Rachel Van Dyken Read Free Online Eagle Elite

  Elude

Eagle Aristocracy #7

past Rachel Van Dyken

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2015 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

This is a piece of work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

ELUDE

Copyright © 2015 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

ISBN: 9781942246381

Cover Fine art by P.Due south. Cover Design

Hawkeye Aristocracy SERIES

Elite

Enchant (Elite companion novel)

Elect

Entice

Elicit

Ember

Elude

NOVELLAS

Enchant

Evoke

Enamor

Elude: To evade, go away from. Throw off the olfactory property. The process of slipping through someone'due south fingers. Instance: I never knew that in eluding expiry — I'd be faced with hers.

PROLOGUE

Sergio

THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS BURNED my optics. I blinked them apace — thinking it would brand the stinging go away, but information technology only made everything worse. The pain was indescribable, like someone had broken my body in half, repaired it, so repeated the process.

"He's not going to make it." I recognized the phonation. It was Nixon'due south. Why the hell was Nixon at that place? Wasn't he dead? No wait, that was me. I'd taken that bullet.

Memories of the past few days flashed across my line of vision, causing a searing headache to build at my temples.

The fight.

The gunshots.

The agreement.

My married woman.

Tears burned the dorsum of my eyes.

Wife…

"I'll do it. I'm a friction match." I gripped her paw firmly in mine.

"Y'all'll dice," Tex whispered. "Your body… information technology'due south too weak from everything else."

"We're running out of time!" I screamed, my voice hoarse, eyes frantic. "Do information technology now!"

"No." She wrapped her frail arms effectually my cervix. "No."

"Yes." I pushed her away. "If I don't — y'all could die. The doctor says it needs to exist now, and so operate."

Her optics were sad.

Both Tex and Phoenix looked downwards at the blue and white tile flooring, faces pale. I knew what they were thinking. I'd already lost too much blood, my kidneys were barely working, and I wanted to give her part of my life.

I'd known going in I would about probable die.

Simply I'd practice everything within my ability to save her.

It'south odd, when you face death every day, when y'all elude it, when you finally come to terms with the fact that y'all won't exist on earth for forever — that's when you think you're at peace.

I thought I was okay with dying.

Until I met her.

And and so I was faced with someone else'south death every damn day — it's harder. People don't tell y'all that. It's i thing to come to terms with your own bloodshed; it'south quite another to stare downwardly death of the one you dearest, knowing at that place is nothing in this world that volition stop it.

My vision blurred once more.

"He's flatlining," a voice said in the altitude.

I tried to keep my eyes open. I saw white-blond pilus, big brown optics, and that tender smile. I reached for it and held onto it, held onto the memory of her. The girl who'd changed my world from darkness to light.

The girl I never wanted.

But badly needed.

"Tell her I'll love her…" I didn't recognize my own gravelly vocalization. "…forever."

With a gasp, I felt my heart stutter to a stop.

And welcomed the shade of night that overtook me.

CHAPTER ONE

Half-dozen weeks earlier

Sergio

LONELINESS TASTED Like HELL. Information technology also, lucky for me, tasted like a fifth of whiskey and what would well-nigh probable be a throbbing headache come tomorrow morning time.

I brought the bottle to my lips and tilted it back, my eyes trained on the fire in front of me, the flames licking higher and higher, reminding me that I wasn't exactly in any position to ask God for any favors…information technology may every bit well have been hell waving back at me and confirming my suspicions.

I'd killed too much.

I'd lied even more.

And I was officially out of favor within my family — within my globe.

I hissed equally a baste of whiskey landed on my blood-caked knuckles. Beating the shit out of the wall hadn't even stopped the anger.

Ah anger, that was something I could talk about, something I could tangibly feel as information technology pulsed through my trunk. Information technology had been my mistress for and then long that I knew if I actually let it become — I'd be fifty-fifty more lonely than I already was.

I tried to take a deep jiff, to calm myself down, but air wouldn't become into my lungs, I felt paralyzed and on an adrenaline high all at once.

Perchance that was some other role of my punishment. I had exactly twenty-four hours before I had to marry a Russian.

And not just any Russian.

An enemy, a double agent who had worked for both the FBI and, patently, the Nicolasi family. She had sold out her own crime family, the Petrovs, and now… she was under the protection of the Italians.

How messed upwardly was that?

I took another swig of whiskey and eyed the clock. Brand that twenty-three hours and fifty-eight minutes.

I wasn't drunk plenty.

I wasn't even close.

Marrying someone for protection I could do. Marrying someone and even killing them afterwards? Piece of cake. After all, that was my MO. I was a killer, a ghost, whatever the family unit wanted me to be.

But marrying someone, keeping them safety, only to spotter them dice within six months?

No. Hell no.

She had leukemia.

Then why keep her alive this long?

I snorted and took another sip of whiskey. "I'd be doing her a favor by killing her."

"Ouch," a low-cal airy voice said from somewhere in the room, causing all my hair to stand on cease. "And then as far equally pep talks go, yours officially needs work."

