Because of the Dark: A Dark Standalone Romantic Suspense Novel (The Dark Series Book 4)

by Danah Logan

  Halfway to the door, Mags's voice stopped me. "Where do you think you're going?"

  I pivoted on my heels, and this time, it was my turn to raise a brow. The girl that had just led me halfway across town stood behind the bar, placing a gigantic plate down. My mouth started salivating at the sight of one of the biggest sandwiches I had ever seen, and don't even get me started on the side of chips, fresh veggies, and dipping sauces.

  "Sit down and eat. Then, we'll talk."

  What the fuck was going on here?

  The food made the choice for me, though. Who knew when I would get that amount of nourishment in one sitting again?

  While I was wolfing down everything on the plate, Mags presented me with two offers that day. The first was a job. An actual legit and legal job. The second made my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets: a place to live.

  "Why?" was my extremely intelligent reply.

  I didn't even question her intentions, though my first thought was that she must have been high. Who the hell drags a stranger—who, by the way, was about to con food out of some poor college kid—to their place of employment, feeds them, and then offers for them to rent a bedroom? Was this for real? I glanced over my shoulder, expecting someone to push through the front door, screaming, "Gotcha!"

  "Listen, girl. What's your name, by the way?" There was the quirked eyebrow again.

  "Uh, King?" Why do I sound like I'm asking her?

  "King." She considered that for a moment. "I dig it! So, King…I've been watching you since yesterday. You don't fit in here."

  "Thank you very much," I mumbled, interrupting her.

  "No offense, girly." She laughed. A genuine laugh. She wasn't making fun of me. "I'm really good at reading people. My little sister calls it my sixth sense. Anywho, I've watched you. You don't want to cheat meals out of some poor schmuck who only sees your great tits."

  At that statement, I sprayed the water I was in the midst of drinking across the bar top.

  "I'm also very direct." The girl in front of me shrugged nonchalantly.

  "N-no shit." I was still coughing, pounding my palm against my chest.

  "I want to help you."

  "Why?" I asked her again. This still made no sense to me.

  "Call it my good deed for the week."

  "The week?"

  Another shrug. "I just have this feeling that you could use a friend."

  "And you want to be that friend? My friend. You don't even know me. Who says I won't rob you the second your back is turned?" I was actually boycotting my way to legal employment and a stable home. What was wrong with me?

  "If you would do something like that, you wouldn't just trick one meal out of a person. You would hang around until they figured out that you were using them—however long that might be. And you would use"—she waved up and down my body—"this to get the max out of the situation."

  She wasn't wrong with her assumption. Damn, she is good at reading people.

  "Let's say I would agree to this arrangement. What guarantees me that you won't murder me in my sleep?" Yup, I had to up it one more notch.

  Mags pursed her lips. "You can lock your door. Get a dog. Whatever makes you feel safe. I just want to help. I lost my roommate; she graduated and moved away. I could use the cash. Grizz pays great as long as you do your job. You'd kill two birds with one stone."

  "I didn't plan on sticking around," I admitted. Her brutal honesty was contagious.

  "We'll figure it out when the time comes," she replied casually while picking up my plate and balled-up napkin. "So? What do you say?"

  I didn't have anything to lose. It wasn't like sleeping in my car, constantly being on the move, and looking over my shoulder was any less dangerous than moving in with a bossy girl I knew all of forty-five minutes. I'd done dumber shit in my life.

  "Let's give it a try."

  After my shift from hell, I'm wiping down the counter while Grizz, the owner, is chatting with some stragglers. I peer over at him and remember the day we met.

  It was the same afternoon Mags had introduced herself, aka lunch-napped me. My first thought was that Grizz represented the stereotypical mountain man: a buff, bearded, tatted tank of a guy with a man bun. Then, I took a closer look. His clothes didn't match his rugged demeanor. He wore jeans and a flannel, but everything was high end—name brands you couldn't buy in a town like this.

