The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  “Remember,” Vincent whispered, “You belong to me. I will protect you.”

  His climax was much stronger than Nala’s, but that was fine. She enjoyed her low-key pleasure while enjoying his more. The way he growled into her shoulder and the ground. The way he thrust into her, unrelenting. The way he smothered her against the grass. Grass that would never hurt anybody.

  Nala accepted his kiss the moment he released within her, and she accepted it readily, remembering what he did a few nights ago. He did it again, now, holding himself within her long after he was finished and letting her know that this went beyond their bodies.

  “Fuck me,” Nala muttered. “This is going to kill us.”

  “Maybe, but I’ll die knowing it was worth it.”

  Whether he meant her or Crow, Nala didn’t know. She also didn’t care.

  Entry #15

  Something ominous hangs in the air. My vigilance is lacking, however. Where I should be spotting threats, I only see Nightingale, luring me to her. The taste of normalcy, of happiness I had tonight was beyond anything I could have ever hoped for again. Friends and a partner. It’s too good to be true.

  But as always, I am haunted. By Xavier Crow and his crimes.

  Chapter 16

  Nala emerged from the Russian grocery store with a bag laden with fresh goods and cans written in a language she never bothered to learn. When she entered half an hour earlier carrying a list of ingredients from her new cookbook, the one clerk on duty had been more than happy to load Nala’s basket up. When he asked, in his thick but friendly accent, what Nala was cooking, she was almost sheepish to admit to near-peasant staples her mother cooked every week. Then Nala remembered that this wasn’t Vincent’s world of fancy eating and exorbitant delicacies. This was the real stuff.

  Her time at the grocer’s would’ve passed by otherwise non-eventfully, but then the clerk asked where Nala was from and who her parents were. Since the Nazarovs had lived in this exact area nearly twenty years ago, the clerk came to the edge of tears as he said, “Nala! It’s you?” Apparently she had attended kindergarten with the man’s daughter.

  The sun was bright and full for the first time in days. Nala folded up her umbrella while carrying her bag with the other hand. She made it to the bus stop in time, meaning she should be home before the hour was up. Plenty of time to start cooking.

  I’ll show him how good the food I eat can be. Nala mentioned offhandedly that morning that she would cook Vincent a traditional Russian dinner. He stood in front of his dresser, fixing his cuffs and pulling on a tie to wear to a big meeting with his new client. My hardworking man. Nala smiled to think it.

  It should have scared her how much like her mother she was suddenly becoming. The Nala of six months ago would have never deigned to prepare a meal for a man after a hard day at work. Yet as her relationship with Vincent deepened, she realized that it wasn’t about being a good domokhozyayka, but doing what she could to contribute to the household Vincent so graciously let her join. Nala wasn’t going to make a habit out of cooking for them, but once in a while it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Just bought a ton of food ;)” she texted Vincent. “Someone’s getting spoiled with Russian food tonight.”

  “Should I be scared?”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure you should be working.”

  “I just got off work. I’m going to be home early. You there?”

  “Not quite. I’m on the bus crossing the bridge right now. You?”

  “Just pulling onto Burnside.”

  “OMG, stop texting while you drive!”

  “I’m at a very long light.”

  “Dumbass!”

  “You’re cool too.”

  Nala didn’t hear from him again until she stepped off the bus and began the few block trek to Vincent’s loft. I guess it’s my home too… It was still a strange thing to think. Now that they had established themselves as a couple, Vincent no longer brought up buying Nala an apartment. They went on their merry way, assuming that for now they would simply live together and hope for the best. My mother would be so scandalized. Good.

  Her phone buzzed as she turned the corner onto their street. The weight of the shopping bag was starting to get to her, but Nala found the ability to pull out her phone.

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  She looked up, seeing Vincent’s black car on the other end of the street. Nala waved before putting her phone away and hurrying her steps. If she timed it right, she could make it as he parked. Then he could help me haul these groceries upstairs! His true job! Put those muscles to perfect use!

