The NSC Boxset: Heart of Stone

by D H Sidebottom

  My body relaxed, finally a peaceful calm enveloping me, forcing courage and determination through my veins.

  Everything at that moment seemed to slow to a halt as James’s finger rested against the trigger.

  I felt myself move, my body shifting of its own accord across the room, my legs travelling weightlessly towards James, propelling me forward effortlessly as I crashed into James as Nate screamed out.

  I felt our bodies slam together powerfully, twirling in the air before we fell to the ground, both of us toppling over as James’ body fell on top of me, heavily pressing me to the floor.

  I registered three things before I died.

  Two gunshots, a pain so severe and intense it took my last breath and Nate’s anguished scream as I finally shut down, the darkness finally allowing me to leave James’ torture and cruelty, finally giving in to the most supreme peacefulness I had ever felt.

  My final thoughts were of dazzling bright blue eyes, the pure raw love in them and the brightest, happiest smile on a beautiful face, a face that belonged to the most wonderful, magnificent man. A man that had changed my life and given me the happiest days of my life; days to cherish and treasure and moments that gave me a feeling of being loved more than life itself. Moments of being his Angel.

  Chapter Thirty

  THE BLACKNESS WAS overwhelming; everywhere I looked it was black.

  The voices were far away, mumbled low sounds. His voice was too far away, I wanted it closer, and I wanted his whispers in my ear, his breath caressing my cheek.

  I needed him to take away my pain, a pain so excruciating I couldn’t breathe. I needed to look into his beautiful eyes and not focus on anything but those pure, bright blue eyes, but everything ebbed away, dragging me back in to the peace of nothing.

  The blackness was back, the voices were back but his voice was nearer. He was whispering my name, over and over again.

  I tried to tell him I was here, that I was right here but the words wouldn’t come out, my lips wouldn’t move.

  His anguished cries broke through the blackness, broke through my own pain as I heard the agony in his sobs, the grief in his screams. I tried so hard to reach him but the nothing came and took me again, the calmness surrounding me.

  The black had turned to grey and my throat was so dry, so scratched raw. I couldn’t swallow and I desperately needed to, needed to get rid of this damn thing scratching my tonsils.

  I needed to pee, my bladder full to bursting. I was growing anxious that I might just have to urinate here . . . wherever here was.

  I could smell him, his scent drifting through my nostrils, calming me immediately.

  I could hear his ragged breaths, his hushed sobs, and his soft voice telling me he loved me. I tried to tell him I loved him but the annoying thing stuck in my throat wouldn’t let the words out.

  I was getting angry, I wanted to tell him, and I desperately needed to tell him, tell him that I loved him too, more than life.

  The nothing was trying to take me back again but I fought against it, I needed to tell him I loved him. I felt his hand in mine, his thumb relentlessly stroking over my knuckles, back and forward, back and forward. The rhythm was soothing to my pain, to my anguish that I couldn’t tell him. The calm won again and I slipped into it, the need to rest taking over my body.

  This time there was light and my eyes were open. The room was too vivid; the dazzling bulb above my face was blinding me. The damn thing, whatever it was, was still stuck in my throat and it was choking me, scraping my tonsils as I tried to breathe.

  My body hurt so much and as I tried to move; it halted me, the pain screaming through my tender muscles.

  His hand was still in mine but his head was laid on top of it, his breathing slow and regular. He was asleep. I needed him, I needed to see his eyes and I needed his smile but I couldn’t bloody talk and I needed him.

  I tried to squeeze his hand but it took more effort than was normal, the regular task of squeezing my fingers seemed greater work than lifting a house. I tried again, willing God to help me out. I needed my man, my lover, my other half.

  My fingers curled slightly and as I gave it more effort I managed to squeeze his hand, gently clasp his fingers in mine. He stirred, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

  My heart hitched as I saw his head slowly rise. As his eyes focused on mine he let out a sob so anguished and relieved it broke my heart. To see the pain, relief and desolation in him took my breath away.

