by LK Shaw
Atonement
Love Undercover, Book 3
LK Shaw
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Contents
A Birthday Spanking
Book List
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Submission
Acknowledgments
Book List
About the Author
Atonement, Love Undercover, Book 3
© 2020 by LK Shaw
Cover design © 2020 by PopKitty Designs
Editor: Dayna Hart, Hart to Heart Editing
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book, with the exception of brief quotations for book reviews or critical articles, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Doms of Club Eden
Submission
Desire
Redemption
Protect
Betrayal
My Christmas Dom
Absolution
Forever (A prequel) - Coming July 2020
Love Undercover Series
In Too Deep
Striking Distance
Atonement
Other Books
Love Notes: A Dark Romance
SEALs in Love
Say Yes
Black Light: Possession
Saving Evie: A Brotherhood Protectors
Chapter 1
Two years ago
Loneliness gnawed at me. Any friends I had were long gone. Driven away by my self-destruction. Clean-and-sober me tried making new ones, but going to the club, getting drunk, and finding some chick to take home and bang wasn’t my thing. Which was why I was sitting in a hotel bar, on a Saturday night, drinking water.
Alone.
I was here, because otherwise, I’d be out there. On the streets.
The urge grew stronger every day. I could curb it for a little while, but then it would crash through me again like a tidal wave until I thought I’d drown in want and need. The water was mid-chest level, the pressure mounting. Soon, I’d be suffocating, gasping for air that was there but couldn’t fill my lungs. The sensation would overwhelm me, and I’d do what I always did to get rid of it.
Use.
Anything to make me fly high above the ocean of guilt and pain. The self-hatred would, of course, follow once I landed. Then the cycle would begin again.
It had been this way for a decade. Ten long years of leaving destruction in my wake.
Four years was the longest I’d managed to fight. It seemed like eons ago.
I’d talked to my brother today, though we weren’t close. Not anymore. Every time we saw each other, he’d say something which would only fuel the never-ending guilt inside me. My defense mechanism was to be an asshole. We’d argue, say hurtful things neither of us could take back, and then we wouldn’t talk for months. It was our routine, and one I didn’t see changing anytime soon.
“Would you like some more water, sir?” The waitress asked for the third time.
I handed her my glass, and she refilled it before handing it back. She picked up the empty dinner plate in front of me and set the check face-down on the table. “I’ll take this whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” I took a long draw of my water, the icy coldness of it almost burning my throat as it descended to settle in my stomach. I smirked at the imaginary sloshing sound it probably made hitting the inside of my gut. My humor always leaned toward the dark side.
My gaze traveled around the room, my leg bouncing in a nervous twitch. The hotel restaurant was slow tonight. Which was surprising for a weekend. A lot of empty tables, and only three people sitting at the bar—four, if I counted the suit-clad businessman, with his smarmy salesman smile looming over a blonde woman. My bobbing limb slowed. Old boy certainly wasn’t taking the hint that blondie wasn’t interested. In fact, she was as oblivious to his presence as he seemed to be to the fact she was practically collapsing in on herself. He ran his finger down her arm, and she shifted on the bar stool, putting a few inches of distance between them.
I’d never been the savior type. Fuck, I couldn’t even save myself. But there was a tightness to her, a rigid energy, that screamed for help. Before I changed my mind, I rose from the corner booth I’d parked myself at and strode toward the couple. I should mind my own business. If the woman wanted the guy to leave she could tell him. But for whatever reason, my feet kept propelling me forward until I stood on the woman’s right, close enough she could hear me speak, but far enough away that I didn’t invade her personal space. Unlike dickwad.
“Is this guy bothering you?” I asked softly.
The woman flinched and the suit straightened and sent me a withering look, like I was a pile of shit he’d stepped in with his favorite wingtip shoes.
“Who the fuck are you?” He sneered.
I ignored him. Instead, I waited for the woman to answer. Her response was the only one I gave a shit about.
She continued staring down into her almost empty rocks glass, her wavy blonde hair a curtain over the side of her face.
“I just want to be left alone.” There was a note of emotion in her tone. One I’d heard more than once in rehab and during the many NA meetings I’d attended over the years from those who’d hit rock bottom. It was the bitter tone of anguish.
I smirked at the suit. “Pretty sure that’s your cue. The lady’s not interested.”
