Untouched

By Dakota Willink

He was a gorgeous troublemaker with a cocky attitude.

She was the girl he shouldn't want.

They only had one summer-and a promise to have no regrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dakota Willink, LLC
• Release date: Jan 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781088282137

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Washington D.C.

16 Years Ago

Rain slashed through the night sky, the fierce wind causing water droplets to pelt against the windows in angry torment. The storm was a force of nature, one strong enough to match the pain that raged through my body. In agony, I screamed, my cry louder than the thunder that boomed outside.

Voices called out around me, the sound a distant echo in my mind. I didn’t know if it was because I couldn’t hear them, or if it was simply, I didn’t want to hear them. The scent of antiseptic was pungent in the air, but I barely smelled it. I could only focus on the pain. The pain in my heart. In my body. I couldn’t decide where it hurt the most. I only knew I ached all over from the fire that lashed through me.

I whimpered in misery as more molten heat erupted inside me, the pain so severe, I thought I might rip in two. An unexplainable urge to escape came over me. I knew this day would come, but I didn’t know if I could endure it for much longer. Tears clouded my vision, blurring the shapes throughout the bright white room as a barrage of questions ran through my mind.

When would it end? What about when it was all over? Could I go through each day facing the reminder of something I could never have?

The questions terrified me, and they were ones that played in my mind for the better part of a year. I didn’t know if I wanted to do this. I didn’t know if I could do this. I wanted to believe I could survive, but I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to get through it. Somewhere in my mind, I knew the physical agony was only temporary. But I also knew the torment in my heart would never fade.

The knives tearing at my back and abdomen seemed to subside, allowing me a moment to remember the day I discovered my fate. I had tried to run. That night was similar to the current one with pouring rain, flashes of lightning peppering the blackened night sky.

I had come home and packed my things in a fury, not paying much attention to what I was doing. I recalled how I struggled to muffle the sound of my sobs as I dumped the contents of my dresser into a suitcase, praying I remembered to pack the essentials in my distraught state. There had been a creak in the floorboards of the old Victorian house that I lived in. The sound had caused me to startle.

Glancing up from my suitcase, I had spotted my mother standing in the wood door frame of my bedroom. I recollected how kind and sympathetic her eyes were. When she spoke to me, I had nearly crumpled from the sound, her voice soothing me in my darkest moment.

I know why you’re trying to leave, Cadence, she had said. You don’t have to run. We will get through this together and as a family. Come now. Wipe those tears. There’s a good thunderstorm outside. From the sounds of it, St. Peter is having a good game of bowling with the angels. How about we go sit on the back porch and enjoy the show?

I forced my mind to focus on the present day and stared up at the woman who stood next to my weakened body. My mother. My one constant and always my rock. Tears swam in her eyes and I felt my sadness swell. I was consumed with loss and regret. I never wanted to disappoint her. Although she assured me I didn’t, I was never able to shed the cloak of shame I wore day in and day out.

Thunder boomed again outside, causing the windows to rattle. My heart constricted. St. Peter wasn’t bowling with angels today. No. This storm was a display of God’s wrath. Despite my mother’s strong front, I knew I had destroyed her. This pain was my punishment.

I dropped my head between my shoulders and tensed as a new kind of burn ripped through me. The searing flames were back, alive and stronger than before. My body racked with sobs, quivering and shaking until I felt I couldn’t take it any longer. I looked up again at the woman who meant everything to me. Her eyes, a vibrant green that matched mine, were filled with worry. But they were also full of strength. I tried to call on every whisper of encouragement she ever gave me, needing to hear her words to get through this suffering. Perhaps it was selfish. I didn’t deserve to draw on her strength, but I didn’t know if I could continue on without it.

My mother’s hand stroked the top of my head, over and over again, quieting my tears. It was then, in the quiet, I heard it. The sound was like the most beautiful calliope music, a powerful melody that made all the pain and torture disappear.

And suddenly… I was free.

1

Abingdon, Virginia

17 YEARS AGO

FITZ

Istared out the window at the passing scenery. Field after field. Barn after barn. It seemed like hours had passed since we got off the interstate. The last store front was at least ten miles back–if one would even call it a store. It was more like a rundown mini-mart with a couple of old-fashioned gas pumps out front. Any sign of civilization seemed to fade more and more with every mile the big cheese burned. And yeah, that’s what I was on. A big yellow cheese bus.

I scowled to myself, still pissed at my father for choosing this hunk of junk as my means of transportation out to no-man’s-land. It was hotter than the flames in hell on this godforsaken thing, too. According to the bus driver, the a/c was busted.

