The Best Chance (The Amherst Sinners Series Book 4) Read online

  He’s no Sinner; he’s criminal.

  The Amherst Sinners Series Standalone Novella

  Elena Monroe

  © 2019 by Elena Monroe. All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the written consent and permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, dialogues, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or dead, businesses, locales, or events other than those specifically cited, are unintentional and purely coincidental or are used for the purpose of illustration only.

  The publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors, omissions, or contrary interpretation of the subject matter herein. The author and publisher assume no responsibility or liability whatsoever on the behalf of any purchaser or reader of these materials. The publisher and author do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.

  First edition.

  Cover Design: Maria with Steamy Reads

  Editor/Formatting: Sarajoy Bonebright

  Proofreader: Liz Argoto

  To the ones who didn’t accept the love they deserved.

  Sarajoy -

  Still an angel nowhere close to Hunter’s corruption. Thank you for making my words polished and dealing with my inability to place commas correctly.

  Ash -

  Because this book was the only time I got to pull a legit surprise on her Hunter-loving ass.

  Liz -

  All the talks. All the intimacy we have shared. All the dissection of my words, the world of Sinners I build and keeping me inspired.

  The Rule Breakers -

  Without you guys wanting this novella, it wouldn’t have happened. I have a TBW (To Be Written) list as long as my TBR, but you ask and I’ll try to deliver.

  Elena Monroe grew up in Florida, scribbling down stories from a very young age. These stories were really just wavy lines filling the paper. But she knew each word, each emotion, each character’s name, and there was no tricking her into forgetting what each line signified. Just like her unconventional way of writing as a toddler, Elena is setting her own rules and just telling stories.

  Much like her debut novel, The Best Years, life certainly imitated art. Transplanting from the South to the East Coast, Elena currently lives in Connecticut with her husband, reformed bad boy.

  Tell stories, no rules. Become a rule breaker.

  Elena is currently writing The Celestial Bodies Series. Stay tuned.

  Find her on her social media through Twitter at @elenamonroe, Instagram at @elenamonroewrites, Facebook at @elenamonroewrites, and more!

  Falling In Reverse - “Loser”

  Breathe Carolina - “Drive”

  Lennon Stella - “Kissing Other People”

  Billie Eilish - “Bad Guy”

  G-Eazy - “No Rappers”

  Dove Cameron - “So Good”

  Parkway Drive - “Wild Eyes”

  Prologue: Hunter

  Chapter 1: Hunter

  Chapter 2: Addi

  Chapter 3: Hunter

  Chapter 4: Addi

  Chapter 5: Hunter

  Chapter 6: Addi

  Chapter 7: Hunter

  Chapter 8: Hunter

  Chapter 9: Addi

  Chapter 10: Addi

  Chapter 11: Hunter

  Chapter 12: Hunter

  Chapter 13: Caden

  Epilogues

  “People are not born

  they’re created by the people around them.”

  - Chris Colfer

  Hunter

  Florida

  The blistering humidity of Florida should have derailed any mischief brewing in me, but for some reason my temper was only inflated.

  I hated the heat.

  I hated this destination spot of a home.

  I hated the people I went to school with.

  I hated how I felt here, like a lion in a cage on a platform meant to dance for dollars, when all I wanted to do was rip everyone to shreds for feeling privileged enough to make demands of me.

  I poured out of bed, barely opening my eyes and still managing to pull up my jeans with one hard yank to the belt loops. I also hated mornings, if we are keeping a record.

  I trotted downstairs to the kitchen in hopes of finding something satisfying – coffee, a muffin, anything to give me the strength to open my eyes all the way, before I got behind the wheel of Camille.

  Camille had too much horsepower and could hurdle at a speed that even I hadn’t yet tested out on the open road. She was all Mustang.

  The kitchen wasn’t silent, like it used to be when I was first sentenced to living with my dad. Now it was filled with the noise of high pitched giggles and the sound of her heels against the hardwood floors. Her dark auburn hair was rivaling her personality for which one would get noticed first. She was only three years older than me, which made calling her “Stepmom” pretty awkward; that’s why I didn’t.

  “Hunter! You look so handsome for the first day! I made pancakes.”

  I looked down at the counter and saw the misshapen and burnt circles that she was trying to pass off as pancakes. I wasn’t fooled; nothing about those seemed edible.

  “I’m straight.”

  Her personality floating above us deflated instantly, dragging her smile down into as frown. She was always trying so hard to fill the shoes of someone I respected, liked, cared for… but it was pointless. I forced myself to not care about anyone, anywhere, ever. I was a shell of someone who used to be driven by desire and hope—both of them proving how disloyal those twin bitches could be.

  Out of no nowhere, my dad showed up, for once. “Be nice to your stepmom,” he said absently.

