Mercenary

by Michelle Horst

  Copyright © 2017 by Author Michelle Horst.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to: michelle.horst7@gmail.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Editor: The Word Wench Editing Services

  Promoter: Give Me Books

  Acknowledgements

  I thank my God for miracles, dragonflies and butterflies.

  Ronald and Sheldon, thank you for your support.

  Kristine, my #crazytwinsie and super-amazing PA, I’d be lost without you. Thank you for never giving up on me <2

  My Beta readers, Kristine, Kelly, Morgan – Thank you for being the Godparents of my paper baby.

  To my book bestie and Editor, Karen, thank you for always being there for me.

  Give Me Books Promotions, thank you for taking care of the promotional side of things.

  A special thank you to every blogger and reader who took the time to take part in the cover reveal and release day.

  Love ya all tons ;)

  Dedication

  To Fate and Death.

  To Fate for making us stronger with circumstances outside of our control.

  To Death for giving meaning to life, for giving purpose to the most mundane experiences.

  Life is a dance between Fate and Death.

  In the end, Fate prepares us for Death, and neither should be seen as the end but rather the continuation of an epic journey to infinity.

  This is an over the top, insta-love, hot as hell HEA with a twist of kinkiness.

  HEA are always more satisfying when the characters have to fight for it. If you're looking for a jaw-dropping, panty-melting page turner then jump right in.

  * This is a Standalone Novella with NO cheating.*

  ~ Olivia ~

  “Livvie,” Jane says just as I open my front door. “Do you have some coffee? I’m all out.”

  She’s always out of everything, but I don’t mind helping her. Jane doesn’t have it easy and someone has to look out for her.

  “Sure. Let me get it.”

  I leave the door open and place the container with cake for the children on the coffee table. I hurry to the kitchen. I’ve been living in this apartment for two years and quickly learned to keep extras of the essentials. Jane works as a stripper and the pay isn’t always that good. I’ve offered her to move in with me so she can use her money to study. I practically supply her food anyway, and I spend most of my time at the hospital so we won’t be in each other’s way. She says she’s not meant to do something big with her life so there’s no point in her studying. Nothing I say can change her mind, and I feel it’s sad that she thinks so little of herself.

  I’ve told her many times that where there’s a will, there’s a way. Hell, I’m still paying off the student loan I had to take so I could become a pediatric nurse, but I would do it all over again. Working with children is a dream come true. Especially since I live so far from Aunt Lucy. She’s the only family I have left and I rarely get to see her. Lately, it’s only at Christmas. The hospital has become my life – my home away from home.

  I get some coffee and as I turn around, the door opposite my apartment opens and he comes out. I freeze, unable to move as our eyes lock.

  Mason Crowe. Apartment 3C.

  There are only three apartments on each floor, and unfortunately Jane and I share our floor with Mason. Jane is lucky, though, as her bedroom faces the street at the front of the building and her front door opens to the stairs. My bedroom window looks out over his. I hate it and use the balcony when I’m certain he’s not home.

  I only catch glimpses of him when I work night shift. He’s quiet and keeps to himself and almost never leaves his apartment during the day - well, that I know of.

  There’s something terrifying about him. Maybe it’s the dead look in his eyes. I heard that a person who has nothing to live for has nothing to lose and that makes them dangerous.

  He just stands there watching me with sharp eyes. I get a feeling he’s trying to look inside me and it sends an uneasy feeling skittering down my spine. It’s not that I have anything to hide. I’m just another ordinary person living in an extraordinary world.

  His dark brown hair is short and his week old beard is neatly trimmed. He has a serious face that’s always unsmiling. Dark brown eyes, almost black, pierce through me, making me feel vulnerable. Everything about him is dark – from the black shirt that spans tightly across his muscled chest to the black boots. The dangerous vibe that comes off him in waves sets all my senses on high alert. Although he’s very attractive, the darkness in him is enough to scare me off.

  I’m always the first to look away and today’s no different.

  I hear him walk towards my door and then he swerves to the stairs. I listen as his strong and heavy footfalls die away before I walk to where Jane is standing, still staring after him.

  I hold the pack of coffee out to her and only then does she look at me.

  “That’s one fine piece of ass,” she says, her voice all husky.

  I pull a face, not agreeing with her at all but taste differs and Jane is known to have the worst taste in men. She’s into the bad boy kind.

  “Thanks for the coffee. I owe you.”

  “Sure.”

