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  HELD: THE TWIN BAY SAGA, BOOK 1

  First edition. October 1, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 T.K. Barber.

  Written by T.K. Barber.

  www.tkbarber.com

  Cover designed by Suite Six Studios

  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, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  If you received a copy of this book for free via download from a site that touts ‘free books’, understand that it was posted without permission, and is a pirated copy. Pirating is stealing. It absolutely hurts every author affected. Please consider the amount of time it takes an author to create the characters and worlds you love (sometimes years). There are costs associated with publishing the book so others can read it, and we can’t continue to do so if the books don’t bring income.

  Dedication

  To any victim, anywhere: you are not alone.

  National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

  1-800-273-8255

  Blurb:

  Nick doesn't want to be a hitman. The mobsters holding his younger sister hostage have other plans. With the threat of her death looming, Nick's only option is to follow orders. Repeatedly.

  Getting mugged isn't on Scarlet's agenda when her janky car breaks down, and she opts to walk home rather than pony up for a cab. But being rescued by a dreamy, brooding, knight-in-shining-hoodie almost makes up for it.

  Nick's decision to step out of the bloody shadows and be her hero has dire consequences, shifting pieces in a sick game and setting into motion a plan that's decades in the making.

  With their smoldering chemistry impossible to fight, Nick's midnight murder trail is at risk of exposure. And wanting what he shouldn’t have could put his heart as the next target, or his loved ones in the crosshairs of a mad-man.

  *****

  Held is a multi-pov romantic suspense novel set in a fictional town with dirty streets and dirtier cops. Run by two mob families with an uneasy truce, Twin Bay is in constant flux. The anti-heroes and heroines struggle, curse, bleed, and die for the love they so desperately want. Each of these novels has dark themes, intense action, meaningful intimacy, rewarding love, & guaranteed happy endings.

  Take a walk on the mob side.

  *CONTENT ADVISORY*

  This book contains acts of violence, strong language, and situations that some readers might find triggering.

  PLAYLIST

  Human | Aquilo

  Mind Eraser | The Black Keys

  I Ran (So Far Away)[Epic Trailer Version] | Hidden Citizens

  Soldier | Fleurie

  Wobbler | Eliot Sumner

  Oh Brother |SOAK

  Young & Unafraid |The Moth & The Flame

  Wasteland |Vérité

  One Call Away | Charlie Puth

  Wolves |Coasts

  Dangerous (feat. Joywave) |Big Data

  Thirteen times the strength | a silent film

  Bang Bang | Lawrence Taylor

  Start a riot | BANNERS

  Conrad | SOHN

  Are you ready? | Prides

  Medicine | Broods

  Don’t Make me | Too Far Moon

  Ocean | Devon Baldwin

  Nick

  He didn’t want to be a hitman.

  Yet here he was, lurking in the shadows of a defunct nightclub with a gun drawn and his back pressed against gritty cinderblock. A patrol car crept past the alley, the high-pitched squeal of its brakes echoing in the street.

  Eyes trained on the blue and white, Nick hugged his 9mm to his chest.

  If those cops—hell, any cops—saw him, his present position would get him more than a few questions. And he had no desire to find out what would happen if he missed his kill window.

  A light beamed from the passenger side of the cruiser, bounced over the dumpster next to him, settled briefly on a lumpy bag spilling over the edge, and shot up the wall and into the sky. When the light snapped off and the car rolled away, Nick twisted the silencer again for good measure.

  He popped his head around the corner and scanned the street. Good. Gone for now. The reek of rotting trash nearly overwhelming, he fought a gag.

  Maybe the mob should’ve put some garbage men on the take, instead of nearly the entire police force. He swallowed the burning in his throat and shook his head. The bile had nothing to do with the smell, however. No. Someone else would die tonight. In place of his little sister.

  The face of his watch flashed as he flicked his wrist. Two minutes to go. One more thug to put down. Then he’d hear her voice. How would she sound tonight? Would they get to talk long? He hoped like hell they hadn’t hurt her again.

  Nick tilted his head, listening.

  Wind rustling trash from his left. Bat chitters from above. And now voices. He leaned away from the wall and spied two men strolling down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

  Probably out looking for drugs or late-night action. God, he hated this town. Cops were useless for anyone who actually needed them, like his sister. They were either owned by the mob or scared shit-less.

  A loud, slurred voice seeped through cracks in the door molding to his right, and Nick steeled himself.

  Just another thug to put down. No big deal. Done it before. Just one more hit. Pull the trigger, get a phone call.

  “—Valentine punks are all the same. Bring my damn money tomorrow, Matches. I ain’t playin’.”

  The steel back door of the club scraped against the molding as it inched open. Nick rotated, finger on the trigger, his arm outstretched.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” The sleazy, low-level thug oozed out and stumbled over his own feet.

  Good. Drunk was easier, at least. As if anything in Nick’s life could be easy.

  The man kicked the door closed, staggering back a few steps. Nick ticked his mental list: black hair, leather jacket, and right on time.