  If he only knew how nice I could be to my new stepmom… She was the perfect proportions of tits and ass, enough to make hugging off limits completely. I wasn’t an animal, but in comparison to my dad, I was better, younger version of him that was more willing to do the nasty his credit card couldn’t.

  I had to drag myself out of my car in the parking lot. The only reason was to keep an eye on Layla. She was dead center in a crowd that villainized me and treated her like shit. B, her best friend, and all around attention seeker used Layla as a shield against looking too easy. While her other “friend,” Adrian, wore no shield, but he certainly kept a sword in his back pocket under his looks.

  Everyone worshipped him like the teen heartthrob he was. The heartthrob that wasn't going to survive in a bigger pond against other athletic assholes.

  I knew the truth about Adrian—always playing dumb and pawning off his guilt onto everyone else… the parties, the alcohol, the drugs… all under the charm and none of the accountability.

  B was happy to play the bad guy. It was her way of luring people in—the on-the-curb kind of dangerous—nothing dangerous enough to set foot off the curb.

  Layla wasn't like either of them. She was gracing us with her presence and acting like she was invisible. I watched her sip her coffee, while sitting on the hood of Adrian’s car, like she did every morning. They were right in the center of the parking lot, like they owned it and they simply allowed us to take up space.

  Opening the glove compartment, I pulled out a pre-rolled joint—one of many I stashed in all my favorite places. I was seldom without a joint or already high. It was how I chose to dull the hate… one puff at a time.

  My s
hit was imported from islands off the handle of Florida and distributed by a guy I would never cross. He had loyalty in me, which was hard to exude. Guess it only took some high grade pot and my talent for selling to turn me loyal to anyone.

  I got out of my car with the joint tucked between my lips, while I pushed my arms into my jean jacket. I didn't care who saw. I wasn't hiding who I was or apologizing when I was caught. I strutted over to the rejects I found myself falling in with without trying. The whole time my eyes focused on Layla, protecting her from a distance.

  Unrequited love was a bitch too. It was related to desire, trust, and hope—all one big happy family of false hope.

  I didn't realize how much her innocence begged everyone to corrupt her, until one of his infamous house parties. Everyone was trashed, even Layla. I was watching Miguel, Adrian’s favorite fall guy, follow her around the whole night and feed her drinks. Her movements and sentences became sloppy, too sloppy, too quickly.

  I was only there to sell pot, but nothing was adding up.

  Not Miguel’s arm around her neck.

  Not how drunk she was.

  Not a single friend having her back.

  Flirting wasn't hard, not when someone was as drunk as Layla. I didn't expect a relaxed version of her to actually like me. Not this much.

  She straddled my lap with ease, comfort even, when she bit her lip and looked down into my lap. Even drunk, she managed to perfect shy. I indulged her by cupping her ass in my hands and pushing her further into me catching her unsteady motions with my lips. She tasted like candy, and her hands pressed against my chest, trying to catch herself when she had stopped falling a long time ago.

  Was there ever falling for me?

  I got my answer when she pulled away enough to whisper into me, “Can we go somewhere? Private?”

  Before you think I'm a piece of shit, let's take the facts into consideration—something I'm used to with the judicial system and my criminal record.

  I smirked, giving her no syllables or vowels. I gave her nothing. I couldn't force my voice to say no when my hard cock pushing into her crotch said otherwise. If it wasn't me, then Miguel, the Solo cup pusher, was going to take advantage, and I wasn't allowing that.

  I let Layla take me by the hand and drag me behind her up to Adrian’s room. The irony of fucking on his perfect bed made me chuckle for a second. He could afford new sheets.

  She stopped before crossing the threshold, arms around my neck, finally giving into me, finally noticing how much I loved her from afar. She tugged me down into her lips again, and our tongues danced inside her mouth this time. She smiled in a way I wanted to bottle up, only for me, because of me—mine.

  Her small, intoxicated voice made me want to kiss her again so she couldn't change her mind. She let her head fall to one side and my lips caught the sensitive skin between her shoulder and ear. She giggled before melting into my lips with a soft moan.

  “Hunter, I'm… I'm a virgin.”

  I didn't expect any less, but a small part of me hoped she had been dumb enough to let someone like Miguel do the honors. I was brash and all around criminal. If I took her virginity, it could lead to more problems. I was trying to solve the problem of loving her for four years and being too pussy to act on it.

  The family of false hope kept me from wanting anything I couldn't control. Unrequited was as uncontrolled as they came.

  Hunter

  I have a history of priors—prior mistakes, prior bouts with danger, prior time behind a heavy door for juvenile youth who can’t pray the trouble away, and prior losses that resulted in sharing, until it ate my desire for love alive.

  I may not have spoken the words “I love you,” but she knew I gave her five years of loyalty after I watched him break her heart in college.

  That didn't stop the one girl I loved silently from choosing someone else instead of me.

  She chose to love and lose rather than love someone with my history. The worst part? I still couldn't hate her.

