by Piper Rayne
“I’ll expalin you as the love of my life,” I say. “To anyone and everyone. How about that?”
He smiles wider and it transforms his entire face, wiping away the worry lines, the disappointment, the lost years, to reveal the man I fell in love with. The man I never stopped loving. Still as young and pure and incorrect as ever.
“Sounds like the best plan you’ve had yet,” he says and leans down to kiss me.
The touch of his soft, hot lips on mine sends sparkles all through me. They burn through all the residual pain in my body, and the doubt and fear in my mind until nothing but love and comfort and the perfect rightness of this moment remain.
This is where I belong. Where I have always belonged. Where I was born to spend my life. In his strong arms, in his house, under his loving protection. Just as he’s always belonged in my arms, my world and my heart.
The years we spent apart vanish in that kiss, disappear as though they never were. That sense of freedom, of purpose, of possibility and adventure is back in my heart and my soul as I lay in his arms. A velvet evening has fallen in the world outside and as I drift off to sleep, I know I will wake up into a perfect morning tomorrow. With him by my side, our love alive, whole and strong, no longer ignored and discarded but radiant enough to change the world.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Mia
As the scent of the redwood forest, sweet yet tangy, rich yet light, finally overpowers all others, I know I am home. I’m on the back of Axle’s bike, my arms around his waist, our bodies vibrating in unison to the rhythm of the tires eating up the pavement. He slows down and I wrap my legs around his hips laying them in his lap and I loosen my grip on his waist and lean back into the wind and sunshine and the promise of a peaceful, loving eternity that’s finally in our grasp.
One thing after another has made the trial drag on and on. But it’s finally over now. Guilty on all counts was the verdict. Victory, pure and simple. But they’ll appeal. It will continue to drag on and on and on and I’m ready to pass on the torch. I’m ready to come home for good. And I’ll tell Axle as soon as we reach Pleasantville—our hometown.
The guilty, disgraced millionaire’s lawyers and friends are coming after me full force now. There was no way to fully hide my connections to an outlaw MC, but I managed to long enough to get a verdict. Now I can take that offer to disappear. Then bring the rest of them to justice from the shadows. They’ll never see me coming.
But I’ll think of all that later.
All I want to do now is enjoy this ride, this man in my arms, this homecoming which is just sweet, not even a little bitter.
Despite our slow pace, we still reach the town much too soon. But we’ll enjoy many such rides now. And forever.
The doors of my mom’s new salon are wide open as we pull up beside it. Mom is standing in the doorway as I dismount and she rushes down to me, arms open wide. Her hair is cropped short, framing her smiling face in a bouquet of shiny, bouncy curls. The streak of grey the blow to the head she received caused is gone, covered by expertly applied blonde dye.
“Finally,” she says. “I’ve been looking out the window all morning, waiting for you.”
“She has too,” a smiling woman of about thirty says from behind her. She’s tall and curvy, with perfect, thick golden blonde hair spilling down past her breasts. She’s wearing a pair of tight skinny jeans with holes in the knees and a loose, washed out black Metallica t-shirt. She belongs on a magazine cover, or in a swimsuit issue, but seems very happy right where she is, helping my mom manage the salon.
“How are you, Honey?” I ask. “I hope my mom hasn’t been keeping you too busy.”
I walk over and give her a hug too. She smells as good as she looks.
“Never,” she says. “If it weren’t for your mom, who knows where I’d be. Nowhere good, that’s for sure.”
She’s forever thanking mom for giving her a chance when no one else would. But I think she’s done a world of good for my mom too, especially in this last year when I’ve been too busy and distracted to help or even visit her as much as I wanted to.
“Well, I’m here to take some of the load off now,” I say.
Axle’s giving me that look he’s been giving me all day. Puzzled is the best way to describe it. I’ve been dropping hints that I want to stay in Pleasantville indefinitely this time, but haven’t come out and said it yet. I will soon.
Honey goes back inside and I turn to my mom. “We just wanted to stop by and say hi. We’ll talk more over dinner, OK?”
Now both Axle and Mom are giving me the same puzzled look, but I just smile at them both, take his hand and lead him back to the bike.
A few short minutes later we’re parked the driveway of his home.
“Ahh, home sweet home,” I say as I dismount and take off my helmet.
He takes my hand and twirls me to face him as I take a step towards the door.
“All right, spill it,” he says. “What’s all this home sweet home stuff you’ve been talking about all day?”
I smile coyly, toying with the idea of stringing him along for just a little longer, but I don’t have the heart to. Not when faced with that stark, innocent, happy expectation in his eyes.
