by Sam Crescent
She’d looked nervous, and I’d stayed with her even as she peed on the stick. Together, we’d held hands and watched as the test confirmed we were expecting our first child.
Today we find out exactly what the sex is.
I don’t care.
Boy or girl.
So long as my baby and my wife are healthy, I’ll be happy.
The doctor returns, and Faye holds my hand even tighter.
“I can see this is your first baby.” The doctor smiles, and I wait patiently.
Hearing that heartbeat floors me every single time. This isn’t our first ultrasound, but on the last one our baby didn’t want to show what she or he was.
He moves the device around her stomach, and my throat clogs up as I watch our baby wriggling.
“Ah, would you look at that? You are going to be parents to a little baby girl.”
I stare at Faye and see the tears in her eyes.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
“Yes. So happy.”
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
****
Faye
Ten years later
“My daughter hates me.” Chase picks up the dolls and trains that were left in the doorway of the kitchen.
I laugh. We’ve been married nearly twelve years now, and we have four beautiful children. Lily, our oldest, is in that stage where she’s not yet a teenager or a child. So, she’d gotten angry when Chase refused to let her go for a sleepover.
“She doesn’t hate you. She loves you, but right now, she doesn’t like you.” I walk up to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and smile. I know he loves it when I do.
“Do you think I should let her stay over at a friend’s?”
“I think you should follow your own thoughts and feelings, and if you don’t want her to have a sleepover then it doesn’t happen. Simple as that.”
He pushes some of my hair aside, cupping my face. His thumb traces across my lip. “I love you.”
“You’re still happy you married me?”
“I’m still happy that I went to Cherry all those years ago. I had no idea I’d meet the love of my life, but I have and you’re fucking perfect.”
Chase never fails to make me feel loved, and my feelings for him have only gotten deeper and more intense. He is the perfect man for me, and I love him more than the world.
As he kisses me, I feel complete.
With his arms wrapped around me, I’m home.
And safe in his embrace, I’m free.
The End
www.samcrescent.com
Other Books by Sam Crescent:
www.evernightpublishing.com/sam-crescent
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
EL DIABLO
Killer of Kings, 6
Sam Crescent and Stacey Espino
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Xavier slid the patio door closed behind him, careful not to make a sound. The rich scent of coffee wafted in the air. Most people loved the smell. He fucking hated it. He pushed away childhood memories of picking coffee beans in his bare feet for twelve grueling hours a day. Right now, he needed to stay focused.
He was there to kill a man.
The oceanfront paradise belonged to a dirty trader. He’d pissed off the wrong people, spreading rumors and creating false market values. The men who’d lost millions because of him had hired Killer of Kings for some swift justice.
Xavier had been working for the notorious group of hitmen for over ten months now. He’d done his training with Chains and Killian, and he’d been fulfilling contracts for a few months. The work paid well, so he couldn’t complain.
Lazy footsteps shuffled down the hallway. He twisted a silencer onto the end of his Glock, not liking the leather gloves Boss insisted he wear. Mr. Strogonov wasn’t expecting him this morning. Nobody wanted a visit from El Diablo.
He watched as the man lifted the carafe from the coffeemaker and poured himself a drink. He wore a plush navy bathrobe and matching slippers, humming a carefree tune as he puttered around the kitchen. Strogonov was forty-three, only a few years older than Xavier himself. The bastard had some city miles, probably from the stress of ripping off his associates. When he turned around and noticed Xavier sitting at his dining table, he dropped the mug, the ceramic pieces scattering on the marble floor.
“Who are you?” His voice trembled, his lower lip quivering.
“Who do you think I am?”
The man looked from side to side, then reached for his neck.
“Your personal alert won’t work. I’ve already deactivated it. You didn’t think they’d hire an amateur, did you?”
“W-who hired you?”
Xavier smirked. “You have more than one enemy? You’ve been busy.” He waved an arm in the air. “Stealing certainly pays well, doesn’t it?”
“I never stole anything.”
He set his gun on the glass tabletop with care, then stood up, slowly pushing the chair back into place. He rolled out his shoulders. “You’re far from innocent, Mr. Strogonov.”
“I can pay you. Whatever they’re giving you, I’ll do better. Name your price.”
There was no reason for him to talk to this guy. Strogonov could beg and cry and offer him the world. It wouldn’t do any good once Killer of Kings was contracted. This was more than money; it was about reputation, respect, and getting the job done. He’d spent a lot of time with Boss and his men over the past year, and for the first time in his life, he felt connected. Being on top, ruling with an iron fist in some of the most ruthless gangs and cartels never fulfilled him. It only added to the loneliness, the disconnect he’d always felt. Chains and the other players at Killer of Kings were his equals, and the level playing field was surprisingly satisfying.
