No Limits (Stacked Deck Book 5) Read online

  NO LIMITS

  STACKED DECK BOOK FIVE

  EMILIA FINN

  NO LIMITS

  By: Emilia Finn

  Copyright © 2020. Emilia Finn

  Publisher: Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd.

  Cover Design: Amy Queue

  Editing: Bird’s Eye Books

  Cover Photography: Eric McKinney/612 Photography

  ISBN: 9798663776998

  This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This Book 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 person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy.

  To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of Emilia Finn’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  www.emiliafinn.com

  The best way to stay in touch is to subscribe to Emilia’s newsletter: https://bit.ly/2YB5Gmw

  If you don’t hear from her regularly, please check your junk/spam folder and set her emails to safe/not spam, that way, you won’t miss new books, chances to win amazing prizes, or possible appearances in your area.

  Kindle readers: follow Emilia on Amazon to be notified of new releases as they become available.

  Bookbub readers: follow Emilia on Bookbub to be notified of new releases as they become available.

  Contents

  Also by EMILIA FINN

  Looking To Connect?

  NO LIMITS

  Prologue

  1. Bryan

  2. Bryan

  3. Maddi

  4. Bryan

  5. Madilyn

  6. Bryan

  7. Madilyn

  8. Bryan

  9. Madilyn

  10. Bryan

  11. Maddi

  12. Bryan

  13. Maddi

  14. Madilyn

  15. Bryan

  16. Maddi

  17. Bryan

  18. Maddi

  19. Maddi

  20. Bryan

  21. Maddi

  22. Maddi

  23. Epilogue

  24. Nelly

  Acknowledgments

  Also by EMILIA FINN

  Be brave

  Also by EMILIA FINN

  (in reading order)

  The Rollin On Series

  Finding Home

  Finding Victory

  Finding Forever

  Finding Peace

  Finding Redemption

  Finding Hope

  The Survivor Series

  Because of You

  Surviving You

  Without You

  Rewriting You

  Always You

  Take A Chance On Me

  The Checkmate Series

  Pawns In The Bishop’s Game

  Till The Sun Dies

  Castling The Rook

  Playing For Keeps

  Rise Of The King

  Sacrifice The Knight

  Winner Takes All

  Checkmate

  Stacked Deck - Rollin On Next Gen

  Wildcard

  Reshuffle

  Game of Hearts

  Full House

  No Limits

  Bluff

  Rollin On Novellas

  (Do not read before finishing the Rollin On Series)

  Begin Again – A Short Story

  Written in the Stars – A Short Story

  Full Circle – A Short Story

  Worth Fighting For – A Bobby & Kit Novella

  Looking To Connect?

  Website: www.emiliafinn.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EmiliaBFinn/

  Newsletter: https://bit.ly/2YB5Gmw

  Email: [email protected]

  The Crew: https://www.facebook.com/groups/therollincrew/

  Did you know you can get a FREE book? Click here for Bry and Nelly’s story: BookHip.com/DPMMQM

  NO LIMITS

  STACKED DECK BOOK FIVE

  EMILIA FINN

  Prologue

  There’s almost nothing in this world more cathartic after a long week at work than a Friday night spent in my best friend’s basement while the four of us slam through a few – a.k.a. seven – bottles of white wine in the space of two hours.

  The time spent laughing with my friends is soul-healing, exhausting and exhilarating at the same time, my jaw aching because I haven’t shut up the whole time, and the buzz that runs through my system makes it so I’m braver than I would normally be.

  This is how it’s always been for us; at ten years old, fifteen, then twenty-one, it’s always been me, Jenna, Chrissy, and Hannah.

  Chrissy helps herself to the cupboard we long ago dubbed our liquor cabinet, simply because that’s where we dump our shit on the way in when we arrive. She stands, sways, and snorts, as she pours a fresh glass of fruity white wine and scratches her bare leg. She wears panties and a tank top.

  We’re a cliché Hollywood slumber party – cute underwear, salon-styled hair, lashes that we were absolutely not born with, and manicures that make us look fancy. Bring in a few dozen pillows and wafting feathers, and we’d look like the opening scene to something on Pornhub.

  In reality, we’re the world’s coolest group, and our various chosen careers mean we get to look fancy sometimes, while claiming our manicures on taxes.

  This is Jenna’s house – or, well, her parents’ house – but the basement is self-sustained, comes with its own bathroom and mini kitchen, and her parents are the kind that like to be out and about at this hour on a Friday night. They’re what my family would call social climbers, but then again, my family only knows those words because they themselves enjoy dressing up and attending all of the in parties just so they can say they were there.

  This basement means Jenna has basically had her own apartment for most of her life, and hell if that isn’t cool for a bunch of kids that enjoy not being watched around the clock.

