FALL

by K NILSSON

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Flip City Media Inc.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Drazen World remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Flip City Media Inc., or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Fall

  K Nilsson

  ”When I find myself in times of trouble

  Mother Mary comes to me

  Speaking words of wisdom,

  let it be

  And in my hour of darkness

  She is standing right in front of me

  Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

  Let it be,

  let it be

  Let it be,

  let it be

  Whisper words of wisdom, let it be”

  The Beatles – “Let it Be”

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing the original works comprising the Drazen World remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Flip City Media, Inc., or their affiliates or licensees.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by K Nilsson

  Afterword

  Foreword

  This 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 events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  *Mature Content Warning** Recommended for ages 17+ due to sensitive subject matter.

  Preface

  Carrie was on a journey of self-discovery and healing

  When one day, a predator returned from her past,

  Someone she didn’t remember

  Someone who stole her childhood

  And replaced her memories with nightmares.

  Someone who took her as a pawn for revenge

  He lured her like a lamb to slaughter

  To pay for the sins of another.

  Torture and pain was the currency,

  He planned for retribution

  Her only salvation was a heartbeat away.

  Prologue

  Carrie

  It felt like a heart attack. Handcuffed to the shower head, naked, the bite of ice cold water raining on my head, I was hyperventilating, and my body was freaking out. Adrenaline pumped through me like nothing I had ever felt before.

  A man's bald head bobbed up and down my body. It was square and had an odd dimple on top as if someone had hit it with an ice pick a long time ago. My captor's skin was a shade of pale that indicated he never saw the light of day, but he had a farmer's tan on his freckled, goose-bump-covered arms that said otherwise.

  When he stopped long enough to look at my face, his crinkled eyes were amused. He clucked his tongue at me through the red gash that was his mouth. The room smelled like bleach and mold. The tile floor was slick under my feet.

  “Who are you?”

  “Nobody. Don’t you remember?” he said with an aloofness that was surreal.

  His voice, summoned a silent mantra that had revolved around in my head forever, words that shaped my sexuality. He scrubbed harshly at my nipples with a soapy washcloth until the skin burned from the friction. Indignation screamed from my pores. The smell of the soap was the only constant in the riot of sensations. It smelled pure, sweet, clean.

  It was the smell of trickery by someone who was confident in his control over me. I was drowning, physically and mentally. In that moment, I knew no one would save me.

  Chapter One

  Margie Drazen

  “Hi, Dad? What’s up? I’m about to go into mediation, but Mary said it was urgent.” It was out of the ordinary for Mary to call for him, which only heightened my concern.

  “You need to come by my office today … as soon as possible.” His voice was commanding, insistent.

  I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “If all goes well, I can be there by five o’clock. If it’s later than that, I’ll come by the house.”

  “Not at the house. Your mother…” I pictured his hand dropping to his side.

  “Okay, as soon as it's over.”

  He hung up and noticed the little red light on the new computer. It was a beacon that signaled there was work to be done. I couldn't do anything until I had information. I hate waiting.

  Margie

  I rushed over to Father’s office. His door was open, and he was looking out the window. It had been cloudy all day, and now the marine layer had rolled in.

  Without looking, he knew I was there. “How was your day? Did the mediation turn out well for your client?”

  "It was a good day, and yes, we won, Daddy.”

  “Can I pour you a scotch?”

  “Sure. Two fingers. That bad, is it?”

  For the first time since I walked into his office, he looked at me. He scowled. His complexion was gray. “Water?”

  I nodded. When Dad handed me the whiskey and a mini beaker of water, his hands were shaky. I poured a little water into the glass, swirled it, and took a sip. It warmed my insides, from my mouth all the way down to my toes. I wondered if he and Mom had decided to call it quits, but I knew better than to ask.

  Father walked back to the window and stood there as if he were a defeated monarch surveying his lost kingdom. “How could God make this beauty, this magnificence, and allow scumbag maggots to exist?”

  His voice cracked with repressed emotion. I wouldn't expect that out of him unless something had happened to one of us.

  I exhaled. “Carrie?”

  He slid an envelope across his desk toward me. I opened it and took out photos, each one more troubling than the last. My eyes moved from right to left and top to bottom, examining every detail as best I could. Some of them were recent—I could tell by Carrie’s hairstyle and clothing. The photo where she had an umbrella on the ground next to her could have been the day we had a record rainfall.

