Unclaimed (A Kole Family Novel)

By S. Brent

Dear Reader,

Being the oldest son of an infamous rock star is an amazing thing. Too bad nobody knows because dear old Dad could care less about me. I’m the unclaimed, bastard son of a rock star.

As the unclaimed, the unacknowledged, I can live my life how I want, which is more like my father than my mother will ever admit. She won’t even admit he’s my father. I’m a moody, womanizing ass. I know it. I love it. It’s a good life. Until her.

A birthday celebration, too many drinks, and a one-night stand and I’m hooked, addicted. I wasn’t looking for a relationship when I collided with Prudence Kennedy Thompson. A sexy, college co-ed with big, brown eyes and long, wavy, brown hair.

We aren’t a perfect match. I’m tall. She’s short. She’s rich. I’m, well, not. We are completely different. I want her, can’t live without her, but can we find a way to fit together? Can I, an unclaimed bastard, find a way to claim what my heart desires most?

Lincoln O’Neil

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. Brent
• Release date: Oct 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310446290

S. Brent

S. Brent is a California native but currently lives in Germany with her husband, two kids, and crazy cat. When she isn’t spending time with her family she can usually be found reading or writing.

Book preview

Unclaimed

S. Brent

Copyright © 2013 by S. Brent

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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.

Cover photo © pressmaster-fotolia.com

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

About the Author

Dedication

For B

Because you helped me find the time.

I love you.

Chapter 1

Prudence

Happy Birthday! my roommates screamed as they threw open my bedroom door and let it bang against the wall. I forced myself to roll over so I could glare at them, looking at my alarm clock along the way. It was barely eight am. Why? It was so early. Sane people did not get up this early if they didn’t have to, but I guess my roommates never claimed to be sane.

I planned to sleep the day away and pretend like it was just any other day, birthday or not. It’s not like it really mattered anyway.

Maggie, my wild, redheaded roommate, was holding a handful of balloons, doing some ridiculous dance which required her to twist and pump her arms in the air spastically at the same time, while she sang Happy Birthday. Skyla, my quieter roommate, who is generally more reserved, was right there with her, gift bag in hand, but she didn’t let that stop her. She was also dancing, but not nearly as over the top. They were smiling ear to ear while they put on their little show, both singing horribly off key, probably on purpose. It was highly entertaining.

Skyla, Maggie, and I have been roommates since our sophomore year of college. I met Maggie my first semester at Sac State, when we were both forced to endure math, and I met Skyla through Maggie. They are complete opposites. How they ever became friends was beyond me.

I lay in bed and couldn’t help but smile. They were great. They knew I hated my birthday, but were determined to make me enjoy it. They had done their best to make my birthday something special since I met them. I was grateful for it because no one else would make an effort. They were the best friends a girl could ask for.

Finally, their spastic, off-key rendition of Happy Birthday ended and Maggie leapt onto my bed, causing the whole thing to bounce, me along with it. I couldn’t help but laugh. Skyla dropped down on one side and Maggie crawled over me to the other, none too gracefully.

Happy birthday, Skyla said as she held out a steaming cup of coffee that I’m sure was doctored up just like I liked it. Skyla was talented like that. She hadn’t been holding that when she danced around, thankfully.

Thank you, I said and really meant it. I couldn’t function without coffee. I pushed my wild hair out of my face. My hair was long and wavy, and reached the top of my butt. Despite my hatred for my birthday, I was smiling yet again. Not one to pass up coffee in the a.m., or any time of day. I’m well aware of the fact that I have a serious coffee problem.

Mine first, Maggie screamed. Maggie was loud and a little over-the-top. It fit her bold, red hair.

She handed me an envelope she had drawn all over. Maggie was an art major with dreams of being an art teacher someday. Everything she owned was covered in her doodles. Inside was a homemade card, meaning she took the time to decorate a white piece of computer paper just for me, then folded it to fit in the envelope. It was beautifully covered in swirls and cherry blossoms.

I read the message she wrote wrapped around her drawing.

Girl, you know I love you. So I am going to make sure you live it up on this most glorious of days, your 21st birthday!!! I’m going to get you good and drunk and then when you sober up I am going to pay for your first tattoo, my design of course. Happy Birthday!!!! Maggie.

I was the last of us to turn 21.

Maggie was giggling and clapping her hands as I read it. She was way too excited, but then Maggie was like that with everything. Is this a joke? I asked.

Oh no, Maggie said, waving her arms around.

