by S. M. West
Prophet
S.M. West
For David
“You cannot save people. You can only love them.” - Anaϊs Nin
Copyright © 2018 by SM West
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, storylines, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
This book is for your personal enjoyment only. Please respect the author’s work by not contributing to piracy and purchasing a copy for those you wish to share it with.
Cover Design:
RBA Designs
http://rbadesigns.com/
Editors:
Maria Rosera of The Paisley Editor
https://www.facebook.com/PaisleyReader/
Leanne Rabesa of Editing Juggernaut
https://editingjuggernaut.wordpress.com
Proofreader:
Melinda Utendorf of M.Ute Editing
http://www.mute-editing.com/
Cover Photo:
© Eric Battershell Photography
http://www.ericbattershellphotography.com
Cover Model: Johnny Kane
Playlist
Listen On Spotify (http://bit.ly/PROPHET_WEST)
“The Distance” – Cake
“Signs” – Drake
“All My Life” – Foo Fighters
“Stuck in the Middle with You” – Stealers Wheel
“Fire and the Flood” – Vance Joy
“Bad Things” - Machine Gun Kelly with Camila Cabello
“FCKD IT UP” – Langston Francis
“Rock Bottom” – Hailee Steinfeld, DNCE
“My Body” – Young the Giant
“A Little Work” – Fergie
“Don’t You Wait” – CLOVES
“Now or Never” – Halsey
“Hard to Love” – Calvin Harris, Jessie Reyez
“Die for You” – The Weekend
“I Can Barely Say” – The Fray
“The Night Will Always Win” – Elbow
“Never Be the Same” – Camila Cabello
“Him & I” – G-Eazy, Halsey
“Heaven” – Julia Michaels
Find some inspiration for PROPHET on Pinterest (https://www.pinterest.ca/smwestwrites/prophet/)
Contents
1. Thursday 1:12 AM
2. Wednesday 10:47 PM
3. Thursday 8:45 AM
4. Thursday 11:55AM
5. Thursday 1:31 PM
6. Thursday 3:42 PM
7. Thursday 10:02 PM
8. Thursday 11:42 PM
9. Friday 12:52AM
10. Friday 2:03 AM
11. Friday 5:39 AM
12. Friday 6:18 AM
13. Friday 12:53 PM
14. Friday 5:03 PM
15. Saturday 2:15PM
16. Saturday 5:49 PM
17. Saturday 11:08 PM
18. Sunday 8:05AM
19. Sunday 10:29 PM
20. Sunday 10:52PM
21. Monday 6:37PM
22. Tuesday 9:37AM
23. Tuesday 10:19 AM
24. Tuesday 12:26 PM
25. Tuesday 8:53 PM
26. Friday 6:27PM
27. Friday 11:06 PM
28. Friday 11:38 PM
29. Sunday 8:57AM
30. One month later
31. Four months later
Acknowledgments
Also by S.M. West
About the Author
1
Thursday 1:12 AM
Nick
My eyes blink open and unease tickles up my back. My hand slides under the pillow, fingers curling around the cool metal of the nine-millimeter. Sounds of running water seep through the thinning fog of sleep. That’s what woke me. I crashed hard, but I didn’t think I was too tired to hear someone break in.
This night is one big clusterfuck. First Joe is murdered, then my apartment’s torched, and now someone’s here to kill me. Focus, Nick, don’t let this shit mess with your head.
Gun raised, I slip into the bathroom thinking the shower is the lure to get me out of bed. I’m ready for whoever is here to coldcock me, or worse, put a bullet in my skull.
A clean soap scent mixed with something pungent—gasoline—triggers memories from earlier tonight. The flames dancing from the windows of my apartment. That’s why I’m here, at my friend’s loft.
If the bathroom is doused with gas, just a spark will set fire to Logan’s place. My jaw tightens, teeth grinding at the horrific thought.
A pile of clothes—grease-stained coveralls among them—are on the floor. That explains the stench. Black tights, red t-shirt, a white sports bra, and panties lie among the heap. A woman? The knot in my stomach loosens.
Movement behind the foggy glass doors, an alluring figure amidst the steam, draws my gaze. A wry grin tugs at my lips. Yes, a woman, and I have the element of surprise.
Tonight’s events may seem random but together, they spell trouble. Someone has a message for me and while packaged with tits and ass, it’ll be returned to sender.
I open the shower door to a curtain of dark hair, curves of creamy skin, and an ass I won’t soon forget. My fingers dig into the sinewy flesh of her neck, and I thrust her into the tiled wall before she has a chance to strike.
“Oh my God!” Her hands fly out, preventing her face from smashing into the slate.
My teeth grind at her cry and I tighten my hold. I’ve never been this rough with a woman—well, not unless it’s foreplay and we both want it—but this naked siren wants to kill me. This is about survival. Her or me.
