by M. Tasia
SAINT
The Gates of Heaven
M. Tasia
ALSO BY M. TASIA
The Boys of Brighton series
Gabe
Sam’s Soldiers
Rick’s Bear
Jesse
Coop
Travis
Grady
Vincent
Shadow
The Holidays
EVERYONE LOVES THE BOYS OF BRIGHTON
“I loved this book and I love this town. I hope there’s going to be more.”
—Melissa Lemons on Gabe
“An amazing read that was filled with lust, love, crazy hot sex, danger, action and so much more This is the first book I have read in this series but I will definitely be reading more in the future.”
—Gay Book Reviews on Sam’s Soldiers
“I was crazy impressed that the author made me teary over the ending of a relationship that I shouldn’t have even been invested in. I didn’t yet know these characters yet the author made me hurt for them. That takes some mad writing skills!”
—Love Bytes Reviews
“Jesse and Royce together have my heart. Jesse has it all by himself.”
—The Book Junkie Reads on Jesse
“So much action, intrigue, drama and angst for the long awaited story of Grady and Ben. This was worth the wait. Sexy and sweet. I can’t wait for the next.”
—SamD on Grady
“I knew this one would be my favorite to date! There was something about Vincent that said awesome then came Tristan.”
—Booky on Vincent
“This installment of the Boys of Brighton was so good! I loved Shadow and Randy ‘s story I was hooked from the first page to the last. This book was definitely worth the wait!”
—AG on Shadow
“I have loved this series from the very first story and this holiday novella is simply perfect. We get a glimpse of all our couples and what is happening in their lives while the holidays explode around them. I cannot wait for more!”
—bookobsessed on The Holidays
MOUTH TO MOUTH RESUSCITATION
After the death of their mother, Frank “Saint” Jeffrey knew the only way to protect his younger brother was to strike a deal with their autocratic, cruel, abusive father. In exchange for his brother’s freedom to live his life as he wished, Saint promised to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a preeminent surgeon in his father’s medical practice. When events he never could have predicted took away Saint’s ability to perform surgery, the bargain became null and void. With no safety net, and a life without purpose, Saint moved across the country, bought a wreck of a building in DTLA, and hoped while resurrecting the property he’d find a reason to live again. Then Max Connor entered his life, and Saint was dragged from the darkness of desolation into the light of love.
www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.
SAINT
Copyright © 2019 M. Tasia
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
ISBN 978-1-948029-76-6
E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
This has been possible because of the love and support of my family.
Love you Craig, Samantha, Katie and Jason.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my amazing publisher for taking the time to play tour guide in her diverse and stunning area of Southern California. Your indomitable spirit and strength inspires me to continue to grow as an author. Also, to my sisters-in-law, thank you for coming along and supporting my dream. The love and strength of family is the cornerstone of my career.
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
About the Author
SAINT
Prologue
Saint stood in front of what had once been sweeping drapes. The now-tattered fabric clung to twelve-foot-tall windows long boarded over since the building’s heyday. Walls covered in bubbling, flowered wallpaper, and furniture left broken and forgotten lay haphazard among rolled-up rugs that had fallen over from where they’d probably been lined up against the walls. A single slice of light pierced the dust-speckled air, trying to be a beacon leading him onward in this incredibly misguided undertaking.
A grand staircase stood dead center in the vast space. Its worn and broken railings seemed to smile with gaping holes, laughing at him and the insanity of it all. Chandeliers hung in a macabre fusion of spider webs and layers of dust. Crumbling plaster left walls open, and piles of debris could be found everywhere on the dirty marble floors.
The far wall housed a large fireplace, an open maw ready to gobble him whole. The furniture in the long-ago lounge area stood strangely at the ready with its Hollywood Regency style still evident in the faded tufted velvet chaise awaiting some former movie star’s arrival. He could swear the original plaster moldings above the doors, windows, and bordering the ceiling were inspired by Dorothy Draper herself.
“So that’s everything,” the real estate agent beside him said, and he nearly jumped, having half-forgotten she was standing there. She winged up a painted brow then handed him the keys. “Good luck, Mr. Jeffrey.” Then she was gone, moving quickly through the thick wooden double doors, scurrying off to induce some other idiot sucker into investing in a broken-down wreck.
Saint walked across the lobby to the intricately detailed front desk covered in brass and what appeared to be deep, rich cherry wood. He set his bag down on its worn surface and caught his reflection in the cracked sunburst mirror behind the desk.
Tired blue eyes stared back at him as he asked himself the all-important question of the day.
“What now?”
Chapter One
3rd Street between Olive & Grand, DTLA
The slam of his office door shook the dust from the old paintings still clinging to the walls of plaster, and the sound of breaking glass confirmed one had lost its battle to hold on. Saint threw yet another folder into his recycling bin before leaning back into his chair and looking up at the stained ceiling. Was he asking too much?
