by Diana Gardin
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Diana Gardin
Preview from Ryder copyright © 2018 by Diana Gardin
Cover design by Elizabeth Stokes
Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Forever Yours
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First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: October 2018
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ISBNs: 978-1-5387-6256-1 (ebook), 978-1-5387-6257-8 (trade paperback POD)
E3-20180904-DANF
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue: LAWSON
1: LAWSON
2: INDIGO
3: LAWSON
4: INDIGO
5: LAWSON
6: INDIGO
7: LAWSON
8: INDIGO
9: INDIGO
10: LAWSON
11: INDIGO
12: LAWSON
13: INDIGO
14: LAWSON
15: INDIGO
16: LAWSON
17: INDIGO
18: LAWSON
19: INDIGO
20: LAWSON
21: INDIGO
22: LAWSON
23: INDIGO
24: LAWSON
25: INDIGO
26: LAWSON
27: INDIGO
28: LAWSON
Epilogue: LAWSON
Preview of Ryder
Also by Diana Gardin
About the Author
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For Superman, my own
personal Lawson come to life.
Acknowledgments
First of all, I’d like to thank God, who gave me the desire and skill to write.
Thank you to my family, who are always there for me when I put down my computer and unplug from all things writing. I’m so thankful they’re along for this ride with me. Superman, Carrington, and Raleigh, everything I do is for you.
Thank you to my agent, Stacey Donaghy. You are more than an agent: you are my friend, and I’m so very thankful to have found you. I am even more thankful that you’re always on my side.
To my fabulous editor on The Delta Squad series, Lexi Smail: I adore working with you. You have such an understanding of where I want each character to go, and sometimes it’s scary because I’m worried you might actually be reading my mind. You’re the best.
To the team at Forever Romance: you are all such a well-oiled machine. From editing, to copyediting, to cover design and all of the other inner workings I don’t even get to see, you are all fabulous and I’m lucky to be a part of it all. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf!
To my favorite sounding board and the girl who’s become one of my very best friends, Sybil Bartel: I don’t know how it happened, but you’re like the other half of my writing brain. You’re there at all hours of the day and night whether I need to get an idea out or I’m completely out of them. I only hope I help you as much as you help me! Love you, girl.
To the very best group of writers a girl could ever ask for, the NAC: Ara, Meredith, Kate, Bindu, Sophia, Laura, Missy, Jessica, Amanda, Jamie, Marie, and Marnee—you are my very best source of sanity. Without you, this business would have ended me long ago! Love y’all!
To the authors I admire so very much and are always willing to help me in any way they can, through promo, visibility for my books in their groups, or just an ear to listen when I need it: you’ll never know how much you mean to me! Thank you so much to Rachel Van Dyken, Heidi McLaughlin, Susan Stoker, Willow Winters, K. A. Tucker, Jay Crownover, Jennifer L. Berg, J. S. Salsbury, Jo Raven, Lia Riley, Megan Erickson, and Brighton Walsh.
To an assistant I’ve learned I cannot live without, Jessica Shapnaka: You are willing to do so much for me, and all because you love my books. Thank you so much for not only being a fabulous assistant, but also for being an amazing friend! I love you!
To the Dolls—the best fan group a girl could ask for. Talking to you guys every day, sharing my fictional world with you, receiving your feedback, it all keeps me going! You all recharge me and refuel me when I need it, and your support and positivity make this job so much more fun! Thank you all for being you!
To the bloggers who have supported me throughout this journey: There are too many of you to name, but you know who you are. You have read every single book, given me great reviews, and shared my work with as many people as you can. I couldn’t do any of this without your help and your enthusiasm. A thousand thank-yous.
And last but never least, to the readers who find their way to Wilmington, North Carolina, to hang out with the sexy men of Night Eagle Security and the women who are strong enough to love them. I hope you fall in love with this world as much as I have, because without you I’d be nothing. <3
Prologue
LAWSON
One year ago
The cool liquid slides down my throat as I survey the room. The air is thick with drunkenness and bad decisions, and there’s a good chance I’m about to be part of that. All I know is that there’s only one way to make the demons having a rager inside my head shut the fuck up. And that’s all I want.
For the world to go quiet. At least for a while.
The bartender snatches my empty glass away, and it only takes a minute before she plunks another down in front of me with a wink. Our arrangement? Keep feeding me scotch and soda until I slide my credit card across the counter. No small talk. And definitely no fucking questions.
Clutching the new glass in my hand, I stare down at the cubes of ice swimming inside. Around me, the murmur of conversation continues, but I’m only listening for one thing.
I’ve been listening all night, and I’m about three-quarters of the way through my fifth scotch and soda when something distracting pops off behind me.
