His Firecracker: Sassy Girls Series

by Reynolds, Rory

  His Firecracker

  Sassy Girls Series

  Rory Reynolds

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Rory Reynolds

  Copyright © 2019 by Rory Reynolds. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email authorroryreynolds@gmail.com.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Art: PopKitty Design

  Created with Vellum

  for the chasers of dreams...

  Prologue

  Three Years Ago

  Today is my twenty-fifth birthday, not that anyone knows because Andrea Cross turned twenty-six two months ago. My neighbor, Mrs. O’Neal, made a big to-do with a homemade chocolate cake complete with candles and “Happy Birthday Andrea” on the top. She even insisted on singing to me before declaring I “make a wish and blow out the candles.” I stared at the flames until the wax dripped down the candles into little pools on the icing below. Wishes are for people who have hopes and dreams of something better—something more. I can’t remember what it feels like to hope. That ability was stripped from me long ago, and every dream I ever had went along with it. I’m not sure why I did it, but I closed my eyes and blew out the candles as I made a wish. A stupid, unrealistic wish. I wished that I could be me again, whoever that is.

  I’m pulled from the memory by a knock at my door. I sigh in agitation because it can only be one person—Mrs. O’Neal. Don’t get me wrong. I like her. In fact, I’ve grown attached to her since I moved into the building eight months ago. If it weren’t for her, I would have moved on months ago—staying in one place too long is dangerous, a fact I’ve learned the hard way. Before I make it to the door, another knock sounds through the apartment, this one is louder… incessant.

  Mrs. O’Neal can be more than a little pushy and seems to have a sixth sense for when I’m moping about. Some small, unwanted part of me is grateful for her interference in my life. I’ve avoided any kind of relationships—both friendly and romantic. Hell, I hardly even allow acquaintances. My life is a lonely one, but it’s necessary. Mrs. O’Neal forced her way into my life, and I know without a doubt that I’ll miss her when I leave.

  “Just a minute!” I holler loud enough for her to hear.

  Hold your freaking horses, I think to myself.

  I click through the three deadbolts and disengage the chain before I swing the door open, a wide smile pasted on my face in hopes that it will hide my mood. I’m caught off guard by a mountain of a man filling my doorway. I’m instantly kicking myself for not checking who it was first. A rookie mistake and something I know better than to do. I’ve gotten too comfortable—a dangerous proposition. I should have left months ago. My sentimental attachment to Mrs. O’Neal could very well be the end of me.

  My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands become clammy as I take in the stranger. He’s not overly tall for a man, maybe six foot, but he still towers over my five foot four frame. His shoulders are broad, and everything about him screams power. He’s wearing an expensive suit that is obviously tailored to fit his body to perfection because it accentuates his every muscle. I’m sure the suit is supposed to soften his hard edges, but if you were to look up the definition of menacing, his picture would be there. The tattoo of a snake’s tail slithering up his neck from beneath his perfectly pressed white dress shirt doesn’t help matters any.

  I’m aware that he’s studying me just as carefully as I am him. I meet his gaze with mine and take in his sharp blue eyes. Cold dread fills me when I realize that those are the eyes of a killer. I push that thought aside and finish cataloging his appearance; strong jaw and his nose is slightly crooked, indicating it’s been broken a time or two. His hair is cropped close to his scalp and so blond he almost appears bald.

  He seems to remember himself, and a huge smile splits his face, two perfect dimples appear transforming him from serial killer to handsome businessman. The transformation is disarming. In another life, I’d have been fooled, but this isn’t that life. I’m not the same naïve girl I once was, so despite his charming smile and killer dimples, I’m able to keep my wits. The fact that he’s most likely here to kidnap—or kill—me doesn’t hurt in keeping me firmly grounded.

  Warning bells that sound more like sirens are blaring in my ears telling me to flee. I’m doing my best to project calm, but I have a feeling I’m failing because those icy blue eyes of his are predatory and not likely to miss a thing.

  “Miss Tate—”

  My spine straightens, and I freeze as fear floods my system. It’s been three years since I last heard that name. I’ve done everything in my power to forget that name, to forget that Angel Tate ever existed, but time and time again, the past catches up with me. The ramifications of hearing my real name from this man’s lips pierce me straight through. He’s found me, and it’s time to run.

  Again.

  I muster up every ounce of disinterested confusion I can manage and slowly shake my head. “I’m sorry you must have the wrong apartment.”

  I swallow thickly, praying the hulk of a man doesn’t sense my unease. My knees are so weak I could collapse at any moment. My lungs burn from lack of oxygen, but I swear I’m breathing. The thrum of my galloping heart is enough to make me lightheaded. Despite the panic, I shore myself up, collect the outward mask of strength I’ve come to rely on and stare the stranger in his cold, dead eyes.

