My Book

by Kells, India

  Orla realized she couldn’t walk. And worse, she was about to swoon.

  “Hey, hey. Stay with me.”

  With a mix of anxiety and lightheadedness, Orla willed herself to take a step, but Sam wasn’t having any of it and took her in his arms. His hold was gentle, but it hurt nonetheless, especially when he moved toward the door. As they reached it, a tall figure appeared, and the gun he pointed was a sure sign he wasn’t on the good guys’ side.

  Orla screamed as Sam twisted to shield her with his body. She heard two shots, but Sam was still holding her tight. Was he hit?

  When he turned again, all Orla saw was a man sprawled on the floor across the threshold, and Devin stepping in, flanked by Sloane with a gun in her hand. Now it was clear what just happened.

  “How can you defend her with your hands full? Sheesh, I knew we had to come and save your ass.” Sloane rolled her eyes, and Orla wanted to smile at her antics, but everything seemed blurry now.

  She saw Devin frown and lurch forward, and Sam mumble something against her ear, but reality turned into a tunnel, and everything turned into night.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Hey, Aussie, can you gimme some space?”

  Sam wouldn’t move, even with Melina’s stern voice, even with a gun pointed at his head. Orla was lying on the infirmary table in their hideout, pale as a ghost, and it was his fault. He hadn’t been fast enough to get to her. He’d followed her from that dreary alley when she’d kicked two stupid morons to the curb.

  He should have gone to her then, but he’d hesitated, decided to wait until she was safely home. Sam had his plan laid out about revealing himself to her; he’d waited for days, but had been a coward. What if she told him he wasn’t good enough to be saved and would never change? What would she say to his confession? Would she leave? Shut him out?

  Melina pushed him aside, and he threw his mask against the wall in a fit of rage. “I’m fucking staying here, Mel, so shut up and find out what’s wrong with her.”

  Melina sighed and finished stitching Orla. When he looked to the side, he saw several shards she’d pulled from her lower hip. He didn’t know if he was glad the pieces of broken glass had prevented her from being pushed to her death, or angry that he hadn’t taken a lot more time killing the man who’d put a hand on her.

  Melina stretched and rolled her shoulders after she finished putting a dressing on her. “The cuts were clean enough, but she lost a bit of blood. Between that, the last few days where she’s barely slept, and her usual meds, it’s knocked her out. There’s nothing to worry about. Her body has shut down after being under so much stress.”

  “How long until she wakes? Did you give her anything else?”

  “Only a topical shot for the pain while I finished the sutures. I didn’t see a head injury. She’s fine, Sam, it’s most probably the shock. Can you carry her to the upper room? I wrapped her with a sheet when I removed her clothes. Although from what I heard, it’s nothing you haven’t already seen.”

  He ignored the doctor’s smirk and gathered Orla in his arms and started to the staircase. There was an emergency hub in the basement of their lair, and the infirmary was on the first floor, just below the sleeping quarters.

  Devin had made sure whoever stayed had comfortable accommodations. Sam chose his favorite room, facing away from the busy street and containing the biggest bed.

  He put her down, leaving her wrapped and took the remainder of the comforter and put it over her. She looked peacefully asleep, like an angel with her blond hair spread over the pillow.

  Melina had told him she needed to sleep, that she wasn’t severely wounded, that she would recover. She would recover. He repeated it like a mantra as he stood there watching over her, unable to move, with the image of her about to be killed popping behind his eyes.

  How many times had she escaped death in her job? Maybe as many times as he had himself. This wasn’t a weak woman in front of him, and maybe that’s what had drawn him to Orla Karlsen in the first place.

  Sam tensed when he heard scuffles from the hallway and recognized Ben McKenzie’s hesitant step. The expert profiler often worked on private contracts when he wasn’t at Noctem. Released from the police after an accident that turned him almost completely blind, he’d become a force in his own right and had joined their crusade.

  “I thought you were still sunbathing in the south of France.”

