Leave Me Breathless: The Ivy Collection

by KL Donn

  “Viktor?” Madelyn waves her hand in front of his face. My husband has never been so silent before, and if not for the certainty of his love, I’d be worried.

  “He’s still in shock.” I giggle.

  “My baby!” Dora sashays into the room with her arms filled with flowers and teddy bears. The woman has been a complete treasure these last eight months. Whenever Viktor would get overprotective about her and I going shopping for the baby, Dora would shut him down so fast I got whiplash.

  Stealing my angel right from my arms, Madelyn scowls, Viktor growls, and I relax into the bed. My family is here, and we’re all happy and healthy. To me, this couldn’t be a better day.

  “A girl,” Viktor mumbles again.

  “Da,” I mouth off, and he scowls.

  Niko and Kodiak come into the room to stand behind their speechless friend, and when they see the pink bundle in Dora’s arms, their smiles drop. Frowns belie their confusion.

  “A girl,” they say at the same time, causing Madelyn and me to roll our eyes in irritation.

  “Da,” we say again to annoy the three men. They each glare at us.

  “What are you going to do?” Niko asks.

  “Build a fortress,” Viktor growls.

  “I know a guy,” Kodiak says, his eyes unable to stray from Madelyn.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d believe they planned to lock my baby up tight. But I know my Viktor, he may be stunned now, but he’ll snap out of it. He’ll calm down, and soon, he’ll be trying for that boy he assumed we were having.

  I watch as the three of them begin plotting how to best build that fortress, and Madelyn stands to go coo at the baby with Dora. I have a fleeting moment of heartache as I watch the people around me, wishing my mother could have been here to celebrate with us.

  When Marshall was sent to prison, her mind shattered irrevocably. She killed herself, leaving me a short note saying she was sorry and that she loved me, but given that Marshall was never coming back, she couldn’t go on.

  It took me a while, but eventually, the anger faded, and I was able to forgive her for our last days together before I ran away. I understand now that even though she loved me the best way she knew how, her love for Marshall was far greater, and I was a painful daily reminder.

  I made a vow the day she died that I would never love another more than my own children. Viktor understood and supported my outburst, realizing full well that I was venting from a place of pain and anger.

  I love him so much it hurts, but I can’t deny my love for our girl, either. She’s everything I never knew I needed, and if not for Viktor, I wouldn’t have her. How could I not love him more than life?

  Viktor

  How the hell did I have a girl?

  I was expecting a boy.

  It does not matter, either way, I love her no matter what. I just need to reevaluate how I’m going to protect her. Girls are precious little beings that need tall walls surrounding them to keep the boys out.

  They need castles and guards.

  Ribbons and bows.

  Dainty things I know nothing about.

  As visiting hours end and the nurses kick everyone out, I climb in bed beside my wife as she cuddles our daughter to her chest to feed her. My heart fills to bursting with love.

  “A name,” I say quietly, rubbing the baby’s soft head.

  “What was your mother’s name, Viktor?” Stunned, I stare down at my wife.

  “Katya.” Emmy’s soft smile as she gazes from me to our daughter is filled with love.

  “Katya Vashchenko. I like it.”

  “Moya lyubov’, you continue to amaze me.” I lean down to kiss her lips. Quickly, it turns heated, and I wish I could show Emmy exactly how much this precious gift means to me.

  “You’ll tell her all about the woman she’s named for,” she instructs, just like a true Russian wife.

  “One day, I’ll take you both to the homeland. Show you our roots.”

  “I’d like that, Viktor.”

  Removing the sleeping baby from her arms, I encourage Emmy to rest as I carry Katya to the rocking chair where I sing her a lullaby my mother sang to me as a small boy. One I’ve taught to Emmy, as well.

  One heinous debt.

  One captivating photograph.

  And I have everything I’ve secretly wanted my entire life.

  The End!

