Blissful Surrender

  Blissful Surrender

  Copyright © 2014 by BJ Harvey

  ISBN: 978-0-9941018-6-0

  Edited by Jennifer Roberts-Hall

  Cover Designed by BJ Harvey

  Interior Design by Cris Soriaga | Bookmarked Designs

  Photo sourced from canstockphoto.com

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Prologue: “Bad Day”

  Chapter 1: “Trouble”

  Chapter 2: “Safe & Sound”

  Chapter 3: “If You Ever Come Back”

  Chapter 4: “Drink You Away”

  Chapter 5: “Take Me or Leave Me”

  Chapter 6: “Playing With My Heart”

  Chapter 7: “Loneliest Soul”

  Chapter 8: “Can’t Remember to Forget You”

  Chapter 9: “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word”

  Chapter 10: “Walking Away”

  Chapter 11: “Everything Will Change”

  Chapter 12: “Me & My Jealousy”

  Chapter 13: “You Got The Love”

  Chapter 14: “Breathe (2am)”

  Chapter 15: “Goodbye My Lover”

  Chapter 16: “Run”

  Chapter 17: “Happy”

  Chapter 18: “Drunk in Love”

  Chapter 19: “Hey Brother”

  Chapter 20: “The Man”

  Chapter 21: “Am I Wrong”

  Chapter 22: “Let’s Stay Together”

  Chapter 23: “Under Control”

  Epilogue – “Be My Forever”

  Acknowledgements

  Author Profile

  Very Bad Things – Ilsa Madden Mills

  Holding Out – Lila Rose

  To Nikki aka Bulldog

  You’re the bestest friend I’ve never met.

  My rock, my cheerleader, my motivator and most importantly a dear friend.

  Sean will always be yours now ;)

  Sean

  I’m not one who is easily rattled.

  In fact, my cage is so secure it might as well be anchored to the ground in concrete. It’s why I’m so damn good at what I do—corporate law. ‘The Shark’ is what they call me. I revel in it, thrive under pressure. In fact, cool, calm, and collected should be my middle names.

  Then, like the flip of a coin, there is the other half of my life. The side that isn’t so organized. My personal life, the part of my life that should be under control, is a cluster fuck right now. And as always, it all points to one person.

  By day, I’m like Teflon—shit doesn’t stick to me. I don’t let it. My work doesn’t get brought home; it starts and ends at my office door. Just the way I like it.

  I should be sitting back in my soft leather recliner, drinking a well-earned glass of Macallan on ice. So why am I sitting in front of a computer screen watching security footage of my younger brother Ryan hand an envelope to an unknown man at the club?

  My fucking club.

  Thankfully the video I’m watching isn’t a live feed. That would have been too much for me to handle. I have a pretty controlled temperament, but I’d be barreling down there and punching him in the face, then kicking his useless ass to the curb once and for all. Instead, I’m watching delayed footage from yesterday afternoon that my private investigator sent me.

  Blood or not, nobody fucks me over. I suspect Ryan is putting the club and me on someone’s unwelcome radar, and I don’t need the attention or the bullshit. Yes, I know the fact that I have a PI watching my own brother speaks volumes. Ryan is a gullible son of a bitch with a magnet for assholes and trouble in equal measure. As soon as I had an inkling that he was involved in dodgy shit (again), I asked my friend Asher to step in and monitor the situation for me. It was a necessary step to take. He fucked up two months ago and I stood by him but now … well, enough is enough.

  Sean

  Let me explain how we got to this point. A quick run down memory lane, so to speak.

  My name is Sean Edward Miller, first born son to Harvey and Annette Miller. Two years later, Ryan Anthony Miller was born. Two rambunctious sons that were very much wanted and loved by our parents. My brother and I were born into privilege, not wanting for anything. Unfortunately, this only exacerbated my brother’s sense of entitlement. Even at a young age, Ryan had a love of money and wealth rarely seen in a young boy.

  When we were twelve and ten, our parents were killed in a carjacking. I still remember the day the police came to the door with our grandfather who had flown in from Chicago. They took us into the living room and told us that our parents had been killed and that we’d have to go live with our grandparents in Chicago.

  Although it was twenty-one years ago, I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The soft floral scent of my mother’s perfume that filled the room as she was getting ready for a fundraising event in the city. The look of awe in my father’s eyes as he watched my mother walk down the stairs with poise and grace. The love poured into the kiss goodbye that she gave both of her sons as she left, and the smile my father gave us as they waved and walked out the front door, telling us they’d see us soon.

  But it wasn’t just another night.

  Those are the last memories I have of my parents being alive. It’s a moment forever burned into my subconscious and has been the driving force in my life ever since. Everything I’ve achieved, and everything I’ve ever done is to make my parents proud. I’ve wanted to lead a successful, happy and fulfilled life in their honor, and I like to think I’ve achieved that so far.

  Ryan was affected in far deeper ways than I was and as much as I try to help him, he just can’t seem to stay on the straight and narrow, and I keep bailing him out of trouble. I’m his safety net.

