by Chloe Plume
“Hello…Winter?” A nasally voice cracked over the phone. “
“Frank.” My voice was flat and direct. I needed closure. That was all.
“Well, this is a surprise pumpkin, but not really. I thought you were gone for good, but I knew you just needed some time.” As usual, Frank quickly became as domineering as possible. It was overbearing.
“Maybe you assumed too much Frank.”
“Oh, I don’t think so Winter.” His mocking tone made me flinch. “We’re perfect together. I’m glad you’ve back to your senses.”
I wanted to throw up. “No, I just called to say goodbye.”
The irritation in his voice was palpable. “What?! I thought you were coming back. Juliet said you were sorry it took so long. That you were visiting your Aunt and taking care of family.”
“Wow.” I exhaled deeply, willing myself to remain calm. “Please don’t call me, Frank. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t email me. We’re beyond done.”
I hung up. My heart beat fast. I’d finally closed the last chapter in my old life just as I began the first chapter of my new life with Rev.
Or so I thought.
The doorbell rang and I rushed to answer, thinking Rev forgot his key. He sometimes got off a little early. But all his free time lately was spent with his brothers, searching for the men who killed his Uncle and his crew. They knew the man ultimately responsible, but had no way of getting to him.
More worrisome, Rev had told me that they were uncovering connections between Gryffin Transportation and Roman Carmichael, the crime overlord who’d ordered the hit. All they had was a name and a sense that things went much deeper than they first thought. Rev often came home agonizing about the difficulty of making inroads, frustrated at the lack of progress in avenging his friends and Uncle.
I signed for the delivery: a flat, small, rectangular box. It looked like a laptop. Tearing open the cardboard packaging and bubble wrap, I found I was right.
But, it wasn’t a gift from my mother or stepfather or anything I knew. In fact, it was a used machine, out-of-box and without any documentation whatsoever.
I booted it up and watched a password entry field flash across the screen.
This is really weird.
A chill crept down my spine as I grew suspicious. An unmarked delivery. No return address.
Rev narrowly escaped death at the hands of his Uncle’s murderers. He headed the crew that jacked Roman Carmichael’s shipment that night, and if it wasn’t for having lunch with my Aunt and me—well, he’d be gone.
It was either a message or a bomb.
Either way, I should get this thing out of the house and wait for Rev.
But another possibility crept into my mind. It was something I wanted so much to be true, I’d do anything to convince myself it was. My Aunt had said he was still alive, after all. That he was in hiding.
I typed my mother’s name into the password entry.
Denied.
I tried my name. I tried my name followed by his last name, before I changed it to Calloway.
Denied again.
Shit, I’ll be at this all night.
I walked into the kitchen and popped a pod into the brewing machine. I was jonesing for some caffeine. I always did, since I was a little kid…
Ah. Right.
I shuffled back into the living room, staring apprehensively at the laptop.
If this works…
I typed “Coffee Bean,” into the password field. It blinked and the screen went dark.
Shit, it ran out of battery.
I pulled away, standing up to go into the kitchen and collect my coffee.
Then I heard a voice. A familiar voice. I turned around and saw my father on the screen, talking to me. It was surreal, almost frightening.
“I’m sorry, Winter. It’s all I can say, and it will never be enough.”
I took a seat and stared at the video of my father. He was just as I remembered. Same careless hair, sad and expressive eyes, and that characteristic twitch in his jaw when he spoke. But he was older. The lines in his face were etched deeper and his hair showed streaks of grey.
“I’m sure by now Sylvia’s disregarded my request that you not know about what happened in Vegas. Suffice it to say, I got in with some very powerful people. Once I finally paid off my debts to the mob back East though, I was just in time to catch wind that my usefulness to these people had expired. Meaning, it was time for me to expire as well.”
I watched his eyes fall in the video as he typed something on the laptop.
“I pulled of one last heist. A big one. And then I left the country. I’m sorry I can’t come back. I want to more than anything. And I know this won’t make up for it… But I put that money in an offshore account. The numbers and passwords are on this computer. I know you can figure it out.”
My head was spinning. I struggled to process the extent of what he was saying. Last heist, A big one, Offshore account…
“It’s $15 million dollars, Winter. And I trust you’ll know what to do with it. Because I believe that my daughter grew up into the woman I always knew she could be. Despite having a father like me.”
Tears formed in my eyes as I watched him stand up and reach to hit the stop button.
I don’t want money, God damn it! I want my father…
Emotion rolled through me like an avalanche as I processed anger, frustration, sadness, and gratitude all at once.
“I love you, coffee bean. I want to take the next flight out there and see you again. But the man I stole from is looking for me. I have to keep moving. Roman Carmichael is a dangerous enemy.”
The video clipped off. The room spun.
Fuck.