  Thank you for reading Command. If you’re interested in finding out more about the Adair Empire, you can start with King. Find a complete list of my books, along with series lists and reading orders on my website.

  Please consider signing up for KL’s Confessions for a free story as well as first chance at cover reveals, releases, contests and more.

  About KL Donn

  About KL Donn

  Hey, I'm Krystal. I write as International Bestselling Author KL Donn. I'm stoked you've grabbed one of my books and I really hope you enjoyed the story!

  A little about me:

  Perpetual romantic.

  Coffee addict.

  I speak sarcasm more often than not.

  Gimme an action flick over a romance. But a romance book over action. I'm weird like that.

  Did I mention coffee addict?

  Closet shopaholic.

  Beach lover.

  Coffee addict, it bears repeating. Again.

  Husband obsessed. Mine that is, you can keep yours.

  Mom of 6, well 7 if you count the husband. Oh and 2 of those are a cat & dog.

  I love to connect with my readers so feel free to find me on any and all social media platforms you use! I can’t promise to be sane, or not swear a lot, but I’ll be extra happy to hear from you!

  KL’s Deviant Readers | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Eden Books

  Or follow my releases on:

  BookBub | Goodreads | Newsletter | AllAuthor

  Also by KL Donn

  Leave Me Breathless: Ivy Collection featuring

  Command: Vashchenko Family Book 1 – An Adair Empire spin-off series.

  Imprisoned: A Sinister Fairytale is coming March 3rd, 2020

  The Protectors Series

  Keeley’s Fight | Emily’s Protectors | Kennedy’s Redemption

  The Possessed Series

  Owned by Dominic | One Dance For Case | Lost & Found | Lucky Christmas

  The Hogan Brother’s

  One Chance | One Choice | Unchained

  Love Letters

  Dear Killian | Dear Gage | Dear Maverick | Dear Desmond | Dear Lena

  Adair Empire

  King | Luther | Castiel | Atticus | Carver | Grasping For Air

  Timeless Love

  Once Upon A Time | Happily Ever After

  Daniels Family

  Until Arsen | With Kol

  Those Malcolm Boys

  Obsessive Addiction | Accidental Obsession

  In His Arms Series

  Safe, In His Arms | Bullied, In His Arms

  Naughty Tales

  Dirty | Treat Me

  Task Force 779

  Missing in Action | Explosive Encounter | Dangerous Affair

  Uncontrolled Heroes

  A Girl Worth Fighting For

  Stand Alone Books

  Brantley’s Way | Mr. & Mrs.

  Saint’s Angel

  A Novella by K.L. Humphreys & Natalie Hill

  Saint’s Angel

  by K.L. Humphreys & Natalie Hill

  They call me Saint; I'm anything but. When a 5'4 angel crashes into my life, everything changes. Can she be the one to save me?

  Copyright © 2019 by KL Humphreys & Natalie Hill

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Prologue

  Saint

  Saint wasn’t the name I was given by the woman who gave birt
h to me—I didn’t even know that name. It came from a family I was never expecting, from a man who took me in, the same man I owe my life to. The man who gave me a family I didn’t deserve, and who I respected more than anyone: my president, Reaper.

  It had nothing to do with me being saintly or doing good deeds for humankind, for helping old ladies cross the roads or believing in gods that I knew long ago didn’t exist. As the club’s enforcer, I inflicted pain, broke bones, and tore away flesh. I let my prey think they were dying only to bring them back to life, to a kind of hell they didn’t know existed. I dealt with those that had betrayed the club or hadn’t paid their debts, it was my job. We couldn’t let people think we were soft. That shit didn’t roll in our world.

  I was the man for the job; the demon inside me needed to be let out of his cage and feed his hunger. I've done things to men that would make you vomit, your eyes water, that you could only imagine were the work of nightmares, scripted for some sort of horror movie.

  They weren’t nice people; some of them deserved the unmarked grave they were buried in, or the acid pot that dissolved their remains. In some cases they were dead, others… not so much.

