Chapter 1 Sunshine
Present Day
Duncan
I shot straight up in bed, gasping for breath.
The remnants of the nightmare clawed at my mind, trying to drag me back into its dark depths.
Every inch of my body was cool and slick with sweat, all except the marred flesh covering my back.
It sizzled with the memory of a fire, which had been extinguished long ago.
But I welcomed the pain with open arms. It reminded me just how badly I’d fucked everything up, not that I needed it.
The fact I survived was evidence enough.
Bit by bit, my eyes adjusted to the pitch blackness of my bedroom, which was courtesy of the thick drapes hanging over the windows.
Snatching my phone off the bedside table, I checked the time.
Two twenty-seven. Knowing I’d never get back to sleep without assistance, I flipped the covers off and slipped out of bed, not bothering to flick on the lights.
There was no need. I knew exactly how many turns and steps it took to get to the kitchen.
The hardwood floors of my old Victorian groaned as my bare feet slapped against them.
I’d purchased the house on a whim eight years ago when I moved to Huntington.
The realtor had been hanging the “for sale” sign at the end of the lane when I drove by.
Two days later, I was the owner of one hell of a fixer-upper.
It had four bedrooms, two and a half baths, an extra room I’d set up as an office, and a fully finished basement.
Restoring the monstrosity to her former glory was worth it in the end, even though it was way too much house for one person.
Opening the cabinet next to the sink, I pulled out a tumbler, along with the green bottle next to it.
Pouring two fingers worth of the brown liquid into the glass, I brought it to my lips, silently praying my old friend Jameson worked some magic.
It went down smooth, the combination of vanilla and spices warmed my throat, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Neither was round two.
I should’ve known there was no escaping. The memories of my failures were not only immortalized in the scars on my body, they played on a never-ending loop in my mind. They hadn’t faded with time, if anything, their clarity had only sharpened, intensified.
Bracing my hands on the edge of the counter, I closed my eyes and gave myself over to my nightmare.
“Why are you so quiet, Rogan? Is everything okay?”
Sloane sat in the passenger’s seat of my Ford Focus while I drove us toward our favorite hiking trail.
“Sorry, Sunshine.” I reached over, wrapping my hand around her jean-clad thigh. “We’re gonna be just fine, I promise. I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”
She didn’t know how badly I needed for it to be true.
Three months ago when I met Sloane, I never envisioned the impact she’d have on me.
When we were together, nothing else existed.
She quieted my chaos just by being near.
Rather quickly, it became apparent I’d found something with her most people spent a lifetime searching for.
The other half of my soul. Within a couple of weeks, my days began and ended with her in my arms. She knew everything there was to know about me, except two of the most important details: my real name and occupation.
The decision to keep Sloane in the dark wasn’t mine.
It was a bullshit powerplay made by someone higher up the chain of command, who didn’t have the same stake in the game.
There was only so much I could do about it.
Either agonize over the unfairness of the situation or bust my ass to bring Erik Murray down.
For the sake of my man-card, I chose the latter.
I’d been working at Solace since the day after I tackled Murray to the ground.
Apparently, he’d been impressed enough to offer me a job.
It was the in I was hoping for. From there, I was able to plant listening devices throughout the executive office and upload spyware into the main server, giving the FBI tech team access to the organization’s files.
We were so close to bringing Erik to his knees, I could almost taste it.
Which brought me to the reason for our impromptu hiking trip.
I was madly in love with Sloane Beckington, and before I could give her those three little words, I had to tell her the truth.
To hell with the consequences. Niall was furious, said I was thinking with my cock instead of my brain, but he could fuck right off.
I’d walk away from my job, from the case I’d built against Murray, from every-fucking-thing if that’s what it took to earn Sloane’s forgiveness.
She was the only one who mattered, and I’d fight the devil himself to hold on to every ounce of her sunshine.
The giant, twisted-up ball of dread in my stomach grew heavier the closer we got to “our spot,” as Sloane called it.
Winding roads carved a path up the side of the small mountain.
We were almost to the turnoff when there was a loud pop, followed by a brilliant flash of light.
I only had a moment to realize what happened before the steering wheel jerked in my grip. Then we were airborne.
IED.
Improvised. Explosive. Device.
Sloane’s terrified scream pierced the air, along with the horrifying crunch of metal as the car flipped over and over. Pain stole my breath then my consciousness, long before the vehicle came to a stop.
The faint smell of smoke tickled my nose. My head swam and when my eyes flickered open, I understood why. I was upside down.
Fuck.
The accident.
Sloane!
Looking to my right, I struggled to free myself when I spotted her body hanging lifelessly from the seat belt.
Releasing my own, agony ripped through me as I slammed down onto the roof of the car.
Ignoring my own injuries, I scrambled to reach her, putting my shaky fingers to the side of her neck.
I felt for a pulse. Slow and faint, but it was there.
“Sloane. Sunshine. Can you hear me?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t move. Swiping the curtain of hair from her face, my fingers came away wet, sticky, and red. Blood. So much blood it was dripping off the ends of her dark locks. Dammit.
“I’m going to get help, Sloane. I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare leave me.”
Luckily, the windshield shattered in the accident, giving me an easier exit than trying to fit my large body through one of the other windows.
I made it two excruciating steps away from the wreckage when a low whoosh drew my attention to the front of the car.
Flames spewed from under the hood, igniting a dry patch of grass around it.
No time for help. I had to get her out of there now.
Shards of glass pierced my hands as I crawled back through the opening. Bracing Sloane’s body against my side to break her fall, I pushed the release button on the seat belt. When nothing happened, I tried again. And again. Panic set in when I heard the first crackle from the fire.
“Come on, you motherfucker,” I yelled, tugging at the nylon straps with everything I had.
Finally, they gave in, sending me to my ass with Sloane crumpling on top of me.
Carefully, I readjusted her in my hold, then lay on my back, using my legs to propel the two of us toward freedom.
Once we were clear, I stood with her in my arms, then…
I slammed my fist against the granite countertop.
Then nothing. I didn’t remember a damn thing after getting us out of the car.
I woke up four days later in a hospital bed in France with a multitude of injuries, the least of which were third degree burns on my back, and no recollection of how I got there.
Niall held vigil at my side. He was the one who broke the news.
Sloane didn’t make it. My curse, my penance, was I never got to say goodbye.
It took three separate skin grafts until the burns were healed enough for me to be released from the doctors’ care.
The same day, I told the joint task force to go fuck themselves.
Their investigation into the accident was a joke.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out my cover had been––quite literally––blown, especially given how the wiretaps went offline and the spyware was conveniently uninstalled right before my car hit the IED. Coincidence? I didn’t believe in them.
When I got back to the States, I was in a dark place.
Even drinking didn’t numb the pain of her loss.
My boss threw me into one investigation after another, believing the distraction would help bring me out of my funk.
It was a mistake which nearly cost me my badge six months later, when I became overly aggressive with a suspect.
Thankfully, Deputy Director Ashland stepped in, forcing me into a mandatory six-month leave from the Bureau with the added stipulation of counseling.
I was pissed. Then I saw it for what it was, my last chance.
It came down to choices––two of them specifically.
I could either become the kind of man Sloane would be proud of, or follow her to the grave.
It wasn’t easy, but I knew what I had to do.
I spent the majority of those months grappling with my demons.
I’m not too proud to admit they won a round or two.
By the time I returned to work, I’d found an outlet for my pent-up aggression.
Boxing. There was nowhere to hide behind those ropes, not when it was just you, your opponent, and the referee.
It was the only place I’d found where the noise of the outside world faded into the background.
In the ring, I found a measure of peace.