  I pull off my tie that hangs limp around my neck before undoing my platinum cufflinks and dropping them onto my antique Chinese Elm desk. Pausing the video, I leave the office and make my way through my dark empty condo to the living room, the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls, echoing through the air. Stopping in front of my drinks cabinet, I wrap my hands around the crystal decanter of whisky calling my name and pour three fingers into the matching glass—a wedding gift that belonged to my parents and a rare antique that my brother has always coveted. Knocking back the burning amber liquid, I pour myself another, drinking it down as quickly as the first. The burning sensation in my chest eases into a nice warmth that quickly spreads throughout my tension-filled body. I pour a glass again, this time walking over to the refrigerator and adding two ice cubes before turning on a few lights in the living area and returning to my office.

  I sit down in front of the paused screen and push play, watching in slow motion as my brother appears to pay someone off. It’s all assumption and hearsay at the moment. But an empty club plus a bulging envelope being handed over to a stranger who does NOT look like a banker or a security guard … well, it doesn’t look good does it?

  And it was all done while I was ten blocks away in my tall glass building, knee deep in a hostile takeover mediation. Who knew the real hostility was being carri
ed out in my own back yard.

  As I take another sip of my drink and I watch another camera angle of the ‘transaction,’ the sick feeling in my stomach increases. He has not only involved himself in the shit this time, he’s dragged my ass into his mess. The shit that my brother attracts just never fucking ends.

  If my father or grandfather were alive today, they’d have me tanning his hide and throwing him out on his ear. But I can’t seem to do that. Every single fucking time I save the day. As much as I try to clear the way for him to stay legit and finally make something of himself, he always stumbles. Despite the time, effort and many opportunities afforded to him by me, nothing seems to change.

  Well, this time it’s going to be different.

  Once I’ve calmed down enough to talk to him, I’ll make him understand that this time he’s gone too far.

  This time he’s going to have to learn the hard way.

  Alone.

  Sam

  Two Days Later

  “Roberts, get your ass over here. Stop mooning over your fiancée or I’ll have you written up sooner than you can say yes ma’am.” I try to keep a straight face but on the inside I’m having trouble backing up my threats. He knows as well as I do that when it comes to Zander, I seem to lose my ice queen tag.

  Zander Roberts has been my partner for six months and in that time he’s managed to do what many before him have failed at—loosen me up. I’ve been, for lack of a better word, uptight for the best part of a decade. In order to be the strong, capable and independent woman my mother raised me to be, I’ve had to wear what I now liken to being my invisible armor—impenetrable to anyone and anything. I’ve been all about the job; the academy, then working on the street doing general patrol and a field training officer. Zander was the last recruit I took on as a field training officer. I worked him to the bone for a month while he experienced what the reality of being a cop in Chicago entailed. And he did me proud. So much so that I requested he become my partner when I returned to patrol.

  Now, we’re as tight as partners can be. He still has his moments where he drives me insane, but all in all, he’s professional, alert, and there is no one else I’d rather have my back.

  I hear the computer in the patrol car ding, and with the press of a button I see a call come up for an assault at an address in the club district. Division Street to be exact. My body goes cold when I realize what club it is.

  Dammit. Shit, damn, mother-fucking hell. Why me!

  Zander looks over at me and quirks a brow. “Sam, you think we might get moving? You’re just sitting there staring at the screen. Is there a problem?”

  I shake my head to snap myself out of it. I can do this. I’m a professional. I’m a freaking cop for Christ’s sake. I can walk into that club, an establishment that, in itself, I despise, and do my job. Yes, I can be Samantha Richards, police woman and servant to the city of Chicago.

  “Sam?”

  I move into action.

  Flicking the lights and sirens on, I turn the key in the ignition, then clear my throat and lick my lips which have suddenly gone dry as a fucking desert. “I’m good, Roberts. We’re good. Let’s get this done. Can you keep an eye out for the bus? We’ll need to make sure the scene is safe for them before they can go in.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Three minutes later and I’m slamming to a stop outside a large, black, concrete building with the word Throb painted large and proud in bright red writing across the front. It’s bold, daring, and proud … just like the club owner himself. Fuck! No, do not think about him.

  Zander and I get out of our patrol car just as the ambulance pulls up behind us and I see my best friends Heather and Rico jump out then walk around the back of the bus to get ready. Checking that Zander has my back, I draw my weapon from the belt at my hip.

  Together we walk into the club, taking a careful step inside. “CPD, is anyone in here?”

  “H-Help! I need help!” a raspy voice shouts in desperation from the back of the large dance floor.

  Zander runs ahead, weapon back in his holster. “Roberts, fucking hold up, will you? Have you cleared the scene? Think about your own back, and mine for that matter, before anything else. God, have I taught you nothing?” Zander’s good but he still has his green moments. Now being one of them.

  He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look at me. “Dammit, he needs help, Sam.”

  “I know, but right now I don’t care. We’re no use to him if we get attacked, are we?” I raise an eyebrow to him as I look around the room, scanning for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. Standing back, I’m still unable to see the victim.

