Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)
Page 37
I felt my mother’s presence strongly the entire weekend, just as I did while chained in the tower. She protected me until Smith got there. The gust of wind that prevented my dive out the turret window was her. I know it was, just like I know the nagging feeling that brought me to Charleston and kept me there until Smith and I could work things out was her.
I never did win the Pulitzer Prize for my mother and I never will, because I’m no longer a journalist. With Smith’s support, I’ve forged my own path doing something I truly love instead of living my life in service to my mother. I’m quite certain she wouldn’t have wanted that for me.
I write books now, telling stories of heroes and villains. They are everywhere, in all walks of life, sometimes existing side by side within the same person.
After I was able to remember the events of hell without reliving them, I wrote a book. There are both heroes and villains in the story, and plenty of heroines. I’m proud of the accomplishment. My mother would be proud, too. If my story saves even one woman, I will have honored her sacrifice.
Writing a book forced me to unearth painful memories and examine them closely. I didn’t always like what I found, but in the end, the exercise made me stronger. It was cathartic not only for me, but for Smith too, because I didn’t write it alone, of course. I relied on chunks of my husband’s memory to round out the edges. To give life to the moments I wasn’t privy to. I did my very best to convey a true and honest portrayal of the events as we lived them.
This book is many things, but at its very core, it’s the story of two people bound by duty and loyalty to others, tethered by a hefty dose of guilt. It’s about a hard-fought journey to love. Mine and Smiths. I hope you enjoyed our story.
A sneak peek of what’s happening next in Charleston…
Decadent
Delilah
When I’m outside the gates, I pull off the mask and snake my way through a series of barren alleys to my car, careful to stay within the shadows. I’ve made this kind of getaway dozens of times, and used every precaution to ensure I wasn’t followed today.
Then why does it feel like I’m being stalked?
It’s not possible. I glance over my shoulder. No one’s there, not even a rustling leave in the distance. But I can’t shake the feeling.
I don’t know what’s spooking me. Probably that bastard priest who thought he was Jesus Christ. This is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that I sense someone close. The last time, Virginia Bennet was shot in the ankle. We still don’t know who fired on her.
As I reach for the door handle, a large gloved hand covers my mouth, while another captures my wrists. My legs are caged, with a strong thumb positioned beneath my jaw in such a way that I’m unable to sink my teeth into the palm. The muscular body pins me securely against the car door. There’s no escape.
In mere seconds, he’s divested me of every tool I have to protect myself. This man is a trained professional.
“Who are you?” I sputter, through clenched teeth.
He lowers his head, his warm breath an inch from my temple, and the ridge of his steely cock pressing into my lower back. “More than just a pretty boy,” he taunts.
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Need a little group therapy now that you’ve read Bound, and you know what’s coming next? More of those Charleston men? I have just the place for you! Join me in JD’s Closet on Facebook for exclusive teasers, juicy tidbits, and special treats. https://bit.ly/38jlUGF
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After Thoughts From Eva
Thank you so much for reading my sordid little tale! I hope you enjoyed reading Kate and Smith’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
What inspired me to write a book about a priest? Who is Sister Jackie? The answer to the second question informs the first, so let’s begin there.
Many years ago, I was the director of social services at a small agency outside of Boston. We served Portuguese-speaking clients. Sister Jackie came to work at the agency before moving to South America where she would minister to Portuguese-speaking families. She wanted to better understand the culture and practice the language. As ridiculous as it seems, I was her supervisor.
On the outside, Jackie and I appeared quite different. While we were both petite women, she was in her forties, reed thin, with short, straight sandy hair, and I was twenty-something, with hips meant for birthing babies, and long, dark wavy hair. She was modest and chaste, and, well, I was neither. But we were both passionate about social justice. Her passion was quiet and reserved, mine involved waving my hands wildly while I spoke. Despite our differences, we learned a lot from each other. Mostly I learned from her.
Jackie was the first nun I had ever met who didn’t wear a habit or expect me to refer to her as Sister. She taught me not to take more than I needed, and to this day, I still take only one napkin from the dispenser because of her example. She also taught me that nuns do not follow the orders of priests, nor do they take vows to serve them. Something the Sisters of the Sacred Heart and the Jesuits failed to mention during all the years I spent with them. She also told me all about her enlightened mother superior, who I never met, but so wish that I had.
Perhaps the most startling thing Jackie taught me, in hushed whispers over lunch, is while we often hear tragic stories of children, the abuse of women by clergy is far more rampant—of nuns in particular. She was headed to the outer-reaches of Brazil to stymie some of that abuse.
I was surprised by the revelation. Growing up, there were whispers of priests and altar boys, but I had never heard anything about the abuse of women, and certainly not of nuns. Although much later, my mother told a story about how uncomfortable a priest had made her during confession, coaxing her to answer explicit questions about her sex life. She was a young bride at the time, and after the incident, it was decades before she went back to confession. Unlike her daughter, my mother was extremely modest, and the experience left her rattled and ashamed.
After about six months with the agency, Jackie moved to Brazil, and shortly later, I married, moved to Washington DC, and went to law school. Our paths never crossed again. About two years ago, right before Pope Francis denounced the sex abuse and sex slavery within the church, I came across an article in the glossy Vatican publication, Women Church World, written by Lucetta Scaraffia. It confirmed everything Jackie had confided in me years earlier, and much more.
