by Kaye Blue
Resurrected King
Kaye Blue
Resurrected King
Copyright © 2020 Kaye Blue
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are invented by the author or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, businesses and business establishments, places, or events are entirely coincidental. This book is intended for mature audiences only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Kaye’s Newsletter
To Live Again…
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Epilogue
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To Live Again…
Ten years ago I died.
Since then I’ve lived as Ghost, existing in shadows, caring for nothing but my business and the Brotherhood.
But she’s changed all that. Reminded me that there are things beyond Bratva, things a man like me can never have.
Things like love.
I know it’s not possible, but I want her, crave her.
And now that my past has caught up with me, I’ll have to kill for her.
Or die for her.
Prologue
Then
“You aren’t going to eat?”
He glanced over at the metal tray decorated with a glass of water, a small bowl of thin potato stew, and a slice of hard-looking bread.
He shook his head, declining what would be his last meal.
The guard shrugged and went silent again, and he was grateful.
What use were words now?
None.
There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do that would stop the inevitable, so he sat in silence letting the seconds tick by.
He supposed he should have more of a reaction. After all, his death was imminent, so shouldn’t he feel something?
Maybe.
But other than vague disappointment about how he’d ended up here, curiosity about what was to come, he didn’t.
And that was a good thing.
He’d seen men confront death, and often—usually—it wasn’t pretty.
At least he wasn’t reduced to that, hadn’t become some sobbing, pleading shell of himself as he prepared for the end.
He still had his dignity. Small, he supposed, considering he was about to lose his life, but he’d take what he could.
Sometime later, he didn’t know how long, the guard shifted, signaling the time had come.
He stood, submitted to the handcuffs and leg irons, and followed the guard without a fuss.
The five armed soldiers behind him were there to assure his compliance, but there was no need.
They led him out to the courtyard, and he breathed deep, grateful that the air tasted clean, that in the distance he could hear birds.
Then, he focused on the men who stood across from him, knowing the time had come. The military tribunal had been quick in delivering its verdict, and these men would be quick in carrying out his sentence.
The man who stood in the center of the five stepped forward and pulled the rifle off his shoulder.
If he were a good shot, this would be over quickly, with minimal pain or fuss. If not…
He chose not to dwell on that, determined to face what was coming.
So he didn’t blink when the man lifted the rifle.
Didn’t flinch when he pulled the trigger.
Didn’t cry out when the bullet pierced his chest.
I didn’t think it would feel like this.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think about death, but if he had, he was certain he wouldn’t have expected it to be like this.
His limbs felt heavy. His mouth was dry. His head was pounding.
“The drugs have some nasty aftereffects. The feeling will pass.”
He attempted to jump up, but the wave of nausea, to say nothing of the restraints, kept him down.
When the room stopped spinning, he dared look toward the sound of the voice, noticing that he was in a ceramic tiled room.
“The morgue,” the owner of the voice helpfully supplied.
“I gathered. But I’m not dead?”
That had come out as more of a question than he had intended, but the man answered.
“Not yet.”
He studied the other man, placing him at ten, maybe a few years more, older than his own twenty-one. Rich, almost aristocratic in his bearing.
A killer.
That was as apparent as his wealth.
“How do I stay alive?” he asked, the question coming out before the thought had fully formed.
The other man smiled. “That question is a good start.”
One
Mikhail
Now
What the fuck was I doing?
A question I shouldn’t be asking, just as I shouldn’t be doing what I was.
But I continued on, one step after another after another, all leading me inexorably toward my destination.
A place I had no business being.
One I couldn’t bring myself to avoid.
I should.
I knew going here would only lead to trouble.
Still, I walked.
I could lie.
Tell myself I was just on a stroll.
Tell myself this wasn’t important.
But it was important.
She was important.
At the first glimpse of her in the plate glass window, I felt like I could breathe.
At the second, I felt so much more.
Felt alive.
I lost sight of her, sad but knowing those few fleeting moments would sustain me. I wondered what about this woman made me feel things I’d thought I never would again.
