Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) Read online

  Uncut

  Copyright ©2015 by Claudia Y. Burgoa

  Cover Design by Hang Le

  Edited by Vanessa L. Bridges, PREMA

  Copy edited by Marion Archer, Making the Manuscript

  Interior Design & Formatting by Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  Butterfly Graphic: Alleskelle http://givinglifetomybooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, media, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and-or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Uncut

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-eight

  Forty-nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-one

  Fifty-two

  Fifty-three

  Fifty-four

  Fifty-five

  Fifty-six

  Fifty-seven

  Fifty-eight

  Fifty-nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-one

  Sixty-two

  Sixty-three

  Sixty-four

  Sixty-five

  Sixty-six

  Sixty-seven

  Sixty-eight

  Sixty-nine

  Seventy

  Seventy-one

  Seventy-two

  Seventy-three

  Seventy-four

  Seventy-five

  Epilogue

  Date Night for the Decker Family

  About the Author

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  Dedicated to everyone who pursues and fights for their rights to dream, to love, and to live their happily ever after

  You’re not alone.

  When I planned this book, I was so sure about one thing, it was the story about Matthew Decker. Writing a triad was a new challenge, a special one too. And how lucky am I to have met one person that has so much knowledge and held my hand as I walked through this treacherous journey. There are many, many people behind the scenes that have helped me through these three amazing years. Readers, bloggers, friends. My fellow writers, thank you for being there for me. The list is big and trying to remember each name will be close to impossible, as my memory is terrible.

  However, I want to use this space to thank a few who by some miracle didn’t maim me during the process. Thank you all for your patience.

  First and foremost, Vanessa L. Bridges, without you I’m not sure where Thea, Matthew and Tristan would’ve gone, but you gave me the compass, the map and kept me going until I found the right place. She not only did the content editing, she coached me, patted my back and boy did we cried. Thank you for answering every question, every text, every hang out and for encouraging me to continue.

  To Paulina, who listened to me every time I had to discuss the book, I treasure the time you spend facetiming, texting or over the phone to listen to me, or to go through a scene with me. You’re the best daughter and I wouldn’t have you any other way.

  My beta readers: Manda Mettlach, Judy Brown, Gloria Herrera, Mary W Jolly, Melissa Taegel Parnell, and Debbie Devita-Rappaport.

  Anita Turner Corwin, she beta reads and listens to my book rants and throws great ideas too over a glass of wine, margarita or whatever we had in front. Or during a PTCO event or whenever we get a chance. Thank you for your friendship and your support.

  Christine Tovey, who beta read, heard my rants, stayed with e every step of the way and heard my changes from beginning to end, while answering my questions and also helped me with some of my research. Thank you for everything, most of all for being a friend.

  A huge thank you to my babes, who help a little with the content, and are such a lovely group.

  Big thank you to Angie Bartley, she helped me proofing the book. 130k words isn’t easy to proof. You’re amazing, and I appreciate the support you’ve given to all my books.

  Kaila Eileen Turingan-Ramos, where do I start? She’s starting to become my outside brain and it’s not a joke. Thank you for your support, friendship and for the little reminders, they mean a lot. Thank you also for setting aside some time to go through Uncut and find the little and the big typos.

  Last, but never the least. Thank you to my family. For your love and understanding. To my very special children. Andie and Sebastien who despite their personalities are so patient with me; and who teach me every day that everything is possible. The hubs, who keeps up with my mood swings.

  As some of you know, Unlike Any Other and the Unexpected series began with a simple thought—more like a question.

  Have you ever watched a movie, a favorite television series, or listened to a band play some music, and seemed to connect with the artist? Believed they are a part of your life?

  But, do we really know them?

  And this is where I was stumped. We don’t, and that led me to thinking about how many secrets they must harbor.

  What is behind closed doors?

  After many revisions, our Unexpected series goes as follows:

  SERIES ORDER:

  Unlike Any Other ~ Gabe’s story

  Unsurprisingly Complicated ~ Mason’s story.

  Uncharted ~ Jacob (JC’s) story

  Uncut ~ Matthew (MJ’s) story

  Undefeated (name changed from Unable to Forget) ~ Porter’s story

  From the beginning of this project, I knew that Matt’s story would be fun, yet complicated. He’s his own person, and he likes who he likes. What a dilemma. Matt doesn’t define his sexuality. Of course, with such complexity, it took me longer than usual to write Uncut. Writing under three different first person POV’s was something brand new to me, and challenging. And I wanted to get the story just right.

