by Diana Gardin
Mine to Save
Rescue Ops Book 3
Diana Gardin
New York
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 © 2017 by Diana Gardin
Excerpt from Sworn to Protect copyright © 2017 by Diana Gardin
Cover design by Elizabeth Stokes
Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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ISBNs: 978-1-4555-7160-4 (ebook), 978-1-4555-7158-1 (print-on-demand trade paperback)
E3-20171025-DA-NF
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
1: Bennett
2: Sayward
3: Bennett
4: Sayward
5: Bennett
6: Sayward
7: Bennett
8: Sayward
9: Bennett
10: Sayward
11: Bennett
12: Sayward
13: Bennett
14: Sayward
15: Bennett
16: Sayward
17: Bennett
18: Bennett
19: Sayward
20: Bennett
21: Sayward
22: Bennett
23: Sayward
24: Bennett
25: Sayward
26: Bennett
27: Sayward
28: Bennett
29: Sayward
30: Bennett
31: Sayward
32: Bennett
33: Sayward
34: Bennett
Epilogue: Bennett
A Note from Diana Gardin
An Excerpt from SWORN TO PROTECT
About the Author
Also by Diana Gardin
You Might Also Like…
For Raleigh. I love you.
Acknowledgments
First of all, I’d like to thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave me the desire and skill to write. Through Him I can do all things!
My family is 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.
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 Mine to Save, Lexi Smail: I’ve loved working with you on the Rescue Ops books. You have such an understanding of where I want each character to go, and your love of Sayward especially on this one just made our connection that much stronger!
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 fabulous author Kennedy Ryan, thank you for offering your thoughts and insights on this particular topic. Autism matters to so many people, and the last thing I wanted to do was get Sayward’s character wrong. Your advice was so wonderful!
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, 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 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 makes 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 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
1
Bennett
I never wanted this shit.
Adding the lemon on the edge of the glass like the coed requested, I slide the tumbler across the scuffed wooden bar toward her and give the chick the fake-ass smile I’ve perfected in the past few years. She giggles, fluttering all kinds of long, dark lashes at me while simultaneously pushing her big, fake tits together in front of my face.
My dick doesn’t even twitch. I’m so far removed from this type of flirtation it’s almost funny. As soon as she slips a wad of folded-up bills into the tip jar I turn away and lift a brow at the next paying customer.
And the night continues.
I wash glasses. I make drinks. I watch as the town’s idiots get drunk and make bad decisions.
And all I can think about is, maybe bartending was the perfect job for me when I was fresh out of the joint. But now? After what I experienced over the past few weeks, I realize how motherfucking bored I am.
My fingers twitch, itching to do something. Really do something. My brain flashes back to the night I helped my buddy Ronin Shaw rescue his woman from a mob boss. The explosives. It’d been awhile since I’d m
ade something go boom, but that shit was like riding a bike. Once I started, the rest was smooth sailing.
After pouring the remaining drops from the last bottle of SoCo into a tumbler and pass it to the grizzled old man waiting, I stride down to the end of the bar.
“Be right back. Headed to the stockroom,” I mutter to the other bartender, a recent hire named Kandie, who gives me than a nod and a smile in response.
Trying to slide past her is difficult because her ample ass cheeks take up more than half the space behind the bar, and she cuts her gaze toward me.
“You tryna cop a feel, B?” she asks with a smirk.
I would abso-fucking-lutely be trying to do just that, because Kandie is as hot as they come with her sexy hourglass figure. Her brown skin is smooth, and the miles of waves in her thick black hair puddle around her tits tonight, even though she changes her hair up weekly.
But Kandie made it very clear when I hired her that not only does she not sleep with coworkers, I wouldn’t be on her list even if she did. But she also doesn’t swing my way.
Bumping her hip with mine, I hit her with the Bennett Blacke charm. The fact that she’s immune to it doesn’t stop me one bit. “Fuck yes, I am. Gotta get my touches in when your hands are full of booze, or else you’ll punch the shit outta me.”
She laughs, deep and throaty, and I can see the dude she’s pouring the house draft for visibly swallow as he stares at her. She purses deep red lips at me and blows a fake kiss. “Kiss this ass, B.”
“As soon as you’ll let me,” I toss over my shoulder as I push through the swinging door toward the back hall and the stockroom.
I pass by the open office door on the way there, and then I backtrack a few steps and pause in the doorway. Glancing around the room, it’s like I’m seeing a ghost. Mickey’s everywhere in this office. I can still feel his presence here.
Running a bar was never in my grand life plan. Shit, I never even had a grand life plan. Claw my way out of the rural, backwoods town where I was raised in the low country of South Carolina, be the best soldier I could while I was in the army, and that was about it. That was as far as I got before it all went to hell.
When I almost ruined my whole life with two minutes of blind rage.
Continuing on to the stockroom, I pull liquor bottles down off the shelf and place them in a crate, which I haul back out to the bar. After I shelve them and toss the crate under the counter, I scan the bar area and note some familiar arrivals.
Sitting at a couple of high-top tables just behind the row of stools are a group of faces I never expected to see. I school my features so hide my surprise.
My buddy Ronin Shaw wears his usual too-intense expression on his face. The man always looks like he’s carrying the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders, and I’ve told him on more than one occasion that he needs to lighten up. He’s seated beside his boss at Night Eagle Security, Jacob Owen. My gaze skates over Jacob toward Jeremy Teague, his long hair pulled back into a bun at the back of his head. Sliding over to the table beside them, my eyes land on two more NES team members, Grisham Abbott and Dare Conners before finally settling on her.
Sayward Diaz.
The woman they call Viper.
