Recovering Ivy
Special Forces: Operation Alpha
Riley Edwards
RED TEAM
and
SEAL of Protection Crossover
Contents
Foreword
Note from Riley
BEFORE YOU BEGIN
Prologue
1. Zane
2. Ivy
3. Zane
4. Ivy
5. Zane
6. Ivy
7. Zane
8. Ivy
9. Zane
10. Ivy
11. Zane
12. Ivy
13. Zane
14. Ivy
15. Zane
16. Ivy
17. Zane
18. Ivy
19. Zane
20. Ivy
21. Zane
22. Ivy
23. Zane
24. Ivy
25. Zane
26. Ivy
27. Zane
28. Ivy
29. Zane
30. Ivy
31. Zane
32. Ivy
33. Zane
34. Ivy
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Riley Edwards
More Special Forces: Operation Alpha World Books
Books by Susan Stoker
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2018 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha Fan-Fiction world!
If you are new to this amazing world, in a nutshell the author wrote a story using one or more of my characters in it. Sometimes that character has a major role in the story, and other times they are only mentioned briefly. This is perfectly legal and allowable because they are going through Aces Press to publish the story.
This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I might have assisted with brainstorming and other ideas about which of my characters to use, I didn’t have any part in the process or writing or editing the story.
I’m proud and excited that so many authors loved my characters enough that they wanted to write them into their own story. Thank you for supporting them, and me!
READ ON!
Xoxo
Susan Stoker
About the book
We met in a bar.
The sex was phenomenal.
Then I walked away.
That’s where our story should’ve ended.
But he found me. Now he knows my real name, my secrets, and all the details of my sordid past.
I’m out for revenge and no one will stop me; not even the pragmatic Zane Lewis. If he thinks he can silence me with the promise of more mind-bending sex, he’s wrong.
Ivy Matthews is the most frustrating female I’ve ever known. I’ve broken terrorists faster than I can pull information from her sweet lips.
The only time she’s pliant is when she’s under me, or when my mouth is exploring her sexy curves, and then the most exquisite filthy words and breathy moans fill my ears.
If she thinks she can walk away from me, she’s wrong.
I’ve found the one–my perfect match–my equal.
Come hell or high-water Ivy is mine.
Note from Riley
Writing this story was intensely personal and parts very difficult to write. Out of all the books I’ve penned, this book was by and far the hardest. Ivy’s backstory was loosely based on my childhood. Ivy is the daughter of a drug addict.
For anyone fortunate enough not to have the gut-wrenching experience of loving an addict, count your blessings. It is a long, dark, soul-crushing reality. One that has taken me years to recover from. Drug addiction is not a solitary existence; each and every person surrounding the addict is affected. In my case, like Ivy’s, it was my mother that is the addict. I say is, because she is indeed still an addict. Unfortunately, for some there is no recovery. Not every addict finds help; real life isn’t always pretty. It can be raw and ugly. Unlike in the stories I write, life can’t be wrapped up in a neat bow at the end of an epilogue.
I was lucky, and my mother’s addiction finally took her to a place where she felt she had to leave me. In her absence, I was able to have a life I wouldn’t otherwise have been afforded. She has come and gone many times over the years. Each time is more painful than the last. Each time worse than the time before. It is truly by the grace of God I was able to walk away with most of my sanity intact. However, the deep fear of abandonment is ever present and ingrained in my soul.
There were many lessons my mother taught me through her addiction. Life lessons that have proven to be invaluable. Lessons I hold dear.
She taught me everything I never wanted to be. And sometimes in life that lesson can be the most important one.
I am explaining this to you because addiction affects so many. I don’t want anyone blindsided or caught off guard while reading this book. Ivy, herself, is not an addict. There is no physical or sexual abuse from her childhood. However, she does have memories that include descriptions of drug use. Please be warned. I don’t get into detail for the sake of detail and word count, only where necessary for you to understand her reactions to certain situations. Zane also has strong reactions and opinions about Ivy’s mother’s drug use. Some might find his intolerance offensive—please be warned.
Thank you for taking the time to purchase and read Zane and Ivy’s story. I hope you enjoy their journey. It is one of finally finding peace.
