Cold Deception (His Agenda 4): Prequel to the His Agenda Series

by Lavelle, Dori

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  EPILOGUE

  COLD DECEPTION

  (Prequel to the His Agenda Series)

  By Dori Lavelle

  Cold Deception (Prequel to the His Agenda Series)

  Copyright © 2016 by Dori Lavelle

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Art: Dori Lavelle

  Editor: Leah Wohl-Pollack and Samantha Gordon

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  *Cold Deception is a tragic love story that should be read after books 1, 2, and 3 in the His Agenda Series.*

  They say he’s a monster, a very dangerous man. But they don’t know him. They don’t know the depth of the darkness lurking inside his soul. They don’t see the burn of the wounds on his heart. If they did, maybe they would understand why he became Jude Macknight.

  Cold Deception offers a peek into the past life of Jude Macknight…when he used to be someone else, when he was married to the woman who introduced him to his dark side.

  **WARNING: Due to sexual situations and adult content, Cold Deception is not intended for readers under the age of 18, and anyone who is unable to read books containing the following issues: kidnapping, murder, rape, and extreme abuse. **

  Prologue

  A thunderstorm raged outside the walls of the Sunshine Orphanage, rattling the tiny basement window as if wanting to rip it right out of its frame.

  Terence Pirone wrinkled his nose at the smell of mold mixed with his own sweat. His heart slammed against his chest as he dragged himself across the cold and dirty cement floor, the cracks rough against his naked skin, scraping it, shredding it. He wedged himself between boxes stuffed with plastic party decorations on one side and pieces of broken furniture on the other.

  He looked up with terrified eyes. Bright light shone from the naked bulb that hung from the low ceiling. It spilled onto the head of Brett Smithers, making his sweaty bald patch shine.

  Terence watched as Smithers pulled up his pants and fastened his belt under his wobbly stomach. He swallowed hard, wishing he could rid his mouth of the bitter taste of bile, and the blood drawn when he’d bitten himself earlier.

  Smithers cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, his bushy brows hugging in the middle. “Say one word to anyone and you’ll be out on the streets. A bitch like you wouldn’t survive out there, trust me.”

  Terence pressed his back against the cold wall. Fuck you, he thought. I’d be safer anywhere but in this so-called children’s shelter, you son of a bitch.

  When Terence remained silent, Smithers smacked him hard across the side of his head. “Are you deaf, boy?”

  “No, sir.” Terence turned his face away, his head pounding. “I won’t speak to anyone.”

  “Get up.” Smithers crossed his arms across his chest. “Go get some sleep. Be here tomorrow, same time.”

  Terence smiled inwardly. He had no plans of returning to this basement—not tomorrow, not ever. Tonight would be the last time he would hear Smithers’s voice or smell his onion breath. After tonight, he would never feel Smithers’s rough hands on his skin again.

  Smithers shot him another warning look and walked up the creaking stairs, disappearing through the door. He entered the other side, where he pretended he was a good man, the respectable founder of the largest orphanage in Serendipity, Wisconsin.

  If only the world knew what rotten scum he was.

  Terence and the other boys had attempted to rat Smithers out to the other staff members, but so far, nothing had been done. Smithers was the boss. No one could touch him.

  Left alone, Terence dug into one of the boxes beside him and pulled out the knife he’d brought down to the basement earlier, when he was carrying out his chore of stocking the shelves with canned foods.

  He placed the knife on the floor and pulled up his shorts, gritting his teeth at the pain. He reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

  Then he exited the basement with nothing but murder on his mind, the consequences drowned by rage.

  He walked down the corridor in the dark, an invisible angel of death. Six doors down, he’d find Smithers in the staff bathroom. He always went there afterward.

  As Terence crept along the hall, he stepped into something slippery and fell forward, landing on a surface that was hard and soft at the same time. The knife flew out of his hand. He scrambled to his knees, his head snapping up when something creaked. He caught a faint light at the end of the hallway as the door to the staircase opened. A shock of red hair appeared in his line of sight a split second before the person disappeared through the door. Freckle-faced Jasper Gordy. Terence’s roommate.

  In the dark, Terence felt around with his hands, trying to figure out what he had fallen on. He picked himself up off the floor, almost slipping again, and found the light switch. His heart stopped as yellow light spilled across the bloodied body of Brett Smithers. A fountain of blood bubbled from the hollow in Smithers’s neck and more gushed from his gut. Terence’s knife lay in the sticky pool beside him—the knife that should have killed him. But Smithers was already dead, and his murderer had escaped.

