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  Revenge

  A Kylie Tate Novel

  Anne L. Parks

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Anne L. Parks

  © Copyright 2021 Anne L. Parks

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design & Formatting, Buoni Amici Press, LLC

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and places portrayed in this book are entirely products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Prologue

  Alex

  Time stands still as you watch someone you love die.

  The shot was loud, the report reverberating through the trees. The sound sends shockwaves through me. I didn’t see the bullet strike her, can only watch as her body jerks violently, a scream of pain and terror rips from her throat. Shredding my heart. My soul.

  "Kylie!"

  She falls to the ground, her head falling back and striking the rock. I sprint toward her, sliding beside her, reaching for her.

  Her arms spread out, but one leg awkwardly crosses over the other. Blood runs down her arm from where the bullet hit her shoulder. I rip open my shirt, sending the buttons flying in all directions, and place it over the small hole. Applying pressure, I know I can't stop the bleeding but maybe I can slow it some.

  "Jake!" I glance over my shoulder to find my head of security kneeling over John Sysco's still body. I can only hope the fucker is dead. "Get over here. Kylie's been shot."

  I place my hand under her head. Stickiness coats my fingers. My stomach twists into knots, dread a shroud around me.

  Jake kneels next to Kylie on the opposite side from me. "I called nine-one-one. They have Life Flight coming in for Kylie. "

  "She's unconscious," I say, my chest constricting. "Has been since I got to her."

  "Pretty nasty gash." Jake leans into her face, turning his head so his cheek is close to her mouth. "Breathing sounds decent. Slow, not too labored." He presses his fingers into the side of her neck, and stills for a moment. "Pulse is good."

  He pulls his polo shirt off and places it under Kylie's head. Blood quickly saturates it. We sit there, both in what were once clean, white undershirts now smeared with Kylie's blood.

  Jake repositions himself and checks her shoulder again. I place my free hand on Kylie's cheek and slightly turn her face toward me.

  "Don't move her," Jake commands, sounding more like a drill sergeant. "We can't risk it in case there's an injury to her neck. Any movement before they get a collar on her could result in some serious damage to her."

  Among the advantages of hiring a former Navy Seal corpsman and local cop as head of security is his ability to maintain a cool head in crisis. He also has a medical background in triage, and can pull strings with the police department.

  If it were any other man, I would’ve told him to fuck off and probably fired him for speaking to me that way. But this is Jake—the man I trust with my life. More importantly, the man I trust with Kylie's life.

  I look at her face. She looks at peace, like she's sleeping. Leaning over, I close my eyes and kiss her cheek. It's warm and soft, and a lump lodges in my throat.

  Damn this woman. I don't do this. I don't get emotionally involved.

  Except I am one hundred percent in love with her.

  That asshole, Sysco, was right about one thing. Kylie is a force of nature. She has demanded my attention, invaded my thoughts and my dreams, made me want to plan my future with her. She has from the moment I met her. And I will be damned if I let her go now.

  I know what life is without her. It isn't a life. It is a series of meetings and dinners and women who I fuck and forget. It's nothing.

  Life with her has meaning and purpose. I look forward to the days and the nights, from waking up with her by my side to falling asleep with her in my arms. Her beautiful smile takes my breath away. Her smart mouth makes me laugh like I haven't in years. Her stubbornness frustrates the hell out of me.

  I want it all—the good, the bad, the pain in the ass, and even the loss of control over my life. The very thing which defined me is now replaced by the woman who forced me to deal with my demons and accept I am in love.

  And I'm in deep, too. She has me. And I don't fear the unknown or the vulnerability because I trust her with my life, my heart, my sanity.

  My lips are close to her ear, and I whisper, "Kylie, please don't go. Please don't leave me. You promised me. You promised you would never leave me." I lightly brush my lips against hers.

  Fear washes over me. Pain I haven't felt since I was a child when my mother was murdered ravages my body.

  The whir of a helicopter in the distance breaks the silence. I glance up and then over at Jake.

  He has a scowl on his face, and deep lines crease his forehead. He swivels his head toward where John Sysco's body lies, and I turn to look at the man.

  "He dead?" I ask, knowing it's the only answer which will give me any peace right now.

  "No," Jake mutters, "at least not when I left him. He's in bad shape, but I think he'll hang in there until the paramedics come for him."

  I look at Jake.

  "If Kylie doesn't make it, neither does he."

  1

  Kylie

  Nothing can hurt me here.

