Irrevocable

  Irrevocable

  Shay Savage

  Copyright © 2015 Shay Savage

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Formatting by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Editing : Chayasara

  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-except in the case of brief excerpts or quotations embodied in review or critical writings without the expressed permission of the author, Shay Savage.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dedication

  This is for Anthony and all the men and women who have served. You are appreciated, supported, and loved. You are never forgotten.

  And to Adam, my friend and Evan Arden muse. I’m very thankful to have you as part of my life!

  Special thanks to everyone on my street team for all the love and support! You know I can’t get far without all of you. You keep me on track and constantly encourage me even when I’m not feeling it. I treasure each and every one of you.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1—Typical Night

  Chapter 2—New Faces

  Chapter 3—Family Ties

  Chapter 4—Stolen Cargo

  Chapter 5—Complicated Companions

  Chapter 6—Random Encounters

  Chapter 7—Untrustworthy Associates

  Chapter 8—Stress Relief

  Chapter 9—Missing Person

  Chapter 10—Compromised Position

  Chapter 11—Unsettling Complications

  Chapter 12—Troubling Knowledge

  Chapter 13—Broken Security

  Chapter 14—Devastating News

  Chapter 15—Impulsive Arrangement

  Chapter 16—Startling Discovery

  Chapter 17—Beyond Duty

  Chapter 18—Uncovered Betrayal

  Chapter 19—Resolved Agreement

  Chapter 20—Unplanned Encounter

  Chapter 21—New Leadership

  Chapter 22—Final Piece

  Chapter 23—Miraculous Awakening

  Chapter 24—Different Outlook

  Epilogue—Otherwise Healed

  Author’s Note

  More Books by Shay Savage

  About the Author

  Chapter 1—Typical Night

  I’m fucking annoyed.

  I toss my keys on the counter and try not to sigh audibly. The blonde hooker in the tight red skirt drops a stupidly large purse next to my couch and turns to me with her hand on her hip. She smiles with lips that match her clothing and then goes back to snapping her chewing gum.

  My vision blurs a little, and I have to place my hand on the counter to keep from swaying. I’m not sure when I last slept for more than an hour at a time; I only know it’s been far too long. I need sleep, and this is the only way.

  “Yer a quiet one,” the hooker says. Her mouth opens and closes rapidly. I can see the little piece of red gum in contrast to her lipstick.

  I have no idea what her name is. If I asked when I picked her up on the corner, I don’t remember her answer. The chewing was too distracting.

  I stare at the countertop for a long moment, trying to focus my thoughts. The counter is dark grey granite, and it reminds me that I’m still not used to the new place. I had originally planned to move back into my old apartment near Lakeshore East Park, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I saw reminders everywhere. Now I’m only a couple of blocks away from there in a high-rise one-bedroom with a great view of the river. It’s not a big place, but I don’t need a lot of room.

  It’s only me after all.

  “So, whatcha lookin’ for tonight?”

  I pull a beer out of the refrigerator without responding. As soon as I’ve popped off the cap, I realize I don’t want it, and offer it to the hooker instead. Hopefully, she’ll discard the gum to drink the beer.

  She doesn’t. Instead, she downs the beer and goes right back to chewing.

  “Do ya have any music?” she inquires. “I could dance for ya.”

  Her voice reminds me of a caricature out of an Edward G. Robinson movie or maybe an I Love Lucy episode. It’s high-pitched and whiny, regardless of the words she utters. It grates on my nerves. I obviously should have talked to her before picking her up instead of just looking at her ass.

  “I’m tired,” I finally say as I rub my eyes.

  “Well, let’s getcha ta bed then!”

  The hooker steps up to me and places her hands on my chest. She trails her fingers down to my stomach before lifting her head and pressing her lips to mine. I respond automatically, taking her tongue into my mouth and gripping her backside with my hand. I can taste the beer laced with cinnamon, and it’s rather revolting. When she reaches down to palm my dick, I grab her wrist.

  “Come on,” I say. “This way.”

  I end all physical contact with her and head for my bedroom. She follows, and I can still hear the smacking of her gum.

  “Spit that shit out of your mouth.” I point at a small, lined trashcan next to the bed.

  “You got it,” she says.

  It sounds like she’s hocking a loogie when she spits it out. I can’t help but sigh out loud this time as I close my eyes and shake my head a bit. Maybe I’d do better hooking up with a girl in a bar rather than a streetwalker. It’s cheaper, at least. Then again, I could end up with someone who expects me to call her in the morning instead of just handing her cash on the way out the door. I don’t need that kind of complication.

  I pull my shirt over my head and toss it at the laundry hamper. The garment hits the top and falls to the ground beside it. Normally, that would bother me enough to go pick it up and place it inside, but I’m too tired to care. I waver a little as I unbuckle my belt and pull it through the loops of my jeans.

  The hooker comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. She runs her hands up my chest as she presses her cheek to my back. I place my hands over hers and turn around to face her. She places her mouth on mine immediately.