  From birth, I knew I was only ever going one way: to hell, to burn for all eternity. My mother knew it from the day I was born. I remember how she would scream at me and tell me I was the devil, was evil. How she would lock me in the dark cupboard for days or tie me to the bed before drawing crosses on my body as she held that holy book, trying to beat the devil out of me as she prayed for my sins.

  I don’t know what sins I carried around at the age of three, but maybe it wasn’t the ones I had already committed. Maybe my mother saw the future in my unusual eyes. She always hated my eyes, could never look straight at me. Every time she tried, she would curse at me and hold that book up high, all the while shielding herself from my eyes, telling me the devil lived there. When she realized she couldn’t save my soul, she left me on the church steps.

  I was taken in, but they had no patience for the angry, confused, lost kid I had become. Again, they saw it, saw what my mamma had. They tried beating it out of me, tried ridding the devil from me by starving him from my soul. They’d only feed me bread and water for weeks, maybe months. They kept up their assaults until my skin broke and the blood of the devil seeped from me like a river, leaving trails along the dirty floor. Only then did they seem happy, but only for a while, because it still wasn’t enough. They could still see the evil that lay hidden inside me, in my eyes. So, they chained me up, kept the demon in me captive with the cursed words and prayers to a god that never saved me.

  For so many years I had water thrown over me, was beaten and starved from sunlight, that the day I finally escaped, I realized I didn’t know the world I had been shielded from. The world was almost as scary as the hidden cage they kept me in. I didn’t know how to hide myself, to protect myself from the streets of the world. After a beating that left me broken and bloody, I hid my eyes in case the people saw it too—the devil inside of me.

  That's where this story begins: the stormy night that changed my life.

  Prez found me on the streets, eating scraps from the bin, food that wasn’t enough to keep an animal alive and had been there for days, but my stomach hurt from cramps, and my ribs showed. I was sick from the cold, my body still broken from my last beating. Barely alive. Reaper took one look at me and told me there were two types of people in this world: the victims and the survivors.

  When he tried to look at me, I wouldn’t let him see my eyes. I was scared he would see what everybody else had: the devil looking back. I knew I couldn’t take him; he was older, had muscles I’d never seen before, and there was a dark edge to him that I recognized. He kept asking me why I kept hiding. I knew I had to tell him the truth because he would see it anyway, and when he did, my life would be over. I would die at the hands of this man. I couldn’t fight him. Hell, I could barely stand.

  When I raised my face and pulled my hood back to reveal the truth, the words coming out slurred due to my broken jaw, Reaper just laughed. He told me to move my ass and to follow him if I wanted to survive, if I wanted a place that was safe. That was the night Prez took me in, gave me a home, and introduced me to the Reaper Fury, the notorious one percenters Motorcycle Club.

  I didn’t need to hide my demon here. He was safe to roam, could come out and play, and no one feared the look in my eyes. That was the night the Reapers gave me a family, the night they saved me.

  The night I became Saint.

  1

  Harla

  “Harla, wash up. Lunch is ready.” I smile at the soft call from my grandmother.

  Pushing out from under the car, I blindly search for the rag. “Coming, Gigi,” I yell out, getting to my feet. My overalls are thick with dirt—as they usually are. I love working on cars. It makes me feel calm. It started out as a hobby, something to feel closer to Pop-Pop and my father. They both worked on this beauty in front of me, a black 1970 Dodge Charger. She has a bright red stripe on the hood. Yes, she's a girl. She’s honestly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My dad tried to restore it but didn’t get to finish it. It’s something I’ve been working on since I turned fifteen and it’s finally finished.

  Walking through the door that leads me into the kitchen, I’m hit with the smell of pecan pie. It’s a Sunday tradition, something Gigi has done ever since she and Pop-Pop got married. When my father came along, she never stopped making them, and she’s carried on the tradition with me. She’s even given me the recipe to make it. She told me that one day, I’d have the love of my life, and I could make him one too.

