The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  Isaac let out a long, shaky breath and laid his head down on the bed. Silence broken just by the beep of the machinery. Eventually, the steady rhythm invaded his exhausted mind and he slept and when he slept he dreamed of Dan pumping bullets into Sarah over and over and over, vicious, merciless and Sarah falling, bloodied and broken, drifting further away from him. He reached for her but she slipped further and further away…

  There was a strange feeling on his head, a pressure. Fingers stroking his hair tenderly. He knew that touch, would know it anywhere. He opened his eyes and raised his head.

  Sarah smiled down at him, her face pale, dark shadows under her eyes but still…alive and smiling and so, so, so fucking beautiful…

  “Oh god, thank you, thank you…” he choked out as he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  A year later…

  Sarah Quinn swept her hair up into a loose ponytail and went out of the back door to find her husband. She soon found him in the large garden of their new home, running around and playing like a teenager with Scooter and Biggs – their two large and very silly rescue dogs. Sarah joined in with their game, passing a drool-soaked tennis ball back and forth to Isaac as the dogs barked and snapped at it. She started giggling as the dogs tackled Isaac to the ground and went crazy both trying to get the ball and licking their new master.

  “Yeah,” she said, “you look like…what was it… America’s Hottest Billionaire…right now.”

  Isaac grinned up at her and she pulled him up. He locked his arms around her and kissed her, nibbled on her ear to make her squirm. “Tickles,” she protested, chuckling. “Anyway, I came out to find you. Molly and the kids will be here soon.”

  Molly, who had always been a Seattle girl, had politely turned down Isaac’s offer to buy her and Mike a new home in Portland. Now that Isaac and Sarah had moved down there permanently, they didn’t see her as much and Sarah missed her.

  “You’ve already been so generous,” Molly had said, the night Isaac had asked her and Mike the question. Sarah had still been in hospital but well on the way to recovery and she and Isaac had decided very quickly to leave the city, leave the state.

  “I love this city,” Sarah had told him, “but too much has happened here. I need to move on.”

  Within the week, QuinnCorp’s had opened a new office in Portland and Sarah was looking at properties. Isaac had told her to choose whatever she wanted and now they had this beautiful European-style home, all exposed brickwork, and massive fireplaces. So different from her old home. That had been her only other condition. She wanted to start again – completely. She even let Isaac have free-reign about how much money he spent on her. Everything was different. New.

  Sarah had enrolled at the University of Oregon to finish her architectural degree, much to Isaac’s delight. “When you graduate,” he said, “I have the perfect project for you.”

  She had looked at him curiously but he wouldn’t tell her what it was.

  Now, she tugged him into the house. “Come on, wash up. You’re a bad influence on those kids.”

  Molly arrived and they were soon surrounded by hugs and love and kisses and the kids, hopped up on sugary drinks from their journey. Mike had come too, deciding at the last minute to join the gathering.

  When they were settled in the garden, Isaac fired up the barbecue and began cooking while Sarah excused herself.

  Molly watched Mike and the kids playing with the dogs for a moment then went to see if Isaac needed any help.

  “How’s she settling in?” She asked after some easy chatter. Isaac grinned widely.

  “Wonderfully. She’s doing so good, Molly, you should see her.”

  Molly smiled and hugged him. “I’m so glad.”

  Isaac looked up to see Sarah coming out of the house, a loving smile on her beautiful face – and a small child in her arms. Her dark skin looked like her mother’s – despite the fact they shared not one drop of DNA. Sarah brought her and Isaac’s newly adopted daughter over to see her aunt and uncle, handing her to Molly, who cooed and trilled at the little girl, Sophie.

  Isaac wrapped his arms around his wife then, as they watched their daughter being fussed over, and kissed her temple. “Mrs. Quinn,” he murmured, “God damn but I think we made it.”

  Sarah turned in his arms and kissed him. “We sure did. We made it through hell. Now we get the good stuff.”

