by S. Ferguson
Table of Contents
Prologue
Epilogue
Prologue of Something There In Between
Prologue of Between the Secrets
Also by S. Ferguson
Kella
Ron
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Grace Between Mercy
S. Ferguson
Edited by Ellie McLove
Cover Designed by Shanoff Designs
Photography by Wander Aguiar
Copyright © 2018 by S. Ferguson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a Work of Fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
To the real Ron. I love you.
Contents
Also by S. Ferguson
Prologue
1. Kella
2. Ron
3. Kella
4. Ron
5. Kella
6. Ron
7. Kella
8. Ron
9. Kella
10. Ron
11. Kella
12. Ron
13. Kella
14. Ron
15. Ron
16. Kella
17. Ron
18. Kella
19. Kella
20. Ron
21. Kella
22. Ron
23. Ron
24. Kella
25. Ron
26. Kella
27. Ron
28. Kella
29. Ron
30. Kella
31. Ron
32. Kella
33. Kella
34. Ron
35. Kella
36. Kella
37. Ron
38. Kella
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue of Something There In Between
Prologue of Between the Secrets
Acknowledgments
Also by S. Ferguson
Something There In Between
Between The Secrets
Alex’s Story is coming Summer 2018
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Prologue
Kella
The first thing I notice is the sheer size of him. His chest rising, the large muscles of his chest pushing across the starched fabric of his shirt. The second thing I notice is the lack of fear. Most people standing over a body, seeing the killer still there, would run away screaming. At least that’s how it always works in the movies. Not this guy. He just steps over the body, slowly scanning his eyes up and down the body. The knife is still in my hand, hanging down on my right side. I can feel the blood dripping from the blade. Every drop gives me a sense of satisfaction. Never again will that bastard, Lorenzo, hurt anyone. My mind flashes to the beaten and battered faces of his girls. Their eyes pleading as they begged me to do something about him. I can’t let satisfaction distract me, I quickly bring my focus back on my new opponent.
He comes to a stop on the other side of Lorenzo’s body, his glacier colored eyes are void of emotion, calculating. He gives the body a harsh kick, causing it to slide, a smear of blood in its wake. I see his body stiffen for just a second and I know he realizes he’s not alone.
“You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl,” he taunts.
Slowly, I start to emerge from the shadows in the room. He tilts his head to the side, watching me from his peripheral vision.
“I don’t want trouble,” I say calmly.
“Too bad,” he growls, finally turning to face me head on. The slight flare of his nostrils is the only tell he’s giving me. It’s enough.
I launch my body at him. Sprinting across the short space. I’m not stupid enough to flash the knife at him right away, so I keep that arm as close to my body as possible. I know it’s covering the right side of my jeans with blood and I don’t care. It’s not the first time I’ve been covered in someone else’s blood, and it won’t be the last. I’m gambling by attacking, but I don’t have a choice. I’m praying a direct attack isn’t a waste of time, I would prefer something more subtle, but he’s blocking me in the room. I have to try. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s faced someone like me. Faced a killer. This could get interesting.
He smirks at me as I rush toward him. He actually fucking smirks. This asshole doesn’t seem to have a care in the world right now. Just as our bodies are about to crash together, he steps to his left. My body misses his by just a few centimeters. Grabbing my right arm with a steel grip, he keeps it straight. There’s a split second where our eyes meet and I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time: fear. He bends me toward the ground using my captured arm to somehow control my entire body. Before I can figure out a way to escape, his knee connects with my forehead and I see stars. I’m stunned, barely managing to brace myself for the next blow.
It doesn’t come. He just lets me go. The fuck? I stumble forward, my left palm slapping against the nearest wall to try to keep steady and slow the impact. I take a deep breath, willing the pain to ebb, inhaling the stale smoke smell that permeates the room.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, sweetheart.” He’s laughing at me now, taunting me.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” I growl, turning around, placing my back against the wall.
“Oh, I think I know more than most.” He nods at Lorenzo’s body before he makes a show of unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and carefully rolling the sleeves up. “Let’s get this over with; I got shit to do.” His forearms are corded with muscle, the occasional vein showing as they flex. He stretches his neck from side to side, then gives me an expectant look.
I clench my teeth and drop the knife. I know he’s only expecting me to use it now. I launch myself at him again, this time jumping directly onto his body. He grunts from the impact and I wrap my legs around his waist. I lean forward, smashing our chests together. His body feels hard and unyielding against me. I have a moment of hesitation when his hands cup my ass, holding me against him. The moment passes quickly when I try my hardest to put my thumbs through his eyes, gripping the sides of his face. He laughs again, fucking laughs, then grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks it so hard my head snaps back, my eyes filling with tears. Then we’re face-to-face, so close our breaths are mingling together. His pupils are dilated and I can feel a hard bulge forming against my core. My eyes widen as I meet his gaze. I see arousal, amusement, maybe even a little excitement, still no fear. Killer recognizes killer.