  “Liv?” It came out a strangled whimper. His hand shot up to my brow, pushing a lock of hair away from my forehead. “Baby?” he sobbed and squeezed my hand.

  I tried to talk but it came out a croak. He smiled through his tears. “Baby, hang on. I need to fetch the nurse. Hang on, Angel,” he pleaded as he released my hand and dashed out of the door, shouting a nurse.

  He turned back to face me and as his legs gave way, he gripped on to the doorframe, the relieved sob gutting him as he sank to the floor.

  A nurse and a doctor rushed into the room as Jay came in. He lifted Nate and walked him over to a chair in the corner.

  Things happened rapidly then; torches in my eyes, needles in my arms and just about every crevice tested by something or prodded by something. The tube was taken from my throat and I was offered a sip of water as Nate held a straw to my lips, gently encouraging me to take small sips.

  I could see Beth, my mother and the kids through the window of the room, all of their faces ashen and exhausted.

  The doctor smiled down at me as I closed my eyes again, the calm taking me from the hectic pace of the intrusions and hubbub in the room.

  I woke a while later to see Nate staring through the window, his back turned to me as his hands raked through his hair.

  “Nate,” I managed to croak. He spun round, a grin on his face as he came and took my hand in his and cupped my cheek with his other.

  “Baby,” he breathed. “How are you feeling?”

  I frowned and assessed my body. My throat was still sore and my stomach was still painful but other than that it was bearable. “I’m okay. Did . . . did he . . . ?” I swallowed harshly.

  “Shush Baby, everything’s okay now. He’s gone, Angel.” His thumb stroked my cheek and I frowned deeper. “Liv, DC Yale shot him. She said you speed dialled her but she went to your house first, that’s why it took her so long to get to us. As soon as James shot you she fired at him, killed him straight out.”

  He let out a small laugh. “Do you know what she did after? She kicked him, really booted him. She said she’d wanted to do that for so long.” He smiled softly. “It’s over, baby.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt as the mixed emotions clashed together; relief, pain, sadness but the most intense was calm, an overwhelming serenity that ripped the cries and howls from me; tears of relief and a sensation of release and liberation.

  He climbed on the bed behind me and cradled me, rocking me gently as I wept and screamed.

  He held me tight as he cried with me, as we finally put James to rest, closing a chapter of my life that could no longer bear down on me, no longer torture and hound me, as a new chapter began.

  One that had taken us over twenty years to finally arrive at but one I knew without a shadow of a doubt would be the best chapter yet.

  Epilogue

  IT TICKLED; AN intense prickle on the new scar across my stomach. I wriggled but it was persistent, the itch pulling me out of my sleepy daze. Groaning I moved my hand down to it but was met with a head full of curls.

  Smiling widely I curled my fingers around the softness and silkiness of his hair. “Good Morning.” I opened my eyes and took in the beautiful sight of my husband, my other half.

  “Merry Christmas, Mrs Carter.” He grinned as he looked up at me through his long lashes.

  His tongue swept over my wound then kissed it gently. “Do you know? I always look at this scar as though it’s my lifeline. The scar that saved my life.”

  He looked sad and I pu
lled him up to me, cupping his face in my hands and resting my lips against his, tenderly kissing his beautiful mouth. “Hey, Mr Carter, no sadness today it’s Christmas and the start of our honeymoon.”

  We had wed yesterday, Christmas Eve, in a little chapel surrounded by our family and friends. The day had been perfect. Crisp white snow had greeted us as we woke, the pure freshness of it simulating the new life we were beginning that day, and the bright sunlight reflecting the light in all of us.

  His thumb stroked my cheek. “I love you Liv, so damn much.”

  My heart flipped at his words, even now they still made me giddy. “And you Nate, you own my heart.”

