrolling. Damn! She’s gone right back to looking tense and worried. Something must be wrong, again. I don’t want to be mean about it, but she’s not the only one trying to escape tonight.

  This preoccupation with her phone and worry are starting to wear me down. I wish she’d just let go a little and stop stressing so much about the details. She carries the world on her shoulders. She has a right to be sad, but the truth is this has been going on for years.

  “What are you drinking!” I yell through the loud beats. April just shakes her head, her chin wrinkling in thought. Jeez, that girl is stubborn. I can’t believe she won’t tell me what’s happening. We used to be one hundred percent connected. We used to share everything. It makes me sad to see the changes. She has really pulled
away, but I guess that’s what grief does to a person.

  When her parents died in January, it was devastating. It shocked our whole community and put a massive barrier between us. It’s like she kind of disappeared too. She got caught up in the grief and almost stopped living when her parents died. That said, I can’t imagine how she must be feeling to have lost them. April’s family was close. Her mom and dad had her back. I remember when she called to tell me they had passed. She could hardly talk. Car accident fatalities are so sudden and violent. It was tragic.

  I have to quit complaining about our relationship. She’d never admit it, but she needs me more than ever. I have to put my frustration aside in short order, so I try not to be too demanding as I prompt her again for her drink order.

  “Honey, do you know what you want? We’re holding up the line here.”

  I’m getting a dirty look from the girl next to me, but I ignore her and the barman as I look closely at April through the flashing strobe lights. She really doesn’t look well. People jostle against her, competing for bar space. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are fixed on her phone and it’s like no one is around her. She’s fixated. Whatever is going on has cast a pale sheen on her face and a tense line to her jaw.