  “Where did you get these?" I asked.

  “They were on Mary’s desk this morning. The envelope was sealed."

  “Any idea who sent them?”
>
  “No."

  The photos were sinister, cruel, and never meant for a father's eyes. The image of my sister, a school-uniformed preteen, on her knees in supplication, holding a rosary while someone stood over her with a loosened belt buckle, was something I could never unsee. Heat rushed to my face; I felt shame for her and quaked with anger at the same time. He slid a note toward me. I assumed it had accompanied the photos.

  I don't want money. I want revenge. This is just the beginning. Don't get the police involved or the press will get every one of these photos and more.

  “Have you told Carrie about these?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t talked to her since last week. Your mother was there, they argued, and Carrie wasn't happy that she was ‘railroaded.’ I think she blocked me on her phone. Afraid of me, I think."

  "She hasn’t feared you since she was little, and that was at report card time," I reminded him.

  “Do you have any idea who took those photos? I mean, the one of Carrie when she was in middle school? I can’t think of anyone with that kind of access to her then."

  I swallowed a sob as I shook my head.

  Father looked at me, not without some anger, but he said, “Don't blame yourself. We never expected you to be your sister’s keeper. No one knows when that happened. We need experts to study these photos." He sat on his throne with his head in his hands. "It was my fault. I should have protected her … I failed."

  Then he waved his hand toward his office door and Mary's desk outside. "And the security footage! There's nothing on it! How the fuck did they get in here?"

  Security cameras monitored the public areas of the building, except for the bathrooms and Daddy’s office suite. The only places the cameras could have caught anything were in Mary’s office and outside in the hallway.

  “Mr. Drazen?” The box on daddy’s desk transmitted Mary’s tinny voice.

  “Yes, Mary.”

  “I have the Mr. Taggart, head of security here. He has something to show you.”

  Father scowled. “Send him in.”

  The expression on Taggart’s face, as he shuffled in told me he knew his castigated ass would be out the door by the end of this meeting. He was about fiftyish and worked here for the last seven years. As he bravely stepped into the room, a tablet clutched in one of his hands visibly shook. "Mr. Drazen."

  “Taggart. What do you have for me?”

  Taggart scratched his head—not a good sign.

  “Come on, let’s have it. Did you find anything or not?”

  I sat back quietly, ready to watch and listen.

  “This video includes foot traffic outside the building for the last twenty-four hours. We examined the activities between dusk and dawn closely. My team ran all kinds of recognition software on the images.” He took a breath, bracing himself for the reaction to his next sentence. “We didn’t see anyone entering or exiting the building after business hours.”

  Daddy clenched and unclenched his fists. "Then who came into my office?”

  “Well, the cleaning man came in at 11:20 p.m. and stayed fifteen minutes then left. Then Mary arrived at eight o’clock sharp.”

  “Fifteen minutes? What could he do in fifteen minutes?” Daddy muttered. “Did you see an envelope or anything else in his hands?"

  “No, sir. He was just pushing the cleaning cart.”

  “Let me see.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Father and I reviewed the footage of the cleaning man. To spare Taggart any more embarrassment, I peppered him with questions that would give him an idea of what he’s going to check out.

  But Father wanted action now. He got into Tagger’s face. “I want you to talk to that cleaning man. Check the locks on each entrance to this building. Don’t overlook air conditioning ducts or any other way someone could get in here. I’ve watched too many Mission Impossible movies to assume that security footage is the only thing we have to depend on.”

  Taggart nodded like a bobble-head.

  “Did you have this footage examined for evidence of tampering?”

  “Yes, Mr. Drazen.” Taggart’s face was red. It should be red. Daddy’s face was purple, and mine was inevitably pale.

  Still shooting daggers at Taggart, he pointed his chin toward the door, “You have your marching orders.”

  “Yes, Mr. Drazen.”

  I cringed for Taggart as I watched him leave with his tail firmly tucked between his legs.

  “Dad, Will’s gotten a PI friend of his to keep on top of Carrie. I think we should bring him in on this new development. It’s obvious the sender has been stalking her."

  “Yes, she needs watching over,” Father said.