He glared at me before sending her a scathing look and picked up the drink he’d set on the bar. “Whatever.” Then he disappeared with a final curl of his lip.
Not once during the entire interaction had she glanced up at either of us. She’d stayed hidden behind the armor of her hair. Aside from her single sentence to be left alone, she hadn’t spoken again. Not even a thank you. Taking her at her word, my presence was also not wanted or needed. I returned to my booth and took another drink, my eyes continuing to dart back to the blonde every so often.
The bartender brought her several more drinks. She sipped each one, her delicate fingers clasping the glass, condensation dripping off
the bottom of it. After suit guy left, no one else bothered her. She sat alone, completely lost in her own world. Yet I remained sitting here, watching the woman like some creeper.
There was something about her that kept nudging at me. Some compulsion kept me here. I’d only seen a portion of her face through the cascade of her hair. Her cheekbones appeared sharp enough to cut glass. A pale pink lip-color did nothing to plump up her too thin lips. The tip of her nose curved upward. None of the pieces fit together.
It was her eyes, though, that I hadn’t caught a glimpse of.
I’d moved to stand near her, spoke to her, smelled her—a hint of lavender and vanilla—and still she’d remained gazing into her glass as though it held some secret. What was her story?
After a quick glance at my watch, I was shocked that it was nearly nine p.m. Jesus, how had it gotten so late? I’d been observing her for over two hours. A time in which my earlier urge had quieted. She’d occupied my entire mind, so it hadn’t focused on anything but her. I was reluctant to leave, but I needed to go. I dug out my wallet and threw enough cash on the table to pay the bill plus a tip.
The woman had made it clear she wanted to be left alone, but I wanted to check one last time to make sure she was all right before I headed out. Especially after watching her slam back the rest of yet another drink. A pull from some string drew me over to her.
“Excuse me.” I waited a beat to see if she’d finally look at me. She didn’t, but I forged ahead. “I’m not trying to bother you, but I wanted to make sure you were okay before I left.”
Behind the fall of her hair, her lids drifted shut for a moment before they opened again. She slowly raised her head and stared directly in front of her. No other movement. I took the silence as her answer.
“I hear ya loud and clear. Just…be careful.” I pivoted, but her whispered request stopped me in my tracks.
“Don’t go.”
Chapter 2
Nineteen years ago to the day. I glanced at my watch. Nineteen years, seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and sixteen, seventeen, eighteen seconds to be exact.
Every year I think this time things will be different. Yet every year it has remained the same. I’d spend tomorrow sobering up, and on Monday I’d be back to work for another three-hundred sixty-four days. Until next year’s anniversary rolled around. Then I’d spend another entire day trying, and failing, to forget, and the cycle would begin again.
I motioned for the bartender to bring me another drink.
With every breath I took, the scent of spring and sunshine still hovered lightly in the air around me. I wished it would go away. It reminded me of rebirth and new beginnings at a time I was only thinking of death.
The man who’d smelled that way had long disappeared. He’d asked me a question, one that had taken me a minute to process, and the hairs on my arm had stood on end. His voice had been gravelly with a raspy quality that reminded me of that first swallow of bourbon. The one that burns going down, but then settles warmly in your belly.
Ever since he’d run off the other guy, his scent had lingered. With a shudder, I tossed back the rest of my drink and waved for the next. A shift in the air brought with it a stronger whiff of the fragrance I’d been trying to purge from my nose.
“Excuse me.” A shiver danced across my skin at that same raspy voice. “I’m not trying to bother you, but I wanted to make sure you were okay before I left.”
I closed my eyes. I was the farthest thing from okay. Normally, no one bothered me while I was like this, but it would seem something about tonight was different. No, I wasn’t okay. But maybe, for a short time, I could forget.
“Don’t go.”
The stranger paused in his retreat. I still couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. His body heat anyway, even though he was several steps away. And I could most definitely smell him. Especially after he sat on the bar stool next to me.
“I’m Preston.” He didn’t offer to shake my hand. Just those two words spoken softly. His bourbon-smooth voice washed over me. I didn’t know what it was about him, maybe a quiet strength, but I wanted to keep him talking. Inhaling some courage, I swiveled in my seat and met hazel eyes surrounded by long lashes. An echo of my own pain ricocheted inside them.
“Sara.” The name spilled from my lips before I could call it back. Then I didn’t want to.
Preston’s expression shifted, and he drew back a little. “It’s nice to meet you, Sara.”