  He smiled and then jumped up from the bed, pulling on my hand. “Come on, Santa’s been.” He grinned like a big child and continued to pull me.

  “Okay, okay, I’m up,” I laughed as I rose from the bed.

  He growled as he took in my naked form, his eyes darkening and his breathing heavy as a lazy grin lifted his lips. He sauntered back over to me, gently pushing me back down onto the bed.

  “Santa can wait,” he breathed as he crawled over me, his hands resting at either side of my head as his erection pressed into my stomach.

  “I’m sure Santa won’t mind,” I grinned back as his lips lowered to mine.

  * * *

  Christmas day passed in a whir of family and laughter. It was Nate’s proper first family Christmas since he was young.

  His parents had never bothered to contact him after he moved to Edinburgh. He’d had no other family to share the season with and he had always spent the day working.

  It had broken my heart when he had told me and I was adamant we would have a happy, fun day as a family and it had been just that, a day filled with new memories and photos for the wall frieze.

  After we had made love that night we were laid in each other’s arms, both of us lost in our own minds.

  I lifted my chin to gaze at him, and gently stroked his cheek. “I have another gift for you.”

  He frowned as I swung my feet out of bed and walked over to the wardrobe, retrieving a small gift bag.

  Climbing back on the bed, I passed it him as his eyes took in my grin. As he pulled apart the tissue paper I heard him gasp. He swallowed hard. I could actually see his heart pumping in his chest as he pulled out the long plastic item.

  A huge grin emerged on his face as he stroked over the thin blue line on the pregnancy test.

  “Liv?” he stammered.

  I couldn’t contain the chuckle as I nodded. “Happy Christmas, Daddy.”

  A small sob choked from him as he cupped my cheek, his eyes brimming with tears. “I love you, Liv. You’re the other half of me, the Angel of my soul.”

  The End

  Sometimes, love is just that little bit too difficult

  CHAPTER 1

  I MET GEORGE, 5 years ago, when I had been living on the streets at the age of 17.

  He had found me beaten and sobbing in the corner of a pub car park, had gently lifted me and placed me in the back of his Jag. He had then taken me to his home and cared me back to the gentle, fun loving girl that I had once been. I came to look on him as a father figure and he treated me as though I was his daughter, lovingly nicknaming me ‘Princess.’

  When I reached 21 he bought me a small, rundown cottage that I had the strenuous but fulfilling pleasure of renovating back to its original state, the love and attention I put into it gave me an overwhelming sense of pride and pleasure.

  Since the day George had found me, I had worked for him as a personal assistant in his house but only for his personal daily activities; his business was kept well away from me, behind locked doors, much to George’s specific instructions.

  I knew he was involved with lots of dishonest and crooked dealings in organised crime, a ‘gangster’ or ‘criminal overlord’ as the term is known. However, he had always kept me away from this side of him and I respected his choices even though sometimes it exasperated me that he thought I couldn’t handle that side of things, but I respected his wishes and took care of his private and individual needs.

  When he reached sixty he decided to retire and move to the Algarve, telling me he’d had enough of the life he led and was eager to get away from it.

  He begged me to go with him but I needed my own space, independence and my own life but I would be eternally grateful to him for all the time and patience he had given me.

  He said his reward had been watching me flourish into an independent beautiful woman who had loved him for who he really was, not the ruthless hard man people thought he was.

  He had taken the opportunity to secure me a job with one of his ‘associates’ for when he left as another personal assistant.

  I had told him I would find employment but he been determined that I should carry on with this career as it paid exceptionally well and I was the most loyal, trustworthy person capable of doing the job for the most ruthless of the underworld.

  This, he told me is why Mr Mason Fox, one of George’s friends had agreed to take me into his employment, doing the exact same job I had done for George.

  George had told me that Mr Fox was one of the hardest and wealthiest of their inner circle, a fairly new man in the criminal world but had quickly built a name and merciless reputation for himself. He had owed George one or two favours and would be glad of the assistance in his private chores, promising to also take care of me for George’s sake.

