Hard Lessons

by Jasmin Quinn

  Hard lessons

  Running with the Devil Book 5

  Jasmin Quinn

  Hard Lessons Copyright © 2018 by Jasmin Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Jem Monday Publishing

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

  Visit Jasmin’s website at www. www.jasmin@jasminquinn.com

  ISBN: 978-1-7751853-6-9

  Books by Jasmin Quinn

  Running with the Devil Series

  The Darkest Hour (Running with the Devil: Book 1)

  Secrets inside Her (Running with the Devil: Book 2)

  Black Surrender (Running with the Devil: Book 3)

  Without Mercy (Running with the Devil: Book 4)

  Hard Lessons (Running with the Devil: Book 5)

  Anthologies

  The Horror of Our Love – A Twisted Tales Anthology

  First Blood Moon by Jasmin Quinn

  Masked by Nicole Heinz

  Hollow by DD Prince

  Stalked by Nikita Slater

  The Tombstone Tourist by Bonny Bennett

  Running with the Devil Book Series

  It’s so good to be bad!

  Jasmin Quinn’s steamy romance series takes readers on a thrill ride as the rivalry between Rusya Savisin, Russian Mob Boss and the mysterious Mr. Jackman heats up. Romance blooms with intensity as innocents get drawn into the dark terrifying worlds that Jackman and Savisin rule. Each book in the series is standalone but are connected by common themes and characters.

  As the series unfolds, more and more will be revealed about the feud between Jackman and Savisin, including answers to the following questions:

  Are Jackman’s intentions honourable or does he have as much blood on his hands as Savisin?

  What is the root of the hatred between Jackman and Savisin?

  What is Randall Scott’s role in the ongoing feud?

  Who is the traitor in Jackman’s house and will this double-agent ultimately bring down Jackman and his operatives?

  Contents

  Hard lessons

  Books by Jasmin Quinn

  Running with the Devil Book Series

  Part One

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Part Two

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Hard Lessons Playlist

  About Jasmin

  Stay connected with Jasmin

  Part One

  I work for you, baby, work my hand to the bone

  Care for you, baby, till the cows come home

  Do for you, baby, for the love that I seek

  Slave for you, baby, every day of the week

  Etta James

  7-Day Fool

  One

  Friday – Day One

  Mira stood in the courtroom addressing the judge. “Prosecution supports the second-degree murder charge, your honour, and recommends a sentence of 15 years for the defendant.”

  Judge Peter Langland nodded his head. “Let the record show that the defendant, Robert Leslie Creed, shall be remanded into custody for the charge of murder in the second degree for 15 years without possibility of parole for 10 years, notwithstanding time already served.”

  A murmur rose in the courtroom as Mira turned her back to the judge, to Creed’s lawyer, and to Robert Creed himself. She kept her head lowered letting her long wavy brown hair fall forward, veiling her face as she shuffled her papers together, stuffing them into her leather portfolio. She didn’t dare look up. No one in this courtroom was happy, least of all her. She’d agreed to the plea bargain because the alternative was a long drawn out trial that would have been compromised from the start. She’d learned early on in her law career that the Creeds were not a family to be trifled with and if the case went to trial on first degree charges, there would be delays, witnesses might disappear or suddenly lose their memories, juries would be tampered with. Robert Creed would be out on bail until the trial because it didn’t matter what bail was set at, the Creeds had the money. And the charges were sticky, the evidence murky. Mira believed she could get a first-degree conviction if all the stars aligned, but that seldom happened when the Creeds were involved.

  It was small consolation to the victim’s family that Creed pleaded to the lesser charge of second-degree murder. The sonofabitch took Amber Thiessen because she was pretty, and he kept her for months, torturing her, using her, abusing her until she died. Then he dumped her body in a refuse bin behind a local downtown pub and moved on. He treated her like garbage in life and in death and it made Mira physically ill when she thought about it. But the first-degree murder charges would have been challenging – Robert’s side of the story was that he and Amber were in love; that her family was abusive, and Amber was afraid of them. That’s why they were in hiding, there was no kidnapping. Yes, they were into BDSM, but it was entirely consensual. Robert panicked when Amber died of asphyxiation during sex play, and he disposed of her body out of fear of reprisal; but he was inconsolable with grief. His story.

  Second degree murder was the compromise and it sickened Mira. Amber’s family sat in the courtroom, furious that they weren’t going to trial; outraged at what Creed was saying about them. Angry, devastated and grieving. Robert’s older brother, Jack Creed, was there too, every time there was a hearing, a motion, a request for continuance, sitting impassively at back of the courtroom, staring at her, his eyes burning a hole through her. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he was with others. The first morning, the day of the arraignment, he was with Rusya Savisin, the dark lord of Vancouver, BC.