“Let go of me!” She bucks violently, soap-slicked and difficult to keep a firm grip on. I close the distance between us to barely an inch.
“Stop fighting.” My moist lips graze the shell of her ear.
With the gun still in my hand, my forearm wraps around her middle, capturing her flailing arm. Nice and tight.
“Get off me.” The front of her body presses against the wall. “If you want money, take my purse. Take it all and leave.”
I bite back my laugh at her commanding tone. She’s got balls, considering I have her by the neck with a gun. Breathing heavily, her forehead rests on the wall and she trembles, betraying her take-charge attitude from moments ago.
Warm water rushes down my back. What am I waiting for? If she were a guy, the asshole would be out cold by now.
Sensing my indecision, like a soccer pro, she attempts a back header with my skull as the ball, but I move in time and she misses. A surge of adrenaline shoots through my veins, sending my heart into overdrive.
Fuck my namby-pamby tactics, she brought this on herself. Whoever she is. I press the gun against her temple, the full weight of my body on hers, and she freezes.
“Who the fuck sent you?” I growl, low and threatening.
Her wet strands cling to my stubble. Rosemary and mint invade my senses, and thoughts of a lush mountainside muddle my thoughts. I could lose myself in the fresh clean smell of her and memories of a tranquil French countryside. Memories of
a better time. Her shaking draws me back to the present.
“Who are you?” My gut tightens with her damp flesh against my warm chest. “You've got three seconds before I blow your brains out.”
She stiffens like a surfboard. “Phoebe told me I could stay here!”
Phoebe. Logan’s girl? That might be true. Lo, my best friend, is three thousand miles away, riding his bike across North America with Phoebe. A chick he’s known for all of six months. They own this loft. I’m not buying her story because all of this would be easy to find out.
But what’s her deal? If she was sent to kill me, why didn’t she make her move? What about the shower? Was she going for seduction?
I release her throat and lower the gun. She faces me, and I suck in a sharp breath. Her startling blue eyes, unlike any I’ve ever seen before, puncture my chest, nearly doing me in.
She uses my stupor to slap me. Water pools in my eyes and my jaw stings. “Fuucckk!”
She’s fast, her reflexes finely honed, but so are mine, and I grab her wrist before she can hit me again, slamming her arm into the wall. Her eyes close and a low painful groan pushes past her lips.
I jab the gun into her side, my hand around the column of her elegant neck. She raises her knee, not backing down, and I tighten my hold, squeezing. Shit, not even a gun stops her.
“Don’t even think about it. You’ll be dead before you can make contact.” My expression’s implacable, and she slumps into the wall, her fight fizzling like a dying flame. “Who are you?”
If she knows what’s good for her, she better talk. Stringy strands cling to her damp face; her teeth chatter, and hard nipples rub against my bare chest.
It’s subtle, I doubt she realizes it, but she leans into me, seeking my warmth. When my breath skates along her lips, she tenses, aware we are skin-to-skin.
“Get off me.” She shoves. Any other circumstance and her spirit would get me hard.
“Last fucking time, who are you?”
“Maggie Hill.” Her voice is dry and scratchy. “Please let me get dressed.”
My hard planes weigh on her soft curves, and revulsion flickers in her bewitching eyes. She’s a looker, even if she is a would-be assassin.
Pulling away, I slide the gun into the waistband of my wet boxers and shut the water off before exiting the shower.
I grab a towel, and she reaches for it, but I’m a bastard, holding it out of her reach.
“Nuh-uh.”
I drink in her five-nine curves, toned legs, and pale skin puckered with goosebumps. One hand covers her sex, smooth and bare, and the other tries to hide her boobs as best as she can. Nice rack.
Strawberries and cream. But Jesus Christ, those eyes. She’s a modern-day Medusa. Instead of turning me to stone, one look and she stops my heart.
“Did you get your fill?” Her brass sarcasm is the stark opposite of how her body curls in on itself. “You sick fuck, give me the towel.”
I smirk, handing it to her. A strange, unknown sensation coils tight in my belly, and I need space.
I let go of her neck, but don’t break contact just as yet. My knuckles glide across her jaw and down her silky throat to her collarbone. I don’t miss her sweet shudder before she folds over, gasping and coughing.
My flesh pebbles in the cool air and I grit my teeth, pissed that I’m semi-hard. Really? Now is not the time.
Withdrawing the gun, I drop my drenched boxers and wrap a towel around my waist.
“God, you’re an asshole.” She groans, closing her eyes.
Placing her on the rumpled bed, I grab my phone, and make the one call that better give me answers.
“Yo, Nick,” Logan answers on the first ring.
“Maggie Hill, ever heard of her?” My voice is thin and sharp like piano wire.