  He was in his late twenties to early thirties, and his appearance and young age were not what I would've expected from the person who owned this bar.

  However, the biggest surprise was when Mags told him I would be working here from now on, and he simply nodded. Grizz barely spoke a word until it was time for my interview—if you could have called it that. The way he watched me while I chatted with Mags about our new living arrangement unnerved me. But once he started quizzing me on mixology, the odd tension evaporated. We fell into an easy conversation, and I passed with flying colors. By the end, I felt as comfortable in his presence as if I had known him for years.

  I didn't get to analyze this new development further because when I entered his office to fill out my paperwork, I stopped short at the sight. His office was full of monitors and TV screens. Grizz was a trader by day and bar owner by night. That explained how he could afford this place and those fancy clothes. He wasn't in need of money. How he ended up in Stonebriar, though, I still had no idea. There was no way he was a native Montanan.

  The front door swings open, and I'm ripped out of the memory.

  My boss is about to bark at whoever decides to walk in at almost two in the morning, but stops when he recognizes the intruder.

  "What are you doing here?" I grin broadly.

  "What? I can't come by and make sure my girl gets home safe?" Kiwi smirks as he walks around the bar and pulls me into a hug.

  "Of course you can, you idiot!" I smack him against his chest. "But didn't you have plans tonight?"

  "Plans changed," he replies. I catch the brief flash of disappointment flitter across his features. I know him better than he knows himself.

  "Kiwinski!" Grizz snarls. "Stop distracting my employee from her job. I want to close up."

  Grizz refuses to call Kiwi by his nickname—or his first name, for that matter—and to anyone who didn't know my boss, this outburst would've resulted in an immediate release of the bladder.

  "Finally!" Mags rounds the corner. "I texted you hours ago."

  I glance between them. "What's going on?" I ask suspiciously. It's never a good sign when Mags calls Kiwi for backup.

  She plants herself on a stool right in front of me, and Kiwi drapes his arm over my shoulder. "Mags here said something was off with you. You served someone a Missouri Mule instead of a Moscow Mule."

  Mags opens her arms as if to say, "See?"

  "So…" Kiwi places a kiss on my temple. "Spill. What's going on?"

  My gaze drops to my feet, and my heart immediately starts hammering in my chest as I remember my dumbass move a few hours ago.

  "He saw me," I whisper, not making eye contact.

  "Fuck!"

  "Shit."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thank fuck we don't have regular practice today. Monday is the team's rest day—rest meaning easy weight training and a three-mile jog around campus. I haven't had a full day off in…no clue. But that's exactly what I need. No downtime means no time to think.

  I'm sitting in my last class before I have to head to the field house. Next to me, Kai's cheek rests on his arms, and he's snoring softly.

  I flick his ear. "Wake up, fucker!"

  I peer toward the front of the room to make sure the prof hasn't noticed my roommate sleeping again through the lecture. Half the time, Kai is hammered or sleeps in class, yet he still passes all his coursework.

  Kaiden Raynolds is the son and sole heir to Raynolds Publishing, one of the first big publishing houses out of Europe and number three worldwide. He's on the team, but unlike me, he's playing for the fun of it. He calls it a good w
orkout. To me, it's my future. A future that was taken from me two years ago, and I'm fighting to take it back.

  "Duuuuude," he moans and swats at my hand, which gets Professor Rank's attention.

  "Mr. Raynolds!" his voice booms through the massive room.

  My spine stiffens. Great. I don't need the unwanted attention.

  Kai slowly sits up and rubs his eyes lazily. "Sir?"

  "Would you please repeat, in ten words or less, what this lecture is about?" Rank crosses his arms over his chest and lets them rest on his protruding keg belly. He looks at us down his nose, and I know what he thinks: dumb-as-a-rock jocks.

