by Apryl Baker
Epilogue
Ben
Months later
I suck the last of my chocolate milkshake up the long, red and white straw, uncaring that it makes that annoying slurping sound people hate so much. I feel their stares on me and imagine their eyebrows pulling tightly together as their frustrations mount.
The milkshakes are mediocre today. They were the best once.
I pick up my napkin and swipe it once across my lips before scrunching it in my fist and dropping it into the tall, empty glass. Exhaling, I slide out of the spacious, red leather booth and pull my wallet out of the back pocket of my worn jeans. The milkshakes here didn’t always cost six dollars. I swear they hike the price up every time I come.
Bastards.
I drop a twenty-dollar bill on the table and turn toward the exit.
“See you tomorrow, Ben.”
I don’t look at the waitress, Donna, as I saunter past the counter where she pours a young gentleman in clean, denim overalls a fresh, hot coffee.
“See you tomorrow, Donna.”
Bells clash together as I press my palm to the door of the isolated little roadhouse on the edge of town and step outside. Warm summer air kisses my face and I sigh.
It’s a good day to be alive.
The recovery from the beating I took was a long road. I spent a few solid weeks in the hospital and an extra few at Chad’s place as he helped nurse me back to health. When I was ready, I called my brother and I apologized for complaining about working an average job. I promised I’d give it my all if he gave me another chance and he did. The only good thing to come out of my brief time working for the Ventillis was the fact Marco paid off my mother’s house as thanks for helping him save Sera. No words were exchanged, just a note that said:
“Consider this payment for your two days.–Marco.”
Which brings me to now.
My name is Ben Campbell, I’m a full blooded American, and I no longer serve in the United States Army. Instead, I fetch coffee and mix concrete, but I don’t get shot at and, after the last eleven years of my life, that’s all I can ask for.
I never left Vegas, even though Marco demanded it the night everything went to shit. I figured if he wanted to kill me, he would have already. Besides, I’m not leaving my mother’s house. She loved it more than anything.
Stomping down the metal stairs in my heavy, brown boots, I reach into the front pocket of my jeans and pluck out a fresh, full packet of cigarettes. Flicking the cardboard flap back, I take out a cigarette and pinch it between my lips. I move toward my big black truck, resting against its bull bar, bending my leg at the knee. I pluck the cigarette from my lips and glance down at it.
I don’t even feel like having it. I stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans and push off my truck.
Behind me, the sounds of gravel crushing underneath the tires of a car get awfully close. I turn around and my heart drops into my intestines at the sight of a sleek, black town car, the number plate reading a surname I never thought I’d see again.
Ventilli.
I wait with bated breath before the rear passenger door opens and out steps Marco, wearing a black polo and matching slacks.
Fuck. I fold my arms across my chest. What the hell did I do now? If he’s here to demand I leave, he’s in for a rude awakening. He’ll have to kill me.
Pursing his lips, Marco steps to the side and flicks his head at whoever is inside. My lips part when I see her bounce out wearing a cute blue summer dress that doesn’t expose her cleavage, but cuts off high above the knee. Her long, wavy black hair curls around her breasts and she beams widely at me, so wide her cheeks look like they’re about to pop, but holy shit is she as beautiful as ever.
Marco turns to me and my heart races. “If you want to see my daughter, then we need to lay down some ground rules, all right?”
I open my mouth and a pathetic rush of air comes out. I just…I just can’t believe I’m laying my eyes on her. Right now. In the flesh.
“Swing by the house this evening and we can have a chat.”
Marco mutters something to Sera before lowering himself into the car. I watch the car drive off, leaving me alone with her.
Alone.
For the first time since that awful night.
“Hi,” she says when the dust settles, smiling sweetly at me.
“Hi.” I shake my head, still in shock. “You look good.”
Blush swells in her cheeks and she glances down at her thin strapped sandals. “So do you.”
The air between us feels like it should be awkward, but it isn’t. I just don’t know where to start. I scratch my head. If I knew I was going to see her today, I would have put more effort into my appearance. I would have shaved this stubble and ran a comb through my hair. I look like shit. Worn jeans and a grey tee covered in faint white powder from a hard day’s work.
I grab my baseball cap at the front and lift it to nervously scratch at my hair. “This isn’t a test, is it?”
She steps closer, placing her hands behind her back. “You haven’t touched me yet so, if it was, you’ve passed with flying colors.”
Holy fuck, I’ve missed her. I pull off my cap and open my arms to her. Grinning widely, she rushes toward me and throws her small body against mine. Inhaling her sweet scent, I lift her off the ground and hug her tightly. She cups my face and plants a long kiss on my mouth. I close my eyes and pray this isn’t a dream. She smiles against my lips and her touch doesn’t fade away, like it does most nights. She’s here. She’s in my arms, and this time it’s not sordid or something I should be ashamed of. For the first time in a long time, this place finally feels like home.
I melt into Sera as three little words come to mind.
God bless America.
The End
About the Author
Skyla Madi was born in the small town of Port Maquarie, New South Wales in 1993. She spent half her life growing up in Wauchope, a thriving rural town at the heart of the Hastings River Valley before making the leap to the busy city of Brisbane.