  A low chuckle came from just outside the door, and soon after Ben’s tall, frame entered, preceded by his cane. “You think my work is way more fun than it is. And I have no intention of showing my naked ass on a beach, ever.”

  Sam shook his head, a smile threatening. Ben had a similar sense of humor to his. “It’s topless, not bottomless, stupid.”

  Ben only shook his head. “So this is the notorious journalist who made her way into Noctem? Or more accurately, into one of Noctem’s vigilantes.”

  “You think I’m wrong?”

  They stood on the threshold, facing into the room. “Wrong in pushing her away or bringing her in? I think you’re wrong to fight your instincts. It’s hard to decide if you’ve made the right choice. Nothing is that clear-cut, there’s no easy right or wrong answer. If that were the case, none of us would have become part of Noctem. Logically, we know we’re on the wrong side of the law. Still, we accept it. When history unfolds, our good deeds may seem wrong to many. Nothing is certain about the future, only the present. What we feel and what we think now is right. Not everybody is able to understand it. Us. I think Orla may be one of the few. Your angel of mercy. Your salvation.”

  Or maybe the sliver of moonlight in the dark night of his soul. One that wouldn’t change, but just shed light on the truth. The words sank in, deep and true as his fingers itched for the moon pendant. His friend only confirmed what he’d felt deep down inside himself when he looked at Orla when he was with her.

  A smile tugged at his lips, and humor slowly returned. “You sound like a priest.”

  Ben slapped his shoulder, a grin on his bearded face. “I wouldn’t want to know the depth of your sins. You watch too much porn for my taste. Well, that’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

  In silence, they stood, and with each passing minute, the certainty of what he believed grew and his body relaxed.

  “Go rest with her, my friend. We’ve got your back.”

  Sam thought he should add a snarky remark, but kept silent. Ben was making his way out, and there he stood, exhausted. Orla’s sleeping form was beckoning to him, and he moved towards her, crawling into the bed, getting as close to her as he could, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, before allowing himself to drift into slumber.

  * * *

  “Sam.”

  He was knee-deep in the turquoise waters of Treachery Beach, his favorite surf spot in all of Australia. It was wild, untouched. And most incredible of all, he was alone. The day was beautiful, and the water should have been filled with surfers.

  It was blissfully empty. Apart from a beautiful siren with an enchanting voice he couldn’t see. She sounded so much like Orla.

  He looked around, over the white sand and through the crashing waves.

  He could sense her presence; there was no doubt about it. He could smell her skin in the wind, the touch of her hand on his face-pure pleasure.

  Where was she? “Orla?”

  She’d be able to find him; she’d seen his face, called him by his name. How did she discover his name? Maybe he shouldn’t have doubted her capacity to uncover anything.

  The sun was bright, but he had trouble finding her. It was only when he finally pulled away from the dream and opened his eyes that Sam found her.

  Tousled and pale, with blue eyes like the sky over Treachery Beach, she looked at him with a smile. “My butt hurts.”

  Sam blinked a few times, his brain still foggy with sleep before he bellowed in laughter.

  Orla only smiled, and that was worth a billion dollars. Until data started piling up in his mind
that required answers. He turned a somber gaze to her. “You’re looking at me.”

  It was her time to blink until her blue eyes understood. “Yeah, I needed some downtime to piece this crazy story together. I’m good at that. But don’t worry, it’s not obvious. And it’s only because I was close to you and all this. I swear, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Even if it costs you your next Pulitzer?”

  Orla seemed to ponder it and shrugged. “A prize only collects dust. You guys do so much more for this city. That’s what I want. That’s my purpose as a reporter. Just as scouring the streets is yours as a vigilante.”

  Still, Sam held himself back, feeling vulnerable and unsure, and he hated it.

  When she reached for him, he rolled away. “Are you in much pain? I can call Melina if…”

  “I’m okay. Is Melina the doctor?”

