by Shayla Black
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Chapter One
Sunday, April 8
4:40 a.m.
Maui
Tanner
There’s nothing like Bon Jovi waking me up before five a.m. on a Sunday morning. I eye my phone, now blasting “You Give Love a Bad Name,” my soon-to-be ex-wife’s ringtone. She only ever calls when she wants something, so this ought to be interesting.
I grope the device off the nightstand and flop back to my pillow. “What, Ellie?”
“It’s Elise now.”
The day I met her, working on a ranch a hundred miles outside of Pueblo, Colorado, she was Ellie. She was a happy-go-lucky nineteen and didn’t have an uncompromising thought in her head. I took one look at her sloppy ponytail, hazel eyes, crooked smile, and very short shorts—and I fell. We got married a few years later, bought a house, and started a business together. Everything was going all right…until it wasn’t. Eight years had gone by when I looked up and realized I was married to a stranger. When she asked for a trial separation, I didn’t fight. That night, I packed a bag and walked out the door. I haven’t missed her since.
“Do you know what fucking time it is in Maui, Elise?”
“Early. I know. But since you haven’t been available during reasonable daytime hours lately, I thought I’d try this.”
So me ignoring her three phone calls yesterday wasn’t subtle enough? “What do you want?”
“Did you get the paperwork yet? I signed it. The carrier shows it was delivered to you on Friday.”
She’s itching for our divorce to be final. In truth, I’m feeling the same. We separated nearly two years ago, and finally this long road is almost over.
“Yeah.”
“And? Is that all you have to say?”
“Yeah.” Mostly because it drives her crazy. I’m not trying to antagonize her simply to be a vengeful asshole. I’m just hoping if these phone calls are painful enough she’ll stop.
She sighs like she’s grappling for patience. “Tanner Maxwell Kirk, please give me a straightforward answer once and for all. Are you going to sign the papers?”
“Yeah.” Why would I stay married to her now?
“This week?”
“You in a hurry?” I ask out of curiosity more than anything. And maybe because I want to yank her chain.
“Not that you care, but yes.”
“Why? You’re not looking to get married again, are you?”
She hesitates. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“Then I don’t see why I have to sign right away.”
“Ugh, you are the most frustrating, infuriating man! I only married you because I wanted off that damn ranch, and I didn’t know how damaging the traditional, patriarchal institution of marriage was…”
I tune out. I’ve heard this speech. She didn’t find marriage demeaning or oppressive until she decided to go back to college and took a bunch of classes that turned her thinking inside out. Fine. I never wanted to hold her back. The moment she asked, I set her free. A few months later, I even hired an attorney to make it official.
I interrupt her diatribe. “Just answer my question and I’ll sign.”
Ellie sighs. “Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Is it any of your business?” she huffs. “I don’t ask who you’ve fucked lately.”
“Actually, you did. About a month ago.”
“I’d had too much to drink that night. I just wanted to make sure you’re getting on with your life.”
Riiight… “Seems like you got interested in my sex life not long after I moved out and got one that didn’t include you.”
She finally drops the attitude. “Caring is a hard habit to break. We were together for so long…”
“And then you decided we weren’t because I was oppressing you or whatever.”
“Not you specifically, though you have your overbearing moments.”
She’s mentioned that about a hundred times. “You want me to apologize for caring about you?”
“It felt more like hovering. But in this case, I meant the institution of marriage. I just couldn’t be the feminist I know I am now and yet remain in a practice I don’t believe in anymore. It didn’t mean I stopped having feelings.”
But it did mean we stopped having sex. And I’m over this conversation. “I wish you nothing but the best, Ellie, whatever your plans may be. I’ll sign the papers and drop them back in the mail to my attorney tomorrow. As soon as the judge processes them and the house sells, you’ll be free of me.”
“Thank you. I’m entering into a domestic partnership.”
“What’s his name?”
“Patricia.”
Okay, that shocks me. “You’re in a relationship with another woman?”
“It just…happened. I’d been seeing a fellow grad student. Scott was nice. He liked antiquing, classical music, and photography.”
Everything I don’t. Yet she still wasn’t happy?
“He introduced me to his sister over lunch one day, and I realized people don’t truly fall in love with the body; they fall in love with the soul. Patricia has the most beautiful soul. But I’m scared, Tanner. She’s a lot smarter. She knows herself so much better. She seems sure of everything.”
And Ellie is still trying to find herself. I finally figured that out. She looked for her identity as my wife. When that failed, she tried to pin it on motherhood. When her ovaries wouldn’t cooperate, she tried to find meaning in being a student. Now she’s looking for some pinnacle of self-actualization in a same-sex partnership. I don’t know Patricia, but I already feel sorry for her. In a few years, Ellie will drift away, and Patricia will probably only have the faintest idea why.