Maggie had been pressuring me to get a tattoo since I first met her. I hadn’t done it yet, but I secretly wanted one. I mentioned it once when we were freshmen and she was like a dog with a bone. She just wouldn’t give it up.

Maggie had a rotting skull on her upper arm, a tramp stamp, praying hands in the middle of her back, and several others. Getting a tattoo had become her stress relief the day she turned 18. She loved it.

My parents would certainly not approve. They’d kill me. They were already disappointed in me in so many ways. My entire life I had failed to live up to my parent’s expectations.

I could already hear them in my head. Our kind, like we were a completely different species, doesn’t mutilate their bodies. How disappointing. I’d thought you’d grown up more than this. Their disapproval knew no bounds. If they ever saw it, they would go on and on for hours about it. I would never hear the end of it. They would demand its immediate removal.

We are soooo going to party like its 1999 tonight, Maggie explained while she flung her arms around in her usual animated way when she spoke. And then, once you recover, because I plan to have you so drunk that it takes days for the hang over to pass, we are getting you inked, my design, of course. Of course. Maggie had drawn on my skin more than once. I let her. Ballpoint pen washed off, so where was the harm. It had become her mission in life to pick out the perfect tattoo for me.

Of course, Skyla threw in, rolling her eyes. Skyla was tattoo-free like me, but for completely different reasons.

I… I started to say I didn’t know, but Maggie put her hand over my mouth.

No arguments! she basically yelled, only inches from my face.

Fine, I’d give in for the moment. There was no arguing with Maggie when she got like this. Maybe I could just get it somewhere that my parents would never see it something small or I could just not go through with it. It wasn’t like she could actually force me, nor would she try. If Maggie believed that I truly didn’t want a tattoo, she’d drop it. The question was, did I?

Okay, here, Skyla said, as she handed me a gift bag. Mine’s not as extreme as a tat, but perfect for tonight.

I pulled the tissue out of the bag and threw it at Maggie because I could and she ninja chopped it out of the way. Inside was a fire engine red, satin, corset style top with a thick, black, belt that would go under my breasts and a tiny, black, leather skirt with a small silver chain hanging off one side.

Ummm… I said. They were nice, I guess, but not exactly my style. Skyla knew this. The skirt would barely cover my rear end and that was if I let it sit very low on my hips. The top would look like it was painted on, with more cleavage then was probably legal in some states.

I lived in skirts and dresses, some shorter than others, and heels but this was a little extreme even for my taste. I liked to think I dressed a little classier than this.

I know, they aren’t your style, Skyla started, they weren’t hers either, but we are going out tonight and you are going to get laid and be hot doing it. So her plan for getting me laid was to dress me like a cheap hooker?

I looked over at Skyla, who was this girl and what had she done with my roommate? This was not the reserved girl that I knew who lives in jeans, converses, and t-shirts. I could count the number of times I had seen Skyla drink on one hand and I didn’t even need all of my fingers.

I was about to give her a piece of my mind. I did not need her, or anyone, to dictate my love life or sex life. Especially someone I knew for a fact had less sex than me. I’d known Skyla for years and was yet to see her show more than passing interest in any guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still a virgin.

Skyla threw up her hands knowing what was coming. Look, I love you but you need to get some loving. How long has it been? Almost a year, but I kept that to myself. Exactly, she said when I refused to answer and just snarled at her. Sex or no, you will look hot tonight and Mags and I are determined that you have a blast. We won’t take no for an answer.

There was no way this wasn’t pay back for dressing Skyla up on her birthday. She had looked hot but complained the entire time.

I hated when they ganged up on me. Maggie was nodding in complete agreement. Fine but if anyone asks me how much I’ll kill you. I closed my eyes and sighed. I was going to look like a hooker.

I had no backbone.

Last one, Skyla said a little apprehensively as she put a delicately wrapped box with an extravagant bow in my lap. I hadn’t even noticed it when she came in. I should have. It stuck out like a sore thumb in my overly cluttered room with my less than prissy roommates.

My parent’s gift.

I just stared at the box in my lap, not moving or speaking. The happy, fun atmosphere in the room instantly faded away.

Come on. Maybe they did good this year, Maggie encouraged instantly calm, well as calm as she got.

My parents always sent a package on my birthday, well, my dad’s secretary did and signed their names. The present was always nice and expensive, with some cash but so impersonal.

I had no idea why they even bother to send cash for my birthday because I had more money than I knew what to do with. I had a trust fund, credit cards they paid for, and they deposited money into my account monthly. What was the point? Was it just for show? And if so, who was the show for? No one they cared about knew or saw these gifts.