  As you all know, I like to give the reader and my characters the right air time to tell their side of the story. Im
agine how that worked out with three different personalities. The journey was fun. I love them so much. And yes, it’s a little long, but the final product has the story of three different souls that found each other and are trying to understand what is that they share. Matt, Thea and Tristan are unusual, as is their story—and the length of the book is long because of that. In a few words, this is a tale where three hearts collide.

  Thea, Matthew and Tristan are your as real as many others who struggle with life. Addictions, disabilities, prejudice, judgement and finding a place to belong wasn’t easy for them, nor is it for many out there. I really hope you enjoy their journey, and they stay in your heart as they stayed in mine.

  After you finish the book, and if you did enjoy this book, I’d appreciate if you support it. Spread the word. Tell a friend, coworker, or your family to read it. Recommend it through any social media outlet. Consider to leave a review for this book. Let other readers know about it and spread the word.

  Thank you so much for reading Uncut. If you’d like to find what’s next or about the previous books, make sure to check me online.

  Best regards,

  Claudia ♥

  P. S. There might be a lot more about the Decker family in 2017

  Where Is Aggie Now?

  Agatha Levitz was released from her second trip to rehab late last year. Since then, her online presence has been nonexistent, and she has disappeared from her former home of L.A.

  Maroon 5’s “Sugar” blares through my ears as I walk inside Black Out, a nightclub located in downtown Malibu. My eyes adjust to the darkness, the strobing lights, and the sporadic laser effects bouncing off the walls. My gaze lifts. I admire the high ceiling, and observe the second-floor balconies that are filled with patrons drinking and dancing. I make my way through the dance floor. Swaying, sweaty bodies press and rub against each other, some against me. It’s been a long time since I visited a place like this. The stench of alcohol, adrenaline, and pheromones hit my nostrils. Man, I feel fucking old at thirty. I should start rethinking my life and go back to partying. A thought for another day. At the moment, I have to focus on the sweet little blonde taking me to the office of my brother’s business partner. She makes a right, leading me down a darkened hall toward a massive oak door. The sign next to it reads Manager.

  The girl, whose name I never learned, wiggles the door handle, and opens it. “Mr. Cooperson, Mr. Decker is here for you.”

  Before I step inside the office, Beyoncé’s “Drunk in Love” resonates through the walls. I wonder why the sudden change in rhythm from snappy to a more somber kind of music. Checking my watch, I realize it’s almost two o’clock in the morning.

  Tristan Cooperson lays his pen down and lifts his head. And Oh. Holy. Shit. Those piercing dark green eyes make contact with mine. I drink in the gorgeous specimen before me. His dark, short hair highlights his facial features. A five o’clock shadow covers his chiseled jaw. His back straightens and his palms lay flat on the desk as his eyes penetrate mine. Fuck, I don’t know whether he’s undressing me or trying to eliminate me with that glare. All I know is that the room’s temperature just increased by a whole lot. I’m burning from the inside out.

  “Thank you, Becky. Please close the door on your way out,” he says, shifting his eyes toward the door. “What’s so urgent that couldn’t be handled over the phone, Decker?”

  I stare at Becky, watching her hips sway while she follows his directions. As the latch clicks, my attention goes back to him. “She’s hot. Are you tapping her?”

  “Yes, she’s something,” he agrees smirking slightly. Once again, he doesn’t disclose much about his taste in women—or men. I know he’s attracted to me, but he seems to fight it. There are so many questions swirling in my head when it comes to him, but with that major wall he puts up between us, I’ll never find my answers. “But I make it a rule not to mix business with pleasure.”

  “If she wasn’t your . . . staff, would you do her?”

  “Decker, concentrate.” He snaps his fingers at me. “What are you doing here?”

  I walk closer to his desk, and the oak, mossy scent of his fragrance replaces the mix of club stench from outside the door. My entire body goes into red alert. I reach inside my jacket and unfold the NDA as I hand it to him.

  He takes a quick look at it and starts shaking his head. “Another fucking NDA?” The thud his hand makes as it slams against the desk makes me jolt. “I’ve already sworn never to speak about your family. Parents, siblings, or goddamned pets. What is it now?”

  Touchy. I retrieve the paper back from him avoiding his gaze.

  It’s hard for many to comprehend why we need an NDA, but for me it is natural to hand them to business partners or employees. My fathers, the patriarchs of the Decker family, like to keep their private life within the family. It’s what my parents decided once they became a couple. Being celebrities made them news. Chris Decker is a famous rock star from the ’80s, and Gabe Colt is a critically acclaimed award-winning actor. And yep, both are men. These days it is hard to understand why a gay couple would want to hide their relationship, but back in the ’80s, when their relationship started, it had to be kept under wraps if they wanted to protect themselves and us—their children—from gossip. If it hadn’t been because of their rules, we would have become an attraction from day one. Watch the latest news about the triplets of the famous gay couple.

