Busted (Stacked Deck Book 11)
BUSTED
STACKED DECK BOOK ELEVEN
EMILIA FINN
BUSTED
By: Emilia Finn
Copyright © 2021. Emilia Finn
Publisher: Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd.
Cover Design: Amy Queue
Editing: Bird’s Eye Books
Model: Mike Chabot
ISBN: 979 858 785 4819
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 info@emiliafinn.com
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.
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Contents
Also by EMILIA FINN
Looking To Connect?
BUSTED
1. Emma
2. Emma
3. Rob
4. Emma
5. Rob
6. Emma
7. Rob
8. Emma
9. Rob
10. Emma
11. Rob
12. Emma
13. Rob
14. Rob
15. Jack
16. Emma
17. Rob
18. Rob
19. Emma
20. Rob
21. Emma
22. Rob
23. Emma
24. Rob
25. Rob
26. Rob
27. Sonia
Acknowledgments
Also by EMILIA FINN
Now, we decide who we want to be.
On purpose.
And we do it so well, that folks will hate that they love us.
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
Seven Card Stud
Crazy Eights
Eleusis
Dynamite
Busted
Gilded Knights (Rosa Brothers)
Redeeming The Rose
Chasing Fire
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
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Email: emilia@emiliafinn.com
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
BUSTED
STACKED DECK BOOK ELEVEN
EMILIA FINN
Emma
When We Were Young
They say you shouldn’t fall in love before, say… twenty-five years old. If you’re able to hold out that long, then you’re still young enough to conquer the world together with your chosen partner in crime, but not so young that you miss out on the chance to find out who you are, to find out your likes and dislikes without letting someone else’s opinion factor in.
They say this is important for a young woman, especially the young daughter of a world-famous fighter – Bobby Kincaid – and a badass mother who even the champion fighter shivers in his boots for – Kit Kincaid – so that I can develop the steel spine needed to stand against the guys who’ll come sniffing. Because, let’s be honest, most men who try to talk to me, talk to me because they want to meet my dad. Maybe he long ago retired, maybe his son, nieces, and nephews are already the new wave of champions, but there’s something special about that first wave. The originals, the guys who held their heads high, and earned their world-title belts on the world stage while billions of people got to see.
And right beside them, those seven billion people saw my mom with him. My aunts with their husbands. They saw the real, true, fantasy-type love being played out in real time.
And then… Mom and Daddy created two blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughters who became far too tempting for some scummy men to try to get near.
Anywho, that’s why my family told me to wait. To have fun, but to be safe. To travel – Ireland, my mind screams – with or without a friend, but on my terms. To date, but to not develop feelings for any man. Because, according to my father, he was supposed to be the only man I needed until I was at least twenty-five years old.
‘Preferably forty-five.’
So… maybe I messed up. Because I’ve known my man since the day he was born – I was an infant at the time, and I have pictures of me laying between him and his twin brother while our parents – his and mine – took photos of the cutest babies on the block.
Rob Hart – Robert, ironically named for my dad, who is Rob’s dad’s best friend – was the chubbier of the two boys. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes, they were carbon copies of each other, except for Rob’s extra chin or two. And there I was, the fair-haired female in between.
I’m not sure I own a single childhood picture of myself that doesn’t include one or both of those guys. I have an older brother and sister of my own, but photos of us as a group are far rarer than that of me and the twins. And considering I grew up next door to those Hart boys, I’m not sure I understood for most of my childhood that we weren’t siblings in some weird way. They had different parents than me, and they lived in a different house, but for my whole life, we’ve shared the same dining table, the same pool, the same toys, and later, the same felony charges.
And so… that’s where I messed up. Because at first, Rob was a big brother to me, despite the fact I was older. He was my protector, my ally, my hype-man, and my cushion for when I’d fall down. But, I was also certain he had cooties, and when we’d sw
im together all summer long – and some winters, when we felt like being stupid – and he’d spit water in my face, I’d act like he was spitting acid and I was dying a painful death.