I advisedly ready down the whiskey, not trusting myself not to throw it in her direction in an anger-filled rage. "I was talking to myself."

"Another sign you lot demand to get laid." She laughed.

I didn't.

"Go away, Arabella."

"My proper noun'southward Andi."

"Your legal name is Arabella Anderson Petrov. Care to know your social security number and credit score too?"

"Romance is lost on you." I felt her movement around the room. The air seized with electricity; she'd always had a presence about her, and right now I was five seconds away from losing my shit and ramming my head into the fireplace just then I could escape it all.

"Don't I know it," I huffed and reached for the canteen over again.

Pocket-sized warm hands clasped effectually mine earlier I could go there. I jerked away, causing her to stumble in front of me.

White-blond hair covered her soft features. Big dark-brown eyes blinked back at me. I hissed in a breath and cursed. "You should become."

"Nosotros need to talk."

"Oh goody. Is this the function where yous tell me I accept to give up my virginity on my wedding ceremony night?"

"What?" She blinked like a startled deer, then a weak smile pulled her lips upward.

I ignored the way my body reacted and rolled my eyes i

n irritation.

"Aw, he has jokes now. At to the lowest degree, I hope it's a joke. Yous're non, are you? A virgin, I mean."

I snorted and eyed the bottle, calculating my odds on reaching it before she stopped me, then gave up. "Fine." I huffed. "Hurry upwards and get to talking so I can go drunkard."

Andi sat opposite me in the leather chair and tucked her feet under her body. She was pocket-sized, effectually v-one, but she packed a punch, knew how to use every automatic weapon on the market place, and I was pretty certain I had once overheard that she was well-versed in torture. Looking at her, you'd recall she was just graduating high schoolhouse and getting ready to become shopping for her favorite pair of shoes with Daddy's credit card.

"Yous're upset," she finally said.

"No." I licked my lips and leaned forrard. "I'm enraged. There's a difference."

Her optics narrowed. "Yous know you can talk to me — since you're stuck with me for the side by side… while. That is, unless you kill me first… like you did that FBI amanuensis."

My claret ran cold. No one knew virtually what I'd done last week. When I'd gained intel from another agent. "Her embrace was blown. I did her a favor."

"Did you lot?" Her eyebrows arched.

"Have you ever been shot, Andi?"

She sighed and leaned her head back confronting the lush cushion. "No, why? Are you going to educate me on what it feels like?"

I exhaled and popped my knuckles; the sound reverberated through the empty room. "It happens in three stages."

"What does?"

"Getting shot."

"Y'all mean you don't just pull the trigger?" she joked.

Ignoring her, I continued. "Shock. It'southward always the first emotion considering the human brain hasn't yet defenseless upwards with the fact that you've been wounded. And then your body starts going into shock, and then the pain happens, but it's not the type of pain you'd call up. It burns, but information technology's more than of an empty, hollow pain, that starts to spread from the wound throughout the rest of your trunk until a slow chill starts to descend. When the chill descends, the daze wears off and confusion sets in. Why was I shot? Why me? What accept I done? As humans, our brains aren't meant to sympathise violence, so we accept to logically explicate it away. I had to have done something incorrect to get shot. Or possibly I was in the wrong identify at the wrong time. The infinitesimal your brain finds something that makes sense you motility onto the concluding stage."

Andi barely moved a musculus. "Expiry?"

"Worse." I reached for the bottle and took a long swig. "Deprival."

"Why is denial worse?"

"You tell me."

Her optics closed briefly before she offered a shrug. "Because it ways y'all aren't set up."

"Look who simply earned an A in form," I mocked. "And yous're right. Denial happens when you realize it shouldn't be you, that even if your brain continued the dots, information technology isn't yet your time. The lovely little memories of your life start to play on repeat in your head — the moments you should have done something but didn't, the things y'all'll never say, the things you'll never do. And and so… you either go lucky or, if I'k the one who pulled the trigger, your memories will click off after about one minute, and you lot'll be no more."

The fire crackled.

Andi refused to expect at me.

"I'd make it fast, Andi."

"Are nosotros seriously doing this?"

"What?" I shrugged.

"Having a chat in what should exist a nice cozy room, about you killing me?"

"Information technology would be a kindness."

"Go to hell!"

"Already at that place, Andi. Already there. Don't you know? I belong nowhere. My family's punishing me, the FBI's investigating me for the murder of my superior, and now I take to ally a Russian whore."

"Then…" She stood. "…you'd rather kill me than marry me?"

"Was I not articulate? I thought I was… Allow me to say it slower, peradventure in Russian? If that'south all you people empathize." I stood, coming together her chest to chest. "I'd rather kill you lot than see y'all endure… I'd offer a domestic dog the same kindness."

"I'm non a dog."

"You're Russian."

"Terminate saying that."

"What?" I sneered. "The truth? Well, sweetheart, it doesn't become any truer than your reality. Allow me to kill yous before your family or cancer does, and at least you can own your own decease rather than fearing it."

She reached for me, touched my shoulders, and then cupped my face. I hated information technology because I liked it; my torso leaned without me telling it to. She was so warm. "And what makes yous think I fright my own decease?"