  “Gigi, I’ve done it.” I can’t keep the smile off my face.

  Her eyes light up. “Really?”

  Nodding, I reach for her hand. “How about we take it out for a test drive after lunch?”

  She clasps my hand between hers. “That sounds amazing. I haven’t been in that car since your pop-pop was alive.” Tears shine in her olive green eyes. They’re so expressive, show so much love.

  “Both your pop-pop and your father are going to be so proud of you. You did something that neither of them could, and that was get that old girl running again.”

  Pride bursts inside. “It was a triple effort, and they helped get it working just as much as I did.”

  She pats my hand. “Harla, be proud. I am. You’re a very special young lady. Will you tell your father when he comes around that you have it working?”

  I’ve never told my dad that I’ve been working on it. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I guess only seeing him once or twice a year does that? When he does come around, he doesn’t stay very long. The last few times he’s been here, he’s gotten an emergency phone call, making him leave. That's just how he rolls. He will never be like other dads, and it's something I both love and hate. I thought once I hit eighteen, it would stop, but it hasn’t. He was here only a few months ago for my nineteenth birthday. He always gives me money, and Gigi says it’s because he doesn’t know what to do with a teenage daughter.

  “Maybe.” I shrug, answering her question.

  “Wash up,” she reminds me with a soft smile. She never pushes me to do anything I don’t want to, and she’ll fully support me no matter what I decide. When I told her I didn’t want to go to college and become a nurse, as we had discussed years ago, but wanted to become a mechanic, she never batted an eyelid. Her reply was, “Now, that suits you down to a T.”

  Turning on the faucet, I run my hands under the lukewarm water and get rid of the dirt.

  “Gigi, do you miss Dad?” It’s hard on me to hardly ever see him, but it’s got to be hard on her too. He’s her son, and he only shows up on my birthday and Christmas, never spending the day with us on either occasion. He just drops in for an hour or two.

  “Of course I do, but, my darling Harla, looking at you, I see so much of him. You are your father’s daughter. No one could ever deny that. So while I miss him, I have you.”

  “
I miss—” My words are cut short by the rumble of motorcycles. Not a sound we usually hear. We live in the county, not a house for miles, the way Gigi and Pop-Pop loved it. I frown as I look at Gigi. Who could it be?

  Gigi’s face pales to a grayish color, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Harla, take this and go hide in the pantry.” She reaches into her apron and pulls out a key, rushes to the locked drawer and pulls out two guns. “Harla, take this and go,” she yells at me as the sound of bikes gets closer. My hand clamps around the butt of the cold gun. Fear has a hold of me, and I’m scared of what’s to come.

  “Gi—”

  She shakes her head. “Go!” She presses her hand against my back and propels me toward the pantry. “Under no circumstances are you to come out until I say so. Harla, if anyone but me comes to the pantry, you shoot. Do you understand?” Her voice has a dark edge to it, one I’ve never heard from her before. “Harla, do you understand?”

  I nod as I rush into the pantry, my hands shaking. I keep the gun pointed downwards, as I’ve only ever used one a few times. Gigi would do a makeshift firing range and teach me. I’m not too bad at shooting, I just loathe it.

  The rumble of the motorcycle engines comes to a stop, and I freeze as the front door opens. We always have it unlocked; nothing bad ever happens around here—

  Gunshots sound, and I peer through the slats of the door to see Gigi firing as two men enter the kitchen. My heart leaps into my mouth as I take the men in; they’re huge, at least six feet tall.

  Gigi stumbles back just as she fires off a shot. The man she hits falls to the ground. A whimper escapes me, and I raise my left hand to silence it. Looking at Gigi, I notice blood on the right side of her stomach. She fires one more shot before collapsing to the floor. A grunt from the other man tells me she managed to hit him too. Damn, Gigi is a great shot.