Her Online Addiction Read online

  Her Online Addiction

  (Book 1 in the Addiction series)

  By Ruby McQueen

  Description:

  His pull was hypnotic, but she felt safe, hidden away behind the cloak of the internet...

  29-year-old, Trinity Carmichael, is an emotionally guarded woman who stumbles upon a younger man, Derek DeMatteo, while online gaming. Behind the anonymity of the internet, he coaxes her into some very intimate exchanges, while she fights the urge to fall in love.

  He is all wrong for her, and she is a disaster magnet in romance.

  After 12 Months of intense flirting and sexting, she unexpectedly wakes up in his bed after a night of partying. While she entertains what life might be like with her new lover, she meets Ezra.

  Ezra Cohen knows exactly what he wants, and his pursuit of Trinity is intense.

  Now she must decide. Does she choose the younger man who is all wrong for her, but who has slowly been stealing her heart? Or the handsome new stranger whom she has wild chemistry with?

  Warning:

  This novel is intended for adult readers only, due to its explicit content.

  If you are a fan of sassy, independent, and sexy as hell heroines, being the object of more than one man’s desire, with a HEA/HFN, then please enjoy this unapologetically steamy novel!

  COPYRIGHT

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2019 by Ruby McQueen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if and actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales in entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for the author or third-party websites or their content.

  E-books are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, given away, or shared. The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or and other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

  Published By: DROPBEAR PUBLISHING

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  Dedications:

  For Tristan: my brave warrior, without you, the sun wouldn’t shine on me.

  For Brendan: may the moon guide you back to me.

  For Drew: for showing me what true love is, you were worth the wait…

  ~ Prologue ~

  (Trinity Carmichael; age nineteen. Getting bitch-slapped by red flags…)

  Just how numbed out or chewed down by life do you have to get, to miss the many red flags thrown out at you, by the guy you are currently dating? Almost a year we have lived together, my first serious boyfriend, I really ought to have asked myself this question well before now. Before I became intertwined to a person who would do anything to keep me. Before I was up to my neck in it and about to be sucked under. Before I lost myself, because removing him from my life was like separating a Siamese twin. It was going to be surgical, and maybe one of us wasn’t going to make it.

  Where I really fucked up though, was ignoring my gut instincts. We always talk about animals having that ‘sixth sense’ where they can intuitively sense innate danger. Fur will bristle, ears will prick, and pupils will dilate. The response is swift, rippling proficiently through a flock or herd, no questioning, no second guessing, just the dance of the wild where that highly evolved mechanism to ensure survivability kicks in. But not in humans. Not all of us anyway. And not me this morning.

  I pull my vehicle over on the loose gravel lining the roadside. The sun hasn’t sprung from behind the blue-grey hills in the distance yet, but I am almost running late. My first day working in a beef abattoir that has recently opened half an hour outside of the country town where we live. I get out of my idling car, as a plume of dust moves past me and swirls in front of my headlights, I proceed to go around kicking each tyre. They all seem okay. How weird. I’m not even sure why I thought a tyre was going to come off, there was no odd noises or anything peculiar that would make a person suspicious, just that singular, lingering thought I chase out of my mind as nonsense. I hastily jump back into my vehicle, aware of the time I’m wasting with my delay, I turn my music off and listen intently as I start to accelerate, but nothing seems amiss.

  “Ugh, great! I’m going to be late!” I huff out under my breath as I take off, moving through my gears, heavy on the pedals. It’s a small country road that links two farming towns, with light traffic in the early hours of the morning, the likelihood of a cop or speed radar are fairly remote, so I confidently hit one hundred and twenty in an effort to make my first shift without a blot being added against my name for tardiness.

  And then it happens.

  On the worst stretch of road between the towns.

  My front, drivers side tyre flies off with a loud explosion, propelled faster than my utes current speed. I watch it hurdle along in front of me until it hits the heavy cement railing of the bridge I’m rapidly approaching. Time slows down and I suddenly feel like I am taking in everything, in slow motion, without the ability to speed myself up enough to change the impending outcome. I hear the tension in the rubber tyre as it makes contact and is launched rapidly into the air, and it suddenly occurs to me that it must come back down.

  “URG! That’s going to land on the roof!” I exclaim out loud, losing sight of it almost instantly. It’s the least of my worries now though. Somehow, I need to steer this rolling, grinding death-trap over a bridge where I am in a blind spot to oncoming traffic, thanks to some genius who thought making bends at both ends was smart!

  I only need to be unlucky enough for a stray cattle truck to come flying through that bridge, and I’m making news tonight!

  I’m surprised I haven’t slowed down that much, not even with the steel in my front axle screeching as it bites heavily into the bitumen, sparks flying into the glum morning air as I wrestle to steer myself around the winding road. It feels like I’m in a horror movie. I let out a yell of both frustration and desperation but also to spur myself on as I try for the impossible.

  I am strong.

