by Nia Arthurs
Start Again
Nia Arthurs
COPYRIGHT
First published in Belize, C.A. 2016
Copyright © Nia Arthurs
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book has been produced for the Amazon Kindle and is distributed by Amazon Direct Publishing.
To Rodrigo.
TABLE OF 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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Kendall
My relationship with Alistair Howard –a.k.a. Thanathus–is complicated. Like really complicated.
And I’m not using that term lightly. My connection with Alistair is way more messed up than anything that happens in day-to-day society.
Why? I’m glad you asked.
Alistair Howard is an assassin. He’s a robe-wearing, knife-wielding, kill-‘em-for-a-living assassin. And I’m crushing on him like crazy.
Earlier this afternoon we strolled down the beach, enjoying an awesome second date. This time, there were no crazy mercenaries flinging sharp knives meant to impale us.
There was no need to ram Lula into anyone. And there were no deaths, fake or otherwise.
I thought things were looking up.
But this is my life after-all. Whenever things are too good, I just wait for the other shoe to drop.
That shoe came clobbering into my behind a few hours later as the man I’m totally, kind of, falling for bound and gagged me.
And no, it wasn’t in a romantic sense.
I guess I can forgive him for tying me up. I was pretty vocal about coming along on his dangerous mission to fight to the death with the leader of the assassins.
He was pretty vocal about me staying behind. The method of restraint he chose was unconventional, but effective.
Like I said, I can probably move past Alistair’s decision to bind me like a cow at a rodeo given the circumstances.
But the man didn’t just tie me up. No, he tortured me with five hours of nothing but mindless reality television.
My brain cells have been melting into puddles of goo. This is unforgiveable.
Thump, thump.
The faint sound of booted feet followed by a door opening and closing resounds in the suite. I feel equal parts relief and anger.
It’s about time.
I express my displeasure through the muffling fabric of the pillow case that Alistair made into a gag.
When I’m out of here, Alistair is so dead.
“My, my, my,” a voice echoes.
Immediately, I freeze. That’s not Alistair or even Damien. The cold tones and the gruff quality of his voice belongs to one man.
Maveth.
The evil assassin is wearing black robes, tied with a thick black belt. A black hood shades his face in shadows. The guy takes ‘creepy’ to a whole new level.
Maveth slips the hood away from his head.
“I see someone’s already prepared you for me.”
I tip the chair back and forth, trying to get away from him, but it’s no use. Alistair fastened me to the only furniture bolted down into the carpet.
I freak out as Maveth slowly advances.
How did he find us? What is he going to do with me? Would he forgive me for the misunderstanding with my gas pedal, Lula’s grill, and his body?
Maveth extends his gloved hand and presses his fingertips against my face. I flinch.
According to Alistair and Damien, the code of assassins involves respecting women and children. I’m hoping that Maveth still acknowledges those laws.
“Come, let me hear your screams,” Maveth wrenches the cloth from my mouth.
From the tone of his voice, I don’t think he lives by any code but his own.
Still, the man liberates my lips. I might as well make use of the freedom. His hand is right there.
So I bite it.
My teeth sink into the pale skin of his arm. Maveth bawls out. He shakes his hand from my grip and uses the other to backhand me in the cheek.
My chair rocks unsteadily before falling sideways, wrenching my arm as it clatters to the ground. Sharp pain ricochets up my shoulder.
I think I dislocated something.
Maveth curses, hurling a rather derogatory name my way.
Seriously, this guy is such a jerk.
“The men will come back any minute now. You better get out of here,” I threaten, trying to hide how much pain I’m in.
Maveth sneers, while massaging his hand.
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
I probably should have kept that information to myself.
The scary assassin paces the room, peeking through the curtains to the ocean view outside.
I’m lying down on the ground with a limp arm and no means to get out of this mess.
Okay, Kendall. Think. Think. What could this guy’s ultimate goal be? He wants Alistair dead. He hasn’t killed me yet. That’s good. Maybe I can keep it that way.
“So,” I begin conversationally, though my voice trembles, “how’d you find us?”
Maveth cuts me a look. The fact that I’ve spoken isn’t helping my case. I’m hoping that he’ll just gloss over my question when he turns fully to me.
“You’re very brave for a woman,” he mumbles.
I take offense on behalf of all women.
On the bright side, Maveth is engaging me so I might have a chance to keep him talking until Alistair comes.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I inhale a deep breath as the pain in my shoulder intensifies. “How’d you find us?”
Maveth paces to the other side of the room. “It’s no wonder Alistair loves you.”