  When the cops arrived, they arrested Terence. After a long trial, backed by evidence from T
erence’s diary that detailed how he had planned to murder Smithers, he was found guilty of first-degree murder. At the age of sixteen, Terence Pirone was sent to prison.

  Chapter One

  Terence

  At noon on the dot, Terence reported to the receiving and discharge department of the Serendipity, Wisconsin Correctional Facility to be processed out. For his walk out the door, he was handed a plain white t-shirt, old jeans, and a pair of running shoes. The normal clothes felt alien on his skin, but he still couldn’t return his jumpsuit fast enough.

  The clothes he had worn as he entered the prison eleven years ago no longer fit the man he had become. Thanks to maturity, hard labor, and exercise, the once thin, long arms now boasted hard biceps that would tear right through any teenager’s t-shirt.

  “Wait here,” a guard barked, and Terence sat down on a rough bench, waiting for the paperwork to be completed. He had to restrain himself from punching the guard’s already flat nose and telling him to fuck off. He had waited eleven fuckin’ years already. Years he’d never get back.

  The door to the outside world finally clicked open, and Terence was escorted through metal detectors. Minutes later, he stood at the front gates. The sun hung high in the sky as he walked through the metal gates, the rays beating down on his face. His whole body sagged with relief as he took a breath of cool, clean air. Fuck the smell in that place—a disgusting stench of sweat, urine, mildew, and hopelessness. Fuck rules and curfews. Fuck the other prisoners. Fuck prison. He was a free man now—an angry, free man—walking away with a handshake and an apology. He would never have respect for a system that threw innocent kids behind bars and took eleven years to sort out the truth.

  He froze when he saw his brother, Marion, in the parking lot. He wore a leather jacket and clean jeans, and was leaning against what looked like a brand new SUV. He was tall and muscular, but Terence was satisfied to detect that his brother’s dark hair seemed to be too thinning at the top…a few years too early. The ponytail he wore at the back of his neck didn’t fool anyone.

  Marion came to visit Terence in prison for the first time two months ago, after Michael Wheeler, Terence’s lawyer, had tracked him down to inform him of Terence’s impending release. Terence had been furious when he found out. During that visit, he had sat across from his older brother without saying a word. What could he say? They were practically strangers. A year before Terence was sent to prison, Marion had left the Sunshine Orphanage to live with a foster family. He got the good life while Terence got the shit end of the stick.

  “I told you not to show up here. Where’s my lawyer?” Terence walked past Marion, determined to get as far away from him as possible. Marion jogged to catch up with him. His departure had shattered Terence. Marion had always been the one he could count on.

  “Wait up, Terence. I’m here because you’re my brother. We’re family.”

  The words sliced through Terence and he turned as Marion caught up. “I don’t have a family. Where the fuck is Wheeler? He said he’d pick me up.” He seethed with mounting rage.

  “He’s back in New York. I told him not to come.” Marion placed a hand on Terence’s shoulder. “You’re not alone. You can choose to believe that or not. Let me help you.”

  Terence shrugged off Marion’s hand and backed away. “Get your hands off me. I don’t need your help. Not anymore.”

  Marion pushed his hands into his pockets. His eyes took on a haunted look. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you back then. I was a kid too… helpless as you were.” He took in a sharp breath. “I can’t change the past, but I’m here now. I’m here for you. I suffered too, you know. I carry most of the same bad memories as you.”

  Marion’s words were broken by the sounds of voices and car doors slamming.

  “Damn right you do.” Terence moved aside to allow two somber-looking women to pass by. “You have a car, a life, a clean name. You don’t look like you’re suffering.”

  Marion’s eyes softened when he looked back at Terence. “At least let me take you somewhere. Let’s go have a drink. We’ll talk. You can tell me what I can do to help you. And you can stay with me, for a while at least. Please, tell me how to help.”

  Terence nodded and walked toward Marion’s car. “I just need a lift. Wheeler said there’s a homeless shelter on Broad Edge Avenue. Drop me off there.”

  Chapter Two

  “Watch where you’re going, fool.” A dark-clothed man pushed past Terence and disappeared into the night, leaving behind the smell of hot dogs.

  Terence swallowed the ball of hate lodged inside his throat, jammed his hands into his pockets, and continued on, pushing his way through the streets of Serendipity. To distract himself from thinking about his fucked-up life, he listened to the sound of his shoes hitting the ground, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet. Two weeks since he’d walked out of prison and he was still pissed off.

