Descendants of Ra series Book 3
Evermore
Tmonique Stephens
Dedication
To my beautiful daughter, Cyre
Have I told you how special you are?
Have I told you how
lucky I am to be your mom?
Have I told you how proud I am of you?
Have I told you I love you?
Well, you are special. I am lucky and proud.
I love you more than anything
else in the world.
You are my blessing.
Acknowledgments
A heartfelt thank you to the ladies of
Ancient City Romance Authors.
Your friendship and support always brightens my day.
Thank you to my band of merry critique partners,
Kathy Bain, Karen Herbelin,
and Nancy Corrigan.
Your sharp eye for plotting and attention
to details have saved my ass many times.
To my best friends,
Michelle De Leon and Diane Rora,
I promise to visit more.
To my drinking buddy and beta reader,
Charitee Gerow,
what would I do without you?
Don't answer that question!
Finally, to the person who
shall not be named…KARMA….
Copyright & License Notes
Evermore
© 2014 Tmonique Stephens
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book is copyrighted and may not be
sold or duplicated in any form without specific
permission from the author.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TMONIQUE’S BOOKS
Descendants of Ra Series
Prequel Entrapped (Winter 2018)
Book 1, Eternity
Book 2, Everlasting
Book 3, Evermore
Book 4, Encore
Book 4.5, Forever
The UnHallowed Series
Only The Fallen
Only One I Want
Only You
Only One I’ll Have
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Descendants of Ra Book 4
Encore
Chapter One
Glossary
Links
About The Author
Tmonique Stephens
Chapter One
Emeline Gamble gave a sharp look around as she emerged from the subway. The staccato clip of her heels on the cement stairs announced her presence to anyone who cared to notice. Female. Single. At four a.m., an invitation for disaster. Theirs, not hers.
She walked down the dark block toward her house. Her breath curled in the cold air. She paid special attention to the shadowy corners and niches near her Harlem brownstone for someone brave enough to be stupid. In her right hand, her keys were threaded through her fingers, ready to use as a weapon or open her front door. Her left hand gripped a box cutter in the pocket of her wool jacket. A bit of extra protection as she returned home from her bartending job; plus, she liked to leave a scar, a permanent reminder to any attacker they messed with the wrong girl. Although, she wouldn’t mind putting some of her mixed martial arts training to use.
The third weekend in November, the temperature had plummeted to the twenties. New Yorkers were hardier than a little cold weather, yet the street had temporarily cleared. The last rays of an Indian summer had long since faded. Time for real coats, scarves, and gloves. She huddled in her coat, regretting her choice of fashion over function as a vicious wind whipped down the block and slammed into her.
Normally, she loved fall. The cooler weather brought a change in fashion. Sandals gave way to boots; spaghetti straps vanished in favor of turtlenecks, and down coats replaced cute jean jackets. A Thanksgiving baby, she relished all that the season meant, especially when the day fell on her birthday, as it would this year. Though, she wouldn’t be celebrating. Not this year. Not last year, either, or several previous years. Not much to celebrate anymore.
A bit of music flared from the bodega on the corner. The twenty-four-hour neighborhood mini-mart wasn’t the usual hub of activity. Mike, the local dealer, and his two boys exited the store. Dressed in the latest North Face gear and Timberland boots, they leaned against the wall, striking a menacing pose. Ever vigilant of his territory, Mike’s gaze swept over the area and did a double take when it came to her. She gave him a head’s up and a quick wave. Never good to piss off the local dealer. He whispered something to his boys. They laughed and walked away.
It’s like that now.
She’d lived on this block her entire life, partied with many who would remain nameless, and buried a few. They all knew her, had brawled with her, looked out for her, watched her back and her front, and whispered dirty words in her ear hoping for some quality time. Now, no one would speak to her.
Why?
Because she did the right thing. So be it. There were worse things in life than being labeled a snitch. As long as they didn’t cross the line into her personal space, everything would be fine.
Emeline hustled up the stairs to the townhouse. Three locks stood between her and safety. The middle one always stuck and had to be jiggled. Rusty hinges squealed when she pushed the door open. Her cheap burglar alarm worked just fine. A flick of the light switch on the wall illuminated the narrow hallway.
She closed the door, turned all the locks, and slid the chain across. Only then did the knot between her shoulders ease. A satisfying breath escaped as she listened to the steady drip of water in the downstairs bathroom, the whine of air whistling through the old window frames, and the faint drone of voices.
She sighed. “As expected. He left the TV on again.”
At 92 years old, her grandfather had earned the right to forget to turn off the television even if he didn’t pay the electric bill. She shrugged out of her coat, unwound the kente-patterned scarf from her neck, and dumped everything on the entryway bench. Then she kicked her heels off, not caring where they landed. Her feet ached from working behind a bar all night, and her skimpy uniform pinched under her jeans and sweater.
