Relentless Night (New York Knights Book 4)

by S. M. West

  Relentless Night

  A New York Knights Novel

  S.M. West

  Contents

  Playlist

  Prologue

  1. Tommie

  2. Max

  3. Tommie

  4. Max

  5. Tommie

  6. Tommie

  7. Max

  8. Max

  9. Tommie

  10. Max

  11. Tommie

  12. Max

  13. Max

  14. Tommie

  15. Max

  16. Max

  17. Tommie

  18. Max

  19. Tommie

  20. Max

  21. Max

  22. Tommie

  23. Tommie

  24. Max

  25. Tommie

  26. Max

  27. Tommie

  28. Max

  29. Max

  30. Tommie

  31. Max

  32. Tommie

  33. Tommie

  34. Max

  Epilogue

  Note to Readers

  Other Books by S.M. West

  About the Author

  Relentless Night

  Copyright © 2020 S.M. West

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design by: Najla Qamber Designs

  Edited by: Leanne Rabesa

  Photographer: Lindee Robinson

  Model: Alyse Madej & David Turner

  Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction. – Rumi

  Playlist

  Listen on Spotify

  “Raging” – Kodaline

  “Vasoline” – Stone Temple Pilots

  “Somebody” – Depeche Mode

  “Waiting Game” – BANKS

  “Kill of the Night” – Gin Wigmore

  “Black Hole Sun” – Soundgarden

  “Love in the Dark” – Jesse Reyez

  “I Don’t Want to Change You” – Damien Rice

  Relentless Night on Pinterest

  Prologue

  Tommie

  Twelve Years Ago

  If only I could rip my ears off. Block out the sound. It will drive me mad.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Water leaks from somewhere and it’s all I can hear, drowning out even the deafening silence. The splash of liquid hitting the floor is as loud and as maddening as a marching band performing on an endless loop. If only I could cover my ears… or get rid of them.

  How long has it been since my hands were free?

  My jaw clamps shut, and my teeth grind together, so hard I almost hope they explode into fine white dust. I’m looking for anything, any other kind of agony, to block out all the painful sensations zipping through my body.

  A wild cackle escapes my dry, chapped lips and I snarl. I’m losing my mind. Chained like some animal and now I sound like one too.

  I shiver.

  It’s freezing in here. Always cold. I’m so cold with nothing to cover me. Not even clothing for my body. And the blackness. I can’t see a thing. The darkness is everywhere. Sound, smell and touch are the only senses of use to me.

  “I can’t see anything.” It hurts to scream but a peculiar pang of optimism tugs at my gut at the sound of my own voice.

  I am alive. For whatever that is worth.

  My throat feels tight and raw, and I’m not sure if screaming will do me any good. I doubt anyone can hear me and even if they could, so what? They wouldn’t care.

  No one cares.

  No one knows I’m here.

  I might as well be dead.

  Dead.

  What would that be like? I might like it. I’d lose all my senses. No more cold. No more pain. No more hunger. No more sound.

  Sound is the scariest. It’s usually your first sign of trouble.

  Or what if in death, I got all my senses back? I’d be able to see again. Would I want to see this place I’m in? I don’t even know if it’s a dungeon or a basement or… it doesn’t matter. No matter how many times I blink, or how long I try to sleep, give my eyes the time to adjust, when I wake, it’s still pitch black.

  No, I rely on sound to tell me what’s coming. My eyes never get used to the dark. Or maybe it’s because there isn’t even a speck of light in here. It’s as if I’m hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the earth.

  I might as well be dead.

  Will I ever see the light of day again?

  The sun. Will I ever see the sun again? I barely remember the sun. Bright. Warm. Vibrant. I’d like to see the sun again.

  “Here comes the sun…” I try to sing, despite my aching throat, something upbeat. A song from my mother’s favorite band.

  It’s been three days since I last had water. I think. It can’t have been more. The body can’t go more than three days without water, isn’t that true? He has to come today. To give me water. Or maybe today is the day he doesn’t come?

  Maybe that would be better. I don’t want to see him. It’s always him. No one but him.

  He hurts me. He hurts me. Hurts me.

  A sob balls in my lungs, clogging my breath, and straining my chest and neck. The skin tears at the corners of my mouth as a low keening moan erupts from my parched throat.

  I convulse, scaring myself. The sounds I make are wild and unnatural. Who am I? What am I?

  I want to be dead.

  My back is sore. So sore.

  Shuffling my feet backward, only an inch or two at the most, my heels hit the wall and my body gingerly sinks into it. My back scrapes along the coarse, icy concrete and I hiss like a cobra. If only I had its fangs and venom.