It’s what I’ve been waiting for. Anticipating. Craving.
“Listen, you fucking bitch. You think anyone else in this bar is going to want to take you home? You’re trash. Nobody wants you. You’re lucky I still want you. Now get your ass up and let’s go.”
It never fails. Even when it looks like you’re in a bar full of regular people having a good time, letting loose, celebrating life, there’s always a shark swimming among the fishes.
And for some reason, the only thing that quiets my demons is silencing that shark.
Without turning around to locate the shark, I take out my wallet. Sliding my credit card across th
e counter, I finish my drink in one swallow while I watch the bartender pick it up and process my bill. She hands the card back. I sign the receipt and replace my card in my wallet. Lifting my chin to acknowledge her, I swing my legs over the side of the barstool and stand.
I’m fucked up. I realize that. No man drinks five scotch and sodas without feeling it. But fucked up for me, an ex-Navy SEAL who’s seen more than my fair share of the darkest parts of hell, isn’t the same as any other drunk dude. Fucked up for me means my brain is fuzzy, but no one would know it from watching me. My movements are precise, exact.
It takes me exactly one-point-five seconds to locate the shark. There’s a man—can I actually call him a man?—standing next to a chair. His movements are sharp and jerky as he shoves his coat on over his shoulders. Then he yanks the woman seated beside him onto her feet. She winces, glancing around the bar as if to see if anyone is witness to her fear and humiliation.
“Out the goddamn door. Now.” She lowers her eyes and walks ahead of him, while he turns and leers at his friends. Giving them twin birds, he walks backward for a few steps before turning and following the woman out of the bar.
That’s my cue. I make my way toward the door, shrugging into my jacket and stuffing my hands into my pockets before walking out of the bar.
Out on the parking lot, I glance to the right. Cars are scattered across the paved lot, surrounded by black calm. Out here it’s quiet. So quiet that the noise inside my head lifts to a deafening level. Determination grows, spreading inside me as I look in the other direction.
And dive into shark-infested waters.
He’s walking away, still pulling the woman by the arm. She doesn’t struggle but instead tries to keep up with his long strides. He continues to bad-mouth her, and I know his ugly words are carving the deepest sort of scars—the ones on her heart. I know his type. He’s a coward, plain and simple. He takes out his aggression on women who don’t have the willpower to stand up and tell him he can’t talk to them that way. Treat them that way. Somehow he’s convinced her that she needs him, that this is as good as her life is going to get.
Silently, I move in behind them, and when I’m only feet away, I speak.
“Take your hand off her.”
His steps stutter to a halt, his whole body going rigid. The woman peeks over her shoulder, shock clear on her face.
My knees wobble at the sight of the pain and fear in her eyes. She’s at the point where she doesn’t even want a stranger to step in to help. She thinks that all it will do is hurt her in the end. And maybe she’d be right.
If the stranger wasn’t me.
“What did you just say to me?” The man turns around slowly, deliberately.
His height matches my six foot one inch, but he’s thinner. It’s clear he doesn’t spend hours burning off the rage like I do. Running, lifting, boxing…I’m desperate to make the noise in my head shut the fuck up. It gives me an advantage over douchebags like this every time.
“I told you to take your hands off her.” I hold his stare while slipping my hand into my jacket pocket and pulling out a white card. Holding it in the palm of my hand, I direct my words to her.
“You need to get out now, or you never will. You won’t survive him. Take this card and call the number. Tonight. You’ll be safe.” Holding the card out to her, I watch the hope flare in her gaze.
She’ll take it, no matter how afraid she is of the shark. It’s a lifeline, a way out, and it’s what they always want. Someone to help them, to let them know they can be safe beyond the shadow of a doubt. And once she calls the number on the card, she will be.
She plucks it out of my hand. The shark glares down at her, momentarily letting go of her in his fury. “What the fuck, Samantha?”
I pull my gaze from his and lock it onto her. “Go. Now.”
She takes a step away from him, hesitating. She glances back and forth between me and the shark, her eyes searching. His eyes widen in her shock that she’s listening to me, that she wants to go.
“You take one more step, Samantha, and you’ll—”
She turns and flees, the clicking steps of her heels the only sound rising in the dark night.
When she’s gone, I turn to the shark. Launching myself at him, I allow the noise to take over. I don’t hear it when I lose myself; instead I allow the madness and the fury and the insanity to rule every move I make.
He goes down hard. The alcohol dims my senses, but not my reflexes. No, I’m too well trained, too sharp-witted for that. I drink until the inhibitions fall away, but not until I can’t function to get the job done.