And yes, in real life, I found my own Zane. He took all my jagged pieces and instead of trying to put me back together, he taught me the tools I needed to put myself together. He stood by my side and supported me. He picked me up when I failed. It was no easy feat! I was a broken, beat down, twenty-one-year-old girl. Twenty years later, I am still thankful he’s never given up on me. When I started this series, I knew this book would come. It is part fiction - part truth. Zane, from the beginning, was fashioned after my husband. He came to me with his own demons. Together we’ve fought them.
He is my fire-breathing dragon. My fiercest protector. My teammate. And together we’ve built an unbreakable friendship and family.
XOXO - Riley
This one is for Bluesteel—my fire-breathing dragon.
BEFORE YOU BEGIN
Thank you for purchasing Recovering Ivy. I’m beyond thrilled to write in Susan Stoker’s Special Forces: Operation Alpha universe again. I’ve been a fan of Susan’s for many years and have read every book she’s published (multiple times.) While I’ve tried my hardest to stay true to her original characters (because, hello, they are already awesome) I am not Susan, I wrote them as I, the reader, experienced them. I want fans of the SOP series to feel like they’re visiting old friends when they see, Tex, Wolf, Abe, Caroline, and the rest of the crew I hope that I did her beloved characters justice. But please remember, I’ve taken some liberties.
I hope you enjoy the world I’ve created for you as much as I loved writing it.
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Prologue
Zane Lewis walked into his office and, not for the first time that day, rubbed his aching chest. The ever-present throbbing had only intensified over the hours; burying one of his own was never easy. But Eric Wheeler was especially hard. He’d recruited him from the CIA, not that it took Zane much to convince Eric to leave the agency after a disastrous mission in Russia nearly three years ago. But instead of retiring like Eric had planned, Zane convinced him to come work for him.
“Fuck,” Zane muttered to an empty room.
Taking the neatly-folded flag Wolf had presented him over to his desk, he opened the top drawer and rummaged through the brass bullet cartridges he collected until he found the one he was looking for. He pulled out a .308 bullet with the inscription Wheeler engraved along the length and tucked it into the fold of the flag before walking to the built-in bookshelves behind him. He proudly propped Eric’s flag on the shelf - it would serve as a reminder to Zane of his shortcomings. He’d allowed another man under his command to die, yet another hash mark on his already condemned soul.
It had been late when Zane had left Eric’s celebration of life at Jaxon and Violet’s house and later still now that he’d driven around for the past hour before stopping at his office; dreading going home to an empty apartment. Not that he wanted company in his current state of mind. If he had, there was a steady stream of women that were all too eager to hit his bed for the night. Zane had come a long way from the single-wide trailer him and his brother Lincoln had grown up in. His three-thousand-square-foot penthouse was a testament to his success. But some days he missed the small trailer and the closeness it had provided; he and Linc cramped into a bedroom arguing over who was going to clean up the clutter that inevitably accumulated in the small space. He bought his penthouse so he’d never be cramped again, never having to worry about clutter. But now, the space seemed barren and lonely. Lonely wasn’t something Zane was used to feeling. He was a man that appreciated the solace of his own company.
Zane grabbed a bottle of his favorite whiskey and moved to the large bank of windows overlooking downtown Annapolis and unscrewed the top off the Knob Creek and took a swig straight from the bottle. The liquid burned his throat, warming his insides as it went down.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he repeated, his carefully controlled temper was starting to slip. Eric’s death was weighing heavy and he’d been unable to lock it in one of the many fucked-up boxes that made up his life. He couldn’t, not yet. Eric deserved to be mourned.
Zane rested his forehead on the cool glass and for the first time since he was a child he felt wetness leak from the corner of his eye. Before he could dwell any further, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It had been after midnight when he’d come to the office; in his line of work a call this late never meant good things.
He pulled his phone out and checked the caller ID; the President’s personal number flashed on the screen. He hoped to God the call was not work-related. His team needed some downtime after losing Eric. Or did they? Maybe going back out in the field was exactly what they needed to burn through the pent-up anger and hurt they all felt. Zane knew he’d feel a whole lot better if he could dispatch a bunch of douchebag fuckwits to hell.
“Tom,” Zane greeted.
“How you holding up?” The President cut straight to the chase.
“Five by five,” he clipped.
“Right. So you’re not at the office drowning your sorrows in a bottle?” Tom returned.
It never ceased to amaze Zane that the President had an uncanny ability to presume others’ actions. It was what had made him a good UDT and now a great President.
“It’s goddamned late, did you need something?”