“Yeah. I left you a message.” Logan is as laid-back as a surfer, completely missing the edge to my voice. “She’s Fi’s best friend. There was a mix-up. Fi told her she could stay at our place…”
“Lo, I was fucking sleeping. Didn’t get your message.”
His only way to get a hold of me is through an answering service. I switch phones every few days. If he was here, in Toronto, we’d have a better system, but this works with him on the road.
“Fuck. Let me…”
“Almost killed her.” I still might.
Her eyes smolder with fury, wishing me dead. Get in line, lady. Get in line. But she doesn’t cower or tremble at hearing her life was in danger.
“Shit. She okay?” In contrast to Maggie’s reaction, concern coats his voice.
Logan is my oldest friend. He knows I wouldn’t kill her unless I had to.
“She’s fine.”
Shimmering blue irises shoot daggers at me. “I want to speak to Phoebe.”
She grabs for the phone, clutching the towel as if I have x-ray vision.
“What does she look like?” I ask Lo, staring at her chest just to be a dickhead while I wait for further confirmation she is who she says she is.
“Hot. Black hair, killer eyes, legs that won’t quit, and her tits…”
“Fine.” My tone is brusque, pissed at his description, even if accurate.
She snatches the phone, and rubs at her throat. “Phoebe? Logan, I want to talk to Fi.” She is terse, and my gaze narrows. It isn’t his fault we had a little tussle.
“He tried to kill me.” She’s animated, appalled, and ferocious. I’ve no clue if Phoebe replies or if she can even get a word in edgewise. Maggie doesn’t stop for a breath. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who the hell he is. He could be the Dali Lama for all I care, he was going to kill me!”
I quirk an eyebrow and bare my teeth in a wolfish smile that says I’m still hungry in case she forgot the beast is still here. “Exaggerate much?”
Her eyes flare and she rails on, and with each insult and accusation, the flame in her eyes intensifies. I shrug, plastering on a lazy, carefree grin just to piss her off.
“Fi, I’ve got no place to stay.” Defeated, she sinks into the mattress, still hugging the towel. “No, I can’t… I’ll crash at the Phoenix before I do that.”
They talk for way too long, and from the sounds of things, her place flooded. That’s why she’s here, or so she says. Finally, she hands me the phone.
“I’m leaving.” She massages her temples. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You better be gone.”
My mouth thins into a line at her haughty tone. Not done with getting under her skin, I say, “No. I was here first.”
“Take it up with Logan, I’m sure he’ll tell you to be out by noon tomorrow.” Keeping an eye on me—smart—she brushes past.
“Where you going?”
“To dress. Not that it’s any of your business, asshole.”
Within minutes, she’s showered and halfway to the door.
“Wait.”
She jumps at my command but opens the door, only pausing to peer over her shoulder at me. “I hope I never see you again.”
The door clicks into place and she’s gone.
2
Wednesday 10:47 PM
Earlier that evening
Nick
The cold wind whistles through the railyard, and I pull my leather jacket tighter around me. November in Toronto can be balmy or it can freeze your balls off. It’s up to Mother Nature, and tonight, the lady’s a frigid bitch with the temperature dropping at an alarming rate.
The crew secures the final shipping container onto the train while Mikey waits for my signal. We’re two shadows separated by at least eighty feet and rows and rows of railway tracks. I finally nod, and he gets the train moving.
Tonight’s gig, like any other, was well choreographed. Flawless. Working the crane and other equipment, my guys loaded the shipment in record time.
We could have done it in our sleep but know better. We’re frosty with every job. Every job is the first job. People who fail to think that way get caught or wind up six feet under.
Mikey’s stocky fr
ame lumbers my way. “Boss, we’re done.”
The freight train hisses and chugs along the beaten track toward New York City. From there, who knows, and who cares. Not my job. I was responsible for getting the containers safely from the docks onto the train. Mission accomplished.
“Good.” With a hard slap to his bulky bicep, I dip my chin, withholding my usual job-well-done grin. I shouldn’t be edgy, but I am, nerves stretched and sparking.
“Round up and head out.”
“Thanks, Nick.” He turns to relay my order to the men.
With a thumbs-up to Kit, my lieutenant, in the crane, I head to my car.
Now we scatter like leaves in the wind. No need to stick around longer than is necessary. Port authority, security, or cops could show at any time.
Exiting the yard, Joe, the night watchman, isn’t in the booth at the gate. I pay him to get us in and out undetected. Where the fuck is he?
I stop for cash, and once at the debrief location, many miles from the job, everyone is here but Joe’s still missing. He’s a big guy, but not in a good way. In a way that says he’s in a committed relationship with doughnuts, not a gym. He’s hard to miss, and the dipshit is always around when there’s a payout.
I hand Kit the cash to pay the men and I head outside to make a call.