Fate Is a Mated Bitch: Lupinski Clan One

Fate is a Mated Bitch

Lupinski Clan Book One

Emmy Gatrell

Relevant Daearen

Fate is a Mated Bitch: Lupinski Clan Book One © 2016 Emmy Gatrell

Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Publisher: Relevant Daearen

Cover Art: Atrtink Covers

Edition 3

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One ~ Andy

Chapter Two ~ Andy

Chapter Three ~ Andy

Chapter Four ~ Walt

Chapter Five ~ Andy

Chapter Six ~ Walt

Chapter Seven ~ Andy

Chapter Eight ~ Walt

Chapter Nine ~ Andy

Chapter Ten ~ Walt

Chapter Eleven ~ Andy

Chapter Twelve ~ Walt

Chapter Thirteen ~ Andy

Chapter Fourteen ~ Walt

Chapter Fifteen ~ Andy

Epilogue ~ Walt

About the Author

Other Books by the Author

Dedicated to my Hubby

Without you, none of this would be possible.

Love you so much, Babe.

Chapter One ~ Andy

The radio blasted, and I was singing my heart out trying to psych myself up for what I was about to do as I pulled into my new neighborhood. Cum to me, baby. I'm going after this sweet craving, whoa-oh. You should lose your mind and go fuckin’ crazy. I-I-I-I-I-I keep on hoping you’ll eat me by the ocean. The music was so loud, some of my new neighbors were watching my neon lime-green VW Bug progress down the street with varying looks of dread and annoyance at what I might be bringing to the neighborhood. I turned the music down and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible with a car that you could see from space. I didn’t want to be considered the bad neighbor for the rest of my life and I didn’t want to ruin my surprise for Ken either.

After pulling into the driveway of my first home, I took a moment to appreciate it. The paperwork had been finalized while I’d been away, and this was the first time I would walk into it as being mine—well, kind of mine. Even though I’d put up most of the money—my entire life savings—we’d decided that putting the mortgage in Ken’s name was the wisest choice, because he had a stable job as a tax lawyer, and I wrote romance novels. While my books were currently popular, one never could know what might happen, at least that was Ken’s advice.

It was the classic suburban ranch home—three bedrooms, two baths, a decent kitchen with a sink overlooking the backyard so that our future children could play under my watchful eye while I did dishes and maintained the home. It was everything Ken wanted. Me, not so much, but it was my first home, so I tried to be content. Unfortunately, not many of my things made it to the house besides clothes and kitchen gear; most of my possessions were locked away in storage. Ken let me keep my Gram’s couch; he said it would be perfect for fucking. Considering he hadn’t fucked me since we submitted our bid on our home, I was looking forward to a good pounding, and I was hoping my surprise might do the trick.

I’d been in New York meeting with Sam, my literary agent, when I’d walked by the store and caught sight of the getup in the window…and the plan had come to me. It hadn’t been the kind of shop I would frequent. Whips, chains, and contraptions that I had no idea what you did with them had covered the walls. And I’m a naughty romance writer, so that was saying something. The getup I wore didn’t exactly fulfill his weird-ass fantasy, but it was what I was comfortable doing, so he’d better like it—or he could suck it, in several areas, on me. He was talented with his tongue. I’d give him that.

I’d parked then checked my reflection in the side mirrors. The cost of my barely-there outfit and the change-ticket fee to come back a day early had been astronomical, but today might be the day I fell madly in love with him. I wouldn’t want anyone to get me wrong; I was content, but not over the fucking moon for the guy, and I preferred it that way. Mommy and Grammy issues lay at the root of the problem rather than daddy issues. Still, a little more depth of feeling wouldn’t be a bad thing. After I’d retrieved my suitcase from the trunk, I walked up to the back door of the house and slipped quietly in, thinking the new toys paired with the lingerie might just do the trick.

Harder! sounded from the living room and stopped me dead in my tracks before I heard the unmistakable sound of sex. Faster, Ken! Harder!

I’ll give it to you, Ken whined over the pound-slap-pound-slap noises their bodies made. My heart sunk with each step forward, tears gathering in my eyes as I skirted the kitchen island, stopping just inside the entrance to the room to confirm the truth of what I’d heard. I covered my mouth and gasped at seeing Ken’s pasty-white ass fucking Karen, our brand new neighbor—and our real estate agent—from behind; she bent over the arm of Gram’s couch. Ken grabbed her by the hair so he could pound her harder. He used his other hand to reach down and rub her clit. Damn him! He never did that to me, no matter that was all he’d needed to do to ensure I came.