  I pick up the cake and lock my apartment before I take the stairs to the bottom floor. The elevator has been broken since I moved in, and I don’t think Mr. Seawright is planning on ever fixing it. Luckily, I’m on the third floor so it’s not that bad taking the stairs. At least the place is clean.

  I walk to the curb and I’m just about to cross the street when Mason’s truck pulls up to the side of the building. It’s an old, beaten up rust bucket. Not that my little old Beetle looks any better. I only use it when I go to visit Aunt Lucy, because everything is in walking distance from my apartment.

  I only realize I’m still staring at Mason when he nods slightly before turning right. Then I take a deep breath and cross the street.

  The hospital is only four blocks from me. I always bake on Fridays so the kids can have something special to eat every Saturday morning. Something as simple as a cake or cookie can go a long way to cheering up the kids.

  I get to the hospital and take the elevator to the second floor where the children’s ward is located. Sierra is already at the nurses’ station, and I can’t help but smile, because I love being on duty with her. She’s easy going and always full of life, which is something the kids need.

  “Livvie, you spoil them too much,” she says with a huge smile.

  “You’re the one that gets spoiled,” I tease her.

  “Please tell me that’s the Death by Chocolate one.” She comes closer and tries to take a peek in the container.

  “Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know?”

  She laughs as she takes a pen from the desk and tucks it into her pocket.

  “My period started today, so I need all the chocolate I can get.”

  I scrunch my nose. “You’re in luck then.” Before I walk into the tiny kitchen, I whisper, “You better stop stealing receptions pens.”

  She shrugs and then walks off to the office where we take over from the day staff. I quickly place the
cake on the counter before I rush to the office, not wanting to be late.

  After the day staff leave, I start my rounds. I make sure to have a huge smile on my face when I walk into the first room. Jasmine looks up and smiles when she sees me. She’s been here just over a month.

  I’ve only been working at the hospital for two years, and it’s still hard to smile and be cheerful when you watch a child die. I don’t think it’s something you can ever get used to.

  I’ve always wanted to work with terminally ill children. If a child is dying, they don’t need to be reminded of it daily. I try to cheer them up and to make their last few days as loving as possible.

  There are currently only three kids in our section – all three of them have some form of cancer.

  “Livvie!” Jasmine says. The exhaustion in her voice makes her sound old – too old for a nine-year-old. “Tell us a joke.”

  I start to take her pulse and temperature. “What did one eye say to the other eye?”

  I look from Jasmine to Mark to Beth, the other children that all share the room. They all watch me with wide eyes, waiting to hear the punch line.

  I lean closer to Jasmine and tap the tip of her nose, in a caring gesture.

  “Don’t look now, but something between us smells.”

  They chuckle at the joke which warms my heart.

  “Nurse Gillian says you’ve all had your baths.”

  “Yes,” Mark pipes up.

  “Tell me,” I say as I start to take Mark’s blood pressure and temperature, “why are T-Rexes so angry?”

  Mark, who’s been in and out of hospitals for most of his life, just shrugs and waits for the answer.

  I lean closer to him. “Because their arms are too short so they can’t hug.” Then I give him a hug, careful not to hurt his fragile body. He hugs me as tightly as his weak body allows him to.

  I walk to Beth’s bed and start to take her temperature and blood pressure. She’s only four, a beautiful girl with thick blond curls and huge blue eyes.

  “How do you make an Octopus laugh?”

  Beth smiles and shakes her head.

  “With ten-tickles!” I tickle her a little, managing to get a few giggles from her.

  When I’m done checking their charts and updating them, I say, “Now, you all have sweet dreams. I’ll be right outside. Nighty-night.”

  “Night, Livvie,” they say together.

  It might be our routine to tuck the children in but that doesn’t mean that they’ll have a peaceful night’s rest. They hardly sleep from all the pain they’re in, and it always seems worse at night. We tuck them in so they can have a semblance of normalcy – of being a kid.

  Saturday night, I open my door and when Mason opens his at the same time, I almost close mine again. Tonight there’s no sign of Jane.

  I close and lock my door quickly and then rush for the stairs. I can feel him right behind me and his heavy footfalls grate on my nerves. I don’t know what it is about this man that scares me so, but it annoys me.

  When I reach the ground floor, I almost break out in a run just to get away from his overwhelming presence that seems to pulse threateningly from him with every step he takes. I hurry through the double doors and the cold winter air hits my face. I don’t look behind me to see where he is and rush to cross the road.