My father was treating me as if I were back in grade school, not like someone who just completed his fourth year at Georgetown University. I wasn’t allowed to take my own car here nor could I arrange for a car service. Those were his rules. It was always about his rules–and have mercy on any soul who tried to defy him. That included me.

Hey, Fitz! Check it out, man!

I turned to look in the direction of my friend, Devon Wilkshire, my partner in crime who got into this mess with me. He’d been slouched in the seat across from me for most of the ride. Now he was standing and peering out the grimy bus window.

What? More cows? I snapped irritably.

Devon laughed and jabbed his finger against the glass.

Seriously, look, he insisted.

I glanced over his shoulder just as the big cheese rolled to a stop. The sign for Camp Riley came into view, a large wooden slab with painted gold lettering. Symbols for varying performing and creative arts decorated the sign–music notes, paint brushes, ballet shoes, theater masks.

Just fucking great.

I rolled my eyes and a knot of dread formed in my gut. Hand me a basketball, and I’d be in my element. I wouldn’t call myself a jock. In fact, I hadn’t played much at all since high school, but I could understand any sport better than this artsy crap. I detested it and my father knew it; however, he currently held me by the balls. The next three months were going to royally suck.

No shit, Sherlock. The camp is our intended destination after all, I shot off sarcastically.

No, dumb ass, Devon fired back. Not the camp. The girls. They’re everywhere.

Raising an eyebrow, I let curiosity get the best of me and stood to cross the aisle in order to get a closer look. Sure enough, there were girls. And a lot of them too. From the looks of it, they just departed from a different bus that was parked in front of ours.

I glanced around at the passengers on my bus. A bunch of nerdy and sweaty looking high school boys lounged about. Some were clutching bulky instrument cases, their expressions full of excitement when they noticed our arrival. Others were lost in their Game Boy Advance systems, a handheld game console I never really got into, and they didn’t seem to notice the bus had stopped moving. There were a few guys sitting in the back who appeared to be college-aged. They were most likely here to work at the camp, just like Devon and me.

Either way, looking at the pathetic sausage party around me, I couldn’t help wishing I had hitched a ride to camp on that other bus.

Turning to look out the window again, I shook my head and let out a low whistle. If I was going to be stuck here, I might as well make the best of it. I might be able to have a bit of fun at this hellhole after all, but I’d have to be cautious. I was fairly certain my father would be getting regular reports. That was just his style. It would be in my best interest to stay off the radar of the camp officials.

They look a little young, I observed.

Not all of them. Look over there, Devon said and pointed to the right of the growing crowd. Sure enough, another group of females had gathered, clearly old enough for Devon and me.

There are quite a few of them. I bet they’re here to teach or some other bullshit like that. Maybe this punishment won’t be so bad after all, I joked.

That’s for sure! I think I’m going to try to find myself a flute player, Devon announced.

A flute player? Why?

Devon grinned and tapped a light punch to my shoulder.

"Because this place is part band camp. I want to see if music chicks are really like they are in that movie we saw last year. You know the line. That one time, at band camp..."

I snorted a laugh at his reference to American Pie although I highly doubted any girl here would be like the one from the movie. Even from my position on the bus, the girls who looked to be our age seemed a little too uptight with their high-end clothing and regal stances. Still, I returned his smile and thought about the possibilities as my gaze continued to scan the crowd of females. Most of them were decent looking, some prettier than others. We’d have to be careful. Separating the instructors from the students might be tricky until we got a better feel for the place. The last thing Devon and I needed was to get in trouble for shagging a minor on accident. We already had enough heat on us.

Look, man. Whatever you do, just make sure she’s legal, I told Devon.

Yeah, no joke. I won’t mess around with that shit.

My attention landed on one girl in particular in the crowd. She didn’t appear to be a new arrival. She stood with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other, pointing in various directions in an attempt to organize the mass of giggling teenage girls.

She was pretty. Very pretty, but not in a made-up way like I was used to seeing. This girl seemed natural. Real.

My eyes traveled up the length of her petite body. She wasn’t tall, appearing to be just a few inches over five feet. Normally, I liked the tall and leggy type, but there was something about the way her shapely legs disappeared under the cut-off jean shorts. Her white t-shirt was fitted, accentuating small, perky breasts, and knotted at the waist to reveal the smallest area of skin just below her navel. Her blond hair, the reason she caught my attention in the first place, fell in soft waves over her shoulders. The color could only be described as golden–as if her natural color was a light brown that had turned to spun gold by the kiss of sunlight.

That one, I said to Devon and pointed.

Which one?

The blond with the clipboard. I call dibs.