I was so deep in those thoughts, I didn’t notice until it was too late.
The press of steel against my skin was not unfamiliar to me.
Letting my guard down was.
I’d done just that, and it seemed she would take advantage.
She pressed the gun harder against my back.
“Who are you, and why the hell are you here?”
Adora
“Answer the question.”
I cocked the gun, the click of the hammer locking into place ringing loud in the deserted alley.
It was strange.
The city was never silent, but now the silence was thick, almost impenetrable, that click ringing out like an explosion.
An explosion that matched the pounding of my heart.
Still, as nervous as I was, I held the gun steady, never taking my eyes off my prey.
I would have my answer.
For a few weeks, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched, and tonight that
would come to an end.
He stayed still, his back to me, the gun leveled at him, not that he seemed especially nervous.
I took in the rest of him, noting that the broad expanse of his shoulders was impressive, as was the quality of his suit.
Clothes weren’t really my thing, but I’d seen and bought enough cheap ones to know the difference, and his were anything but.
A quick glance down and I saw equally expensive shoes and went on even higher alert.
My neighborhood wasn’t the best or the worst, but a man wearing a suit and shoes that cost more than the bakery’s not inexpensive rent skulking around in the dead of night was suspicious.
“Do I need to ask again?”
He lifted his hands, his biceps flexing beneath the suit jacket as he turned to me slowly.
“No, you don’t, Adora.”
At the sight of him, his use of my name, I slowly lowered the gun, and dropped it to my side completely when he faced me.
“You?” I asked.
I hadn’t been afraid before, not exactly, more like determined.
And now that I had seen him, I was something else altogether.
Embarrassed.
Confused.
Turned on.
That last was one I would definitely ignore, though doing so seemed impossible.
When I met his eyes, the shock of connection was there, strong as it had been the first time I saw him.
Stronger.
Remembering that time reminded me of what was happening and made my questions come flooding back.
“What are you doing here? It’s not to pick up an order for the restaurant.”
I was flustered, but I refused to let that show.
“Just passing by,” he said.
He spoke evenly, his voice calm, but there was something about the words.
Tentativeness… Not exactly, because nothing about this man suggested he would ever be anything but sure.
But he seemed like he was expecting something, and I was too flustered to put my finger on exactly what.
“Passing through?”
He nodded, the motion making his dark brown hair flap against his forehead.
My gaze was stuck there, the slightly curly lock against his forehead so at odds with the rest of him.
Everything about his physicality, from his chiseled jaw to the broad shoulders and the muscle on top of muscle that comprised him was hard, unyielding. Even the firm set of what I knew to be impressively full lips seemed rigid.
So that lock of hair, shiny, almost decadent, provided yet another shock of contrast that seemed to compel me.
“You know that only works if the safety is off, don’t you?” he said, his gaze lowering to my hand and pulling me out of thoughts I had no business having.
“How do you know it’s not off?” I asked, hoping I could sound confident even though I was anything but.
He barely raised a brow, the motion practically imperceptible, but proving I was not convincing.
Howard had insisted on keeping the gun in the bakery, and I had eventually stopped fighting.
But standing out here with him now, feeling dainty, almost powerless, was a reminder that perhaps it wasn’t the most well thought out plan.
What did I know about guns? Nothing. Especially not something like taking the safety off, which seemed obvious now.
“Have a good night, Adora,” he said, turning and walking away.
He was halfway down the alley before I thought to react, and yet I waited, not sure what to say.
Not sure there was anything to say.
I didn’t buy that “passing by” line, not for a minute.
The words suggested a casualness that everything about him told me he wasn’t capable of.
But even more than that mystery was the mystery of my reaction to him.
One that wouldn’t be solved in this alley.
The gun heavy in my hand, I walked back inside the bakery, not realizing until after I closed the door that the man stood at the intersection of the alley in the street.
I turned quickly and after a few seconds opened the door. When I saw that he was gone, I closed it again.
Had he been waiting to see that I made it back inside?
The thought came nowhere but felt right.
There was no place for it, no reason to even think that he was looking out for me.