  “Right. Let me get together with Will and his friend, Saint, right away."

  He turned his head sharply to look at me. “Saint?”

  “Yes, Sawyer Saint Gabriel. He’s ex-FBI, just like Will."

  “She needs a guardian angel. Let’s hope he’s not another devil. Lord knows she’s a magnet for them."

  My guess was Saint was anything but a saint. He was perfect for my sister as a bodyguard. He’d keep her safe from the NSA no-strings-attached sex she sneaks out for, while we got some answers. “Can I take the photos?"

  "Yes, but make digital copies," Dad said, looking as if his mind was elsewhere. "I’m trying to figure out who is trying to get revenge. I don't know where to start."

  "Seriously? Do you think it's something other than business?"

  “Yes! My daughter’s as fucking personal as it can get!"

  If I knew anything about my father, he had too many skeletons in his closet for them not to affect his loved ones or put them at risk in some way. But one thing was sure—he wouldn’t let anyone see his daughter as the depraved sex-addicted slut depicted in the photos. It was a stab to the heart to see one of his baby girls like this. For any of us to see her that way.

  Sighing, I scanned the pictures onto my phone. I would hand off the originals to Will at our meeting.

  I gave Dad a quick kiss, took the envelope, and left. I couldn't look at those photos without feeling pain and self-loathing for not protecting my baby sister when she was young and vulnerable. But this wasn’t the time to dwell on the horror of it. It was time to find my balls and blow the top off this nightmare.

  Stepping out of the room, I asked Mary to get the conference room ready for my meeting with Will.

  “Will?"

  “Yeah?” His voice sounded as though he was outside at a gas station. I heard rings, dings, and car doors.

  “Is Saint with you?” “

  “Yeah, we’re on our way over.”

  “Good, because he needs to be included in this conversation."

  Chapter Two

  Sawyer Saint Gabriel, a.k.a. Saint

  The ceiling fan’s blades whispered, mimicking the beating of our hearts as the sun peeked through the shutters and pierced the darkness.

  Carrie curled into my body, her spine to my chest, my thick cock nestled between her sweet buttocks. I nuzzled the crook of her neck and inhaled the delicate smell of vanilla and her arousal. She gripped my cock at the same time my hand glided across her smooth belly and slid between her velvety folds to scissor her clitoris. She moaned, long, low, and slow. My balls swelled, ready to return to her tight, wet embrace.

  I rolled onto my back, taking her with me, while I continued exploring her wetness with my fingers. She pulled her knees to her chest and guided my shaft inside. Using her thighs as handles, I slid her forward and back as she strummed her clit. I didn’t know how long I could keep from coming because that move was so tight, so wet, and so very, very hot.

  She chanted my name as her channel squeezed my length in a move that tinged of orgasm, and I needed to see her come before me.

  “Wait!” I barely spat it out before I lifted the twitching princess off my cock and reseated her so she faced me. Carrie was going to ride me like an angry cowgirl.

  With her palms on my chest, Carrie leaned t
oward my face then twerked her hips forward and back, up, and down, round, and around, from base to tip. She rode with the athleticism of a sprinter, allowing no distractions, entirely focused on her goal. Her breasts slapped together, her hair lashed my face, but her silent screams tipped me over the edge. I felt as if she threw gasoline on a lit taper and my groin was about to explode.

  Carrie’s eyes squeezed shut; her mouth was open in an expression of rapture. I followed her down the rabbit hole and held back nothing.

  We lay motionless, chest to chest as our hearts beat as one. While she bathed my battered balls in her juices, I savored the salty tears on her lips. I would give anything to have this every day, but I had to put that out of my mind for now. She scared me—not because it was too early to love her, but because I was afraid of what she could do to me.

  Last night, Max had sent over evidence that Carrie had a stalker, and I was ashamed that I’d put my selfish needs before her safety and ashamed that I’d used her.

  But I had no time to indulge in self-recrimination because I had videos and photos to share with Will Santon and Margie Drazen. I hoped Margie could identify the creep stalking her sister in the video.

  Carrie needed to know she was in danger. As I told her, I didn’t even think twice about how she would react.

  She was afraid and angry then indignant when I said she had to drop everything and leave the country with me. Her eyes widened, and if they spoke words, they'd be saying “fuck no” and “get the hell out.”