by Ashley Logan
Beyond Hunger
The Beyond Series, Volume 1
Ashley Logan
Published by KDL Publishing, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BEYOND HUNGER
First edition. June 17, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Ashley Logan.
Written by Ashley Logan.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HEY AWESOME READER!
BEYOND HEAT | The Story of Bruno Jackson and Scarlett Warner
About the Author
For Londog X
CHAPTER ONE
SERGE
Sergio Moretti knew he should go. He’d been told in plain English.
'Just go home, Serge. We don’t need you here.'
Gina had been admitted and her husband Rick had made it very clear that they needed their privacy.
Serge looked around the crowded waiting room and thought about going home.
Alone.
Or back to the station, where it must be obvious to every officer in the force that he had no life outside of work. He supposed he could always go to the gym and work out. Again. Or find a dark hole and drink himself into oblivion to avoid eating himself there instead.
Sighing, he leaned back on the plastic seat and watched the different folk filling the ER waiting room of Buffalo General. Feeling oddly comforted by their presence, he tried not to think about what that said about him, but couldn’t help running headlines through his mind.
Pathetic local cop seeks false company from ailing citizens. Local cop in love with married partner. Local cop wishes the baby she just lost was his.
Creep.
Eying the exit, Serge rubbed his hands down his jeans a few times and thought about which bar was closest and then where the nearest fast food was. His hands balled into fists as he resisted the temptation. If he could just keep his ass in the chair long enough, the feeling would pass. Shrinking into the seat, he stared at the floor, watching people's feet.
Would it really be too weird to just stay in the waiting room?
Looking up as a girl charged through the doors carting a suitcase as if she was late for a plane or something, he almost smiled until he studied her puffy eyes, the welted scratches across her forehead and the expression of both intense anger and determination on her face.
The detective in him perked up as he watched her head straight for the restrooms, pausing briefly to curse at her suitcase when it snagged on a child’s stray shoe. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she quickly apologized to the parents for her language, handed them the little shoe while she flashed a fleeting, yet dazzling smile, and continued directly on to the ladies’ room.
Realizing that he was smiling a little at the scene, Serge watched the door to the restrooms close behind her as he pondered her story. She looked as though she was having a really bad day, and by the beeline she’d made for the Johns, he guessed she’d been ready to burst. Judging by her casual clothes and her dark hair pulled into a messy knot, she'd looked young, but her mannerisms seemed mature and graceful. If he were to guess, he’d say late teens - early twenties.
Suddenly, the restroom door swung open and the same girl stalked back out with as much purpose as she’d had going in. Only this time she had no luggage.
Frowning, Serge stood automatically as she walked past. Her eyes never left the exit; she was on a mission. Looking back to the restrooms, he knew she hadn’t spent long enough in there to answer any call of nature, and his imagination ran wild with what she might have come in for.
“Excuse me, Miss?” he called as he followed her.
She glanced over her shoulder with such ferocity that he almost stopped dead.
“Not interested,” she warned as she kept walking.
Eyebrows plunging, Serge tried again. “Miss, you forgot your suitcase!”
“I meant to,” she growled without turning as she stormed out the door.
“But-” Going after her, Serge was surprised to find she was already some distance away.
“Excuse me miss!” he called after her as he jogged to catch up.
Still moving at pace, she looked back; her eyes growing huge when she saw him.
“Just leave me alone!” she yelled at him as if he was a threat. Increasing her pace, she crossed the street as the lights changed.
Held up by cars, Serge yelled from the curb. “Can’t leave you until I know what’s in the suitcase!”
“Back off, you fucking weirdo!” She broke into a run.
Dodging traffic, Serge sprinted after her. “Stop! Buffalo Police Department!” he called down the street.
She faltered. “What?”
Turning, she met his gaze again as he ran toward her. The expression on her face changed from surprise to fear. “Bullshit!”
Again she started running, but he’d soon made up the ground between them and reached for her as he demanded she stop again.
She wouldn’t. Putting up a fight, she lashed out at him instead and was feisty as all hell. Narrowly escaping her attempt to knee him in the balls, Serge hadn’t expected her fist to collide with the side of his face.
“You don’t want to do that!” he warned as he pulled her to the ground to contain her. Jaw throbbing, he pressed her to the sidewalk with his weight as he reached for the badge on the chain around his neck and brought it into her line of sight.
“I just wanted to ask you some questions!”
Her brown eyes went wide. “Oh fuck! I thought you were a fucking perv! I’m so sorry! Fuck.” All resistance left her as she shrank into the cement. “I just assaulted an officer?”
“And left unattended luggage in a public setting, in the age of terrorism paranoia. Care to explain as we head back and sort that out?”