  Sam nodded. “We brought you to base because your apartment isn’t safe anymore. You’ll have to find another place. We can help you with that.”

  “Sam, wait.”

  He was surprised at the panic that gripped him. That bloody woman mattered, and for the first time, he wished he could do something about who he was, who he had been.

  Orla called his name again, but it was the moan of pain that stopped him.

  Looking back, he saw her struggling to stand, one hand gripping the sheet threatening to unravel, the other using the side table for leverage.

  “You shouldn’t move.”

  She looked at him and said his name again. How he loved to hear his name on her lips. What a stupid fool he was. “Listen, Orla…” As he started to speak, she struggled to sit. “Stop moving, or you’ll reopen the stitches.”

  “Then stop trying to get away when I’m trying to talk to you. Why was it easier for you to listen to me when you had your mask on? I’ve seen that face before, and it’s the expression of a man who thinks he’s about to be collared.”

  He would have laughed under any other circumstances, but the ball of ice in his gut prevented any type of humor. “Well, Miss know-it-all, it’s the expression of a man with his pants down. Figuratively. And you’re looking at me with your baby blues as if you know me when you don’t.”

  The way she angled her head was almost comical. “We fucked, yes. And I care about you. That doesn’t mean I want to collar you.”

  “You can’t care about a man you know nothing about. That would make you stupid, and you’re not stupid.”

  “Thanks for saying that, but I still believe you think I’m stupid, especially when I said I care about you.”

  Sam shook his head, about to call her off, but she shushed him. He’d never been shushed before, and he wasn’t sure how to react.

  “Samuel Brent Ferguson, born in Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. An ordinary bloke from down under, a brilliant gemologist and upstanding citizen until you became one of Australia’s most notorious thieves, and that’s not mentioning other places. Not that anyone knows, except yours truly. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? And even worse, did you think I’d care? We all have a past…”

  “Fuck that!” At his shout, she stopped talking, and as the silence grew, he had a choice to make, spill that dark part of his soul or shut her down for good.

  “Being a thief was the best thing that ever happened to me. Being raised piss-poor by my mother, I found my calling. It opened a lot of doors, allowed me to go to school, and get the hell out. As a thief, I was fucking brilliant, and I believed it- the most incredible, untouchable thief in the world. I’ve stolen, I’ve lied, I’ve killed. I appear civilized, but that’s only because I embraced my darkness and became part of Noctem.”

  “You talk about yourself as if you’re the worst human being on the face of the earth. Humans are not black or white. We navigate gray all the time. Sometimes, we don’t have a choice but to dive deep into the darkness. Or maybe life doesn’t give us a choice. I have my own darkness, sorrows, and regrets.”

  Right before his eyes, Orla seemed to recoil inside herself. Sam wanted to find the words to comfort her, but waited until she spoke.

  “Bagram, Afghanistan. I was covering a story about possible drug traffickers being linked to business people in the US. Wrong turn, wrong house, I don’t know what happened, but two men came through the door, killed my translator and guide, and dragged me inside with the clear intention of raping me. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  It was the way she paused that pulled at him. And before he could stop himself, he took a step in her direction.

  “They were laughing as I was fighting them off and I was losing. I don’t know how it happened, but my hand bumped one of their discarded guns. The rest is sketchy, as if my brain had a hiccup, like an old VCR. The film picks up again when I got back to my room and looked at myself in the mirror, and discovered I was covered in blood.”

  She looked at her hands as if there were still traces on her skin.

  “That’s when the nightmares and panic attacks began. Do I disgust you now that you know? I’m flawed and far from that perfect image you have of me.”

  “It was self-defense. I’ve killed for money, don’t compare your sins to mine.”

  Her smile dimmed a little. “And yet you protect and defend. Again, there’s more gray in you than you care to admit.”

  Sam knew better than to say he couldn’t stop himself, that for the short time he’d known her, she’d flipped his beliefs upside down. Even worse, he’d shown her his true colors and he wanted her to the point where everything else came second, including his work. And that was why he’d gone to her.

