Reditus Read online

  Acknowledgments

  When I think about the different ways that people can come into your life, I’m convinced that there is such a thing as fate. I met my best friend because we applied for the same job. We were both new in town and didn’t know a soul, but we got thrown together in what would become one of our least favorite jobs (when we care to list them out). But that job brought me a friendship that has spanned nearly two decades. Life has thrown a lot at both of us over the years, but we always know we can count on each other. Whitney didn’t know I was writing a book and I think she felt a little peeved that I didn’t tell her until it was finished. She is, after all, my best friend and I’d kept this big thing from her. Sorry about that, Whit. Forgive me?

  Ashton convinced me that I was capable of writing a book. She was the first to know of my hidden longing to be a writer. Being a writer herself, she understood all those deep, dark fears that had always kept me from trying. She was the first to read that first little bit of manuscript; the first person I trusted with my words. She’s always encouraged me. She’s talked me off numerous ledges over the years and she never let me give up. She’s the only other person who knows how this series is going to end. Thank you, Ashton, for being my first reader, my champion, but most of all, my friend.

  If it hadn’t been for April, I’d still be trying to format Provenance. She’s been my publishing spirit guide as well as an amazing friend and mentor. Thank you for being you.

  Amy and Nicole have been some of the best friends I’ve never actually met. They’ve been my moral support, my sympathetic ears, my late–night wine buddies, my fashion advisors and my cheerleaders. I love you both more than I can say.

  Angela was the very first person to read all of Provenance. She helped me learn to believe in myself as a writer. She’s the first person I send new material to and the first person whose opinion I ask. She’s a wonderful friend and I’m forever grateful to know her.

  My husband has listened to me talk about these characters as if they were my friends for months now and he doesn’t think I’m crazy. (Or, no crazier than he already assumed I was.) He helped me figure out what was missing from this book while we were on our way to a dinner party one night. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be staring at my computer wondering why the story I’d written didn’t feel like the story I’d set out to write.

  My dude crew has been amazing. They lift heavy things for me, kill the scary bugs when they come in the house and rescue lost garden snakes from the pool. They know when to leave me alone to write for hours on end. They’ve even helped name characters. Being a mom to three boys can be a little hectic at times, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Reditus

  Praetorian Saga

  Copyright © 2018 by Mary Wallace

  Published by Mary Wallace of Alabama. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the express permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  ISBN 9781720001607

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Declan watched Sawyer in conversation with a giant of a man. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but it was obvious they weren’t in agreement. Sawyer’s petite frame looked even smaller standing next to the hulking figure of the stranger. The black SUV was parked behind an abandoned gas station. It was a small white block building with faded advertisements for cigarettes and beer adorning the stained walls. Declan was leaning against the back wall of the building, the blocks cool against his back. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired.

  Physically, he was beaten, bruised and bleeding, but he was alive. That fact still seemed surprising. How was he alive when so many others had lost their lives today? He thought back to the knife that had been meant for his own throat. Jon had stopped it. He’d saved Declan’s life, knowing that it might cost him his own. Feeling a wave of nausea rising, he took a deep breath and swallowed the urge to scream. He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to get a grip on his emotions.

  His mind went back to the frenzied drive away from the motel. Rylee screaming for Jon to wake up. Bree huddled on the floor, her face a mask of shock and horror. Sawyer yelling at him to drive faster as she climbed in the back to perform CPR. Declan had felt terrified, guilty and angry.

  He remembered looking back at Bree’s face, her haunted eyes locked on her father, who lay dying on the backseat. Sawyer was pushing on Jon’s chest methodically, counting as she did. She had to push Rylee out of the way each time she bent to breathe into Jon’s mouth. Rylee didn’t fight the other woman. Declan didn’t know if she was even aware of anything except Jon. He kept driving, the engine whining in protest but he pushed the SUV harder, coaxing every bit of speed possible from the vehicle. The rearview mirror showed him Sawyer’s face as she worked away on Jon’s chest. Bree and Rylee were watching Jon, so they didn’t see the anguish on her face. They didn’t see her swipe at a tear as she bent to breathe into his mouth again. Looking up, she met Declan’s gaze in the mirror for a split second before she started compressions again. Her green eyes were full of helplessness. He could tell she didn’t think she could save him.

  He tried to push harder on the gas pedal but realized he already had it pressed to the floor. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. Rylee called Jon’s name again, the despair clear in her voice. Guilt gripped him and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It should have been him. Jon had a family, people who loved him. He was a good man. Declan hated himself for being the reason this family was feeling such pain.

  “He’s breathing!” Sawyer suddenly called out. Declan’s heart squeezed and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  He heard Bree gasp in shock and Rylee say, “Jon?”

  He looked at the mirror again to see Sawyer holding her face in her hands, her head down. As she lowered her hands, Declan saw a huge smile of relief break across her face. It only lasted a split second before she turned her attention to the bleeding wound in Jon’s belly. She pressed her hand to the area around the piece of wood protruding from the site. Jon groaned in pain and passed out again.