  * * *

  So this is why on a drizzly Monday morning I was knocking on the enormous, white double doors of Mr Fox’s home/business premises; my long, curly copper hair piled on top of my head and frizzed within an inch of its life due to the wet weather, with feet already sore in skyscraper heels.

  I had gone with a professional look of black pencil skirt and pinstriped white shirt, not sure what his expectations would be as I had yet to meet him.

  Mr Fox had been out of the country for the previous six weeks so we hadn’t had the opportunity to meet, this been our first encounter.

  I was terribly nervous but George had rung me as I had been preparing breakfast to wish me luck and give me words of encouragement, and to also inform me what time Mr Fox was expecting me.

  The door swung open and a good looking man of about 26 stood in a dark suit, a huge grin plastered on his face as he did a swift but blatant perusal over me.

  “Hi,” I smiled nervously. “Ava Stone to see Mr Fox.” His eyes stayed on my chest. I already disliked this man.

  He swung his arm out with a gesture to enter. I could feel his gaze on my backside as I squeezed past him. “Come in, Miss Stone. Mason’s expecting you but he’s on the phone at the moment. Follow me,” he said and stalked off towards a set of dark wood double doors, opening them both and entering the room.

  Following him in I set eyes on a huge rectangular table, also in the same dark wood that seemed to suck the life out of the room.

  Six men were sat around the table talking. A man had his back to me pacing in front of large French doors that led to an enormous garden, shouting abuse to someone on the phone.

  He wore a pristine fitted white shirt that clung to his hard muscled back, the material straining over his powerful physique. The sleeves were rolled up, giving me a small view of the strength in his arms. His black expensive trousers hung from his hips in a way that sheathed his hard buttocks, the cloth delicately hugging his magnificent arse.

  My breath caught in my throat as he turned. His gaze locked on me before he scanned my body in a slow and easy examination, then rested on my face as he held my gaze for a moment too long, his head tipped slightly to the side making me squirm on the edge of my comfort zone.

  His eyes were intense but there was something else that flashed across them . . . hunger.

  I could tell without the advantage of removing his shirt that his chest was as strong and lean as the rest of him; his dark brown hair was cut short and his square chin had a dusting of stubble.

  He was made
in heaven, no other words to describe him.

  He gestured to a seat at the table. I wobbled over to it, feeling all sets of eyes in the room tracking me, each dropping to stare at my large chest as I sat down.

  I hated my breasts. They had been the warrant of many an unwanted attraction and leer from men, as well as some women and had more than once got me into bad situations.

  “So Miss Stone, are you looking forward to working for Mason? He can be quite a determined bastard,” the man who opened the door said as he smirked at me, obviously trying to put me on edge.

  I smiled politely and lowered my eyes into my lap, nibbling furiously on my little finger, already aware of the intense blush creeping up my neck. An older, grey haired man elbowed him and smiled softly to me. “Ignore this twat love, he can be an arse.” He winked at me with a twinkle in his eye and reached out his hand to me, “Brian Cox, please to meet you, darling.”

  I smiled and shook his hand as he gipped me softly. “Ava Stone, very pleased to meet you, sir.”

  He regarded me, still with a sparkle in his eye. “So you’re the lovely lady that George is so smitten with.”

  I grinned at the mention of George, the mere reference to him lifting my spirits. “As smitten as I am with him, sir. George saved my life,” I said simply and meant every word.

  He cocked his head, his eyes glowing with warmth as he simply gave me a small nod. “Anyway, meet the rest of the guys,” he chuckled.

  He gestured to each man as he told me their names. “The prick that opened the door is Dane Winters, Mason’s best friend and right hand man.” Dane leant forward and took my hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a kiss on my knuckles.

  “Hello again Ava, it’s about time we had something good to look at in this dismal place,” he sneered and wiggled his eyebrows.