  Isaac smiled down at his beautiful wife, who had survived the darkest hell of what humans could do to each other and still had a heart full of love to give and knew, without a doubt, that they would only see the sunshine from now on

  The End.

  Thank you for reading Maelstrőm

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  WINTER (A Romantic Suspense Novel)

  Series Blurb

  When two handsome identical twin brothers, Raffaelo and Tommaso Winter, move to her little corner of the Pacific Northwest, beautiful local businesswoman Inca Sardee has no idea that when she meets them, her life will be changed forever.

  Raised in Italy by their Italian mother, but heirs to the billion-dollar fortune their American property magnate father had built, the two brothers could not be more different. Tommaso is friendly and outgoing, while Raffaelo is a distant, brooding bad-boy who keeps himself to himself.

  Soon Inca finds herself caught between a sibling rivalry as both brothers stake their claims for her heart and her body and, despite her history, she begins an erotic affair with one of them

  When people begin to die, however, the entire scene changes. And when a family member is found dead, Inca begins to wonder if the two brothers have brought more than just their good looks and wealth to the small town she calls her home…

  Snowfall (Winter Book One)

  Tommaso strikes up a friendship with Inca and her rag-tag family of friends and customers: the spirited Scarlett; Inca’s ex-boyfriend and close friend, Olly; his sister, the troubled Luna; and her adoptive parents Nancy and Tyler. Soon though, Inca and Tommaso’s relationship turns sexual, and Inca is awakened to a new world of erotic pleasure.

  But darker forces are in play as a series of brutal murders take place and Inca finds herself at the center of a case which could threaten not only her new love but her life …

  Inca pulled her coat around her tighter as she ran from the truck to the inviting warmth of the coffee shop. The squall, which had blown in from the Sound overnight, brought with it searing cold winds and fine rain which invaded clothing relentlessly. The door blew open just as Inca reached it and she dived in, grateful that it pulsed with heat—someone had turned up the heating way too high—thank God, she thought—and smiled at Nancy behind the counter.

  “Hey kiddo.” Her adoptive mother offered her a towel to dry her hair. “How goes things?”

  It had been two days since the attack in the city parking lot, and although Inca had been thoroughly interrogated by Scarlett, she’d also sworn her to secrecy.

  “I just want to forget it. And the fewer people who know, the better. I don’t want Tyler and Nancy to worry.”

  Scarlett hadn’t been happy, but something in Inca’s face had made her agree.

  Now Inca smiled at her mom. “Good, thanks.”

  Nancy watched her hang her coat up. “Really?”

  Inca didn’t answer her for a moment and, when she turned back to Nancy, her voice was strained. “I’m fine, Nancy.”

  But she knew she couldn’t keep the truth from Nancy for long—especially after last night, when, tormented by nightmares, Inca had suffered a full-blown panic attack and called her adoptive mother at three a.m., sobbing and incoherent.

  Inca waited until the teahouse was empty, then asked Nancy to sit down with her. In a halting voice, she told her what had happened.

  Inca had spent her day off in Seattle, happily avoiding the rain by ducking in and out of bookshops and coffee shops. Busman’s holiday, she grinned to herself, trying not to compare this coffee house with her own small teahouse
in the small town just outside Seattle. Overlooking the Bay, the little Japanese-influenced gathering place had been Inca’s dream when she was studying business at college. With the help of Nancy and Tyler, she’d opened it five years previously, not knowing what the people of small-town America would think; the Sakura teahouse was about as far from Starbucks as they could imagine but they loved it.

  Even the grizzled old mountain men came to drink her specialist brews and chat with their friends. Inca lived in the small apartment above the teahouse but whenever she had a day off, she would escape, either to hike along mountain trails or into the city to find new reading material.

  Two days ago had been the latter. She’d finished the pile of books on her nightstand and, although there was still a couple of other piles of unread books in her living room, she told herself there was always a good reason to buy more. Books were her drug of choice. Hours of browsing and reading relaxed her into an almost soporific state and she simply did not consider the fact that, by the time she left the bookstore and headed back to the parking garage, it was already dark outside.

