Authors: Kailin Gow,Vi Keeland,Kimberly Knight,Cassia Leo,Addison Moore,Liv Morris,Laurelin Paige,Aleatha Romig,Jessica Sorensen,Lacey Weatherford
Inferno Anthology (124 page)
(Touch of Tantra Book 1)
by Liv Morris
Copyright © 2013 Liv Morris
Digital Edition: July 2013
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of
Okaycreations.net
Cover image: iStockphoto/Katarina Sokolova
Edited by
Write Divas Editing
and
Proofing
Style
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 book 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.
ISBN-13: 978-149090715
Table of Contents
Thank you reading my debut novel.
I’m brewing up more books in my cauldron, so please sign up for my
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Liv
Dedication
To my sweet Nomad.
April 23rd, 2005. Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, PA.
The sky shines a crisp, azure blue, but my heart is a lifeless gray and quickly turning as black as the muddied dirt I'm holding in my hands. I squeeze my fingers so tightly into a fist that my hand begins to shake and bits of grit embed into my palms.
The task set before me is customary and very common among men. But the woman I mourn today was anything but common. She was brilliant, wise, and beautiful.
Now she's gone. . . Forever.
Sorrow will no longer consume her heart and soul. Instead it passes on to me.
I toss the black dirt into the dark and musty grave and fall to my knees. The eerie hollow sound of the clumps of dirt hitting the wood below is more than I can bear.
The tears I’ve been suppressing for days now fall freely down my face like a dam’s flood after a breach. An unrestrained sorrow pours out of me, and the whirl of emotions I’ve hidden within myself is no longer concealed. My grief is freed as I realize all I love is now six feet below me, but it might as well be a million miles away. The distance will never be broached this side of heaven as she is God’s angel now.
Returning to the hearse, I see a man’s face in the distance. We make eye contact before he raises the tinted window of his black limo. His vehicle pulls away, disappearing into the morning’s mist. Anger rises above my grief because he has no right to be anywhere near this solemn ceremony.
He’s the bastard who slowly and silently destroyed the woman I’m leaving behind today in this cold and wet cemetery. She was my mother . . . My selfless life-giver, and I owe her everything.
My legs feel as heavy as lead pipes, but somehow they carry me through the marbled lobby to the sidewalk outside of my office high rise. I find myself standing on grimy concrete with the New York City rain pelting me, staining my yellow silk tie. I am numb to nature’s onslaught, as my thoughts remain at the conference table forty stories above—where the last meeting of the day still haunts me.
My head of corporate security had informed me that my trusted partner and friend, Simon Edwards, betrayed me by stabbing me in the back. My stomach almost retches as I think about his deceit. I’ve known him since our freshman year at MIT fourteen years ago. Through random selection, we’d shared a dorm room together. We weren’t extremely close because we were polar opposites and different personality types. Especially when it came to dealing with people. Basically, I tolerated them and he didn’t. But we formed a common respect for one another during our college years and beyond. Maybe it was our desire to make our mark in the business world, as we both had something to prove to the fathers we hated. It was likely the only thing we had in common.
After graduating college, four of us from MIT, including Simon, headed to New York City and formed Kings Capital, largely using the inheritance I received after my mother’s death. It served as the company’s seed money and positioned me as the company’s head. Although Simon seldom made his way to the boardroom, his presence there was felt by us all. We’d relied on his genius mind to design a way around any obstacle or shortcoming we found in our software ventures. We capitalized on so many deals thanks to Simon. We had a saying among the board, “If Simon says so, we buy.”
Never in a million years would I have thought he’d try to sell me out. When others said my dreams were impossible or if a wall was placed in my way, he was my go-to man. Now he was the wall. Simon was caught trying to sell me out by giving away corporate secrets to another company. My corporate secrets. Secrets stained with my own blood, sweat, and fears. Although I was assured our company secrets never touched any outsiders’ hand, his act of betrayal has set my world’s axis askew.
I wipe the rain off my face and see Eddie, my driver, standing beside my black Escalade, New York City’s newest version of a limo. He holds an umbrella in one hand and the opened back door in another. I observe his rigid stance; not a muscle moves in his face as he remains at attention like a soldier awaiting his commander’s arrival. I hurry toward him, anxious to get out of the rain and away from my building. Kings Capital has been the center of my life since it was started, but now I want to run from everything I’ve built.
As I’m nearing the car, I hear someone calling my name. A quick glance over my shoulder brings my assistant, Mrs. Carter, into view. I notice she’s waving a piece of white paper as she runs toward me. I compare the two extremes of the people who work for me: one is stoically robotic, the other is embarrassingly chaotic.
“Mr. Kingsley, sir, I neglected to give you your ticket to the Swanson event!” Mrs. Carter rests her hand on her heaving chest, breathless. “Security is at a high level tonight since the Ethiopian ambassador is attending. No one will be allowed inside without this.” I stare at the ticket in her hand; the black ink is starting to blur from the rain.
Mrs. Carter places the ticket in my outstretched hand. I watch beads of water from the rain roll down her plump cheeks. The rain washes away parts of her makeup, revealing bare reddish skin underneath.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carter.” A crack of thunder rumbles around us, echoing off the towering buildings, causing us both to jump. “You’d better get back inside.”
“I just want to say how sorry I am, Mr. Kingsley, about Mr. Edwards. I—” Pity is written all over her face, and I detest pity.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carter. I know your intentions are good, but do not bring this matter up again in my presence. If it needs to be discussed, I will let you know.”
My harsh rebuke might as well have been a slap across her face. Mrs. Carter appears wounded, and her skin has now turned more the color of fire.
“Certainly, sir.” She hangs her head briefly and then looks up at me with the same pity in her eyes. Perhaps even more than before. Dammit to hell. “Have a lovely evening at the benefit.”
“My apologies for being short, Mrs. Carter. It’s just been a hell of a day.” My conscience tugs at me. Fuck, I’ve overreacted, given into my easily roused temper, and penalized her for a crime she didn’t commit.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I speak more calmly, the angry tone in my voice now gone.
“Yes, sir. And I understand.” I watch a timid smile stretch across her face. The rain has now fully removed any trace of makeup from her skin, and her pulled-back hair is soaking wet and plastered to her scalp. I should feel guilty for making her stand outside with me getting drenched, but the feeling doesn’t come to me.
“Just remember, Mr. Kingsley. Karma is a wonderful thing.” And with that quick statement she pivots on her sensible heels and runs back inside the building.
Karma. I have to laugh. I, of all people, know too well about karma and it’s legend. However, I’ve chosen to operate under the old proverb of an eye for an eye. Karma requires no action and the hope of a chance. I rely on one thing in this world: my actions. I will leave nothing to chance and prefer playing the game of life with the strongest hand possible.
I turn toward my car and approach the open door.
“Good evening, Eddie.” I greet my driver with a nod as I escape the pelting rain and ease into the backseat.