  I hear a muffled shout and quickly look over my shoulder. I only get a glimpse of Mason breaking out into a run towards me before something crashes into me.

  Razor-sharp pain tears through my left leg and then my body flips to the side. It only takes a second.

  One second.

  My head and shoulder crashes violently into the windshield, and then it shatters from the force – I’m not sure if it’s me or the glass shattering as excruciating pain engulfs me.

  Screeching tires and shrill screams fill the air and vaguely, I register that a car just hit me.

  The car comes to a sudden stop and it makes me slide down the front. I plummet to the ground and when my body hits the icy concrete, it feels as if a million shards of glass pierce through me.

  Stunned, I catch sight of the blood pooling beneath my head. My blood.

  “Olivia!” I hear my name but I can’t lift my head. For a moment, I’m stuck in a bubble of pain and shock where everything around me is dimmed. The sounds are muffled and my vision starts to blur. Surprisingly, the pain starts to fade. Fear slithers through me and I try to tell myself that I’ll be okay, but deep down I know that’s a lie.

  Someone crouches by me and I can hear his deep voice burst through the bubble. I hear him give our address and then I feel his hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, they’re coming. Just stay still.”

  “Fuck, my car,” I hear a slurred voice. Then I hear footsteps but they’re not steady like Mason’s always are. The person staggers closer and then something yanks at my hair.

  Mason darts up and the pull of my hair ceases.

  It’s the last thing I feel as my eyes grow heavy. I blink slower and slower until I can’t open my eyes anymore.

  ~ Mason ~

  Sitting in the waiting room, my left leg keeps jumping. I hate hospitals. I hate the smell and the bright lights. I hate it all. It’s only a disguise for death. The strong, clean smell masks the stench of death. The bright lights blind you to the pain, the grief – death.

  Olivia.

  I keep seeing that car speed towards her. My fucked up mind keeps playing it over and fucking over. The car slamming into her. The glass. The blood.

  The drunk fucker. He’s so drunk, he doesn’t even know what he did. He’ll wake up with no memory of her body crumbling to the ground. He won’t remember stepping on her hair.

  Fuck, there was so much blood!

  I get up and walk to reception for the hundredth time. This time I don’t even have to ask if there’s any news.

  The woman at reception quickly says, “I’m sorry. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

  I’ve heard those words before. It’s just another way for them to try and blind you to what’s really happening.

  Yes, you worry, but you still have hope. Until the second when the doctor shakes his head and tells you he did everything he could, but it was too late, you cling to hope until the death blow comes.

  Instead of a doctor, a nurse walks towards me. I can see that she’s been crying and it makes fear fill my heart.

  Olivia can’t die. She’s too young. She’s one of the good ones. This world needs her light or it will be swallowed by the darkness people like me carry around.

  “Sir, I understand that you’re waiting for news on Olivia Nicols?”

  From the look on her face, I can already see that she’s not going to give me any information.

  “I’m her neighbor. I was there when the accident happened. I just want to know if she’s okay.” I turn back to the seat I was sitting at and pick up the bag Olivia had with her. “This is hers.”

  “You’re not family,” the nurse says.

  I hold the bag out to her. “Can you just make sure that she gets her bag?”

  The nurse glances at reception and then says, “When she wakes up from surgery, I’ll make sure she gets her bag.”

  I nod, thankful for the little bit of information she slipped my way. At least Olivia is still alive.

  I head back to my apartment. There’s no use in trying to track down the hit I had to take care of. I’ll have to wait another week before I’ll get the chance again.

  When I get home, I quickly take a shower. Afterwards I feel restless. I’m used to being out at night and working – ridding the world of monsters. I deal in death. Killer. Assassin. Mercenary. I go by many names. What I do is wrong in most people’s eyes, but to the few I help, I’m hope. I kill the guilty. I kill the monsters that prey on the weak.

  I used to work in Social Services. I saw women give up their children because they were too weak to fight off their husbands or boyfriends. I saw families being torn ap
art because of fuckers who intimidate and thrive on the fear of those who can’t defend themselves.

  I made a promise to Mackenzie that I’ll take care of the monsters. Even though I failed her, I won’t break my promise.

  In my mind, I keep seeing Olivia walk out onto the street, oblivious to the traffic. I feel partly to blame for that car hitting her. I know she’s nervous around me. If I hadn’t been around, then maybe she would’ve paid more attention to the road. Maybe she would’ve seen the drunk driver.