  Alas, he made it before her, although he remained seated in his car, stuck on the phone. Nala waved, made a face unbecoming of a young lady, and started the onerous climb up the stairs. The bag was heavy enough to pull her down on one side, so she waddled more than walked.

  She put the bag down on the landing, fishing for the key in her pocket. Vincent hadn’t bothered to get the locks changed yet, but Nala did have a new key to make up for the one she lost somewhere along the way.

  The door opened, light spilling into the stuffy loft. Nala kicked rather than pulled the heavy bag of groceries inside. Behind her, she heard Vincent’s car door open. As Nala walked inside, she wondered if she should get started with the cooking right now, or cook something else with her sexy boyfriend. If I could do both at the same time, I totally would!

  Yet Nala didn’t have the chance to think about doing both at the same time, or the logistics therein. Her eyes blinked, adjusting to the shadows of the large, open space, although a huge stream of sunlight poured through the windows. The black leather couches were illuminated, heating up, and the glass coffee table…

  And the glass coffee table…

  Broken, the shards sprinkled across the throw rug beneath.

  Nala stared in disbelief, her breath, her voice caught in her throat as her eyes traveled from the surprising mess to the body sprawled between both couches.

  Blond. Fair. A pretty red sundress frayed at the hems and torn wherever glass shards had pierced it. Some parts of the dress were darker than others. It took daft Nala too many seconds to realize it was blood.

  It took her even longer to realize who it was.

  “Robin!” she screamed, running to her friend’s body, shaking her, slapping her face, staring into half-dead eyes that once shone so brightly. Nala’s cries of alarm echoed through the loft, as if she were the one fending off an attacker in a strange home.

  The front door flew open. Vincent, in his suit and tie, rushed in to the harrowing sounds of Nala’s voice. He saw her, then Robin, his strength shoving Nala out of the way as he immediately knelt down and checked for a pulse.

  “She’s alive! Call 911!”

  Nala stood there, aghast.

  “I said call 911!”

  The world slowed. Nala stumbled over the couch behind her, patting her sweatshirt and looking for her phone. What was happening? Why was Robin there? Like this?

  Nala was about to call for an ambulance when she looked down at her feet, a piece of paper sticking out from beneath her shoe.

  Against her better judgment, she picked it up before doing anything else, no matter how much Vincent yelled at her.

  Your first warning.

  Miss Nala Nazarov

  Hopefully this birdie beauty gets along with Tasha

  As well as she got along with you

  I never got to hear either of them scream but

  Desirée screamed. A lot.

  I wonder.

  Can you scream as beautifully as she did?

  A bird of prey always lives for the thrill of the kill

  Run away, little Nightingale

  Run away so I can hunt you down

  Nala fell against the couch, Vincent still shouting, the sun still shining, and Robin still dying.

  Somewhere, in some corner of time, Desirée’s screams echoed, and Tasha fell asleep, never to awaken again.

  THE NIGHTINGAL
E TRIUMPHS

  Chapter 1

  The hospital was chaos. A heavy frost in the morning meant a plethora of accidents, both on the roads and at home. People came in and out of the emergency room, crying, bleeding, and in shock. Those who didn’t need medical attention were asked to sit with their waiting loved ones or to kindly sit far, far away from the counter and the emergency doors.

  This was where Nala sat, staring at the scenes unfolding before her. One man had a broken wrist, iced and wrapped, but in further need of care. He sat in front of Nala, rocking back and forth, muttering nothing in an attempt to take his mind off the pain. His only companion was a ten-year-old boy Nala figured was his son.

  Two rows in front of her was a woman swaying back and forth in her seat, complaining of incredible stomach pains. Her family did their best to make her comfortable.

  I’m hiding here. Nala’s eyes both darted around the room and kept to themselves. She was alone, friendless, loverless. She didn’t know where Vincent was. After he drove them to the hospital behind Robin’s ambulance, he pulled the fact that he had been a healthy benefactor to this very hospital the previous year and got both him and Nala in to follow Robin even though Nala would much, much rather run away.

