Transfer

by Aly Martinez

  I fell in love with a man who didn’t exist.

  What started out as romance ended in hell.

  His words turned to razor blades.

  His kisses converted to fists.

  His embrace became my cage.

  His body transformed into a weapon, stealing parts of me until ultimately….

  I broke.

  I hated him.

  My sole job in life became to protect our daughter.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever escape the prison he’d skillfully crafted from my fears.

  Until the day our savior arrived.

  This is the story of how I escaped the man who thought he owned me.

  The transfer of my life and my family.

  TRANSFER

  Copyright © 2016 Aly Martinez

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  TRANSFER is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designer: Hang Le

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar at Wander Book Club

  Models: Tiffany Marie and Drew Leighty

  Editors: Erin Noelle and Mickey Reed

  Proofreader: Julie Deaton

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Other Books

  About the Author

  “Okay, Luke,” Clare breathed.

  Never had more beautiful words been spoken.

  Her eyes shined bright with life, staring up at me as if she’d just witnessed a miracle.

  I knew I had. I’d spent the last half hour with fire consuming my soul, fearing she was already gone.

  I’d spent over three months being devoured by that possibility.

  “Okay, Luke,” she repeated when I failed to form a single syllable in response.

  It was the wrong name.

  But she could call me whatever the fuck she wanted. Just the sound of her voice would have kick-started my heart to beat for another century.

  “Luke?” Noir whispered, a flash of recognition hitting his face just before he exploded. “You motherfucker!” Ducking under my arm, he knocked the gun from my hand, sending it skittering across the concrete.

  But I didn’t need a weapon for what I was going to do to him.

  I had three years of watching that piece of shit from afar. Months of watching Clare drag herself to a fucking gym with bruises covering half of her body while tears poured from her hopeless, blue eyes. And weeks since one of his men had killed Atwood.

  I’d dreamed about the moment when I could get my hands on him—and not while wearing a badge, when the best I could do was subdue him and then haul his ass to jail.

  No. I wanted Walter Noir to suffer a thousand slow deaths before his toxic, black heart fell motionless.

  And I wanted nothing more than to be the man responsible.

  I’d seen too many tears fall from her eyes.

  Too many times she’d flinched when I’d reached for her as though she didn’t understand that hands could be gentle.

  The bite marks he’d left on her shoulders and the bruises on her swollen face had slashed through me in a way I knew I’d never heal.

  I’d fought the overwhelming desire to tell her who I was on a daily basis. To force her and Tessa to come with me.

  But, every day, as I helplessly stood at that gym door and watched her walk to her car, fearful she wouldn’t make it back, it had broken something inside me.

  Fuck the investigation. That’s what I’d said the day I had taken it upon myself to involve Roman Leblanc. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing any longer.

  I’d be damned if a bitch like Walter Noir was going to fight me over her now.

  He would lose for no other reason than I refused to fail her.

  Catching him around the waist, I lifted him high before slamming him down to the concrete face first.

  His head cracked, but like a rabid dog, he got right back up.

  At six four, two twenty, I had the clear advantage in size, but whatever he lacked in that department, he made up for with mental instability. That crazy bastard had no respect for his own life, much less those around him. He’d happily battle to the death before surrendering.

  “Luke!” Clare cried, pushing herself to her knees and then crawling toward us.

  “Get out of here,” I growled at her, landing a hard fist to the side of his head.

  His knuckles found my face, splitting my lip wide. The pain didn’t even register amongst the chaos, and the sight of my blood dripping down lit me ablaze further.

  That would have been Clare’s blood if we hadn’t arrived in time.

  It would have been her face rather than mine taking the brunt of his anger. All while Tessa innocently stood by, watching him brutally murder her mother.

  Just the thought multiplied my strength.

  Smashing his head into the concrete, I dove over him, going for my gun, but he caught me around the waist.

  “Son of a bitch,” I huffed when a heavy punch landed on my ribs.

  However, with his hands down, I was able to hook an arm around his neck and squeeze impossibly tight while wrapping a leg around his torso for leverage.

  My vision had long since tunneled, but as he bucked beneath me, it was images of Clare smiling that kept me holding on. The sound of her laugh drowning out the blood thundering in my ears. The memory of her shaking body as she clung to my neck and confessed the depth of Walter’s depravity was like a lit match to my adrenaline.

  This was my fight—hers.

  When his body sagged, it took self-restraint only years in the DEA could engrain into a person to release him while he still had a pulse.

  Killing Noir was on the top of my list of priorities, but I knew, for the Administration, he was a small fish in a big pond. We needed him alive.

