First Chapter: The Essence of Bliss by Emily Astillberry

 

Title: The Essence of Bliss

Author: Emily Astillberry

Publisher: Blossom Spring Publishing

Publication Date: December 16, 2024

Pages: 615

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Speculative Fiction

Formats: Paperback, Kindle

Isabel Bliss is a reception class teacher. She experiences other people’s emotions and can influence how they feel but she doesn’t truly understand her gift and has been encouraged, by her mum, to hide it from others. She often feels lost and alone. 

When a child in her class experiences chronic distress that only she can perceive, Isabel uses her ability to relieve his suffering, but his situation continues to worsen. Eventually she is forced to take matters into her own hands, escorting him home where she finds horrific signs of abuse. She saves his mum’s life and his father is arrested for the brutal torture he has inflicted upon his family. 

A wealthy family moves to town and Isabel meets the two sons. She recoils from Daniel, who is hateful, rude and emotionally deficient but is inexorably drawn to Scott, who awakens something magical, deep inside her. They are like her. They are fluencers and have the ability to sense, read and willfully manipulate emotional energies. Isabel confronts her mum and uncovers hurtful lies and deceit within her own family. 

She falls deeply in love and ultimately discovers the untold potential of her gift and the passion and power that dwells within.

Read a sample here.

The Essence of Bliss is available at Amazon UK and Amazon US.

First Chapter:

20 Years Ago

It began with mild agitation, a vague feeling of unease, which quickly shifted to anger, and within seconds, the placid, even temper of a six-year-old had been transformed into outright fury, a rage so intense that it had no business taking hold of a child. As the anger threatened to overwhelm me, a commotion approached from down the corridor, and I knew instinctively that the violence within me was somehow emanating from the approaching furore.

 A truly wretched looking woman was being wheeled into the X-ray department on a mobile bed covered in hospital sheets that had been devastated by her struggles and lack of control. The sheets were smeared with a revolting murky brown and indefinable mixture of bodily fluids. The woman was accompanied by two uniformed police officers who were doing their best to keep her contained, but she was fighting them like a feral cat, all hissing and spitting and claws. She was handcuffed to the bed but still thrashing madly around, pulling the handcuffs tight against the metal rail and flailing her unrestricted arm and both legs ferociously. 

She had dirty, greasy blonde hair and her unkempt fringe was falling into drawn, sunken eyes ringed with deep, dark purple bruises. Her skin was yellowing and the few teeth that remained had decayed to black. Her language was shocking. I had never heard such profanities in my life. 

  “When are you pigs going to give me something for the fucking pain, you cruel fucking bastards?” she demanded.

“You’ve had all the pain relief you can have. You’re causing the pain with all the thrashing around you’re doing. Just sit still and be quiet, Kathleen,” one of the officers replied. 

“Well, it wasn’t enough, was it?” Kathleen spat back. “Because it still fucking hurts! And if you hadn’t handcuffed me to this pissing bed, I wouldn’t be fucking thrashing around now, would I?”

It was her anger. The pure, unadulterated rage inside me was emanating directly from Kathleen. I didn’t understand it, but I knew that I needed to get away. I needed to put some distance between myself and the source of the emotions before they got the better of me and I started to shout and scream, breaking Mum’s rules. I had to keep my temper under control. I had promised, but the all-consuming ferocity was coursing through my body, and I had the irrepressible urge to kick something or someone, to lash out, to cause pain or to shriek out my manic fury.

I had to get away from the emotions that were attacking me, corroding my control, my personality, so without thinking, I ran quickly down the wide, colourless, featureless hospital corridor in the vague hope that I could put enough distance between myself and Kathleen, to be free. I turned a few corners, a sharp left, a not so sharp right and through multiple sets of double doors. After a minute or two, I stopped and looked around. I had absolutely no idea where I was or how to get back. 

I took some deep breaths, tried to ignore the ringing in my ears and reminded myself that the extreme emotions coursing through my body did not belong to me. I just needed to get my breathing under control and get back to Mum. She would panic if she came out of the X-ray room and realised that I was gone. She’d only left me for a few minutes to get Stephanie’s arm looked at, and I wasn’t supposed to move. 

I just needed a minute. I leaned against a door, which gave way at my touch, opening into blessed darkness, and I slipped inside, closed the door behind me and sagged back against it in relief.

It was cool inside the room, cool and quiet, and I was finally able to take a breath. As my rapid breathing slowed and the rush of blood in my ears quietened, I became aware of another somebody in the room, their breath coming in uneven, ragged wheezes punctuated by a harsh gasping cough. An elderly woman’s voice called out hoarsely with great effort.

“Is someone there?” she croaked. “Nurse? Are you there?” 

I froze. 

“Please?” she begged. “If someone’s there …” She was wracked by a coughing fit. “Could you please help me with a sip of water? I have a cup but can’t … not on my own.”  

I couldn’t ignore such a plea. I could feel her desolation and frustrated helplessness. Her loneliness called to me. It penetrated my mind, filling the gap that Kathleen’s anger had left behind, and I instinctively moved closer so that neither of us were on our own. I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and sniffed. I peered into the murky room and could make out the bed and the shape of a small human under the covers. I padded softly towards the bed and the old lady turned her head slowly to face me. 

She was tiny, shrunken and almost skeletal. She gave the impression of being made out of a thin, almost transparent material, as if she wasn’t quite solid, quite real. She was old beyond anything that I could have imagined, and her thin, wispy silver hair framed her fragile face in soft waves. There was such sadness in that face, such desperation, and yet her eyes still held the echoes of a life lived full of love and joy, laughter lines softening the suffering in her eyes. 

I helped her take a couple of small sips from her cup and she nodded at me that that was all. She let her head fall back onto the pillow. Her eyes closed, exhausted by the effort. 

“Thank you,” she managed to croak, her eyes still closed.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

There was a chair at the side of the bed, and I sat on it. I felt certain that my presence could be a comfort to this stranger and so sad that she was in a room in the semi-darkness all by herself. I wanted to be near her. I wanted to take away her pain. Her desire for company mirrored my own, or perhaps I was actually experiencing her emotions in my special way, but whatever the reason, I sat on that chair next to her bed and remained there. She lay in the bed next to me, her breath coming in long, ragged gasps, and neither of us spoke for a while.

After a few minutes, the old lady opened her eyes again. She looked at me, and there were tears shining on her lashes. 

“I’m so scared,” she whispered. 

I was scared too, but I tried to be brave for her. She needed me to be brave.