They hadn’t even bothered to call on my birthday and it was my 21st. That was kind of a big deal. Granted, it was eight a.m. so the day had just begun but I knew they wouldn’t call. They never did.

Part of me wanted to just take the box and set it on my dresser, or shove it in the back of my closet, so I could forget about it and not let it spoil the day that my friends worked so hard to make wonderful for me but I couldn’t do it. I had to see if they actually signed the card. I didn’t know why I continued to punish myself but every time a birthday or holiday came around I secretly hoped they took the time to actually sign it. So far I had always been disappointed.

Skyla nudged me with her shoulder. She got it. Skyla had family issues too although they couldn’t be more different than mine.

I tore off the paper, and slid the top off the box. Inside was a beautiful, black, Prada bag.

Maggie and Skyla just gasp. It was nice but could have been given to anyone. It was expensive and I’d use it but nothing about it screamed, Prudence, me.

I opened the bag and pulled out a little black box, inside were diamond stud earrings, a carat each, at least. Pretty and simple. I’d wear them. I set them aside and Maggie picked them up to drool over them, which was funny because Maggie didn’t do conventional jewelry and her ears were gauged. I could probably stick my finger through the holes. Maybe she thought to use one of them to pierce her nose or something. You never knew with Maggie.

I pulled the card out of the bag and took a deep breath as I opened it and piles of money fell out. I ignored it. I did not want their money. Although, I hated to admit it, it made my life easier. I scanned the hallmark greeting, not really caring about the impersonal message and went straight to the hand written one.

Happy Birthday, with all our love, Mother and Father.

It was my dad’s secretary’s handwriting. My heart fell. They weren’t able to find the time to buy my gifts, let alone sign my card for my 21st birthday or even pick up a phone to call.

Parents of the year, they were not. At least my dad’s secretary had good taste.

Holy shit, Pru, Maggie said. She had been gathering up the money that dropped out. This is 15 hundred dollars. I did not want their money. I wanted them to notice me. How sad was I? 21 years old and all I wanted was my parent’s love. I knew it was unlikely to happen anytime soon. Especially since, I had secrets that they would flip over the moment they found out.

Maybe I should tell them. I’d have their attention then. Not the kind I wanted, but attention.

Christ, Skyla said. 15 hundred dollars. That was five hundred dollars more than I normally got tossed on my birthday. Neither of them had the money I did. Skyla even had to take time off of school because she just didn’t have the money, which didn’t make much since. Her father was a rock star, literally. I offered to help her out but she refused. I get it.

I guess drinks are on me, I said as I grabbed the money. We all laughed. It was my birthday and I wasn’t going to let my parents ruin another for me, especially after Maggie and Skyla had gone to such lengths to make it nice for me, though it was hard. My chest ached from the disappointment but I’d get over it. I always did. Maggie and Skyla were determined that I’m going to have fun, so damn it, I was.

Lincoln

Dirty Ink was doing well. Jonas and I opened Dirty Ink, our tattoo parlor, almost two years ago when I moved back from San Francisco. We were doing better than either of us expected.

It was in one of the newly restored warehouses in the historical district on R Street in the downtown area that had been turned into a strip mall of sorts. The walls were a soft, tan color painted brick with framed artwork from artists that currently worked in the shop. We had six artists: Guy, Landon, Myra, Keller, Jonas, and myself. There was a piercer, Fabio, and part-time counter girl/gopher, Sarah.

My station was in the back. I liked it there. I could see everything in the shop and my back was to the wall most of the time.

The sun was setting outside while I worked on my last appointment for the day. I was ready to close up shop. It was relatively slow today and for once I was grateful. It had been a long week and I needed a drink. I was off tomorrow. It had been awhile since I took a day off. I had worked for twenty days straight. Not always a full day but I had been in here working every day for the last twenty. I desperately needed a day off.

The music was blaring a rock song off someone’s iPod that was plugged in to the surround sound. The few other artists left were cleaning up their stations, preparing to call it.

I looked down at my current work with my gun in one glove covered hand and a paper towel in the other. I was doing a scorpion on some girl’s foot. Her ID claimed she was eighteen but I doubted it. She looked way too young and she was crying, hysterically. I hated when they cried. It made me feel like such a bad guy. I asked her if she wanted me to stop but she insisted I keep going. She claimed she’d be fine. Her tears did not scream fine. They scream little, sissy baby. Not to mention her sobs made her entire body shake which made it hard to work.