In fact, it wasn’t my concern why he had been around at all.
I had a full, busy life, one that had no room for mysterious strangers and dark alleys.
So, I would do the smart thing and forget tonight ever happened.
And forget about him completely.
Mikhail
I had been careless.
And she was the reason.
I had told myself not to go back, had even meant not to, but I had grown weak.
And much to my shock, I found myself on the wrong end of a gun.
One that wasn’t loaded and had the safety on, something that both impressed and angered me in equal measure.
Intrigued me, too, at this new side of her.
I’d watched her countless times before, talking with her friends, customers. Watched her when she was alone, when no one was watching, when the sadness that she always hid managed to peek through.
But I’d never seen this unexpected part of her, one smart enough to notice me and bold and stupid enough to confront me.
Her coming into that alley had been foolish beyond words, but selfishly, it made me happy.
Because I’d gotten close to her, had gotten to talk to her.
Hear her voice, see the emotion play across her face. See the curves that were so often hidden behind her apron.
It was like breath, like life.
Something I no longer participated in.
As I walked away from the bakery, away from the things I hadn’t thought about in years, I again tried to understand Adora and what she did to me.
I walked in the shadows, there but not, so much a ghost that it had become my name.
She was the opposite.
Maybe it was as simple as that.
One look at her beautiful eyes, her smile that seem to light the world, and maybe it reminded me that everything wasn’t as bleak as I thought it was.
Yes, that was it.
Adora reminded me that there were things outside of death, things outside of the Brotherhood.
Reminded me that there were people who truly lived rather than simply existing as I did.
No matter, I reminded myself.
I wasn’t one of them.
Not anymore.
Two
Adora
“Get out of the kitchen.”
A few days after that alley encounter, Erin, my best friend and the bride whose wedding I was celebrating, creeped up beside me and grabbed my hand.
I looked at her and then looked back at the cake that sat on the quartz-topped kitchen island.
“And stop scowling at my cake,” she said, giggling.
I smiled despite myself, but the expression dropped when I looked at the cake again.
“It’s just…”
The cake was crooked and the icing looked dry, but I decided to keep that to myself.
At least until Erin said, “I know the icing is a little dry, and you definitely wouldn’t have stacked those tiers like that.”
I glanced over at her, laughed, and she did the same, her expression lighting her from inside out.
Or maybe it was just the happiness.
“You look amazing, you know that?” I said.
“Thank you,” she replied, smiling.
Erin wasn’t one to fish for compliments, but in this case, I was happy give them. More than.
She was truly stunning.
Her braids were pulled back in an elegant bun, and the rose-colored satin sheath dress she wore was perfect against her skin.
The fact that she was, as far as I could tell, deliriously happy definitely
helped.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
She nodded toward me.
I just barely managed to bite back a groan, shifting in my lavender linen pantsuit.
I was yoga pants and T-shirts all the way.
In fact, the only thing with flair in my wardrobe was my selection of aprons. So I felt incredibly uncomfortable in the elegant linen Erin had picked for me, to say nothing of the low-heeled pumps I wore, which were definitely not the work clogs I preferred.
“You know,” I said, trying to turn my thoughts from my appearance—knowing nothing could come from that—and back to the matter at hand, “I would have made a cake for you. I would have been honored to.”
Erin smiled.
“I know you would have, and I know it would have been the best cake ever. But you’re not here to work. You came to celebrate,” she said. “And I know if you had made the cake, you’d use it as an excuse to hide in the kitchen.”
She pulled me toward the kitchen door.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, smiling.
What could I say? I was totally busted.
Even on my best days, I preferred the solitude and certainty of a few close friends and my kitchen to a crowd.
But Erin, like she always did, had thrown me directly into the fire.
Making it through dinner with new people was always tough for me, but this was nearing impossible.
I looked out over the expanse of the living area, the penthouse that Erin and her husband Sasha lived in beautiful beyond my imagination.
As were the people in it.
Erin and Sasha hadn’t done a formal wedding, opting for a civil ceremony, so this dinner was their wedding celebration.