“What are you scared of?” I asked.

“I’ve never been afraid of dying,” she confided so quietly that I had to lean in to catch her words. “It’s not really the dying … even now,” she went on, “It’s being alone, you know …? After … forever. I’ve never doubted before, but now I’m scared. I’m scared he won’t be there waiting for me. What if he’s not there? What will I …? What if he’s not there?”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks, and her left hand moved unconsciously, searching for something. I instinctively grasped her trembling hand and held it gently in my own, soothing with human contact, skin on skin, resting them on the bed by her side and lightly squeezing in reassurance. I had never endured the pain of loss or the fear of dying myself — few children have — but I felt her pain. I absorbed her emotions and sensed the agony of grief and longing, the war between loss, hope and fear. It hurt my chest with a tightness, an ache, that a child should never even imagine.

Despite experiencing her emotions as if they were my own, they did not cripple me. They did not belong to me, and they were not violent emotions like the anger that I had felt only minutes before. This frightened old lady needed me to be strong, and so I said the only thing that I could say, the simplest of statements and exactly what she needed to hear. 

“He’ll be there.” 

I declared it with absolute conviction. I closed my eyes and willed her to believe. I gathered my inner strength and forced myself to believe in the miracle that I promised her. I found an inner peace and imagined that peace flowing from me into this frail, frightened creature. 

Gradually, I felt the old lady’s fear begin to ebb away. She absorbed the peace that I offered. Her hand stopped shaking and her breathing became more even, somehow easier. A stillness crept over her as she embraced the certainty that her soulmate was waiting for her beyond this mortal plane. I don’t know how long I sat there for, holding the old lady’s hand in mine, but after a time, her hand became slack and there was no more pain, no more fear, nothing. 

I was utterly exhausted, drained of energy. I knew that I should get up and leave the room. I knew that Mum would be frantic, furious, but somehow I couldn’t even seem to rouse myself to move. I needn’t have worried because she found me. She always found me.

I felt her before I saw her. I always did. I felt them both. There was a fluttering deep within the recesses of my mind that bore their mark, their signature. She burst into the room with Stephanie in tow, a beautiful red cast on her arm, and Mum was crying and she was shouting, and she stumbled towards me and smothered me in hugs and kisses and remonstrations and declarations of love. After the panic of the last few minutes and the relief of finding me unscathed had passed, she took in the scene before her and she scooped me up out of my chair, took my place and held me on her lap. She held me so tightly that I thought that I might burst, but I held it together because I knew that she needed this.

A minute or two passed and Mum began to calm down. I gestured towards the old lady in the bed, thinking to explain my situation, thinking that she would be pleased with me because I had done something with my gift, something right.

“She needed me, Mummy. She needed me and I made it better for her. She was so frightened, and I made the pain go away.”

Mum held my face away from hers so that she could look me straight in the eyes. She shook her head, brooking no argument.

“I love you, Isabel. I love you so much. You’re a special little girl with a special gift, and I am so proud of you, but this …” She shot a glance at the figure in the bed, “No. Just … no.”

“But …” I tried to explain.

“No, Isabel. No buts. The world isn’t ready for you yet. The world isn’t ready for this … for you … for what you can … please, Isabel, trust me on this. Your life will be better without … without this.” She gestured between me and the body on the bed. 

“You can be normal, live a normal life. You have to choose that life. Not this. Never this. No more, Isabel. I mean it. No more.”

About the Author:

Emily Astillberry is an author and RSPCA Inspector from Norfolk, England. She has a degree in English Literature and Linguistics from York University and has been investigating animal cruelty and neglect and rescuing sick and injured animals for 20 years. In her day job, Emily deals with very difficult and often emotional situations and meets all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds. Her career provides some of the inspiration for themes and characters that can be found in her fictional work.

At home, in a very old cottage in the country, Emily has a husband, 5 children, a dog, a cat, an axolotl, 2 giant African land snails and a varying number of rescue hens, so finding time to write can be a challenge. She is happiest outdoors, growing fruit and vegetables in the garden, walking the dog and family holidays usually involve walking up mountains in summer, skiing down them in winter and sleeping in a tent whenever possible.

Emily loves spending time with her large, noisy, chaotic family, cooking meals for friends and playing board games. She always has at least one book on the go and has always dreamed of writing her own novel. She now dreams of writing more. 

Visit her website at https://emilyastillberry.com. 

You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

The Essence of Bliss is her latest book.

First Chapter: Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea by Richard I. Levine

 

When they met in the fourth grade, it was love at first sight for Mitchell Brody and Jessica Ramirez. He was the freckle-faced kid who stood up for her honor when he silenced the class bully who’d been teasing her because of her accent. She was the new kid whose family moved to San Juan Island, Washington, from San Juan, Puerto Rico, and whom Mitch had thought was the most beautiful girl in the world.

She was his salvation from a strict upbringing. He was her knight in shining armor who had always looked out for her. Through the many years of porch-swinging, cotton-candied summer nights, autumn harvest festivals, and hand-in-hand walks planning for the ideal life together, they were inseparable…until 9/11, when the real world interrupted their Rockwell-esque small town life, and Mitch had joined the Marine Corps.

This is not just the story of a wounded warrior finally coming home to search for the love, and the world he abandoned twenty years before. It is also the story of a man who is seeking forgiveness and a way to ease the pain caused by every bad decision he’d ever made. It’s the story of a woman who, with strength and determination, rose up from the ashes of a shattered dream; but who never gave up hope that her one true love would return to her. As she once told an old friend: “Even before we met all those years ago, we were destined to be together in this life, and we will be together again, because even today we’re connected in a way that’s very special, and he needs to know about it before one of us leaves this earth.”

Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea is available at Amazon.

First Chapter:

 

Seattle, Autumn 2021

Mitch watched the I-5 traffic stream by like duty-bound ants marching in neat columns on their way to another conquest. He had wanted to open the window, covered with many months of dirt and grime, but it would have taken a half-dozen requisitions and just as many months before the maintenance department would have tended to it. He didn’t care about gaining a better view of the endless procession of late afternoon commuters; he was hoping to get a better view of the sun setting over the Olympic Mountains from the vantage point of the eleventh floor doctor’s office downtown. 

     Whether it was from an office building or from the decks of a ferry plying the waters of Puget Sound, it didn’t matter to him. Simply seeing the sun wash over the evergreens once again eased his anxiety faster than the strongest pharmaceutical he’d ever been prescribed. And over the course of the past few years, he’d been prescribed more pills for more reasons than he cared to count. But he wasn’t concerned about any of that now. He was focused on finally getting home.

