By a Thread
Page 1
Contents
Cover
Newsletter
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
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About the Author
Thank you so much for buying BY A TREAD, Book One in the Trueborn Heirs Series! You’re helping me living my dream!
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Levire Publishing
Levire UG (haftungsbeschränkt) & Co. KG
Teilfeld 8, 20459 Hamburg, Germany
http://www.levire.com
Copyright © 2019 by Nyna Queen
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Levire Publishing, Levire UG (haftungsbeschränkt) & Co. KG.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via 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.
Cover illustration and design by Teodora Chinde.
ISBN: 978-1-798-79171-4
Version 2
To my family that supports me, no matter what I do.
In particular, to my sister Nadja, who read every single line, from the messy first draft to the final version—the best proofreader in the world.
And to the love of my life: Daniel, without you I never would have made it!
ACKNOWLEGEMENTS
A big thanks to all the people who helped me make this book a reality. Creating and publishing a story is always a group effort and, therefore, I would like to thank all those who accompanied me on this very exciting—and sometimes trying—journey.
A special thanks to my editor, Auz Burger, and to Teodora Chinde, for designing this terrific cover.
And to Daniel Kiedrowski, Karen, Holger and Nadja Kunigk, Jule Pörschke, Meike Peters, Sean and Dang Ghodoussi, Katharina Kiehn and Jan and Anna-Lena Thiel for all your support, input, emergency-coffees and teas, constructive criticism (which sometimes took me a while to accept), encouragement, and belief in me.
And finally—thank YOU for picking up this book, for your interest and faith. A book is written for its readers. So, I hope you enjoy this ride alongside Alex and I’ll see you on the other side.
Happy reading!
CHAPTER ONE
“THERE you go! A double scotch on the rocks.”
Alexis Harper set the half-filled glass on the counter and pushed it over to the man on the other side of the bar.
He caught it with his free hand but didn’t drink. Instead, he took a long drag from his cigarette and slowly blew out the fumes, watching her through the billows of smoke curling in the dim yellow glow of the drop lights above the bar.
Suppressing a cough, Alex resisted the urge to raise a hand and fan at the smoke. It wouldn’t do much good anyway. The air in the dive bar was so thick with the stale odors of tobacco smoke and ash mixed with sweat, alcohol, and old wood, there was no way to get rid of it other than to burn the whole thing down. It was one of the rare moments when she cursed her overly sensitive senses.
The guy tipped his cigarette on one of the metal ashtrays and took a small sip of scotch, all the while watching her over the rim of the glass. Sizing her up. Interested. A little too interested for her taste.
She knew that look. It meant nothing but trouble—for him.
Pretending not to notice his blatant staring, she grabbed a rag and busied herself wiping down the counter. Hoping he’d get the message and leave.
Of course, he didn’t. They never did. It seemed men were immune to messages they just didn’t want to get.
When she turned around to rinse out the rag in the basin she sensed his eyes lingering on her back, wandering down to her butt, like invisible fingernails running along very sensitive skin. A warning tingle prickled between her shoulder blades. An all too known itch just below her skin.
Oh no! No chance!
Her hands involuntarily clenched into fists at her sides, as the darkness inside her clawed, ready to spring free.
Alex took a breath and straightened. Time to put a stop to it before things got nasty. She was tired and really not in the mood for playing games. Especially not this kind of game.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked with all the politeness she could muster, which wasn’t easy when you were practically being undressed against your will by your counterparts’ eyes.
The sleazeball grinned in a smug way—probably thought he’d finally won her attention—and leaned forward until she could smell the acrid stench of alcohol on his breath and the rancid old sweat from his shirt. It made her flesh crawl, but not in the way he clearly intended.
“That’s all up to you, babe. I’m free all night.”
Oh, one of that kind. Alex could barely refrain from rolling her eyes. She’d seen his type before. A macho man straight from the book. The kind who thought they only had to snap their fingers to charm the pants off their prey. Well, she wasn’t prey. Quite the opposite. Which he would discover if he strained her nerves just a little longer …
He mistook the moment she struggled for control as common female hesitation, an invitation to go on.
“I could show you my etchings,” he suggested with a lecherous grin. “I have very … impressive … tools.”
Bet you do, Alex thought.
Picking up his cigarette, he tilted his head at little. “Well? When does your shift end?”
In your dreams! With a sweet smile Alex propped her forearms on the counter and bent toward him, ignoring his unpleasant smell.