Just when I thought a new chapter meant the end of the last. Just when I thought I could be a bastion of support and comfort for Rev, bring a sense of normality to his life as he dealt with profound tragedy and the unremitting longing for vengeance.
The door rustled and Rev walked into the living room. He saw me sitting at the table with tears in my eyes and an open laptop in front of me, and instead of asking questions, he immediately rushed to my side.
“Winter, shhh, it’s alright. I’m here.” He hugged me close. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
“It’s a message from my father…” I choked out the words.
“What?” Rev looked up at the laptop.
I found the video on the hard drive and played it for him. His eyes grew wide. His face tensed as he tried to make sense of it. And then, at the mention of Roman Carmichael’s name, I saw his jaw clench and his hands turn to fists.
“Fuck… I’m sorry Winter.”
I looked up at him. “What are the chances huh?”
Rev ran his palm over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling deeply. “We need to get this Roman Carmichael,” he said. “Everything depends on that. For the both of us.”
I stood up and he gathered me in his arms, holding me against his chest. “No matter what, we’re in this together. Things happen for a reason. And it looks like our lives are entwined in more ways than we could have imagined.”
Nestled in Rev’s arms, I felt a reassuring calmness sweep over me. We were brought together by a chance encounter, but something greater awaited us. The same adversary haunted both our lives. We’d been unified for a common purpose.
And though the fight had just begun, I was thankful to have the best partner and ally I could ever ask for. I was happier to struggle by his side than to fade away lifelessly by someone else’s. To me, that’s really what it meant to call him my soulmate.
“At least we have the money now,” I said, pulling away to look up into his gleaming blue eyes.
“Hm...What?” He gazed searchingly at me.
“The CSA organizations. We can make it work on our own.”
“Wait. You’d do that? It’s your money, Winter.”
I smiled. “This is my home too now. We’re in this together, like you said
.”
Rev beamed, his expression full of eager energy. “I’ll spend my whole life thanking you,” he said. “I really mean it.”
“Oh, and how are you going to do that?” I asked playfully.
His mouth fell on mine with hungry passion, his hands roaming down my hips and cupping my ass. He picked me up, still kissing down the side of my neck.
His voice fell over me, velvety and deep. “I’ll start by taking you to the bedroom, kitten. Where you belong.
Want to hear about new releases and have access to exclusive fan freebies? Then sign up for my Mailing List here:
http://eepurl.com/bo1ZQz
To My Readers,
I hope you enjoyed this book as much as I loved writing it! If you liked it, please do me a huge favor and leave a review. Reviews are so important to an indie author, and it’s readers like you that keep me writing!
Oh, and please read on. For a limited time, I’ve included my entire last novel,Marine. It features Dean Hunter, the obscenely hot ex-marine turned fighter and his free-spirited love interest, Saylor Larson. Their story will continue in the next two installments of The Desert Gryffins trilogy, so Click Through to start reading!
I’ve also included an excerpt from my previous bad boy romance novel Douche. Check out the excerpt after reading Marine, or click below to start reading Douche right now.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B010R2AL1S/
Read for Pleasure,
Yours,
CONTACT
I love to hear from fans, so please don’t hesitate to reach out. The best way to stay informed about my new releases is to sign up for my mailing list (I promise never to spam you or give away any of your information) but I can also be reached:
Email:
[email protected]
My Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/chloe.plume.5
Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorChloePlume
Twitter:
@Read_ChloePlume
Acknowledgements
Thank you to all the authors who answered my many, many questions and guided me through the self-publishing process. You guys are rock stars!
Thank you to my friends and family who put up with me being engrossed in my own little world these past few months.
And most of all, thank you to my readers. You guys are the reason I write and I hope you enjoyed this book!
Read for Pleasure,
Yours,
>>> Click to Next Page to Start Reading Marine.
Synopsis
F**k Commitment.
Dean Hunter
I don’t get involved.
I was a Marine. And then I lost everything.
Now I drown myself in booze and f**k every woman who throws herself at me.
All I knew was fighting. Until her.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I can’t get her out of my mind.
She’s also the one girl absolutely off limits to me. Choosing her means losing everything I have left.
Is a chance at happiness worth putting it all on the line?
Saylor Larson
My life has been a series of mishaps.
Until I met Dean. He saved me from a world I never thought I could escape.
But now that world threatens to destroy us both.
All I have to do is leave him. And I probably should.
He’s a rough, rude, inked fighter with a tortured past.
But I’ve never seen a man like that.
Built like a god, with bronzed washboard abs and muscles that could crush any man.
Should I trust my heart when it’s leading me into certain danger?
*** This is a full-length standalone novel with a guaranteed HEA***
Chapter 1
The air was thick and heavy. It was summer in North Carolina. Of course, I was also in the musty, stale basement of an abandoned warehouse.
Except it wasn’t empty. Crowds of dingy people, a real motley bunch of the filthiest and foulest sort, crammed together in that sweaty place, clutching handfuls of money and patting the handguns stuffed haphazardly down their jeans. These were the dregs of society. This was where I belonged.