  When she grips my ass with both hands, I pull back just a bit. I’m feeling dizzy, and I don’t think I can stand much longer. When she grabs for my dick again, I push her away.

  She looks up at me with slightly narrowed eyes.

  “Look,” I say as I take her chin in my hand, “I really am tired. Right now, I just want to go to sleep, you got it?”

  Her eyes are wide as she nods slightly. Maybe I sound harsher than I intend to, but I’m exhausted and my patience is wearing thin. I probably shouldn’t have just grabbed the first available prostitute. I should have found a nice demure one instead.

  Do they make them that way?

  My thoughts dart to Bridgett, and I clench my teeth against the memory. Yes, she had been a little on the demure side. She wasn’t street-hardened or a junkie. She was sweet and kind. What did it get her? A bullet in the head, that’s what.

  “What the hell did you drag me all the way up here for, then?”

  I am starting to wonder if this particular prostitute is destined for the same fate.

  “Just—just lie down.” I sound like an ass, but I don’t really know what else to tell her. Admitting that I can’t sleep unless there’s someone in the bed with me sounds so ridiculous. “I’ll fuck you in the morning.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.” I drop my jeans down around my ankles, realizing I haven’t taken off my boots yet. I don’t think I can actually bend over and untie them without landing on the floor.

&nbs
p; “Yer gonna pay for me to just sleep in your bed all night?” she asks. “I mean, there ain’t no discount or anything.”

  “I’m not looking for a discount,” I say, snapping at her. I sit on the edge of the bed in my boxers and reach down to unlace my boots. “For fuck’s sake, I just want to go to sleep!”

  Once my boots and socks are off with my jeans piled up on top of them, I put my hands over my face and rub my eyes again. My stomach turns over, and for a moment, I think I’m actually going to throw up. I hate that feeling, and I swallow hard against it.

  “M’kay,” she says in a softer voice, “we’ll just sleep or whateva.”

  I inhale a long breath through my nose and nod once. I turn and crawl up to the head of the bed and practically collapse on the pillow. It’s cool against my face, but it warms quickly. The hooker slides in beside me, pulls the blanket back, and wraps it around us both.

  I wrap one arm around her, appreciating the warmth only briefly before I feel myself starting to fade. She says something to me, but I can’t comprehend the words before I fall asleep.

  “Left ten degrees,” Zach, my spotter, says quietly. “Top of the building.”

  I look up and then adjust my scope. I can see the target clearly and begin to take careful aim. Zach calculates the wind speed, and I make an additional adjustment before pulling back on the trigger.

  Blasts come from all around us, and the chunk of the brick I’m hiding behind explodes into dust around me.

  “We’ve been heard!”

  We pull back, and more shots rain down on us. It only takes another thirty seconds for us to realize we are surrounded.

  “We’re fucked, Arden!”

  “No, we aren’t.” I calmly place the Barrett up to my shoulder and aim through the dust and debris. I fire three times before I hear Zach’s scream.

  “Man down!” I cry into my radio. “Marshall’s been hit!”

  There is nothing but the dust falling all around me and the sound of gunfire in my ears. Zach’s screams diminish as voices through my radio crackle incoherently.

  My head pounds along with my heart as I awaken. My throat is dry, and I can’t breathe. It’s as if my whole chest has seized up on me, and I feel the panic as it takes over my body. It starts with my feet, travels up my legs, embeds itself in my gut, and then finally escapes through my mouth as I gasp and choke. I’m shaking as I look around the room.

  The bed is empty.

  I want to call out for…for…I don’t know her name. The light isn’t on in the bathroom, and the door is still standing open, so she isn’t in there. Did she leave? Did she fucking walk out on me?

  I register the sound of people talking from the other room. A man speaks slowly, and then a woman answers him at a faster pace. They’re arguing, but I can’t hear the words.

  She betrayed me.

  How? Why?

  It doesn’t matter. I’m too well known in Chicago, and there are plenty of people willing to offer someone money in exchange for information about me. It isn’t the first time I’ve been screwed over by hired pussy.

  I roll to my side, grab the Beretta from the nightstand drawer, and I check the indicator to make sure there’s a bullet in the chamber. It’s fully loaded and ready for whoever is in my apartment. I climb off the backside of the bed and make my way silently to the bedroom door.

  When I hear the sound of gunfire, I can feel my muscles tighten in alert. I grip the weapon tighter as my heart begins to pound. Another shot. Another.

  The sound isn’t right. It registers in the back of my head, but I can’t quite make sense of it at first. I realize the sound is too quiet—too muffled.

  Silencer?

  No—it’s not like that, either.

  Still tensed, I take a quick peek out the door. There are no lights on in the living room, but there is a familiar, eerie glow.

  The television.

  I close my eyes for a moment, take a shaky breath, and rub my head to clear it. The voices argue a little louder, and I recognize the man’s as Keanu Reeves.

  Despite the realization, I can’t seem to shake the feeling of being on high alert. The adrenaline continues to flow through my system as more gunfire erupts from the TV’s speakers. With the gun still in my hand, I walk out into the living room.