“Sugar, if I wanted to spread my legs for every man with a cheap chat-up line, I’d work on the side of a street and not behind a bar.”
That message finally got through to him. The grin fell from his face and his fingers tightened around the whiskey glass.
She moved closer and whispered, “And darling, this is exactly where you leave with what little dignity you have left.”
The whiskey glass splintered as he smashed it down on the counte
r and stood up abruptly, almost knocking the chair over with his force.
“Your choice, bitch,” he spat at her before stalking off like a rejected prima donna.
Ugh, males! What had happened to “take it like a man?”
Leaning her hip against the side of the bar, Alex tilted her head back and sighed.
“Seriously, Alex. You don’t always need to be so hard on them.”
Lowering her gaze, she found her coworker Mitja coming around the bar with a tray of empty glasses, chin-pointing past the customer she had just rebuffed. His washed-out jeans and rumpled hair always gave him a boyish air, but the lines on his lean face made him look older than his thirty years. The Bin did that to people. Scratch that. Life did!
Alex shrugged unapologetically.
“That’s the only way they understand,” she said lightly and tucked a blond strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.
Mitja shook his shabby brown head at her. “Instead of giving the whole lot a knock-back, you should consider giving it a go once in a while. You know, just for the fun of it. See how it turns out. Maybe you’d be surprised.”
“What are you? The local bartender-slash-matchmaker?”
Her colleague grinned, not having the decency to be the least bit offended. “You could have your fair pick, you know. Considering the amount of willing aspirants you attract …” He wiggled his brows at her.
Alex rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Have a pick between the drunkards, molesters, and weirdos. That’s what I call a choice. Thanks but no thanks!”
She tore the plastic wrapping off a sealed can pack with a short knife, while Mitja started to fill new glasses beside her.
“Maybe you are just a bit too picky,” he said after a while, not looking up from the drink he was pouring.
Alex shot him a dirty look.
“What?” he asked, just a bit too innocently. Saying too plainly what he was thinking. What all her colleagues were thinking about her.
“If you think of them so highly, why don’t you go out with them?” she suggested venomously. She grabbed the sides of the plastic and ripped at it forcefully, while she added, more to herself, “Besides, I’m done with guys.”
A hard learned lesson, but one to be remembered. She yanked a can free of the wrapping and thumped it down on the counter with more force than necessary.
Mitja’s soft chuckle made her stiffen.
“Alex, you’re what? Twenty-five or something? And already done with guys? Honestly!”
“Mind your own business.”
He didn’t stop grinning. “Just sayin’. Quite a waste of fuck material.”
She yanked the knife free and turned toward him. “Careful there, sugar!”
Mitja raised his hands in mock surrender and backed away from her, still smirking.
“Alright, alright. Not my business.”
He took the filled tray and started around the bar. At the edge, he stopped and leaned over in her direction, almost shouting to be heard over the buzz of music and conversation.
“Oh, and before I forget it, somebody needs to go to the storeroom. We’re out of pale ale.”
Alex nodded, capitulating. “Alright. I’m on it.”
He winked, mouthing “thanks” at her and went back to serving. She sighed and sheathed the knife in the inner pocket of her black apron. At least that way she’d escape the stench in here for a little while. Too bad it wasn’t as easy to escape your own mind.
Throwing the rag on the worktop, she headed for the back exit.
ALEX slipped out the back door and was greeted by the chilly night air. She shivered and rubbed her bare arms. Summer seemed to be in no rush to make its appearance this year. The dark clouds looming above were heavy with the promise of rain and reminded more of deepest autumn than a night at the end of spring.
Alex glowered at the sky. Knowing her luck, she’d probably have to walk home in a downpour. Again! How about a tender night for a change? A clear sky, a couple of winking stars, the sweet smell of flowers …
Yeah, not very likely to happen. Not here in the Bin, anyway.
As one of the seediest quarters Bhellidor County had to show for, the low-class neighborhood at the docks that was officially going by the most unfitting name of Lillyfields, wasn’t called the “Trash Bin” by the locals without reason: it was where the human scum landed after having been crunched by the mills of life and spat out onto the dirty road leading to the bottom of society. People here rated flowerbeds somewhere between bottle openers and soap—nice to have, but nothing sorely missed when it wasn’t there. Little wonder the place didn’t smell like the Royal Rose Gardens of Corona Palace.
Still better than the stifling air in the bar, Alex thought as she stepped away from the back door and carefully arched her back, allowing her tense muscles to stretch. Her true skin still itched to emerge, but she restrained herself.