The moment is over before I can blink as he flings me back, maneuvering almost all my body weight using the grip he has on my hair. I hit the floor, hitting it so hard my teeth collide with a cracking noise and I hear my back pop.
“You keep that shit up, I’m going to have to really hurt you, sweetheart,” he growls at me, his eyes lowering to my mouth for a moment. I start to panic. I’m prepared for a fight, not that. It’s as if he reads my mind because he lets out an exasperated sigh and gives a slight shake of his head.
“You done now?” He smiles at me, there’s nothing nice about it.
“I’m not quitting,” I hiss, scooting backward, so I’m against the wall again. I want to stand but I’m exhausted and my entire lower half aches from being thrown across the fucking room.
“You don’t even f
uckin’ know what I want,” he retorts, squatting so we’re on the same level.
I take the moment to look at him. I notice the corners of his eyes have a few crow’s feet, giving away his older age despite his physical appearance and strength. My mind starts connecting the dots: his lack of fear, his age, he thinks he can tell me what to do … This man is Ron Wolfe; the ex-mafia vigilante who rules this town. I am so fucked.
“Fuck off,” I say through clenched teeth. I decide I don’t care who he is, I’m not making this easy. I lunge for him again. Knocking him off balance is easy from his squatting position. Right before my head connects with his chest, I see his eyes widen in shock. He wasn’t expecting me to keep fighting. Get used to it.
“If you don’t cut this shit out …” he growls, an unfinished warning. He wraps his arms around me, instead of pushing me off as I expected. I can’t help but think his repeated warnings are in sharp contrast to the man’s reputation.
I’m completely trapped against his body. He lays down, my body on top of his, trapped between his arms and legs.
“You have an interesting story, Kella.” The way he says my name momentarily distracts me from my predicament. No one should know my name. I’ve worked so hard to keep my anonymity. My name rolls off of his tongue, sexy and filled with amused charm.
“You know who I am, it’s only fair I know your name.” He shrugs, the movement awkward with his arms wrapped around me, once again reading my mind. “I’m sure you’re familiar with my organization.” It’s not a question.
“I’ve heard things,” I hiss, trying to wiggle from the steel trap he has me locked in.
“Never had a girl work for me before …” He lets the statement hang in the air. Is he asking something? Did he seriously come here to offer me a fucking job?
“I work for myself.” I sneer before flashing him a coy smile, our faces so close together, I know my next words will set him off. “Besides, you have that girl, Bree is it? She works for you, doesn’t she?” I know I’m taunting him with his daughter’s name, but it’s too good of a chance to pass up.
He releases me, and for a few seconds, I think he’s going to leave me alone now. Then he’s back on me before I even realize he’s moved. He pushes me to my feet and farther back, against the wall with more force than necessary. My head bounces off the cheap wood paneling, that lines the shitty apartment walls, darkness begins to tint my vision. The ache in my head doubles. He pushes his right forearm into my neck, not cutting off my air, but showing me he could.
“She isn’t a part of this conversation. Mention her name again and this is over.” He grunts. Something about what he says, makes me think he doesn’t mean we’ll just stop talking. I’m not one to take any shit, but he’s already proven, more than once, this is a fight I can’t win. At least not right now. I’m not above making it out of here and waiting for a better opportunity. I’m a hunter and if he knows who I am, he’s become the prey.
“Fine. I won’t mention your precious daughter,” I mumble, meeting his gaze defiantly.
He chuckles humorlessly and backs up just a few steps, still so close to me, but our bodies no longer touching. After an awkward silence, I realize he isn’t going to speak again, so I try to figure out how to turn him down and still walk out of here alive.
“What the fuck do you even want from me? I’ve got my own thing going on if you haven’t noticed. It’s going pretty fucking well actually.” I give him a smug smile. He’s got to be crazy if he thinks I want to take orders from anyone, especially him.
“You need to work on your language.” He tsks at me. “A lovely lady should not have a dirty mouth.” He smirks looking me up and down in what I won’t acknowledge as appreciation. “Besides did you notice how easy it was for me to find you? To find out your name?” He leans forward, our faces just an inch apart. “I’m not the only one looking. Someone comes looking for you, you have no backup, that’s a hard place to be in. It’s a whole different situation if you’ve got Ron Wolfe and his crew behind you.” Now he’s the one giving me a smug smile. “Not to mention it would be a damn shame if I walk out of here alone.” He pauses waiting for me to take the bait. I do.