     At times, he questioned the life-altering choices he had made or the ghosts he had been avoiding for so long. At times, he even wondered why they had that much power over his better judgement, or if, in the end, he had avoided them at all. 

     It had been many years since he had last visited Seattle. The city seemed so foreign to him now. The places he enjoyed on his rare visits: a University District music store he had loved for their extensive inventory of compact discs, a Pioneer Square sports bar within walking distance of the football stadium, and a waterfront seafood restaurant he had listed among his favorite places, were all long gone. Except for the Space Needle, the skyline was not how he had remembered. A decade or more of gentrification that had given birth to a collection of glittering glass-on-steel architectural masterpieces, could only distantly hide the once-vibrant intersection of First Avenue and Pike Street. No longer decorated with flower baskets filled with a colorful bounty, or teaming with hungry buskers distracting eager tourists heading toward the Pike Place Market, this, as with other downtown boulevards once bursting with a vibrance representative of all the city had been known for, now seemed soulless. Empty paper coffee cups danced across the pavement like tumbleweeds, while lifeless eyes peered from wind-tattered tents that shared the sidewalks with empty storefronts and growing mounds of trash. Save for a recollection of a few clandestine excursions, Mitch no longer had any interest in this place. He wanted to conclude his business and be on his way back to a world that was also nothing more than a distant memory: a world filled with blackberry, apple, and pumpkin pies cooling on windowsills in the warmth of a late summer morning, the Memorial Day parades led by a high school band, the volunteer fire department, and a collection of potbellied members from the local VFW, and the potpourri of Fourth of July barbecues, sack races, and firework displays lighting up the skies over a Rockwell-esque Friday Harbor. It was a place he had wrapped around his insecurities as if it were a goose-down comforter used to keep warm during a snow-driven winter storm, and it was the place he had avoided. Maybe going back and facing the ghosts of his past would be more painful and life-threatening than the physical wounds and emotional scars he’d sustained during his multiple tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet here he was, as if a few more tests and one more opinion might have produced the silver bullet that would have magically reversed every bad decision he made over the past twenty years during a self-inflicted exile.

     For the tenth time in as many minutes, he glanced at his watch, then up at the wall clock for confirmation. He’s late again, he thought before becoming aware of the clock’s relentless ticking and noticing the long shadows cast upon the opposite wall. To him, those shadows resembled a life slipping away—a life he felt no more able to grasp and hold on to no more than he could grab and hold on to any one of those shadows—and it abruptly reminded him of one of the last times he saw Alex.

* * *

Iraq 2004

     “Is that who I think it is?”

Mitch reflexively cringed then turned toward the sound of the familiar voice. “Alex! I mean, Captain,” he quickly corrected himself, in front of the squad of men in his charge. 

     “Holy cow, Mitch, what the hell! What brings you to Baghdad?”

     “Besides an all-expense paid luxury vacation, courtesy of Uncle Sam?” He forced a smile, then dismissed his men before continuing. “My unit was moved over here in oh-three from Afghanistan…for the invasion. We’ve been doing a lot of probing for, you know,” he lowered his voice, “retaking Fallujah. I don’t suppose you have anything to do with planning that, sir?”

     Alex surveyed his immediate surroundings before responding. “No one’s within earshot now. Even if they were, you can drop the captain and the sir nonsense.”

     “I’ll take that as a yes…sir.”

     “C’mon, Mitch, let’s not do this here.”

     “Fair enough, Alex. You were saying.” 

     “I pulled a few strings to get some of the best recon units for a little fun I’ve got planned before we launch the main operation. And yes,” he winked and attempted a little levity, “I even asked for you.”

     “Very funny. Let it be known that even over here, you’re trying to get me to do your heavy lifting. When are you ever gonna admit that if it wasn’t for my size, speed, and blocking ability, you would’ve never scored all those touchdowns in high school?”

     “That was you?” He smirked. “I did pretty well in college without you by the way.”

     “Yes, I’ve heard…constantly. No offers from the pros, huh?”

     “I had more important business to attend to.” Alex patted his sidearm.

     “Yes, I’m well aware of that too.”

     “What, you think you’re the only patriot?”

     “So, that’s what you call it!”

     “Mitch, please. There’s a lot you need to know. There’s a lot we really need to discuss. Not here, though. This isn’t the time or the place.”

     “I’ll give you that. So, moving right along, when did you get here?”

     “I’ve been in country for about two months now.”

     Mitch smiled. “That’s hardly enough time to get your utilities dirty.”

     Alex ignored the dig. “Truth be told, it seems like I’ve been here forever. Anyway, I’ve been here long enough to have that kid over there waiting to do errands for me every day.” He laughed and pointed to a ten-year-old Iraqi boy waiting nervously at his tent. “Showed up one day outta nowhere and now he’s like my shadow. You’ve been up to your neck in this for how long now?”

     “Since summer of oh-two. Afghanistan and now here. So, who is this kid, like your food taster or your house boy?” He studied the child with suspicion.

     “Food taster?” Alex laughed. “He cleans up the tent, does my laundry…provides a little intel now and then. I pay him in MREs, which I’m sure he sells on the black market.” 

     “Smart little guy. Just don’t eat anything he brings you,” Mitch warned. “I don’t trust the locals.”

     “You don’t trust anyone, especially me.”

     “Well, it’s not as if you didn’t earn it.”

     “I guess in your mind, at least until we have a chance to talk, I deserve that.”

     “You do, but I’m serious about not trusting the locals, Alex. You never know who’s an insurgent or who’s been compromised.”

     “Don’t worry, I checked him out. He’s a good kid.”

     “Famous last words. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Well, anyway, you’re an intelligence officer, so I guess you know what you’re doing. After all, you made it through ROTC and all that other fancy training with your boyish good looks intact. I’ll bet the folks back home are proud of you as you rise through the ranks like a rocket.”

     “Jealous?”

     “Not one bit.” Mitch said defensively.

     “Keep this to yourself…the real damage is on the inside.” Alex pointed to his head.

     “I had heard that about you intel officers.”

     “And look at you! Three stripes! That didn’t take you as long as I thought it would, Marine. At the rate you’re going—”

     “Not me, brother. Except for burn-pit duty and having to get all those booster shots, I was happy just being a grunt. Only now I’ve got responsibilities like leading a squad on patrols. And on top of everything, I’ve got these guys who are just a couple years younger than us calling me ‘Pops,’ of all things.”