“I need you to write a confession letter. Go on, grab a paper and pen. I’ll wait.”
“What for?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Don’t make me ask you twice.”
The man scrambled around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. Sweat beaded on his forehead, highlighting his receding hairline.
“The top drawer beside the sink,” he said. “And bring a glass of water back with you.” Xavier had already scoped out this place, and taken all the steps to ensure the contract went smooth and clean. He had something to prove to Boss. Once the man had the pad, pen, and water, he continued, “Now, you’re going to apologize and spell out exactly what you did to alter the market.”
Once he had the suicide note, he could finish this hit. His gun was only a precaution.
“I can’t do that. They’ll lock me away for the rest of my life.”
He shook his head. Jail was the last thing this bastard should be worried about. “Do you know what they called me back in Colombia?” Xavier massaged one of the man’s shoulders, making him flinch. “El Diablo. If you don’t know, that means The Devil. Some said I was a sociopath, that I lacked empathy. Others were more blunt, calling me a monster. Maybe they were right. But monsters aren’t born—they’re made.” He could have gone on, talking about his bullshit childhood, being sold to the barrio gang to pay a debt his mother owed. About the little sister torn from his arms. Sometimes he unloaded it all, knowing whoever he told was about to meet their maker. It was his therapy, a confession of his sins. He shoved Strogonov down into a chair. The man whimpered. “You don’t want to piss me off.” The trip down memory lane plus a wicked case of blue balls had put him in a less than stellar mood.
Once everything had been written out, Xavier neatly folded the paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of Mr. Strogonov’s robe. “Very good,” he said. “Now take these with the water.” He set two pills on the table beside the glass.
“What are they?”
“Don’t worry about it. Take the dam
n pills.” He picked up his gun to punctuate this sentence.
Within minutes of swallowing the lethal drugs, Strogonov slumped over the glass table, the water spilling.
Drip, drip, drip off the edge onto the marble floors.
This job was too easy. Xavier liked to use his gun or knives, something challenging where he could let off steam. But Boss wanted a textbook suicide, so he delivered.
He walked to the kitchen window. The view above the sink was breathtaking, clouds tinted with pink and orange reflected on the ocean’s surface. It was way too fucking early to be awake.
Xavier tucked his Glock into his shoulder harness and left the way he came. Strogonov had an ex-wife and no children. Even if he’d had a family, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Xavier was fucked up in the head, always had been. He never felt guilt or regret when killing. Maybe he was numb to the bloodshed … or he really was a monster.
Once he got to his car, settling back against the soft leather, he called Boss.
“Job’s done.”
“You’re on a roll,” said Boss. “I have another contract for tomorrow. You’ll love this one.”
He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Oh?”
“You’ll have to get your hands dirty. I’ll email you the details.” The line went dead.
Boss never was one for small talk. If you did your job well, you got more work, and he left you alone. If you fucked up, he’d ride your ass. He demanded perfection and rarely gave second chances. The man had a reputation for a reason.
The only reason Xavier started this job was in exchange for information about his sister. Boss had given him a few leads, but nothing that panned out. He kept promising more, but after a year of waiting, Xavier was starting to wonder.
The highway drive was usually a bumper to bumper nightmare, but this early in the morning, it was relatively clear. He hit the gas and headed home. Over the past few months, he’d made more money than most men earned in a lifetime. Hitmen with good track records made a very lucrative living. But chasing the almighty dollar was a road leading to nowhere. He knew that well, but it didn’t stop him either. He had nothing to lose.
Forty minutes later, he drove along his winding driveway. His home was a modern marvel, set on a vast acreage. He valued his privacy and security. By now he knew money couldn’t buy happiness, but he always had something to prove. As if owning the best was the measure of a man, or could erase the memories of living in the slums of District 4 of Soacha.
The only thing that marred the perfect landscape was the little yellow Kia with rust around the fenders. It belonged to the live-in housekeeper he’d hired a few months ago. Once his training was over, he had no time for anything on the home front. She had her own living area on the far east wing of the mansion. Ms. Alesha Sanders knew not to enter his office, the basement, or to leave her live-in suite after hours. Keeping a civilian on his payroll wasn’t recommended, but sometimes it was nice to play normal and get away from all the bullshit.
He’d interviewed over a dozen potential housekeepers. Xavier had no time for anything but his contracts. He needed a woman to cook, clean, and keep his domestic affairs in order. The interviews were on a downward spiral until Alesha sat across from his desk.
She was young and curvy with freckles across her nose. Her lips were full and pouty, and he doubted she knew how tempting she was. She wore a plain cotton dress with a white cardigan. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he knew she was the one for the job.
Of course, he had Maurice do a full work up on her. She’d been living on her own since she was eighteen. No criminal record. No dependents. Ms. Alesha was a twenty-seven-year-old waitress turned housekeeper. Her references were impeccable, but he’d already decided to hire her before doing the background check.
