As survivors of not only a plane crash, but two other impossible tragedies, we’d more than earned a life of peace. But time and time again, we were shown that fate had no intention of giving that to us.
Remi and I were soulmates. Plain and simple. Our love should have died in the depths of our darkness, but the sun still exists even when it’s not shining.
The secrets of our past threatened to destroy us at every turn, but for Remi, I would never stop fighting for our future.
The world took everything from us.
And we would stop at nothing until we took it all back—forever.
Her blue eyes sparkled in the glow of the airplane reading light. “It really is.”
I shook my head and went back to mindlessly flipping the pages of a magazine I’d bought at the terminal back in Colorado. I’d picked it up with hopes it would be a distraction from the cyclone raging within me on our way back to Atlanta. The minute she ordered that drink, I’d known it was a lost cause.
Her hand came across the armrest and landed on my thigh. “Bowen, stop. It’s not a big deal.”
It was the truth. Compared to everything we’d been through, our house could have been swallowed by a sinkhole and it wouldn’t have been considered a big deal.
Honest to God, I was lucky to still have her at all. It had only been nine months since we’d met, but we’d lived a thousand lives in that time. Unfortunately, that also meant we’d died almost as many deaths.
Terrifying, tortuous, agony-filled deaths.
We’d also found love though—immeasurable amounts of it.
I stared down at her engagement ring. I’d cashed out a huge chunk of my savings account and still had to open a line of credit with the jewelry store to buy the three-karat princess-cut ring. The payment was roughly the same as I paid for my truck each month, but the tears in her eyes as she’d sat in her hospital bed, clutching it to her chest the day I proposed, made it all worth it.
She was worth it. Every day, every tear, every worry-filled minute shaved off my life.
I’d do it all again.
If only I weren’t so helpless to save her. I loved that woman. Whole heart. Whole soul. Bend me, break me, crack me open and she would have been there. No matter how bad it got, she was always a part of me.
I wasn’t sure anymore if she could say the same.
“Bowen,” she whispered, just as she’d done so many times before. It was a plea. One she knew I’d answer no matter the situation. No matter how mad I got. No matter how much I feared losing her again.
My gaze instinctively lifted to hers.
She smiled and the sight caused an ache in my chest. It was a lie.
God, I missed her smile.
“Baby, I’m okay.” She tilted her head to her drink. “I hate flying. That’s all this is.”
That was a lie too.
My shoulders fell and a loud breath tore from my burning lungs, but I let myself pretend, my mind going back to a time when it could have been the truth.
I thought of the nights we’d shared multiple bottles of wine and made love, laughing and moaning under the covers until the sun crept across the horizon. She’d rested peacefully in my arms. No nightmares. No crying in her sleep. No insomnia. Just even breaths, her head on my shoulder, and her body wound around mine so tightly it was like a second skin.
But that was the past.
The unreachable, insurmountable past.
The plane jerked, forcing me back to the present.
“Shit.” She moved her hand off my thigh to grasp her drink as it sloshed all over her. “Crap, crap, crap,” she chanted, using a cocktail napkin to dry the dark-red pool of tomato juice on her white pants.
For a moment, I sat there and watched her struggle. It wasn’t the most chivalrous thing to do, but I was all out of grand gestures.
She unbuckled her seat belt and lurched to her feet, her phone along with a handful of ice cubes from her lap falling to the floor. “Damn, this is going to leave a huge stain.”
The plane jerked again and she stumbled forward, crashing into the seat in front of her before I could catch her arm.
“Dammit, sit down before you get hurt.”
Ignoring me, she bent over to fish her phone from under the seat. “Hit the button for the flight attendant. I need some club soda and a lemon. STAT.”
“No, what you need is to sit down.”
I gave her arm a tug and dragged her down to the seat. Using the tip of my boot, I swept her phone toward her. Aforementioned lack of chivalry aside, I was no contortionist; leaning over to pick it up was out of the question.
She folded her upper body over my lap and blindly patted around the floor. I fought the urge to run my fingers through the back of her hair. In the beginning, it would have been a no-brainer. I’d have curled forward and suggestively whispered in her ear, “Since you’re already down there…”
She would have grinned up at me, her whole face filled with mischief as she traced a finger over my zipper, ignoring anyone who dared to watch her as she replied, “You mean down here?”
I’d have grabbed her hand and made her stop even though I was the one who had started it. She had no filter. She always took it one step too far. I’d loved that about her when we’d first met. It was fresh and exciting, a far cry from the stuffy women I’d dated in the past.
But now, she was in the past too. We were in the past.
Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her four hilarious children.
Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys movies that can surprise her with a twist, charcuterie boards, and her mildly neurotic golden retriever. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.
She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine by her side.
“Mr. Lexington, your seat is this way.” I look up to see Branson, black cigar pants fitted tightly around his powerful thighs, a red tie the color of my dress—as in, spot on, not a shade off. His hair is combed back, eyes sparkling with darkness as he takes me in.
He ignores the usher, choosing instead to aim a death glare at Dominic. “You’re in my spot.”
“No, he is not.” I roll my eyes. The nerve of him.
He smirks. “I wasn’t talking to him.” Before I can protest, he pulls me up, spinning me until I land on his lap. “Don’t make a scene, Darling. Trust me, the media is already having a field day with you.” Smug bastard is smiling. I can hear it in his voice.
His lips ghost over my shoulder as his arms wrap around my waist. “Anyone told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Yes.” It is too easy to want to melt into his arms, lay my head upon his shoulder, and just breathe for the first time in what feels like weeks.
“Anyone who actually matters? Because as far as I’m concerned, I’m the only one allowed to compliment you. And you look even better than beautiful tonight.”