  Finally satisfied that he was out cold, I let go and rolled off. My chest heaved from exertion, but I immediately searched for Clare, only she was no longer there.

  Anxiety rooted in my stomach, but thankfully, less than a second later, I found her.

  Or, more accurately, her foot found Walter Noir’s face as he lay unconscious on the driveway.

  “I hate you!” she screamed, landing another kick before I could get to her.

  Wrapping her in a bear hug from behind, I lifted her off her feet and dragged her back.

  “I fucking hate you!” she yelled at him, fighting like a hellcat to get back at him.

  A large part of me wanted to give that to her. She’d more than earned it. The other par
t of me needed to get her out of there before any of his men showed up.

  “Chill,” I growled, but if she was even aware I was holding her, I couldn’t be sure.

  The tighter I held her, the harder she fought. And I began to fear I was going to hurt her if she didn’t stop. Her face was already swollen, and God knows what the rest of her frail body looked like.

  She needed to get to a hospital, not go another round with Noir’s limp body.

  I placed her on her feet only long enough to wrap her back up, this time chest to chest, her arms pinned between us.

  She twisted her head around to keep him in her sight. “I hate you!”

  “Clare,” I barked.

  Finally, her attention snapped to mine. Her body stilled, and she closed her mouth while she scanned my face in awestruck disbelief.

  “I can’t believe you’re alive,” she said, her chin quivering.

  Fuck. Me.

  She was alive.

  “Chill,” I ordered, holding her gaze, her left eye barely visible beneath the swelling. “We only have a minute before he wakes up. I need you to listen to me.”

  She blinked but didn’t reply.

  “You listening?” I asked just as I felt the tremble begin to work its way up from her legs.

  “How are you here?” she whispered on a shaky breath.

  She was about to crash. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically.

  Fuck.

  “Stay with me, okay?” I urged. “You’re safe. Tessa’s safe. And I’m gonna get you out of here. Can you walk for me?”

  She vigorously shook her head as a sob tore from her throat.

  She started struggling again, but this time, it was to get closer.

  “Shh, it’s okay. I got you,” I soothed, loosening my hold and allowing her the space to move her arms from between us.

  They quickly circled around my neck, her legs doing the same at my hips.

  Holding her with one arm, I dug my phone from my pocket and dialed. “Tomlinson? I’ve got a woman and a child, both of which need medical attention. Tell me you’re close.”

  “Our eyes on Brock Nolan say he is en route, Light. Get them the fuck out of there. I’ve got units on the way to head Nolan off, but you need to leave.”

  My head snapped up so I could scan the perimeter, but I did not waste time before striding over to where my gun was on the driveway. “Roger that. I’m out.” I hung up and then tucked my phone away. Keeping a hand on her back, I leaned over to retrieve my weapon. I spared one last glance at Walter, who was still out cold, and then jogged with her in my arms over to the gate.

  Roman watched us with haggard eyes as we approached. He had Tessa’s face tucked into his neck, one hand over her ear, her tiny body flush with his.

  I rubbed a hand up Clare’s back and asked, “What’s the code, babe?”

  “Eighteen-eleven-two,” she replied.

  Roman went to work typing the numbers in.

  As the gate came to life, the most amazing sense of relief fell over me.

  It had slid open only a foot before I turned sideways and carried her out.

  She was free.

  They were free.

  We were free.

  With her in my arms and Tessa in Roman’s, side by side, we guided them from Walter Noir’s darkness.

  And into the light.

  Sometimes, when I dreamed, I’d travel back in time to the days when I’d thought my life was hard.

  When paying bills and eating ramen noodles three meals a day had been my biggest challenges.

  Back then, I’d feared I’d end up homeless. Now, I feared going home.

  Back then, I’d balked at the idea of spending my life washing dishes and waitressing to make an honest living. Now, I worried I’d be ordered to clean up another hideout after Walt had murdered a man for crossing him.

  Back then, I’d longed for designer clothes, jewelry, and expensive handbags. Now, I just wanted my heart to still be beating when I finally escaped.

  Funny how things could change in the blink of an eye.

  My head was down as I approached the table, a pen stuck into the back of my hair, a pad tucked in my apron, and an exhausted smile pulling at my lips. I’d been on my feet for well over ten hours, and if the crowd didn’t die down before the breakfast rush, it was going to be at least four more before I could go home.

  “What can I get you?” I asked, placing two napkins followed by forks and spoons on the table.

  A hand roughly caught my wrist as I started to pull it away.

  It wasn’t the nicest of diners in Atlanta. Shit was actually the term that had come to mind when I’d interviewed six weeks earlier. However, I lived in a trailer two blocks over. I was more than accustomed to shit.