“You didn’t ask for my advice, and at the risk of being overbearing, I’m going to suggest you give her your all. Communicate. Invest your heart this time. Focus not on what you can’t have but what you can.”
She’s quiet for such a long time, I’m worried she’s pissed. “You’re probably right. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Just like I know this will be one of the last conversations we ever have. It’s sad…but that’s life. We’ve both moved on.
“You going to stay in Maui?”
“Probably. I’m looking into opening a shooting range here. I’ve found a good loc
ation. All I have to do is sign the lease.” And come up with the money to start a new business. Right now, that’s a tall order. I’m flat broke.
“Where are you going to live?”
“Once the house sells, I can buy a condo on the island or something.”
“You staying with Joe?” she asks about my buddy Camden’s dad.
“At his place. He’s away on business now.” But he’s due back tomorrow night, so I need to find somewhere else to crash ASAP that won’t cost me a fortune. His studio apartment isn’t big enough for both of us. “The good news is, I’ve met a few of his fishing buddies and found some good restaurants. I’m enjoying the island. It’s a start.”
“Good luck. I hope you find the right someone to spend your life with. I hope she can give you children because I know you want them. And I hope you’re deliriously happy. As far as husbands go, you were mostly decent.”
From Ellie, that’s high praise, but I’m done with marriage, wanting kids, and the illusion of happily ever after. “Thanks. Good luck, El.”
Three beeps tell me she’s gone, probably for good.
It seems odd that what started during a chilly fall night is now ending on a warm spring dawn. Maybe that timing ought to tell me something…
With a sigh, I rise. Since I’m up now, I’ll go ahead and grab a shower.
Three minutes later, I’m toweling off and padding back to my duffel for some clothes. It’s too early on a Sunday to be looking for work, so I might as well go fishing. Once I’ve tossed on some shorts and a tank, I drag Joe’s fishing gear from the corner and search for my shoes.
My phone rings again, the run-of-the-mill ringtone. I almost brush it off, but a glance at the display tells me it’s someone I actually want to talk to. “Hey, Trace. Good to hear from you. Looking for a fishing buddy this morning?”
“I wish. I have a prospective client who wants to meet you, like, now.”
The gravity in his voice tells me he’s got a situation and it’s serious. I shove the fishing gear back in the corner. “What’s up?”
“I’m calling on behalf of a family friend. Amanda is twenty-six. Single mother to a boy about to turn one. The father of her baby is…notorious.”
Interesting choice of words. “Sounds like you’re putting it nicely. Is she worried he’s coming back for her?”
“No, thank God. He’s not violent; he’s dead. But his enemies are after her.”
So they can’t accept that the cause of their anger is gone and chose instead to take it out on a woman? This is why people annoy me.
“I’m happy to do what I can. But I have to be honest. I haven’t done any bodyguarding in a while.”
“And I know you’re just getting settled on the island. I wouldn’t ask…but I don’t know anyone else with your skill set. I’m sure they’re out there, but they’d be a stranger I don’t know if I can trust. These scumbags are threatening her kid’s life, too. Could you protect them?”
I can’t do it for long since I need to find a steady job. I’m also not sure where I can take them that’s safe. But I’ll figure it out. I can’t let this woman and her kid live in fear. And will they live at all if I don’t intervene? “For a few days. While I’m finding her someone more competent. I’ll teach her a bit of self-defense, too.”
Once I’m gone, it might keep her safe.
“Perfect. Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“No problem. Where is she now?”
“I’m going to give you her half-sister’s address. She’s been staying there, but obviously she can’t anymore. Nia is thirty weeks pregnant and—”
“Say no more. If you can help me figure out a place to hide Amanda, I’ll take it from there.”
“I’ll ask around and see if I can have something worked out shortly. Just get over here as soon as you can. I don’t feel right leaving Amanda and her son alone here with Nia, but my son is with a…friend, so I need to get home.”
My guess? The friend is more than a friend. Who but a lover would be at his place at five a.m.? But Trace having female company hardly surprises me. His older brother, Noah Weston, the former pro quarterback, is well known for scoring on the field. Trace has a reputation for scoring off of it.
He’s put some effort into his sex life. You might try that, dude, before your penis forgets why it exists.
Telling the voice in my head to shut the hell up, I grab my shades, my Glock, and the keys to Joe’s classic red Mustang. He told me if I could fix it, I could drive it while he was gone. A few hours and a few parts later, I had her purring like a kitten.