  I put myself on trial. I swore myself in, jury of one, interrogated every feeling, cross examined every detail, and came to a verdict: I was guilty of loving someone I knew wouldn't love me back.

  Five years of unrequited love didn’t count when it went unseen and the first guy she sees in college shows her more in comparison.

  It wasn't hard when my kind of love was invisible.

  That's the thing about unrequited love: It never feels one sided. Layla didn't ignore my existence. I took everything she gave me, like someone offered to reopen my case. Every touch, look, even her silky words felt like a poor two-way street—nothing one sided.

  Through the mess of Ollie, the love of her life, finding his way back to her was how I met Addileigh. She was the perfect distraction after Layla; nothing about them resembled each other. Addileigh was selfish, arrogant, trouble, and unattainable.

  Something inside of me broke when I saw her gray eyes, so it could reset to heal.

  Addileigh was going to take a chance on me and didn't even know it yet, because what we were doing took two people to build this two-way street.

  Requited.

  Mutual.

  Reciprocated.

  Addileigh was just taking up space in my heart, like bubble wrap takes up space to protect the fragile object inside. I didn't plan on liking anything I saw. None of it was real. The only real thing was her resentment for this life.

  She was a freshman in college, while I was two feet firm in adulthood. The list of differences and reasons to avoid her was a mile long. Yet, there I was paving my two-way street.

  Addi pleaded to come with me to LA when she found out I was leaving. I liked watching her beg… for my time, for whatever fucked up mating dance we were doing, for whatever she fixed on wanting that I had. I would have given her the world on a silver platter and apologized for its crooked way if she asked me to while wearing that red matte lipstick and her gray eyes full of specks of green she denied seeing.

  She loathed being unique.

  It was some fucked up version of PTSD. Her parents wanted a carbon copy of her perfect sister, Liz, and those kind of expectations made her hate everything that set her apart from anyone. All she wanted to do was blend in.

  Tough shit.

  Addi couldn't blend in wearing camo in the woods hiding behind a tree.

  It was exactly what I liked: how obvious everything was. She was the opposite of Layla.

  Addi upset? Typically involved yelling.

  Addi sad? Tears.

  Addi horny? Well, that's less obvious. She was a poster child for undressing her with your eyes, but I wasn't the only one.

  Only a few months ago she made herself even more unique by having an affair with a married man, who also taught her theater classes. My history of priors kept me from judging people’s mistakes too critically and gave me an appetite for pain.

  The only thing I was judging was how willing I was to share all of a sudden. First Layla, now Addi… what was next? Compromise? Reason? Other good guy traits I didn't have?

  LA was a mandatory trip. It wasn't pleasure, it was all business, and it had me on edge. Marcus didn't demand your presence without a reason. I've only met him less than a handful of times and had been selling for him since I was 15.

  How bad could it be? I didn't even warrant a house call.

  I was snug in the first class seat I had sprung for. I already didn't love the company of others, and coach seemed like a personal invitation to sneak peek hell. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the sharp edges of not knowing why I was being summoned, when Addi’s hand landed on my upper thigh, while coach boarded behind us. I didn't even have to open my eyes to see her seductive lips suggesting more than her hand.

  “Wanna join the mile high club?”

  “Who says I'm not high already?”

  She rolled her eyes, complete with snatching her hand back to cross her arms across her chest, so I got the point she was making. Her point was obvious and resembl
ed a tantrum. I wasn't condoning her behavior or pulling focus from me getting some sleep on the plane.

  My wants came first; that wasn't ever going to change. Call me selfish, but I call it self-preservation.

  I gave her a quality side eye before shutting my eyes again and falling into a light sleep. It really felt like just a rest instead of actual sleep, like I was hoping for. I was going to take whatever I could, like I always did.

  Her relentless personality woke me up two hours later to try the same trick, hoping for a better result.

  It was one thing I loved about her: You knew what she was fighting for, at all times.

  “Come on, Hunter. I'm bored. Don't you want to have some fun?”

  I didn't bother opening my eyes to respond, “I am having fun… sleeping.”

  Without looking, I knew she was leaning over her armrest, hoping that proximity would break me down. I wasn't a child, and my criminal history left me with a rock hard reserve that made me hard to read… and also hard to love, if we’re being honest.

  “Sleep when you're dead. Right now we’re alive and going to California. Let's celebrate!”

  Just watching her say anything about her dream made her infectious smile transfer to me. Her eyes could beam like someone just gave her a puppy or money. Her smile got so big that I could see almost every tooth in her mouth.

  All Addi really spoke of was her dream of moving to LA, getting an agent, and auditioning for movies. It was burned so deep into my memory I didn't have to open my eyelids; I could see it clear as the sky in California.

  “If I give in, will you let me sleep the rest of the flight?”

  I could feel the excitement radiate off her, trying to infect me. Everything about this girl was infectious—right down to her damn candy apple red lips, which I knew were poison, slowly killing me.