  To everyone's surprise—except mine—Kai recaps today's topic in nine words. I bite the inside of my cheek, hiding my grin. He may be plastered or passed out most of the time, but what no one outside of his inner circle knows is that Kai has a photographic memory. He looks at the schedule on the first day of the semester and can repeat it verbatim three months later when you wake him up out of a drunken coma. Yes, a couple of us had started doing that for our own entertainment until Kai put a second lock on his door—on the inside.

  With a huff, Professor Rank resumes the monologue Kai and I had interrupted, and when I glance to the side, my roommate smirks. Shaking my head, I laugh and pull my phone out of my backpack. I tap the screen: three new messages—two from BK and one from my mother.

  Unlocking the device, I read my mother's first. She reminds me to call her to talk about my plans for the holidays. It's the end of September. But ever since I stopped coming home, she starts earlier to make plans—attempts to make plans.

  Next, I click on the ones from my last remaining friend from my old life.

  BK: If u don't call me back today, I have no other choice than to jump on the next plane and kick you in the back of the knee.

  BK: And u know I fucking hate the cold. Call me! LY

  My mouth turns up of its own volition. I've avoided her calls since the unwelcome text I received last week. I'm positive she was aware of my ex-best friend, her BFF's fiancé, reaching out—a topic I refuse to discuss, no matter how hard she's tried the last couple of years.

  Instead, I replayed the incident after TMH over and over in my head. I even dreamed of MOAB Girl Saturday night. I never saw her full face, but why did she look so familiar?

  I start typing, then pause. She's going to ask if I got the wedding invitation—the one I burned in our firepit. Do they really think I would simply forget everything and be the best man?

  When my jaw starts cramping, I realize I am grinding my teeth—a habit I developed and repeat whenever I'm reminded of why I am currently not at my dream school with a future in the NFL.

  I draw in a deep breath and respond.

  Me: Call u this week. I could never forgive myself if ur sexy ass freezes to death. ;) LY2

  The three dots immediately start dancing on the screen, and I roll my eyes, smiling. Of course, she's been waiting for my reply.

  "BK?" Kai asks from the side.

  I nod and show him the message. I don't get many texts that trigger the upward motion of my mouth.

  "Why did you tell her not to come? I like her ass," he whines jokingly, then adds, "and I'd totally warm her up."

  Ignoring him, I focus back on my screen just as another bubble pops up.

  BK: U got 24 hrs, or I am on that plane, Sheats. Miss u!

  The thought of her getting on a plane makes my pulse accelerate. I miss my friend—the one I didn't sucker punch in the face. I saw her briefly over the summer when she came to visit, but that was not nearly long enough.

  Me: Miss u 2, BK.

  BK: U better not still have me in ur fucking phone like that. I can't believe u've been referring to me as Bulldog for years. Change it. NOW!

  My shoulders shake with silent laughter at her written outburst. I can picture her pissed-off expression perfectly, which is exactly why I've never changed it in my contacts. Riling her up is too much fun.

  Me: I would never do that to u, Ms. Keller. ;)

  BK: Fuck you, Sheats.

  She follows that message with the red-faced cursing emoji, and I reply with a kissing emoji—which she instantly reciprocates. The brief exchange improves my mood until I back out of the text and see Rhys's name three messages below.

  Fuck!

  I let my mind wander back to August, two years ago.

  The Babysitter was taken into custody the previous week, and the nine-month-long nightmare was over. He admitted to kidnapping five girls over the course of ten years, and to say it caused a nationwide scandal would have been an understatement of epic proportions, especially with who he was and when Lilly took the stage, announcing her involvement.

  Lilly had stumbled over the news article of his latest victim while doing research for a journalism assignment. The girls were abducted in one part of the country and dropped off somewhere else a few weeks later, completely unharmed. It was all a random string of fucked-up coincidences, but it led her to her family's secret—her secret. The one they had kept from her for a decade. Ten. Years. She couldn't remember any of it until she had gotten her first "migraine." And whenever a memory hit, she would be crippled with excruciating pain. Toward the end, she even passed out. Lilly was supposed to see a neurologist, but before she could, the shit hit the fan. Nothing turned out as it appeared at first, including my friendship with Rhys.