“You send another one packing, boss?” Larry asked as he stuck his head in through the now opened door.
“There has to be one contractor out there who sees my vision for this dump,” Saint groaned. “They want to gut everything.”
Larry walked all the way in and sat on one of the high-back, uph
olstered chairs from the lounge area. Saint didn’t even know the guy’s last name, but that hadn’t mattered when he’d found Larry sleeping in the corner of his building’s entryway. Larry had needed help and so had Saint. It worked out for both of them. At first, Saint had kept an eye on the young homeless man as he helped around the building, but after two months, Saint had learned to relax a bit. If Larry had intended to steal from him, he would have done it by now.
Saint looked down at his leather-covered hands. The black, fingerless gloves were designed to support and protect his still-healing hands from the wounds that had changed everything. Larry had been indispensable, so Saint had provided him with a room of his own in the back of the building as well as a cash allowance of sorts. Considering Saint paid for all the expenses and food, Larry was pocketing enough to take care of himself without resorting to other means.
“They can’t gut what makes this old building unique. My grandpa used to say there was too much conformity in the world,” Larry answered as he wiped his sweaty, dust-covered face, leaving one clean streak down the side. Saint wasn’t sure where Larry had been raised, but his accent suggested the mid-west.
“Damn straight,” Saint agreed before standing with a soft hiss of pain.
“Your side hurting again?” Larry asked.
There had been three bullets that day. One for each hand and a third through his stomach, tearing a hole in his small intestines that had required over ten hours of surgery to repair.
“It’s not bad.” Short and to the point, Saint refused to talk about his injuries. The quicker he healed, the faster he could put that chapter in his life to rest once and for all.
Larry followed him out of the office Saint had created from the old storage room behind the solid oak bar. He had been surprised no one had ripped it out considering it looked like it dated back to the building’s beginnings. The wood was carved into various palm leaf shapes and covered an entire wall complete with mirrors. There was no way in hell he’d allow someone to destroy it, which was one of the many stupid things the last contractor had suggested.
Saint had to hand it to Larry—the man worked hard. “This room looks so much better without all the debris and broken furniture. Were you able to find room in the dumpster out back?”
“Yep, it’s all ready for pickup. No wasted space.”
“Good job. Are you getting hungry?” Saint asked as he looked down at his watch and discovered it was already early evening. Another day gone and nothing to show for it. Why was finding a general contractor such a pain in the ass? It wasn’t as if he was asking for the Taj Mahal to be rebuilt.
“I can keep going, boss.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Larry looked down at his shoes before mumbling, “I could eat.”
Saint knew the young man was doing everything in his power not to be a bother. Sometimes it seemed as though Larry would make himself as small as possible to avoid attention. Saint had been working on the young man’s confidence, which seemed ironic considering he’d lost his own.
“You need to tell me the truth when I ask you questions. It’s the only way this arrangement is going to work. If I lose track of time, you are free to tell me it’s past supper and that you’re hungry. At least until we can work a small kitchen in here somewhere so you can make whatever you want whenever. Take a shower and we’ll figure out something to eat,” Saint instructed, bringing a smile to Larry’s face before he took off to his room.
Saint had thought to add more to the common space when they’d cleared out the back, or hub, as they began calling it. Their efforts had yielded a space that included a television, couch, his easy chair, a small dining table set, a coffee table, microwave, electric coffeepot, and a small bar fridge.
Looking around, he wished he had more to show for two months’ worth of work, but it wasn’t as if he had much else to do. Sure, he could have stayed in a comfortable hotel while working out the basics of his design concept, but if he was starting a new life, he needed to jump in with both feet.
The buzzer for the front door sounded—another new addition—and Saint changed direction and headed toward the thick wooden doors. He’d hired the Sentinel crew to install a security system in the building. It was worth the small fortune he’d paid for the peace of mind. While a lot of DTLA had been or was in the process of being renovated, there were as many places that were derelict and some were hard-core dangerous. Saint had vowed never to be caught unaware again.
He looked at the monitor embedded into the wall a few feet from the front doors, checking to see who was out there. He flipped the locks and walked out into the waning sunlight. The warm air hit him and he shook his head. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to LA’s climate. Early spring back in New York City would hold the possibility of one last grand snowstorm or two, typically after everyone had removed their snow tires, making traffic worse than usual.
Saint walked the ten feet to the imposing gothic wrought-iron gate that enclosed the front vestibule area of the building. He’d had the gates fixed the day after he’d found Larry sleeping in the entryway. A courier was waiting for him, but instead of opening the nine-foot gate, he simply held out his hand for the man to place the envelope in it.
