by Mandy Harbin
Copyright © 2020 by Mandy Harbin
BLADE
ISBN: 978-1-941467-29-9
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Edited by Brieanna Robertson
Cover Art by Najla Qamber
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from Mandy Harbin, M.W. Muse, Penning Princess Publishing, or Mandolin Park, LLC.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
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To Aaron…because you love stabby things…and, thankfully, quirky writer chicks with a penchant for writing plans in pencil. Because sometimes, the only pointy tool you need in life is one that can erase the path you’re on and give you means to jot down another.
Okay, maybe you need more tools than that. And by need, I mean want. #knifelife.
Regardless, not a day goes by that I’m not grateful our futures were rewritten.
May your blades always be sharp, Aaron, and your life never ever dull. Thank you for sharing it with me.
This book is for you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Also by Mandy Harbin
About the Author
Chapter One
He knew it was a dream.
Blade’s sister had been dead fifteen years, but she stood there before him, the scent of lavender as much of a ghost as she was. He never understood why a seventeen-year-old girl wanted to smell like flowers, but Brenna surely did. Maybe it had been her fascination with the color purple that led to her floral obsession. She had always gravitated toward anything sporting shades of dark pink through magenta. He hadn’t had a problem with that. He never did care for the smell, though.
And now it—those scents of lavender and blood—haunted his dreams, his sister’s lifeless body standing there as she stared off into nothing, rather than resting on the gurney as he remembered seeing her when he came to identify her remains. This recurring dream used to freak him out, but now he knew when he’d wake up, he’d instantly miss the morbid sight. Not because he wanted to relive that day, rather he knew these fleeting moments were all he’d ever have of her again.
“Where’s Jeremiah?”
He knew his sister was going to ask that, because she always did.
His answer never deviated. “In Hell.”
“Was it you?” she asked as tears welled in her lifeless eyes. Blade was glad she didn’t look at him. It would tear his heart out every time he dreamed about her.
“Yes,” he said without emotion. That sonofabitch had killed his baby sister. Of course he’d hurt him. He’d made him bleed out of many holes.
Her scream was bloodcurdling, and Blade bolted upright in his bed before he awakened fully. He blinked into the darkness and groaned at the sudden throbbing headache as the dream’s intensity subsided.
“Damn tequila,” he muttered as he tossed the sheets off him. Oh, he couldn’t blame the dream on the alcohol, but the pickaxe pounding into his skull he could. He rubbed his face as he stood, knowing it wouldn’t help his state any, but doing it regardless. Drowning his sorrows in liquor wasn’t the answer, but it sure dulled the pain.
Not that he was still hurting over the loss of his sister. He loved her, sure, and missed her terribly but that was fifteen years ago. Even when he dreamed about her, he no longer felt that all-consuming, crushing pain. Time had scabbed over those wounds. No, the new ache he’d been self-medicating with a bottle of Jose Cuervo was all because of one little FBI agent.
Anna Sue Fisher.
Jesus, the woman gutted him, and the worst part was he didn’t even know why. He hadn’t known her very long. Only worked with her briefly once before they’d been assigned to the Oberman case. Something changed in him when he’d been working with her, and spending a couple of months in close quarters had been too much for his growing attraction. One night, he’d given into his desire, and she’d been so hot and passionate for him that something within him had snapped. Never in his life had he ever wanted to just be with a woman before.
As in have her and not let her go.
He’d been happy hopping from one bed to another, playing the field. He treated women with the utmost respect, but he’d never been one to settle down. That night, though, with her in his arms, he’d felt this overwhelming need to possess her in every sense.
Anna, on the other hand, had other plans. The morning after their night of passion, she’d thrown up walls and wouldn’t speak of what had happened between them. Before he knew it, he was back in Arkansas, and she’d flown off to wherever the feds stationed her. It wasn’t as if the bureau needed her in this town after his best friend and fellow Bang Shift crew member, Brody “Brutus” Jackson, killed Xan’s sinister mafia boss ex-husband. Working with the FBI, it had been their assignment to protect that woman, but even back then he’d felt there was something a little special about Anna. They’d lost touch after that assignment, but working together again had ignited whatever he’d felt for her before into raw, carnal desire.
Then Anna had left, and Blade hadn’t heard from her since.
Not one word.
Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. It was easier when the woman of the day—or afternoon—walked away first. Anna was different, though. He knew it, just didn’t know why.
And she was gone.
His heart seized as he grabbed his pants, foregoing a shower. No, she wasn’t gone like his sister. Just out of his life, and that was the bitch of it. There was a time he would have denied himself a woman like her because he hadn’t been worthy.
Hell, maybe he would never be.
