by K. J. Dahlen
“I’m going to walk.”
“Don’t go far.” Gio pushes himself up on one elbow, face tilted for a kiss. I bend over, awkwardly, and kiss him. It’s more chaste than either of us would like, but I am not going to have sex with him on a public beach.
Not today, anyway.
I kick off my shoes, arranging them next to where he lies laughing on the sand, and head for the water.
It’s cold. Cold as fuck. And it feels wonderful. The ocean is like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s not like the lake. I know—it has salt. But salt doesn’t explain the vastly different character of this body of water.
I go slowly down the beach, the sand swirling between my toes and pulling out with the waves. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I thought I felt it buzzing while we were hiking, but I didn’t want to stop to answer stupid messages.
The one on the screen is from Portia.
How’s Cali?
That’s not stupid. I love her. She saved my life. And she still won’t tell me where she learned all of that stuff. I don’t need her to protect me now, and yet…
Someday.
She’ll tell me someday.
Warm and sunny.
So jealous.
It’s December and the wind in Chicago wipes away every trace of sultry summer heat. It cuts. I miss a lot of things about the city, but not that.
Come visit!
In the spring? So much studying…
I’ve asked Portia to visit a few times, and she always has a reason not to. I don’t think she’s blowing me off, truly. I think she knows that there will always be that hesitation when we invite someone from the city. Gio won’t even tell his brothers and sisters—the ones who have found a way to reach out, anyway—what city we live in. Keep secret, keep safe.
I should make that into a sampler for our apartment.
I’ll hold you to it.
I put my phone back in my pocket.
It buzzes again.
I pull it out with a grin, thinking Portia’s got more to say, but this text is different.
This text is from a number I’d know anywhere, even if it’s not saved in my phone and never will be, for safety’s sake.
Still free?
It’s a question we’ve always been asking each other. Always.
Still free. What about you?
Free as a fucking bird. When are you coming to Europe?
It’s going to be a while. Husband. You know.
Doesn’t sound free :D
Stop…
I know. You love him. It’s gross.
Can you talk?
Not now. Just wanted to see how you were. You’re probably at some nude beach.
Only a regular beach. Toes in the ocean.
I can see the ocean, too. LU
LU
I put my phone back in my pocket.
I could tell him right now.
Gio’s back on the beach, one arm under his head, the other over his eyes. He’s totally at peace.
No, not now.
We’ve bought ourselves plenty of time to unspool our secrets. I know he has more to tell.
And me?
I have one.
She’s my twin sister, and she lives in France.
Gio was wrong, back at that house in Torch Lake. It’s not an impossible task to kill the last Ricci. But the last Ricci isn’t me. It’s Angela.
She’s my sister, by any name.
“Sia,” Gio calls, his voice swept to my ears on the wind. “Come back, wife.”
“Always.” I shout it loud enough for him to hear, and then go to him. He’s my husband. He’s the rest of my life.
We have so much time.
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A Little Taste of Before She Was Mine
My missing foot hurts like a bitch.
You’ve probably heard of phantom pain, and I’ll tell you right now—you’re picturing it wrong. It’s not nebulous, an aching vapor in roughly the size and shape of the limb you’ve lost—in my case, my left leg, starting just below the knee.
There is no shin. There is no foot. There are no toes.
They were irreparably mangled at the base of a mountain in Afghanistan, and it’s almost definitely my fault.
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About Amelia Wilde
Amelia Wilde is a full-time romance authoress who is thinking about tacos. Yes, right now. She’s also thinking about her next angsty, steamy, unforgettable romance. If you want hot heroes, she’s got ’em. Fiery, independent heroines? Check. Books to make your Kindle blush? LOOK NO FURTHER.
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Indebted
A Kingpin Love Affair
J.L. Beck
Prologue
Zerro
PAST
“Momma!” I cried out. My body shook with every breath. I couldn’t find her even though I heard her scream. I had never heard my mother scream like that before. My stomach twisted in knots as fear coursed through me. Maybe the maid had just snuck up on her?
I circled down the stairs and down the hall to her room. I was just outside her door when I heard her scream again. It wasn’t the scream that she made when she was scared; it was a different scream, a terrifying scream.
“Just take me! Leave Alzerro alone!” I heard my mother cry. I wanted to run to her, to hold and protect her. Something was holding me in place though. I knew if whoever had my momma saw I was there, they would take me.
“The boy will be a mafia king someday. You think we would just leave him here with you?” It sounded as if this man was screaming at her, but his voice wasn’t raised. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I continued to listen to her pleas. Where were the bodyguards? Why were they not saving her?
“The boy is ours,” the man I hadn’t seen yet said. Then I heard it, the last cry, the last plea leaving my mother’s lips. A gunshot went off, the sound reverberating through me. One shot that forever changed my life by taking away the only person I loved, the only person who loved me. I prayed my mother hadn’t been shot, but I knew she had been.