Her eyes closed and she pressed her forehead against the rain-wet sidewalk.
“That’s why you chased me?” Moaning as if in pain, she made a squinty face. “It’s not a bomb. They’re books.”
“Books?” he asked, confused. Sweeping her dark hair back to see her features more clearly, Serge tried to read her face. “Who leaves a suitcase full of books in a hospital restroom? In the middle of the night. And then runs away from a simple question. Explain more,” he demanded, helping her to her feet. “And you’re still coming back with me to confirm your story. Do you need cuffs on, or will you come willingly, knowing that I’ll tackle you to the ground again if you run?”
Sniffing loudly, she rose her eyes to the heavens and released a shuddering sigh. “I only ran in self defense. I don’t need handcuffs,” she said quietly. “Thank you for giving me the option.”
Slowly releasing his hold on her, Serge stood close as she retrieved her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Wiping her face, she sn
iffed again and dusted off her jeans. The grubby wet smudges spread with her efforts and she sighed. When she met his eyes, he couldn’t help but soften a little.
Gesturing for her to start walking, Serge began the trek back to the hospital. “Start with your name.”
“Violet Wheeler,” she mumbled with another sniff.
“Detective Moretti,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “Quite the left hook you have there, Violet Wheeler.”
“Thanks. Sorry.” Looking at her feet, she sighed again. “Are you going to charge me?” she asked quietly.
“How about I wait until we clear up this suitcase business before I answer that?” he suggested, wondering if the ‘books’ story was bogus, or if it was the kind of strange tale that had to be true. Since he’d pinned her, all behavior exhibited by the girl suggested she was telling the truth. “What kind of books are we talking?”
“Medical texts.”
“Huh. And why are you leaving them in the ladies’?” he inquired, wondering what the hell her response would be.
“So that anyone who wants them can take them. They’re expensive to buy.”
Serge studied the young woman as she walked alongside him. “You’re just... giving them away?”
Her eyes darted away from him and she lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.
“I don’t need them.”
Why would she? Serge studied her as they walked. She walked too elegantly to be a doctor-type and her toes seemed to turn out a little at each step, more like a dancer.
“So... you’re not in Med School?”
“Not anymore.”
Well, this girl just got more interesting with every word out of her mouth. Serge cleared his throat and kept the curious smile from his face. This was just the distraction he'd needed.
“Okay. So you’re smart enough to have been studying medicine, but you leave a pile of text books in the ladies’ restroom of a hospital very late on a Saturday night. Can you see why I’m suspicious?” he asked, forcing a serious tone.
She shrugged as he waited for her to enter the waiting room ahead of him.
“I... wasn’t really thinking straight. I wanted to get rid of them and the hospital was nearby. Medical books; medical setting. I don’t know. It made sense at the time.” Violet shrugged again, as quiet sobs took her speech.
Beginning to feel sorry for her, Serge pushed open the restroom door and ushered her in.
There on the counter, next to the sinks, was the open suitcase. Full to the brim with brand new text books, it boasted a sign scrawled in black marker on the back of a faded takeout menu, stating ‘FREE’.
“Well,” he said, shaking his head. “Your very strange story checks out, though there are holes regarding your intent,” he continued, watching her closely. “You said they were for anyone. You do realize only women can take them if you leave them in the ladies’?” he asked on a hunch.
“Yeah, well.” Watching her shoe scuff a small, repetitive arc across the linoleum, Violet answered so quietly that Serge had to bend closer to hear.
“Guys are assholes.”
“Ah. I see.” Serge glanced at the empty stalls and pulled off some toilet paper, handing it to her. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough day. Sorry I ran you down and slammed you into the dirty sidewalk to top it off,” he offered with a cringe as she blew her nose loudly.
Running a few paper towels under the cold faucet, he held them out to her, gesturing to her forehead.
Swooping to the mirror, Violet’s reaction to her reflection was enough to make him wince. As fresh tears welled in her eyes, she cupped water in her hands and splashed it over her face. Grabbing the paper towels he’d been holding out, she scrubbed at the dirt and dried blood, becoming more and more distraught each time she met her own eyes in the mirror.
“Hey, hey,” Serge soothed, moving in to still her hands as she frantically grabbed for more towels. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Your face is clean and...” He pulled a leafy stick from the back of her hair and threw it in the trash. “And you don’t have shrubbery in your hair anymore. See? It’s okay.”
Their eyes met in the mirror and he stepped back, suddenly nervous. Violet’s behavior spoke of other things he was too familiar with. He took another step back.
Clasping his hands together he assumed a non-threatening posture and avoided looking directly her in the eyes by tilting himself to one side and gazing up at the ceiling.