“I think we should just stay here this time,” I say. “Indefinitely.”
His eyes widen as though he can’t believe he heard me right.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I take his face in my hands and look deeper into his eyes than I ever had. “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.”
He smiles wide and kisses me, holding me tight. Living in the city with me has been hard for him. Not that he ever complained, but I saw it in his eyes every time we spoke of the future and I could not make any promises. I can now.
“And there’s one more thing,” I say as we pause for breath.
He looks at me questioningly, his face so close that all I see are his warm, soft eyes.
“I think I might be pregnant,” I say and watch that softness in his eyes turn to something else. A look so full of pure love, desire and longing it’s none of those things, but something far deeper. Something akin to the feeling I’ve had since I first suspected I was carrying his child—a feeling of absolute rightness, of all the pieces of the puzzle finally fitting together.
“Yes?” he asks.
“We’ll have to do a test to be sure,” I say, smiling at him. “I wanted us to do that together. But I’m pretty sure, yes.”
“All right, then it’s decided,” he says and sweeps me up into his arms so suddenly and so easily I shriek in surprise as the ground vanishes from beneath my feet.
“What’s decided?” I ask as he starts walking, carrying me to the front door like a bride.
“We’re getting married,” he says.
I laugh. “Oh, is that so? Nice of you to ask me.”
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and give him a long hard kiss on the cheek. “Of course it’s a yes.”
“Great,” he says, stopping in front of the door into the house. “Now get the keys from my right pocket so I can carry you inside like it’s proper.”
I laugh as I reach into his pocket for the keys. “That’s supposed to come after the wedding.”
His look pulls mine as effectively as any rope. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re already married. A ring’s not gonna add much. But it’ll be nice when you’re officially mine too.”
“I’ve always been yours,” I say quietly. “And always will be.”
“Good,” he says and grins. “Now unlock the door. I’m carrying two over here.”
I didn’t think it was possible to love him more than I already do, but as he carries me over the threshold, I do.
We took a long and winding detour, but we’ve finally arrived where we were always meant to be. In each other’s loving arms. Home.
THE END
Thank you for r
eading! If you would like to read the rest of the Devil’s Nightmare MC Series, please visit www.lenabourne.com/devils-nightmare-mc-series/.
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About the Author
Lena Bourne is a USA Today Bestselling author of many romantic suspense and mystery novels. When she’s not coming up with a new love story or plotting the next perfect crime mystery, you can usually find her drinking coffee and catering to her elderly cat’s every whim.
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www.lenabourne.com
Keep It Together
By Sophia Henry
Keep It Together
A Second Chance Romance
A Saints and Sinners Novel
Sparks fly when two successful athletes meet, but when ambition becomes competition, can they put pride aside and let love win?
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Vanya
As a professional hockey player who literally put my life on the line for my career, I’ve always believed relationships are a distraction.
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Then I met Katya Novikova; beautiful, talented tennis player, paparazzi darling, and fantasy of millions of men. At first, I thought it was a perfect match. She knows it takes determination, drive, and a one-track mind to succeed.
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But when those same things that drew me to her become the ones that threaten to tear us apart, it’ll take more than love to keep us together.
KEEP IT TOGETHER
Copyright © 2020 by Sophia Henry
All rights reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
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Editing by: Kelly Bahney, The Literary Brew
“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned
so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
~ Joseph Campbell
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#BeKindLoveHard
Prologue
Vanya
I haven’t done many outlandish things in my life, but making the decision to defect from the USSR to join the Detroit Chargers NHL team might go down as the craziest thing I’ll ever do.
Time will tell.
Although the plan to have me sneak away from my team, the Central Scarlet Army, at the World Ice Hockey Championships has been months in the making, it still makes my stomach spin and my head swirl. I know what I have to do, but actually doing it is going to be the biggest test of my life.
We all thought getting away from the team without anyone noticing was going to be one of the most challenging parts—and it was, but now that I’m standing inside a hotel with my agent, a friend who’s translating and helping me defect, and two members of the Chargers organization, I realize there are so many other moving pieces. The biggest being the fact that when anyone realizes I’m gone, there will be a manhunt and it will go fast.
Once I make it to America, I should be fine, but if anything goes wrong from now until the plane from Stockholm to New York takes off, I’m as good as dead.
Kirya and I are huddled in the lobby of the hotel, down the road from where the teams playing in the World Ice Hockey Championship have been staying over the last two weeks with two representatives from the Chargers.
The tournament is over.
The USSR won.