  My skin is raw.

  I am cold.

  Chattering, my shoulder blades burn and the sockets of my arm ache. Wrists bound and shackled high on the wall, just high enough to keep me hovering between flat footed and tip-toed. I wish my arms would snap from my body. Then the agony of limbs and hands suspended above my head would end.

  The pain would be gone.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been like this. It feels like days but it could be months.

  The jangling of keys breaks through the irritating drops of water and my heart twists and I still. So still, waiting for the familiar click that releases the lock and will be followed by the creak of a door. No light seeps into the room but his movement tells me he is here.

  His footsteps are light. Measured and firm. I count them. Four, five, six… there’s always thirty in total before he gets to me.

  Once he’s at the midway point, I bow, hanging my head low, and freeze. A dim light snaps on at his side. Expensive black Oxfords have the spotlight and just the hint of a hem to his dress pants shadows his shoes.

  My breathing is so loud, so heavy in my head and I’m afraid he’ll hurt me for how noisy I
am. I wish I could stop my breath. He doesn’t like to hear me unless it’s his command.

  Sixteen.

  Seventeen.

  Eighteen.

  The heat of him is the first thing I feel, and I want to cry, beg him to wrap his body around me even though I want him dead. I dream of his death.

  But getting warm is more important than anything else right now. I won’t fight him. I long since stopped fighting. It’s my fault I’m here. All of this is my fault. And I have nowhere to go, no one to save me. He reminds me of that all the time. I have no one to blame but myself.

  Obedience is best. It’s better to obey, even if he wants me to do vile, horrible things. Even if during every second, I pray for my death. His death. It’s better to obey.

  He’s close. If I had the use of my hands, I could reach out and touch him. And he’s so warm. I tremble at his heat as his strong fingers release my arms from the wall, and I fall into a heap at his feet.

  A burn spreads through my arms like wildfire as the blood starts to flow in the reverse direction and he clears his throat. It’s a deep rumble, similar to the prickles of his fingernails scoring my flesh, and I tense.

  “Little One, kneel.” He’s a chilling voice in the near dark.

  Tommie

  “She’s doing it again.” Revulsion colors Anna’s pretty features.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I follow her gaze across the gym, curious as to what has my easy-going best friend riled up. The bubbly blonde from our Krav Maga class twists her ponytail around her fingers and hyena-laughs at something Kent, our instructor, says.

  Gah, could she be any more of a Barbie doll?

  She paws at him, fingers trailing the smooth expanse of his chiseled chest, her hands like magnets clinging to a fridge. While he’s a decent teacher, his true talent is his stunning bod—a must-have to work at or frequent this trendy Brooklyn gym.

  Normally, I’m against another’s expectations of how one should look or act to be accepted, yet here I am, frequenting such a place. Truth be told, this gym has one of the best Krav Maga classes in the city, but maybe that’s no longer a good enough reason to overlook the vacuous atmosphere?

  Lips pursed, I’m suddenly bothered by the ever-present eye-candy. No wonder my teeth ache. Beauty and sex sell, and sadly, we’re all for sale whether we know it or not.

  Or maybe this ache has nothing to do with other people’s vanity and judgmental attitude and everything to do with my guilt for succumbing to the hotness just like the next person? After all, I am sleeping with Kent.

  It’s just sex. Nothing more. Some might say we’re fuck buddies but that would imply we’re friends. We aren’t. We have sex when the urge strikes. End of story.

  “Tommie, aren’t you going to break that up?” Anna, the little sprite that she is, crowds me like a mama bear ready to protect her baby cub, despite my five-foot-nine frame.

  “Nope.” I shrug and head for the exit, where I’m immediately hit with the oppressive humidity of the night air as I step outside.

  “But what if they go on a date, or sleep together?”

  Her repulsed expression suggests their potential sexual dalliance would be the worst thing to happen to humanity. Romantic relationships are serious business to my friend, whereas to me, they’re too much work for little to no payoff. Just another façade we’re made to believe is oh so important.

  At twenty-six, neither of us has had an easy life, and while we were both held captive, our experiences have made us very different people. She’s hopeful and I’m realistic and our differences don’t end there. She’s living with the only man she’ll ever love, whereas I’ve been with far too many men to count.

  I’m not holding out for love. I don’t believe in Tennyson’s saying, ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.’

  I’ve already lost more than my fair share. I doubt I’d survive losing the love of my life.

  We stare at each other over the hood of my car and I deliver a truth that won’t surprise her even if she has a hard time swallowing it.

  “It doesn’t matter if he sleeps with her.”

  “Thomasina!” Kent jogs toward us and I cringe.

