"I was supposed to wake you," I complain, bowing in front of the statue one last time. "Couldn't you have waited two minutes?"
"I can go back to sleep if you want. And you could come back to bed, too."
I've developed a strange kind of habit to crawl into one of the guys' beds when it's time to sleep. I get nightmares otherwise. While I'm not good with touch during the day, I need it at night. Leek snores, but he's like a big soft pillow to snuggle against. Andrew likes to hold me close, as if he needs to make sure that I'm still there. He snores sometimes, too. Quentin tosses around a lot, and sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, but he says it's just the stress of his work that makes it hard for him to sleep well.
"Come on, why are you up yet? It's too early." Leek yawns again, showing me his blinding white teeth. He's dyed his hair bright red and is trying to convince me to do the same. No chance.
"I'm going to get my new identity today," I tell him excitedly. I'd almost forgotten. My new name. It's taken longer than expected, but now I'm ready to officially start this new life. New home, new name, new beginning.
"Ah yes. I hope you'll like it."
I look at the clock on the wall. "You've got six minutes until M arrives. Better hurry up, I don't think she'll appreciate seeing you half naked."
"You never know," he mutters, but finally gets out of bed.
"I'll be in the kitchen," I tell him and leave before he starts getting changed. Seeing naked men? Still not a good idea.
I make tea for the five of us and wait. A new name. The men made some suggestions to M, but in the end, someone else decides. I have no idea what it'll be. It could be something dreadful like Harriet. There will be two first names and a surname, a fake date of birth and all the documents I need to register a bank account, pay taxes and all that sort of stuff. For now, I'm stuck at home, not allowed to go outside on my own, but I'm planning to get a job as soon as I can.
Last week, they caught two men who they think were being paid to assassinate members of the Angel's community. After Eamon and his wife, three more were found dead, but so far, nobody knows if they took their own lives to reach ascension or if someone killed them. Andros hasn't said a word since being taken to prison, and I know him well enough to suspect that he won't be pleading guilty either. He doesn't see anything wrong in what he did. What I really want to know is if he's really responsible for the killings.
The doorbell rings - four short times, two long - but before I can get there, Quentin lets in Mrs M. The old lady is carrying a leather briefcase, making it very clear that this is an official visit. As much as she likes to joke with the men, she's still their boss.
The other two join us around the kitchen table, but before I can ask about my new identity, M pulls out two photos from her bag.
"Ever seen these two men, Laya?"
I take a good look at them, but they don't seem familiar. Neither of them looks very friendly.
"No, why?"
"One of them was a porter at the hospital you stayed at. Well, he pretended to be a porter, but in reality, he's a wanted criminal. We finally got him. And, you'll like this bit, he's given us a lot of information. Most of our theories were correct. There's a kill list making the rounds with the names of most of the former Angel cult members. Andros invested some of their money while you were living in the village, and it seems he's more than doubled the collective money pot. Of course, that means more people are interested in getting their hands on it."
"Does that mean Laya is still in danger?" Quentin asks sharply, earning himself a frown from M.
"I was getting to that. As a result of the confession we got from the fake porter, a court order is currently being processed to dissolve the company Andros created. That means all the money people gave to him will be paid back, despite the contracts that you all signed. I've arranged for your portion to be transferred onto the bank account set up under your new name, Laya."
"So, I've got money now?" I'm a bit confused by all this news. I was expecting to get my new identity, nothing more.
M chuckles. "Yes, and quite a bit. It'll help start your new life, once all this is over. There's no date set for the trial yet, but I guess it's going to be a few more months, so you've got time to make plans. But for now, I think you're safer than you have been in quite a while."
"We're not leaving her," Andrew says almost angrily. "She stays with us."
M holds up her hands. "I never said you have to. You'll be assigned to her until the trial is over, at the very least." She winks at me. "Don't worry, you won't lose your knights in shining armour any time soon."
"And you won't lose us after the trial either," Leek whispers. My belly fills with warmth at their words. It's good to have a home, a family. People who want me.
At first, Mrs M had been against the burgeoning relationship between me and the men, but she’s finally changed her mind. I know it’s not supposed to be this way, it should be just a job for them, but if she was to split us up, she probably knows that we’d just find a way to get together again. We’re a team, a family.
M takes out a large envelope from her briefcase and slides it over the table until it's right in front of me. "Here's your new life."
I breathe in deep, trying to get the shaking under control that has started to creep up on me. My fingers are trembling as I open the envelope and pull out several documents and a passport.
"If you don't like it, we can continue calling you Laya," Quentin promises, knowing exactly what's running through my head. "Or you choose a different name. Who cares what it says on paper."
M clears her throat but doesn't say anything.
With shaking hands, I open the passport.
Valerie Eleanor Dawn.
Leek peeks over my shoulder. "Ellie!"
"Valerie means strength and Eleanor means light," M explains over Leek's shout. "I think dawn is self-explanatory."
