His to Know (His to Own Book 3) Read online

  His to Know

  Book 3 in the His to Own series

  Copyright © 2017

  by Autumn Winchester

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover created by Covers by Combs

  Edited by IFlowCreative

  Chapter 1

  Zachariah

  The near-empty bottle of whiskey dangled from my hand, swaying back and forth. I watched in a drunken haze as the liquid sloshed around the edges of the glass bottle. It was mesmerizing. Or maybe I was just finally drunk enough to be entertained by just about anything at the moment.

  Drinking dulled the feeling that was now residing inside my chest. I felt numb. Nothing could replace my dead soul. Nothing could fix what had been done. There was absolutely nothing left inside or out to fix the wrongs.

  I was slowly drinking myself to death. I fucking begged for death to take me. My reason for living was gone. I knew I couldn’t live past this heartache. There was nothing here to keep me going. My heart was broken into a million little pieces, scattered like broken glass from a horrific car wreck.

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. How could one even fathom doing so? The love of my life was gone. Fucking gone!

  Before I was able to realize what I doing, I threw the whiskey bottle across the room. The sound of breaking glass did nothing to help my pent-up frustration. It only caused my blood to boil hotter.

  I saw red.

  Shoving everything off my desk angrily, the crash of the little things wasn’t enough either. I needed more. Destroying the entire house wouldn’t cure the fury that ran through my veins.

  My heart rushed in frantic beats. My breaths labored. My thoughts consumed me. Everything was out of my control and there was nothing, anything or anyone would be able to do to make me stop.

  My fists pounded into the wall. Hard. Fast. Unrelenting. Punch after punch, I hit whatever I could. My knuckles cried out in protest. But, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t as my haze grew.

  Why? Why did she leave me? Didn’t she know I’d do anything for her? Didn’t Avidya know she was my world?

  I knew I had to pull my shit together. I had to so I could go fucking find her. But pure agony filled the hole in my heart. There was nothing that could pull me away from my misery.

  I had come home exactly one week ago, finding Avidya gone. She had packed a bag, leaving a tear stained note for me to find on the bed, right on the top of my pillow.

  Her wedding ring sat on top as if us no longer mattered.

  She was gone.

  Some stupid fucker had called the brothel into the Feds, and within minutes, everything I had worked for was taken away from me. All the girls were taken into custody, some were taken to the hospital. Every man that worked there was taken into jail, and would most likely not be out anytime soon. It was their own fault that they were booked into jail. I paid them well enough that they had more than enough money to pay for a great lawyer.

  I was more pissed off about the fact my wife left me without any warning, no excuses. There were no hints about her leaving, either.

  I was held in custody for a little over four hours before my lawyer came and had me released. The brothel wasn’t under my name, so nothing could be tied to me through any damn thing. The police had no reason to hold me any longer. I played dumb to any of the ongoings, and it worked well enough.

  I had wisely switched all the legal papers over to Shemoli’s name after he found his fate in death. It was a precaution if something were to happen, just like it had. I knew Shemoli would never be found, which was just what I wanted. Being the man that I am, I had to have backup plans for everything.

  I knew that sooner or later, the brothel would be discovered, or someone would run their mouth to the wrong person. That, in turn, would lead to it being taken apart from the inside out. I was fucking pissed that my main source of income was ratted out, then turned upside down in so little time. Years of hard work wasted and thrown away like it meant nothing.

  But what set me on my current downward spiral was my missing wife. She left me.

  I knew my father was behind it. He gave me nothing, absolutely nothing, when I asked. He completely ignored me for a couple of days. I knew he was the one behind taking my wife. I just didn’t know why. It wasn’t like him, so why was my wife so fucking important that he took her from me? Did she ask for his help? Had he planned to take her from the first day he found about her?

  Fuck!

  I wouldn’t think my father would do that. I didn’t think he’d take her away. So why? I had to find her, but where the fuck did she go? Where would I even start looking?

  What the fuck had I done to make her leave me without a clear reason why? It just didn’t make sense.

  Dropping to the floor, I let out a gut-wrenching sob, letting my sorrow consume me. I ignored the pain as my knees hit the hardwood floor.

  ~oOo~

  “Come on, son,” my father grumbled, pulling me by my arm. He was easily able to pull my dead weight up. I wasn’t helping him any; I didn’t want to. What was the point?

  “You can’t drink yourself to death,” he muttered as I flopped my body into the chair. My tingling feet felt like pins and needles with the few shuffled steps I was forced to take.

  Huh. I was still in my office. How long had I been attached to the floor?

  “Sure, I can,” I slurred. I really fucking liked that idea. My eyes wouldn’t stay focused, so I let them stay slightly open in a half slit.

  “Not if I can help it,” Dad said. His voice sounded like it was underwater.

  As I forced my eyes open, everything was a blur. Halos appeared around the bright lamp on my desk.

