Custom Built

by Chantal Fernando

  Also available from Chantal Fernando

  and Carina Press

  The Knights of Fury MC Series

  Saint

  Renegade

  Temper

  Also available from Chantal Fernando

  The Wind Dragons MC Series

  Dragon’s Lair

  Arrow’s Hell

  Tracker’s End

  Dirty Ride

  Rake’s Redemption

  Wild Ride

  Wolf’s Mate

  Last Ride

  Crossroads

  The Cursed Ravens MC Series

  Ace of Hearts

  Knuckle Down

  Going Rogue

  The Conflict of Interest Series

  Breaching the Contract

  Seducing the Defendant

  Approaching the Bench

  Leading the Witness

  Content Warning

  Custom Built deals with topics some readers might find difficult, such as cancer and pregnancy loss.

  Custom Built

  Chantal Fernando

  For my firstborn son,

  Your soul is rare, and your heart is made of pure gold.

  Which is why I’ll always be here to protect you.

  I love you.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Temper by Chantal Fernando

  Excerpt from Bad Mistake by JC Harroway

  Prologue

  Bronte

  “I’m afraid the abnormal cells have returned, so you will need another surgery.”

  I stare at my doctor. His kind face used to bring me hope, and now it is delivering the worst kind of news.

  A year ago, my health wasn’t something I had worried about; I was perfectly healthy. Then one abnormal pap smear changed my life.

  I was hopeful that after my last surgery, I’d be given the all clear. But nope. Here I am, listening to my doctor tell me I need yet another surgery. I try to keep myself composed, but the truth is that I’m scared shitless.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “I’m afraid so. It will only take about twenty minutes. It’s the loop electrosurgical excision procedure and we don’t even have to put you fully under. It’ll be just a local anesthetic.”

  The memory of my last procedure is scarred on my brain. I remember the smoke filling the room, I remember the smell of it burning the cells away. It may have only been twenty minutes, but it is something I never wanted to have to experience again.

  “I remember.”

  He hasn’t used the word cancer yet, but if these abnormal cells continue to return, it can turn into cervical cancer.

  “Bronte...” Dr. James hesitates. “We can keep going in and doing these surgeries every time the cells return, but there are other options, other surgeries. Ones that will allow you to live your life without these tests or living in fear that they will return.”

  “Well, sign me up for that!” No more tests, no more visits to Dr. James, kind face and all. No more fear.

  “It’s a hysterectomy.”

  As he says the words, I feel the air leave me. I’m nowhere near ready for children, but I want the option to have them. “That seems a little extreme, no?”

  “We need to do what we can to make sure you don’t get cervical cancer.”

  And there it is. Cancer or children.

  “Okay, let’s do the surgery. If we need to consider the hysterectomy, then I’m open to it, but only if it’s necessary. Whatever we need to,” I say, swallowing hard.

  I’m not ready to leave this world yet. I haven’t even left my mark on it.

  After I schedule my surgery, I leave to go to work, but my head is reeling from everything. My dad calls me as soon as I get back into my car. “Hey, Bronte, how are you?”

  His soothing voice calms me. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the seat and take a deep breath. “I’m fine, Dad,” I lie. “How are you? Are we still having lunch this week?”

  My dad and I have always been close, but we became even closer after my mom passed away when I was ten. It’s always been me and him against the world, and I can’t imagine it any other way.

  “Yeah, of course. Are you sure that you’re fine, because you don’t sound it,” he murmurs, calling me out on my lies.

  I’m silent for a few seconds. “The abnormal cells have returned and I need another surgery to remove them.”

  His breath hitches. “It will be fine, Bronte,” he assures me. “I read up on all of this last time, and sometimes they come back, but they always catch them in time. You’re lucky that it hasn’t gotten past this stage.”

  His logic calms me.

  I don’t tell him about the conversation my doctor had with me about the hysterectomy.

  I need time to process that for myself.

  We chat for a while, him assuring me that everything will be fine and that he’s here for me, and we will get through this together, and then I go back to work, like nothing happened.

  I don’t tell anyone else about my upcoming surgery, or about how for a month to six weeks I can’t so much as go in a swimming pool until I recover.

  I don’t tell anyone else anything. I choose to suffer in silence instead.

  Little do I know, sometimes when you hold things in, they have their way of eating you from the inside out.