     “Burn-pit duty, huh? I didn’t know they gave out Purple Hearts for sucking down toxic smoke. Does that stuff really get you stoned?”

     “I almost wish it did. Sometimes that stuff made me puke up my guts like there was no tomorrow. I should’ve gotten those medals for that instead of playing dodgeball with bullets.”

     “Yeah, I’m told everybody heard about that…front page of the paper back home.”

     “Didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”

     Again, Alex ignored the dig. “Next time you should duck and dodge a little faster.”

     “Honestly, it was nothing. A couple grazed me, is all. Here…” He pointed. “Here, and over here. It’s no big deal. Anyway, how’d you hear about it?”

     “It was in Jess’s last letter. She included the article. I hear you two have been corresponding.” Alex said, then looked for a reaction from Mitch. There was none.

     “She wrote once. It was the first time I had heard from her since…anyway, she didn’t have much to say other than you were on your way over here. She asked if I could keep an eye out for you. It was only right that I respond. I told her I would. Nothing more.”

     “That’s all anyone could expect.”

     “Uh huh…by the way, how’s your little boy? Mateo, isn’t it? He must be getting big.”

     “Like I said, we’ll talk…anyway, Mitch, I had already read up on your exploits.”

     “You’ve been reviewing my personnel file? If I didn’t know any better, Alex, I’d say you really do have something planned and you’re gonna want me to carry it out for you.”

* * *

Doctor Lenkovich’s Office 

The Present

     “Did you hear me, Mitch? Mitch? Master Gunnery Sergeant Brody?”

     Startled, Mitch hadn’t heard the doctor enter the room. “Sorry, doc, it’s been a long day…it’s been a long week.”

     “Not a problem.” The doctor took a seat. “When I came in, you were talking to yourself. Can I ask what you were thinking about?”

     “Nothing really…actually, that’s not true. I was thinking about everything you guys put me through the past couple months. Not just you or this place, but you know, all the tests, the paperwork, going through the process. I was thinking about getting out of here and finally getting back home.”

     “How long has it been?”

     “Far too long. I would’ve been there several weeks ago if I hadn’t been detoured to Bethesda and then Pendleton before ending up here.”

     “You do know it was a suggestion to come here, right? A strong suggestion, perhaps, but it wasn’t an order. After all, your retirement came through and you were discharged. Don’t forget, you’re a civilian now, and I think it’s important for you to get established with a doc. It just makes sense, considering.”

     “I know. Everybody here keeps reminding me. Did I tell you it wasn’t my choice to retire?”

     “No, you didn’t. Was separating hard for you?” the doctor asked.

     “Nah. I’ve had more than my share. It was time…I’m just trying to get used to it…” Mitch trailed off as the wall shadows once again stole his thoughts.

     “Anyway,” Doctor Lenkovich said, “it’s just the corps’ way of taking care of one of its highly decorated heroes.”

     “By forcing me out?” He snapped back as the flip of a light switch washed away the distraction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…anyway, I don’t think of myself as a hero.”

     “Forcing you out? Come on, it’s a medical discharge. What choice did they have? Anyway, you’ll be happy to know they finally sent the rest of your medical records. You’d think that after all these years I’d be used to the red tape and inefficiency that’s inherent…I’m rambling, sorry. All those tests we ended up duplicating since you arrived here…let’s just say, in case there was any doubt…well, let’s just think of the whole thing as one more confirmation. Which is what you wanted, and what you rightfully deserved. I hope the past week with us hadn’t been an inconvenience.”

     “An inconvenience?” He chuckled. “From being constantly poked and prodded, or having the unwanted attention because I’m some highly decorated…?”

     “Both. Are you saying you didn’t want all that special attention?”

     “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the above-and-beyond from you and the staff. Even got a couple of names and numbers of some very nice nurses. Even so, I’ve never been one for medals, parades, accolades, etcetera. No, not me. That was Alex’s thing. In all honesty, I hate the attention. It’s embarrassing and it makes me uncomfortable. Especially when so many others here don’t get half of what they deserve.”

     Their eyes locked in an uncomfortable moment of silence.

     “Luckily for you,” Doctor Lenkovich continued while jotting Alex’s name in Mitch’s chart, “there may be one more parade and then you can pack the uniforms, the medals, and hopefully the bad memories, and put them all into mothballs.”

     “What?” Mitch looked confused.

     “Mothballs…I guess people don’t use those anymore.”

     “I know what mothballs are. What parade?” Mitch asked. “Whaddya talking about?”

     “Didn’t anyone from your hometown contact you?”

     “I didn’t tell anybody I was coming…well, that’s not totally true. I left a voicemail for one guy to meet me, but he knows not to say anything to anyone. So, I’m in the dark here, Doc.”

     “Hold on a sec.” He skimmed through Mitch’s file. “Where’s that note? Here it is. Someone from the San Juan Island VFW post contacted the Pendleton base commander right after the news ran a story on you.”

     “Recently?”

     “Several weeks back. They mentioned that you were coming home and that you were being considered for the Congressional Medal. Is that true?”

     “It’s news to me.”

     “Anyway, they want to throw you a homecoming parade…wanted to do it the day you got back there. So, I guess that’s why this guy wanted a heads up on an exact day. I’ve got a number right here. Do you want to call them?”

     “No…no, I can’t.” He shook his head. “And they can’t do anything if they don’t know when I’m coming. They don’t know I’m coming, right? You didn’t call them?”

     “Why would I? It’s not my responsibility. Although if you ask me, a welcome home like that might be good for you.”

     “It’s been a long twenty years, Doc, and I’m tired in more ways than one. I don’t want the attention. And before you ask, I don’t wanna talk about why, and I don’t wanna talk to the shrink about it. I’ve talked to enough shrinks. Hell, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

     “Understood.” He continued to flip through the chart, stopping to review one page. “Mitch, if I may…I’m still curious. I suspect you weren’t thinking about home just now when I walked in because I overheard some of what you were saying. The duty nurse told me you had another restless night. You were talking in your sleep again. What were you really thinking about? If not home, then what? Who? Your friend?”

     “My friend?”

     “Alex? You’ve mentioned him a number of times.”

     “Who, Alex? My friend? He wasn’t my…no, I wasn’t thinking about him.” Remembering the shadows, Mitch stared back at the wall. “Why?”