I blink. Alistair loves me? Aw…wait! I have to focus.
Whether Alistair has feelings for me or not, I doubt this psycho would recognize it.
“How did you find us?” I demand.
Maveth ventures to the closet. He puts his large paws all over my stuff. The freak!
“I recall that we could never get him to join us at the brothels. He was always training, that one. The golden boy of the league.”
“Not that your little evil back story isn’t heartwarming and all, but could you not touch my stuff?”
Maveth smirks. The baring of his teeth reminds me of a growling wolf.
He strides forward, stopping just in front of me. His shoes fill my vision. The assassin’s large boots have soft soles.
To step without making a sound?
“What is it about you that has captured his attention? What feminine charms have you spun that he would open himself up to attack?”
Maveth sets his hands on his thighs and stoops down, his gaze raking my face. He’s not invading my personal space, but he’s still too close for comfort.
“Are you looking for a friend, Maveth?” I cock my hea
d. “Because I’m not interested.”
Maveth throws his head back and laughs. I glare at him. That wasn’t meant to be funny.
Right now, Maveth has the upper hand. He knows it and I know it. Doesn’t mean I’ll turn around and cower.
Alistair and Damien really will be back any minute.
I hope.
“You have a big mouth, woman.”
I shrug in agreement.
Maveth circles my chair. “How is it that you do not fear me?”
He’s got it all wrong. I’m peeing my pants here! As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not a very brave person.
Maveth is right. All I have is my mouth. If I have to go tonight, I want to go pretending that I’m stronger than I am.
Maybe then, I really will be able to overcome this trained mercenary.
“Probably because you’re gloating about nothing. You won over a woman. Without a weapon. Tied to a chair. Isn’t your faction all about honor? What kind of honor is that? If I’m going to die, at least give me a chance to fight back.”
“You know nothing of our ways,” he sways.
“I do. Alistair told me all about you.”
I realize that that I’m getting to him.
Maveth obviously has chief-issues. If I can convince him to let me go, I may be able to escape.
It’s a gamble, but until Alistair or Damien burst through those doors, it’s the only chance I have.
Chapter 2
Alistair
The firelight dancing on the rim of a lantern flickers against the stone walls.
The signs of my battle with Toqueph, chief of this island’s league, lie in the upturned furnishings and scuffled marks on the floor.
The air has shifted from one of death and opposition, to peace and unity.
Toqueph acknowledged my victory by agreeing to translate the contents of the metal box found in the attic of my childhood home.
Damien and Toqueph stand a few feet away. Both are bent over a large desk.
Before them spreads the most astonishing secret I have discovered in my many years of work as a mercenary.
The strange missives buried in the metal container are love letters.
I am still floored. My mind rejects the validity of Toqueph’s claims.
My mother was having an affair with the chief of a league?
The thought alone is ludicrous. I might have been too young to recall her face, but I remember her essence.
Lydia Howard was not the kind of woman that would betray anyone, especially not her husband.
If I would wager to guess, I’d bet my mother was a lot like Kendall. Strong. Fiercely protective.
I was only five when she perished, but the memories of our walks in her secret garden are treasured.
Toqueph must be lying.
I remain deathly still as the men by the desk finish up their work. I cannot stop thinking about Kendall.
A strong, pulsing sensation needles my chest. My gut is screaming, urging me back to the hotel, back to her.
Before leaving Kendall, I placed x-erilin, a chemically engineered spray, near the vents. The chemical is relatively harmless.
Unless it comes into contact with nightlock.
It would slow Maveth down if he returned. This is why I was quite confident that Kendall would be fine while I was gone.
But now that the duel is over, I can clearly see that restraining Kendall to a chair was an atrocious idea.
What if she needs to use the restroom? Have I no decency?
“Here,” Damien draws near. “He’s right these are love letters to your mother, but the writer never penned his name. I’m sorry.”
His presence startles me from my thoughts. The gifted assassin slaps the roll of notes in my palms.
“Thank you for translating these,” I hold the papers up to the light and bow to the chief.
“You are welcome. Do you want something to eat before you go?”
“Definitely!” Damien grins and then whispers to me. “They make the most incredible sliders here. I wonder if my old buddy still works in the kitchen?”
“No,” I pull him aside. “The way we left Kendall... we need to get back to her.”
“You’re right,” Damien frowns and stares apologetically at Toqueph. “Sorry, we have to go. We have some tied ends that need to be loosened back on the mainland.”
I glare at Damien’s ridiculous joke.
Toqueph accepts the explanation without comment.