  The room was silent. Sam realized he’d moved, and stood before her, lost in her gaze. “I told you who I am, that I wouldn’t change, and yet you’re still here.”

  “I hurt too much to move.” Her pitiful look swiftly changed to a wicked smile that drew his own.

  He smiled and shook his head as she took his hand. Despite a dry mouth, he forced himself to speak. “I came back because I can’t stay away.”

  Orla looked sad and tired. “You have such a way with words. As if I’m forcing something on you.” She let his hand go. “I don’t want you to change or feel trapped. I won’t change for you either. Worse, I can’t guarantee you anything. No happily ever after’s, even after we purge the city of Phantom. I just know I want you. Now, today, tomorrow, and next week, and I’m ready to explore a few more weeks, maybe more. With you.”

  Sam shook his head in amazement, unable to keep his eyes from her. “That was a good speech.”

  When she smiled at him and playfully punched his side, Sam decided Orla was worth every risk in the book. Even his own heart.

  “That was an amazing speech. And it’s the truth.”

  He stopped resisting and leaned into her, taking her mouth as he sealed a silent deal with her, definitely for more than a few weeks. But that he kept to himself. Soon her hands relinquished their hold on her sheet, baring her body down to her waist, busying themselves relieving him of his clothes.

  “And you have such a way with your hands. Don’t start something we can’t finish; you’re injured.”

  “It’s the only way we talk, so I’d rather continue if you don’t mind. Because it’s been hell for me too, being away from you.”

  As simple as that, nothing more had to be said, apart from maybe one thing. “Lay down, darl’. I have a few more things to say to you.”

  As he closed his mouth over hers, starting a wordless conversation that made them both moan, Sam felt another layer had been added to him, the most precious of all. He remembered the ink etched on his skin and saw how much it now encompassed the love he felt for Orla and how he would lay his life on the line to protect it; Usque Ad Finem, To the very end.

  THE END

  Sneak Peek: Lost Bastard

  Book one of the Dark Sparrow Series

  Read about Deva and Aleksei

  mybook.to/lostbastard

  It seemed that survival instinct never die
d. As she pushed the stop button on her machine and shut down her mp3 player, only silence surrounded her, but she wasn’t fooled. For the last two weeks, Deva had trained at night after work and never felt discomfort or unease. The reason she felt it now meant she was about to become prey and she’d be dammed it if she’d ever be that again.

  Forcing herself to get her breathing under control, she looked around both for the threat, and anything she could use as a weapon. When she left her father and his crew, she had taken extensive self-defense training with Beatrice and her husband, helping to get her footing back, and she hadn’t ceased training ever since.

  As she moved silently across the mat, she took one of the bamboo sticks used for agility training. It wouldn’t inflict much damage, but she knew how to use it and where to hit to inflict enough pain to distract whoever was lurking inside the gym. It may not be enough against a firearm, but she felt more secure with something in her hand.

  The greater space of the gym was empty, and there was no light in any of the offices, except in her workspace where she had left one of her ambient lamps on. Deva hesitated before entering. It was a dead end, and if someone had broken into the gym, she would be trapped. But her phone was in her bag, and she needed it.

  “You can come in. I won’t eat you up unless you want me to.”

  Deva didn’t recognize the voice but detected the Russian accent. Aleksei. Leaving the stick outside the door, just in case, she let out a steadying exhale before entering the room. The Russian fighter, still in a fitted black t-shirt and black tech pants, was sitting on her massage table, a fucking grin on his gorgeous, rugged face. His liquid silver eyes danced with mischief. His tattooed arms flexed as he gripped the table’s edge, drawing attention to his body.

  “Hell, Voronov! Why are you trying to scare me?”

  And the cad simply smiled, lifting his hands in capitulation. “I didn’t want to scare you, Deva. But I had left my phone in the locker room and just came back to get it.”