Sure, the back alley was almost completely dark. A few rearward windows were facing the street, but most of them were either pitch black or so blurred that they only emanated a sorry excuse of light. Didn’t mean she was safe from obtrusive eyes. You never knew who was watching concealed in the shadows.
It might only be a tiny risk for getting a bit of release from the pressure that had been building inside her flesh during the last few hours, but it was a risk she wasn’t about to take. Not with the possible consequences being so dire. She had taken such tiny risks before—and she had regretted it. Dearly.
Ignoring the protesting prickle under her skin, she walked over to the storage room and unlocked the padlocked door. Reaching into the darkness to her left, she fumbled for the switch. The light sprung to life with a buzz and hum, successively illuminating rows and rows of dusty shelves that lined up the walls and stretched into the depths of the store.
Alex scowled at the mountains of plastic wrapped crates, packages, and card boxes. A few boxes were still scattered in the aisle, waiting to be cleared away. Well, somebody had been lazy.
Not in the mood for searching high and low, Alex headed straight for the tally board. Not that it was updated on a regular basis—why, that might actually save people some time and trouble—but sometimes it gave a vague clue as to where to look for certain things in this heap of rubbish.
When she squeezed herself past the yellow pallet jack, her eyes got caught on the small mirror that clung to the brick wall beside the door. Piercing blue eyes stared back at her from under long, dark lashes. Ice-blue eyes. Startling. Intense. Like sunlight filtering through a snowflake. The eyes of a huntress. Revealing little, while concealing so much.
The cold electric overhead light cast harsh shadows upon the ivory skin of her face, accentuating her features with even sharper, fiercer edges. A strong jawline under high, exquisite cheekbones. Slim eyebrows that easily arched in criticism. And a sharp mouth that tended to be too tart once in a while.
Alex pursed her lips. She could see why men thought her attractive. She wasn’t pretty. At least, not in that sweet, innocent kind of way that swept so many guys off their feet.
She was the lure of the forbidden fruit. A game with fire.
It was the dark, tempting kind of beauty of a sword’s blade, beckoning to be touched, despite—or perhaps because of—the risk of cutting oneself in the process. A sweet promise of danger like a whisper on her skin. It drew men like moths to the light, when, really, it was the darkness in her that called to their hidden desires.
Alex bared her teeth at her own reflection. Mitja was right. She could have her fair pick. There were always enough men interested in a walk on the wild side—yet so tremendously oblivious to the wild inside her.
She knew what they saw when they looked at her: an adventure. A challenge. A riddle they wanted to solve. Until they found the solution. But, oh, if she ever revealed what lay beneath that delicate human skin they found so attractive …
Her colleague's incredulous voice resounded in her head. Twenty-five and already don
e with guys? Honestly!
Alex closed her eyes. Once bitten, twice shy. The pain of a broken heart is a vicious beast; a beast she didn’t intend to provoke again.
Averting her gaze, Alex locked the memory away and started scanning the stock. This wasn’t the time to get all sentimental about the past. She’d been through that. Now she really had other things to worry about. Like finding some pale ale in this fucking chaos!
Kicking a shredded box out of her way, she marched down the aisle. A thick layer of dirt covered the shelves and she had to rub at some of the number plates to read the cipher.
Somebody really ought to clean this mess, she thought disgusted as she wiped her hand on her apron, leaving a big smear of … something.
Just where was—Ah, gotcha!
Quickly counting off in her head, Alex stepped over to the right shelf and heaved three crates out of the stacks, each of them holding several small packages of ale bottles and weighing a good sixty pounds. She stacked them on top of each other and pulled. The muscles in her arms and back strained.
With a small grunt, she managed to lift the pile off the ground and carried her shaky tower over to the door, where she caught her breath and squinted into the alley. Empty. Nothing but the night, beckoning her with innocent silence. She hesitated. It wasn’t far to the back door. Just a few steps. Just—
Ah shit! Grudgingly, she set down the crates and took a step back. “Just” was a fickle bitch that was overly fond of tricking you when you expected it the least.
Alex picked up only the topmost crate and made her way over to the bar. Not because she couldn’t have handled the weight for another short distance. Jester forbid! She could carry heavier loads even farther. But that was the point, wasn't it? What good was being squeamish about her true skin, when she started chucking around weights none of her male colleagues could ever dream of lifting? Those were exactly the things that attracted the kind of attention she was trying to avoid at all cost.