I thought I would share a rather long excerpt of my current WIP, Keeping Faith, with y'all today. Last year I wrote a free read, Playing for Keeps. This the sequel to that short story. In Playing for Keeps, Trent, Brock, and AJ are in college and under a lot of pressure when their relationship is whispered across campus, endangering their future careers. Trent's father, William Hart, pressured him to leave AJ and Brock. It's a nice story, about 22k, so not very long.
Like I said, Keeping Faith is the sequel and we'll be revisiting our three love birds, getting to know them better, and see how their relationship will hold up under external pressure. This will lean more towards a romantic suspense instead of the usual contemporary angsty relationship plot.
The first several chapters I may have to shuffle around. I think there is some unwritten rule to not start out the book with a scene that doesn't include your main characters but that is what my Chapter One currently has, secondary characters who are essential to the plot. What this also does is set the tone of the book. I won't lie, Sammy and Aldrich are favorites of mine. I hope you like them as well. And because I'm bored, the excerpt is the full first chapter (3k). I think there is some rule on that as well, but as you can see, I'm being a bit rebellious. :D
Copyright 2014 Lexi Ander
(Unedited, folks)
Keeping Faith
CHAPTER
ONE
Sammy
applied more powder to the bruise below her left eye. The blue-green swelling
sat atop the apple of her cheekbone. The dark smattering of freckles that
usually covered her cheeks and nose were barely visible under the thick
foundation, and powder and yet the bruise was still faintly visible. She had
already reapplied the eyeliner twice now but couldn't control the wayward tears
that streaked the meticulously applied make-up. She couldn't appear before Paul
less than perfect.
Taking
a deep fortifying breath to steel her nerves for the meeting she would have
with her boyfriend, Paul Bishop. Her packed suitcase sat on the foot of the
bed. Soon she'd leave, out from underneath his controlling thumb. She had known
what she was getting into when she became involved with the head of the west
coast mob. She hadn't realized that she would be with him this long. The more
time she spent with Paul, the more she wanted to take a gun and riddle him with
holes, especially after last night. A small shiver shook her body at the
memory.
Two
more deep breaths, she picked up the tube of lipstick and applied it to her bow
shaped lips with a surprisingly steady hand. Paul served a purpose, she
reminded herself. Her search was almost over if she could make it through
seeing Paul one more time, without slipping up. The thought of her trip to
Miami pushed away the dark memories causing her to smile at her image in the
vanity mirror. After all of this time, of all the sacrifices would be worth
what waited for her in Miami. She was so close to her goal.
Running
the hairbrush through her long wavy brunette locks one last time, a light
squirt of Paul's favorite perfume she rose from the vanity and approached the
black Gucci dress hanging on the back of the closet door. The sleeves were
long, perfect for hiding the additional bruising on her forearms and upper
wrists. The scoop neck would showcase the heavy necklace Paul had selected
before he left her alone this morning. The skirt reached her knees but she
didn't have to worry about covering dark blemishes on her legs.
Slipping
the dress on, it hung in perfect silky waves. She tugged gently on the cuffs
ensuring no mars on her skin were revealed. It wasn't her fault she bruised but
if one of Paul's colleagues caught a glimpse of one, Paul made her surfer for
making him appear bad to men he respected or who he needed to respect him.
Beating a woman was passé nowadays, something only thugs did, not men as
influential as Paul Bishop. She promised herself never again would a man raise
a hand to her.
Ever.
Donning
black Prada heels, the tasteless necklace Paul used to proclaim his ownership
of her and her handbag and exited the bedroom suite. The shoes clacked against
the marble floor. Sammy allowed herself a moment to detest the noise, just as
she deposed the mansion and all the evil hidden by the glamour and money. The
place had been sucking the life out of her soul but another half an hour and
she would be free.
One
of Paul's musclemen, Marco Kinsley, stood outside the office double doors. He
was one of the few of Paul's men who never made her feel like a piece of meat. Paul
required those who entered the house or who would be seen with him to wear
suits. As always, Marco appeared very monochrome in his black suit, black
shirt, and black tie. He never wore another color. Once when Sammy felt a
little bold, she asked him why he chose all black. Black, he had said, hides
the most gruesome of messes at first glance. After that, Sammy didn't ask him
anymore questions. "Good morning, Ms Teasdale, the boss is waiting."
Sammy
gifted him with a bright smile. "Thank you, Marco." He hurriedly open
the door and stepping aside to allow her to enter the room.