Zane’s response was met with a chuckle before Tom sobered. “Tomorrow morning when you wake up from your bender I want you to remember something, son. In our business, there are no guarantees; not that we’ll come home, not that we’ll be in one piece if we do, and for the men that led great men in combat there is the unrelenting responsibility of consequence. You are not responsible for Eric’s death. He died because he was a damn hero. You don’t take that away from him and put it on your shoulders. The honor is his. Another thing for you to remember, and I know you’ve heard this before, we don’t just train them, we mourn them. You know the risk, every person on your team does. They follow you into battle because you’re the goddamn best; do not waiver, do not wallow, your team needs you strong and ready. They’ll be looking to you for strength. When you feel the weight bearing down, you call me. Not as the President, not as a brother in arms, but as a friend. I’ll help you carry the load.”
“Preciate it,” Zane said past the lump in his throat.
“I know you do. You get tonight to drain the cheap shit you call whiskey. Tomorrow, you stand tall and ready. I’ll be in touch.”
Tom disconnected the call and Zane tossed his phone on the small table that sat next to the couch in his office. He plopped his ass down on the soft leather and contemplated Tom’s words. When half the bottle was gone, Zane decided it was time to lock Eric down deep. A good man was dead, and no amount of tears or whiskey would bring him back. His eyes scanned the room until they found what he was looking for. That night with alcohol numbing the pain, Zane fell asleep on the couch in his office staring at a flag he wished he didn’t have.
1
Zane
“Swear to Christ, if the two of you don’t shut the hell up you’re both fired.” I looked between my brother and sister-in-law. “And why the fuck are you in my office?”
Jasmin and Linc continued to bicker as if their boss hadn’t threatened to fire them. I leaned back in my chair and further observed the couple. I was happy for them, but their domestic disputes were getting on my last nerve. When had my company turned into a daytime soap opera with wives and girlfriends traipsing in and out all day? Olivia and Violet both seemed to skate by my extensive security protocols with ease. They came and went from the office just as much as the team did. I’d lost all fucking control.
“Yo!” I tried again. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
“What?” Jasmin turned her attention to me.
“You heard me, leave.”
“But I have a case and your brother is being unreasonable and won’t let me leave the building,” she complained.
“You’re fucking pregnant. You are not getting in your car and following a scumbag around all day,” Linc argued.
Yes, I’d lost control.
“Linc, she has a job to do,” I told my brother but when Jasmin smirked I quickly added, “and you’re on light duty. That means you follow and do not approach.”
“Desk duty,” Linc shot back.
“Brother, she’s gonna have your balls if you don’t lighten up. Believe it or not, she’s not the first woman in history to have a baby.”
“Babies,” Linc said as if he was proud of himself for giving Jasmin twins. Since she’d announced her pregnancy, all the office had heard about was Linc’s super sperm. I gagged every time my brother mentioned his semen. Not a thought I wanted to dwell on. “And we all know my wife has trouble following orders. If she sees Forester approach any girls, she’ll be out of her car confronting him before backup can arrive.”
In the last four months since Eric’s death, the team had been busy stateside. Colin and Declan had gone OCONUS once, to Dubai to escort a Senator while he visited a US Navy base there. Not that anyone was complaining about their current workload. The only person that seemed to have an issue was Linc. Leo and Olivia were living in marital bliss. Leo, the crazy bastard, had finally knocked Olivia up and he, too, was more than happy to spread the baby cheer.
“I really don’t know why I bother paying the two of you a salary. Between your lack of work and the amount of money you’re costing me to
put a goddamned daycare in the building, you should be paying me. Jasmin, go get to work. I want a full report of every move Forester makes. If you so much as get out of your car you won’t have to worry about Linc; I’m not fucking around. You’re six months pregnant.”
“Aye aye, LT,” Jasmin said and made a dash for the door before Linc could stop her.
“What did you find on Forester?” I asked Linc, trying to bring the meeting around to actual work.
“You know she’s not gonna listen,” Linc grouched and sat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk.
“She will. She loves those babies. It’s you that’s lost your fucking mind. She’s fine. Your babies are fine. I’m not kidding, she’s gonna kick your ass out and not let you back in until after she has those kids if you don’t chill the hell out.”
“Fuck, Z! It’s just… if something happened to any of them I don’t know what I’d do. She goes and goes; it can’t be good for her. I want her to rest, prop her feet up, or some shit. I don’t know. But the thought of her putting herself in danger guts me.”
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