  Chapter One

  “I’m sorry, Bronte,” Nadia says, shoulders hunching. “You know how much the business has been struggling for months, and now it’s barely making enough money for me to cover my own ass, never mind have an employee. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, forcing a smile, even though I feel like crying. I mean, I knew this was coming. I’ve worked as an assistant for Nadia’s private investigator firm for years now, and I know how hard this decision must be for her. We had spoken about it a few months ago, and to be honest I’m surprised she has kept me on for this long.

  However, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I need this job, and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do without it. I don’t have any other qualifications, and I can’t afford to go back to college to finish my teaching degree. And I don’t even want to talk about health insurance. Thank God I had my second surgery several months ago. I can’t even fathom what I will do if the abnormal cells come back.

  I know how bad times are for Nadia, though, with us getting less and less work with every passing month. I’d spent this week cleaning and rearranging the office because I didn’t have much el
se to do.

  I see Nadia more like family than my boss, but I know that she has to do what’s best for her. I understand that—it’s just going to be a shit time for me right now.

  “I’ll pack up my things,” I say, and swallow hard, looking at my desk. I pick up the picture of me and my dad, both of us smiling, his arms wrapped around me. It was taken last year at Christmas, my red lipstick all over his cheek where I had kissed him. Dad has always been my rock, and I know he’d help me if I need it, but I’m too old to be running to my daddy. I need to sort this all out myself and find a new job as soon as possible, before my savings dry up and put me in deeper shit.

  “I’m really sorry,” Nadia repeats, her voice cracking.

  I put the photo frame down and turn to give her a hug. “It will be fine, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll find another job, and hopefully business will pick up for you and you can keep this place running.”

  This might not be what I need right now, a kick when I’m down, already stressed out over my health issues, but you can’t control what curveballs life decides to throw you.

  No matter what happens, I know I’ll be okay. When one door closes, another one opens, right?

  I comfort Nadia, I gather my things, and I leave.

  I woke up this morning employed and fairly optimistic, and now I’m going home without a job and no idea where my next paycheck is going to come from.

  Life can be a bitch sometimes, can’t it?

  * * *

  Just before Christmas isn’t the best time to try to find employment. Everyone has already been hired for the season, and no one wants to take on someone they would have to train during the busy festive season. Not surprisingly, my resume isn’t remarkable, and my private investigator skills aren’t even going to help me work in a bar or restaurant.

  “Have you ever worked in a bar before?” a manager at one of the establishments asks me.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, cutting me off. “We need someone with experience.”

  “I’m a fast learner.”

  I mean, how hard could it be, right? It’s not like I’m a doctor looking for a new job. I can learn to serve drinks and food and wear a smile while doing it. I’m a hard and efficient worker; I just need someone to give me a chance. I didn’t finish college because the timing wasn’t right for me.

  “Come back after the holidays” is all I get in response.

  I decide to call up all the private investigator firms in my city, but none of them are hiring either. In the world of easily accessible technology, people are probably handling their own investigating, cutting out the middleman and leaving me jobless. I really hope Nadia will be okay and not have to shut down the firm. The thought saddens me, and I hope there’s a way she can stay open and get more clients in the upcoming weeks. Otherwise she might be here along with me, trying to get any job she can.

  My phone rings, “All I Want for Christmas Is You” playing loudly. “Hello?”

  “Hey, princess,” my dad says, and I can hear the smile in his tone. “I haven’t heard from you in a week. Is everything okay?”

  I haven’t spoken to him since I got fired, because I don’t want to admit that I’m currently failing at life. Asking for help has never been my strong point—I prefer to suffer in silence and try to solve all problems on my own. I know I’m going to have to tell him, though; I’m just going to buy myself a little time.

  “Everything is fine, Dad,” I assure him. “How are you?”

  My dad lives about an hour away from my apartment, and we catch up for family dinner every week or so. Besides that, we usually text or chat every day or every other day. I love spending time with him, and I look forward to seeing him. Yes, I’m a daddy’s girl.

  “I’m good, just busy with work. You know how it is,” he says.

  Actually, right now I don’t.

  My dad has always worked hard, and that’s where I got my own work ethic from. As soon as I was old enough to get a job, I did. I was never spoiled, and had to work for everything I had. For my first car, he told me he’d match whatever I saved, which taught me how to work for my money, but also allowed him contribute.

  Dad now owns a construction business, along with my uncle Neville, who also owns and runs a farm. Dad mainly does the admin side of things, but he started off as a laborer, so he isn’t afraid of hard work.

  “I’ve been thinking about you today, so I thought I’d give you a call.”