Paul's
office was designed to intimidate. His large walnut desk and chair were austere
enough to impress to first time visitors into thinking Paul sat on a throne, a
place of power. Sammy had witnessed both good and bad men crushed in this very
room. As a house rule, murder was never conducted within the mansion or on its
grounds, but that didn't mean the demise of individuals wasn't planned here.
"Samantha,
dear, the care is ready to take you the airport." Paul merely glanced up
at her from the contents of the manila file he studied.
Sammy
gave him a wide smile but only after faltering for a moment. He caught the
hesitation. "Are you still upset over last night? Did James not deliver my
apology this morning?"
She
fingered the ting, a five carrot sapphire set in a circle of diamonds. She
hated it. "You're gift is beautiful and I am thankful. You are too
generous. I only worry I'll upset you again."
Paul
finally sat straight and gave her his full attention. He was a handsome man
with a charming smile and cold eyes. He was in his mid-forties but he had
turned prematurely gray after he turned thirty. Now his hair was silvery white
and instead of taking away from his appearance, the look added the air of
refinement to him. Paul held out a manicured hand to her. Sammy forced her feet
to move, loathing to touch him, if only briefly.
Once
her palm slid against his, he pulled her down into his lap. "I already
explained last night it wasn't your fault. William Harte will pay for what he
made me do last night." He ran knuckle under the covered bruise on her
cheek.
His
cellphone rang and after glancing at the name on the screen he answered.
"Your status?"
Sammy
wanted to move from his lap but his firm grip on her hip told her to stay. He
would tell her when he wanted her to get up.
"What
do you mean he hasn't touched his accounts? Harte is a pampered elitist. He
doesn't know the meaning of going without. He must have other accounts you
haven't found. Dig deeper, I want that man found!"
Her
gaze scanned the desk. A silver five by seven framed photo of Paul's elegant
wife, Patricia, sat next to the computer monitor. At first she had been guilt
ridden when she discovered Paul was married. That was until she met Paul's
wife. Patricia came from an influential family in Europe. For two weeks every
year, Patricia came to the states to visit with Paul. On one such visit,
Patricia had walked into Sammy's suite of rooms in a flourish of expensive silk
and designer accessories. She appraised Sammy as if she were an item up for
auction. "You're a pert one, aren't you? (need to give Sam's age here) As
always, Paul, your tastes are impeccable." With a pat on the cheek,
Patricia accepted Paul's proffered elbow, the two leaving Sammy standing in the
middle of the room in stunned silence.
Paul
hung up the phone with an angry growl.
"Sweetheart,
I'm going to miss my plane." Sammy refrained from trying to wiggle away.
Patience was the key when dealing with Paul.
"I
won't be joining you in Miami with this unfinished business with Harte. You
will cut your trip short and be back here at Christmas Eve." Paul strikers
her thigh, his fingers stopping at the edge of the dress's hem.
"Of
course," she replied as if it were already a given.
Paul
patted her leg, the signal for her to rise. Dutifully she leaned forward to
give him a kiss. He caught her chin. "Not now, you're wearing lipstick and
I'll never get all of it off." He grasped her chin and turned her head
where he pecked her on the cheek. "Now, go."
Sammy
moved from his lap and adjusted her skirt so it fell properly. "I'll call
you when I arrive," she promised. Not that she would be returning.
Paul
grunted in acknowledgement and she knew he had already mentally dismissed her,
the manila folder opened once more. Before she could cross the room again, the
oak door opened and man only known as The Gentleman, Gent for short, entered
the room. He paused upon seeing Sammy. Her steps faltered. Of all the people to
run into before leaving.
She
was one of a handful of people who knew The Gentleman's name and relationship
to Paul. Sammy never ever let on she knew their secret for it was something
they closely guarded. She doubted she would live long if they suspected she
knew Paul's personal assassin was his sister's only child, Aldrich.
Sammy's
heat pounded in her chest. Even knowing what she did, Sammy couldn't bring
herself to dislike him too much. Aldrich had always been kind and courteous. She
knew he was dangerous for she had heard the rumors, bits of conversation here
and there that hinted out the viciousness of Paul's 'dog'. Maybe she had spent
too much time living in this world of ambiguous morals, black deeds, and cut
throat business. When she looked at Aldrich she didn't see the monster other
claimed him to be. She guessed him to be around her age of twenty-five but she
couldn't be sure. She found she would miss seeing him even if he sometimes
scared the hell out of her. Not because of what people said about him but
because of everyone who associated with Paul, Aldrich was the only one who'd
possible discover her true identity and why she had become Paul's mistress.