Images of Brenna flitted through his mind as he dressed. He grabbed the cheap body spray to douse some of the tequila seeping through his pores. He’d just get dirty again and shower tonight when he got home from the shop like he did last night and every evening after working his shift. A quick squirt of hair gel, and an overly long tooth brushing, and he was as ready as he was going to be.
Before grabbing his shop and motorcycle keys, he reached into his nightstand and pulled out his combat knife, so old the engraving had long worn off. He studied the cold steel he carried every day along with a second pocket knife and remembered again the last time he’d used it.
The day he’d killed Jeremiah Ward.
He turned to leave, but stopped midway when he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He stared at his hair, unblinking, knife still in his grip. The guys of the Bang Shift crew gave him hell over his spiked ‘do, thinking his handle had come naturally from his choice of hairstyles.
He glanced down at the blade in his hand, even though he hadn’t needed a reminder that the name had nothing do to with any spikes on his head. He’d just never corrected their assumption.
It was easier that way. Much, much easier. He liked when his skeletons stayed buried. Except for when he slept, he had no problem shoving them away and pretending things were normal. It was under the cloak of darkness when they pushed their way to the surface that he had no way of ignoring them. But in all honesty, there was no getting away from his past.
Didn’t stop him from trying to be Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, cracking jokes and flirting with just about every woman who crossed his path. He’d been fortunate enough that embracing life that way helped him ignore the painful reminder of his youth. But he’d had a hell of a time keeping a smile on his face ever since Anna Sue blew into his life and left on the same breeze. He had a new ache now, one that wrenched those old feelings shortly after Brenna died front and center.
He might not feel that crushing pain regularly anymore over that horrible loss, but he coped the same way. Looking for answers to all his life’s questions at the bottom of tequila bottles. Damn answers he needed were never there.
But these feelings now made one thing crystal clear…he’d never be worthy of any woman. Because no matter what he did or how often he put on a happy face going about his regular routine, deep down he knew there was no escaping who he really was.
Blade Young was a killer.
A stone-cold, ruthless murderer.
Not worthy of Anna Sue Fisher?
Fuck, but there really was no doubt about it.
Anna Sue scrolled through their case list on her tablet as she awaited her supervisor to show. There wasn’t enough coffee on the planet for these early Monday meetings, and not because they were usually first thing in the morning. Rick McMillan, their shrewd team leader, usually spent a good portion going over policies and government red tape with the agents on the team. Time Anna would rather spend chasing leads and arresting the bad guys. Sitting still for a couple of hours in the morning when her defenses weren’t up yet gave her too much of an opportunity to get lost in her thoughts, and that was something she couldn’t handle. Ever since the Oberman case six months ago, she’d kept her nose in a file and her soles pounding the pavement as if the devil himself was on her heels. Focusing on other people breaking the law distracted her from her own bad decisions.
Well, one bad decision.
One tall, lean, muscled, spiky-blond-hair bad decision.
Braxton “Blade” Young.
Damn, but if that man wasn’t sex personified, and he sure as hell knew it. He was a walking god, the type of man who’d make the surliest of women giggle in delight when he aimed that thousand-watt smile of his at them. He had his pick of any number of women, and Anna was sure none he’d set his sights on had been able to resist him. Blade flirting was a charmer, but Blade on a mission to have a woman moaning beneath him was a powerhouse of lethal lust. Anna was certain the man never failed to get what he wanted.
And she should know. He’d conquered her.
Oh, she’d giggled at his harmless flirting when they’d worked on that case together in Dallas. He’d quickly become the star of her masturbatory fantasies—a fact she’d felt slightly guilty about. She’d never thought of any colleague that way, and she’d never ever dated anybody she worked with. No way was she going to shit where she ate. But, technically, Blade wasn’t an FBI agent, so she’d allowed herself those few images of him in the darkest of nights. A little something to take the edge off of working so close with him, she’d told herself. But as the time passed, his easygoing nudges and winks and smiles turned into something heated and forbidden. He’d made her a million promises in those half-mast gazes, making her forget all the reasons why sleeping with him would be a bad idea.
It had been a terrible idea.
He’d delivered on every one of those sinful promises.
Thinking back to that night, she still couldn’t remember when they’d gone past the point of no return. From suggestion to full-on seduction. Before she knew it, she’d been on her knees before him, worshiping his cock and getting drunk on his very essence.
And that right there threw her. She’d spent the days and weeks following berating herself for giving in to the temptation that was Blade. Yes, the guy was hot, but when it came down to it, Anna had never had a problem wrangling her libido. She was pretty good at not only dishing out the rejections, but downright ignoring any man who came onto her.