  She hated hospitals. Hated them almost as much as she hated living in fear of…

  Nala pulled the crumpled note from her pocket and stared at the words. If she didn’t need further proof that Hawk was an assassin, the bird tracks signing the message said everything she needed to know.

  What do I do? Why was Robin selected? Why was Robin dumped in Vincent’s place? To send a message. To me. Robin was Nala’s only friend, let alone in The Aviary. Not only would she send a message to Vincent and Nala, but she would send one to every other member.

  Fear crept into Nala’s blood again. What do I do?

  Her phone continued to blow up with messages from Vincent. He tried calling her multiple times, but they went straight to voicemail. “Where are you??? Come back here now! Do you know what’s happening? You can’t be by yourself!”

  Nala wanted to curl up on the plastic seats of the emergency room and pretend she was ten again, with her sister coddling her as she always did. Then she would eat some of her mother’s home cooking. I was supposed to cook for Vincent tonight. The groceries were left to rot in his living room.

  Eventually she had to get up and wander away. She didn’t dare go outside. Besides, she needed to know how Robin was doing. When she last saw her, she was coming out of surgery still in critical condition.

  Nala only sent one text. “What room?”

  “C67. Get here now.”

  She was too shaken up to be annoyed with his tone. He’s worried about me. Nala was worried about him too. If Vincent thought she was brash? He hadn’t looked in a mirror.

  C67 was a good hike away, and by the time she got there Nala had encountered an unfamiliar name. Clara Montgomery. She stared at it, the only name by the single occupancy room.

  It had to be Robin’s real name. To see her as a woman named Clara was both natural and completely strange.

  Robin – or was it Clara? – lay in her bed, hooked up to a million wires and tubes. Some feeding her, some monitoring her. A mask covered her face. She can’t breathe on her own… Bandages covered her arms and upper chest. How many times was she sliced by glass? Was that what that was about? Nala felt woozy as she stood in the doorway.

  Then she felt absolutely awful, because curled up on the side of the bed was Lucian, hand gripping his girlfriend’s as the blanket beneath his face was constantly bathed in fresh slews of tears.

  “Nala!”

  Vincent sat in a waiting area not too far away. He stood up, jacket and tie off and in a crumpled pile in a seat behind him. For being so put together that morning when he left for work, he now looked so disheveled that Nala barely recognized him.

  Indeed, she barely knew the man grabbing her arms and shaking her where she stood.

  “What are you doing?” Vincent was crazed, his voice growling, hissing, sending ripples of anything but pleasure through Nala. “You don’t leave my side. You don’t wander off. You don’t disappear from my line of sight. Do you understand me?”

  He sounded like a frazzled father who had let go of his daughter’s hand in the middle of a fair. Now that she had returned, Nala felt like that ten-year-old again. Only this time her sister wasn’t there to make her feel better.

  Vincent didn’t wait for her to respond. He pulled her into his embrace, holding her head close to his chest and wrapping his arms so tightly around her that she forgot how to breathe. “I can’t lose you too, Nala. You’ve gotta understand. I can’t lose you too.”

  Nala lifted her arms and let her hands rest on his elbows. “I’m sorry. Is Robin okay?”

  Vincent broke away from her enough to look into her eyes. “She’s alive. That’s all that matters. Because they intended to kill her.”

  Do I tell him about the note? As far as Nala knew, Vincent hadn’t seen it. He was much too busy giving Robin CPR and yelling at Nala to get her head screwed back on and call 911.

  So much had happened in so little time. The police came, cordoning off Vincent’s living room and asking them a thousand questions they couldn’t answer. Why was Robin there? How did they know her? What was her name? What had happened to her? The only reason neither Vincent nor Nala were currently in holding was because of Vincent’s standing.

  Nala fell back into his embrace. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to be held.