Some days he regretted his decision to hire her because he hadn’t been able to bring women home knowing she was under the same roof. He wasn’t sure why she kept messing with his head. Alesha was a housekeeper, not his fucking wife.
So far, she’d kept her distance and followed the rules. It would be a shame if he had to kill her.
****
Keeping her boss happy was Alesha’s number one priority. Getting this job had been no less than winning the lottery. She had her own suite, something so beautiful she almost cried when he gave her the tour. The pay was incredible. Her boss was hardly home, and never bothered her. Alesha had her fair share of nightmarish encounters with men when she’d waitressed at a few local bars. It didn’t take long for her to change careers. She couldn’t stand strange men touching her or constantly propositioning her. Her coworkers may have enjoyed the attention, but it only made her sick. There weren’t too many options without a secondary education, and fancy diplomas weren’t made for people barely able to pay the rent, never mind tuition and books.
She’d been doing well as a cleaner for the last eight years, but it wasn’t until being hired by Xavier Moreno that things really started looking up. Her situation seemed too perfect, to the point that she constantly worried he’d lay her off or fire her for screwing something up.
He’d gone out much earlier than normal today, so she decided to prepare a special dinner, something that required more prep time than usual. His tastes could be demanding, and she tried hard to make things he’d enjoy as she learned his likes and dislikes. By now, she knew he detested coffee and didn’t like onions in his eggs. Every day was a learning experience.
As she peeled some carrots by the sink, the security alarm dinged, signaling someone had entered through the front door.
He was home.
Her heart began to race. Yes, he was her boss, but she’d be lying if she said she only had platonic feelings for him. The man was an enigma, rarely talking to her, coming and going at the strangest hours. She still had no clue what he did for a living, and didn’t dare ask and risk pissing him off. He was very private, and made it crystal clear when he’d hired her.
She did find it odd that a man his age with both looks and money was living alone in such a big house. There were no family photos, no visits from relatives, and he’d never brought a woman home that she knew of. Even though he gave her every other weekend off with full pay, she rarely left her suite. Where would she even go? This was as close to home as she had. Even her own mother had wiped the slate clean nine years ago when she married her new husband, and that included Alesha. They hadn’t spoken since.
Of course, it secretly pleased her that Xavier never brought home dates. It kept her fantasy alive, the one where he fell madly in love with his maid. She giggled under her breath.
“Something funny?”
She dropped her peeler into the sink with a clang and whirled around, wiping her hands on her apron. “Nothing, sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel old.” He tossed his keys on the counter with a jangle and shrugged off his jacket. Her eyes darted to the gun strapped to his body, and she froze in place. He noticed her staring and looked down. “Relax, it’s registered. A man can’t be too safe these days.” He winked at her.
Of course. A man like Xavier Moreno would be a target for criminals. She’d just never seen a gun in real life. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He frowned and crossed his arms. “Alesha…”
“I’m sorry … Mr. Moreno.”
“You can call me Xavier. I won’t bite.”
Xavier. Just hearing him say his own name with his slight accent made her wet. He was pure masculinity, confident, and drool-worthy. This was probably the most time she’d spent with him since being hired. He was usually gone before she started working in the kitchen, she wasn’t allowed in the main house after nine at night, and he always came home late.
He dropped down in one of the dining chairs and loosened his collar. He had intricate tattoos that climbed up his neck, and she had to stop herself from staring. “You were up early this morning,” she said, trying to start some small talk.
>
“I had a business meeting with a new client. Way too early for my liking. I think I’ll go back to bed for a couple hours.”
“You did go to sleep late last night.” She bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could take back her words. Xavier loved his privacy, and she sounded like a stalker.
“You’re observant.”
He stood up, cracking his neck to each side.
“Sorry, the walls are thin and I’m a light sleeper.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. Xavier started walking away.
Alesha wanted to tell him to stay, to talk to her, to tell her more about himself. She loved the subtle scent of his cologne since he’d entered the kitchen. Her entire body took notice of everything Xavier, from his commanding presence to the intensity in his dark eyes. But she kept quiet and picked up her peeler. You’re such a chicken shit, Alesha.
Just before he left the kitchen, she summoned up enough courage. “Could you do me a favor before you leave?”
“What is it?”
She held out a glass jar. “Can you open this?”
He eyed her skeptically.
As he approached, she realized just how tall and buff he was, his shoulders and biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t help but stare at the gun now that it was within arm’s length. It unnerved her. Xavier took the jar and twisted it open with ease, then set it on the counter. He didn’t move away.
When she looked up to gauge his expression, he pulled the gun from its holster. She gasped. “This scares you?” he asked. He released the clip and checked the chamber, then handed it to her. “Take it.”