  The prayer is silent, and as peaceful as the trail I jog through the woods. The air is brisk this morning. A slight breeze catches the fall leaves, making them sway gently to their resting place on the forest floor. The sky is a brilliant array of vivid colors—blue and violet bleed into red and orange, entwining with the vibrant colors of fall, engulfing me.

  My pace is slow this morning. My legs may as well have twenty pound weights on them. I shuffle my feet along the trail. My thigh muscles burn with each stride. I'm sucking in air as if each breath is my last. I used to run to clear my head, center my soul. All that has changed now. I've lost so much time because of him.

  John Sysco.

  My ex-boyfriend. The man who abused me, stalked me. Shot m
e.

  He invaded my life like a cancer, infecting every facet of it, poisoning the love Alex and I had found.

  Twigs snap beneath my feet. Tree branches groan and creak overhead. My heart thumps hard against my ribs. I no longer run with music blasting through earbuds. It’s not safe. I want to hear everything around me. I will never be taken by surprise again.

  Thunder booms above. Ominous storm clouds have started to roll across the sky in waves, eclipsing the sun. The fresh air is earthy. A thin layer of dirt coats the inside of my mouth, getting thicker with every inhale. A white lightning bolt scars the gray atmosphere. A second thunderclap sends a shiver down my spine—not because it’s close, but because it's a voice calling out.

  "Kylie!"

  My heart explodes, sending waves of pain through my chest. The vision streams before my eyes, a horror flick I can’t stop watching. Haunting scenes from my life. John stringing me up by my wrists. Whipping me with that damn flogger. My skin tearing, hanging in shreds from my back. And the louder my screams bounce off the walls in the enclosed space, the wider his grin. The smell of blood mixing with his sweat and arousal when he cuts me down, and forces himself inside of me.

  His distorted sexual fulfillment. To conquer and control me, like he did so many times. He so enjoyed watching me suffer at his hands.

  I shake my head, trying to escape the visions. The scene shifts. A black figure steps onto the trail not far from where I’m running. Acid swirls in my stomach, and I can taste bile rising in my throat.

  He steps toward me. Adrenaline rushes through my body. I run, forcing my feet to move faster. But the black figure advances on me. He is within a few feet when the trees break and we are in an open field. The wildflowers which usually bloom in vibrant colors are subdued, various shades of the stone sky. They are wilting, withering. Dying.

  They mirror my fate.

  Something moves. I turn my head. My pulse races, the sound of my heartbeat thumping in my ears.

  "No, no, no!" The screams ring through my head.

  Alex stands in the middle of the field, gaze fixed on something in the distance.

  "Alex!"

  He doesn't hear me. He continues to stare into the abyss, oblivious to the threat that exists.

  That's when I see him. John. He struts toward Alex. I sprint in their direction but cover no ground.

  "Alex! Run!"

  He turns to me, his eyes soft, a smile across his lips. He looks so happy. So completely content.

  John looms next to him, an uncloaked grim reaper. But Alex doesn't seem to take notice.

  Why doesn't he run? Doesn't he see John? Doesn't he realize John will kill him?

  Or perhaps he just doesn't care, accepting his inevitable fate. As I have my own.

  A throaty groan escapes my chest. My cheeks are wet with tears, sobs racking my body.

  "Kylie," Alex mouths.

  John raises his hand level with Alex's chest, the black gun barrel targeting his heart. I shout at Alex, pleading with him to get away.

  "I love you, Kylie. I will always love you." The words are silent, heard only by my heart and soul.

  The gunshot blast mixes with my cries. Alex grasps his chest. Bright red—the only color in the macabre landscape—soaks his shirt. He drops to his knees, crumpling to the ground.

  Searing pain rips through my chest. I cover my heart, sinking my finger into the small hole in the center. It's wet, hot. Blood rolls down my arm in several streams, dripping onto the ground. My life is nothing more than a bright red pool at my feet.

  John looms in front of me. A wicked smile crosses his face. He caresses my cheek. His lips are moving, but the words are distant and hollow. Everything around me is out of focus, spinning. I want to run away. I want to curl into a ball and die. I want to kill him.

  He survived. Or returned from hell to haunt me. It doesn't matter what the truth is...he was right. I will never escape him.

  2

  "Shhh...Kylie. Everything's okay."

  Low light suddenly bathes me from the lamp on the nightstand. Alex is beside me, his arms encircling me, consoling me, his lips gentle and warm against my ear.

  I want to scream, "Nothing is okay!" but only a soft whimper emerges. I hazard a look at his chest, expecting to see the blood-soaked shirt. But it is bright white, and without a wrinkle marring it. I rest my hand against his heart, reveling in its strong beat against my palm.