But this time…this time it’s different. Maybe it’s because of the way her thick, black hair reminded me of another woman in another place. Maybe it’s because this shark seemed so willing to hurt her. Like he’d enjoy it, relish it. Whatever the reason, every ounce of control I have snaps into pieces and I unleash my beast on the shark with reckless, white-hot rage.
He goes down fast with a direct punch to his trachea, a wet sound gurgling from his throat. And then I’m on top of him, my fists slamming into his face again and again. The sound of bones crunching, the feel of flesh giving way beneath my hands is electrifying, exhilarating.
And somewhere in the back of my brain, a buzzer sounds. Letting me know it’s time to stop.
But this time, I know I won’t be able to.
Again, I hit him. His head lolls against the pavement, his eyes swimming in and out of focus right before they close.
And still I hit him.
A distant shout ricochets in my head, but I don’t turn to acknowledge it. I’m too far gone, and icy fear grabs hold of me. Not enough to make me stop.
I’m going to kill him.
“Sleuth!” A voice I recognize breaks through the haze. “Sleuth, stop. Stop.”
Grisham Abbot, fellow former SEAL team member, brother, friend. His voice breaks through the roar in my ears as he grabs my shoulders. I allow myself to go limp in his arms, let him pull me off the shark. I glance down and see that his face is nothing but a bloody pulp against the gravel.
Panic flares. “We gotta…we gotta call someone…”
Grisham whips me around to face him. He palms the back of my neck, forcing my gaze to meet his steady one. “I’ll call. Get in the car, Snyder.”
He shoves me toward his waiting Jeep, which is idling nearby. My ears perk to the blaring sound of distant sirens. Help is on the way for the sorry sack of shit lying on the ground. I climb into the front, slump against the seat, and take a deep breath.
When the breath leaves me, I listen.
Still quiet. The noise won’t be back for a while.
“You can’t keep doing this shit, Sleuth.” Grisham climbs behind the wheel, guns the engine, and pulls out of the bar’s parking lot.
Rubbing my head, where an ache is starting between my temples, I nod. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…someone has to do it, Ghost. Why can’t it be me?”
Grisham jerks his thumb backward. “That’s why. You aren’t in control. And I get it, Sleuth, I do. But that? That shit isn’t the answer.”
Turning to look at him, I beg him with my eyes. To tell me. To show me another way. “Then what is?”
His eyes flick toward me, filled with understanding. He knows what I went through. He knows what it’s like. After our last mission, I didn’t come back whole.
I’m not the same man I was before.
“I’m taking you to see Jacob Owen. He’ll have a place for you at NES.”
I tip my head to one side, evaluating him. “What’s NES?”
Grisham is silent for a moment before he answers. When he does, his words change everything.
“Your lifeline.”
1
LAWSON
“Failure is not an option, Lawson. Do you hear me? You will be the best. Because I won’t settle for anything less.”
I haven’t lived in my father’s home in over twelve years, but somehow his words follow me e
verywhere I go. Even now. Will there ever be a day when I don’t recall him standing at the side of the pool, looking down at me after I finished training? The disappointed look in his eye when I failed to break my own personal best time? He instilled the values inside of me that I have today; for that I’ll always be thankful. He taught me never to settle, to strive to achieve my best no matter what.
But his words haunt me now, as my palm smacks against the side of the pool. A full second later, my sister reaches the end of the lane beside me and surfaces. She turns toward me with a glare, and I chuckle at the sight.
Shrugging, I pull my goggles up and over my head. “You know you’ve never been able to beat me. But every single time…every single time!” I laugh while she stays silent. “You’re salty. Why?”
She climbs out of the pool, water raining down behind her. “Because it’s not fair.” Flipping her long, black hair over one shoulder, she squeezes it out. “I’m older than you. I should be faster.”
I follow her out of the pool. “You realize I’m almost twice your size, right? There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to beat me. That’s just a fact. And you’re only older by two and a half minutes, Lil.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. My twenty-nine-year-old twin sister actually sticks out her tongue.
“Older is older, little bro. That was a good workout. You headed to work?”
I nod, grabbing my towel off a nearby chair. “Yeah.”
She tugs at her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth the way she’s done for as long as I can remember. “And you’d tell me if you were doing anything dangerous, right?”
Dropping the towel around my shoulders, I shoot her an exasperated glance. “No, I wouldn’t. You know that, Lil. What I do at work isn’t something I talk about. Not when I was a SEAL, and not now. Trust me when I say it’s better that way.”
Lilliana’s lips puff out in a pout. “I don’t like it, Laws. If you knew how many nights I stayed awake worrying about you when you were God knows where, doing shit I can only imagine…”