“Dr. Francis Jeffrey?” The busy street noise and mass of people moving along the sidewalks was almost deafening, and Saint quirked a brow at the kid. He asked the question again and Saint nodded. He was no longer a surgeon and wanted people to address him as mister, but this kid wouldn’t know that.
The kid handed a handheld device through the gate’s bars. “Sign here,” he said in a bored monotone voice. Saint hated this part. Carefully, he took the stylus from the courier and wrapped his fingers as far as he could around the plastic. No matter how hard he tried, he could only make his index finger reach his thumb and scribbled something illegible on the digital pad. When he went to hand back the device, the expression on the kid’s face wasn’t surprising. Saint growled and shoved the pad in the guy’s hands, took the white envelope, and stormed inside before relocking the door.
He wondered if one day it would get better when he saw the shock and pity in their eyes. If the stabbing pain ripping through his heart would ease over time.
“You should have let me get that for you, boss,” Larry said as he came running to the front doors. His hair was still damp but at least he was dressed. All Saint needed was a twenty-something traipsing around in a towel.
He treated Larry as he would his brother Johnny, and made that clear after the one and only time the man had made a pass at him. Saint knew it had to have been tough on the street, and Larry probably assumed there would be a price for Saint’s kindness. It took some reinforcing, but it seemed Larry believed Saint wanted nothing more than an honest day’s work for Larry’s efforts. The fact that he felt responsible for Larry and treated him like Johnny, the brother he’d protected by staying away, was a matter Saint didn’t want to look at too closely.
“It’s fine,” Saint answered, but his voice came out more like a growl. “Did you grab the card, Larry?” He had opened a bank account for everyday expenses and gave Larry a card tied to the account so he could pick things up when they needed them.
Larry’s dark brown eyes looked troubled as he nibbled on his lower lip and Saint was about to question him when the kid blurted out, “My name isn’t Larry.” Saint tried his best to look shocked, but obviously he hadn’t pulled it off. “You knew?”
“I’ve been in some of the toughest barrios in Central and South America. I would have been more shocked if you’d told me the truth without knowing who the hell I was. So, what is it?”
“Finn…Finley, but I prefer Finn.” The kid shrugged.
“Well, Finn, did you grab the card?” Saint asked again, as if the name thing wasn’t a big deal. Even though the trust in sharing it was.
“Yeah, boss.” Finn smiled wide.
“Okay, go grab us something you like and I’ll meet you back in the h
ub,” Saint instructed before heading for the commanding central staircase.
“Um, maybe you’d like to come for the walk.”
Saint stopped in his tracks and spun around. “Why?”
Finn found a spot in the faded carpeting unusually interesting. “It’s… well… You never go out, really, other than doctors’ visits.”
The fact that Finn noticed was one thing Saint hadn’t expected. That the kid sounded as if his concern was genuine was surprising. “I prefer to stay in at the moment. Thank you for asking.”
“Okay,” Finn said with his usual smile in place before taking off for the back of the building. Typically, they used the delivery entrance to come and go.
Saint waited until he heard the beep of the back door closing and relocking before he began climbing the stairs to the first floor. While he lived on the ground floor, he dreamed of the day that he’d have his own space on the top floor of his building. Unfortunately, without a contractor, his dream had stalled.
This staircase had sold him on the building. Grand, majestic, ornamental, and stunning, it had the odd squeak, but the grand wooden staircase was solid. When he’d first arrived, Saint remembered thinking it reminded him of a toothless grin with its missing parts, but the thick carved railings that opened up like arms gathering you in as you ventured higher were unique and magical. The banisters depicted the elegant curves of a cello, but the one thing Saint loved the most were the slight grooves in the wood from years of wear. His imagination raced at the thought of who might have run their hands over the same surface in the more than hundred years of its existence.
Saint had done a fair amount of research before choosing this building. It had lived many lives in the twentieth century.
When the railroads had made it out west, the people who had built downtown Los Angeles had come to this desert by the sea as part of the oil boom in the early 1900s. They built, then set up shop downtown in this four-story stone building with its elegantly chiseled façade, high windows, and ornate detailing. Over the years, it had changed hands numerous times. After the oil barons moved to a larger and more prestigious space, a couple of Hollywood producers had turned the building into an elegant nightclub with private rooms for those who wanted their indiscretions to stay behind closed doors. When World War II hit, the building was shuttered, and in 1946 it became a small department store. In the late 1960s, when LA sprawl moved into the Valley and took retail with it, the building changed hands and became a hotel with a kitschy restaurant. The hotel became seedy and the building fell into total disrepair at the turn of the twenty-first century. The grand dame had sat empty until Saint came along.
