by A. R. Ford
Leah tapped my chest with a forefinger. It brought me back to reality instantly. “Don’t freak out on me. We have the overnight bag packed. We’ve had birthing classes. You said you could do this. I know you can do this.”
Chaos erupted in the bedroom. I ran around getting half-dressed before searching through the closet for the overnight bag. With one sock and shoe on, laces untied, I ran into the bathroom to brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, and return to the bedroom. Leah sat on the bed, giggling at my state.
“Car keys...” I muttered, and ran down the steps to the great room. The keys were in the ceramic dish on the table by the door. Good. “Hmm, what else. I know I’m forgetting something.”
When I turned, Leah stood on the bottom step wearing jeggings, and a baggy t-shirt. She dangled my shoe from one finger while holding the sock in the other hand. “Are you looking for these?”
I took the shoe and sock without a word. How could she be so calm when it felt like my heart would burst from my throat? The frantic feeling only grew when Leah leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs, and began breathing through another contraction. Rose. Elena. Shit. Too many people to think about. I turned my cell on after retrieving it from the table near the door. A group text to a few key people should do the trick.
Rose, Elena, Sarah: Leah’s in labor. On the way to the hospital.
“Nick, honey, we should be going. Are you sure you’re okay?” Leah murmured.
I looked up, and smiled tentatively. “Yeah, I’m good.” I took the overnight bag from her hand. “Jacket. We should wear jackets just in case. The weather...” The cell phone dinged in my hand, once again drawing my attention. A group message with Rose and Elena initiated instant activity.
Rose: OMG! What about the wedding?
Nick: Crap. What can I do?
Elena: My baby is in labor!
Sarah: I’ll tell Lukas. Let us know if you need anything.
Nick: Wedding. Baby. Help!
I looked up just in time to see Leah heading out the front door, clutching the keys in one hand, and the overnight bag in the other. “Baby, wait! I was texting.”
I froze when Leah turned on me, narrowed eyes filled with bad-ass-in-labor frustration. “You were more than glad to maintain focus while getting me pregnant. Now, if you don’t get your ass in the SUV, turn that phone off, and drive me to the hospital, I will call an Uber, and leave you here. Do I make myself clear, Nick? I. Need. You. Now.”
“I’m sorry, baby, I just fell apart. I love you.” I muttered, one hand rubbing her back reassuringly when another contraction began.
“I know,” she panted.
I held it together after that. The contractions seemed to last longer, and take more of Leah’s focus. The fifteen-minute drive to the hospital seemed to take forever. The check-in at the hospital took only minutes. We were shown to a comfortable birthing suite in the OB wing at Warner General Hospital. Things moved faster than I thought possible. A nurse announced that Leah was five centimeters dilated. Halfway there already? My mind spun. Our baby would be here sooner than we thought.
Dr. Carter made an appearance just before sunrise. She examined Leah between contractions. “You’re at seven centimeters now, Leah. The transition phase is sometimes the most trying.” Dr. Carter’s attention turned to me. “You’ll need to be super supportive. She may turn into someone you don’t know, Nick. You guys will see a baby in a few hours, I think.”
Dr. Carter’s words made me feel more at ease. Everything we learned in the birthing class came rushing back, flooding my mind. Ice chips. Lip balm. Quiet support. Back rubs. Leah’s control during the early hours of labor vanished with Dr. Carter’s exit from the room. She complained that she was hot, and sweaty. In the next instant, she shivered uncomfortably. A leg shook uncontrollably. She clung to me with each contraction, fingers digging into mine when the intensity of each contraction became almost unbearable.
Around nine in the morning, our son’s first cries filled the room. Leah held him against her chest, tenderly tracing the outline of each eyebrow, his nose, and mouth. “He’s so perfect, Nick.”
“I agree. Thank you for my son, Leah.”
Not long after the baby’s birth, visitors began to arrive. Rose arrived at the same time as Elena and David. Their cries of delight, and whispered words of love to the baby brought a smile to Leah’s face.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you something,” Rose said after passing the baby to Elena. “The pastor said he could come here today. I managed to get in touch with the caterer. Your message early this morning saved a lot of money, and trouble. They said they could postpone everything until you and Leah are ready to have the reception.” Rose paused, raising a hand for emphasis. “You can thank me later. I called the travel agent about the arrangements for your honeymoon. Since you took my advice and used the agent I always use, you have travel insurance. You can reschedule the honeymoon later, when things have calmed down.”
“We can still get married today?” Leah whispered, glistening eyes finding mine.
“Yes, we can.” I kissed Leah tenderly. Watching her suffer through labor and delivery made me realize just how strong she really was. My love for her grew stronger in the course of a few hours. “Rose, could you call the pastor? The license is at home. Do you think you could retrieve that for us?”
“Absolutely!” Rose laughed. She stood up, both hands raised in the air as if celebrating a victory. “I get a nephew, and a sister in one day.”
A few of our closest friends and family crowded the room later that day. They broke into a round of applause when the pastor pronounced us man and wife. The first photograph taken by the photographer was a family portrait: Leah and I with our son cradled in our arms.