  I can do this.

  It becomes my mantra as I will the car to ‘just work with me here’.

  If I can’t line my vehicle up with this bridge, I’m probably going to die.

  Add it to the list!

  If the tyre comes down on my roof, I’m probably going to be crushed.

  If any oncoming traffic approaches the bridge while I’m on it, it will be a head-on collision and we all die.

  I can feel my heart thumping almost out of my chest, and I dare not blink while I white-knuckle the shit out of my steering wheel. As I scrape my dying beast across the bridge, I’m sure I utter some prayers under my breath despite not being religious at all.

  To my astonishment, I manage to pull over onto the shoulder after the railing at the end of the bridge. I pop the handbrake up, turn off the engine and collapse over my steering wheel, shaking.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” I’m not sure who the hell I’m thanking, my car who got us to our intended destination, God, or me because I j
ust did something badass and I’m still alive? I pause a moment, letting the events that probably passed in seconds, but felt like all my damn life passing through a needle, absorb into my consciousness.

  “The wheel came off!” I exclaim. I knew the wheel was coming off. How the hell did I know that? Gut feeling… But I ignored it and almost paid the ultimate price.

  I knew things were fucky though, my ex, whom I couldn’t convince to move out nor give up on the idea of us despite our volatility, had wanted to swap cars. That never happened. It was the first red flag. I’m sure I cocked my eye at him as he told me the night before that he wanted to get my ute serviced. My ute, which I have been making the payments on because I drive it, but that has his name on the lease. So, it’s easier just to cut it loose than be tied up fighting over it all. But he never serviced the thing through a mechanic, always insisting on doing it himself, which incidentally is why it broke down so much, his absolute inability to see his deficient mechanical abilities. Now, suddenly it's booked in. Red flag!

  Suspicious, I tell him to wait till Sunday, as I’ve organised myself a car. He doesn’t know it yet but I’ve, also organised to leave the place we rent, despite my name being the only one on the lease, as he refused to move out over the four months since I ended things, and I can’t bring myself to involve the police. Another red flag. He also refused to tell his family we broke up. It wasn’t the first time we split up, or the first time he wouldn’t admit it. How many red flags does a girl need?

  The long grass whips past my legs as I try to keep a safe distance to the road. A freight truck breezes past me, and the tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes. I almost fucking died. And I think my asshole ex-boyfriend loosened my car tyre! Why did he want to kill me? Was it a “If I can’t have you, then no one will” situation? I feel nauseous and exhausted, and the sun is only just now breaking through on the hillside. The muscles in my back, neck and shoulders are all screaming at me, but I don’t have my mobile, the one Jayden bought for me to use as a tracking device, calling it relentlessly through the day trying to check up on my whereabouts and acting like a stage five clinger. RED FLAG!

  My ex-boyfriend just tried to murder me and make it look like an accident. I don’t want to believe it but deep down I know it feels like the truth. After all the crazy, horrible, abusive shit he’s done to me. This. Is. Finally. ENOUGH!

  When I reach home, I’m confronting him, then I’m grabbing my shit, and I’m out of there!

  As I finally turn down my street, I feel the rage simmering just under my composure as I mentally practice the conversation I’m about to have with Jayden.

  I can’t believe I was ever so stupid! I can’t believe I allowed this. Him. His Control. His cruelties. I will never be a victim again! I will never allow a man to have this kind of power in my life, I’d rather stay single forever!

  This was the day that would quietly haunt my adult life, the day I let all of life’s hardships fortify my heart, and the day I learned not to trust myself or my own judgment with men. But this was not the last day I would suffer at a man’s hands…

  ◆◆◆

  ~ Chapter 1 ~

  Messy Introductions

  Ever been the victim of having too good a time? Caught in a whirlwind of events, enhanced by the ever generous ‘beverage fairy’ and burning through your consciousness at a speed that makes everything just a giddy blur? You dig deep to get a grip on reality, but goddamn it, if you sink your nails in any harder, you’re gonna chip more than just a nail!

  Well welcome to my life...

  I woke up this morning with two things on my mind. Where am I? And why the hell has my body betrayed me by turning to a puddle of achy, non-compliant mush? Gaaaar!

  My mouth is so dry it’s hard to swallow and I can hardly open my eyes, the blazing glare from sunlight streaming into the room almost blinds them shut. Yet, still I fight to force them open. I don’t recognise the room at all. Crap! Silver sheets cover my naked body. Freakin’ crap! Through one squinting eye I see my black, lacy bra strategically hanging from a metallic ceiling fan above the bed, though I don’t have the strength to sit up and reach it. I have a vague awareness of music coming from somewhere. My physical body is in complete disagreement with my mind, which is in a total freak out- melt down! Jesus! How hammered was I? This is bad! I can’t do a runner due to my post inebriated condition, well that and the lack of attire. I’m at someone’s mercy, but who? I shudder.

