by Nia Arthurs
“Thanathus? Alistair?” A soft voice rises above the silence of the robed assassins circling us.
My expression remains carefully neutral, though I recognize the tone.
A warrior in black robes and a dark hood steps forward.
“Retreat!” Toqueph orders the assassin.
His words fall on deaf ears as the assassin continues forward.
“Stay back!”
“Thanathus,” the warrior shakes the hood from her head and allows her dark curly hair to cascade to just above her shoulders, “you have won the duel. Now put your weapon away and state why you have come.”
She has caramel colored skin and soft, pretty features, but her eyes are sharp and intelligent.
I glance at Damien. He is more accustomed to this league than I. When the man dips his head, I let my weapon drop.
“Why, I should…” Toqueph launches himself at me.
“Father!” the woman yells.
Toqueph freezes. He glares at us and steps back.
The chief’s voice is raspy. “I will not bow to you as victor, but I shall acknowledge the winner of the duel by granting one request. So,” he eyes me, “what is it?”
Damien and I bow low.
“Thank you for extending your mercy,” I pull the metal box from my backpack. “Are these writings familiar to you?”
Toqueph hesitantly grasps the sheets from me. When he sees the writing, his eyes flicker with recognition. The chief lifts his head.
“Leave us!”
Immediately, his warriors flee the room. All but one.
“You too, Lelita.”
The beautiful woman eyes me for a long time before dipping her head and obeying the command.
Toqueph sighs. “You have risked much to translate these. Why?”
“They hold the key to my future,” I speak honestly.
Toqueph extends his arm toward the room. “This could have been your future.”
I think of the burden that I carried while embedded in this life. I am glad my path did not lead to this destination.
“Can you understand it?” I ask, returning the conversation to the matter at hand.
“Yes,” Toqueph sets the pages on his desk and peers closely at them, “but I still don’t understand. Why did you risk so much to deliver letters.”
I bow my head over the desk. “They are letters?”
“Yes,” Toqueph lifts a sheet and points to it, “they are written in the ancient code known only by chiefs and their heirs.”
“Fascinating,” Damien stares at the scribbling with new eyes.
But why would my father know that language? Perhaps he was an assassin as well?
“Do they speak of war or plans of war?” I think aloud, “perhaps a secret assassination?”
“War?” Toqueph gruffly laughs, “these are not letters of battle, but of love.” He sets his finger against a strange marking, “they are love letters to a woman named Lydia.”
I step back, holding my chest as my heart threatens to burst from it. It can’t be. An assassin chief was penning love letters… to my mother?
“You must be mistaken,” I insist, drawing closer to Toqueph. “My mother was not that kind of woman.”
“I don’t know your mother, but I can assure you,” Toqueph pauses to read a missive, “these were written by an assassin in the upper tiers of the league.”
“My father?” I ask hopefully.
Damien steps forward then. “Could you translate them to English, Toqueph?”
The chief’s dark eyes gleam before he agrees.
“Fetch me a pad and some paper. I will reveal the truth you seek tonight.”
Damien rushes to do as Toqueph bids, but I remain stationary. I have been focused so focused on solving this mystery, that I didn’t stop think of how it would affect me if I did. Suddenly, I realize that my life’s path was more intertwined with the league than I’d thought.
No matter how much it pains me, I must unravel all of the secrets. Not only for Kendall, but for myself.
Epilogue
Kendall
I’ve been squirming and wiggling for hours but these darn ropes just won’t let me go. When I get my hands on Alistair, I am going to…
“Thump, thump,”
Wait? Is someone here? Are the men back?
An equal amount of relief and anger explodes in my chest. Alistair made it! He’s alive!
Now I’m gonna kill him!
Shouting blares from the television as Stacey Ann splashes her wine glass at Jennifer Tiffany. Thank God, someone’s here to turn this crap off.
“Mff nief mff,” I grumble past the gag around my mouth.
Alistair better take these things off me before I explode.
“My, my, my,” a voice that is definitely not Alistair’s reaches my ears.
I glance up in fright and recognize Maveth standing casually in the doorway. He’s wearing the same outfit as I remember (I guess he has a thing for black clothes) and has a dagger in his hands.
Haven’t these assassins heard of guns?
Go away! Go away!
Maveth draws closer. “I see someone’s already prepared you for me.”
Stay back! Stay back!
But Maveth can’t hear me and even if he could, he doesn’t look like the type to feel any kind of sympathy. His eyes are hard and evil. I’m alone in a hotel room with the maniac I nearly ran over with my truck.
I don’t think Maveth’s forgotten.
Panic creeps up my heart and pumps fear into my veins. Someone is going to die tonight. Between the man with the knife and the woman tied to a chair, I can guess who it’s going to be.
TO BE CONTINUED…
A Word from the Author
Hello! Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. If you enjoyed this story, I would be honored if you would let others know by writing a review on Amazon. Word of mouth is important for an author’s success. Thank you for your support!