     “Because I’m told you’ve had conversations with him, with this ‘Alex,’ when you’re alone, and you’ve yelled out his name in your sleep more than a few times, and…and I’m told one night it was as if you were trying to warn him about something. Mitch, I heard you mumble his name just now when I walked into the room. It’s okay to admit you were thinking about him.”

     “Just as long as I don’t think he’s sitting right here?” Mitch winked and smiled at the empty chair next to him to see the doctor’s reaction.

     “I did see that in your file too. It says here you’ve been told PTSD manifests in many ways. I do know from experience with other patients, any deep-seated guilt over the death of a friend can make a person believe the deceased continues to hang around. So, tell me,” the doctor looked up from the file, “has that been happening? Are you seeing him? Talking to him? You can tell me.”

     “I was only joking, Doc…no, it hasn’t happened, and it never did happen, and it’s not happening now, so, I don’t know what the duty nurse thought she heard. And for the record, I was joking with the doc at Bethesda too. That was my mistake. She was one of those uptight types. I was only trying to give her a rise, lighten the mood. I can’t believe she put that in my chart.”

     “A couple of times. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. If you say it didn’t happen—” 

     “It didn’t!”

     “I’ll make a note of that. Okay, moving right along…”

     “Yes, let’s. About those last few tests…you said there’s nothing new to report, right?” Mitch asked.

     “Do you have anything new to report to me? Headaches the same?”

     “No better, no worse.”

     “Any more episodes of nausea?”

     “Just the one time this past week. I think it was from the sausages. They smelled a little funny, now that I think of it. I actually thought I saw one move. Other than that, the food here is pretty decent.”

     “You’re joking, of course, yes?” Lenkovich asked

     “About it being pretty decent?”

     “Moving on…any confusion? Memory loss?”

     “No confusion. However, I do have some memories I’d like to get rid of.”

     “Any visual disturbances, slurring of speech, issues with balance or muscle weakness?”

     “No, no, no, and no.” Mitch said.

     “Okay, then. The latest tests show everything’s the same: the blood work, the scans, your sense of humor, no changes…for now, anyway. However, if you start to notice anything different, like if you actually become funny, you let me know.”

     “So…then…we’re all good, right? We’re all done then.”

     “Mitch, we could do more here, you know? The rate that this thing…it’s unpredictable. There’s a procedure we can do, it’s relatively new and—”

     “I know, Doc, you’ve told me already. I’m not interested, sorry.”

     “Look, I can arrange—” 

     “Thanks, but I think we’re all done here. Trust me, I’ll continue to take all my meds as directed, I’ll call when I need refills. I’ll call you if anything changes, I promise.”

     “In that case, please do me a favor? After you get home, after you get unpacked and settled in, had some time to yourself, looked up old friends, I’d like to have you come back here in a couple months and—”

     He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. I’m really not interested.”

     “Listen Mitch—”

     “Please, Doc, I’m finished listening. It’s nothing against you. You’ve actually been the most understanding, the easiest person to work with. I just don’t wanna do any more…I can’t do any more. All my years in the Corps I’ve had people telling me how to live my life, when to get out of bed, when to eat, who and how many to kill, I’m finished with all of it. I’ve got a small farm and a small hardware store waiting for me up on San Juan Island. For far too long now, I’ve been…I’ve been dreaming about waking up to a rooster’s cry, frying up bacon and some fresh-laid eggs in a cast iron skillet for breakfast, and topping off my coffee with warm milk straight from the teat before heading in to town to help some poor do-it-yourselfer find an odd sized doohickey for his hot water heater; all the things I detested growing up, which I’ve been missing for more days than I can count. I wanna get my hair cut at Freddie’s barbershop on Spring Street, where old men in suspenders still read newspapers, smoke cigars, and solve the world’s problems over a game of checkers.”

     “Sounds wonderful.”

     “Wanna know what’s really wonderful? Sitting by the big stone fireplace in Jentzen’s Café on a winter afternoon, drinking Irish coffee with a hunk of hot beer bread slathered in strawberry jam. And all the while, breathing in the heavy scent of fresh cut spruce and fir draped all across the windows as snow flurries dust the sidewalks and people rush by to get their Christmas packages to the post office before closing time. Now, that’s wonderful.”

     “It sounds like a wonderful life in Bedford Falls.” Doctor Lenkovich quipped in his best George Bailey imitation.

     “What?”

     “Bedford Falls? It’s a Wonderful Life? The movie…never mind. It sounds like a wonderful life, Mitch, and I can see I’ll have a hard time convincing you to come back here for any follow-ups.”

     “I was away for a long time, a lifetime, and now time is my enemy. So, once I set foot off that ferry I am not coming back to Seattle.

About the Author:

Richard I Levine is a native New Yorker raised in the shadows of Yankee Stadium. After dabbling in several occupations and a one-year coast-to-coast wanderlust trip, This one-time auxiliary police officer, volunteer fireman, bartender, and store manager returned to school to become a chiropractor.

A twenty-five-year cancer survivor, he’s a strong advocate for the natural healing arts. In 2006 he wrote, produced, and was on-air personality of The Dr. Rich Levine Show on Seattle’s KKNW 1150AM and after a twenty-five-year chiropractic practice in Bellevue, Washington, he closed up shop at the end of 2016 and moved to Oahu to pursue a dream of acting and being on Hawaii 5-O.

While briefly working as a ghostwriter/community liaison for a Honolulu City Councilmember, a Hawaii State Senator, and volunteering as an advisory board member of USVETS Barbers Point, he appeared as a background actor in over twenty-seven 5-Os, Magnum P.I.s, NCIS-Hawaii, and several Hallmark movies. In 2020, he had a co-star role in the third season episode of Magnum PI called “Easy Money.”

While he no longer lives in Hawaii, he says he will always cherish and be grateful for those seven years and all the wonderful people he’s met. His 5th novel, To Catch the Setting Sun, was inspired by his time in Hawaii.

Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea is Levine’s first foray into the romance genre.