“Remove her body from the house. I don’t want the boy finding it.” I turned on my heels, as the man’s voice grew closer to the door. Everything in me said I needed to run, to hide. I couldn’t let him see me, nor did I want to see him.
I ran up the stairs with all my might to my room where I shut the door and locked it. I knew it would do no good if they had guns, but I had to try. Whoever they were, they were bad men.
Not even a minute later, the door handle shook. My body quaked in fear as I took as many steps away from it as I could.
I could hear the wood splintering against the weight of whoever was on the other side. Looking around the room, I couldn’t think of a place to hide.
Then my eyes landed on the closet. I scurried across the floor, my socks causing me to slide and fall. I had just closed my closet door when the door to my room came crashing down. Fear was rooted deep within my body, making it impossible for me to move. Why had these people killed my mother?
Two men, covered in black from head to toe, walked into my room. Their bodies were bigger than anyone I had ever seen. I wanted to be strong like my father always told me to be, but I couldn’t be. I didn’t want them to find me.
“Where is he?” one man said in frustration as he whipped the mattress from my bed. I watched from a slit in the closed door as they ripped my room to s
hreds. As they came closer to the door, I pushed further back into the closet until I came to the wall.
I knew I had to figure something out—my life depended on it. I felt along the wall to see if there were any hidden passages. I remembered all the times my mother and I played hide and seek. I was always trying to find the best hiding spots. My momma always pretended she couldn’t find me. One of the times when she supposedly couldn’t find me while I was hiding in here, I watched her open a hidden wall. I never asked her about it, and she never mentioned the secret spot. It was as if she knew I would need it someday. I searched the wall frantically until I found the distinct little wood piece that fit into the wall perfectly.
Pulling it out quietly, I crawled into the unknown space. It was a very small area, but I managed to sit down. The men’s footsteps grew closer with every passing second. I clumsily and quickly picked up the wood piece knowing if I made a mistake, I would be found.
My hands were sweating and shaking, and I felt like puking. I wanted to run to my mom, I wanted to be enveloped in the safety of her loving arms. I knew I would never feel her warmth again, and that broke my heart. However, I couldn’t think about that, I had to focus on hiding.
Just as I slid the wood into place, I heard the bad men enter the closet. The door flew open and hit the wall with a fierceness that shook me to my core. I heard them rip down my clothes that were on hangers and throw my boxes of prized possessions across the room.
“He’s not fucking here,” one of them growled. I listened to them shuffle around in my room as I forced my breaths to slow down. The darkness surrounded me, banishing all the light that I had in my life.
How could these people come into my house and kill my wonderful, kind, sweet mother? What did they want from me? How did they get in here? Who else did they kill? We had security, didn’t we? Where were the maids? Were the bad people still here? Why did they leave me all alone?
As the house settled and the events filtered through my mind, I continued to sit in the small crawl space in the dark. I was terrified to come out and discover that my life really had been ripped away.
I don’t know how long I sat in the darkness, but at some point, a steely resolve settled in my heart and soul as I made a promise to my mother. Someday, when I was much older, I would make those bad men pay. I would find them and hurt them like they hurt my mother. They owed me their lives, and I would make sure they paid their debt.
Present (Seventeen Years Later): Zerro
I watched him slither in his seat. He was nervous. I could smell it without even seeing it. His eyes watched me carefully, trying to figure out what I would do next.
“You realize that borrowing money from the mafia without the intent of paying it back is the same as saying, come and get me, I’m ready to die?” I kept my voice calm and cool. I could mean business without showing it. That’s how I worked.
“We… I don’t have any money, Zerro...” His voice was shaky and broken, he was so scared he could barely utter a word. I didn’t care about his excuses for not having his payment. I only cared about him giving me my money, even if that meant I had to do something to get it.
“Alzerro,” I corrected him. I hated it when people who didn’t know or care about me called me Zerro. My closest friends and family were the only ones allowed that privilege. When it came to business, you called me by my name. You would give me the respect I demanded.
“Alzerro,” he quickly corrected himself. His chest was heaving and sweat formed on his forehead. I could tell he thought he was going to die, and he would eventually, but I had something else in store for him first. I wanted my money back, and I would do whatever was necessary to get it. Whatever. Was. Necessary.
“I was afraid this would happen, so I went out of my way to dig up some dirt on you… Guess what I discovered? I found out you have a daughter. A very cute, young, naïve, innocent, intelligent daughter. I bet she’s very capable of handling dear ol’ Dad’s debt, don’t you think?” My voice was sinister, calm, and deadly. His face was a mask of confusion until what I said hit him square in the chest.