  She’s there on the couch, wearing nothing but her bra and panties—bright red, just like her skirt, lips, and gum. On the far side of the room, flickering in the light from the television, there’s a vision of an Iraqi teenager. He raises his hand and points his finger at me as if he’s holding a gun.

  Fucking hallucinations. The less sleep I have, the more this kid appears around me. I ignore him and look back to the whore on the couch.

  “What the fuck are you doing!”

  The hooker startles and nearly falls off the couch. She sees the gun aimed at her head, screams, and scrambles off the furniture onto the floor and around the edge of the coffee table.

  She’s screaming, crying, and I honestly don’t know if I’m going to shoot her or not.

  “One thing I wanted—one thing!” I’m still shaking, and I can’t seem to stop. “Just fucking sleep with me!”

  I stalk a few steps closer to her, and she pushes herself back with her heels.

  “Don’t fucking move!” She heeds the warning in my voice and stops.

  “I’m sorry! I just wanted to watch a movie!”

  “Turn that shit off!” I motion with the gun toward the television, and she grapples for the remote, rapidly presses buttons, and the screen goes black.

  She holds the remote to her chest as tears stream down her face. The room is now silent except for her crying and my quick breathing. I close my eyes, trying to regain control, but it doesn’t work. Instead, I’m overcome by nausea for a moment.

  I need to sleep.

  “Get back in that bed!” I don’t even open my eyes as I snap at her.

  “I will! I will!” she stammers, but I don’t hear her move.

  “Now!” I open my eyes and glare at her.

  She scrambles quickly, making her way around me while keeping as much distance between us as possible. At the last second, she turns her back to me and runs through the bedroom doorway.

  I follow, and she’s cowering on the floor near the bed. I feel my finger tense around the trigger of the Beretta, and I still don’t know what I’m going to do.

  She’d left me alone, which is a betrayal as far as I am concerned. I just needed her to stay there long enough for me to get a few hours of peaceful sleep, and she’d abandoned me for a fucking movie.

  I can’t catch my breath, and my gut aches as if I’ve just done a hundred sit-ups. I can taste sand in my mouth, and I feel like retching. My fingers tighten uncontrollably around the grip of the Beretta, and I can feel my pulse in my temple.

  Even in my agitated state, I know I’m overreacting. The hooker at my feet is terrified, and I still need her. If I kill her now, I’ll have to go out and find another one. I’m not even sure I can drive at this point. Ultimately, I don’t want to clean up a big mess, so I point the gun away from her and try to calm my voice.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” I say slowly. “Get up off the floor.”

  She does as I say, still blubbering.

  “Don’t shoot me! Please don’t shoot me!”

  “I just said I wasn’t going to do that,” I say slowly, still trying to relax.

  She’s got her eyes trained on the gun, and I realize I can’t just leave it out in the open. As soon as I’m asleep, she won’t hesitate to use it against me. I don’t know if she realizes who I am, but I can’t take the risk.

  I walk with purpose to the closet, open the door, and look at her eyes as I tap the combination into the safe inside. I deposit the gun on top of a bunch of paper and cash and then close the safe again.

  “Not going to kill you,” I say again.

  She can only nod in response.

  “Get back in bed.”

 
She complies, but she’s trembling all over as I approach. I feel like I’m dealing with a wounded animal, and I don’t have the patience for it right now. It’s taking all my energy to keep myself from shaking. The gunshot blasts from the television are still echoing in my ears.

  Strangely enough, they never bother me when I’m the one pulling the trigger.

  I close my eyes, center myself, and then crawl back into bed beside the hooker. I settle against the pillow and meet her eyes.

  “I need sleep,” I tell her. “If you leave, I’ll wake up again, capisce?”

  “I didn’t know,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes.

  “You know now.” My words are too harsh, and I feel her stiffen beside me. “I need sleep and quiet and no fucking television. You stay put.”

  “I will.” Her voice is barely audible.

  I reach over and pull her tense body against me. With my head on the pillow, I close my eyes and try to ignore the pounding in my head. My breath comes too fast, and I know if I open my eyes, I’ll see that kid across the room. I can feel his presence even when I don’t look in his direction. I suppose that makes sense since he’s just a figment of my imagination. The real one was buried long ago.

  It takes a while, but eventually I fall asleep again.

  When I wake, I immediately realize I’m not alone. There is a brief moment when I search for the familiar scent of a girl who is long gone, but I smell only cinnamon. It brings back my recollection of last night, and with a little trepidation, I look to the sleeping hooker in my bed.

  To say that I had treated her like shit would be an understatement.

  I unwrap myself from her and make a quick trip to the bathroom. My head is clear now, and though I don’t check the time, I know I’ve managed to sleep a good eight hours or more. There’s light coming in around the curtains in the bedroom, and it’s likely late in the morning. The hooker is still sleeping when I return, and I crawl back under the sheet beside her.

  The movement must be enough to wake her because she opens her eyes and glances at me as I settle against the pillow. I look at her red-rimmed eyes and smeared makeup, telling myself I should be convincing her how sorry I am, but I don’t say a word.