I would love to hear from you at [email protected]
You can also follow me on IG: Nia Arthurs @nia_bks and Twitter: @niaarthurs
Other books by this author
Available on Amazon…
The Taming Series
Taming Mr. Jerkface
Taming Mr. Charming
Taming Mr. Know-it-all
Taming Mr. Darcy
The Seven Realms Series
Genesis
Revelations
The Tree of Knowledge (coming soon)
Love & Reggae
Amid the Noise
Count Me In
Buffalo Soldier
Confessions of A Church Girl
Glass Houses
Fitting In
Standing Out
Standalone
Whiter Than Snow
Married By Science
Tsea
Fool Me Never
Audrey’s Choice
Scarlet
Love In Many Shades Series
Cece & David
Cece & David 2
Cece & David 3
Boyfriend By Series
Boyfriend By Blackmail
Boyfriend By Midnight
Boyfriend By Design
Read on for an excerpt from the third book in the Re-Do Series:
Chapter 1
Kendall
My relationship with Alistair Howard –a.k.a. Thanathus–is complicated. Like really complicated. And I’m not using that term lightly. My connection with Alistair is way more messed up than anything that happens in day-to-day society.
Why? I’m glad you asked.
Alistair Howard is an assassin. He’s a robe-wearing, knife-wielding, kill-‘em-for-a-living assassin. And I’m crushing on him like crazy.
Earlier this afternoon we strolled down the beach, enjoying an awesome second date. This time, there were no crazy mercenaries flinging sharp knives meant to impale us. There was no need to ram Lula into anyone. And there were no deaths, fa
ke or otherwise.
I thought things were looking up.
But this is my life after-all. Whenever things are too good, I just wait for the other shoe to drop. That shoe came clobbering into my behind a few hours later as the man I’m totally, kind of, falling for bound and gagged me.
And no, it wasn’t in a romantic sense.
I guess I can forgive him for tying me up. I was pretty vocal about coming along on his dangerous mission to fight to the death with the leader of the assassins. He was pretty vocal about me staying behind. The method of restraint he chose was unconventional, but effective.
Like I said, I can probably move past Alistair’s decision to bind me like a cow at a rodeo given the circumstances.
But the man didn’t just tie me up. No, he tortured me with five hours of nothing but mindless reality television. For the past few hours, my brain cells have been melting into puddles of goo. This is unforgiveable.
Thump, thump.
The faint sound of booted feet followed by a door opening and closing resounds in the suite. I feel equal parts relief and anger.
It’s about time.
I express my displeasure through the muffling fabric of the pillow case that Alistair made into a gag. When I’m out of here, Alistair’s is so dead.
“My, my, my,” a voice echoes in the silence.
Immediately, I freeze. That’s not Alistair or even Damien. The cold tones, the gruff quality of his voice belongs to one man.
Maveth.
I glance up in fear. The evil assassin is wearing black robes, tied with a thick black belt. A black hood shades his face in shadows. The guy takes ‘creepy’ to a whole new level.
Maveth slips the hood away from his head. “I see someone’s already prepared you for me.”
I tip the chair back and forth, trying to get away from him, but it’s no use. Alistair fastened me to the only furniture bolted down into the carpet.
I start to freak out as Maveth slowly advances.
How did he find us? What is he going to do with me now? Would he forgive me for the misunderstanding with my gas pedal, Lula’s grill, and his body?
Maveth’s extends his gloved hand and presses his fingerprints against my face. I flinch in fear. According to Alistair and Damien, the code of assassins involves respecting women and children. I’m hoping that Maveth still acknowledges those laws.
“Come, let me hear your screams,” Maveth wrenches the cloth from my mouth.
From the tone of his voice, I don’t think he lives by any code but his own. Still, the man liberates my lips. I might as well make use of the freedom. His hand is right there.
So I bite it.
My teeth sink into the pale skin of his arm. Maveth bawls out in pain and surprise. He shakes his hand from my grip and uses the other to backhand me in the cheek.
My chair rocks unsteadily before falling sideways, wrenching my arm as it clatters to the ground. Sharp pain ricochets up my shoulder. I think I dislocated something.
Maveth curses, hurling a rather derogatory name my way.
Seriously, this guy is such a jerk.
“The men will come back any minute now. You better get out of here.” I threaten, trying to hide how much pain I’m in.
Maveth sneers, while massaging his hand.
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
I widen my eyes, realizing that I should have kept that information to myself. The scary assassin paces the room, peeking through the curtains to the ocean view outside.
I’m lying down on the ground with a limp arm and no means to get out of this mess.
Okay, Kendall. Think. Think. What could this guy’s ultimate goal be? He wants Alistair dead. He hasn’t killed me yet. That’s good. Maybe I can keep it that way.
“So,” I begin conversationally, though my voice trembles, “how’d you find us?”
Maveth cuts me a look. The fact that I’ve spoken isn’t helping my case. I’m hoping that he’ll just gloss over my question when he turns full to me.
“You’re very brave for a woman,” he mumbles.
I take offense on behalf of all women.