  “Pull off at that gas station!” Sawyer yelled to Declan.

  “Got it!” he called back, slowing down so he wouldn’t flip the vehicle on the loose gravel. He pulled around behind the empty building, dirt and gravel flying as he skidded to a stop. Declan turned off the truck and shifted in his seat to look at the scene behind him. He felt useless. He wished there was something he could do to help but he knew that his rudimentary knowledge of first aid couldn’t f
ix this. He got out and walked around to the passenger side, opening the back door. Rylee continued to hold Jon’s pale face in her hands while Sawyer held her own hands firmly against the wound in his abdomen. Blood was everywhere. It oozed around Sawyer’s hands and between her fingers. It was on the seat under Jon. Rylee and Bree both had it on them from caring for Jon at the motel. Declan felt his stomach clench at the sight. This was what war did to people.

  Bree was huddled into a ball, clutching her knees to her chest as she stared at her father. Declan’s heart felt as though it would break, seeing her look so small and terrified. She hadn’t moved when he opened her door and she didn’t look his way when he reached out to touch her shoulder. She sat motionless, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked as though she were trying to hold herself together. Declan didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but he reached down and pulled her from the vehicle. He’d thought she might fight him, but instead she went easily into his arms. He scooped her up, one arm under her knees and one behind her back and carried her over to a large shade tree a few yards away. He sat against the tree with Bree in his lap, her head on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything to her. He didn’t tell her it would be okay. He didn’t want to lie to her or give her false hope. Instead, he held her in silence, stroking his hand gently down her back. She didn’t move or speak, but rested her head on his shoulder, taking the comfort he offered.

  After several minutes that felt like hours, Declan saw a motorcycle coming down the road in the distance. It was the first vehicle he’d seen on the empty stretch of road and he kept his eyes glued to it as it grew closer. He moved to set Bree down against the tree, but she stirred against him as though coming out of a dream.

  “I can stand,” she said in a voice that sounded so much smaller than the one he was used to hearing.

  It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the motel and Declan was almost shocked to hear her voice. He released her and she climbed to her feet, her head turning in the direction of the motorcycle, her face finally losing its horrified expression.

  He looked toward the road, his focus on the motorcycle as it appeared to slow slightly. He reached for the gun he’d shoved in the back of his waistband earlier. It was a casual gesture, almost natural. That thought gave Declan pause. He didn’t know when he’d turned into this person who reached for a gun immediately upon seeing a stranger approach. He wasn’t sure if he liked this new version of himself, but he knew he couldn’t go back to the person he was before. They were at war and they couldn’t afford to trust anyone.

  The motorcycle slowed even more and began to turn into the empty lot. Declan walked quickly back to the SUV, holding the gun close to his leg so the stranger wouldn’t see it. If he needed to use it, he’d rather hold on to the element of surprise, if possible. The bike pulled to a stop several yards from the vehicle and the engine went silent. The rider removed his helmet, revealing a bald head, shining in the morning sun. The man flashed a quick smile at Declan, his teeth extremely white against the dark ebony of his skin. Declan felt Bree come to stand beside him, her arm brushing his. He didn’t return the stranger’s smile. His grip tightened on the gun in his hand even as he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

  The man climbed off the bike and stood to his full height. Declan almost wished he hadn’t. He had to be approaching seven feet in height and looked to be solid muscle. Declan could easily picture him as a linebacker in the NFL. He took a deep breath. Just as he was about to ask the man who he was, he heard Sawyer call out.

  “Rafe! In here, now!” she cried. Her voice was tinged with panic and Declan felt Bree stiffen beside him. He hoped Jon was still alive. Declan realized that the man was a friend of Sawyer’s and he felt his guard lower slightly. Looking back to the man—Rafe—Declan watched as his face suddenly lost the friendly smile and took on a serious, businesslike expression. He turned away from Bree and Declan and quickly closed the distance to the SUV in 4 long strides.

  Declan and Bree followed him to the vehicle, standing a few feet from the door. “Move,” he demanded in a deep rumbling voice, pulling Rylee gently but firmly from the seat and setting her on her feet. She swayed slightly and Declan reached out to steady her. She didn’t seem to notice his touch on her arm. Sawyer still held pressure to the bleeding wound in Jon’s belly as blood continued to seep between her fingers. Bree moved to stand with her mother, wrapping her arm around Rylee’s shoulders. The two clung to each other as Rafe removed his jacket and tossed it onto the roof of the SUV. He leaned into the vehicle and quickly took in Jon’s state.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  Sawyer answered quickly, keeping her hands pressed to Jon’s abdomen, “Bomb.”

  “When?” Rafe asked.

  “Maybe an hour,” Sawyer said, blowing a strand of blond hair out of her face as she looked up to meet Rafe’s gaze. “He stopped breathing for a minute, but I got him back. Barely. His pulse is faint.”