  The music is something meaty with a hefty base riff, something unfamiliar, but that I would probably like I note. Ok, don’t panic yet, Trinity, I think to myself. Fuck it, I can’t do this, the exhaustion of kick-starting my mind into gear against its will is not going to happen. I surrender to the urge to go back to sleep. After all, I’m alive, barely, but alive none the less! If I’m with some psycho who was meaning to inflict wickedness upon me, I’m sure it would have happened by now. I’m not chained in a dungeon, I’ve not been hacked into pieces, I’m still alive and in one piece. Fuck it... I shut my swirling thoughts off and drift towards unconsciousness...

  I eventually come to and draw my arm up over my face to protect my eyes from the burn of my previous attempts of failed consciousness, I didn’t rise and I sure as shit didn’t shine!

  “Hey, Baby-Cakes. I wasn’t sure you were ever gonna wake up.” Dear Christ! My heart lurches into a feverish tempo that I’m pretty sure this ‘Baby-Caking’ moron can hear. Baby-Cakes? What the hell! I’m not the cutesy nicknames type! All that ‘Bae’ stuff is so not my style. I also don’t do fake hair pieces, fake tans, fake nails, fake lashes or padded bras. I fail miserably at the super girly stuff, but also, I couldn’t be arsed putting so much time into unnatural enhancements. I’m not very materialistic or overly vain. A diamond would never ‘wow’ me because I don’t value those things. I’m highly independent. I’m raw and real. I’m sporty. I’m a rock-n-roll chick, and what-you-see-is-what-you get, but I’m sure as hell no one’s baby-cakes! I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry and thick only hoarse, illegible croaks escape before I need to clear my throat.

  “Well… I’m drier than a Nun’s nasty.” I state in a husky whisper while I keep my arm draped lifelessly across my head. I’m not sure I can deal with this just yet. I hear a masculine laugh but can’t place it yet.

  “I’m not surprised. We were going off pretty much all night.” I hear the amusement in his voice, which makes me cringe inwardly. Christ! Ok, it’s not rocket science to presume we had sex as I lay here buck naked. I’m so foggy I just don’t recall it yet. All night though? Really? Why can’t I remember anything? I mean I know I can throw them back; I have always put it down to my 5’11” athletic frame and all the sports I’d been into since I was young. But more than likely it’s due to a family legacy of people who enjoy the drink. Yeah, most likely that. It’s time to re-evaluate my partying ways!

  A large, warm hand slides over my ankle and runs up my shin dragging the silky sheet along with it, bristling my skin and ending with a gentle squeeze at the top of my knee, in a somewhat affectionate way. I don’t know whether to be relieved or flip out! The bed dips down under his weight as he sits to my side, his leg leaning into my hips.

  “Drink this, Trinity, it might breathe some life back into you.” Whoa! I think I recall this voice despite my haze, I slowly lower my arm and squint my eyes to peek at him. Jesus Effing H Christ! I do know that voice, realising I’ve just spent the night with Derek DeMatteo! He sounds a little different in person though. Be Cool Trinity, don’t freak out, please don’t freak out. I repeat it to myself like a mantra. I want to eat my own heart.

  I prop myself up on one elbow, holding the sheet securely across my body with my other arm, I look at him squinting through one eye as he passes me a drink, he is beaming the biggest grin down at me as I take the cool glass from his hand. This is so not the first impression I wanted to make.

  “Huh! Unlikely.” I mumble as I gingerly sip the fizzing, berry tasting concoction
which I figure is some vitamin recovery tablet dissolving in water. It instantly hits the spot, so I decide to scull the rest.

  “Thanks, Derek.” I wipe my arm across my face while still holding the cup, in a very un-lady like fashion, but I figure at this point I most likely look like death-warmed-up anyway, so any decorum is a total waste! I can only imagine how bad I look; birds nest bed hair and sleep crusted panda eyes, but if how I feel is anything to go by, throw a few crap sprinkles on top for good measure. It’s a scary thought and still he is grinning like the chasseur cat!

  “You’re so welcome!” he says taking my empty glass. “Gone shy on me, huh?” he adds assessing me through his smile. I feel more naked than naked. I’m under his microscope and my self-confidence is ready to attempt a swift plunge into no-mans-land!

  “No,” I declare with a ‘don’t be crazy’ look on my face, which I’m sure is a touch scrunched. I’m not sure I can fake a relaxed exterior now. Here is Derek, all edgy and uniquely urban, all 6’1” of him, smoulderingly handsome, tattoo sleeves down both arms, short mohawk, a stubble goatee, pierced ears with black flesh tunnels and just so goddamn alive and kicking in the morning after ‘going off all night’ and here I am, can’t get my shit together. Yep, totally shy! Breakfast for me today: is a solid order of my own heart, sitting decoratively in my own throat! Mmm Tasty! I want to slap myself hard! Or crawl into a wall and hide, or both! Worse first impression ever!