"Samantha,
I'm glad I caught you before you left."
She
held out both of her hands, a ritual since she first met him four years ago. A
head taller than her, he bent at the waist slightly to clamps and kiss the
backs of both of her hands. A lock of wiry dark brown hair fell to cover one of
his crystal blue eyes as the soft hair of his close cropped beard brushed her
knuckles. She held her breath as his thumb brushed the cuff of her sleeve,
barely revealing a purple bruise. He stared for a second before his lips
brushed the discolored skin, his thumb covering it back up as he straightened.
Whereas Paul wore a dark blue pinstripe three piece suit, Aldrich wore a tan
Gucci jacket and vest, with a plaid button up shirt and a blue and red striped
tie. His white trousers were rolled up at the ankle to reveal he wore no socks
with his two tone brown and white wingtips. She knew Paul detested his nephew's
choice of clothing and she suspected Aldrich dress as such to annoy Paul.
Those
light blue eyes pinned her when a small slip of paper was pressed into her
palm. "This place won't be the same without you around. You do bring a ray
of sunshine to this tomb."
"Quit
flirting with Samantha, she needs to catch a plane and doesn't have time to
dawdle with you." Paul sighed in exasperation.
Aldrich
gaze squinted slightly as the back of his knuckles grazed her sore cheek under
the hidden bruise. For a breath, his eye turned to ice and just as quickly the
look disappeared. She couldn't stop the shiver that crawled up her spine.
"I
won't keep you. Have a safe trip." His low voice held a hint of warmth
that Sammy dared not analyze.
"It
was nice seeing you," she replied before leaving the room. The butler
stood at the foyer and opened the door for her. The Mercedes waited at the
bottom of the steps, with her bodyguard holding open the rear door. Gracefully
she slid into the buttery soft leather seat. She didn't dare glance at the note
until sat on the plane.
"Don't
come back." Was written in an elegant hand along with a bank name and
account number. She tucked the slip of paper into her purse swallowing down the
nausea that threatened her suddenly delicate stomach.
****
From
the window in Paul's office, Aldrich watched the Mercedes carry Samantha away.
Would she heed his advice? He hoped so for it would soon be very messy around
here.
"Are
you going to tell me why you're here or will you simply stand there like a
stick in the mud?" Paul groused, not looking up from what he read.
He
knew he made his uncle nervous. To everyone else, Paul commanded him, but they
both knew better. Long ago, Paul found out he could push Aldrich only so far.
He may have been raised to kill for his family but he chose who. His uncle was
still pissed he refused to kill the undercover FBI agent who had been snooping
around. By the time Paul had contacted another assassin to dispose of the
agent, the FBI had received an anonymous tip their man had been made, and his
number would be up if he wasn't removed immediately. Aldrich had no qualms
killing scum but even he held to a set of standards. Some lines he refused to
cross.
Paul
shifter nervously in his chair. Pulling an envelope out of the inner pocket, he
crossed the room and handed it to Paul. His uncle snatched the envelope in a
flare of temper. Aldrich watched his uncle closely, not missing the flair of
nostril, the tightening around the eyes as he had approached Paul's desk.
"Imagine
my distress when I came home for a visit to find my mother in the hospital.
They said you paid her bill." The cold ball of anger in Aldrich's chest
pulsed with each beat of his heart. Because of what he did for his uncle he was
not allowed to see his mother, go to her home, or meet her where others would
see them. None could suspect they were related. She would be in danger if word
got out the mysterious Gentlemen had a weakness. There were people who would
use her to get at him and he couldn't allow it. Just because he couldn't see
her didn't mean that he didn't watch her. Over the last couple of years a trend
had started, one that Paul meticulously worked to keep covered up.
He
had been separated from her since the death of his father at the age of ten.
His uncle had stepped in and sent him to a boarding school overseas until his
turned fifteen. Withdrawn from school, his training began, overseen by his
uncle. Regardless of what Paul instructed, Aldrich's mentor passed on some sage
advice. There would become a time when it would be time to clean out Bishop's
house. Aldrich would need to choose carefully the when and the how. He would
have only one opportunity, leave no loose ends. When the time came, be
ruthless.
"What
kind of man do you take me for? Of course I take care of my baby sister, you
don't have to worry about her. I'll handle Daryl personally." Paul pulled
a set of pictures out of out of the envelope. The photos were of Aldrich's
mother in the hospital bed, her once beautiful face so deformed the surgeon
couldn't guarantee she'd appear the same after the surgery that would repair he
shattered eye socket.