Website & Social Media:

Website ➜ http://www.docrichlevine.com  

X ➜ https://www.twitter.com/Your_In8_Power 

Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/RichardLevineAuthor/ 

Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/rilevinedc 

Chapter One: Unorganized Crime by Judy Serrano

Title: Unorganized Crime

Author: Judy Serrano

Publisher: 6K Publishing

Publication Date: June 21, 2020

Pages: 283

Genre: Mafia Romance

As Jazz finds herself falling from a helicopter, Gage St. Claire comes to her rescue. Organized crime is once again the culprit of her parents’ situation, and as usual, she is caught in the crossfire. Gage pulls her out of the water and helps her escape to safety. The love between them is undiscovered as he tries to leave her behind in an attempt to keep her safe and move forward with his black ops pursuit. Jazz becomes an undercover cop with wiping out organized crime forever as her goal. After Jazz exposes one of the largest crime families in the country, quite by accident, she is hired to expose crime syndicate leader Michael Giambetti Jr., otherwise known as Achilles. Achilles earned his nickname because he has no weaknesses. He has no weaknesses, that is until he meets Jazz. Achilles has been untouchable, and if she were to break this case, she could finally prove herself as a serious undercover officer. Her job is not an easy one, and people around her are not who they appear to be. Will Gage come back for Jazz, or will he be lost to her forever? Will she crack the case on her own? Read as this courageous upstart stumbles through another adventure.

Unorganized Crime is available at Amazon.

 First Chapter:

The doors flew open, and the room filled quietly with black shirts marked  “FBI” looking almost like smoke blackening my vision. Some were wearing black ski masks to conceal their identity. Those would be the undercover agents. Somehow it  made the whole situation a bit more disconcerting. “Hands up!” the voices shouted,  as more FBI officers appeared, shoving several bystanders up against the walls.  “Everyone down on the floor!” was shouted to those who had not yet surrendered.  People were running for cover, jumping out windows, screams of desperation were  heard all over the building, as FBI climbed the stairs and handcuffed anyone and  everyone who crossed their paths. One of the masked agents approached me and  grabbed my hands, handcuffing them behind my back, hard.  

“Ouch!” I shouted as he pulled the cuffs around my wrists. “You know who I  am, right?” I asked. 

“Yes, Miss Burns, painfully aware.” He squeezed the cuffs tighter. “And I am painfully aware that you are cuffing me. Lay off, will you?” “Right now, you’re just a whore, Miss Burns, just like the rest of them.” 

I turned around to sneer at him. I was pissed. It took me almost a year to bust this  establishment wide open. He had to pretend to arrest me so that my cover wouldn’t  be exposed, but he didn’t have to be so rough. He was tall and muscular. As a matter  of fact, he was so well-built that I could see the muscles in his arms through his shirt.  Because my hands were restrained behind my back, I was unable to wipe the drool from my mouth. Okay, not really, but he was looking pretty good from where I was  standing, even if my point of view may have been obstructed by the activity in the  room. He pulled off his mask so that I could see who he was. Now, it all made sense.  He had dark brown eyes, black hair, and a small mustache just around his nose and  mouth.  Even though he towered over me, the temptation to kick him in the shin was  overwhelming. So, I succumbed.  

“Ouch!” he shouted, letting go of me and grabbing the shin I just injured. “Just trying to keep it real, Special Agent, sir.” He grabbed me by my cuffs and  dragged me out the door, backward. I knew he was ticked. He wanted in on this case  for months, but I was so close that I didn’t want him messing it up for me. I was  about half the way in when they discovered the madam of this fine establishment  was connected to organized crime. I was personally responsible for bringing down  one of the largest crime families in Las Vegas. It was totally accidental. The only  thing they ever let me do was bust whorehouses and puppy mills. This was the first  time I’d seen the FBI get involved. It was exciting and intrusive all at the same time. He turned me around so that I was facing the squad car, put his hand on the  top of my head, and pushed me inside. Needless to say, the ride to the station was a  tense one. We said nothing to each other the whole way there. When we finally  arrived, he opened my door and dragged me out, pulling me by my elbow into the  captain’s office. “Cut it out!” I shouted moving to kick him again, but he managed to  avoid me this time. “Un-cuff me, Special Agent … what’s your name?”  “It’s Alex, and I’m getting to it.” 

“Come on, Alex, don’t be a sore loser,” the captain offered. Alex finally  removed my cuffs. I rubbed my wrists and showed the marks left by the cuffs to my  captain. “Was that really necessary?” he asked him. 

“She kicked me,” he answered.  

Luke laughed. That was my captain’s name. “I’m sure it wasn’t unwarranted.” “Look,” I said, “I’m sick and tired of these low budget cases. I want something  bigger. I want to break something open that makes it worth dressing like this.” I  pulled off one of my red, high-heeled shoes and showed it to him. “Please, Burns, sit,” Luke suggested, motioning to the chair. I put my shoe  back on and gave him my best wounded-expression before complying with his  request. Just then, Hector walked in with another man. Ah, Hector Montiago. He was  quite the firecracker in his day. Even now, he could melt an ice cream cone with just  his smile, leaving you glad that your hands were warm and sticky. He had blond  hair, blue eyes, was tall and well built, but that’s not the best thing about Hector.  Hector was Mexican with a thick Spanish accent with surprisingly light skin. If he  didn’t have that accent, you would never know that his family was connected to the  Mexican Mafia. That’s right, I said it. He was well connected. Oh, and one more minor  detail. He was a highly respected FBI operative. I know, crazy, right? “Jazz,” he said, smiling. I stood up and hugged him. “Gosh, Jazz, I’m so proud  of you. You busted the Russo family business wide open. Good job.” Then he touched  my hair, which was an auburn color for this particular job. My natural hair color was  blond. I was also wearing brown contacts to cover my blue eyes. I could tell he wasn’t impressed. “We’re going back to blond tomorrow, yes?” He smiled again, and  the butterflies in my stomach became less than dormant. 

“Yes, Hector, going back to normal tomorrow. And thanks, by the way. I’m  kind of proud of myself.” 

“You should be. Your parents would be proud.” I sneered, not as subtly as I  had hoped.  

“What are you doing here?” Alex asked him. Clearly, Hector made him a little  uncomfortable. That was only to be expected. Hector had an interesting background  story. Not only was he ridiculously yummy, but Hector was unique in his situation.  As I mentioned before, Hector was well connected. He belonged to one of the biggest  crime families in the United States and Mexico. The Montiagos were untouchable.  Hector and his brother, Max, were FBI planted in their brother’s organization to try  to take him down many years ago. To make a long story short, his brother, Max, is  dead, and the family business is still up and running. That’s right- untouchable.  Diego Montiago Jr., otherwise known as simply Junior, runs the organization now. It  appears that the only person who can keep him in line is his uncle Hector. Hector  does a rather dangerous balancing act on the delicate line between right and wrong  and we sort of, “look the other way,” in return for Hector’s very unique skills and  insight.  

Hector looked over at me and patted Alex on the back. “I understand you’ve  already met Alex.”  