I looked back on the day that I investigated the murder case that started Leah and I on a path toward our first meeting. I never thought that meeting a sassy lady who needed protection from the ultimate evil in Warner would lead us here. I’m glad it did. There’s nowhere I would rather be than with my wife and son. Life is funny like that. It gives you a dump truck full of lemons before following it with a dump truck of sugar.
Dear reader:
THANK YOU FOR TAKING the time to read Concrete Justice, book two of the Warner series. If you enjoyed the book, please leave a review. Independent authors like myself depend on reviews to bring attention to our books and let others know what you liked about it.
If you have any comments or questions, feel free to email me at [email protected]. I enjoy hearing from my fans!
If you want to know more about upcoming books, visit my webpage https://arfordauthor.wix.com/mysite
Once again, thank you for reading my debut release! Please read all the way through. A special sneak peak of Darkness Overcomes, book three of the Warner series, follows.
A~
Darkness Overcomes
Book Three of the Warner Series
A.R. Ford
Darkness Overcomes
A Dark Erotic Romance
(Book Three of the Warner Series)
A.R. Ford
Copyright © 2019 A.R. Ford
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not
be reproduced or used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written
permission of the author except for the
use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters, events, and places are
figments of the author’s imagination.
any resemblance to persons living or
or dead is merely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2019
[email protected]
https://arfordauthor.wix.com/mysite
Chapter 1
Ravyn
WARNER’S HOTTEST CLUB is packed on a Friday night. I slip through the employee’s only entrance and drop my cloak in a locker bef
ore heading to the dance floor. Bodies grind and sway to a popular dance tune. I can feel the heavy bass beat vibrating through the soles of my heels.
Unimpressed, I turn toward the corner table bearing a Reserved table tent. It’s good they remember me. And well they should. I pay good money to keep this particular spot on ice when I’m bored and need some air.
A server approaches, order pad in one hand, pen in the other. “Travis, good to see you again. I’ll have the usual,” I say in a volume that is displeasing yet necessary. I must speak this loudly in order to be heard over the din.
Travis nods, a faint smile hovering about his mouth. He is a handsome young man. Six feet tall, muscular, blonde, blue eyes. From the faint bulge in the front of pressed black trousers, I know he has a nice package. A package that is of no interest to me. Trust me, he has tried. I have rejected. He leaves without a word only to return within minutes with a flute of champagne and a shot of vodka.
It is an odd combination, but one that I’ve grown to enjoy. When the champagne’s weak bubbly sweetness fails to light a fire in my veins I’ll turn to the vodka. If memory serves me well, it will take at least three or four shots of vodka before I feel anything at all.
Ah, you want to know why? People and their questions. It would take much too long to share every detail of my story. Suffice it to say I know what betrayal feels like. I know what pain feels like. I know what torture feels like. The intricate intermingling made me who I am today.
Travis lingers at the table. “Is there something you want to say, Travis?” My voice is cool and dripping the not-bothered tone.
“Why have we not gone out yet?” he asks in a voice fractionally bordering on whiny. I despise whiny. Yet here it is.
“I don’t do dates, Travis. We’ve discussed this on several occasions. Why are we having this discussion yet again?” With one leg over the other, I settle into the booth waiting for his explanation.
“You’re hot as hell, Ravyn.” His voice is lower which demands, of course, that he lean closer to me. His hand rests on the table near the shot of vodka.
The vodka burns when I toss it down. A sip of champagne eases the sensation. I have time to process the situation and determine an appropriate response. His eyes drift to the black lacy camisole exposed by the suit jacket’s refusal to stay closed.
“You’re young and so unaware of the ugliness this world has to offer,” I muse after a second sip of champagne. “There are plenty of young women here who would fall right into your arms. Go find one of them, Travis. I’m not the sort of woman you have a one-night stand with.”
He sighs and combs his hair with the fingers of one hand. It’s a nervous habit Travis exhibits when he feels a loss of control. I’ve seen it enough times in the two years I’ve frequented the club. “I’m not interested in those women, Ravyn. I want you. I’ll bring another shot of vodka.” He turns and escapes with his dignity mostly intact.
Rejection is difficult for men like Travis. Men who are too convinced of their abilities, good looks, and cock size to accept the reality of their boring lives and world. Although Travis may have a reason to be confident, he definitely isn’t my cup of tea. I crave one shark in particular who swam away years ago. Travis and boys like him are guppies.
For hours I sit at the table, eyes scanning the crowd. People watching is an entertaining hobby. I engage in it frequently. It distracts me until midnight approaches. The evening is nearly over when I feel eyes on me. The electric sensation of being watched is something I’ve grown accustomed to. These eyes are different.
I don’t have long to wait before he makes his presence known. Tall and muscular. A chiseled jaw that the gods would envy. And a bespoke suit that fits him like a glove. This should be interesting.
Travis returns with a few shots of vodka. The strange man pauses before asking, “May I join you?”
“Be my guest,” I reply. The second shot of vodka burns less than the first. I take in my guest’s features. He is even more handsome up close and personal. Chocolate hair styled in a popular messy style that makes it look like he’s just rolled out of bed. Green eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes. And he enjoys the sun by the look of the tan.