So I was immature for my age. Sue me.
But alas… that’s how this story begins.
Emma
Seventh Grade
“Emma Kincaid?” Mrs. Crab – her name should tell you everything you need to know about her not-so-charming personality – slaps my math test down on my desk and snarls the way an angry bull does. Nostrils flaring, pupils small and pointed so her laser beams chop my head off.
Her hair is short like she hacks it with blunt kitchen scissors every single Tuesday, and her brows… good lord, if my non-religious aunt saw this mess, she would cross herself and pray for mercy for this woman who is clearly blind to the curling pubes poking out of her monobrow.
I’m only twelve years old, and I tend toward being a tomboy, rather than dealing in the cute stuff my sister does with her looks on the daily, but even I know that a monobrow is no bueno. It’s just… gross.
I shouldn’t say such mean things about people – not even in my mind. My family taught me better. But hell, I’m twelve, and this bitch is mean to me every single day when I come to her class.
Though, of course, there’s the possibility it’s all a little self-inflicted.
“There were sixty questions on this test, Emma. You answered four.” She slaps my desk to demand my attention. “You got one right. The other three weren’t even close. You drew pictures for several more, and the final thirty, you didn’t even attempt.”
“I ran out of time.” I force a bright smile, so wide that my cheeks push up, and my eyes squish a little closed. “I struggle, Miss Crab. I’m embarrassed by it, though I know I shouldn’t be. But sometimes, the numbers jump around. They don’t make sense to me.”
“That may be so,” she snarls. “But drawing scribbles for answers won’t get you any marks. Drawing while I’m trying to speak to you,” she slaps my hand flat to the desk so the lead I’m doodling with snaps at the tip. I glance up again, and snarl right back. “Will end with your backside in detention.”
“Only my backside?” I blow the lead shavings from my desk and mourn the pencil this monster destroyed. “Not my frontside, Miss Crab?”
“You insist on testing me, don’t you, young lady? You want detention.”
“I want a tutor, perhaps. Or a better teacher who knows how to teach children like me.” I set my ruined pencil in my backpack as it rests against my leg, and while I do that, I ignore the dozen pairs of eyes that watch me sass a teacher. “I don’t want to fall behind, Miss Crab, all because I needed a little extra help, and you were unwilling to do your job.”
Hisses break out through my classroom. Students’ eyes widen, and many of them take out their phones to text.
“One-week detention.” The woman sweeps my test back off my desk, shoves it under her flappy-skinned arm, inadvertently folding it, then she points toward the door, to the hall. “Outside, now. And don’t think for a second I won’t be speaking with your parents.”
“No!” I shoot up from my seat so the chair legs screech against the floor, then it topples. “Miss Crab. No! Don’t call my parents. They’ll beat me.”
“Some children need to be beaten.” She re-thrusts her arm to remind me which direction is the hall. “Get out of my classroom.”
Grumbling under my breath, I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “I hate this class.”
“If we’re lucky, we won’t have to be in the same room again.” This bitch grabs my shoulder and literally steers me the way I have to go.
She’s lucky I don’t beat her into the floor. It’s not like I don’t know how.
“I will be speaking with the principal, Miss Kincaid. And I will be suggesting we hold you back a grade. You are clearly not ready to be in seventh grade.”
My face pales, and my heart skips, fast and thrumming. “What? Miss Crab, no. Don’t make any rash decisions. We can work this out.”
“I’ve tried, Emma. I’ve gone slow for you, I’ve sat with you at lunch, and after school.”
“That was detention!” I holler. “That wasn’t a favor. That was child labor.”
“I’ve allowed extensions on assignments, I’ve marked your tests with your disabilities in mind. I’ve done everything I can for you, Emma. But I don’t think we’re a good fit.”
“I don’t want to go back to the sixth grade!” I cry out. “That’s for babies. That’s crazy talk.”
“You won’t go back to sixth grade.” She stops me at the door, but keeps me on the inside of the room so my classmates hear every single word of her smackdown. “The summer is just about to begin. This last test was your chance of redemption.”