  The day Savisin walked into the courtroom and sat beside Jack Creed was the day Mira knew she’d lost her bid for first degree murder. Jack Creed was one of the most dangerous men she knew, but if the rumours were true, he had nothing on Savisin. For Savisin to be there, next to Creed was unprecedented. Mob bosses didn’t meet in courtrooms.

  No one else seemed to notice Savisin. Why would they? They were here for Robert Creed. Very few knew or cared about the Russian mob’s presence in Vancouver. Maybe one or two of the press would realize the rare phenomena of having him here, but as she scanned the room, the reporters were chatting to one another, relax
ed postures, clueless.

  That morning was the worst for her. She couldn’t let go of the heavy presence that hung in the courtroom sucking the air out. It blanketed her, made her feel small and vulnerable, made her suddenly afraid of the dark. When the arraignment was over, she almost ran out of the courtroom, past the press who were scrambling to catch her, past Jack Creed and Rusya Savisin. She needed fresh air, she needed distance from her thoughts, she needed to pull herself together.

  Thankfully, that was the only time Savisin showed. For the rest of the court appearances, she still had Jack Creed to contend with, a man she first met five years ago when she was articling at Sugarman and Bryson, a large Las Vegas legal firm, the same firm currently representing Robert Creed. Back then, she caught Jack’s eye and soon found herself included in meetings and client dinners she had no business being at given her youth and her status at the firm. Even if she wanted to, which she didn’t in those days, she couldn’t say no. Her bosses, the firm’s partners, expected their employees to be team players.

  Jack charmed her, seduced her, and she was young and naïve, thrilled by the attention, believing herself in love with him, believing he loved her. Until the morning she woke up to an announcement in the paper of his marriage to another woman. No goodbyes, no explanation. He was simply gone from her life. At first, she thought it a mistake, a misunderstanding, but her attempts to talk to him were rebuffed by his men. They made it clear that the love affair was over. She could leave him alone of her own free will or they would make her leave him alone. She got the message.

  And now he was here everyday, his hostility evident in his unyielding posture, the hard set to his jaw, stony eyes that bored right through her. But even his darkness didn’t dissuade her from fighting hard for the second-degree murder charge; if anything, it made her more determined. She knew that Robert’s defence team would advise him to plead to a lesser charge. The Creed’s needed to get off the front-page as soon as possible – sensational murder trials were hard on criminal business empires. The defence tried to get Mira to drop to manslaughter, but she held fast, and her boss supported her. It was still a small meaningless victory. Robert Creed was a sadist and a killer, and his connections meant that the next 10 years would be a breeze for him. He would be not quite 40 year’s old when he was free to terrorize this city again.

  Mira said a last few words to Creed’s defence attorney as she packed up. She desperately wanted to slip out a side door and go home. Drink a bottle of red wine, maybe two, and spend an hour in the shower washing the stink of the day off her. But it was only 2pm. She needed to say goodbye to Amber’s parents, hear their grief and anger; then she would address the press outside the courthouse before returning to her office to put the finishing touches on the case. As she sorted the last of her papers into her briefcase, she became aware of the silence. Everyone was gone. She let a small breath escape her lips as she glanced up, but she wasn’t alone as her eyes met the startling black eyes of Jack Creed, standing at the back of the courtroom leaning causally against the wall, hands tucked into his pants pockets.

  As his gaze caught hers she inhaled sharply. He was tall and solid, darkly handsome with hard features, eyes hooded and indiscernible; money, strength, confidence, heat all emanated from him. He was a Creed, she thought with a slight shiver – he took what he wanted. She didn’t want to let him know he was getting to her, but she also didn’t want him thinking she was a vindictive person who would throw her victory in the face of a family member, so she tried to keep her expression neutral as she acknowledged him with a nod of her head. Then he did something unexpected. He smiled at her, a searing, consuming, knowing smirk, his dark eyes reaching past her defences and devouring her. She shrank from him, felt herself flush as her heart thudded in her chest. She dropped her eyes to her case, fumbled to close it, her fingers unwilling to comply with this simple task. When she looked up again, he was next to her.

  “Can I help you with that?” he asked nodding towards the clasps of her case. His voice was black velvet.

  “No.” Mira snatched the case from his reach and took a step back. “No thank you, Mr. Creed,” she swiftly amended. They were strangers. Whatever had passed between them five years ago for a few short weeks was no longer relevant.

  “Mira, you’re an excellent prosecutor.”

  Mira waited a heartbeat for the punchline, but when none appeared to be forthcoming, she murmured her thanks. She couldn’t hold the intensity of his gaze and dropped her eyes to her case. She wanted to leave, but he was blocking her exit.

  “I found it interesting to watch you in action. You go through all the right motions, hide it well, but you really are submissive, aren’t you?”