Valerie. Eleanor. Dawn.
Ellie.
I turn to my men and smile.
"Hi, my name is Ellie. Want to have an amazing new life with me?"
* * *
The End
This book is part of the Defiance series, a trilogy of standalone novels combining reverse harem with real life issues, all featuring SOCA and Mrs M.
Stay in this world by reading Abandoned Heart, a contemporary romance set on the streets of Edinburgh, Scotland:
skyemackinnon.com/defiance
Read on for a sample.
Newsletter
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About the Author
skyemackinnon.com
Skye MacKinnon is a USA Today Bestselling Author with a slight obsession with bunnies, dried mango and Scotland. And when she says slight... her friends are trying to find ways to trick her into not having a book set in Scotland.
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Whether it's set in space (Scottish space, obviously), fantasy worlds (Scottish fantasy worlds, obviously), or Scotland, Skye's tales are full of magic, romance and adventure. Oh, and unicorns. There's a few demons, too.
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Also by Skye MacKinnon
Daughter of Winter Series (Paranormal reverse harem)
Winter Princess
Winter Heiress
Winter Queen
Winter Goddess
* * *
Mother of Gods (prequel)
Demon’s Revenge (spin-off)
Samhain Goddess (spin-off in an anthology)
* * *
Seven Wardens (Paranormal RH co-written with Laura Greenwood)
Into the Mists
Beneath the Earth
Within the Flames
Above the Waves
* * *
The Drowning Series (Dystopian RH)
Polar Destiny
Polar Fates
Polar Miracle (2018)
* * *
The Mars Diaries (Sci-fi RH linked to the Drowning series)
Alone
Hidden
Found
>>Box Set
* * *
Defiance (contemporary dark RH)
Abandoned Heart
Broken Princess
Stolen Soul (2018)
The Hybrid Chronicles (steampunk RH)
Kiss my Corset
Kiss my Snowflake
* * *
Anthologies
Hell’s Calling – Realms and Rebels (Paranormal RH co-written with Bea Paige)
Highland Butterflies - United in Love (FF romance)
Heart of Time - Of Legend and Fate (fantasy FF romance)
Abandoned Heart Sample
Emily never expected to find herself on the street and looking for a place to stay. A park bench doesn't seem inviting in the depths of winter.
Her luck changes when a mysterious stranger offers her shelter. It seems too good to be true, and when she meets his other two house mates, she starts to question if he's the good Samaritan he seems to be.
Staying means things she couldn't even dream of. Going means facing the danger of the winter streets. Can she make the impossible choice? And will she make the right one?
1
I was riding my girlfriend’s strap-on when she told me to move out.
Six weeks later, I’m living on the streets. I wish we’d split up in the summer. Edinburgh in winter is fucking cold. There’s no snow, but the icy wind is blowing straight through my thin trench coat. Oh yes, did I mention my ex also threw away all my stuff when I didn’t collect it immediately? Hell, I didn’t have anywhere to live yet, I was staying at friends’ houses mostly. There was no space to put a dozen cardboard boxes. So, she threw it out without telling me. Bitch.
I don’t even know why we were still together. I should have moved out ages ago. I guess it became a habit, living together, her paying the rent, me paying for everything else. Sleeping together. Fighting. Hurting. Bruising, occasionally.
Now I’m without a girlfriend, without a flat, without a job. At the beginning, I took my laptop to cafes and pubs to use their free Wi-Fi but, after a while, the money I spent on drinks was more than the money I earned with my freelance translating. It’s a dead job. Nowadays, people use the internet to translate their stuff. And the quick birth certificate translations I get through the agency don’t pay enough to survive on. Now my laptop is at my friend Ali’s house, where I stayed for a week until her parents came for a visit. For a whole fucking month. I should be grateful that I could sleep on her sofa for as long as I did, but it hurts that I’m now sitting on a cold park bench while my friends are in their flats and houses, warm, cosy, happy.
My two other friends here in Edinburgh are saying that I could stay with them again, but one of them’s got a baby and no space, and the other has OCD. I stayed at her place for a night, but I saw how stressful it was for her to have someone else in her sanctuary, so I wouldn’t want to do that to her again.
I should have made more friends. Three friends, that’s all I’ve got. My girlfriend didn’t like me spending time with other people, especially women. She was always the jealous type but, at the beginning, I found it endearing. It made me feel special. Now, I wish I’d seen those signs for what they were. I should have left her long ago, on my terms, with a new place to live sorted out and a moving van to take my stuff there. Instead, the opposite happened. She threw me out and now I’m lost, drifting while trying to find my feet.