Smack. His roundhouse kick connected. Except I moved in, before it got any real power, and blocked with the top of my shin. Surprised, he pulled back and threw a few lame jabs. I blocked them without even looking. He was getting tired.
He’s a big guy, but I’m bigger. He thinks he can keep the distance and I won’t be fast enough. He’s wrong.
The man I was fighting had a lot of training. Maybe one day, a long time ago, he was really something. His roundhouse was smooth, fast, a whole lot of power. His bones were conditioned, built up from years of intentional abuse. Just like mine.
I’d fought guys like that before. They started training between 8 and 12 years old. They spent 6 hours a day kicking heavy bags, pads, and all kinds of fancy, modern equipment. They put in their 10,000 hours conditioning their shins, creating micro-fractures that filled in with calcium and made their bones denser and stronger.
That’s why you’d get a guy who looked like he had a bit of muscle, but seemed kind of strung out, and when he’d stand up on the scale, you couldn’t believe it. It was the dense bones. And you had to watch out for the dense bones. I’d seen guys—guys who thought they knew how to fight—block kicks from smaller guys with their forearms. The kicks would go right through, their arms would smash to pieces, and the big guy would go down.
The man in front of me, throwing weak punches and limp kicks at this point, really wanted to win. He’d put in everything he had in the early rounds. He’d come out blazing. I imagined he needed the money, like everyone else in this racket. He probably had some gambling debts to pay off. Maybe his girlfriend was pregnant. He really needed to win. You could see it in his eyes.
Too bad.
Problem was, I didn’t fight for the money, the winning record, the bragging rights, or the glory. None of that shit mattered to me. It didn’t even matter if I won or lost. Except I always won.
I did it for the rush. For that single moment of clarity. It was the one time I had purpose, passion, and above all, excellence. I was in my element.
Second problem was that I was just plain stronger. I’d seen bigger guys, hulking gorillas who could lift boulders off the ground. But I’d never met anyone who was stronger than me in one, precise moment. It was my gift. Maybe the only one I had.
And there it is.
I caught a flash of an instant. Time froze. I zeroed in on the man in front of me. He’d kicked high and I’d sidestepped. He backed away, but not enough. He miscalculated.
Fight’s over.
I lunged forward and opened my hips. Every muscle tensed behind my closed fist and he could see the end. He kicked at my midsection, but I hardly felt it at this point. I was blind to anything and everything except that one point right to the side of his head. And there was nothing he could do to stop me.
My arm snapped long, like a whip, from my calves to my hips to my shoulders and finally through my triceps and to the bunched fist of my hand. I made full contact. I relished the feeling of solid bone and the pain that coursed through my hand—a pain that was the most real, vivid, and thrilling thing in my life.
He went down. He didn’t get up. Another knockout. I didn’t remember how many that was, but I’m sure someone did. I’m sure someone made a decent haul tonight.
It was quite while they counted. It was loud when they finished. Shouts went out from every corner of the grim and dismal basement. Some asshole cried out, angry that I’d somehow cheated. Some other asshole yelled back that it was time to pay up.
The crowd surged, pulling in every direction. Some went to the money table to claim their winnings. Some tried to slip out before they had to pay their losses. They didn’t get far. Roman Carmichael wouldn’t let them. His goons were all over the place. Though in fairness, when I wasn’t moonlighting in the
underground fight scene, I was one of them.
“Hey, Dean!”
I turned, tossing my gloves on the floor before jumping off the cage platform.
“Dean! Another one my man!”
“I don’t know what makes ‘em keep coming back for more!”
John, Chris, and Evan. The closest thing to friends I had in this miserable organization. They were guys from the old days, from those 8 years I’d spent in the Marine Corp, guys from my battalion, and the guys who got me this job. Of course, you had to be bottom of the barrel to end up in this kind of work. I don’t know if I’d exactly call them the honorable or loyal type. But who was I to judge…
“Dean! Man, enough of the quiet act!”
I looked up at John’s beaming face. He was clutching a fist of loose hundreds.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time guys,” I began. “I heard all of you.”
“You made me $1200 bucks tonight Dean!” John was pretty damn happy.
“Yeah, I’d imagine,” was all I said. I wasn’t in the mood for bullshit chitchat. What I needed was a drink.
“Why so glum, Dean?” Evan smirked. “You look like you lost.”
“Yeah, right.” Chris chimed in. “You see the other guy? Dean didn’t get so much as a scratch.”
“Got plenty of those already,” I noted, tracing the long, thick scar that ran down my chest and to the right side of my abdomen. Seemed like after every fight, it started hurting again out of nowhere. Like it kept telling me to stop doing this crap and I kept not listening.
“Here’s to that,” Evan said, nodding. “Don’t we all, eh?”