Defy
Brothers of Ink and Steel
#3
by Allie Juliette Mousseau
Copyright © 2015 by Allie Juliette Mousseau.
All Rights Reserved
Published by Allie Juliette Mousseau
Edited by Nicole Hewitt
Formatted by Mike Mousso
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Each of the books in the sexy, rugged, gritty Brothers of Ink and Steel Series and the wealthy, fearless, bad-boys of the True North Series are STANDALONES with HEAs.
Each novel in the both series focuses on one couple's journey to their HEA
Defy Playlist
On Spotify
Centuries – Fall Out Boy
River from the Sky – The Weepies
Scars – Papa Roach
Hurt – Johnny Cash
I am Machine – Three Days Grace
Hazy Shade of Winter – The Bangles
Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes
Locked and Loaded (Inst) – Cliff Lin
This is War (Inst) – Cliff Lin
Bad to the Bone – George Thoroughgood
Alive – POD
Cecilia and the Satellite – Andrew McMahon
Powerful – Ellie Goulding
Pacific Rim -
Ace of Spades – Motorhead
Blue Orchid – The White Stripe
Hell Don’t Need Me – Demon Hunter
Drive - Incubus
Follow Me- Uncle Cracker
Stay – Rhianna
Trying Not to Love You - Nickelback
I Will Remember You – Sarah McLachlan
So Far Away – Staind
The Last One Alive – Demon Hunter
The Heart of a Graveyard – Demon Hunter
If I Die Young – The Band Perry
Lose Yourself – Eminem
Never Let Me Go – Florence and the Machine
Dust to Dust – The Civil Wars
I Bruise Easily – Natasha Bedingfield
Feels Like the First Time – Foreigner
Uma Thurman – Fall Out Boy
Down to the River to Pray – Allison Krauss
Hero – Skillet
Long, Long Way from Home – Foreigner
Sabotage – Beasties
Won’t Back Down – Eminem
Come Away With Me – Norah Jones
Wildest Dreams – Taylor Swift
Girlfriend – Matthew Sweet
Crazy Love – Michael Buble
Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them. – George Eliot
I’m prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter. – Winston Churchill
I can move mountains
I can work a miracle, work a miracle
Oh, oh, keep you like an oath
May nothing but death do us part
— Fall Out Boy
Table of Content
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Family Tree
About Allie Juliette
Prologue
Ryder
1999
“I don’t want to move again, Mom!” I cry from the back seat of our car. “I just made new friends.”
My mother’s eyes search the floor in front of her in defeat.
“We don’t have a choice, Ryder!” my dad barks without sympathy before peering angrily at me in the rearview mirror.
The car is empty—no suitcases, no boxes. “I don’t even have my stuff,” I protest.
“Jesus Christ, we’ll get new stuff,” Dad yells.
“John,” my mother scolds. “It’s hardest on him.”
“Do you see that black van behind us?” he tries in a normal tone but fails. “DO YOU!?”
My mom twists her head and shoulders to look out the back window behind me.
“DON’T LOOK!” Dad shouts while he pulls his Motorola flip-phone from his pocket and dials so frantically he almost drops it.
“Get on the floor of the car, Ryder.” My mom tries to make her voice even and calm before she curls up on the front bench seat and starts singing a church hymn.
I squeeze my body between the front and back seats to lay as flat as I can on the scratchy black carpet. I’m not supposed to cry; it’s not tough and Dad says we always have to be tough.
“How did they find us?” my mom asks shakily between choruses of the song.
My dad doesn’t answer.
“HOW DID THEY FIND US?” Her voice reverberates through the car.
“I DON’T KNOW!” my dad roars, exasperated, then tries to talk normally into the phone. “Agent Powers, this is John Castle. Vlad found us!”
Dad breaks down the story. I hear him tell the agent that he found out about his sister getting sick with cancer and ending up in the hospital, and that he couldn’t help but call her.
Mom starts sobbing so hard that I put my hand between the seats and on her arm to try and make her feel better.
When we went into hiding there were rules—a lot of them—that we couldn’t break. I wasn’t allowed to see Grandma and Grandpa or even talk to them on the phone. I had to quit my Little League baseball team even though I was the shortstop and we were in the championship playoffs. And everything that was mine and I loved—my trophies, my posters, my toys, even my clothes—all had to be left behind.
It was like we died without actually dying.
I remember my dad’s sister—Auntie Kathleen—we haven’t been allowed to see her for the past three years, ever since we went into the witness protection program when I was seven years old.
My dad used to be an accountant at a place called Belmont Park in New York where people raced horses. He told my mom that some of his bosses were washing dirty money, and even killing people. He told the police that too. When the Russian mob threatened his life we were forced into hiding.