  Rafe nodded. “Did you move the shrapnel?”

  “No,” Sawyer said quickly. “We didn’t want to make it worse.”

  Rafe nodded again. “Good. Any other wounds?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sawyer said.

  “Move,” came Rafe’s reply.

  Sawyer hesitated for a moment before removing her hands and moving to the opposite side of the vehicle. Rafe wasted no time. He somehow squeezed his enormous frame into the back of the vehicle and knelt in what looked to be the most uncomfortable position possible. He prodded Jon’s belly at the site of the wound, but Jon was so far gone, he gave no reaction to the other man’s touch. Rafe ripped the rest of Jon’s shirt away and studied the area more thoroughly.

  Declan wanted to turn away from the grisly sight but he didn’t allow himself that luxury. Jon’s chest moved slowly with his shallow breaths. The dark red blood served to emphasize how pale his skin had become. The jagged shard protruding from his abdomen was difficult to look at. It so clearly didn’t belong there but the thought of removing it was terrifying. Without a hospital, it might do more harm than good to pull it out. Declan wondered what exactly Rafe was doing here. Sawyer had called him. Declan vaguely remembered her speaking urgently into her phone, but he’d been so focused on driving and Jon that he hadn’t thought to ask about it. Now, Sawyer was watching Rafe, her face almost expectant. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something.

  Before anyone realized his intent, Rafe grasped the jagged piece of wood protruding from Jon’s belly and unceremoniously yanked it out, dropping it to the floor. Rylee gasped. Bree buried her face in her mother’s neck for a moment. Declan found himself unable to turn away from the sight. Blood immediately filled the cavity where the shrapnel had been. Declan felt his heart in his throat. There was too much blood. No one could survive this. Rafe, seemingly unconcerned, placed both his hands over the gaping hole left behind and closed his eyes. His brows drew down tightly in an expression of intense concentration.

  Sawyer sank onto the floor of the vehicle behind the passenger seat, and Declan was reminded of Bree sitting in that same spot earlier. She closed her eyes for a moment and took in a shaky breath. Her hands were covered in Jon’s blood and had a slight tremor. She opened her eyes and focused on Rafe. Declan’s gaze went from Rafe’s hands to Sawyer’s face. He saw her mouth the word “please” over and over. He didn’t know what Rafe was doing but Sawyer seemed to trust him and he didn’t want to do anything that might interrupt him.

  Declan watched as Sawyer looked away from Rafe to Bree and Rylee standing there, holding one another, silent tears streaming down their faces. Her face was usually a mask of indifference but right now he could see the fear in her green eyes. He thought he knew what she was thinking. Jon had to live. Neither of them wanted to face Bree and Rylee if he didn’t. That wasn’t all, though. Declan had grown close to Jon during their training. He respected him, cared for him. When he’d stopped breathing earlier, Declan had felt his own heart falter for a mome
nt. This small group of people had somehow become the family he hadn’t known he’d been missing. Losing any one of them wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate.

  Declan focused on the slow, nearly imperceptible rise and fall of Jon’s chest as Rafe continued his work on the unconscious man. He needed him to be okay. His mind wouldn’t focus on the alternative. As he watched, the movement of Jon’s chest grew slower and slower until it stopped altogether. Declan’s own breath caught in his throat and his heart plummeted. No! He looked from Jon’s pale, slack face to Rafe’s dark face, still tense with concentration. He found that he couldn’t look at Rylee and Bree knowing that he was the reason that Jon was dead. Rafe still had both hands over Jon’s abdomen, his eyes closed and his brows drawn tight. Beads of sweat had formed on the man’s face and bald head.

  Sawyer opened her mouth to speak when a loud gasp came from the seemingly dead man on the seat. Declan’s shocked eyes shot over to Jon’s face. Jon’s head raised up from the seat a few inches before he cried out in pain. His head dropped back to the seat and he lay still. As Declan watched, Jon’s chest began to move slowly and evenly. For the first time since the explosion, Declan felt hope stir within him. He kept his eyes on Jon, finding it nearly impossible to look away.

  “Holy shit,” Sawyer whispered in awe. “You did it, Rafe.” Her eyes were wide as she looked from Jon to Rafe. His eyes were closed and he still had his hands pressed to Jon’s abdomen. Sawyer reached over and gently touched his wrist. “You did it,” she said again, softer this time. “You saved him.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was something in his eyes that Declan didn’t think had been there before. He looked ancient and somehow wise as he sat stuffed in the too–small floor of the SUV. When he finally met Sawyer’s gaze, Rafe only nodded, but said nothing. He slowly lifted his hands up and away from Jon’s now sleeping form. The ragged hole where the chunk of wood had been lodged was gone. There wasn’t even a scar showing where it had once been. Jon’s shirt was ripped and he was covered in blood that now seemed to have no source, but his skin was unmarred by the explosion.