  “Is he still here, sir? Are you alone?”

  “Y-Yeah,” he sputters out. “The guy that … uh, roughed me up some left through the back when he heard sirens.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Uh … yeah. It must’ve been.”

  Suddenly I’m suspicious and there’s a knot forming in my stomach. A robbery of a nightclub in the early afternoon? Something isn’t right here.

  “He didn’t get anything,” he continues, his voice getting stronger the more he talks. He sounds more sure of himself now; a complete one-eighty from when we first arrived. “The safe needs double verification and my brother seems to have changed the combination overnight without telling me.”

  With Zander at my side, we both move quickly toward his voice. Once happy that the room is secure, I yell, “CLEAR!” toward the front doors, hoping the two officers out on the street hear me. “Where are you, sir?” I ask when I reach the bar. I look over and see a familiar man slumped against the fridges lining the back wall.

  “Ryan?” I say in shock, my voice hoarse. I put my arm on the bar and push my body up and over, using my legs as leverage.

  “Sammy? Fuck!” He falls sideways, but I manage to catch his head before it hits the hard tiled floor. I slide down to the floor and lean back against the wall, resting Ryan’s head in my lap. His right eye is almost swollen shut, and I see a cut to his cheek that doesn’t look too deep but is slowly oozing blood.

  “Roberts, go get the paramedics. He needs help,” I yell to Zander who is coming through the side of the bar to join us.

  “On it. You okay here?”

  “Yep. Go get them, Zander. Now!”

  “Can’t … tell … Sean …” he whispers, his eye closing.

  I shake him, trying to keep him awake. He may have a concussion. “Stop, Ryan. Where are you hurt?” I run my hand over his head, flinching when I feel the familiar warm sticky feeling of blood and matted hair between my fingers. Guaranteed head injury.

  “He jumped … me … in my own fucking bar. Sean’s going to be so—”

  “No, Ryan, don’t worry about that right now. Where else?”

  “What?” he looks up at me in confusion.

  “Where else are you hurt?” I question.

  “Ribs,” he wheezes. “The fucker kicked me in the ribs, then knocked my head against the wall.”

  “It’s okay,” I explain as I see Helen and Rico round the bar. I look up and give them a grim smile. They’re my best friends and just happen to be the paramedics on duty today. To be honest, it’s nice to see a friendly face given that I’m scared shitless that a man I’ve tried to forget for the past ten years could make an appearance at any moment. I look down at Ryan again and see his dark, sapphire blue eyes looking back up at me like I’m his hero or something. With his guard down, I catch a glimpse of the lost little boy from all those years ago; the man who never quite recovered from the tragedy of his past. It hurts my soul just as much now as it did back then. Losing your parents, and then losing your grandparents eight years later would have an effect on even the strongest man. Like Sean …

  I take a deep breath and swallow down the lump in my throat. “Ryan, the paramedics are here to look after you now.” I hold my hands up as he is pulled off me, then push off the floor and stand up, stepping out of the bar area to give them space to che
ck him over. I look down at my previously clean blue shirt and see a large, crimson blood stain.

  Dammit all to Hell. I’ve still got half a shift left.

  Walking aimlessly through the room, I shake my head in disbelief. Ryan fucking Miller. The younger brother of the one man I’d ever let close enough to shatter me. At this moment, I hate and love his brother all over again.

  Sean Miller.

  The biggest sacrifice of my life.

  The one I let go.

  Fuck! I need to get out of here before Sean shows up and my day goes to complete shit.

  Then it hits me. With Ryan gone, there will be no one here, and if it was a robbery, there is nothing to stop the dickhead returning. Without thinking of the consequences for myself, I spin on my heels and head back toward Ryan. This is totally above and beyond the call of duty and I know it.

  “Ry, is there anyone else here today? Anyone else working who can close up for you?”

  “Nah. Sean’s not due in for another hour because of some deposition he’s involved with, and Amy, our other bar manager, is due around the same time.”

  Fuck. Shit. Christ Almighty.

  I look to the ceiling, begging whichever higher being watching over me to take me then and there.

  “Where are your keys, Ryan?”

  “Back pocket. Jeans,” he rasps out, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask now covering his mouth. Rico looks up at me and raises his eyebrow. I nod and watch as he reaches in to Ryan’s pocket, pulling out a foot long chain with a stack of keys attached. He makes sure he unclips the chain from Ryan’s jeans before throwing them my way.

  Rico and I tried to date a few years ago, and although it didn’t work out, we’ve been close friends ever since. He’s Brazilian and all kinds of hot. Chocolate brown hair, deep green eyes, and a body that is a masterpiece of sculpted lines and hard muscle. One look at him and you can tell how much time and effort he puts into it. Helen is his partner and fiancée. She’s my complete opposite with black hair cut into a jagged, almost razor edge style that not a lot of women could pull off, but she rocks it, big brown eyes that are beautiful and captivating, and a unique style that she dons proudly—in and out of uniform.