“Go in peace,” he allows. “But the next time you two feel like visiting, come through the front door like everyone else. You’re only walking out alive because of my daughter.”
“Noted,” Damien salutes.
We bid Toqueph goodbye, prepared to leave through the proper exit this time.
As we stride toward the front entrance, the discomfort in my chest grows.
Damien is slowing us down, stopping to greet his friends with cheerful banter.
But I can feel that something isn’t right at the hotel. Whatever it is, we have no time to dally.
I step forward, intent on dragging Damien by the hood, when a female voice resounds through the cacophony of male rumbles.
“Wait!” Lelita yells.
We stop in our tracks and allow her to catch up to our group. The assassins gathered around Damien bow at her approach.
She stops a few feet in front of us. Without removing her gaze from our confused faces, Lelita swings her hands through the air.
“Clear the room.”
Immediately, booted feet scamper across the smooth floor. As quickly as Lelita had given the order, the task is carried out to completion.
Damien and I eye her warily. My history with Lelita is not an easy one. I have no idea what she means to say and have no interest either.
She tucks a loose tendril of light brown hair behind her hair. Her smooth, golden-brown cheeks glow in the light.
She is a beautiful woman, but she is not Kendall. Indeed, her very presence is keeping me from the Belizean chef.
“What is it that you need?” I ask gruffly.
“I want to go with you.”
“Absolutely not! Your father would kill us.”
“My father is overprotective. He must learn that I am not a child.”
I fist my hands at my sides. I don’t have time for this. The urgency in my middle is growing stronger by the minute.
Damien continues to argue with Lelita. “You don’t even know what our mission is, who we’re up against…”
“That means nothing,”
“This isn’t your fight,” Damien scolds.
“I’ll make it mine,” Lelita tosses back.
My heart is thumping against my chest, urging me back to the mainland.
If caring for Kendall has taught me anything, it is that women are always right. Even when they’re wrong.
Lelita will never admit defeat. If we have any chance of leaving now, Damien and I must concede.
“Let her come,” I end the quarrel.
“What? You can’t possibly…”
“Come. Let’s go. Now.”
Without another word, they trail me as I jog to the canoe. Lelita scrunches her nose at our mode of transportation.
“We can borrow my father’s wave rider,” she suggests.
Lelita guides us through the waves to the boat anchored in the choppy sea.
The moonlight splays against the dark waters so brightly one would suspect an alien invasion.
The stars dot the sky with unabashed cheeriness, twinkling for all the world to see yet all I can think of is Kendall.
Please stay safe.
The journey to the rented yacht ends quickly.
The minute my feet land on the planks of the bigger vessel, I wrench the traditional robe off my body and steer the boat through the waters.
The assassins behind me send strange looks, but I pay them no heed.
When we dock, Damien and Lelita stay behind to anchor the ship,
while I jump into the rental.
I drive like a maniac to get to the hotel. It is a miracle that I am not stopped for speeding as I dip and weave through the late-night traffic.
The hotel’s outline is a beacon of hope in the night sky. My heart is in my throat as I throw the car into a parking spot and storm out.
The urgency has not left, even though I’m closer to Kendall right now than I’ve been since we left the fortress.
The woman at the concierge desk greets me kindly when I rush by, but I pay her no heed. There is no time for pleasantries.
Kendall, I’m coming.
The elevator doors are about to close. With a racing heart, I shove my hand between the space and slip in, pressing the button a hundred times to get the machine to move faster.
When it opens, my heart is about to burst.
Kendall, please be alright.
I flash my keycard into the slot and shove the door.
I can sense that something has happened here. The connecting door between our suite and Kendall’s is open.
I hope that my gut feeling is wrong. I step into her room and realize with a sinking heart that it is not.
Chapter 3
Kendall
Ten minutes earlier…
When I was younger, my mom and dad would fight. All the time.
He never hit her, but their screams would often reach world war levels. I would creep down the stairs and watch them hissing and squabbling like two lions on the savannah.
The day my parents sat me down and told me they were getting a divorce, I was not surprised.
If I expected the fighting to end there, however, I was sorely mistaken. The separation simply trimmed the number of topics they could argue about, chopping it down to one.
Me.
I was only thirteen when I became our family therapist. I had to mediate the phone number that would come first on the emergency contact list for school.
I had to get my dad used to the idea of Mom dating again.
I also had to calm both Jonathan (my Mom’s new husband) and my dad when my father crashed their wedding.
I might die in the next five minutes, but I know a thing or two about instigating someone to anger.
I’ve put out enough fires throughout the years to be quite skilled at starting them up.