They don’t know they’re about to lose.
Chris Brookins, the Chargers Assistant General Manager, asks something in English, peering at Kirya with round, wire-rimmed glasses. The tall, thick man was known as an enforcer when he played in the seventies. Although he seems like he can hold his own, he’s smart to be wary. They must really want me because the fact the Chargers are working with federal agencies to help me defect surprises the shit out of me. All these years, I thought they were scared of the big bad Russians.
If we get caught, we’ll all get into major trouble. The Americans could be jailed, but Kirya and I would get a one-way ticket to the firing squad.
“Kirill Antonov, his agent and translator. I’m the one who’s been communicating with your reporter friend,” he answers in confident English. He translates for me quickly, which I appreciate.
When they talk over my head, I feel like I don’t know what’s going on, and since I’m the one who’s got the most on the line if this plan falls apart, I need to be informed of every conversation, no matter how trivial.
Brookins glances at me for confirmation, and I nod. I’d trust Kirya even if he didn’t translate for me. We’ve known each other for so long, I consider him a brother.
After they’d drafted me last June, the Chargers had to find a way to contact me, knowing the State would never let an organization offering money and freedom anywhere near their athletes. They asked a reporter from their local newspaper who learned Russian during his years in the military to meet with me while he was in Alaska covering another international hockey tournament.
Under the guise of writing a story about the Central Scarlet Army team, the reporter was allowed access to me for an interview. Before he left, he presented me with a Chargers magazine, telling me that it would give me some information about the team. Inside was a letter from the Chargers, letting me know they’d selected me in the NHL Entry Draft, and they would do everything in their ability to bring me over whenever I was ready to come to America.
But the letter was in English, so I couldn’t read it. Even without an understanding of the contents, I knew enough not to share it with my superiors. Since Kirya and I have been friends our entire lives and he knew I spoke English, I took it to him to translate.
Although we hadn’t seen each other much since taking different paths in life as teenagers, when I called asking to meet him, Kirya’s only questions were: when and where? At our meeting, I told him I came to him because he was the only person I trusted that spoke English and would be excited to engage in something illegal and dangerous.
How could he say no after such gorgeous flattery?
Once Kirya translated what the letter from Detroit said, I agreed to leave the USSR without hesitation. My old friend seemed surprised. I guess he thought I would blindly follow the Russian machine my entire life. But he couldn’t be more wrong. I’d been hoping for an opportunity like this. You can’t travel the world and see how other people live and not be envious. I love Russia, but I’ve already won a gold medal and multiple World Championship titles. I’ve accomplished everything I could playing for my country—I want more.
Kirya and I discussed what defection would mean for me as an army officer. If I were caught, I would be considered a traitor, a criminal. A light sentence would be spending the rest of my life at a labor camp in Siberia. Most likely, I’d be killed as soon as I got back into the country.
If there’s one thing about being a product of the Russian hockey system that serves me well, it’s confidence. Failing is not an option. To me, there are no consequences to leaving, only rewards. I’ve seen the older guys on the team fight for too much to let the opportunity slide. I don’t have the same mental investment in the Soviet system as they do because I grew up among political turbulence.
Athletes will always bring money—we can be bought, sold, and marketed to bring in revenue. Why would I do that in the Soviet Union where the corrupt state sports department would take the majority of the money and leave me poor? At least in the NHL, I have
the opportunity to rack up millions of dollars in my bank account.
It was at the first meeting that I asked Kirya if he would contact Detroit to help him with the process, and he agreed. Since then, he and the reporter have been in communication, acting as translators for our respective parties, making plans to get me to Detroit.
My life is in the hands of a Russian mobster.
The bustling lobby has my jaw and shoulders tense. I’m aware of every person that passes. The team never travels out of the country without Sovietsport officials and KGB agents. There are checks and balances to keep each athlete in line and accounted for. Once someone realizes I’m not in his room, there will be a manhunt. All hands on deck, searching for their missing superstar. It will go fast.
Although it was the Detroit organization’s idea to steal me away during the tournament, I can guarantee Kirya has the most experience with shady situations out of the four of us standing here. The suits from the Chargers think he’s my agent and translator, which is fine with me. They’d shit their designer pants if they knew about half of the things Kirya’s done. Hell, I’m sure I would too.
Next to me, Kirya stiffens. The hair rises on the back of my neck, alerting me that there might be a problem.
“We need to move this. I think we were followed,” he tells me before translating for the men.
“Fuck,” Brookins hisses an English word I’m familiar with, glancing at Jack Owens, a senior scout with the Detroit organization.