  She didn’t hear him behind her until the last second and then, as her assailant grabbed her, she went into survival mode. Adrenaline flooded her system and she fought back as he attempted to wrestle her to the ground. Inca Sardee was no pushover, despite her diminutive height of five foot two inches. She’d studied self-defense martial arts and she used her body to unbalance her attacker, elbowing him rapidly and firmly in the solar plexus, then turning and ramming her thumbs into his eyes. The attacker, a young guy with dirty blond hair and a pock-marked face, yelped and staggered away, cussing her out. Inca quickly got into her car and banged down the locks.

  She drove out of the parking garage and it wasn’t until much later, at home, that she began to feel the post-traumatic effects. She practiced deep breathing to calm down. She tried to stop her body trembling. She thought it had worked until the moment, almost an entire day later, she awoke screaming at 3 a.m. and crawled downstairs to call Nancy.

  Nancy had her hand on her chest, her face pale. “Oh, good grief, Inca … why didn’t you tell me?”

  Inca looked guilty. “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine. Not even a scratch.”

  Nancy looked disapproving. “Have you told Olly?”

  Olly Rosenbaum was the town’s police chief and Inca’s (very amicable) ex-boyfriend. Inca shrugged. Although she and Olly were still close friends, she still felt the pain of the break-up initiated by Olly a few months ago.

  “It’s not that I don’t love you,” he’d said gently, “it’s just … I think we both need more than just being good friends. But you are my best friend, Inca; you always will be.”

  And he’d kept true to his word; he still came by the teahouse every day and they hung out all the time. Inca hated to admit it, but, in fact, once the constraint of a “relationship’ had been removed from them, they seemed closer than ever.

  She shook her head now. “Olly has enough to do, and it was no big deal. I told Knox yesterday, and he agreed with me.”

  Knox Westerwick was the town’s deputy chief of police and local lothario. Inca thought he was funny, but she also knew to keep well away from his type. Knox never gave up though, and Inca had warmed to him lately. Underneath all the bullshit, he was a decent guy—not that she’d ever let him near her heart—or her bed.

  “You told Knox that?” Nancy’s voice was hard, and Inca looked at her curiously.

  “What’s up, Nance? You and Knox have a fight?”

  “Not exactly. I just gave him the Mom Speech.”

  Inca giggled, feeling her mood lift. “The ‘Mom’ Speech?”

  Nancy swatted her with a towel. “Less of your sass, Inca. Seriously though, kiddo, I got your back. It’s what happens when your kid calls you at three in the morning in tears.”

  Inca’s smile faded. “Sorry about that. I guess I just panicked.”

  Nancy frowned and opened her mouth to speak but just then the door opened and a wave of customers came in. For the next couple of hours, they barely had a chance to exchange words and it was only when Scarlett greeted them noisily that Inca looked up from her work.

  “Yo, yo, yo, you old crumblies. Still alive? Good.”

  Nancy rolled her eyes and Inca laughed. Scarlett Moyer might be nineteen years old and a

  brutally confident young woman, but they still loved her. She was bright, funny, and didn’t stand for any nonsense, but she had a big heart. Dressed, as always, in her short skirt with Doc Martins and a T-shirt that read Smile Muthaf*cka, she snapped her gum and gave them both a cheesy grin. Inca studied her apparel.

  “That T-shirt needs a comma,” she said thoughtfully and Scarlett laughed.

  “Only you, Inkyminx, would be more offended by a grammatical error than by foul language.” She grabbed a Sharpie from the counter and added the missing comma after Smile. “Happy?’

  “Definitely. Now, get to work, slave.” Inca grinned at her young friend. There might have been nine years between them, but they’d clicked the minute Scarlett had walked into the teahouse two years ago. Scarlett, an undergraduate at the University of Washington, was wise beyond her years, and Inca trusted her implicitly.