Bound is a work of fiction. But as I’ve said many times, while I write to entertain, I can’t seem to help myself from sneaking an actual fact or two into the story, or flashing a light, however brief, into a dark corner. This book is no exception.
If the story offended, I am truly sorry. It was not my intention. But if it gave you pause, food for thought, or if you learned something you didn’t know, say a small prayer of thanks for Jackie. Above all, I hope that Bound brought you great pleasure and a small escape.
xoxo
Eva
Acknowledgments
A psychopathic priest, a woman with Stockholm syndrome, an abduction, Mary Magdalene, a supreme court nominee who impregnates a teenager, and a love story—Yikes! What was I thinking? Of course, there is no way I could have woven all the threads together, without the help and generosity of so many kind souls.
Veronica, I thank you first, always, because this series would not exist without you. Neither would Eva Charles, the author. The debt of gratitude I owe you, not just for your professionalism, but for your friendship, is ever growing. Although you left me in the very capable hands of Heather Roberts, and for that I’m grateful, there will be no more babies in your future. One and done. I’m kidding, of course—mostly.
Catherine Anderson, thank you for being the blessing you are, swooping in and carrying this release to the end without batting an eyelash. You are truly a lovely human being, and a consummate pr
ofessional, with mad organizational skills. Your gracious demeanor aside, you know how to get stuff done.
Dawn Alexander, there is not enough space in the back of any book for the thanks I owe you. Your patience and ability to cut through skeleton thoughts and barely formed ideas is unparalleled—as is your patience. I am so fortunate to have you in my corner! Thank you for your generous support, clear-thinking mind, and friendship. Sexy Sinner is next, and then back to Charleston! #teamsmith
Nancy Smay, I’m quite sure I’ll never read or hear the words cock ring without picturing your highly descriptive definition. Even full-strength bleach can’t wipe away that image. Thank you for your vast expertise on all matters, and for your unending patience with my love of commas. You’re the best!
Virginia Tesi Carey, I nearly had a heart-attack when I first heard your February schedule. Thank you for finding a spot for me. At this point it’s become almost superstition, but the thought of releasing a book without your eagle eye on the manuscript, pains me. Thank you for your ongoing support, friendship, and your generous spirit.
Stephanie Taylor, you were a new, and valuable member of the team on this project. I so appreciate your flexibility, good nature, and careful attention to detail. The book is better because of your efforts.
Tami Thomason, thank you for reading the unedited manuscript with an eye on the highly-complex timeline, for your unflagging support, and your wonderful sense of humor. Tom Hardy doesn’t know what he’s missing! Oh, and that sex scene against the window? It will definitely be an extra.
Danielle Rairigh, you are an amazing woman with a big heart, and a plethora of gifts. I’m still amazed by your close attention to storyline and plot. Thank you for your friendship and support, and for the positivity you bring to the world.
A very big thank you to Alessandra Torre, who when I was struggling with Bound, took the time to turn me around and point me toward the light. Every time I glance at the white board with multi-colored sticky-notes in my office, I think of your kindness.
Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs, lovely, talented, and generous. There aren’t enough positive adjectives in any language to bestow on you. Thank you for another gorgeous cover!
Thank you to Golden Czermak of FuriousFotog for being a joy to do business with, and for taking that beautiful image of Mav Willett. And to Mav, for being the perfect Smith! How does one get those genes?
Thank you to L. Woods PR, Enticing Journey, and Give Me Books. As always, you were highly organized, wonderful to work with, and just plain amazing.
To the bloggers, bookstagrammers, and bookTubers, there is no way to fully thank you for all that you do to promote authors, myself included. There are few professions where people spend hours of their time for the benefit of others, out of kindness, and not for the rewards. Thank you for your tireless energy and generosity in promoting Bound, and the entire Charleston series. I am eternally grateful to you.
To the readers, thank you for embracing my Charleston series, and for all your love and support! Your generosity, kind words, and willingness to share the stories with others gave the Wilders and their friends tremendous life. What was meant to be a duet, is now a series. I am still blown away by all the love you’ve shown the characters, and me.
To the members of JD’s Closet, I love, love, love you all so hard! You are my happy place. Your support, encouragement, naughty sense of humor, and friendship make every day brighter. I hope you find as much love, fun, and support in the group as I do. I also hope Smith lives up to your high expectations! #teamsmith or #teamjd?
Andy, there really are no words to describe how much I love you. There is so much of you in Smith—honor, character, loyalty, a sense of humor, and that take no prisoners attitude that emerges every now and again. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by mentioning the sexy times. Not that you’d be embarrassed.
About the Author
After being a confirmed city-girl for most of her life, Eva moved to beautiful Western Massachusetts in 2014. There, she found herself living in the woods with no job, no friends (unless you count the turkey, deer, and coyote roaming the backyard), and no children underfoot, wondering what on earth she’d been thinking. But as it turned out, it was the perfect setting to take all those yarns spinning in her head and weave them into sexy stories.
When she’s not writing, trying to squeeze information out of her tight-lipped sons, or playing with the two cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, Eva’s creating chapters in her own love story.
I loves to hear from my readers!
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More Books in The Devil’s Due Series by Eva Charles
Depraved
Delivered
Decadent