  I was beyond drunk.

  Shit!

  I couldn’t recall the last time I was this drunk. I didn’t think I ever had been. But hey! I couldn’t feel a fucking thing, which was my motive. About time, too.

  “Drink,” Dad commanded, pressing something cold into my hands.

  Hoping for something strong to keep my emotions at bay, I downed the liquid letting it soothe my parched throat.

  “Water?” I asked in disgust. I hadn’t wanted water.

  “Yes. Water,” Dad said as though I was a child. “Nothing else. You’ve drunk all the alcohol already. At least it saves me from having to dump it all.”

  “Why would you do that?” I asked, my voice weak from lack of use. Or maybe from being overused with all the yelling I’d done too many days in a row. I attempted to stand, but my body fell back into the seat. I wanted to save all my drinks from his hands. I had to have something around here still, somewhere.

  Why would he dare throw away my precious alcohol?

  “You know why,” Dad deadpanned.

  Had I asked my question out loud?

  “You took my girl,” I seethed, trying to glare at my father as he moved about in front of me. Well, I think he was moving. There were too many of him to follow whatever he was doing in my office.

  “We’ll talk when you are sober, Zach,” he sighed out as though he was tired of my attitude. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “I ain’t going anywhere,” I slurred, letting my head fall against the chair. I refused to go to that room that my wife and I had slept in. I would rather s
leep outside than that room ever again.

  “Fine,” Dad spoke, not fighting me. Wise choice on his end.

  I let my eyes slide closed, too tired to try to fight it. All the whiskey and whatever other alcohol I consumed finally taking full effect.

  Chapter 2

  Avidya

  Did I do the right thing? Was running going to be worth it? Would Zachariah hate me forever now? Would he try to find me? Would he succeed? What would happen if he did?

  So many questions plagued my mind as I lay on the bed and stared out the window. The rain pelted against the panes of the glass, creating little rivers as the drops ran down the window pane. It felt like the sky was just as sad as I was.

  I knew in my heart that I did, in fact, do the right thing. It was the only thing I could do to make sure the life inside of me would have a chance at life.

  I knew logically that I had a few months before anyone would know that I was pregnant. I could have stayed with my husband longer. Maybe even get him to change his mind, or at least think about what the options were. But I was never good at keeping my worries to myself. Zachariah knew me too well. He’d either find out because my mouth splattered the news, or he’d have noticed my body changing. He was always too in tune with my body and my thoughts.

  It didn’t help that I tended to speak my mind without thinking first.

  It would only have been a matter of time either way. I wouldn’t be able to hide it from him. He was my world, and I never would keep such a thing from him, if I knew he wouldn’t make me get rid of the issue.

  With space, by all ways possible, I hoped—no, I prayed—that he’d see that I was doing the right thing. I wouldn’t change my mind, no matter what he wanted.

  I had no desire to be found anytime soon. That was the entire point of leaving with only a few belongings. I even left my wedding ring. It may have broken my heart to do so, but what other option did I have?

  Behind me, the hinges of the door groaned in protest as it was pushed open. I remained staring off out the window, wondering about my choices as silent tears fell from my eyes. I felt as though that had been the only thing I had been doing the past week. It’s all I could do as my heart tried to keep on beating.

  “You need to eat,” the man grunted awkwardly. I could picture him fidgeting in the doorway.

  This man, although only welcoming me into his small house because of who I happened to be, tended to keep to himself. I wasn’t sure if it was because of me keeping myself pretty much locked in this room, or because he didn’t know what to do with a stranger in his home.

  Carlos had brought me here with little talk as I pretty much kept to my own thoughts the entire drive. We had only stopped a handful of times in the ten hours since I made that dreaded phone call to him.

  He had made sure to keep all calls to his phone short and to the point when he happened to answer. He ignored the calls from his son and wife, knowing what they wanted. Who knows what would have happened if he’d have answered those.

  I was positive that Zachariah was livid. At least we had a really good head start on my husband, despite what Zachariah was capable of.

  When we arrived at the small tan colored house with a fairly greenish lawn, despite the late fall and crunchy leaves covering the ground, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The lone leafless tree stood in the middle of the front yard.

  A run down red pickup sat in the driveway. The paint was beginning to rust in places and looked like it was on its last leg of life.

  “You should be safe here,” Carlos stated as he shut the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

  “Where are we?” I asked. I hadn’t been exactly paying attention.

  “Auburn, California,” he answered. “Only Kent and myself know this man, or about him being here. This man here saved my life a few years back from someone that wanted me dead. He’s very capable of keeping you safe if need be, along with helping you find everything you need.”

  “Okay,” I yawned out.

  It didn’t take long to exit the car, Carlos carrying my bag as he led the way up to the front door. Less than a minute later, the door was pulled open, revealing the man that lived here.