  “When are you free this week?” I ask. Might as well face him, because avoiding him isn’t going to help the situation. I can’t lie to him, though, so I guess I’m just going to have to tell him what happened in person. Or maybe I should try to secure a new job first.

  “Always free for you,” he says, voice gentle. “I was actually calling to invite you over on the weekend. I’m having a barbecue, and everyone will be there. Your uncle wants to see you too, so I hope you can make it.”

  “Okay, message me the details and I’ll be there,” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  We say our byes and I love yous and hang up. Sighing, I glance down at my handful of resumes and lift my chin. Surely there’s something for me out there. I’m too old to have no job security, and it annoys me that it has come to this. I should have gone back and finished my degree—then I’d have something to fall back on—but there’s no point with the what-ifs now. I just need to find something, anything, and if I don’t like it, I can always just stay in that job until I find something better.

  “Who knows? In a few weeks I might have to come apply here,” I mutter to myself as we pass Toxic, a well-known strip club.

  If I didn’t think my father would kill me, I might even consider it.

  I spend the rest of the day handing out my resume, smiling and trying to act as charming as can be.

  Just hoping the next door to open for me will be a good one.

  Chapter Two

  “Hey, princess,” Dad says, opening his arms wide, smile etched across his face. I’ve barely gotten out of my car before I’m in his arms. I’m his only child, and he absolutely adores me, and I know that. The feeling is mutual.

  “Hey,” I say resting, my cheek against his chest. “How are you? You’re looking nice.” He’s wearing a thin blue sweater I got him for his last birthday.

  “Thank you.” He beams. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  “There’s a lot of people here,” I say, frowning as we step through the door and walk through the house.

  “The whole family, plus some friends of mine,” he explains, resting his arms on my shoulders and looking at me. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know that? I’ve missed you. I haven’t really seen you since after the surgery.”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I assure him. “There’s nothing to worry about anymore. It’s all over with, and I just have to go back in a few months for a checkup.” Where hopefully they will find out that the cells haven’t returned.

  “I know, I know. I worry about you, though. You need to come and see me more. You know you could save so much money on rent and bills if you moved back in here. It’s a bit of a drive to work, but it’s not too bad. It would still save you a lot of money.”

  I smile at his familiar words. “I know, Dad. But I’m a grown woman, and I like being independent. I’m too old to be living with my dad and letting him pay for things for me.”

  “You could never be too old,” he grumbles. I eye the food as we pass the kitchen table, all the salads and sides making my mouth water.

  “Yum. You’re right, maybe I will move home.”

  My dad is an amazing cook, which is a good thing because he had to take over being both the mother and father after Mom passed away. He raised me on his own ever since, and he did a damn good job at it, too. I remember he used to come to all the Mother’s
Day events at the school, being the only man there and not giving a shit, because he didn’t want me to sit there and be alone.

  He chuckles. My head turns when I hear the sliding door open.

  “Uncle Neville,” I say, smiling and giving my favorite uncle—okay, only uncle—a hug. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been good,” he says, giving me a tight squeeze. “How about you? How’s work been?”

  Shit.

  “Ummm...” I trail off, not wanting to tell them the truth, but not wanting to lie, either. On the drive here, I knew I was going to have to tell Dad about being fired, but thinking about it and actually doing it are two different things. I don’t want him to worry, but I don’t want to disappoint him either. I know he was very proud of me for having this job and would tell all of his friends how his daughter was a private investigator.

  My dad picks up on my hesitation straight away. “What’s happened? Did you get a bad case or something? I can help if you’re in any trouble.”

  He is always there for me and has my back no matter what, which I really do appreciate, but sometimes it gets a little suffocating. I need to work things out for myself.

  Sighing, my shoulders hunching, I decide to just get over it and tell them. “Actually the business is struggling, so Nadia had to let me go.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dad asks, brow furrowing. “Do you need money? I can transfer some to you.”

  “I’m telling you now; it only happened the other day. And no, I don’t need any money. I want to figure it out on my own,” I tell him. I hate that I’m keeping things from him. Between this and the possible hysterectomy, I’m breaking our promise to be honest with one another. I know I should just tell him, but I don’t want him to worry or to have to think about the fact that he might never be a grandfather. At least not biologically. It already breaks my heart that I won’t be able to carry my own child, and I don’t want to share the misery. Not yet, at least.

  “If you’re looking for a job, I know a place that’s looking for someone,” Uncle Neville pipes in, his amber eyes kind. I’ve always loved the color of his eyes, whereas Dad and I missed that gene and got dark brown instead.