Aldrich
drew a second envelope from his inside pocket and dropped it on the desk.
"Don't bother."
Paul
stared a long moment at the sleek black rectangle, the envelopes Aldrich
reserved for delivering the results of a kill mission. Without touching the
picture, Paul dumped the single photo on the desk. He'd give Paul credit for
not cringing at the sight of his best friend, Daryl Owens, cut into a half
dozen pieces and arranged neatly in a freshly dug hole.
The
vein on the right side of Paul's forehead popped as he ground his teeth.
"Why?" he asked with surprising calm.
"Now,
now, Uncle." Aldrich allowed the chill of contempt to fill his voice.
"You made sure I had the finest training to shape me into the tool you
desires. I am very good at what I do. Research is just as important as how many
ways I can murder a man without leaving evidence. Did you believe you could
hide the fact this is the fourth time in two years that Daryl had beat her to
the point hospitalization was required? Did you think I wouldn't find out you
know and hid it."
"Aldrich—"
"She
was your responsibility. She was injured in your care by your best friend. That
is not taking care of family. That,"—he jabbed a finger at the graphic
photograph—"that is taking care of family." Fear flickered across
Paul's cool demeanor. "You made me a promise, Paul. What I do for you
ensures her security and safety until my inheritance came to me when I turn
thirty." Inheritance that Aldrich's grandparents deigned to include their
two children in. Paul blackmailed his way into have executorship transferred to
him, effectively giving control of Aldrich's monthly stipend. Paul had made his
fortune and had not need of his parent's money. Aldrich's mother on the other
hand was dependent on Aldrich.
"Yes,
she's in my care and I'll deal with the situation as I see fit! As we agreed,
you are no longer a part of her life. Should I tell that her darling boy isn't
romping around Europe but a paid assassin? How do you think she would look at
you then?" Paul grabbed and threw the photo of Daryl. It glided off the
desk to gall over the side between the desk and the wall. "Never stick
your nose in my business again or you might find it cut off. I made you who you
are and I can take it all away."
A
knock sounded at the door before Marco stuck his head in. "Dutch is here,
Boss."
"Both
of you come in. Gentleman, you stay. I have a job for the three of you."
Paul grabbed the pictures on the desk top and threw them in a desk drawer.
Marco
opened the door wider allowing Lance Easton, known by the self-chosen nickname
of Dutch, entered with an over confident swagger. Regardless of Paul's
insistence on a dress code, Aldrich believed there wasn't a suit that would
allow Dutch to disappear in polite company. Sleeves of tattoos extended past
Dutch's wrists to cover the back of both hands and few of his fingers. His neck
from his collarbone to the underside of his jaw was covered with colorful
blue-green feathers. His dark hair was short on the side but lone enough on top
to sweep to the side. The face of the black Rolex was almost four fingers across.
The arrogant ass wore a pair of black ray bans, a smug expression spreading
across his face upon seeing Aldrich.
"Hey,
Gent." Dutch grinned and clucked his tongue when Aldrich chose to ignore
the upstart.
Turning
his attention to Marco, Aldrich noted no visible identifying marks, only the
Marco tendency to wear black on black. Instead of making him appear thuggish,
Aldrich thought Marco's wardrobe somehow helped him to disappear into the
background. The bread and hair was expertly cropped close and added to the
non-intimidating aura Marco wore. Where Dutch was sloppy, Marco was near
perfect.
Once
the door was secured, Paul didn't waste time. "William Harte has stolen
twenty million dollars from me and now his middle man to the South American contacts
is dead. I have people searching for William but he's proving elusive and I
don't have time to wait for him to venture from hiding. I'm going to flush him
out. It seems he has an estranged son living in Miami." He slid the manila
folder across the desk to Aldridge. "Here is what I have on Trent Harte. I
want to you to go to Florida, find him, and hold him until you hear from me.
The Gentleman is in charge of the operation."
Aldridge
picked up the file. This would be tricky. He paged through the minuscule
information in the file. Whoever put this together didn't include Trent Hart
was a public figure. Glancing up at his uncle, by the smug expression on Paul's
face, he knew exactly who Trent was. He asked them to accomplish the
impossible. If they did this then they would be captured or killed. He fully
understood this was his reprimand for murdering his uncle's best friend.
Aldridge suddenly grinned with delight. Fear briefly flickered across Paul's
expression. Aldridge handed the folder to Marco on his way out of the office.
Two could play a game of cat and mouse.
Thank you for reading!!!
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