  Before his eyes landed on either one of us, they looked around the road and yard. After a quick second, they landed on Carlos. His dark black hair was pulled up into a top bun, a few pieces left out on purpose. Although his skin was clean shaven, this man was pretty much all muscle. He reminded me of a farmer or woodworker with how he held himself. He was dressed like a farmer with the cotton button-up, checkered long sleeved shirt and jeans he wore.

  His dark eyes looked at Carlos through slits, as though he wasn’t sure what our business here was.

  “What do you need?” he asked darkly. His voice was rough, matching his exterior.

  “I need your help,” Carlos said as though he expected this man to do just that.

  “Why would I want to do that?” the man asked, folding his arms over his chest. His entire frame filled the doorway.

  “You owe me a favor,” Carlos shrugged out as though it was that simple.

  The man grunted, thinking the words over for a moment before finally stepping aside, letting us enter the house.

  Once inside, I took an attentive look around. The wood floor was well worn but clean. The off-white walls of the living room held no pictures or personal mementos. Along one wall, next to the window, sat a light brown sofa. Across from it, was a fireplace with a TV mounted not far above.

  The place felt homey, which I was not expecting. I hadn’t been sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  The man shut the door behind us, still basically not looking at me.

  “So, what can I do?” he asked bitterly.

  “I won’t take much of your time,” Carlos said. “Avidya, this is Taylor. Taylor, Avidya.”

  The man, Taylor, nodded at me before returning his eyes back to Carlos.

  “She needs to stay low for a while,” Carlos stated.

  “How long is a while?” Taylor asked. “I have things to do and can’t be held up. You know I don’t want to be dragged into your messes.”

  “Until she is ready to return,” Carlos stated. “It’s not my place to tell you her reasons. But she’s not safe with my family.”

  “Why?” Taylor asked, glancing at me. His look was different than when he looked at the man that had brought me here. It almost looked like Taylor felt sorry for me.

  “I’m pregnant,” I stated. Surprisingly, my voice was even and didn’t break, despite how much I’d been crying. “I can’t stay there anymore.”

  “So, it’s not his, then?” Taylor asked, almost knowingly.

  “My son is the child’s father,” Carlos stated, a threat to his words. “He’s not happy with his wife’s choices. But Avidya doesn’t want to do what Racheal did.”

  “Good,” Taylor stated as though he didn’t want that either. “She is welcome to stay for now. You make sure he doesn’t show up here.”

  “He won’t,” Carlos said, a sigh of relief with his words. “If so, you can deal with him how you like.”

  “Wouldn’t do it any other way,” Taylor grunted out. “I have a spare room. It’s not much, but should work for now.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “It’s what family is for,” he shrugged. Then, turning back to Carlos, he asked, “How likely is it that he will show up here?”

  “Not likely,” Carlos said flatly. “You know I am one of only two people who know who you are, or where you are. You will both be safe here.

  “Here,” he stated, pulling a brown envelope from the inside of his coat pocket. “To cover any costs.”

  “That’s not needed,” Taylor said, waving it away.

  “Fine,” Carlos said, setting it atop the fireplace. “Just in case.” He paused, thinking over his words as he turned to me. “You are doing the right thing, Avidya. Just do what you need to. When you are ready, you know where to call.
”

  With that, Carlos left without a goodbye.

  “I’ll show you the room,” Taylor croaked. I didn’t argue as he showed to me the guest room.

  And now, I found myself still in the bed barely leaving it but for bathroom breaks as I was hardly eating anything.

  “I’m not hungry,” I muttered.

  “If you want to waste away, go right ahead,” Taylor grumbled. “You ran to keep that thing, you shouldn’t give up on that. If that’s what you’re going to do, you might as well head back to that man you left.”

  “He’ll kill it,” I whimpered.

  “And you will too if you don’t get up and eat. You gotta take care of yourself if you expect to keep it,” he huffed before leaving me alone once more. Unlike the last few times he had told me to eat, he left the door open. A clear sign that he expected me to get my butt up and take care of myself. Maybe he did care about my wellbeing.

  He was right. I ran to keep this baby, I had to take care of myself to do so.

  With a sigh, I pushed myself up and out of the bed. I couldn’t let my efforts for running be wasted. I had to get things figured out, at least for a chance of life for the baby. It didn’t matter if my heart was broken into a million tiny pieces. What mattered was keeping this little one safe and alive.

  Once in the kitchen, Taylor already had a bowl of oatmeal set out, waiting for me.

  “That wasn’t so hard,” he muttered, pleased that I finally was doing something.

  “You have no idea,” I said, slowly starting to eat.

  “Oh, I think I do,” he said. “A story for another time though. You, eat. Then we talk.”

  That didn’t sound too good.

  ~oOo~

  A huge yawn escaped my mouth as I finished off a second bowl of oatmeal and a side of strawberries. I was tired, but I guess crying almost nonstop for over a week would do that to anyone. Add on being pregnant, too, didn’t help matters.