  Our families, mine – consisting of my daddy and his new wife – Jenna’s, Chrissy’s, and Hannah’s; they all belong to the same country club. They live a life of the elite – they’re the town’s snobs, really – so from the moment we were born, from the moment our parents shared that new life experience at the same time – oh yay, babies! Oh goodness, all girls! – the four of us were shoved together in our cute outfits and pretty little tiaras, so our parents could compete over whose baby looked cutest in their Gucci baby shoes.

  Despite the odds, the small competitions, and the constant comparisons from our parents, the four of us kind of came out the other end as best friends.

  I’m sure many would look at us from the outside and see spoiled princesses, brats, and, according to many at our old school, bitches. But in reality, Chrissy is working her way through med school, and she did most of it on scholarships and a 4.0 GPA.

  Jenna is a dressmaker, but not just any old dressmaker; she designs gowns, makes them, submits them to fashion festivals, and comes away with fancy labels and exclusive awards that make her designs that much more coveted.

  Hannah is an accountant; the smart kind, the kind that takes care of my taxes and makes it so that my manicures can be claimed each quarter.

  And me? I was recently promoted to the marketing and public relations department of my family’s company. I know, I’m no 4.0 smarty pants, nor do I work in conjunctio
n with the rich and famous to design and create their gowns.

  Yeah, my job was kind of handed to me – and more than likely, smarter, better fitting candidates were overlooked in the process of giving me the position… but I’m good at what I do, and I work extra hard to make sure I deserve my title and salary.

  I put in the hours every single day to convince my staff that I’m worthy of their loyalty and respect.

  My job is to schmooze, basically. That’s certainly not what my business cards say, nor the plaque on my fancy office door. But if I was asked for a single word to explain my day to day activities, schmoozing is the word I’d use. I attend parties too, but to promote and further my families’ company. I needle for invitations to events where certain members of society might be. Sports stars, music stars, the influential. And thanks to my connections – as in, my best friends – I always have exclusive gowns to wear, fancy shoes to strut in, and the best makeup job on this side of the train tracks.

  I certainly look the part of socialite that attended private girls’ schools and now thinks they can hang with the elite, but that chick, the elegant Madilyn who wears floor-length gowns, designer heels, and sophisticated hairstyles, looks nothing like the slob that I am when we hang out in Jenna’s basement.

  “Did you guys hear about the Kincaid wedding coming up?” Chrissy lifts the almost empty bottle away from her wine glass with a hiccup, then a giggle when it overflows and she’s forced to duck down and slurp the liquid off the mahogany tabletop. She stands again, grins like a kid that just snorted sugar, then turns to meander back toward the bed with her glass in hand.

  I lay in the middle of the luxurious, softer-than-a-cloud king-sized mattress in a pair of Jenna’s shorts – gray, with little gold stars and a gold rope around the waist to cinch them tight – but I scoot across when Chrissy flops down and slams her head to my stomach to use me as a pillow. I grunt when she beats me to get comfortable, and squeal when her wine sloshes over the side of her glass to hit my leg.

  Then I laugh when, instead of wiping it up, she licks my leg and saves every single drop.

  “Stop!” I laugh when her snickers turn to snorts, then I grab her hair and pull her back around. “Stop licking me, freak!”

  “Sorry. Didn’t wanna waste.” She hiccups, and finally settles when she’s comfortable. Only to undo it all again when she pushes up to drink from the wide glass. “You guys catch the paper today? Kincaids are marrying up.”

  “Gross.” Hannah sits by a little makeup table and tries her best to apply fake lashes. “I’m so sick of hearing about them.”

  “I already knew,” Jenna mumbles at the foot of the bed. She’s painting her nails, but her aim is… off. She sits back with a frown, lets out a man-sized belch, then goes back to work with the sparkling pink polish. “I’m doing her dress.” She scowls. “I hate that I love the design she asked for.”

  “Ugh.” Chrissy throws her head back with a groan. “I hate that she’s so fucking perfect.”

  “Who’s perfect?”

  “Nobody!” Jenna snaps. “Nobody is perfect. That’s the damn point.”

  “But she acts like she’s perfect,” Hannah growls. “So pretty, so sporty, so smart and business-minded. She’s basically all of the Spice Girls in one person.”

  Mid-sip, I blow my wine straight back into the glass and howl when it burns my nostrils. “Spice Girls!” Then I look to Jenna. “Change the music!”

  “No,” she huffs. “I’m not changing the music. And don’t make me hate her more than I already do. To dress a Kincaid wedding is big business for little old me. Don’t ruin this for me.”

  “She was so fucking obnoxious in middle school. Right?” Hannah looks to me, like I have all the answers. “You remember?”

  I shake my head.

  “You do! It’s like she was addicted to attention. I swear, if she didn’t have it, then the whole world was gonna have to answer why.”