Emeline trudged down the hallway to the thermostat and nudged the lever up a few notches, then headed to
the dining room. The TV was turned to TCM. Now Voyager, her favorite Bette Davis movie, gave the darkroom a gray wash. She glanced at the snoring body stretched out on the recliner. Grandpa Willy Gamble’s favorite spot. The blanket covered him from his nose down, so that all she could see was tuffs of white hair stubbornly clinging to the sides of his brown, balding head. She leaned down and checked his oxygen tank. The PSI was good. He had enough until his nurse came in the morning.
“Eme?” He pulled the covers away, coughed, and the nasal cannula slipped out of his nostrils.
She adjusted the tube and stroked his leathery cheek. He took her hand in a strong grip. She rubbed his arthritic knuckles. “I’m home.”
“I stayed up waiting for you.” His grin took years off his face and further crinkled the corners of his once hazel, now milky eyes.
She chuckled. “Yes, you did.” Living with her grandfather was like having a toddler underfoot. He needed constant care. “What time did the nurse leave?”
“Don’t need a babysitter.” He groused.
“I said nurse.” She had to pick her words carefully around him.
“Same thing.” He snatched his hand away.
No use arguing with him when he was in this mood. She glanced at his made bed on the other side of the room. “Are you staying in the recliner or do you want me to help you get into the bed?”
He picked up the remote. That gave her his answer. Too stubborn and too damn independent. The traits applied to both of them.
“Do you need anything?”
“If I do, I can get it myself.”
“Okay, Grand.” Emeline peeked at his feet to make sure he had on his rubber-soled socks and that his cane was in reach for a trip to the bathroom or foray to the kitchen. She kissed his cheek. “I’m going to sleep.” Right after she ate the rest of her leftover Chinese food. She crossed the dining room and turned on the baby monitor secreted behind a potted plant, then made her way to the kitchen.
She didn’t need light as she padded her way across the cold wooden floor to the refrigerator. Leftover shrimp lo mein and dumplings waited for her, plus a cold Amber Bock hidden behind a head of lettuce made for a well-balanced meal. The fridge door squeaked as she opened it; seemed like everything in the house protested with a noisy outburst.
A pint of low-fat milk, a week past fresh, Egg Beaters, a six-pack of Ensure, withered lettuce, some Kraft Singles, and an aluminum tin from Meals On Wheels claimed sections of the refrigerator. And in the middle where she had left them, no beer and no Chinese takeout.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and was momentarily stunned. Someone had the nerve to break into her home. In a blink, she grabbed a knife from the butcher’s block. The slight whoosh of metal scraping wood reverberated in the room and boosted her resolve.
She clutched the cool metal handle and listened. How many were here? The refrigerator compressor kicked on, chugging. She couldn’t hear a damn thing over the fifteen-year-old fridge, but closing the door would cut off her only light source. Not flipping the switch before entering the room had been stupid. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. She had promised to never use those three words. Like a fair-weather friend, here they were again.
One hand on the door, she reached for the light. Her fingers fell short. She darted across the distance to the wall. Her elbow knocked into the microwave at just the right angle, striking her funny bone. There was nothing humorous about the numbing tingle streaking to her fingers. The knife slipped, almost fell from her weakened grasp. When had she become this clumsy?
Emeline flipped the switch. The wiring in the house was ancient and erratic. Dangerous, the electrician told her last year, but college tuition came before rewiring the home. The old light fixture hummed and blinked a few times, giving her glimpses of her female visitor.
“Hello, Emeline.”
“Ridley?” Surprised, Emeline lowered the blade and waited for her unexpected guest to speak.
“The Order needs you to return.” Feet propped up on the vinyl cushion of the nearest chair, Ridley shoveled a forkful of lo mein into her mouth. Dressed in skin-tight, blood-red leather from head to toe, she came ready for war. A year had passed since Emeline last saw Ridley’s face. Friendly, but not friends, their paths often intersected. Though the last time Emeline had seen her, Ridley was getting cozy with the elders.
Ridley’s arrogant attitude hadn’t changed. She couldn’t blame that on her new associations with the ruling council. The cropped platinum blonde hair and dramatic makeup were a change from the shoulder-length tresses and plain face Emeline remembered.
“Return to the Order? Not happening. You broke into my home to tell me this? I paid my phone bill, so why not a call?” Something was wrong besides Ridley’s ass perched on Emeline’s dinette chair, chowing down on her leftovers. “Does Mrs. Kelly know you're here?”