“No. Please. Bree has already suffered and lost so much. I borrowed the money for her to go off to college and lead a normal life… This is my debt to pay, not hers. Please, I beg of you. Please don’t bring her into this.” His features paled as his eyes brimmed with tears. He was at my mercy, yet his pleading meant nothing to me. I would love to say that I had a heart somewhere underneath my hatred, anger, and coldness, but I couldn’t. I knew who I was, and I made no apologies for it.
“I didn’t bring her into this, old man. You did,” I hissed out, shoving his words back at him. He was trying to make me feel guilty, but situations like these never made me feel bad. If anything, it fueled the inferno inside of me and made me feel more powerful.
“Please…” he whispered as he began crying again. At that moment, all I could see were the tears that must have been falling from my mother’s face when someone put a gun to her head and killed her. That man never even gave her the chance to beg or plead for her life. I prided myself on not being like that evil bastard; I, at least, was considerate enough to allow my debtors that chance before I killed them.
“You have two weeks until I come back to collect your debt. If you don’t have it by then, I will be choosing your alternate payment. One way or another, you will pay me.” I smiled, simply because I was a sick bastard like that.
My men released him, and before I stepped out of the rundown farmhouse, my eyes landed on a photo of his daughter. She would be mine; she just didn’t know it yet.
1
Bree
It had been months since I had seen my Dad. I had been really hesitant about leaving for college because I was leaving him all alone at the farm. I wasn’t sure he could even make his own breakfast in the morning, do his laundry, or figure out how to run the vacuum. Mom had always catered to his needs, and after she had died, I tried my best to take care of him and the house. He never asked or expected me to do most of the household chores like cooking, cleaning, and laundry, but I did because I loved him. I pull my car onto our dirt road and instantly feel as if there is something wrong. I can’t see the farmhouse yet, but that did nothing to ease the knots forming in my stomach.
Pulling around the bend and up into the driveway, I notice two black SUVs parked in front of the house. A man in a dark suit is standing outside of one, his hand on a shiny item at his hip.
Is that a gun? My mind is reeling as I try to figure out what the hell is going on. Is my dad okay? Why is this man at my house? Are there more men like him? There had to be since there are two vehicles parked here. Are they robbing my house? Where is my dad?
I put my old Jeep into park and hesitate. Should I call 911? Isn’t that what the rational person would do? Except the way this man is looking at me through the windshield, I get the feeling that calling 911 will do me no good.
Instead, I sit very still in the Jeep, wondering what his next move will be. His eyes roam over the house and then come back to my car. Time stands still for a few seconds before he comes walking toward the Jeep. My heart is beating out of my chest, and my eyes keep glancing down to my cell phone. I should call 911. What if these people are robbing us? What if they already killed my dad? I reach for my phone, knowing it might be my only chance…
“Get out of the car, and don’t even fucking think about calling the cops,” the man growls at me through my open window. Damn it, I should have closed my window! His voice is loud and sends shivers down my spine. There is a dark, evil look in his eyes that tells me he won’t hesitate to shoot me if I try to run or be heroic.
“What is going on?” I demand. I don’t want to be hurt or seen as weak, so I put on a brave face and try to act tough and unafraid. Before I can blink, the gun that was by his hip is now pointed directly at my head. Oh shit. This guy means business. Serious, deadly business.
My breath catches in my chest. What the fuck is going on here? I come home
from college and am staring down the barrel of a gun?
“Get out of the fucking car and don’t ask questions,” the man gruffly orders.
I shut my mouth immediately. I mean, a fucking gun is pointed at my face, so of course I’m going to do exactly as I’m told. For now, at least. I turn my Jeep off and slowly push the door open, hoping it will encourage him to ease off me a little bit. However, it just made him angrier.
With his free hand, the man yanks my door open as quickly as he can. For a moment, all I hear is the creaking from the rust build-up.
I slip from the car with ease, my eyes never leaving him. What happens next is right out of a fucking movie. He grips the back of my head, pulling my hair. My scalp burns with his attack, and my eyes begin to fill with tears.
“Let go of me!” I demand, going loose in his hold. I won’t allow whoever the fuck this person is to hurt me. His grip tightens, and I feel cold metal against my lips. My eyes grow as big as saucers the second I realize the barrel of the gun is against my lips, his finger on the trigger.
“Zerro has come to collect his debt.” A sick smile crosses his face and if I weren’t so incredibly terrified, I would’ve puked all over the ground. In that instant, I realize that whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be good.
With the barrel still against my lips, I am afraid to even ask what debt he is talking about. When Mom died, her life insurance policy left Dad and I enough money to get by. We weren’t rich, but we weren’t struggling either. Dad always told me our finances were fine. This man must have the wrong family, and he will be sorry he treated me this way when he realizes the truth.