"Everyone is afraid of dying. The hardest part is never admitting we're mortal, simply coming to terms with the fact that nosotros have no command over how long we're given. You practice."

"No… I don't… You're trying to take that control."

"Say the word." My manus moved to the Glock strapped to my thigh.

"I'thousand not afraid." Her lips trembled. "At least not of expiry… but I am afraid of something."

"Oh aye?" I hissed. "What's that?"

"Yours."

Confused, I stepped back, immediately looking for a weapon. "I don't empathize."

"You wouldn't." She shrugged. "Because you, Sergio Abandonato, are already dead." She moved gracefully across the room. "Y'all're expressionless inside… and you don't even know it. Forget cancer — and take a long difficult expect in the mirror — that's what death looks like."

CHAPTER Two

Andi

MY Warning CLOCK WENT OFF at 7 a.m.

Not that I needed information technology. I'd been waking upwardly early my unabridged life. Call me paranoid, but it seemed slumber was the simply time someone could actually hurt me. If I was sleeping, then I was vulnerable, even if I had packed a semi-automatic under my bed, a pistol in my nightstand, plus ii ninja stars under the pillow merely in example.

I groaned, placing my paw confronting my clammy skin. Yous'd call back after years of having chronic leukemia I'd be used to the symptoms, but who in her right mind would always get used to waking up in a puddle of her own damp sweat?

I blew out air between my teeth and stood on shaky legs. I needed a shower, and my room — the room I'd chosen at Sergio's firm last dark afterwards he'd all simply offered to kill me — didn't accept a bath fastened, meaning I had to go searching for one.

Stupid, stupid, Andi.

I'd listened to Frank, the Alfero boss, when he'd dropped me off last night. His words had been, "He'll exist fine, just requite him time."

I'd felt like a kid getting dropped off on her offset solar day of school. The business firm was impressive, daunting fifty-fifty, but I'd been around scary all my life, and so I didn't think anything of it. Not when the lights were all turned downwards, not when I heard what I could have sworn was a ghost floating through the halls, and not when I happened to overhear my future husband say aloud that killing me would exist a kindness.

I had been half-tempted to say, "Non if I kill you commencement."

But that would merely accept been out of anger.

In the end, he would be doing me a favor, loath as I was to acknowledge it. Honest moment? I felt sad for him. I might be marching toward my expiry, merely that guy was in way worse shape than I. Did he even appreciate life? I highly doubted it.

I managed to throw on the smallest sweatshirt I had and tightened my black pajama shorts. I was losing more weight.

I refused to await in the mirror considering information technology would just confirm my suspicions… the symptoms were worse… I'd need a bone marrow transplant, or I'd die.

And all the coin in the earth wouldn't put me high on that listing.

Peculiarly because my connections, my birth father, my reputation. I shook the negativity from my caput and opened my bedroom door. The hallway was silent.

Which was really unfortunate, considering my new roommate had decided to drink all the alcohol in the entire house.

&nbs

p; With a smirk, I ran back into my room, grabbed the baseball bat from the corner — yet another weapon I kept around only in case — and ran downwardly to the kitchen.

Where I found a large enough pot.

I started walking through the long upstairs hallway.

Banging it to hell.

Bang. Bang. Bang. "Sergio?" Bang. Blindside. Bang.

A groaning that sounded a lot like an animal either dying or attempting to give birth erupted from the farthest bedroom downwardly the hall.

I striking the pan harder.

"Son of a bitch!" The groaning turned into yelling, and, sure enough, the door flew open and a crappy looking Sergio turned his murderous chocolate eyes in my direction.

Did I say chocolate?

I meant possessed.

No way was I allowed to find him attractive. It would be weird, my wanna-exist killer being sexy.

Wasn't there a term for that? Stockholm syndrome or something?

"What." His voice was deep and gravelly. Oh, what the heck, he was sexy. "The. Hell." He wiped his face with his hands, his fingers pressed against his temples. "Is. That."

I held up the bat. "Non a fan of sports?"

He glared so stomped toward me, jerked the metal slugger out of my easily, and threw information technology down the stairs. "Can't say that I am."

I tapped my fingernails against the stainless steel pot and grinned.

"You take a decease wish."

"I believe we established that concluding nighttime."

His lips pressed together in a fine, angry-looking line as his hands reached for the pot and pulled.

I didn't let become.

He jerked harder.

I smiled.

"Let go."

I gritted my teeth. "You commencement."

His smile was pure evil as he slapped my forearms downwards. The pot made a loud clang every bit it slammed against the Spanish tile floor.

Sergio tilted his caput and leaned in, his lips brushing confronting my ear. "I could break you in half past sneezing, Russia. Don't."

I opened my mouth, merely he slammed his hand across it and shook his head. "I said. Don't." He removed his paw. "Don't speak, don't scream, don't yell, don't hum. Silence. I accept a hell of a headache, I haven't had any java, and I'thousand pretty sure a train ran over my face concluding dark. The least you could do is get the hell out of my fashion before I make practiced on my promise."

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