“Margie Kelly has retired. The Order has taken a new direction. I’m in charge.”
Margie had been in charge forever. Literally. Her firm but gentle guidance had made the Order a home. Even though Emeline had to leave, Margie had been there for her. Ridley had never appreciated the old woman. In fact, she resented her. “So you finally managed the coup you’d always planned. How’d that happen?”
“Just an orderly changing of the guard.” Ridley shrugged. “I have a job for you.”
“I quit. Remember?” Emeline had to admit Ridley looked good, deadly, while in the interim, Emeline had grown soft taking care of her grandfather and snacking on everything.
They’d fought before in training sessions. The combination of Ridley’s speed and Emeline’s strength had each claiming victory. Six months out of practice and Emeline wasn’t so sure she could beat Ridley anymore. Would it come to that impasse?
“It’s a lifelong membership. You know that. One may leave, but never quit. You quit when you die.”
Or when we kill you, was the unwritten caveat the new recruits joked. The Order was secretive, not deadly—until now? If she refused, would she be Ridley’s first example of comply or else?
Emeline thought of her grandfather and braced for attack. This was going to hurt, but she hadn’t gone completely soft. Ridley would not win.
“Don’t you even want to know why I’m here in your lovely home?” Ridley waved at the faded décor and worn appliances. “You used to be curious. Has living an ordinary life done this to you?” She shook her head and pursed her lips.
Stay calm. Letting Ridley goad her into a confrontation would be bad, especially with Grand in the house. “What do you want?”
Ridley dropped the fork back into the take-out box and pushed away from the table. She stood, made a show of rising to her full height which surpassed Emeline by a few inches. “Avery Nicolis.”
His image flashed in Emeline’s mind. Big, bad, dangerous. He had the hardest face she’d ever seen. Eyes like chipped pieces of jade, a cruel mouth that never smiled, and a reddish buzz-cut that barely kept him from being bald. Still, he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Just hearing his name caused a wicked pulse in her groin.
“We need you to bring him in,” Ridley continued.
No effing way. “Since when did the mission change from watching the Nicolis family to interacting with them?” she said.
“Since right now.” Ridley folded her arms beneath her small breasts and widened her stance.
Emeline’s brain scrambled for a rational explanation and came up blank. “What do you want with him?”
“Need-to-know basis.” Ridley’s expressionless face gave nothing away.
In other words, none of Emeline’s damn business. Fine. “Why me? I turned all of my data over to Diane months ago. If you need something, go to her.”
“You stalked Avery for six months…and for ten days during the summer, he stalked you.”
Emeline gasped and struggled to quell the urge to run to the farthest corner of the globe. “I’ve had a trained killer on my tail and the Order decides to tell me now?”
She clutched the knife tighter to keep from throwing it. How did I miss this? Preoccupied with the Order, work, Grand, and bills, she—one of the best watchers—failed to notice Avery Nicolis had her in his crosshairs. Why had he done this? Revenge? Some sick plan of torture? If that was the case, why had he stopped? His file detailed his multiple assignments in the States and abroad. He killed with cool efficiency. Never broke a sweat, leaving a body only when he wanted to send a message. The rest were gone; erased from the face of the earth summed up their disposal.
“It served our needs not to tell you.” Ridley smirked. “Because of him, the Order ceased all surveillance on the Nicolis’s, but that has changed. We have a chance to take things in a new direction.”
To hell with their new direction. “Why was he stalking me? Does he know about the Order?”
“Don’t know and it doesn’t matter why answers the first question, and no to the second,” Ridley said.
It didn’t matter? That was Ridley’s answer? Knife in one hand, Emeline made a fist with the other and debated which one would take the lead. “How do you know he doesn’t know about the Order?”
“Because we are all still breathing.” Ridley sounded proud, ready to climb Mount Everest and plant a flag. Even if the mountain was comprised of the stinking bodies of her enemies. “We need you to get him to the house on Riverside Drive.”
Emeline smelled a trap. “Why?” But was it for her or Avery?
“Need to know,” was Ridley’s crisp reply.
“Well, I need to know. He’s a mercenary. Trained in every way how to maim, kill, dismember, and conceal. And he’s a Nicolis! You don’t walk an immortal killer into a trap and expect to live long enough to pat yourself on the back.”
“We haven’t proven he’s immortal yet.”
“Worse, you attack one Nicolis, you attack them all.” Emeline continued as if Ridley hadn’t spoken. “So even if I succeed in this ‘mission impossible’ scenario, the rest of the family will hunt me down. How am I supposed to do what you want without signing my death warrant?”
Ridley’s gaze raked her. “Use what you got.”
Evermore (Descendants of Ra: Book 3) Page 1