  “It’s…” I try to think of the perfect descriptive word for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, champion fighting, tournament hosting, enviably badass businesswoman that – according to Chrissy and today’s newspaper – is soon to be wed. But I’m drunk, and that was already a lot of work, so I settle on a snicker and take another sip of wine. “I dunno, Hannah. Obnoxious ain’t illegal.”

  “It should be!” she scowls. “Now she’s bagged Ben Conner, and they’re so effing happy that it makes me sick, and because it’s the newest in event, Momma won’t shut up about it.”

  I burst out in piggish snorts and spill several vitally important sips of wine. “Good lord, Hannah. There’s no way in hell your mom is getting an invite.”

  Alcohol… that’s the only excuse I have for my big mouth as her fiery eyes come to mine.

  “I mean… They’re Kincaids, and we’re… uh…” I stumble.

  Damn you, drunk brain! Work faster!

  “Did you see how that other one got famous for dancing?” she sneers. “Everything comes so friggin’ easy for them.”

  “Ugh,” Jenna groans – and ends it with a belch. “I hate them so much.”

  “You just said not to make you hate them!” I laugh. “You already do!”

  “I think I have PTSD from that other one…” She scowls. “Bryan.”

  My top lip curls back at his name.

  We all know who Bryan Kincaid is. He’s the kind of guy you wear a hazmat suit around… and then you carry one of those long-range cattle prods at the end of a six-foot stick to keep him away. Assuming your cattle prod and plastic armor were implemented and successful, add a Clorox bath and a sprinkle of antiseptic spray in your nether regions, and hopefully, at the end of that, a girl can walk away without a nasty case of the clap.

  I mean, that’s all hearsay, of course, considering I’ve never stooped so low as to meet him in my life.

  Unlike Jen… I giggle.

  “I can’t believe how much of a douchebag he is. He’s just…” Hannah hisses. “Wow. What were you thinking?”

  “He was charming!” Jen screeches. “He just has to smile, and bam! Panties, gone.” Heat sneaks into her cheeks while she paints her nails and avoids looking up. “He ruins lives, ladies. He’s a fuckin’ douchebag. A beautiful, smooth-talking, broad-shouldered, pretty-eyed douchebag.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “He forced you?” I drunkenly laugh. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Well…” She clears her throat. “If by forced, you mean he smiled at me, then yes!”

  I burst out in belly-bouncing giggles. “You ruined your own life, Jen. That was on you!”

  “He took me to bed,” she whimpers, “and then he sent me home to Andrew, knowing he’d marked me.”

  “With your own lipstick!” I cackle. “He wrote his name on your back, using your lipstick while you were passed out.” Wine dribbles straight out of my mouth and drips off my chin. I’m such a slob. “Then you went home and told Andrew you’d been out with us.”

  “Then I got undressed,” she cries, “got in the shower.”

  Deserting her silent contemplation of her wineglass, Chrissy barks out a loud laugh. “That was such a dick thing to do.” And yet, she chokes on a mixture of wine and laughter. “He wrote his name on you, then sent you home to the fiancé!”

  “It was so bad,” Jen groans. “There is no way to explain it away. Andrew was sooo mad.”

  “And now we all have pretty dresses to wear, but no wedding to wear them to,” I faux pout.

  “Like I said,” Hannah seethes. “Douchebag. And I mean, we know Jackson, so we’re already fairly accustomed to knowing the high dollar, fast car, thinks he’s God’s gift to women, totally full of himself, grade-A asshole type.”

  “Wow,” Jenna drawls. “Tell us how you really feel about my big brother.”

  Shoulders bouncing, furry teeth from drinking too much, I lay back in Jen’s bed and snicker. “Jackson is a douchebag too. He doesn’t get some kind of free pass simply because Kincaid i
s worse.”

  “He chose me because of Jackson,” Jenna groans. “He said come hither, talked me into bed, probably rocked my world–”

  “Probably?” I squeal with laughter. “What do you mean probably?”

  “I was drunk, okay!” She tosses a comb so fast that a drunk chick could be forgiven for thinking it was a ninja star. “He crooked a finger, I said yes please, climbed into that sexy car of his…” She shakes her head. “Next minute, I’m awake and being shuffled out the door. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could at least remember what he was packing. But he did it all because of Jackson. For payback.”

  “I hate him,” Hannah seethes. “I hate them both, and wish they’d stop their shit.”

  “You’re just mad he didn’t crook his finger at you.” I toss the comb across the room and knock over the little mirror. “You would have thrown yourself into that douchebag’s arms if he offered.”

  “Wait, whose arms?” Jenna asks. “You’re not looking at my brother, are you? Because we made a pact.”

  Three of us – me, Chrissy, and Jen – poke our fingers into our mouths and fake gag in sync.

  Poor, poor Jackson has been brother-zoned by three of the four of us, and the fourth, Hannah, says the words Jen needs, but she doesn’t mean them. If Jackson Price were to lift his chin in silent invitation to a quiet closet, Hannah would light the floor on fire to get there.