  Despite the darkness of the night, the parking lot lights illuminate the bounce of his brown curls, the stretch of his tight shirt across his broad chest and the pumping of his bulging biceps. His boyish smile grows, practically kissing his ears, as he stops in front of me.

  “Hi.” Anna smiles politely when I’m not quick to offer a greeting.

  “Hey.” His glance at my friend is cursory, almost dismissive, but the dissatisfied arch of my brow causes him to make more of an effort. “Great job tonight, Anna. Keep it up.”

  “Thanks.” She beams at his praise.

  Our Krav Maga lessons are important to her. She may have lived a sheltered life and with her petite frame, one might think she’s weak, but they couldn’t be more wrong.

  She’s a fighter and has fought her entire life, in one way or another, to survive. Despite our differences, I understand wanting to be strong in body as well as mind.

  “Yeah, she’s badass.” My smiling gaze conveys just how proud I am of her. “What’s up, Kent?”

  “Ah, I thought we could hang tonight?” Running a hand through his hair, he grins suggestively.

  Ugh, it’s time to call it quits. I’m no longer even remotely interested in him, only annoyed. And maybe a little guilty. He’s a nice guy and will make some woman happy, but I’m not that woman.

  “Can’t.” My tone is flat. “We have plans.”

  I give my best friend a meaningful glance. We don’t have plans, but sex is the last thing I want tonight. I want my bed. Alone.

  This is my choice and I vowed a long time ago to never let anyone make me do something I didn’t want to do. Ever again.

  “Oh.” His grin falls into a frown and something uncomfortable tugs at me to think his feelings may be growing. That’s definitely a sign to end things.

  “See you next class.” I open the car door and he grabs my shoulder.

  “Ah, Thomasina.” His tone is softer this time. “My sister’s engagement party is next weekend and I want you to come.”

  My chest deflates with regret. Yup, he’s becoming too invested in us and there isn’t an us. I let this go on too long. I was trying to be nice, but bye-bye nice.

  “No,” I say bluntly.

  His eyebrows rise to his hairline, surprised, and I bite back a frustrated reply. I was very clear from the outset what we were to each other and he agreed to no dates, no family and no friends.

  Anna slides into the front passenger seat, likely uncomfortable, and she makes a point to slam the car door while he nods reluctantly.

  “Night, Kent.”

  “Night.” He encroaches on my personal space and I stiffen.

  I’m not a fan of kissing and he knows this too. Somehow it feels more intimate than sex, and intimacy and feelings aren’t things I welcome.

  Romantic attachments are more trouble than they’re worth, and kissing is right up there with love.

  His lips graze my cheek, nowhere near my mouth, and I relax, grateful he is a good guy and respects my wishes.

  I smile at him, warmer than my words but no more flirty or hopeful. I will let him down gently and soon, but not tonight. I slip into the car and shut the door. In the rear-view mirror, his shoulders slump and he hangs his head, trudging back to the gym.

  I do feel bad. Not for standing my ground, but for rejecting him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He wants more, but I’ve been nothing but honest about what I do, or more importantly don’t, want or have to give.

  “Awkward.” Anna squirms beside me, and I’m not sure if it’s at Kent’s strikeout or my stoic resolve to shut him down.

  We both watch in the car mirrors as the blonde runs toward him and immediately, his posture shifts—shoulders wide and head held high. She hugs him and relief washes away any regret. He isn’t into me.
He wants to be needed and the blonde does that for him.

  During the drive to her home, Anna casts furtive glances my way and I sigh. “I can hear the wheels turning in your head over there. Spit it out.”

  “Don’t know how you do it.” Her brown curls bounce as she lifts a shoulder.

  “Do what?”

  “Be okay with Kent doing who knows what with that blonde, because you know they’re going to go for coffee or something.” She snorts and I nod. “If it were Coop, I’d want to gouge out the woman’s eyes, and his.”

  Her face sours at the thought, as if the possibility of her boyfriend stepping out on her is real. It isn’t. Coop is beyond devoted to her.

  “I’m not serious about Kent. You know that.”

  “True. I suppose I just wish you wouldn’t shut yourself off to the idea of a relationship. Maybe not with Kent. Actually, definitely not with Kent. He isn’t your type.”

  She crinkles her nose and shakes her head, and we share a smile. She knows me well and we both know Kent was a distraction. A nice to look at distraction but nothing else.

  “Seriously, you don’t need a man to make you happy.”

  “Amen to that,” I interject.

  “But I just don’t want you to shut out the possibility that some day, someone might come along that could be right for you. I’d hate for you to be so set on no relationships that you miss the one.”