  I jerked my attention to the guy holding my arm. Typical for this time of night. Young. Dumb. Broke. My tip would be whatever change was left after he’d paid his bill, assuming he didn’t dine and ditch.

  Drunken brown eyes stared back at me as he slurred, “Well, hello there, gorgeous.”

  “Dude, let her go,” his buddy laughed.

  I snatched my hand back, but his grip stayed tight.

  “You should really listen to your friend,” I warned.

  “Clare?” he purred, reading my nametag. “Sweet name for an even sweeter ass.” He snaked his grimy hand around and grabbed my butt.

  My body jerked. This wasn’t the first time some douchebag had put his hands on me since I had taken the job. At three a.m., the customers were always the same—intoxicated. But, if I wanted to keep my job, I could only do so much—well, besides rolling his dinner around on the bathroom floor.

  “What can I get you, boys?” I gritted through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, trust me. I ain’t no boy.” He gripped what would probably be the world’s smallest dick through his filthy denim.

  I arched an eyebrow. “A eunuch then?”

  He smiled, showing off a mouth full of crooked teeth. “Does that mean big cock? Because hell yeah.”

  “It means no balls, you dumb fuck.” I pulled a steak knife from my apron and pressed the tip into the laminate tabletop. “Now, let me go before I make it your new reality.”

  His smarmy grin fell flat, and his friend barked a loud laugh.

  “Bitch has jokes,” he mumbled, finally releasing my arm

  I smiled to myself, but it was short-lived. Not a second later, he caught me around my waist and dragged me down onto his lap.

  “Hey!” I shouted, struggling against him.

  A deep, raspy voice came from behind us. “Let the lady—”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish before I slammed my elbow into the douchebag’s nose.

  “Oh fuck!” the asshole yelled.

  “Don’t you ever touch me,” I seethed, the busy restaurant getting quiet as everyone looked our way.

  “Stupid bitch,” he growled, grabbing napkins off the table and trying to stop the blood pouring from his nose.

  I snatched the rag from my back pocket and threw it at him. It hit his chest before falling into his lap. “You can call me stupid, but I’m not the bitch here. Clean up after yourself, and then get the fuck out of my restaurant before I call the cops.” I turned on a toe and marched back behind the counter.

  When I heard the last of his curses and the bell on the door noting his departure, I allowed my shoulders to slouch forward. Jesus, I had to get a new job. My bills were not going to pay themselves. I’d lived in my car for a few weeks after my dad had passed away the year before, and there was no way I was going back to that crap. But even the pits of Hell had to be better than this place.

  I was wiping the counter down when a man’s large frame filled my peripheral vision. Out of habit, I didn’t even look up before setting a napkin and silverware in front of him. “What can I get you?”

  “Your number,” he stated confidently.

  I internally groaned. Not this bullshit again.

  I glanced up, my mouth lo
cked and loaded with an attitude that would probably get me fired, but not a single syllable came out.

  Dear heavenly father, he was beautiful.

  Wearing a fitted, black suit that cost more than my car and a smile so sexy that I nearly broke a sweat, he was nothing short of perfection. With thick, dark hair and eyes so green that I swear they glowed. I was awestruck.

  His smile grew as I gaped at him. “You know, you really made the whole Prince Charming coming to a damsel in distress difficult on me back there.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized breathily.

  He chuckled. “It’s okay. I really like that you can handle yourself.”

  My cheeks heated as his gaze dropped to my mouth.

  “So, your number?” he prompted.

  “I, uh, don’t have a phone,” I admitted, more than a little embarrassed.

  His eyebrows shot up in disbelief, but his smile never wavered. “Okay, then I guess we’ll have to set up our date now.”

  “Our date.” I had intended for it to come off as a mocking question, but I’d failed. It had been spoken in total agreement.

  “How about this?” he said, pulling a card from his wallet and sliding it across the counter. “Call me when you get off. I’ll meet you up here and then take you out for breakfast.”

  I worked at a restaurant and got free food at the end of every shift, but there was no way I was turning down an offer from a man like him—money and power oozed from his gorgeous body.

  I was dead on my feet, but as I took his card, our fingers brushed, awakening me with a single touch.

  “Okay…” I drawled, asking him for his name.

  “Walt.” He paused, smiling salaciously as he grazed his brilliant, white teeth over his bottom lip. “Walter Noir.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Walter Noir,” I replied breathily.

  That was the moment my world tilted on its axis and everything I thought I knew about myself was thrown off balance.

  And, as the days passed, I feared I’d never find solid ground again.

  “Mrs. Noir? I need you to stay with us,” a woman’s voice called to me.

  My aching body refused to cooperate, and my sluggish brain honed in on one word.