  These contracts are created to protect my loved ones and keep them far away from the media. There’s always a foe, or a contractor ready to find some important piece of information about our lives and sell it to the highest bidder. That’s why I brought this with me, to make sure Tristan doesn’t leak any information regarding the family, like Jacob’s recent nuptials.

  Of course, Jacob, my triplet, didn’t mention that Tristan already signed one when we spoke on Saturday during his wedding reception. He only told me to inform Tristan he’d be out of town for a few months and that I’d be in charge of all his shit. Shit which includes Thrice, the nightclub Jacob and Tristan are opening next year. I always cover my bases when I have to deliver any kind of sensitive information about my family—including the secret wedding. Jacob Decker became a solo act and with his new fan base, it’s in his best interest to remain single and detached. At least that’s what Pria, his wife and PR rep, said.

  “Jacob got married this past weekend. He’s going to be out of town on his honeymoon. You and I will spend more time together.” I wiggle my eyebrows as I slide into the chair in front of him. His growl is priceless.

  “I’m hurt.” I touch my chest, then lean closer as I lower my voice. “Your mouth says you don’t like me.” I give him my best cocky wink. “But your body screams that you want me.” I rise from my seat.

  He tries to laugh off my comment even though we both know it wasn’t intended as a joke. “I’m not gay like you, Matthew,” he says. My eyebrows lift because he’s assuming. If I’m seen with a woman, I’m straight. Yet, if I’m with a man, I’m automatically deemed gay. I like and enjoy being with both—but despise labels. “My taste is . . . different. We’re different, Matthew,” he says, his emotionless eyes narrowing on mine. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Email me your travel schedule,” I say, placing my business card on top of his desk. “When you’re working in Seattle, you can stay at my place. There’s no point to waste money on hotels when I have plenty of room. I’ll give you a set of keys and the code since I travel about as much as you do.” And with that perplexed look now covering his face, I turn to make my exit.

  “Decker?” he calls after me as I’m about to open the door. My shoulders hunch, as I wait for him to insult me again. “Are we okay?”

  I spin around, leaning against the heavy door and watching this contradictory man who, I’m guessing, has no fucking idea what he wants and is afraid of who he might be. I set my gaze on his and wait a few breaths as I search for an answer.

  An answer for what . . . What does he need, and
can I give it to him?

  I don’t know. He shuts me down every time I try to start something with him.

  I shrug. “You tell me, Cooperson,” I respond crossing my arms. “I hate labels. And no, I’m not gay. I sleep with whoever I’m attracted to.” I press my lips together halting any more words from escaping, as I feel they’re coming out all wrong. But in part that’s the truth. “I like women, men . . . I don’t like to label who I am. I find you strikingly hot.” Tristan’s eyes narrow, his hands become two fists, and his jaw twitches. “In my mind, there’s nothing wrong with telling you because your body responds to me. If you’re straight, you might want to rethink a few things because your reactions toward men say something else.” I shrug and immediately regret saying the last sentence. Holy shit, I hit a nerve.

  Tristan stares at me, the strength of his glare unsettling.

  Awkward.

  Yet I can’t help it but ask, “So, you only sleep with women? Is that it?” He gives me a blank stare, and his hands are no longer a couple of fists. “Have you ever been with a man?” He remains stoic, though begins to fidget with his pen. “I’ll take that as a yes all round. Is it me, then?”

  He blows out a noisy breath. “You’re a public figure, Matt. You’re comfortable with your sexuality—whatever that might be. Good for you.” I flinch at his last words, releasing my arms. Oh man . . . he’s in the fucking closet. I run a hand through my hair, my long strands falling onto my forehead. “I prefer to keep my business to myself.” His head drops, and he stares at the desk.

  He’s piqued my curiosity and I want to discover what’s behind that façade. It might eat him alive if he continues to hide behind it. I push myself off the wall, walk to where he sits, bend down, then kiss his cheek.

  Fuck. How I want to do much more than simply kiss his cheek.

  “Around me, you can be yourself. I will never judge you, Tristan.” I place my hand on top of his. “Whenever you need me, I’m here for you,” I whisper and leave the room.

  My legs shake as the door closes behind Matthew Decker. I order myself to stop staring in hopes the smoking-hunk will come back, fighting the urge to beg him to use me any way he wanted. That sweet, fucking, gorgeous man who keeps me awake at night after I see him. Tonight will be one of those when I won’t be able to sleep whatsoever. His musky scent, clear blue eyes, and ripped body play inside my head all night long while I try to figure out a new way to try to avoid him.