  “Miss Tate—” he starts but is interrupted when Mrs. O’Neal bustles down the hall toward her apartment. She stops short and takes in tall, dark, and deadly. His eyes assess her with a killer’s instinct. His body is coiled tight, anger rolling off him in waves. He’s like a predator that just had his prey stolen out from under him, and he knows there is nothing he can do to get it back. The only thing that belies his frustration is the tick of his jaw. It’s a chink in his good-guy armor, and I can only pray that Mrs. O’Neal recognizes the threat he poses.

  Mrs. O’Neal turns her attention to me. I can see the gears turning, and I worry she’s going to say something and give me away. It’s a stupid thought because she doesn’t know anything about me or my past. I’m uncomfortable with the way he’s studying my sweet neighbor, so I clear my throat redirecting the man’s attention to me.

  “This gentleman is looking for—” I pause as if trying to recall the name. I half worry I
won’t be able to choke it out. It took me months to smoothly use my alias, well, the first one. It’s gotten increasingly easier with each new city and each new identity. I give a pointed look to the hulking man. “Miss Tate wasn’t it?”

  His jaw ticks and his already cold eyes turn into glaciers. “Yes, that’s right. I was hired by Miss Tate’s…” He falters for a moment, barely a beat between words, but I pick up the hesitation, and from the look of it, Mrs. O’Neal isn’t oblivious either. “father to locate his little Angel.”

  I flinch when I hear my first name, and I know there’s no way he missed it. By the way he said it, most people would assume it was a term of endearment, but they would be wrong. In another life, I was Angel Tate, and she doesn’t have a father.

  “Tate…” Mrs. O’Neal says, tapping a manicured finger against her lips as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Nope, no Tate here.”

  She gives the man a wide smile as she scoots between his body and mine, causing him to take a step back.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr.—” she lifts an eyebrow in question.

  “Black.” He fills in for her.

  “Yes, well, Mr. Black, we’ve got lots to do if you’ll excuse us.”

  He reaches into his jacket and my lungs seize in my chest. Concern for my wonderful, nosey neighbor has me ready to throw myself in front of her at the first hint of a weapon. I’m relieved when he pulls out a simple business card and extends it in my direction. My relief is short-lived because I know that Mr. Black is far from done with me, but I’ve managed a small reprieve which means I have a chance.

  When I don’t make a move to grab the card, Mrs. O’Neal reaches for it. He holds onto it for longer than is polite before releasing it to her. The whole time his cold eyes cut straight through me, and I know Mr. Black won’t be leaving here without me. He’ll walk away right now because he doesn’t want to leave any witnesses, but he’s got a confident look about him that says he’s already won. As if the future is a foregone conclusion and I’m already within his grasp.

  “I’ll be seeing you,” he threatens.

  And it is a threat, one I’ve heard loud and clear. Mrs. O’Neal watches as he backs down the hall toward the stairs. Her eyes narrow, and she stands between us like a protective mama bear. When he’s out of sight she, pushes me into my apartment, and then closes and locks the door.

  “Well now, it isn’t every day we get a visit from the mafia,” Mrs. O’Neal says matter-of-factly.

  I stare at her slack-jawed, at a complete loss for words because she’s not far off from the truth. Mr. Black is either in the mob or freelances for them. Either way, he’s not someone to fuck with.

  “What makes you think he’s a mobster?”

  She gives me an incredulous look. “I watched every episode of the Sopranos. I know what I’m talking about.”

  She looks so serious as she explains how watching a TV show qualifies her that I can’t hold in my laughter at her ridiculousness. The immense stress is making me slightly manic. Tears are flowing, and my sides ache by the time I get ahold of myself.

  “Alrighty then, best tell me what’s going on.”

  I shake my head as I wipe away my tears. The vision of Maggie’s battered and broken body flashes through my mind, and I know without a doubt, I can’t let Mrs. O’Neal get any more involved than she already is. The last person that helped me paid the ultimate price, and I can’t bear the thought of the same thing happening to her. This isn’t a TV show, this is real life, and these people don’t play games.

  “You have to leave,” I say sharply.

  I have to get her out of here quickly so I can leave. It might be futile at this point with Mr. Black already here, and I know the chances of escaping again are slim, but I’ve got to try. I’m not ready to give up yet.

  Mrs. O’Neal scoffs, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help?”

  “There’s nothing you can do!” I practically shout, frustration and fear causing me to lash out. I take a deep, calming breath. “Listen, I know you want to help me, but these people are dangerous, and I couldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt because of me.”