“Why is that?” I roll my eyes trying to hide how worried I am about his game.
“Because that’s the signal for my boys to call the cops.”
Well shit.
1
Kella
Ron was fucking bluffing. There was absolutely no one waiting outside the apartment as he dragged me out. He didn’t grab my hair at least, settling on a death grip on my bicep. I’m sure I’ll have an imprint of his fingers when this is all said and done. I was silent, pouting the entire car ride despite being inside the most luxurious car I’ve ever seen. The smell of leather and the comfort of heated seats would have been heaven under better circumstances. Ron just kept a smirk on his face, never once releasing my arm from his grasp, even when he was driving.
Now he’s lugging me into his headquarters, a bar named Keegan’s. One younger looking guy starts to stand when he sees us but Ron shakes his head at him, making him sit back down. A few of the other guys at the bar catcall and whistle as he marches by. He doesn’t even spare the rest of them a glance as we reach an old, wooden door to the right of the bar. Once inside, he throws me down in one of the over-stuffed leather chairs in what appears to be an office. He makes a show of locking the door before speaking to me again. The room is narrow with high ceilings, the smell of liquor and smoke wafting in from the other room. There are no windows. The only escape route I can see is the door he just locked. But even that will only send me into another windowless room full of his men. My mind is restless trying to find a way out of this. My heart sinks as I give in to the thought that there might not be one at this time.
“You did some very bad things, didn’t you, Kella?” he taunts, sitting down behind his massive wooden desk lacing his hands under his chin smugly. Everything in the office is expensive looking, a testament to his success. You would never guess how successful he is off the fact he runs his empire from the back of a hole-in-the-wall bar. Instead of cowering, what I assume most people do around him, I meet his stare head-on. I don’t quite know what’s going to happen right now, but I’m not a chicken shit and have no intention of looking like one. He will be looking into my eyes when he pulls the trigger if that’s his plan. I see something flicker behind his eyes when they meet mine, respect maybe?
“We’re not that different you and me. Let’s cut the shit here. I’m not upset you killed Lorenzo.” He sits back like he’s the most magnanimous person on the planet.
This arrogant motherfucker. I try to show no signs of rage when he names my latest victim. Lorenzo was fucking scum, a low life pimp and Ron wants me to be relieved he’s not mad I killed him? In my mind, I’ve already slapped Ron three times.
“He was quickly becoming a … problem. I have no issues with girls working the streets, but they do it because they want to, and they keep their money. I’m not in the habit of supporting slavery.” He leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. He still looks smug, but he also looks tired. Ron is probably only in his late forties, but he’s battle-hardened. No one knows exactly how old he is. A hard life shows on your face faster than age ever will. He’s not a bad looking man if I’m honest with myself. His nose is crooked, like it’s been broken a time or two. His hands are littered with scars and there is one long one on his forearm, like someone sliced it open with a knife. His jaw is square and covered with a liberal amount of stubble. The salt and pepper at his temples only enhances his dark hair and even now I can’t help but notice his muscles flexing with every movement. The same muscles I felt rubbing against me during our fight earlier.
For the most part, Ron is a complete mystery to me. When I knew he was getting set up by Lorenzo I put a few feelers out. It’s good to know the enemy of your enemy and all that. I learned his headquarters were here at Keegan’s, that he rarely goes out anymore on jobs
. There was one exception not too long ago. He personally killed a man linked to his daughter. I’m not sure what went down, but it must have been bad. To be honest, I don’t want to know. God knows I’m not going to judge him for offing someone who deserved it and by all accounts, it was indeed, deserved. He’s a good leader and keeps his crew on a loose leash, trusting them to get things done their way. His ability to smell out lies was the only consistent thing I heard from the people I could get to even talk about him. Most people on the street shut down when you mention Ron Wolfe. The loyalty he’s inspired is amazing and scary at the same time. The most interesting fact I managed to glean was that he has a daughter only a few years older than me. She works for him now in the bar, but I don’t think they had a relationship until recently. At least no one was aware of her until not too long ago. In his life, keeping a secret like that would be nearly impossible unless he was very, very careful.
After a few moments of silence as I’m lost in my own thoughts, he seems to realize I’m not going to speak. “I’ve been debating bringing a new asset into the fold recently. I require … certain skills.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink. I guess he realized that line was cheesy too. “Tell me, was this a one-time fluke, a crime of passion, or do you think you’re capable of killing again?” He leans forward now, resting his elbows on the desk, the crisp whiteness of his shirt in stark contrast to the dark antique wood.