Devon looked to where I was pointing. He gave a slow nod in appreciation.

Nice find! I’d say it’s time we get off this stinking cheese, Fitz. The ladies are waiting.

Yep, they sure are, I chuckled and grabbed my navy duffel bag. Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I headed toward the front of the bus.

Enjoy your stay at Camp Riley, the bus driver said cheerfully.

Yeah, right.

The driver obviously thought I was here by choice. I mumbled some sort of half-hearted thanks and climbed down the steps. As soon as my feet hit the gravel driveway, heat and humidity slammed into me. There was a subtle breeze in the air, but even that was hot. If I thought it was scorching on the bus, I was sadly mistaken. The summer air in the remote countryside of Abingdon, Virginia was suffocating.

I blinked from the sudden wash of sunlight and pulled the sunglasses off the top of my head to shield my eyes. I turned around to wait for Devon, but he was already off chatting it up with one of the girls who we had assumed to be among the instructors. I smirked when I saw she was holding what could only be described as a flute case.

Leaving him to it, I turned and began navigating through the sea of people waiting for instruction. My sight was set on my blond with the clipboard. Well, technically she wasn’t mine–yet–but she would be. She just didn’t know it.

As I approached, I realized that she was shouting out names in a rollcall fashion, checking off those who answered, directing them to different areas of the camp. Her voice was sweet, yet still held an air of command. She didn’t seem to notice me when I walked up to her. She was too engrossed in her list.

My original estimation of her height was accurate. Now that I was standing directly in front of her, I guessed her to be no more than five feet two inches tall–tiny, petite, and perfect. I took a step closer and peered down at her clipboard. As I leaned in, her scent wafted toward me. She smelled like sweet vanilla, and I nearly groaned.

Hell, yeah.

Before the week was over, this girl would definitely be all mine.

What about me? You haven’t called my name yet, I drawled out, sounding just as cocksure as I felt.

She glanced up at the sound of my voice, quirking one of her eyebrows up in surprise. Bright green eyes met mine, and I sucked in a sharp breath. They were shaped like almonds–exotic, vibrant, and unexpectedly disarming. Her lips pursed into what could only be described as a perfect heart. They were lush and full, with a thin coat of gloss giving them a subtle sheen.

God help me, I didn’t even know this girl’s name, but I wanted nothing more than to lean down and bite that pouty lower lip.

Her eyes were concentrated as she stared back at me, and an unfamiliar sort of energy passed between us. Something flashed in those deep pools of green, but I wasn’t given a chance to figure out what it was. Much to my disappointment, she looked away too quickly and glanced behind me.

Damn it. That bus wasn’t supposed to show up for another twenty minutes, she said irritably and shook her head. Not skipping a beat, she flipped a page on her clipboard. Name please.

Devon came up beside me, and I glanced his way. He was grinning ear to ear. My guess was he already scored plans with the flute player. I shifted my bag to my other shoulder and rocked back on my heels.

Fitzgerald Quinn, I told the pretty blond. But you, sweetheart, can call me Fitz.

Everyone calls you Fitz, Devon said in a snarky tone. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow.

She ignored us and ran her pencil down the length of the list. Coming to a stop near the bottom, she glanced up in surprise. Her eyes darted back and forth between me and Devon.

Fitzgerald Quinn. And you must be Devon Wilkshire, she said with a frown.

The one and only, he replied, then bent at the waist in an exaggerated bow. When he returned to a standing position, his mouth tilted up into a crooked smile and he tossed her a wink.

Asshole.

He was flirting, and it was pissing me off. I’d already staked my claim on this girl.

Yeah, I know who you two are. Both of you can have a seat over there, she said and pointed to a wooden bench that sat between two large oak trees.

Why don’t you let me stay here and help you? The sooner we get these kids organized, the sooner you can give me a private tour of this place, I offered, winking suggestively. I tried to sound self-assured, but surprisingly, my words actually came out shaky. Lame. Nervous almost.

What the hell?

At twenty-two years old, it wasn’t like this was my first attempt with a pick-up line. Piling on the charm always came naturally. Yet this girl made me feel like I was back in junior high school. Trying to shake off my nerves, I placed a hand on her forearm, just below her elbow, and allowed my fingers to dance lightly over her smooth skin.

She glanced down at my hand, her beautiful face pinching into a grimace. She looked downright irritated. A slight breeze came up to ruffle her hair, causing it to wisp across her face and cover her eyes. I didn’t like the obstruction. I wanted to stare into those bright eyes, get lost in the sea of green that matched the forest behind her. It took all my restraint to keep myself from reaching up to brush away the strands of