They were supposed to make us safe, but we never feel safe. The entire thing doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. The only thing I understand is that I’ve had to go to three different elementary schools, have moved in and out of three homes in three different states—Washington, Texas, and now here in Florida. My parents keep changing my name—even though they always mess it up and call me by my birth name. I was born Ryder but have been called Peter, Jason and Thomas.
The first two times, the agents in charge of keeping us safe moved us, but these last two times were because my dad did something that broke the rules.
That thought makes me mad, but I don’t have time to think about it for long.
The other car smashes into us.
My mom screams and sings louder. My dad swears.
I lift my head just enough so I can see the big black v
an pull away, reposition itself and slam back into the side of our car with enough power to force us off the road.
My dad steps on the gas and drives right through a safety fence and into the parking lot of an empty, abandoned looking warehouse. A lot of the windows are broken out, maybe from teenagers pitching rocks through them, and it’s really dark; there are no lights on, inside or outside.
The man in the passenger side of the van chasing us points a gun at our car and shoots. I can hear the bullet go through the metal.
Quickly, I put my head back down and cover it with my arms.
I’m only nine-and-a-half years old, but I know I’m going to die.
The car swerves and takes some hard turns. A moment later my dad brakes so fast I can hear the tires spinning on the dirt, trying to find traction, and stop.
“Get out! Get out!” My dad pulls me from the back seat. “Hurry up, Ryder, and don’t make a sound! Run to the building and hide. Keep your mother safe.”
My mom grabs my hand, and we race towards the scary looking warehouse. Mom has a small hatchet and hits the padlock until it breaks open. She shoves me through the door first.
I can hear my dad yelling outside that it’s him they want. He says he gives himself up—to just let his wife and son go. That we don’t know anything.
I can’t hear what the response is. Mom is pushing us deeper into the belly of the decrepit building, guided only by a thin beam from a flashlight pen.
She finds the door marked stairs, and we run down, tripping and stumbling and helping right each other. After a minute we get to the last door, which spills us into the basement.
My mom stops and looks around wildly. “There!”
Quickly, she works off an air vent panel and shines her light into the metal tunnel.
“Get in first, Ryder,” she orders.
All I can think about is Freddy Krueger’s basement and how he ripped kids apart with his metal claw hands. It feels like he must be waiting for us on the other side of this thing.
She doesn’t wait for me to act on my own and instead drops the pen, lifts me by grabbing my shirt and pants and thrusts me through the opening.
“Keep crawling deeper and don’t you dare come out! No matter what you hear . . . Do you understand me?”
It’s too dark for her to see the tears coming down my face. “Mom.”
“I love you, Ryder. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” She’s crying. I hear it. “Now go!”
“Not without you!” I whisper.
“Where are you, little doves?” a cooing, mocking voice calls. He has an accent I’ve never heard before.
Devastation rips through my chest. It’s not my dad.
“Mommy!”
She kisses me and presses her cheek to mine. “Go. And remember, not a sound, my brave boy.”
She pushes me forward and replaces the vent grate over the opening, securing it before picking up the pen light and running into the darkness.
The sensation of her wet tears on my face makes me move deeper into the vent. I come to an angle, like a turn, and pull myself around it. I have to press myself through by crawling and slithering on my belly. The vent is smaller than I thought, and I realize my mom wouldn’t have fit inside.
The metal isn’t smooth; there are sharp, jagged pieces and shards that tear into my hands and chest, belly and legs. It hurts, but I don’t make a sound, just like my mom and dad said.
Then I hear her scream. It’s so loud—it echoes through the tunnel and pierces my eardrums.
It’s in that moment that I can’t move anymore. I think I may have even stopped breathing.
I wait to hear her voice again—to tell me it’s going to be okay, that she’s there—but there’s only silence. Loud, horrible silence.
The man with the accent shouts out for me. “I saw you in the car, child. Come out, come out wherever you are.”
Closing my eyes, I just sit and remember the feel of my mom’s skin and the moisture of her tears.
The man yells and shouts and swears. First he promises safety, then he threatens to kill me. He lies and tells me he has my mom with him and that she wants to see me, but I know better. He murdered her. I hate him and I want to kill him, but I know I’m not strong enough.
I wasn’t strong enough to protect my mom.
I wasn’t smart enough to save my parents.
My mom and dad were smart, they saved me.
So I sit quietly all through the night as the men with their accents shout and smash things, but after a while I don’t hear them anymore.
I cry quietly until my eyes close against the blackness.