  Mira jerked her head up and met Jack’s mocking gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Hmmm. That’s what I thought. You didn’t do all your homework for the trial? Have dinner with me and I’ll tell you what I’m talking about.”

  Mira exhaled between trembling lips and hugged her briefcase closer to her. “There was no trial, Mr. Creed. Your brother confessed.” The words came out too weak and she cleared her throat. “And even if I had an interest in having dinner with you, don’t you think it would be unwise for the defendant’s brother and the prosecuting attorney to be seen out on the town the same day of the conviction.”

  Jack threw her a small lopsided smile and looked down at his hand resting lightly on the table she was using as a shield. He tapped it a couple of times with his long fingers, then his gaze returned to her eyes, a broader smile creasing his features. “You’re quite right. We should have dinner at my place.”

  Mira laughed, a sharp hysterical giggle. Then she said, “Why do you want to have dinner with me, Mr. Creed?”

  “You should call me Jack.”

  Mira pursed her lips but said nothing.

  He grinned as he rocked up on his feet, his hands in his pockets. He leaned into her and said, “Two reasons. I find that submissive little quirk of yours scintillating. I think we should explore it, so you have a better understanding of what BDSM is about. And truly, Mira, you have a highly fuckable body, and I can’t seem to stop picturing it under me, naked and writhing.”

  Mira jolted as heat rushed to her face. She raised her hand and dealt a stinging slap across his face. “You’re disgusting,” she seethed.

  He absorbed the blow with a smile. Then he dropped his eyes to his feet, toeing the carpet with his shoe. “Did you forget who I am?” He looked up, the smile gone, his gaze drilling into her, dark and serious.

  A sliver of ice snaked up Mira’s spine. “Are you threatening me?” She swallowed to keep her voice from quaking.

  Jack cocked his head to the side. “I am inviting you to dinner tonight.”

  “I am not available for dinner and I really have to go.” She tried to sidle by him and he reached out, gently drawing her hand to him, brushing the back of it with his lips. “Your mouth is saying no, Mira.” He dropped his eyes to her chest. “But your nipples are saying yes.”

  She yanked her hand from his and rushed down the aisle between the rows of seats.

  “Mira,” he called after her. “What time shall I send my car for you?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The rest of the day played out as expected; the press questioning Mira’s courage and integrity for backing off the first-degree murder charge, sensationalizing the reasons, one even implying that she was in bed with the Creeds, bringing up her former association with Jack Creed. Then back at her office, she was equally celebrated and criticized by her colleagues, many of whom second-guessed her actions, thought she should have gone to trial. Telling her that’s what they would have done. But Aaron Leeds, her boss, was not one of them. He’d given her the case because he trusted her judgement. She was smart, dispassionate and wily. She knew what she needed to do to get the most pain for the least pain. Though just 28, her career as a prosecutor was solid. She was smart, professional, cool-headed and dogged. Aa
ron told her she had what it took to get to the top and he would support her every step of the way. He was the closest thing she had to a friend because he was the only one in her life who understood her drive and commitment.

  It was almost 8pm and well past sunset when Mira walked through the front door of her house, finally putting the day to bed. As she closed and locked the door behind her, she dropped her briefcase on the floor and pulled her pumps off her feet with a groan. She threw them carelessly toward the front closet, then shimmied out of her stockings, pulling them down past white lace panties and tossing them on her shoes. All this was done in the dark, a sense of safety embracing her. She wiggled her toes and stretched the arches of her feet, willing them not to cramp, then scratched at her legs to wipe away the layer of irritation left by heat and nylon. A small grating pain tapped at her temples and she rolled her shoulders in a futile attempt to banish the stress that stretched through her like a taut elastic band.

  She padded in the dark, sure as a cat, to the kitchen, shrugging out of her suit jacket and abandoning it on a bar stool next to the island. It slid off the chair and fell to the floor, but Mira’s attention had already shifted to an open bottle of red wine. She flicked on the under-cabinet lights as she reached for the bottle and a large stemless wine glass ready and waiting for her arrival home. “I love you,” she murmured to the glass, pressing it to her cheek, its coolness against her flesh, soothing. She poured out a good eight ounces, looked at the scant amount left in the bottle and drained the remainder into her glass. She took a large swallow of the wine, letting it slide over her tongue like a lover’s caress. Blessed numbness. As it hit her empty belly, a soft warmth spread through her, softening the edges of her day. She sighed. Everything was better with wine. Even murder.

  She took another small sip, then leaned her forearms on the counter, letting her mind flit back to the encounter she’d had with Jack Creed earlier in the day. After he toyed with her, she’d locked it away, kept it separate or she wouldn’t have been able to wrap up the day the way she needed to. But now, alone in her kitchen, a little false courage in the glass held between her fingers, she could consider their encounter.