The top of the foot was a tough spot to get done. All that bone so close to the surface of the skin made it painful. Of course, the scorpion she wanted was very detailed. I told her that before we even started but she insisted it had to be this scorpion on the top of her foot. So here we were. I was drilling on the top of her foot and she was bawling like she just got the news her puppy got hit by a car.

Good times.

The song switches, to an old school Cherry Picker’s song. I tried not to cringe. I hated the Cherry Pickers. I was adult enough to admit that the music wasn’t bad but I was childish enough that I refused to admit it was any good.

I didn’t know any of the band members personally but I hated the lead singer, Russell Kole. He was my father, my sperm donor. The man had managed to stay completely out of my life for the last twenty-four years. I hated him for it.

Turn that shit off, I yelled across the shop.

I was one of his many bastard children but the only one he didn’t claim, at least that I was aware off. The man managed to pop out kids like he was part rabbit. Chances were I was not the only one unclaimed. He had two legitimate sons through his wife, who he was still married to, and he had publically claimed four bastards and given them all his name, Kole. Me? Not so much.

Why? Keller, one of the other artists, asked. He was cleaning up his station two down from mine.

Just do it, I snapped and fought the urge to run my gloved hand through my already messy, black hair. It would contaminate my glove and I’d have to change it. It would just stretch out this session with the crying chick even longer. I just wanted to be done. I wanted her out of my chair and out of my shop.

The music cut off and I heard Keller mumbling under his breath. He could mumble all he wanted I was not suffering through the Cherry Pickers in my own shop. Very few people knew why I hated them so much. It was not exactly something I went around advertising. Unclaimed bastard here. No thanks.

I love the Cherry Pickers, crying chick whined in-between sobs and attempted that cute pout thing only some girls can pull off, sexy but childish. Wasn’t working. Even more reason to dislike her. I glared up at her from behind my oversized BCG glasses that I wear when I worked. Her eyes got big and she swallowed hard. I was scaring the poor thing. Oh well.

I didn’t bother to justify her comment with a response.

I was done with wimpy, crying girl who couldn’t seem to keep her opinions to herself and was attempting to flirt between sobs. Gag me.

Done, finally. I wiped her foot one last time and double-checked my work. Despite my personal feelings for her I refused to let shoddy work leave my shop. Whinny crybaby or not, she got the best I could do. I resisted the urge to scribble all over the top of her foot like a toddler in my annoyance.

Satisfied I spread goo all over it, wrap it up, and gave her the aftercare lecture and a paper with instructions, and sent her on her way. Thank God. I didn’t even bother to walk her out. I was done with her.

She tried to rub up against me when I handed her the after-care instructions and looked up at me from under her tear soaked lashes. I just set her away from me. Didn’t she realize that having snot dripping out of your nose was not attractive? Apparently not.

I cleaned my station and found Jonas lingering in the back room eating chips. The man was always snacking on something. It was amazing he didn’t weigh 600 pounds or more. Jonas was a giant bear of a man, built like a linebacker with copper colored hair that hung in his warm, hazel eyes. He was always smiling. He was covered in tattoos but they could all be covered up by clothing if need be and he didn’t have a single piercing. Me, not so much.

I had a piercing in my right eyebrow, both ears done, the top cartilage of one ear, and both nipples. Still very mild considering what some people had done. I also had tattoos, some work done by others and some I did myself. I wasn’t covered or anything but I didn’t keep them hidden either. Some were in places not easily covered like the clover on my hand or the spider web on the inside, top of my ear, opposite the ear with the cartilage piercing.

Not gonna take your scorpion foot home? he mocked shoving another chip in his mouth, smiling around it while he chewed.

No, I think I’ll pass. She’s all yours, I said, knowing he wouldn’t. He hated criers too. Want me to go catch her for you? I turned back toward the door like I was going to try and catch her for him. Jonas just laughed.

Uhhh, no thanks. He shoved a few more chips in his mouth.

Jonas and I co-owned the shop. We had a good staff, so we didn’t have to stay late and close every night. But now and then we did, and it was nice. Everyone else had already left as we closed up the shop.

So bar? he asked as we locked the door behind us.

I shrugged. Sure.

Good, because all of this crankiness is driving me crazy, he said motioning to me. You need to get laid.

Thanks, I grumbled. As we walked down the street, my phone rang. I pulled it out and checked the

Reviews for Unclaimed (A Kole Family Novel)

[Nic · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is a pretty typical new adult book. It's not bad, but the grammar and tense consistency are awful. There also a ton of instances where the author uses the wrong homophone (to/too, rode/road, etc), so if that sort of thing bothers you, definitely steer clear of this book.