“I’m Alec Reagan.” He extends a hand after sitting down. “I’ll have a whiskey over ice,” he informs Travis with a sideways glance. Travis realizes his presence is not required and darts off like a hare into the throng of dancers crowding the floor.
I take his hand and am genuinely surprised when he bends over to brush his lips against my knuckles. “I’m impressed. One well-mannered man in a city of thousands. Your mother must be proud of you,” I reply after extricating my hand from his grasp.
He chuckles, the rich, deep sound raising the short hairs on the back of my neck. Concentrate. Do not lose focus. He’s only after one thing, I remind myself.
“One mysterious woman in a city of thousands. I’m impressed,” Alec replies.
Travis reappears with a glass of whiskey. He leaves without lingering. Good. He finally got the message that I wasn’t interested in some weekend tryst.
“I don’t get the impression you’re a fan of mysteries.” The third shot of vodka finds its way home. I stack the shot glass with the first two. A sip of champagne eases the burn. “And I’m not a mystery that needs solving.”
Alec stands up and slides into the booth. He stops feet from me after I put my hand up. “You’re tantalizing. A woman dressed in all black with a veil over her face sitting in one of Warner’s hottest clubs.”
“I’m not interested in making new friends. Our server, Travis, has made numerous attempts to draw me in. I have no time for games, Mr. Reagan.”
Ice clinks in the glass when he takes a sip of whiskey. “I’m not here to make friends. You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Ravyn.” It’s all the information he’s getting from me. I’m wise to his tactics.
“Ravyn.” The name rolls off his tongue with practiced ease. A smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “The name only adds to your mystery. Tell me about yourself.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” I reply. One hand over my mouth as I suppress a yawn should tell him I’m bored with the question. He just sits there smiling, relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. “And there isn’t more that I will tell, Mr. Reagan. I don’t know you, therefore I do not trust you.”
“What a pity.” Alec leans closer, his voice just above a whisper. He’s making a show of telling me what comes next.
I am thankful for choosing the seat and position I maintain. It hides the ugliness on the left side of my face from everyone, especially Alec who is invading my comfort zone. “Because I want to know you better. Under me. Over me. It really doesn’t matter as long as I have you.”
Laughter bubbles through my throat before erupting. I toss my head back and clap. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reagan, did I give you the impression there was a lingering interest in you? My apologies for the misunderstanding.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. Alec sits back, an eyebrow raised as if questioning my words. He drains the glass of whiskey. This is difficult for him. I understand his kind and how rejection impacts their psyche.
My interest in the club wanes. Travis drops by unexpectedly. “Close my tab, Travis. Keep the change.” A hundred dollar bill finds its way into his hand.
I stand up and make my way through the crowd toward the locker room, gold clutch firmly grasped in one hand. A hand catches my arm. He pulls me down the hallway and into the storage room. He pushes me against the wall, face inches from mine. His hands rest possessively at my waist. Of course it’s Alec. My rejection was difficult for him to process. Most alpha males have that issue.
“Ravyn, you test my limits,” he mutters. His tongue caresses the full lower lip that now glistens tantalizingly. I expect he will taste divine. A mixture of whiskey and sex appeal.
“Mr. Reagan, remove your hands from my waist.”
His body leans against mine suggestivel
y, hips thrust forward in a way that allows me to feel the ridge of his erection. It presses intimately against my belly. In another time and place I would take advantage of Alec and all the dirty thrills I suspect he offers. I’ve never tasted passion’s fulfilling kiss. But not this evening. I deny both of us.
“I want you, Ravyn.” His voice is a suggestive growl that comes at my ear. Seconds later he kisses his way from my ear to my neck.
“Boys may not always get what they desire,” I reply.
While Alec is busy kissing my neck, hands moving to my breasts, I keep myself occupied. A smile lifts my lips when I find the taser hidden within the gold clutch. It comes to rest against his neck.
“Alec. Be a good boy and stop mauling me. You have thirty seconds before I tase you. And no, dear, I am not joking.” The taser pressing against his neck combined with my words breaks into Alec’s lust-filled mind. He freezes in place. The hands on my breasts pull away. He has the audacity to glare at me.
“You wouldn’t,” he growls.
“Oh, but I would,” I reply with a grin. What happens next is inevitable. It’s the ying yang of this world. Darkness in light. Light in darkness.
Travis stands at the end of the hallway when I walk past. “Ravyn, everything okay in there?”
“Glorious, Travis. Be a good boy and check on Mr. Reagan. He may need a dry pair of pants. You appear to be close to his size.”
I breeze past Travis to the locker room where I retrieve my cloak. With it firmly in place, the hood over my head, I walk into the alley. My driver waits at the end as he always does.
The Bentley Continental GT custom I purchased a few months ago enfolds me in security and comfort. The all-black interior matches me in so many ways as well as providing anonymity that is an inherent need.
My driver proceeds to my home, an updated Victorian mansion on the southwest side of Warner. The clutch and cloak are discarded the instant I step inside. I venture upstairs where I fill the claw foot tub with water. I strip and step into the nearly scalding water.