  Damn it. They always showed. Just like clockwork.

  The guy still hadn’t noticed anything amiss, and Nick’s heart slammed as his finger squeezed the trigger.

  The gun’s hammer clicked, followed by the unmistakable whoosh of compressed air. The sleaze slumped to the ground—plus one, dead-center headshot.

  Nick strained his ears for any sign he’d been heard as he stared at it. No, not it. Him. Stared at him. A person. Probably with a family.

  Nick’s gut turned. He holstered his gun as he stepped over the body and headed back toward the faded sidewalk. The buzz of adrenaline and the crawl of nausea swept through him just like every other time, and he clenched his jaw.

  Another one down, another chunk of his soul gone. How many could be left? Of either? One robotic step in front of another was all he could manage until a nasal voice from the sidewalk halted him.

  “What do we have here? Where you going, sweetheart?”

  Another voice joined his; this one deeper, gravelly.

  “Hey, don’t just keep walkin’, my friend is talking to you. We just wanna have some fun.”

  Nick crept to the corner of the building, peered around, scanned, and pulled back. The same two punks from earlier and a woman. The biggest guy blocked all but her high heel shoes. Nick thinned his lips. Who walked down the street in heels? At night?

  “No thanks. I get the feeling your kind of fun would only end with me at Doctor Mera’s office
getting some unpronounceable cream.”

  Her warm voice, thick with sarcasm, made Nick’s brows lift as he fought a smile. But his frown slid back into place.

  The chances of this going well without interference were pretty slim. He chewed on his lip and shook his head. God, this was the worst time for this. He stared at an indecipherable piece of graffiti as he listened.

  Nasal man sounded closer. “Aww, don’t be like that, sweetheart. My friend Jeb here got a nice fat bonus today. I can get us a real nice hotel room.”

  “No. No, I’m good. I’ve got to get home.” Her response was less sure.

  A high wheezing laugh broke through the deep, muddy chuckle, filling the cold air.

  Nick growled under his breath which escaped his mouth in an angry puff of steam. Damn it! He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the murky sky.

  He was hungry, tired, and had already made his kill. The last thing he needed was to get involved with this woman.

  Not tonight. Not ever.

  “Ace, sounds like she’s not that into you. Maybe I’m more her type. Whaddya say?”

  “Don’t. Touch me.”

  Nick gritted his teeth as his heart rate shot up. He wished, just for once, he could stop caring. Stop letting the universe give him reasons to feel, reasons to hate himself when it all went wrong.

  Maybe he could pretend to be a low-life scum who could pass a woman in trouble and not give a damn about what happened. One of those keep-your-eyes-down sheep that filled Twin Bay's streets.

  “Don’t matter if she is or not. You know that. Come on, we’re running outta time.”

  “Ow! Just . . . get off!”

  One of the men let out a sharp grunt. “Fuck, grab her hands!”

  Nick rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, or ever. Damn it.

  He rounded the corner of the building, raising his pistol as he glided behind the meathead with baggy pants. He cracked the butt of his gun against the base of his skull. The grimy dead-beat dropped with a small grunt and a large thud.

  Nick leveled his gun at the remaining thug, gaunt from years of apparent drug use. his brain finally took in the whole scene, and he blinked as he tightened his grip on the gun.

  A thick, woolly cloth puddled at the woman’s feet. Probably a shrug of some sort. One thug crumpled beside Nick, unconscious. The other glared right back at him with a twisted, smug sneer plastered on his face. He held a knife to the woman’s throat, his other hand tight around her upper arm.

  When his eyes flicked to Nick’s gun, they widened. He took several steps backward, pulling the woman with him, bits of crumbling sidewalk crunching as they went.

  Wow. Not a streetwalker. Gorgeous. In trouble, you idiot. He blinked but couldn’t stop staring.

  Air became some random thing his body used to need, his lungs refusing to work as he watched her fearful breaths leave tiny, fleeting clouds in the frigid air.

  His brows twitched in surprise, and his heart skipped when her wide, wet eyes locked onto his. They sparkled, illuminated by the old yellow security light which hung, half-broken, from the front of the long-boarded-up club.

  With significant effort, he forced his gaze back to the thug and cleared his throat.

  “You know, I really don’t need this tonight.” The still-fresh image of blood flashed in his mind, and his stomach clenched as he slowly advanced. “You’ve got one chance to run before this gets ugly.”

  He’d never killed anyone who wasn’t on his list. The thought of crossing the line between I had no choice, to that felt good was terrifying. But this guy might shove him straight over.

  “Take one more step; I dare you! You think I’m scareda you?” The druggy wheezed another laugh and adjusted his grip on the knife. “How ‘bout you turn around and forget all about this, or I cut her.” He pushed the point against her throat, and she sucked in a breath. “Better yet, toss me your wallet first.”

  An overwhelming and entirely unwelcome protective urge swelled in Nick. He flicked his eyes back to hers and swallowed.

  Least she stayed calm. At this point, a victim might begin begging for her life, or bargaining. Maybe say something along the lines of ‘Please, just give it to him, I don’t want to die!’