“How so?” I cannot hide my curiosity, no matter how much I want to. I want to get up and demand him to leave, but truth is, I am out of my element here and his presence lessens my anxiety. “Because you look like mine.” Be still my heart. Do not—I repeat, do not—let the butterflies out of the cage.
The exiled “sixth family” of the New York mafia. We’re the good guys.
People don’t fear us…much. They respect us.
The five of us? We’re the Brooklyn Brothers.
And we protect what’s ours.
After a gunshot wound to the chest, I died on an operating table. Then I came back to life. Yet the thing that’s going to take me down is a redheaded Irish bartender who has a pension for trouble and drinking me under the table. Ash Donahue is brave, beautiful, and scarily street wise. In fact, she’s the only woman I’ve ever met who seems remotely capable of handling the kind of baggage a man like me comes with.
Not to mention, she has secrets that could very well rival my own.
I’m a soldier, a warrior. That’s all I’ll ever be. No woman wants to be strapped with that for the rest of her life. But every time we remind ourselves why we’re completely wrong for each other, we end up tangled together in the stock room. Or on top of the bar. Or against a wall.
That all changes when I find out what brought her to my city. How could she not tell me her uncle is the Irish mob boss? And how am I supposed to protect her from him and my family from our countless enemies, all at the same time?
Ash’s face broke out in the brightest smile I’d ever seen on her. Her hand shot into the air in greeting. Mine only came up about halfway, but my grin couldn’t be contained. She glanced at the clock on the wall, said something to one of the other bartenders, then started filling up a tray with shot glasses. Before I knew it, she was headed in my direction, tray in tow. The crowd parted around her, making way for their favorite bartender.
My grin faded.
Only to be replaced by…a warning.
She was on the other side of the bar now. And for some reason, that gave the men in this place the idea that she was suddenly approachable. More on-limits, as opposed to when she was taking orders from behind the bar. They were openly checking out her tits in that green halter top, her ass, whispering things to their buddies, snickering in mutual agreement.
If these motherfuckers knew how many people I’d killed, they’d be shitting their pants.
This redheaded firecracker had a man. And it wasn’t any of these assholes.
Fuck.
My obsession was spiraling out of control if I was ready to murder other men just for checking her out.
I knew that murderous glare was still in place when she reached me because she pushed my frown up into a smile with two of her fingers. “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”
Cutting a look at her admirers over her shoulder, I placed a proprietary hand on her lower back. When they all sulked in disappointment, I stood a little taller. “It does now.”
“Testosterone overload.”
The grin she tried to hide told me she wasn’t bothered in the least.
“How we doin’ here?” she asked my family as she slid the tray of shots onto the table.
“Hey, Ash!” Roxy gave my girl a squeeze.
I introduced her to the only people she hadn’t met—Cris and Nico. “Congratulations,” she said to Nico, nodding over at Lexi.
“Thank you.”
He rubbed his wife’s protruding belly with so much affection it was almost comical. He hadn’t been drinking much lately when we all went out. Said he needed to be completely alert in case Lexi went into early labor. But it appeared he’d let loose a bit tonight.
Ash started passing out the shots, but handed Lexi some kind of red drink with orange and lime garnishes. “That’s completely non-alcoholic, love. A little concoction I made up myself. It tastes just like fruit punch.”
To me, she whispered so that only I could hear, “Because it is fruit punch.”
I smothered my quiet laughter with my hand.
Lexi took a drink, moaned, and offered her thanks.
Ash held up her shot glass. “Today, my friends, we pay homage to the great patron saint of Ireland, St. Patrick. Legend has it, he was the son of an English nobleman who was captured and forced to tend sheep in my homeland. After escaping his captivity, he later returned to Ireland to convert all the pagan Irish folk to Christianity.” She tipped her glass up to the ceiling. “May God bless him.”
Everyone was grinning at her, listening intently, especially me.
“St. Patrick also used a three-leaved shamrock to explain the Holy Trinity to the pagans,” she explained. “And for all these contributions, we thank him dearly and offer our tribute. But most importantly, St. Patrick drove out all the snakes in Ireland, forever saving our people from their wretched, evil ways.” She motioned for us to all raise our glasses with her. “So, here’s to St. Patrick and a snake-free land!”
I tipped my head back in laughter, just before downing my shot. Ash smiled proudly back at me after taking hers.
The table suddenly got very quiet. Everyone was staring at the two of us, looking completely dumbfounded.
“What?”
Nico pointed at me, acting like he was looking at a magical leprechaun and not his brother. “You laughed.”
“Yeah, so?”
He shrugged and deadpanned, “Right. Yeah. ‘Cuz that’s normal and everything.”
All the girls were smiling sweetly at Ash’s proximity to me. Just beneath the surface of my skin, I started to itch. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be—Ash’s presence helped—but I was still uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on me.
Inhale. One, two, three, four…
Exhale. Four, three, two, one.
And repeat.
It didn’t completely disappear…until I looked at her.
Melanie grew up in the Midwest, but she loves living in the Southeast (where the beaches are!) now with her husband and daughter. Melanie’s other passion is traveling and seeing the world. With anthropology degrees under their belts, she and her husband have made it their goal in life to see as many archaeological sites around the world as possible. She has a horrible food addiction to pasta and candy (not together…ew). And she gets sad when her wine rack is empty. At the end of the day, she is a true romantic at heart. She loves writing the cheesy and corny of romantic comedies, and the sassy and sexy of suspense. She aims to make her readers swoon, laugh out loud, maybe sweat a little, and above all, fall in love. Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!