  “Vincent.”

  Lucian stood in the doorway. If Nala didn’t know better, she would say the man was drunk. His eyes were swollen. His cheeks pink. His staggering so erratic that he could barely keep himself standing straight.

  “She’ll be okay, Lucian.”

  “What if she’s not?” Instead of letting his tears fall in front of them, Lucian slapped the doorway, rousing the attention of a nurse down the hall. “You heard the doctor. She’ll be lucky to get through the night.”

  “She will.”

  “How do you fucking know?” Now the nurse was jogging, summoned by the loud voice. “What was she doing in your house anyway? What were you doing with Clara?”

  Nala knew that look on Vincent’s face. “We could ask you the same thing, but we won’t.” “We found her there, Lucian. We’ve got questions too, but now is not the time to be searching for answers.” That was a big fat lie.

  But it placated Lucian enough to send him back into Robin’s room, where he slumped into his seat. The last thing Nala heard before disengaging from Vincent was, “Your parents are coming, honey. Hold tight. Your mama wants to see you and I know you want to see her.”

  Nala wiped something from her eye as she insisted she go to the bathroom by herself. Since it was within Vincent’s sight, he let her go, and Nala was so, so relieved to duck in there and claw at her own face in private.

  Tasha died alone. She was all alone. Desirée died screaming…

  She pulled the note out of her pocket, staring at those damning words again and again. Poor Tasha. Poor Desirée. Poor Robin.

  Poor Nala.

  “Vincent…” She couldn’t let him see those words. Not now. Not ever. Nala had half a mind to throw the note away, but she carefully folded it back up and put it in her pocket. She washed off her face, straightened out her half-soiled sweatshirt, pulled back her hair into a neat ponytail, and stepped back into the hospital.

  A crowd of people ambled by. Family members visiting Robin’s neighbor. They carried balloons, flowers, teddy bears, and half a dozen children of varying ages. This surge of pedestrians trapped Nala against the wall, and blocked her off from Vincent, whom she could vaguely see still sitting in the waiting room a good pace away.

  Nala turned her head and saw someone else.

  She was almost hard to recognize without her bold, glittery makeup and sequin dresses. Yet the hair – or lack of it – was unmistakable, as well as her dark skin in a sea of Scandin
avian descendants wandering this way and that. She may have worn dark wash jeans and a light denim jacket, but Maggie always had the same stern expression no matter where she went.

  Nala sucked in her breath. Yes, the most concerning member of The Aviary was definitely standing a few feet away, looking right at her frequent object of apparent disdain.

  “Gale,” Maggie said softly, hoisting a cloth tote bag on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Robin’s a nice person and doesn’t deserve this.”

  Nala wanted to say that nobody deserved anything Crow ordered, but that was neither here nor there. “Thanks.”

  Maggie pulled one strap of her tote bag off her shoulder and fished out a large manila envelope. “I wanted to give this to you. Don’t open it here, and don’t show it to Vincent unless you’re sure about it.”

  “What is it?” Nala snatched it anyway. It’s not heavy. Papers, surely.

  “No, not here. You might wanna have a drink before taking a peek, though.”

  That did not inspire any confidence.

  “Is it you?” Nala finally whispered, the people behind her still clogging up the hallway with their balloons and laughter. “Are you the one who sent me that mail?”

  Maggie rearranged her bag and pulled a pair of sunglasses onto her face. “His reach is far and unyielding. Don’t trust anyone, especially in The Aviary. There’s a stinking rat in there who answers directly to Crow. He’s on to you. They’re all on to you. They know who you are and will either want you to play along like a good little birdie or…”

  She didn’t have to finish her sentence.

  “If you know all that, then surely you know who I am too.”

  Maggie was not good at smiling as a way to relieve people of their worries. Yet she tried, her forced grin not doing much to make Nala feel better. Especially when she said, “Yes, Nala. I know who you are and what that man has done to you. I know what he’s done to Vincent as well.”