“But Miss Cr–”
“I warned you, Emma. I told you what would happen if you didn’t do better. So now you will repeat seventh grade.” Her lips turn up at the side. A snarl, not a smile. “But I will not take you in my class. There are other teachers here. They may have more patience for the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?” You’re almost there, Emma. Now start flapping your arms. “The likes of me?! You should be thankful you know me! You should tell me you appreciate me!”
“Mrs. Alesi will take you when you come back in the fall. She has more patience for wayward youths.”
“I’m not wayward!” I shout. “I’m a respectable citizen!”
“You are a spoiled brat with a brain that doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. It’s not my fault you’re too stupid for this class.”
Ouch! Hit me with a truth bomb, why dontcha? “My parents are gonna stomp you for speaking to me like that.”
“No, Miss Kincaid. Your parents created this brat. Now they will spend the rest of their lives supporting you, because you’re not motivated enough to do anything for yourself.” She grabs my shoulder and shoves me out of her class. “Head down the hall and wait in the empty science lab. You will finish this session in there alone, then we’re going to speak about next year.”
“Wait, Miss Crab. Don’t kick me out of class.” I grab onto her and practically monkey-climb her… squishy body. She has a whole lot of places to grab, and convenient footholds for my disrespectful self to dig into. “I’ll do better, Miss Crab! I will. I swear I will.”
“If, just for once, you called me Mrs., like you know you should.” She folds my fingers back to dislodge my hold. “If you just tried to learn, and put away your doodle pad during class, then I would be more inclined to help. But you won’t try, Miss Kincaid. So now you become Mrs. Alesi’s problem.” Crab tosses me to the floor. It looks and sounds super evil villain of her, but to be fair, I was holding on like a baby monkey. “Go to the science lab. I will be down at the end of this period, then we’re discussing next year.”
“Mrs. Crab!”
“Go,” she roars.
“I prefer Mrs. Alesi anyway!” I climb to my feet and fix my bag on my back. “She’s nice! And she can actually do her job properly. And sometimes, when we’re extra good in class, she tosses candy at us!”
“How would you know about that? You’re incapable of being good in class.”
“Solid burn, Crab.” I lift two fingers in a peace symbol, then I turn away with my head bowed low, and shuffle along the hall. I keep my shoulders up, my head down, and my smile hidden.
I’m playing my part, and if Crab sees my smile, she might undo everything I just achieved.
My pencils clink together in the bottom of my bag. My heavy sketchpad. They call to me, so just twenty seconds after walking away from the world’s most horrible teacher, I step into the empty lab, slap my bag onto a granite countertop and, digging out my things, I hum under my breath and begin doing the thing that calls to my soul.
I draw.
And ten minutes after that, I glance up when the door opens, and two dudes who look exactly the same walk in. One is smiling like he hit the jackpot
. The other – Rob – is merely a victim to his brother’s shenanigans.
“Hey there, Em.” Luke drops his bag to the floor and skips around the lab until he stops by me and watches over my shoulder. He smells like wood, and… something else. Lacquer, maybe. His breath smells like candy, and when he can’t help but be so close that our cheeks touch, he chuckles when I stab my elbow into his stomach.
“Back off, Puke.”
“EmKat.” Rob is my best friend. My bestest of all best friends in the whole wide world. He’s the calm to my crazy. The salve to my burn. He’s the one who’ll keep me outta prison when we’re older. And sadly, he’s my oxygen, and sitting in the wrong grade all day long means that I suffocate between the hours of nine till three.
So I took care of it.
“Whatcha drawing?”
“Same thing she’s always drawing,” Luke scoffs and accidently bumps me as I work. “My sexy eyes.”
I laugh and quickly fix a little smudge on the corner. All three of us know whose eyes I’m drawing. And they aren’t Luke’s.
“Looks good.” Rob pulls out a stool on my left and sits down, close enough that our shoulders touch and his warmth seeps into my skin.