  Now Scarlett slipped her apron around her tiny waist. “I have gossip,” she said, as she began to stack cups in the sink. “Someone, or rather, someones, have bought the old Fletcher mansion.”

  Inca’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? After all this time?”

  “Yup. And you’re never going to believe who.”

  Nancy rolled her eyes impatiently. “Just spill it, Scarlett.”

  Scarlett grinned. “If I said the name Winter to you, who would you think?”

  Both Inca and Nancy looked blank and Scarlett gave a hiss of frustration. “God, Grandmas …”

  She grabbed Inca’s iPad from the counter and quickly pulled up a photograph and newspaper article. “Tommaso and Raffaelo Winter. Look at them.”

  Inca glanced quickly at the photograph. She saw two young men with identical, dark curly hair and intense green eyes. “I have no idea who they are,” she said, turning back to her work. Nancy took the iPad from Scarlett and read the article aloud.

  “The Winter Twins, heirs to the Winter Property fortune, are billionaires in their own right. The brothers, thirty-five, decided to relocate from their native Italy to Washington State to pursue their respective careers. Tommaso Winter is working with the US government to promote clean energy in the Pacific Northwest, whereas Raffaelo Winter is the owner of the international club franchise, Zensual, that will be opening a new club in Seattle at the end of the month. Widely considered the two most eligible men on the planet, the Winters will have the pick of the Seattle social elite to choose from when they arrive in the State. The twins are still reeling from the death of their Italian mother, Silvana, who lost her battle with cancer earlier this month. Silvana Winter was divorced from the boy’s father, Edgar Winter.”

  Inca had stopped listening, but she caught Nancy’s tone and grinned at her. “You hate them already.”

  Nancy shrugged. “Poor little rich boys. Strange that two thirty-five-year olds still live together.”

  “Twins,” Scarlett shrugged, by way of explanation. “They are gorgeous though. Look, Inca, look at those eyes, those bodies … God.”

  Inca grinned. “Drooling at work is most unseemly, Scarlett.”

  “But look …” She shoved the iPad back at Inca who, sighing, took it. Scarlett wasn’t wrong. Tommaso and Raffaelo Winter were heartbreakingly handsome; they had that brooding, sexy thing going on. Inca studied them, trying to pick out the differences. Raffaelo’s eyes were wary, his curls slightly longer and wilder, but that was it. They looked like movie stars. Inca handed the iPad back.

  “You know what they look like? Trouble.”

  Scarlett grinned. “Yeah … fantastic.”

  Inca opened her apartment door, rolling her eyes and giving him a disapproving look. “It’s e
leven p.m.”

  Olly shrugged.

  “Come on in.” Inca stood back to let him pass and squinted at him. “Nancy told you, right?”

  “Question is,” Olly said, “why didn’t you?”

  She fixed him some tea, and Olly thanked her as she passed him the cup. Inca sank into the sofa, pulling her legs up under herm and studied her friend with a critical eye. Olly, at thirty-three, was five years her senior. His light brown hair was cut short, his hazel eyes crinkled at the edges. Clean-cut, all-American, Olly Rosenbaum was the epitome of trustworthy and noble.

  “You’re not my bodyguard, Olly.” She softened her words with a smile. “It was really nothing. I handled it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Olly raised his eyebrows at her. Inca rolled her eyes.

  “Because you have enough to do, and what could you have done anyway? Nothing. It was over in less than two minutes and I’m fine. Like I said, you’re not my bodyguard.”

  Olly sipped his tea. “Are you pissed with me or something?”

  “No, sweetie, just tired. How’re things with you?”

  Olly nodded. “Good. Good. Listen, Inks, um …”

  Inca suppressed a smile. “What’s her name?”

  Olly laughed, his expression sheepish. “Molly. She’s a criminologist, working out of the city.”

  Inca felt a pang in her chest but smiled at him. “Nice. How long have you been seeing her?”

  “A week or two. Look, I wanted to tell you because I’m thinking of taking her to Levi and Jim’s and I didn’t want to just tip up there and—”