Whenever this young Australian writer isn’t changing diapers, watching cartoons, cooking for her husband or doing other motherly-wife things she is actively working on her writing and improving her writing skills.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/SkylaMadi
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/Skyla_Madi
Website:
http://skylamadiauthor.wix.com/skylamadi
Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6554179.Skyla_Madi
Lead Security
Rogue Security and Investigation Series
Book Three
By Evan Grace
Chapter One
Harley
As I pull into the driveway of the blue and brick ranch-style home, I smile when I see the “Sold” written in red across the For Sale sign. I’ve never owned anything in my entire life. After shutting my car off, I grab the manila envelope that holds the paperwork and keys as well as my pet carrier and climb out. I’ll come back for my other stuff in a bit.
When I unlock the door, I step inside and look around. The furniture looks great, and it’s exactly what I picked out. I had it all delivered here as soon as I closed on the house. I do a quick walk-through and everything is exactly where it should be, which makes me happy. My office is in the back with an unhindered view of the backyard and all the flowers growing along the fence.
The desk is cherry wood and cost me some major dough, but when I first saw it I knew that’s where I wanted to create my stories. I’ve been writing stories for as long as I can remember, and when I published my first two books I didn’t expect them to blow up—but they did. It was slow going at first, but I was happy to at least sell one copy. But then my sales started skyrocketing every week.
In no time I was paying off my debt, student loans, and credit cards. When I started looking for houses I wasn’t picky, but it had to have an office s
pace that faced something pretty to look at.
I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the back deck, and then down the stairs. I walk around the flower beds, taking pictures of the flowers so I can take them to the garden center and someone can tell me what they are. Deep voices coming from the backyard next to mine have me turning to see the men they belong to.
One guy has brown hair and a leanly muscled body—he’s holding a little girl in his arms. The other gentleman has a mixture of blond and gray hair, and when he turns so I can see his profile, I quickly swallow the drool that begins to pool in my mouth. He’s got to be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His face lights up when he grabs the baby’s foot, and she squeals at him.
I watch as the little girl lunges for him, but he catches her with practiced ease. What is it about men and babies that makes women go crazy?
“Hi.” I jerk and see that I was obviously staring at them. “You okay?” the younger one asks.
“Y-Yes, sorry, I just moved in. I’m Harley.” I walk toward the fence and both men meet me there. I hold out my hand.
“I’m Reece, and the little cutie is my daughter, Charlotte—Charlie for short. This is my father-in-law, Jack.” He shakes my hand, and then the one named Jack looks at me like I’ve pissed him off somehow. Reluctantly, he takes my hand in his.
It’s probably best not to tell him that when he shakes my hand, I feel a zing that travels up my body. He’d run as fast as he could and never look back.
The sad, unfortunate story of my life: No one ever sticks around. The first one to leave was my mom. She died when I was five. My dad couldn’t deal with her being gone, so he dropped my older brother and me off at our maternal grandmother’s house and then disappeared. We never saw him again.
Things started looking up until I turned twelve and my brother became a monster. He stole money from our grandma, started using drugs, and by the time he was fifteen, he was in jail for making meth with a buddy of his. He’s been in and out of jail ever since, but I had to cut him out of my life. Our relationship wasn’t good for my mental health.
My grandma died from a stroke right after I turned eighteen. I was working at the time, and had I been home, I could’ve called an ambulance and they could’ve stabilized her. Instead, she died alone.
Likewise, romantic relationships for me have been few and far between—I’m no virgin, but with the opposite sex I have no luck. For my first real relationship he cheated on me…and married the girl he cheated with. Last I heard they were at kid number three. For the other serious relationship I’ve had, he was just there one day and gone the next. He ghosted right out of my life.
After that I just didn’t see the point in trying anymore. That’s why I write: because the relationships in my books always end in happily ever afters, and in reality that just doesn’t always happen.
Jack drops my hand like it’s covered in cooties. I’m not stupid—I can take a hint. “Umm…well, it was nice meeting you.” I turn, hustling back up the stairs and going into the house.
After eating a quick sandwich I head outside and begin to bring boxes in. I’m carrying the last of the boxes when I trip—over my own two feet, I’m sure. The box on top goes flying, and I go down hard on my knees, crushing the box still in my arms.
I turn over and sit on my ass, and when I look down, my knees are torn to shit. The blood is coming through the fabric of my jeans. Of course I have rips in my knees now, which sucks because these were my favorite pair of jeans.
I bury my face in my hands and will the tears burning my eyes to dry up. Once I’ve got myself in check I take a deep breath, stand up, and limp to the box that flew off of the other one. I bite my lip to keep from crying as I bend down to pick it up.
“Jesus,” I hear someone mutter behind me. Closing my eyes, I pray that I’m just hearing things and no one is there. “Give me the box and get inside.” I open my eyes to see Jack staring at me with these intense eyes, intimidating me.