  He's alive.

  I desperately try to separate fact from fiction. Dream from reality. "Did John shoot you, Alex?"

  "No, baby." He takes my hand from his heart and kisses it tenderly before moving it to my shoulder. The skin is soft but lumpy. "He shot you. Do you remember?"

  My memories are dark. I try to focus but I can’t see them. And then a dam bursts, the memories a raging river threatening to pull me under and drown me. Disjointed scenes. John talking to Alex. Waving the gun. Professing we would always be together, even if it meant in death. Sentencing Alex to a life of regret and guilt, knowing he was the cause of me dying.

  I woke in the hospital weeks later from a coma caused by a closed head injury. I've been recovering—mentally and physically—ever since.

  "You were having a nightmare." Alex lifts my chin and forces me to look at him.

  I'm lost in his eyes, seeking the strength he always provides. "It was so real. John was on the trail. He had a gun."

  "He can't hurt you anymore, Kylie." Alex's voice is soft, but his jaw tightens.

  "He's gone?" My voice is scratchy and dry.

  Alex stills, his muscles suddenly rigid. He exhales, dropping his shoulders. "Yes."

  "Forever?"

  "Forever, baby."

  I drop my head against his chest and grasp his shirt. My heartbeat slows. Breathing becomes natural, easy. This man. He is my rock. My safety net. The one whom I love more than anyone in the world.

  He lays us down on the bed. I nestle into his side, and rest my arm across his chest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  John is dead. He's gone forever. He can't hurt us ever again.

  Lightly pressing my lips against Alex's shirt, I move them up to his neck, and taste the saltiness of his skin. I skim the edge of his jaw with my fingers, the stubble like sandpaper, the light scent of his sweat mixing with his musky, woodsy cologne. I shift my hips, and nestle my leg between his, rubbing my knee along the inside of his thigh.

  I want him. I crave the way he makes me feel alive when we make love. How our bodies become so intertwined, as if we are one, hearts fused together by the deep love we share. I have been needing it for so long.

  Alex takes my hand, removes it from his face, and places it safely back on his chest with a gentle pat. He pulls his head away and I'm unable to kiss his neck.

  "Kylie, not tonight."

  I groan and roll onto my back, take a deep breath, and hold onto it for a moment before letting it rush out of my lungs. All the tension I released a moment earlier floods my body once again. A wave of nausea hits me. My stomach muscles convulse. I clench my jaw to keep from screaming, and force back my tears.

  Alex pulls my hands from my face. "I'm sorry, baby. I have an early conference call on this new venture, and we are at a tenuous point in negotiations. I want to get some sleep so I'm ready for it. Okay?"

  I study his face—dark circles under his eyes, eyebrows drawn together. He tosses and turns most nights, and rarely gets any sleep. Stress his constant companion over the last couple of months. Watching John shoot me, waiting to see if I survived the surgery to remove the bullet. Worried I might never wake from the coma.

  None of this has been easy on him.

  I nod, smile, and close my eyes. When will Alex and I finally renew the connection we had before John ruined our lives? Was I right all along? Is happiness as fleeting as the setting sun on the horizon? There one minute—beautiful and breathtaking—and gone in the blink of an eye?

  I roll onto my side with my back to Alex, bury my face i
n the pillow, and cry.

  3

  The hot water cascades over my body and washes away the memories of the nightmare. My therapist assures me the night terrors will cease, and my life will return to normal. No more midnight hauntings from John.

  I pray that day comes soon. Nothing will stand in the way of Alex and me truly being happy.

  I get out of the shower, dry off, and dress. I need coffee. Desperately. I head out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. Voices drift from Alex's study, and I stop outside the door.

  "She's still having the same nightmare," Alex says. "She wakes up screaming, convinced I'm the one John shot."

  "Well, she's been through a lot. All of it pretty traumatic," Jake says. Always the calming voice of reason.

  I shouldn’t eavesdrop. But if I don’t, I’ll never get any information. Alex is on a mission to make sure I have no stress in my life. No one is allowed to talk to me about anything more than the weather and what I want to eat for breakfast. If they see me, they clam up and act as if everything is normal.

  But nothing is normal anymore. Not since the day John shot me and Jake killed him.

  Alex has no idea how stressed I am every single minute of my life.

  "But it's been three weeks since she came out of the coma," Alex says, his voice strained. I can’t help but wonder if he is mad at John—or frustrated with me.