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure.” Alex winked at Hector, which I did not  appreciate.

“Would you mind excusing us, Burns? We have business to discuss,” Hector  said. 

“I want in,” I told him. “If you’re here, it must be big. Let me in.” 

“Jazz, this is out of your league. I’m not sure you’re … well … that you’re right  for this.” No matter how old I got, no matter what successes have headed my way, to  Hector I was still a little girl. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get past that  image of me that he must have had in his mind. 

“I can do it, Hector. What is it?” 

He laughed a little, smirking at me. “You’ve probably never even had to pull  your gun.”  

I pulled it out of the back of my waistband and pointed it at him. “How’s  this?” 

“Oh, little girl, if I had a dime for every woman who pulled a gun on me. Put it  away, and play nice.” He put his hand on the barrel of my gun and pushed it so that it  was facing the floor. He and all the other men in the room let out some quiet  laughter at my expense. I could feel my face flush, much to my own disgust. He was  quite the bad boy in his day. Never slept alone. Never had to. “You wouldn’t be  working with me,” he continued. “I’m just here to let go of the information I have  acquired personally from my own experience. You’d be working with them.” He  motioned to the man he came in with and Alex. “This is Jacob.” Jacob walked closer  to me and shook my hand. “He is the Lieutenant in charge of the case. I’m too close  to this,” he continued. “I need to plant a woman. I was going to use McCall. She’s  been around the block a few times and…”

“Hector, I can do this. Who’s the mark? Give me a chance.” 

He sighed. “It’s the Giambetti family. Michael Giambetti Jr., to be specific.” My heart started pounding. It was crashing against my chest so hard that I was  afraid they would hear it if I didn’t get ahold of myself. I could feel my face flush  again, as I began to understand why he was afraid to put me inside. Michael  Giambetti Jr. was the biggest competition for the Montiago family. He also had a  reputation for being quite the playboy. They called him Achilles. Just like Junior  Montiago was famous for having no remorse, Michael Giambetti Jr. was famous for  having no weaknesses. Trying to find his so-called “heel” has been a fruitless  venture. No one has found anything or anyone that has meant enough to him to  control his behavior. So consequently, that’s what he was known as by his peers.  Achilles.  

“Michael Giambetti?” 

“The father’s deceased. Michael Giambetti Sr. used to be involved with…”  Hector paused and looked like he might be a little embarrassed. “There was a  woman. Never mind, it’s not important. Let’s just say we have too much history.  That’s why Jacob will be your contact. I will bow out after this conversation.” Hector  smiled for a second as though he was thinking about something naughty. “Besides,  the whole Achilles, Hector thing just weirds me out.” We all laughed, thinking about  the old myth where Achilles actually kills Hector. I guess that could be a prophecy  that one would not want to explore. “Alex has been Michael’s right-hand man for  two years, and we’re no closer to busting him now then we were back then.” “So, his incompetence is causing you to call in the big dogs,” I added.

I am pretty sure that was steam now coming out of Alex’s ears. “I’m not incompetent. He’s very clever. He owns a few nightclubs and restaurants and only  discusses his sleazy little business with his brother and sister. So, we are going to  have to plant a woman.” 

“You want me to sleep with him?”  

“God, no,” Hector answered. “You and your long blond hair and curvy body  will certainly catch his attention. You will be blond again, I’m assuming.” “Yes, yes, would you cut it out.” 

He looked at me like I was nothing more than a mild form of entertainment  for him as he continued, already set on leaving me out of this. “The plan is to set it  up so that the woman and Alex hook up at a bar. You would flash your baby-blues;  Alex pretends to take you home and BAM! You’re in.”  

“Ewe…” 

“The thought doesn’t do much for me either,” Alex added. “McCall is the  better choice.” 

“I dunno,” Luke interrupted. “Jazz possesses a sort of innocence that McCall  doesn’t have. This may intrigue Achilles, and he may decide to try to get close to her.  This might work.” 

“No,” Hector added. “I’m with Alex. McCall it is.” 

“Hector, I am not a little girl anymore. I am a grown woman. I can do this.” “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Hector says, quoting Shakespeare  of all people, obviously still entertained by my persistence.  

“I just burned the Russo’s organization to the ground,” I reminded them.

“Quite accidentally,” Luke added. 

“Fine,” I said. “Ask McCall.” 

I got up and walked away. My pride was injured, and I was sick and tired of  all these weak assignments. So, I went home like a good little girl to lick my wounds.  *** 

When morning came, I was rudely awakened by my doorbell. I was only  wearing an undershirt and a pair of short-shorts and clearly, I wasn’t thinking  straight at the time, or I would’ve covered up. I grabbed my gun and walked to the  front door. I carefully peeked through the peephole. It was Hector, Jacob, and Alex.  This couldn’t be good. 

I pulled open the door, and Alex greeted me with a, “Good morning,  sunshine.” He pushed his way through the door and sat down presumptuously on  my easy chair. A little too comfortably if you asked me. “Thanks for the outfit,” he continued, looking me up and down like I was some kind of poster girl. “I think you  just cheered me up considerably.” 

“Shut up, Alex. It’s not like I invited you here.” I noticed the worry in Hector’s  face, which sobered me up a bit. “What’s going on? What are you all doing here?” “We need to talk,” Hector answered. He and Jacob walked in and made  themselves comfortable on my couch. “Jazz, please … sit.” 

Hector motioned for me to sit beside him. He took my hands when I did.  “You’re scaring me, Hector. What’s going on?” 

“McCall tried to get inside last night after we saw you.” 

“And…” My voice cracked. I was pretty sure what they were going to say.

“Her plan was for her to hook up with Achilles directly. She didn’t want to go  through Alex. She thought she was better than that.” 

“He killed her, Jazz,” Alex interrupted, “and if you don’t want to do this, we  understand completely.” 

I swallowed hard. “Tell me what happened.” 

“First of all,” Hector started, “she didn’t follow directions. She went to him,  climbed all over him, and went home with him. He was suspicious from the get-go. Maybe he was tipped off … we’re not sure. This is very risky. We know you’re  engaged. Why don’t you take some time to talk to Sean. See what he says. We’ll give  it a few days. Let things cool down a little. Then you decide.” I nodded, unable to  speak. “The plan is pretty simple. You will go home with Alex. When you get there,  just bounce around a little on the bed, make some noises and … you know … make it  sound believable.” I think I threw up a little inside my mouth. “You’ll have to tell  your fiancée that you can’t see him for a while. You will have to appear to be  exclusive with Alex. Do you think he can handle that?” 