On the bright side, Maveth is engaging me so I might have a chance to keep him talking until Alistair comes.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I inhale a deep breath as the pain in my shoulder intensifies. “How’d you find us?”
Maveth paces to the other side of the room. “It’s no wonder Alistair loves you.”
I blink. Alistair loves me? Aw…wait! I have to focus. Whether Alistair has feelings for me or not, I doubt this psycho would recognize it.
“How did you find us?” I demand.
Maveth ventures to the closet. He puts his large paws all over my stuff. The freak!
“I recall that we could never get him to join us at the brothels. He was always training, that one. The golden boy of the league.”
“Not that your little evil back story isn’t heartwarming and all, but could you not touch my stuff?” I demand.
Maveth smirks. The baring of his teeth reminds me of a wolf. He strides forward, stopping just in front of me. His shoes fill my vision. The assassin’s large boots have soft soles. Probably to step without making a sound?
“What is it about you that has captured his attention? What feminine charms have you spun that he would open himself up to attack?”
He sets his hands on his thighs and stoops down, his gaze raking my face. He’s not invading my personal space, but he’s still too close for comfort.
“Are you looking for a friend, Maveth?” I cock my head to the side, “because I’m not interested.”
Maveth throws his head back and laughs. I glare at him. That wasn’t meant to be funny. Right now, Maveth has the upper hand. He knows it and I know it. Doesn’t mean I’ll turn around and cower. Alistair and Damien really will be back at any minute.
I hope.
“You have a big mouth, woman.” Maveth scolds.
I shrug in agreement. I do.
Maveth circles my chair. “How is it that you do not fear me?”
He’s got it all wrong. I’m peeing my pants here! As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not a very brave person. Maveth is right. All I have is my mouth. If I have to go tonight, I want to go pretending that I’m stronger than I am.
Maybe then, I really will be able to overcome this trained mercenary.
“Probably because you’re gloating about nothing. You won over a woman. Without a weapon. Tied to a chair. Isn’t your faction all about honor? What kind of honor is that? If I’m going to die, at least give me a chance to fight back.”
“You know nothing of our ways.” Maveth grumbles.
“I do,” I insist. “Alistair told me all about you.”
An idea begins to bloom as I realize that that I’m getting him.
Maveth obviously has chief-issues. If I can convince him to let me go, I may be able to escape. It’s a gamble, but until Alistair or Damien burst through those doors, it’s the only chance I have.
Chapter 2
Alistair
The firelight dancing on the rim of a lantern flickers against the stone walls. The signs of my battle with Toqueph, chief of this island’s assassins, lie in the upturned furnishings and scuffled marks on the floor.
The air has shifted from one of death and opposition, to peace and unity. Toqueph acknowledged my victory by agreeing to translate the contents of the metal box found in the attic of my childhood home.
Damien and Toqueph stand a few feet away, both are bent over a large desk. Before them spreads the most astonishing secret I have discovered in my many years of work as a mercenary.
The strange missives buried in the metal container are love letters.
I am still floored. My mind rejects the validity of Toqueph’s claims. This can’t be right. My mother was having an affair with the chief of a league?
The thought alone is ludicrous. I might have been too young to recall her face, but I remember her essence
. Lydia Howard was not the kind of woman that would betray anyone, especially not her husband.
If I would wager to guess, I’d bet my mother was a lot like Kendall. Strong. Fiercely protective. I was only five when she perished, but the memories of our walks in her secret garden are treasured.
Toqueph must be lying.
I remain deathly still as the men by the desk finish up their work. Perhaps it is the gravity of Toqueph’s findings, but I cannot stop thinking about Kendall. A strong, pulsing sensation needles my chest. My gut is screaming, urging me back to the hotel, back to her.
Now that the duel is over, I can clearly see that restraining her to a chair was an atrocious idea. What if she needs to use the restroom? Have I no decency?
“Here,” Damien draws near to me.
His presence startles me from my thoughts. My friend and gifted assassin slaps the roll of notes in my palms.
“Thank you for translating these,” I hold the papers up to the light and bow to the chief.
“You are welcome,” Toqueph dips his head. “Do you want something to eat before you go?”
“Definitely!” Damien grins and then whispers to me, “they make the most incredible sliders here. I wonder if my old buddy still works in the kitchen?”
“No,” I pull him aside. “The way we left Kendall...” my voice trails, “we need to get back to her.”
“You’re right,” Damien frowns and stares apologetically at Toqueph. “Sorry, we have to go. We have some tied ends that need to be loosened back on the mainland.”
I glare at Damien’s ridiculous joke.
Toqueph accepts the explanation without comment.
“Go in peace,” he allows, “but the next time you two feel like visiting, come through the front door like everyone else. You’re only walking out of here because of my daughter.”
“Noted,” Damien salutes.
We bid Toqueph our goodbye’s, prepared to leave through the proper exit this time. As we stride toward the front entrance, the discomfort in my chest grows. Damien is slowing us down, stopping to greet his friends with cheerful banter.