  “Don’t give this asshole anything,” she snarled.

  He raised his brows, the corners of his mouth turning up.

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” He inclined his head toward the thug. “Tell you what I am planning.” He cocked the gun, giving it an appraising glance. “It involves zip-ties, and you’re not gonna like it.”

  In one swift move, he fired a shot directly above the man’s head and moved to close the distance between them.

  “Shit!” The man jerked his hands away to cover his head, yanking the knife backward.

  Nick stuttered to a standstill, and time slowed as fear pooled in his stomach. A deep, flowing red path opened on her shoulder. She screamed as the man scrambled away, muttering to himself.

  The sound of metal clattering to the ground barely reached Nick’s ears, and he stood locked in place as he watched the blood seep down her chest and shoulder. She clutched at the gash, and he sucked in a breath as his brain jolted back to life.

  Not how that was supposed to go. God, what did he think would happen?

  She fell to her knees. Instead of chasing down the punk and beating him to within an inch of his life, like the guy deserved, Nick ran the last four feet to her.

  He dropped the gun and snatched up the shrug thing. Lifting her hand, he pressed the cloth to the gash to slow the bleeding and replaced her hand on top of it. Her mouth dropped open in a silent cry as her eyes squeezed shut, but she clenched her jaw before a sound came out. Her whole body trembled.

  “Damn it! Okay, hang on. Push down as hard as you can.” Concern graveled his voice, and he placed a hand on hers to add more pressure.

  When she bit down hard on her lip, Nick winced. Too much blood. And the agony in her eyes pained him. He frowned. Someone like her should never have that look. Hell, nobody should. Why was she out here alone in the first place?

  He leaned over further and supported her head on his left arm as she flattened on the sidewalk. Her face paled, breath hitched.

  He slid his arm out from under her neck, dug his phone out of his pocket, dialed 911, and wedged it between his ear and shoulder. Tears dropped from her eyes as she let her arm fall. What shape were they? Round. No, almond. Stunning is what they—He winced again. Focus!

  So stupid to walk these streets at night. What was she thinking?! He kept his voice even and caught her gaze.

  “Hey, focus on me. What’s your name?”

  She blinked a few times and stuttered a breath as she scanned his face. Her brows twitched as their eyes met.

  “Scarlet . . . Price. What’s y—”

  “Attempted mugging,” he swallowed, answering the 911 operator’s sudden question. “Lady has a large knife wound. Corner of Eighth and Bertman Bay Avenue.” The phone slipped off his shoulder and clattered beside her head.

  She swallowed as she closed her eyes, and he mentally grumbled. She didn’t need to know his name. Even if he wanted her to for some inexplicable reason.

  Another tear slid down, dragging mascara in a watery streak. It mixed with the crimson staining her hair—a twisted canvas of pain.

  They wouldn’t see each other again; his horrid life would roll on. He’d talk to his sister tonight once they got confirmation of the kill. He’d get angry and damage something. Then he’d toss and turn all night, battling his nightmares.

  He’d go to work tomorrow at the hardware store and pretend nothing had happened, just like every other time. Then he’d get another mark and have to do it all over again. All while Scarlet Price and her gorgeous face existed in her own, probably perfectly planned, world. A world that didn’t have a place for someone like him.

  A killer lik
e him.

  He needed to be gone when the ambulance showed up, no question, but the thought of leaving her alone made his heart ache. Even so, he couldn’t tell her his name.

  “Nick.”

  Good lord, brain, what the fuck? And the real name on top of it? Her eyes fluttered back open, and her cheek twitched into a pained smile.

  “Nick. I like th—Thank you.”

  She reached up and squeezed the hands he had pressed against her shoulder. He sucked in a breath and furrowed his brow.

  He wasn’t going to see her again, so clearly it didn’t matter that her strength impressed the hell out of him. Or that her striking eyes almost glowed, like honeyed amber. Or that her hand was impossibly soft. Or that the way she stared, like he was some kind of savior, stirred feelings that didn’t belong in someone like him.

  ‘Cause he knew good and damn well, he was nobody’s hero.

  He chanced a quick glance under her hand and, thankfully, the bleeding had slowed. Relief washed over him.

  “How,” she swallowed and winced, catching his gaze. “Is it bad?”

  How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He didn’t know how deep it ran or if there was any significant damage. So, he just looked at her and drew in the side of his mouth. She closed her eyes and nodded, turning her head toward the sky.

  “Guess I won’t be fly-fishing anytime soon.”

  Nick didn’t have time to stop the snort or the smile. Her cheek twitched, and she looked back at him.

  Fishing seemed like literally the last thing she’d ever do. He had to know.

  “Do you fly-fish?”

  She bit her lip and winced, eventually refocusing on him.

  “No. Fish are gross.”

  A wide grin split his face, and he shook his head. She winced again, and he glanced over his shoulder as faint sirens approached.

  What would he do if they showed up while he was there? For God’s sake, there was a dead body in the alley around the corner. There would be way too many questions if they found that.