  The memory of Maggie flashes through my mind again. She was such a beautiful, kind soul. She had worked for the Rosetti family for years, but when Franklin Rosetti Senior died, and his son Frankie took his place as head of the household, things took a turn for the worse. I sensed the changes early on and decided to get out. Frankie was obsessed with me and refused to let me leave him. His men dragged me back to the house, and I became a prisoner within its walls. That was the first time Frankie used his fists to get his point across.

  Maggie became the only bright spot in my life. She treated me like a daughter and gave me the strength to keep going. When I got pregnant, I was terrified for not only myself but for my child being born into a world of cruelty. It took Maggie and me weeks to plot my escape, but when Frankie found out I was pregnant and didn’t tell him, he grew furious and jealous. He accused me of cheating on him. He called me a whore and told me that there was no way he would raise some bastard child. The rest of it plays out in slow motion in my mind; the psychotic rage on his face as his hand lashed out at me, the initial sting of the slap, then the feeling of weightlessness as I lost my footing, and the world spinning around me until the only thing I knew was darkness.

  Two days later, I woke up in my bed with Maggie by my side. I asked her what happened, and when her face crumpled, I knew it was bad. He had pushed me down the stairs, and the fall caused a miscarriage. I lost the one good thing that would have come from the life I was being forced to live.

  Maggie took on the blame for what happened because she didn’t get me out quick enough. She was determined that as soon as I was back on my feet, she’d follow through with her promise to help me. It took a few weeks, but true to her word, she handed me an envelope with two hundred dollars and a new identity. One of the gardeners snuck me off the property and took me to a bus station. I bought a ticket on the first bus out of the city.

  Unfortunately, the person she bought the papers from wasn’t loyal and sold us out. Within three months, I was found and nearly caught. If the idiot had acted immediately, he would’ve caught me off-guard, but Frankie wanted to toy with me. He had an envelope filled with pictures of what he had done to Maggie after I left sent to the coffee shop I was working in at the time. Within fifteen minutes, I had emptied the tip jar and was back on the run.

  I shake myself out of the past and am met with a very determined Mrs. O’Neal. She’s not going to leave without an explanation. “My real name is Angel Tate, and I’ve been running from my ex-fiancé for three years.”

  “It’s about time you start telling me the truth,” she harrumphs. “Let me help you.”

  My eyes fill with tears at her acceptance of the truth. Even though I’ve been lying to her since the day we met, she’s still willing to help me.

  “Mrs. O’Neal, it’s dangerous—” I start, but I’m interrupted when she scoffs at me.

  “I don’t care about any of that. I care about you and getting you to safety. My brother-in-law can help.”

  One phone call and Andrea Cross, previously known as Angel Tate, disappeared.

  1

  Joselynn—Present Day

  I take a deep breath, reveling in the scent of honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass. I’m about three blocks away from work, and I should be in a terrible mood after missing the bus. However, the walk through the park is exactly what I need. I pop in my earbuds and get lost in the music and beauty surrounding me. The sunshine and cool breeze buoy my spirits—today is going to be a good day. When I get to the hospital, I’m practically vibrating with happiness.

  “Good evening, Miss Brooks.” Toby smiles at me from behind the security desk.

  I give him a little wave as I breeze past him toward the elevator. I smile to myself when I see someone already waiting, giddy at my good fortune. I’m several feet away when the doors slide open, a
dmitting the lone man that was waiting for its arrival.

  “Hold the door, please!” I shout, hoping he hears me because this particular elevator is slow as cold molasses.

  I’m three short steps away from the door as it starts to close. I wave my hands, trying to grab the man’s attention as I shout for him to hold the door once again. I stop in front of the closing doors just in time to catch the steely glare of the man. The hard set of his jaw and narrowed eyes proves that he heard me calling out and chose to ignore me.

  I let out an irritated sigh as I push the call button and cross my toes that he ends up having to stop on every floor on the way to wherever he’s going. Petty of me, I know, but what a jerk! I quickly brush off my irritation, not letting him ruin my good mood. By the time I make it to my floor, my cheerful mood is back, and I’m ready to get to work.

  “Hey, lady,” Natalie says with a friendly smile.

  “Hey, little mama,” I tease. “How are you?”

  Her eyes soften, taking on a dreamy quality, and her hand drops to her very pregnant stomach. “I’m just perfect,” she sighs.

  Natalie and her husband have tried for the better part of ten years to conceive and had all but given up when she found out she was pregnant. She spent the first weeks of her pregnancy terrified that something terrible would happen, but that fear morphed into blissful happiness once she got through the first trimester with flying colors. Her joy is infectious. It’s impossible to be in her presence and not be happy too. Even when she was running to the bathroom every ten minutes with morning sickness, and went green at the faintest smells, she was still happy as a clam.