I ignored the change in his demeanor. “It’s nice to meet you as well. I didn’t say thank you earlier. You know, for running that guy off.”
“No problem.” He paused for a moment. “You seemed to be having a bad night.”
I let out a humorless sound. “What makes you think I’m having a bad night?”
He shrugged noncommittally. My eyes traveled over him, and the sight of something on his arms made me pause. On the right, from the wrist all the way up until it disappeared under his shirt sleeve, was black tribal ink. That wasn’t what caught my attention. The area surrounding the bend in his elbow had. It was devoid of color. Present, though, were small, pinkish, circular raised scars dotted randomly along the skin. A glance at his left inner arm showed similar markings. I met his gaze. Preston’s face was blank.
“Are those…?” I don’t know why I bothered asking. I worked for the D.E.A. I knew what track marks looked like.
He nodded. “Been clean almost a year.”
“I’m surprised you don’t try to hide them.” Ouch. That had come across awfully holier-than-thou. Who was I to judge anyone?
Preston turned his arms over, fully exposing them. “Hiding them doesn’t erase what I’ve done, so why bother? They remind me of who I used to be, who I am, and who I want to become. I forget sometimes.”
“Who did you used to be?”
His lips barely curled in the slight resemblance of a smile. “A son. A brother. But I was never really any good at being either of those.”
A daughter. That’s who I used to be. “Who do you want to become?” I asked softly, leaning closer, almost desperate to hear his response.
Preston’s hazel eyes met mine, and I held my breath. Inside them was pain. The kind that resonated with the sharp blade of agony I lived with on a daily basis.
“Someone who’s worthy of atonement for my sins.”
I sucked in the breath I’d been holding. “How will you know you’re worthy?”
“When I’ve forgiven myself.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it down. “I have sins to forgive myself for, too,” I choked out.
What possessed me to say that? I’d never told a soul what I’d done. It was my deepest, darkest secret. One I’d lived with for nineteen years.
Warmth covered my hand, and I looked down to see Preston had laid his on top of mine. He gave it a tiny, comforting squeeze. Our eyes met.
“You will. One day.” That’s all he said. He didn’t ask what I’d done that needed forgiving. Only said that, some day, forgiveness would happen. His beautiful, hazel eyes fixed on mine as though willing me to believe him. To have faith.
His thumb skated along my cheek, and wetness smeared across my skin. Was I crying? I hadn’t cried since that long ago day. Not once.
I almost hated this stranger for dragging out emotions I kept buried. At the same time, I wanted to purge them completely. This lonely existence was slowly killing me. There was no one in my life. No family. No real friends. Yet, the moment I locked eyes with this man, it was like he understood all the pain inside me. Like he suffered too.
Did I dare to hope, if only for a night, that I could unburden this crushing weight onto someone stronger? Would I wake up in the morning and drown in regret? Probably. At the moment, though, I didn’t care.
I covered Preston’s hand and leaned into his caress. His fingers were thick and strong. With the barest movement, my lips brushed his palm. His callouses were rough. Visions of him touching the rest of my body sent a thr
obbing heaviness to my core.
Preston’s eyes darkened with arousal as I stared up at him. My tongue darted out to wet my lips, and his gaze dropped to lock onto them. Seeing how affected he was gave me courage.
“Would you like to come up to my room?”
Chapter 3
Present day
“Why did you let him talk you into this?” I grumbled under my breath as I sat in my parked car outside a cute ranch-style house in a quiet neighborhood in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Being here was a mistake. I hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, but Brody was a…friend, and he’d asked nicely. Still, I should go home, call and tell him something came up, and apologize for missing the party.
I rested my forehead against the steering wheel. God, I was such a coward. All I had to do was go in there, say my hellos, drop off my gift, and then leave. Easy enough. I didn’t have to make conversation. I barely knew these people. Yes, I’d helped Brody’s future brother-in-law, Victor, rescue his girlfriend after she’d been kidnapped, but that had been a month ago. I hadn’t talked to or seen any of them since then.
“Shit.”
I grabbed the bottle of wine and jumped out of my car before I could change my mind. My lungs burned from the burst of cold air that hit them. My breath came out on a plume of smoke. My feet were like hundred pound weights being dragged up the sidewalk. I paused at the door, nowhere near ready to face who might be inside. Fuck this. My fingers were already feeling numb from the cold, so I rang the bell.