“Ryder—my name is Chief, Chief Axton, and I work with the Tampa Bay Police Department. I’m here to help you, buddy, but I need your help too.”
The voice wakes me up. He doesn’t sound like the men from last night. But I’m not sure what to do.
“You hid yourself real good, but we have a dog out here named Lucy,” he says, then, “Lucy, speak.”
The dog barks and the sound travels up through the duct. They must be right in front of the vent.
“The bad guys, they didn’t have a dog, did they?” the man asks. “Lucy is a real special dog. She helps us find people who are lost or hurt. Are you hurt?”
I am. I can feel the dried sticky blood on my hands and shirt, and the cuts and scrapes sting.
“Lucy, can you tell Ryder we’re the good guys and are here to help him?”
The dog sounds off with cute howling, yipping and barking.
“Ryder, Lucy knows you’re in the vent, but I’m too big to get in there to help you get out. And I’d send Lucy in, but most of the time the sheet metal vents are made from has a lot of sharp pieces, and I don’t want her to get cut up,” Chief Axton says.
“I’m scared.” The words come out of my mouth even though I don’t want them to.
“I know you are. You were really brave to have stayed in there for such a long time.”
“Are my mom and dad . . .?” I can’t say the next word.
“We can talk about that when you come out, Ryder.”
“You know my real name.”
“I know all about you, son. That’s my job.”
“I don’t think I can do it. Come out, I mean.”
“It’s okay to be scared. I get scared too. Even cry sometimes, and I’m a retired United States Navy Seal.”
I’d seen Navy Seals in movies and heard about them on the news. “You must be really tough.”
“Super tough.”
“But you’ve been scared?”
“Terrified.”
“I was terrified when those men were chasing us.”
“I bet,” Chief Axton says. “I want you to know I got those men that hurt your family. They’re in jail now and will be there for a long, long time.”
“How did you catch them?” I sit up to hear him better.
“Your father called my friend from the FBI—Agent Powers—then Powers called me. I’ve been working down here in Tampa for the past few weeks catching bad guys. Vlad Simpkov was on the list. I’m a bounty hunter now that I’m out of the Navy, and I track down bad guys like Vlad. Me and Lucy also help rescue people too. We’ve been all over the world together.”
I’m quiet for a minute while I think, then say, “I want to believe you’re not one of those bad guys.”
“It’s okay, Ryder. Me and Lucy have nothing else to do today but hang out here and talk with you until you feel safe,” he tells me. Somehow I’m comforted that he’ll stay.
He continues, “Your dad was real smart to have a tracker in his phone. It helped us find Vlad and his group. Then Lucy found you.”
He said my dad was smart. Not is.
“Bet you’re hungry. Betty, my wife, always packs me too much to eat. But I have enough to share. Do you like ham and cheese on rye? Oh, and she also wrapped up some of her famous homemade chocolate chip cookies.”
My belly grumbles, but I’m sti
ll not ready to come out.
“I’m going to toss them into the shaft for you.” The food makes a deep thunking sound against the thin metal.
I’m going to have to crawl back towards the opening to get it.
Carefully, I wiggle towards the sound, and Chief keeps talking about the adventures he and Lucy have had—saving people that got caught in earthquakes, a kid who fell into an old well, even victims who’d been kidnapped.
Finally, I can see some light. I take a deep breath. I wasn’t sure which way I’d come in.
The food. I see the brown, rolled up paper bag.
Then my heart sinks. “My mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”
“Bet she does, Ryder, bet she does.”
“I know they killed her. I heard it.”
“She was brave. She saved you.”
“Yeah.” I sniff and wipe the tumbling tears with my sleeve. “I don’t think I’m as hungry as I thought I was.”
“I can understand that.”
“If I come out, would you make me safe?”
“Yes, son, I’ll make you safe.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Chapter One
Rachel
The throbbing ache inside of my head is proof I’m still alive.
But truth is, I might be better off dead.
Stifling my initial knee-jerk reaction to startle and scream, I instead hold myself as still as death. I’m terrified beyond belief to discover what’s become of me.
I feel the cloth band of fabric tight around my head, covering my eyes. Don’t panic, I try persuading myself when I can’t open them.
They didn’t kill me, for some outrageous reason I can’t even fathom.
They could be in the room, watching me right now. They could have men guarding me, waiting until I gain consciousness. Then what would happen?
Interrogation?
Torture?
I steady my breathing, sucking in deep breaths through my nose, and listen.
No one is talking. I can’t detect any physical movement—no shoes scuffling along the floor, no one sniffing or coughing or taking a drink. No pages of a book turning or quiet breathing . . .
Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3) Page 1