Oh, Daddy, harder, she screamed as she held onto my Grams couch for dear life.

That’s it. I’m out of here. Backing until I could turn around, I took a Sharpie marker from the counter, making it to the door before I turned back to grab a stack of sticky notes as well. I wanted to send a message, but if I did it by defiling Precious, his red Corvette, I’d pay for it later. Quietly closing the door behind me and plodding to his car didn’t calm me; my anger grew exponentially until I was sure it would explode.

I stopped when I reached the driver’s side and saw my reflection in the glass. What the hell am I doing? What the hell am I wearing? Who the hell does he think he is? A woman I barely recognized anymore was staring back at me. The painted-whore look I’d been going for streaked darkly down my face. I quickly wrote,

Came back early to surprise you. Fuck you and the whore you rode in on.

I slammed the sticky note to his window as forcefully as I could. That did make me feel a little better. Then, I got into my car and drove away from the artificial life I’d been trying to create.

I drove aimlessly for hours, the music blaring, with no direction or purpose other than to stray as far from Orlando as possible. I stopped for gas a couple of times but then kept driving. When I needed both gas and food, I utilized a truck stop to refuel my car and myself at the same time. It wasn’t until then I realized I had nothing with me. I had my purse which contained my cell phone, wallet, and knife, along with my backpack which carried my laptop and everything else I’d need to write. The only clothes I had were on my back, and there was so little to them to my great dismay. I’d left my suitcase at the house, so I didn’t even have dirty clothes to change into or my chucks so that I could take off the godawful heels.

After making sure all the buttons were done up on my coat with the sash tied tightly and my purse strap was secured across my chest, I clutched the bottom of my coat solidity as I ran across the parking lot. Giving a show of what was underneath to a bunch of long-haul truckers was the last thing that I wanted to do. It had begun to rain, and the temperature was dropping—fuck me; it was getting cold! The display of Georgia maps by the door implied I’d escaped Florida. I fucking hated Florida. Ken’s company had transferred him here, and like he’d said, I could write from anywhere. God damn it, I’d become a doormat, so willingly it made me nauseous.

As I was perusing the display of Krispy Kreme Donuts, which, unfortunately, was severely lacking at this time of day, my phone dinged with the arrival of a message from my mom.

Are you okay? Call me. I need to hear your voice.

There were three missed phone calls from her and ten from Ken. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even my mom, at that moment, so I quickly texted her back.

Mom, I’m okay, in GA. Caught Ken fucking the real estate agent. I need some time to think and to find a lawyer. No worries, didn’t kill him…yet. But I need someone to go over the contract and try to save some of my $. Totally screwed. Promise I’ll call tomorrow so you can hear my voice.

I hit send and put the seven remaining donuts in a bag. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be driving. Driving calmed me, helped me think, or kept me from doing too much of it, whatever my greater need might have been. For now, I needed to figure out a way out of this fiasco. I put my donuts, the largest thermos they had available for purchase filled with coffee, a lidded styrofoam cup of caffeinated jumpstart, and four Five Hour Energy bottles on the counter to dig my wallet out when out when I heard my phone ding again.

He’s an asshole. Please stop if you get tired or if the weather gets bad. Checked the weather for GA and the rest of the trip home, you’re headed into a storm. You don’t need to call, text me in the morning, so we know you’re okay. Grams and I will be here. Love you.

My mom was adorable and understanding. She knew I’d eventually go home but needed some time to myself. My car would be my own personal hyperbaric chamber for the next little while; nothing else could get in or out. I would be safe in there. I texted back, K, Love Y’all, before putting my phone away and digging out my wallet. I was slipping my credit card out of its sleeve when my phone rang again.

Popular girl, the cashier said. I just shrugged, looked at the display, and declined Ken’s call. He called back before the transaction was completed, and I declined it again.

The cute but mousy teenager raised her eyebrows when the phone rang yet again. I turned my phone off, Caught him with another woman.

Ahhh, what an asshole.

Yep. I signed the receipt and, after receiving one last sympathetic smile from the cashier, escaped the store.

I drove another couple of hours. The sun had set, and the rain was becoming more constant but wasn’t enough to impair my vision, although I did need to crank up the heater. It was freaking cold, and I was clad only in underwear. The situation couldn’t have been any worse. Or so I thought.

I was jamming, singing my heart out along to Adele, not paying attention to where I was going. My typical stress-related response—driving in one direction until I felt like turning around. When it came time to get to where I was going and I had no clue