  Starting our senior year at Westbridge High, I never—in my craziest dreams—anticipated how things would change over the next twelve months. Rhys and I had been best friends for years. I would've trusted him with my life. Hell, he basically lived with me. That was how it had been since the beginning of our sophomore year. Before that, it was Lilly, Rhys, and me. The three of us used to be joined at the hip since we were kids—until Rhys changed that.

  He and I had spent the summer before our sophomore year at football camp. The minute he got on the bus, something was off, but he wouldn't tell me what happened. After we got back, he wouldn't acknowledge Lilly. If she was in the same room, he'd leave. When we saw her in the hallway between classes, he'd make a show out of tongue diving down Katherine Rosenfield's throat. Kat was the head cheerleader and the queen bitch of Westbridge High. No one crossed her or took what was hers. And Rhys was hers now. Over time, Lilly became a stranger. It was Den and Lilly against Rhys and me—a war driven by secrets I was kept in the dark from.

  Fast-forward to said August, after our senior year. Rhys would barely leave Lilly's side long enough for her to use the bathroom, and Den had become one of my closest friends.

  I would've never considered that anything could tear the four of us apart—not after what we'd been through. We were still in Los Angeles, and Lilly and Rhys had settled into her mini-mansion and had no intention of leaving. Den and I were about to return to Westbridge, Virginia, to prepare for the coming year. Lilly and Den had finished their junior year, but Lilly would graduate online ahead of schedule, thanks to her summer school credits. Rhys declined his scholarship on the East Coast to stay with her, Den had another year of high school to finish, and I was due to leave for my dream college in less than two weeks.

  Then, a call from my mother changed everything.

  I was halfway to the motor pool where the other three were waiting for me. "Mom, what's up? We're about to head out to—"

  "Wes, we have to talk."

  Her words stopped me dead in my tracks, dizziness forcing me to lean against the wall. The one and only time my free-spirited mother had to talk to me was when I had climbed into my high school girlfriend's window, not knowing that her grandmother was visiting and sleeping in her room. Mom did not appreciate the call she got at one in the morning.

  "What happened?" I held my breath, waiting.

  A heavy sigh traveled through the earpiece. "You got a letter from UG. I opened it to make sure you're not missing any deadlines for school."

  When she didn't elaborate, my patience snapped. "Well, what did it say?"

  She
sniffled, and I couldn't breathe. Laura Sheats didn't cry.

  "M-mom?" I choked.

  "They took your scholarship back." My mother barely got the words out. "I'll send you a picture of the letter." Her voice broke, and she paused. "We will figure it out, baby. I promise."

  My legs were suddenly too weak to support my weight, and I sank to the floor. My scholarship was gone. How was that possible? I sat on my ass, back against the wall and knees tucked close. Mom hung up. The phone was still pressed to my ear, unable to move my hand, when the vibration announced an incoming text. I forced myself to pull the device away and opened the message. It was a picture of the letter.

  Dear Mr. Sheats,

  We regret to inform you that due to unforeseen circumstances, the scholarship funds for the UG football scholarship had to be reevaluated, and we are no longer able to offer you a spot on the UG football team.

  You may contact the university's admissions department for alternative options on attending our school.

  We appreciate your interest in our program and wish you the best for your future.

  Sincerely,

  Nicolas McLowen

  Scholarship Committee

  That was it? That was all they had to say? Covering my mouth with my hand, I read the three sentences over and over.

  What the fuck?

  "Sheats, what's taking—" Den's voice penetrated through my wall of disbelief, and I turned my head, locking eyes with her.

  "What's happened?" She stood in the doorway to the garage, taking in my position and my probably ashen face. I was going to throw up. I'd worked toward this for as long as I could remember. It was not just a dream; it was what I was meant to do. I didn't have a school to go to. My professional football career, my future, was…gone.