“In public, you mean, right?” 

“Someone like Achilles will have you checked out and watched the moment  you step foot inside his house. So, no booty calls for a while. Fortunately, since you  are an undercover cop, he won’t be able to find any real details about you.” Hector  sat there, tapping his foot, staring at me, waiting for an answer.  

“I’ll talk to him,” I answered. “No problem.” I was lying of course. There was  no way Sean was going to go for this.

“Listen,” he continued, “under no circumstances are you to sleep with  Giambetti.” I looked at him, quite startled. “My brother, Max, sacrificed his integrity  all for the glory of the case.” 

“Hector, I…” 

“He’s very dead now. Understand?” 

“Yes, sir, I understand.” 

“Think it over. Give Luke your answer in the morning.” 

They all left except for Alex, who was still invasively sitting in my easy chair.  “Give us a minute, will you please?” Alex said, waiting for them to go. They nodded  as they vacated, and he stayed behind. He got up and stood next to me at the door  putting his hands on my shoulders. “I won’t think you’re weak if you don’t want to  do this. He made McCall right away. He may figure you out too. I’m willing to let this  one go. There will be another case.” 

“Where did she meet him?”  

“She didn’t wait for me. She went to one of his nightclubs and hit on him. You  would go to a place called Troy’s. It’s the downtown mob hangout. You’d wait for  me. I’ll hit on you. You come home with me. I live in the Giambetti estate.” “Troy’s? How … uncomfortably fitting.” 

“Don’t think the irony isn’t lost on me.” 

“I’ll do it, Alex.” 

“Think about it.” 

“I’ll do it. I’ll go see Luke in the morning for my instructions.” 

He looked at me and sighed realizing he was losing this battle. “There will be  other cases.” 

“Not for me,” I told him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.” 

“That’s Special Agent Hawkins, to you, young lady.” I smiled. He put his finger  under my chin and looked me in the eyes like the sun losing its desire for fire. “God, I  hope I don’t regret this.” 

*** 

I didn’t talk to Sean. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even wait till the morning. I  ran down to the station and staked my claim on this job. I was pretty sure Luke  would still be there, blaming himself for all that had happened to McCall. It appeared  that he had been up all night. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked quite shaken.  Luke reluctantly handed me a piece of paper with my instructions, and after what  felt like several hours of him trying to talk me out of this assignment, I went home to  get ready. I was feeling a little shaken myself. Was I crazy to take this on?  

My first instructions were to find a beauty salon and get my hair color  changed. Apparently, Alex likes blonds, and it had to look authentic. Somehow that  little fact didn’t surprise me even a little.  

When morning arrived, I headed out to the hairdresser. She turned me back  into myself, so to speak, straightened my hair, and sent me on my way. I put on a  short red dress, high heels, and extra makeup. Sticking my double D’s into that tight  red dress was no easy feat, I might add, but certainly worth it once the task was  done. My eyes were bluer than blue with my black eyeliner making its statement. As  darkness began to cloak the city, I called a cab and headed for Troy’s. The cab driver asked me twice if I was sure I wanted to go there. I assured him that I knew what I  was doing. The truth was that I really had no idea. 

When I walked inside, all eyes were on me. Not that I could blame them. I was  stunning. I walked over to the bar and got the bartender’s immediate attention. “I  don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before,” he stared. “I’m sure I would remember  eyes as blue as yours.” As if he was looking at my eyes. I smiled, trying to stay in  character. He passed me a quick wink and then checked me out quite obviously. The  temptation to remind him where my eyes really were was overwhelming. “What can  I get you, pretty lady?” 

“Scotch on the rocks, please.” He raised an eyebrow at me, which made me  think I should have ordered something foofier like a white wine or a strawberry  daiquiri. He handed it to me, and I sipped it. Alex was supposed to show up with  Achilles at 9 and it was 8:55. A man sat down next to me and put his hand on my  bottom. To say I was surprised was an understatement.  

“How much, baby?” 

I put my drink down and looked at him. “How much what?”  

“How much for a little piece of this?” He squeezed my bottom. No, I’m not  kidding. Then it dawned on me. Oh my gosh … he thinks I’m a hooker. Of course, he  does … jeez. 

“I’m not for sale, so if you wouldn’t mind, you can remove your hand now.” “Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got lots of cash.” He showed me a roll of bills with  his other hand and began to work his hand under my skirt. 

“I told you, I am not a prostitute. Remove your hand.” I reached to move his  grip from my very inappropriate area, but he was too strong, and I began to realize  that I may have to blow my cover to get him off of me.  

He put his face in my neck and whispered something that a lady would never  repeat, so I won’t. At that point, I reached over to where I had sat my drink and  threw it in his face. I could see Alex and who must have been Achilles come through  the door. They made a beeline for me. The man jumped up and grabbed me, roughly  by the arm, unsteadying me as I fell off of the barstool, standing off balance on my  heels. “You bitch!” 

“Let her go, Jimmy,” a voice said from behind. I turned and looked. It was  Achilles. “She’s with me.” 

The man was visibly stunned and slightly traumatized. “I’m sorry, Mr.  Giambetti,” he stuttered. “I thought … I had no idea … I’m really sorry, man … I…” “Apologize to the lady, and go home to your wife. You understand me,  Jimmy?” 

I rolled my eyes. Of course, he was married. “I’m sorry, Miss, for mistakin’ you  for a whore. Real sorry.” He ran off like a cockroach under a flashlight. “Thank you,” I said to Achilles. Although that was the most ridiculous apology  I have ever heard. I tried to steady my hands, but it was tough. I sat back down at the  bar in a valiant effort to stop shaking. Alex attempted to come over to me by  stepping past Achilles, but Achilles put his hand up to Alex’s chest and pushed him  backward. “This one is mine.”

 

About the Author:

Judy Serrano graduated from Texas A&M University-Commerce with a master’s degree in English. She is the owner of Make Cents Editing Services and is an English teacher at a local high school. Judy writes romantic suspense, Mafia romance, and paranormal romance. She is the author of The Easter’s Lilly Series, The Linked Series, Ivy Vines, Visions and the Unorganized Crime series. Although originally from New York, Judy resides in Texas with her husband and six cats.

Website & Social Media:

Website ➜ www.judyserrano.com 

Twitter ➜ http://www.twitter.com/AuthorJSerrano 

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Goodreads ➜ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4792103.Judy_Serrano