GPS and Nirvana guide me to an address on the western side of the island. It’s a multi-million dollar house situated right on the ocean. As I pull up, the place is ablaze with lights. I let loose a low whistle. Amanda’s half-sister, whoever she is, lives in paradise.
Out front, I see Trace talking to an attractive brunette. As I step from the car, he waves. “Hey, Tanner.”
“How you doing?” I lock the Mustang, then greet him with a handshake and a shoulder bump.
“Okay. Thanks for coming so early and on such short notice.”
“No problem. I’m not okay with a mob harassing women and children.” I glance at the brunette. “You Amanda?”
“No, I’m Harlow.”
“She’s my brother’s wife,” Trace supplies.
I haven’t met Trace’s famous brother, but his wife’s friendly smile tells me she’s super down-to-earth. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand, then turn back to Trace. “Where’s Amanda?”
I need to find her, start asking questions, and figure out my best course of action. As I drove up, a glance told me people trampled the flowers around the perimeter of the house and broke a window out front. I need to get Amanda out of here and stash her someplace both secret and safe.
A beautiful African American woman approaches down the front walkway, dressed in a white silk robe and looking very pregnant. “She’s inside. Her son is cranky since his sleep has been disrupted. She’s trying to get him back down. I’m Nia Cook.”
I shake her hand and introduce myself. “Nice to meet you. Can I go in and talk to her? I’d like to start getting a feel for how I can best help.”
“Sure. She’s at the back of the house, down the hall, first door on the left.”
“Thanks.” I glance over at Trace. “Catch up with you later?”
“Yeah. I’ll figure out a location and call you. Good to see you, man.”
“You, too. We’ll have to go fishing again soon.”
With the niceties exchanged, I head into the big house, cursing under my breath at the broken glass in the living room. As I head down the hall, I hear a fussing child’s voice.
“No!”
“Oliver, calm down, buddy. Everything is fine. Just fine…” a woman soothes.
Quietly, I tread closer, pausing just outside the bedroom. I don’t want to startle her since she and the boy have had an eventful night, but there’s something about her voice… It lures me in. It’s melodic as it caresses my senses. But it’s also steely enough to warn me against mistaking her softness for weakness.
I haven’t even seen this woman, but anticipation flares across my skin. It burns through my veins.
“That’s a good boy,” she murmurs as I turn the corner to look at her.
I freeze in my tracks.
A waifish blonde, seemingly swallowed up by soft cotton pajamas two sizes too big in a blue so pale they almost look white, stands over a playpen. Her profile is hidden by her long waves as she bends, pacifier in one dainty, outstretched hand.
Without even glimpsing her face, I’m riveted. I don’t register anything or anyone else for breathless, interminable moments.
Finally, I blink. I have to stop staring. If I can’t, there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to keep her safe.
“Amanda?”
With a soft gasp, she whirls to me, seeming to search for words. “A-are you Tanner Kirk?”
I s
tare at her bare face and her pouty, parted lips. She’s beautiful and wary. And she looks so fucking young.
“Yeah.” I stick out my hand. “Hi.”
She folds her much-smaller palm against mine. At the contact, she stiffens. I do my best to ignore the lash of heat that singes my palm and snakes up my arm. Any chance she’s feeling this crazy reaction, too?
“Thank you for coming. Nice to meet you.”
I nod. “Likewise.”
To stop myself from gawking at her soft face and even softer blue eyes, I turn my attention to the boy. He has a sharp jaw that’s nothing like Amanda’s…and a headful of pale curls that are. He stands in the middle of a playpen with red cheeks, glowering green eyes, and little fists.
“That’s Oliver, my son.”
“You’re not happy, big guy?”
The boy rears back at me with an angry furrow between his brows. “No.”
Beside me, Amanda sighs. “It’s one of the two words he knows right now.”
“What’s the other?”
“Ma ma.” He holds out his arms to her.
“No.” She shakes her head softly. “Sleep.”
The boy gets angrier, stomping his foot and huffing.
“I don’t think he’s going to take no for an answer,” I remark.
“He’ll wear himself out eventually. I hate to leave him because I don’t want him to be afraid.”
“Do you think he understands what happened here earlier?”
“No, thank goodness.”
But she’s terrified. Oh, she’s trying to be brave. I can tell by the way she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. If she wants comfort, it doesn’t show. I admire that, even as I want to put my arms around her and tell her I’ll take care of everything. I don’t for two reasons. First, Ellie resented my “macho BS.” And second, I just met Amanda. But after my reaction to her, if I’m going to protect her I have no business touching her.
“We can stay and talk here, if that makes you more comfortable. I’d just like to ask you some questions.”
She shakes her head. “If we stay, he’ll never sleep. Do you mind if we talk in the next room? I’ll be close enough to hear him, but…”