“Violet, I know we just met - in pretty unhelpful circumstances, but do you need help?” he asked gently, lowering his eyes again. “I know I didn’t make a very good first impression, but I’m here to protect and serve if that’s what you’re in need of tonight.”
She just stared at him.
Taking a deep breath Serge pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the restroom door.
“I’m done out there, and I’m a good listener, if you need a coffee, or maybe just cab fare home, or something?”
Her eyes narrowed in the mirror and she regarded his plain clothes. “You’re off duty?”
He nodded.
Swiveling her head to the door, she looked back to him, her face serious. “You were in the waiting room for personal reasons?”
Shrugging, he ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I’ve had a rough day too, I guess.”
Violet’s eyes widened and her eyes began to scan him from head to toe in what Serge felt was some sort of physical assessment.
Holding up his hands for her to stop, Serge clarified what he meant.
“I’m fine. My partner was just admitted. Miscarriage. Her husband’s with her now.”
The confused look on her face had him thinking over what he’d said. “Work partner,” he added, hoping Violet didn’t think he was some untrustworthy, cheating asshole. Though admittedly, he’d gladly have taken Gina anyway she wanted if she’d only let him; married or no.
Raking his hands over his face again, Serge pushed those feelings down. He needed to stop thinking like that. They’d been about to have a baby. That was huge. And it meant all sort of things he didn’t even want to think about. All of them made him either lonely, or a terrible person.
Gritting his teeth, he swallowed hard and shoved Gina out of his head. When he looked up again, Violet was studying him, a concerned look on her face.
“It’s a bit late for coffee,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes again.
The force of her gaze made him uncomfortable and he averted his eyes again. Acknowledging her response with a nod, he wondered if he’d offered coffee in order to actually solve the girl’s problems, or to distract himself by doing so. He could definitely register a sense of rejection from her response, so he’d obviously wanted her to say yes.
Serge hid his disappointment by checking his phone. No messages. Of course. If he wasn’t standing in a public restroom with someone to witness him, he might have actually cried.
“How about a beer?” Violet asked, taking him by surprise. “Not too late for beer.”
Doing a double take, he watched as a small smile graced her lips. It was a genuine, legitimate, solid gold offering and was just what he was craving. Distraction and beer. He started smiling in response, but stopped. Turning side on, he squinted at her.
“You even old enough to drink?”
She laughed a little, which was a heck of a lot better than more tears. “Please. I’m twenty-two.”
Giving her a resigned nod, he held the door open for her. “You’d better be, Violet Wheeler.”
LEAVING HIS CAR IN the lot, they kept walking downtown. Serge watched Violet carefully. There was a residual tension about her that he was determined to shift and he planned to get to the bottom of what had been bothering her.
“You got a first name, officer Moretti?” Violet asked, as she took her phone from her bag and checked it.
“Detective,” he corrected, before offering a friendly grin and his hand to shake. “Sergio.”
Taking his hand, she shook it firmly and sm
iled with one side of her mouth as her shoulders eased to a relaxed position.
“Sergio Moretti,” she mused, as her footsteps got a little lighter. “That is very Italian. Do you make great pizza and pasta?”
Arching an eyebrow at her, he smiled back. “My Pops made great pasta, but he was Polish; and I hate pizza.”
“Who hates pizza?” she cried, clearly outraged. “I was right to call you a fucking weirdo, Sergio Moretti.”
Laughing, he shook his head. “Just for that, you’re buying the first round,” he said, following Vi’s lead as she walked towards a dingy pub. “This looks like a place where they’d spit-shine their glassware. You up for that?”
Giving him a strange look, she didn’t alter her direction. “I’ll drink from the bottle.”
Agreeing that he’d be doing the same, he pulled open the door to the seedy-looking bar called Frank’s and held it for her. “And just call me Serge. Everyone else does.”
Violet quirked an eyebrow at him. “Like a power surge?”
Trying not to smile, he shrugged. “You can call me Power Serge if you want. Has a nice ring to it.”
Violet snorted as she laughed, which only made her laugh harder. Her whole face lit up and Serge couldn’t help but laugh along with her. It was nice to see her relaxed.
Still chuckling to herself, Violet approached the bar and ordered two beers as she pulled herself onto a stool.
“Make sure you card her,” Serge told the bartender. “She looks about twelve to me.”
“Oh yeah? What are you? A hundred?”
“Close. Thirty-four.”
Digging in her bag for her license, she handed it to him instead of the chick behind the bar.
Inspecting it closely, he passed it on to the bartender and ignored Violet’s smug grin.
“Indiana?”
The smile dropped instantly from her face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Clearly,” he said, clinking his bottle to hers before upending it down his throat. Sipping her own brew, she watched him out of the corner of her eye.
“You want to talk about your day?” she asked with genuine concern.