He doesn’t even give me a chance to hand him the box—he just grabs it from my hands and moves toward the door. I pick up the one I smashed and follow slowly behind him. He sets the box down against the far wall and then rolls his eyes as he takes the other box from my arms.
“T-Thank you for your help,” I tell him as he sets it down on top of the other box.
In the corner of the living room, I open the door to the pet carrier and pull my lilac-colored Lionhead Lop bunny, Fifty, out. He snuggles into me as I cradle him to my chest.
“What the fuck is that?”
Jack comes walking over to me and lifts Fifty right out of my hands. “Hey! You could at least ask to hold him. He’s a Lionhead Lop bunny. He’s super smart and is already litter-trained. While I write he lies on a little bed on my desk.”
“What do you write?” His voice is deep, and just rough enough to be really fucking sexy.
This is always awkward, but I’ve learned not to be ashamed of what kind of books I write. “I write erotic romance under the name Eva Steele. ‘Harley Sanders’ didn’t really scream erotic romance.”
I look at Fifty, who seems to be content in Jack’s hand as the large man scratches right behind his ear. He loves that.
“Are your books like those Fifty Shades books?” I shake my head because really, they’re not. “Tell me about them.”
I walk over to a box labeled books and use the box cutter to open it. I grab the first book in my series. It’s called, Love Me, Always. It’s the enemies-to-lovers storyline with a twist: They were “boyfriend/girlfriend” when they were little, but she moved away.
I hold it out to Jack. “Here, this is my first book. Read it, and I’m seriously okay if you don’t like it.” We trade—he takes the book, and I take my bunny back.
“Thanks, I’ll check it out.” He moves toward the door. “Make sure you clean up your knees so they don’t get infected.”
“Um…okay. Thank you.” I stand to the side of the door so he can’t see me, and to my horror he walks to the garbage bin outside of Reece’s garage and tosses my book inside. I gasp, apparently loudly enough for him to hear because he lowers his head and reaches back inside to grab it.
I don’t bother watching the rest. How could someone be so mean? I put my heart and soul into these stories, and for someone to take my hard work and throw it in the trash…it hurts.
After slamming my front door shut, I slump against it. Jack doesn’t like me, so who cares? He doesn’t live next door. I’m sure it won’t be hard to ignore him.
***
My doorbell rings, pulling me from my laptop. I pick up my phone and see that it’s lunchtime. Fifty is passed out on his bed so I just leave him snoozing and head to the front door. I look out the window and see Delilah and Charlie.
It’s been two months since I’ve moved into my home, and when Delilah and I met I knew immediately that I liked her. It’s hard to believe that her and Jack are father and daughter because she’s so sweet, and…well, he’s a grade-A asshole.
Opening the door, I greet them with a genuine smile. “Hey, guys! Come on in.” Delilah knows the drill and hands me Charlie as she steps inside. “Hi, pretty girl.” The sweet little cherub squeals and gives me a smile that melts my heart. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you by?” That’s when I realize that Delilah’s got a backpack over her shoulder.
“There’s a problem at the office that I need to take care of. Can you watch Charlie? I should only be gone a couple of hours.”
I’ve watched the little princess a couple of times and she’s the easiest baby…of course, she’s the only one I’ve ever really been around. “Of course I can. I hit my word count already for the day.”
“Thank you so much. I’m sorry to just hop on over here and put you on the spot.”
I hold up my hand. “Stop, it’s no problem. She and I can take Fifty out into the backyard to play.” Delilah is obsessed with my bunny, but with a new puppy at home it’d be too much to g
et one of their own.
“That’ll be fun. Where is my favorite, furry little baby?” she asks.
“He’s sleeping on his bed in my office.” Before I can blink, the blonde disappears down the hall, returning with Fifty in her hands while she strokes his head. My little baby is a sucker for any sort of attention. He’s gotten used to Charlie’s noises, too, so when she sees him and emits a high-pitched squeal he doesn’t even move.
Delilah kisses Fifty’s head and then sets him down on his little blanket on my couch. I hand Charlie back to her momma and smile as I watch Delilah snuggle her daughter to her chest—or as close as she can with her pregnant belly. “You be a good girl. I love you.” Charlie smiles at her mom and babbles in two-year-old speak. A wave of sadness washes over me. What would it have been like to grow up surrounded by my mother’s love? She’s been gone so long now that I can’t remember anything about her. Did she love us? Did she hug and kiss us all the time?
I plaster on a fake smile, taking Charlie back when Delilah hands her over. Luckily the little girl loves me and doesn’t cry when she sees her mom leaving.
When the door shuts I look down at Charlie. “Should we go play outside?” She claps her hands together and squeals…loudly.
Outside for our second time, Charlie walks on her chubby little legs as I hold her hand in one of mine and Fifty’s leash in the other. We walk along the flower beds and stop in front of the butterfly garden. I had no clue the treasure I had in my backyard until I took the pictures into the garden center and they told me what everything was. The employees also told me how to take care of them.
I’m by no means an expert, but at least I don’t feel like I’m going to kill them. I get down on my knees next to Charlie and scoop up Fifty in my hands.