Maybe I’ll get a place in the hostel tonight. I sigh and watch my breath slowly disappear into the morning air. The sun is trying to break through the hanging clouds and its meek light is touching the frosty grass around me. I’m in the centre of town, on a strip of park running right along busy Princes Street. From here, I can see the old town, its tall stone houses that huddle together on the volcanic rock, leading up to the imposing castle at one end and down to the parliament on the other. It’s a beautiful view, one that every tourist captures when they come here. Even now, early in the morning, they are everywhere, conquering the city for themselves, outnumbering the locals on their way to work.
A fine mist covers the city, but it’s not raining. Yet. It’s true what they say about Scottish weather. It’s terrible. It makes you really appreciate the sun when it can be bothered to shine a little. At the moment, it’s still fighting for dominance with the clouds. Maybe later.
I watch people hurry by me, not sparing me a second glance. Dark coats, gloves, and in the case of the less fashion-conscious, woollen hats. They’re all dressed for winter, even though they’ll soon be in their warm offices, working away like the busy bees they are. I’ve never been one to work nine to five, but right now, I crave it. Better than sitting here, not doing anything.
I sigh and get up, shaking my frozen legs. Maybe sitting on a cold bench wasn’t the best idea. But there are not enough tourists here yet to make begging worth it.
I hate it. I fucking hate it. Never thought I’d be begging for money. I’ve got a university degree – which also got me into debt, so there are no savings that could carry me over.
I have an overdraft, debts and no cash whatsoever. I thought about selling my laptop, but it’s the only way I might still be able to find work again. For now, begging is the only way to survive. Two quid is enough to get me a few hours’ warmth in a café with a hot drink. Luckily, they let me in, unlike some of the other rough sleepers. I don’t look homeless yet, and hopefully I don’t smell it either. I give my armpits a doubtful sniff. Could be worse. The church I stayed at last night didn’t have a shower, but if I get a space in the hostel, I’ll be able to have a quick one tonight. Using their totally masculine smelling menthol shampoo. But I’m not one to be choosy right now. Even if I smell like a fifty-year-old guy with dandruff.
At the hostel, I’ll also get to give my clothes a quick wash. I’ve got a few more tops and one pair of jeans stored with Ali, but I’m trying to keep them for when my current ones start falling apart. I’m planning long term now. At the beginning, I thought it would only be a night or two until I’d find somewhere to stay. But then I missed an appointment with the council because the bus broke down, and now they’re not seeing me as a priority. They told me I could move in with my parents again. Yeah, as if that’s going to happen. They threw me out when I was sixteen, so I don’t think they’d be pleased to take me in now. Maybe they won’t even notice if I don’t call them for Christmas this year. I’m certainly not going to spend any money on phoning them if I could spend it on a hot chocolate.
A drop of rain lands on my cheek. The sun has lost its battle. I better move, otherwise all the sheltered spots will be gone. Beggars can be choosy.
I grab my backpack, grimace at the dirt it’s covered in, and head towards the Royal Mile, where it’s easiest to get noticed by tourists.
I keep my head down. I pretend I’m not, but I’m ashamed.
I find a spot in a covered archway close to the parliament. There are not many tourists here yet – most go to the Castle first before they head down to Holyrood Palace and the parliament – but sometimes the politicians and civil servants like to do a good deed on their way to work and give me a few pennies. That’s what I learned straight away: the richer the person in front of me, the less they will put into my bowl. They only do it to feel virtuous, like the good samaritans they certainly are not.
The rain is getting heavier and a few drops find their way onto my clothes, but it’s not bad enough yet to venture away from the Royal Mile. This is the most lucrative spot in the entire city. I grimace. Lucrative, what a strange word to
use. It’s almost like I’m looking at the begging like a business, but that’s just wrong. This is only to carry me over until I get my next council appointment and hopefully end up on their list of emergency accommodation. I still can’t believe they’re not giving me any support. I always thought that people living on the streets only had themselves to blame. That they didn’t want help or couldn’t be bothered to ask for assistance. Now, my opinion on that has changed. I want help, but nobody is giving it to me, no matter how much I ask for it. I shudder when I remember the cold, uncaring eyes of the woman at the council. She didn’t care that my bus had broken down. She didn’t care that I had nowhere to go. She just gave me an appointment and made me feel like I should be grateful to only have to wait for six weeks. She’s probably sitting in her cosy office just now, looking forward to going home tonight and relaxing in her warm living room. Meanwhile, I’ll be freezing my arse off, unless I get a spot in the hostel. In the discarded newspaper I found yesterday, it mentioned snow being expected for the coming days.
More hostels and churches offer beds for the homeless during the winter, but there’s still not enough spaces. Someone always has to stay outside, and it’s been me several times already. At the beginning, I tried to be nice and let older people move in front of me in the queue, but that altruism is waning quickly. After a sleepless night on a park bench, a grateful smile from a little old lady does nothing to make me warm again. Or dry.
I wrap my arms around my chest, making myself a smaller target for the cold wind that's started to push through the archway. It's a wind channel. Great. No wonder there was nobody else sitting here already.
Broken Princess Page 14