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Seven months later
“Nora?”Icall,walkingaround my empty penthouse. She’s nowhere to be found. Which means she’s probably on the balcony painting. Not wanting to mess my suit up, I head for the closet first to change into sweats.
When I’m done, I step out onto the balcony barefoot. Nora’s sitting on the outdoor couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, a book in hand.
“Hey, kitten,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
She closes her book and looks up, smiling. “Hey yourself, Mr. King. Did you have a horrible day at work, knowing I was home today?”
“You know it.”
Nora’s been teaching pottery for the last two months to children with special needs. She loves it and has finally found a job that appreciates her. But she spends all of her free time in the studio, which means I don’t see her much. She deemed today a rest day, and it seems she took that literally.
Her eyes dart to the right, and I turn my gaze. “It’s finished,” she says. She stands and wraps her arms around my waist as I take in the painting on the easel. It’s covered with a sheet.
“Does that mean I can finally see?”
“Go ahead.”
I step forward, grab the top of the sheet, and pull. The painting behind the sheet is the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen.
I take in the fine details of… “Wow,” I say, staring at a painting that’smy officeat the casino. The couch, the desk, the painting behind my desk. Even a cart of alcohol. Except, instead of the diamond chandelier in the middle, hangs a woman with dark hair. Anakedwoman, holding onto a piece of black fabric. She’s wrapped up and hanging from the ceiling. Her head is tilted down, toward the corner of the room, a fully suited man holding a crop in one hand. A lit cigar dangling from his mouth, and with the other hand, he’s shuffling a deck of cards so that they’ve been sent flying through the air.
“That’s us,” I say, stepping closer. “Fuck, Nora. This is beautiful.”
She presses a kiss to the center of my shoulder blades. “I thought we could hang it above our bed.”
The wordsweandourbounce in my head, and stick me straight through the heart. Together, we’re together. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere fucking else.
Acknowledgments
Thankyoutomyamazing alphas and betas. To Jenn for naming Nora. I wrote this book without a clue who these characters could be. And in less than 20,000 words, Becker and Nora made me fall in love with them.
I also need to thank my lovely husband. Thank you for believing in me and supporting me in everyway that you can.
About Author
A.N.isawifeand mother to three children. She enjoys writing dark romance novels with strong female leads, always with a HEA. When she isn't reading and writing, she spends her days with her family. Other passions include: crafting, horseback riding, and procrastinating.
Also By A.N. Stauber
StartWithCracked Open, a second chance romance
Her Vengeful King, Book 1 in the Black Hearts Series : A dark mafia romance
Coming Soon: I have many works in progress. to stay up to date with me please follow me on Facebook and or Instagram: @AuthorANStauber
Join my Facebook Readers group: A's Black Heart Babes
Start Cracked Open Here
Mystomachturns,inhalingthe scent of something black and sticky inside the fridge. It’s so disgusting, even the bleach doesn’t help cover the smell of the tarnished shelving. It’s gotta be mold. On my hands and knees, I scrub the bottom shelf, gagging as I stand to toss away the rubber gloves I’m wearing.
Fuck this.
The department provided me this shit hole apartment to help maintain a believable cover. It’s fucking atrocious. From the living room, with its chipped walls, to the shitty bathroom with cracked green tiles. There are coatings of different colors of paint peeling from the walls. Layers of white cover blue and yellow. I don’t even want to know how many times an animal has pissed on this nasty blue carpeting. They definitely haven’t replaced it in at least a decade. It’s a flashback to my college days, only worse.
I need a drink to relax because I’m so fucking close to calling my commanding officer. He can fuck right the hell off if he thinks this is a suitable living condition. Grabbing my jacket, I leave my apartment to head for my bike. I remember seeing a bar a few blocks from here that intrigued me. Mac’s would be the perfect spot outside of the biker gang territory, where I won’t have to stress about someone I know running into me and blowing my cover.