Not that she drew the attention of the opposite sex often. Oh, no. She was pretty homely compared to most women. And when it came to her female colleagues in this room, Shelby Landry and Viola Lane, there was zero comparison. Those girls could double as models. Hell, they were both currently working undercover at a massage clinic, rubbing backs and arresting asses.
Anna had accepted a long time ago she was average in the looks department. She’d grown up in the Midwest where beans and cornbread were staples and perfecting fried chicken was a rite-of-passage. She was fit, of course, because she had to be able to chase down suspects. Although, she’d taken a hiatus from jogging after breaking her ankle six months ago. It had been slow going getting back into her regular routine. No matter how much she exercised, her thighs never sported a gap, and no matter how much she’d prayed growing up, her boobs never advanced to a C cup. She didn’t wear makeup expertly like Viola and didn’t have that natural beauty thing going on like Shelby. She was just plain ol’ Anna Sue Fisher from a corn farm in Kansas.
She didn’t know if Blade had seen her as just another conquest or if he’d been truly attracted to her. Even if his plans were of the hit-it-and-quit-it variety, he was a complete gentleman. Outside of the bedroom, he wasn’t a kiss-and-tell man, and for that she was so, so grateful.
How could she face her boss and teammates if they knew what happened back in Dallas? She was too smart to claim his attentiveness threw her off her game, yet she didn’t understand logically how he’d been able to seduce her. Was it still called seduction if the woman practically begged for it? Not only had she been unable to muster the strength to push him away, she distinctly remembered grabbing his shirt and pulling him even closer to her the night he’d rocked her world. Jesus, it was as if she couldn’t drop to her knees fast enough.
He’d been sooo—
“Are you doing some online shopping?” Shelby asked, yanking Anna from her thoughts of Blade and that naughty night.
She blinked a few times before looking over to the youngest agent in their group. Darrell, one of the men on the team, had taken Shelby under his wing and shown her the ropes. She’d caught on quickly and would be ready to work a case solo in no time. “No. Researching leads on our pending cases.” Technically not accurate, but that was what she’d had open on her tablet. No need to tell her teammate how distracting one night with one man was six months ago.
“Jeez, you’re such a workhorse,” Viola said from across the table.
“You could learn a thing or two from her,” Carson said.
Darrell Tobin and Carson Childers were the two men on the small special team Rick put together a couple of years ago. They usually focused on financial crimes. They each had their specialties. Anna was a forensic accountant, and since “crime pays” was the outlaws’ motto, she had her hand in just about every case that came their way. She was good at chasing the money.
“Screw you,” Viola said with a toss of her blonde hair.
“Your husband wouldn’t be too happy if you did that.” Carson winked at her.
Viola opened her mouth, but snapped it shut when the door opened.
“Morning,” Darrell said as he walked in and took his seat. He looked as if he just rolled out of bed.
“You okay?” Shelby asked.
He chuckled. “Yeah. Long night going over some international docs. I’m going to need your linguistic expertise, I think.”
“No problem. We can meet up afterward.”
Rick walked in then and sat at the head of the table. “Good morning, everyone. We’ve got a lot to discuss, so let’s skip over the morning pleasantries and start with last week’s updates.”
Anna listened dutifully as her boss discussed events of meetings that occurred above her pay grade. Nothing really new. Budget-cuts-this, need-to-work-with-other-agencies-that. Crisis averted over here. Problems with intel other there. Blah, blah, blah. She didn’t understand why he felt the need to share every detail about politics when nothing was really
different, and most everything had come across in various emails anyway. After what felt like an eternity, he took a deep breath.
“Any questions before we move on?” he finally asked.
She glanced around the room and noticed the same bored expressions on her teammates’ faces. At least she wasn’t the only one who didn’t care about that part of the meeting.
“Next up, assignments. Viola, Shelby, how’s the massage therapy case coming?”
“ICE has a lead on a trafficker,” Shelby said. Anna couldn’t stop the small smile that formed at the newbie’s drive. “Should make an arrest in a day or two.”
“And my hands have never been this soft,” Viola said.
Rick gave a quick shake of his head and said, “Always looking at the bright side.”
“Yes, sir.”
“ICE still has point on the case. We’ll continue assisting if their suspect fizzles out, but I’m putting you two on other assignments as of today. Lane, you’re working with Childers on the Princesses Robbers case.”
“Two bored, privileged socialites suspected of a series of bank heists. Got it,” Carson said, then added, “Don’t know why they didn’t just start a YouTube channel.”
“YouTube is dead. It’s all Insta now,” Shelby said.
“We don’t know for sure it’s the Wellingtons,” Viola said glancing between them.
“Agreed,” Rick added, effectively stopping any more discussion on that. “Landry, I’m putting you on assignment with Fisher,” he said, first looking at Shelby before focusing on Anna Sue. “I need you on location for this.”