I can’t help it when my eyes travel from the exotic features of her face straight to the hint of cleavage visible above the vee of her T-shirt. She might think she’s hiding the luscious curves hidden underneath her uniform of jeans and a zipped-up hoodie, but there’s no running away from how sexy she is. When I force my gaze back up to her face, it’s to find her looking at me with irritation-filled hazel eyes. She shifts, her nose twitching with a show of disinterest as her sensuous, full lips roll between her teeth. Her long, black hair is pulled into a messy bun and she’s not wearing any makeup, but who the hell cares with a face like that?
When a woman looks this fucking perfect without even trying, she’s a danger to society. I’ve also seen what she can do when she’s sitting behind her computer, so the Viper tag? I get it. She’s straight-up nasty with her tech. No one can hide.
“Two Coronas with limes please.” I don’t even notice as the barely legal girl bats her lashes and slides her credit card across the counter. “And I wouldn’t mind if you wrote your number on the back of that receipt.”
What the hell are they doing here? I think as I pull two Coronas from the fridge and stick a lime into the neck of each. I grab the girl’s credit card and swipe it, offering her a distracted grin as I slide the white slip of paper back for her to sign.
“I’m off the menu, baby girl, but if you keep comin’ into this bar I might be persuaded to change my mind.”
I don’t bring home women from the bar. It’s a choice. The last thing I need is some chick hanging around for weeks afterward, searching for a repeat performance that won’t ever happen.
I’ll flirt with them until the cows come home, though, because it’s what they want, and they pay nicely for a little attention.
The girl bites her lip and grabs the beers, making sure to lean over the bar as she does so. I look, because I’m not blind, but then I glance at Kandie when she elbows my side.
“You know that bunch?” She inclines her head toward the Night Eagle team, and I nod.
“Yeah, I do. Just not sure what they’re doing here. Didn’t expect to see most of them again anytime soon.”
When Ronin’s woman was taken from the parking lot of this bar by Wilmington’s most notorious organized crime family, I got involved. Not only because he’s my friend and he needed me, but also because Mickey’s son, Mick, was at the center of the bullshit. I refused to let Mick screw his dad—the man I thought of like a father—over one more time. I backed Ronin up, worked some of my magic with explosives, and helped rescue Olive safe and sound.
I knew there were a few members of the NES team that didn’t like my past or my attitude.
Doesn’t matter to me. They can all go fuck themselves, because I don’t answer to anyone. Not anymore.
“Well they’re a pretty bunch.” When I glance at Kandie, her dark brown eyes are locked and loaded on the two high-top tables. “Especially little Miss Converse Sneakers over there. That nerdy vibe she’s got goin’ on works for her.”
Kandie licks her lips as she watches Sayward, and I follow her gaze without meaning to. My cock stiffens in my jeans, growing uncomfortable as hell, and I turn toward the wall so I can adjust myself without looking like an asshole.
Kandie chuckles. “Looks like I’m not the only one who noticed.”
With a sigh, I’m getting ready to face the music and find out what the NES crew wants with me, when a commotion at the end of the bar pulls my attention. I turn that way just in time to see one dude’s fist slam into another one’s face.
And the bar erupts in absolute fucking madness.
2
Sayward
I run the side of my straw around the rim of my water glass. I don’t even know why I’m here. I don’t hang out in bars. Other than a beer every now and then, I don’t often drink.
Ronin convinced Jacob that having me here would help make Bennett’s decision easier. I can’t even begin to understand what that means. Bennett Blacke barely knows me. Sure, he looks at me. But I have tits and an ass, so a guy like him is bound to notice. But other than that? The fact that I work at NES shouldn’t be any sort of selling point for him.
When shouts erupt at the bar I glance up. Two guys are shoving each other, and then one of them punches the other in the face. Wincing, I pull back in my chair. But I stay seated while the other members of the Night Eagle team jump up. My eyes track Bennett as he uses one strong, muscled arm to propel himself over the top of the bar and thrusts himself between the two fighters. But now, each man’s friends have thrown themselves into the melee, and the shouting grows louder as the violence intensifies. Girls scream and leap out of the way, and suddenly the fray shifts in the direction of my table.
No, no, no.
This is why I avoi
d bars. Being in the middle of a brawl is something that my personality just doesn’t handle well. My mind racing a million miles a minute at the same time that my body removes itself from my chair, my legs take steps to get me out of the way. In one hazy moment, my eyes lock with Bennett’s. Then, turning, I push my way through the crowded bar and flee through the front doors.
Cool night air drifts against my skin, and I sigh in relief as gooseflesh rises on my exposed flesh.
Dark night surrounds me, only broken by the yellow glow of the gravel parking lot’s streetlamp. I lean against the wall beside the wooden door, sucking in deep breaths to calm myself.
I don’t like conflict. In fact, I hate it. The prospect of someone touching me, especially in a way that will harm me, sets off an eruption of fireworks inside me. And not the good kind. The kind that burns me up from the inside out and threatens to engulf me in flames.
I could blame it on the fact that I was diagnosed with autism at age two. I’m on the lowest end of the spectrum, but it’s always been there. It’s something I have to deal with every single day, trying to overcome and understand the differences that separate me from everyone else.
But some of the aversion to raised voices and violence comes from a childhood spent in a conflict-filled village in Colombia. It’s where I was born and partially raised, until my father was forced to send me away.
I clamp my mind shut around those distant memories, forcing myself to forget. Just like I do every time they try to surface. I don’t go back to that time in my life. Not for any reason. What’s the point? Colombia, and everyone associated with it, is behind me.
An unexpected pang of sadness stings my heart, bringing with it a wave of loneliness that, if I’m not careful, could drag me under and drown me.
Beside me, the wooden door creaks open and a tall, broad body appears. My shoulders tenses, but when the yellow wash of light spells out his facial features, I release a breath.