  The day had not been completely messed up, though. He had landed a job repairing cars at George’s Garage after being turned down by dozens of employers. Being an ex-con sucked. It didn’t matter whether you were sent to prison innocent or guilty. All that counted were the years you spent sleeping in a cell.

  As he walked past Grace Chapel, a jarring scream split the silent night. Terence scanned the street but saw nothing except a couple of parked cars, illuminated by the faint yellow light of the streetlamps. He turned slowly in a half circle, his heart pounding. Then the tortured scream shredded the night air once more. This time he followed it to a car parked on the other side of the street: a black Honda Civic that was swaying slightly.

  He contemplated going to find out what was going on. At first it looked as though a couple had chosen to have a good time in public, but the screams didn’t stop. They tugged at Terence’s nerves. He had plenty of his own shit to deal with, but he couldn’t walk away. Against his better judgment, he found himself crossing the street, the screams pulling him like an invisible string.

  He was right—partially. They were lovers looking for an adventure, but only the man seemed to be having a good time. At least he was trying to. He had a hairy, thick neck and steroid-infused muscles. They looked too fake to be natural. Muscleman pinned down the blond, frail-looking woman in the backseat and was attempting to push her legs apart.

  “Shut up, bitch. I know you want it.” Muscleman clamped a hand over her mouth.

  The woman’s terrified green eyes fluttered open, locking with Terence’s through the barely open window. Fear and shock swam in them. Terence recognized her at once as one of the helpers from the Oasis Shelter. He had never conversed much with her, but knew her name was Lacey.

  As the man pushed a hand between himself and the woman, shoving his jeans down, rage burst through Terence’s earlier resistance. He shot out his hand and yanked open the door of the backseat. Gathering the strength he had acquired behind bars, he grabbed the man by his clothes and yanked him out of the car. He held the guy by his collar, planted a punch on his mouth, and shoved him onto the pavement. Without giving the man a chance to recover from the shock of having a stranger interrupt his plans, Terence swung his foot back and kicked the attacker hard in the groin. For a moment, he watched Muscleman writhe with agony, and then he turned to the woman. He stretched out his hand to help her out of the car, but she hesitated.

  “I’m here to help.” His mind instructed his lips to smile. It was an action he was still relearning.

  She reached for his hand and he pulled her out. Once her legs were steady, she averted her gaze from his and zipped up her black pants. She looked back up at him with teary eyes and flushed cheeks. He ignored the tug at his heart, shrugged off his secondhand sports jacket, and draped it across her shoulders.

  He guided her down the street, wanting to get her as far away from Muscleman as possible. She didn’t stop him. On the other side of the road, he pulled a newspaper out of his backpack and laid it down on the steps of Grace Chapel.

  “You might want to sit… for a wh
ile. To catch your breath.”

  She didn’t look at him as she lowered herself onto the step. Should he ask if she was all right? Walk away? His feet wouldn’t move, so he opted for the former.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up at him and nodded. He had never really noticed her before at Oasis. As he scanned her face for signs of discomfort or pain, her green eyes riveted him to the spot.

  “Good… that’s good.” Terence couldn’t pull his gaze from her eyes, from the shards of glass floating in them. He only looked away to check if her assailant was gone. With satisfaction, he watched Muscleman swipe a hand across his bloody mouth and drag himself to his feet. He swayed a bit before pulling up his pants and getting behind the wheel of his car. He gunned the engine and pulled out of the parking spot, driving away on screeching tires.

  “Do you know him?”

  She nodded again. “My… my ex-boyfriend.” The fragile softness in her voice reminded Terence of fresh flower petals. “He… he’s been following me around.” Her expression closed. She removed Terence’s jacket and handed it back to him.

  “Keep it. You need it more than I do,” Terence said, eyeing her thin long-sleeved top. The autumn night was cool, but he had worn the jacket just for style. A chill in the air was no big deal. He had learned a lot of things in prison, and one of them was how to keep warm in freezing temperatures. The guards had been fond of throwing them out into the bitter cold yard when they misbehaved, and keeping them out there until their lips turned blue and they begged to be let in.

  “No.” Lacey pushed the coat into his arms and stood. “You’ve helped me enough.” Without saying another word, she walked away with her arms wrapped around herself. He stared after her with an ache in his heart. He wanted her to stay. Wanted to talk to her some more, to protect her, even escort her to Oasis. But she clearly wanted to be left alone.

  He sank onto the steps and lifted his coat to his nose. With his eyes closed, he inhaled, searching for traces of her coconut scent within the folds of the material.