Truth We Bear Read online

  Truth We Bear

  A Pieces of Me Novel

  Danielle Rose

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

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  Copyright © 2019 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Original Cover Design by Wicked by Design

  Cover Redesign by Waterhouse Press

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  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Start the Secrets of Stone Series by Angel Payne & Victoria Blue

  Excerpt from No Prince Charming

  Also by Danielle Rose

  About Danielle Rose

  For P.—For showing me true love knows no bounds.

  Chapter One

  Then

  The wind shifted, and the threads from an old weeping willow tree caught my eye. Weepers, as I liked to call them, were my favorite trees. I could swing from their vine-like branches as if I were Tarzan in search of Jane. I could hide behind its thick base during a game of tag. Too often Mother would find me napping beneath its shade.

  Again, the breeze shifted, sending the aroma of the sweetest wildflowers to my nose. I inhaled deeply, long, slow breaths. I’d considered snagging a few from the outskirts of the field for Mother. She always liked it when Father brought her flowers. I liked the way her nose crinkled when she smiled. The scent of flowers made me do that too.

  When spring came, we often had class outside, in God’s land. I loved being outdoors—and not only because the schoolhouse had too few windows to allow the breeze to dry my sweat. I felt free when I was outside. I felt like I was part of God’s plan. But when I was within the log-cabin walls of the schoolhouse, even though Father had helped build it with his own hands, I felt cut off from the world, from God.

  Smack!

  “James!” the teacher yelled. “I will not tell you to pay attention again.” A crater marked the earth where she had whipped it with her stick.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said in my most grown-up voice. Mother had always told me to respect and trust my elders. After all, it was our core belief system at Living Light. And I did so wholeheartedly.

  “James, repeat the Creed.”

  I nodded and regurgitated the list of rules I had sworn to follow as a member of Living Light. “I shall always obey my elders.”

  The schoolteacher nodded, and I continued.

  “What I do, I do for God.”

  “And the last?” she asked.

  “I shall forsake all others outside of Living Light.”

  “Well done.”

  I was born here, but my parents weren’t. Tired of the day-to-day life in corporate America, they fled, bought this land, and started anew, creating a self-sufficient community today’s hippies would envy. Soon after, their friends, who also desired to leave the modern world behind, joined us. By word of mouth, and only to the most deserving, our little community grew tenfold. Together, we cared for each other, bringing our knowledge of the other world to Living Light.

  The schoolteacher used to teach in the other world, but I’d overheard her say how much she hated it. She was new here. She came after the new pastor joined. I missed my old teacher. She was nice, and she never hit us. She worked in laundry now. Our new teacher told us fear was God’s greatest motivator, and she would instill that fear within us and to our very core.

  Sometimes, in hushed tones, Mother and Father spoke about the other world. I think they missed it—or maybe they just missed how Living Light used to be. After the new pastor joined, everything started to change.

  Our gardener used to box our excess food and sell it at a stand near the city. He always returned empty-handed but pockets full. But now, commingling with the outside folk was forbidden.

  No outside-world contact at all, my new teacher would say. No television, no computers, no access to the outside world… I didn’t know what a television or computer was, but the moment she told me I couldn’t have it, I desperately wanted one. I wondered if my parents and the other leaders felt that way too.

  I didn’t think Mother and Father were happy anymore, but they wouldn’t abandon all they’d created. They were loyal to Living Light and their community. I hoped I’d inherited that same sense of loyalty.

  I’d watch the schoolteacher during our daily lessons. I’d watch the way the breeze pushed our shirts to the side, but it could never muster enough power to sway her thick garments. Her hair was tied back and buried in a head-cap. Except for the stray strands that attempted a desperate escape at the top of her head, I’d never seen her hair. Her shirt, tucked and secure, was the color of cream, and its sleeves and neckline covered all exposed skin. Her skirt skimmed the ground when she walked. It was navy blue and looked far too warm for even a breezy spring day. In fact, everything about her looked…weird.

  It was safe to say I didn’t care for her much.

  I didn’t like that she dressed weird, and I didn’t like that she was mean. Her rules were strange, and she threatened to punish anyone who didn’t follow them. It didn’t take long for me to hear the snap of her whip in my dreams.

  I didn’t care much for the pastor, either. I’d hated him from the moment I’d met him. There was an arrogance in the way he talked, carried himself. He strolled when he walked, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  I’d never told Mother or Father my feelings, even after I’d started noticing them whispering to each other in corners and behind doors. I pretended everything was okay.

  Smack!

  I heard the stark slap of the wood before I understood what had happened, but then I felt it. The pressure building along my bare inner thigh. It radiated from me, pulsing in stinging waves of sheer discomfort. I’d been sitting cross-legged, but now, every nerve in my body was telling me to flail about. The pain was excruciating.

  I cried out and cowered as a hand came down, blocking the sun from my eyes. Her eyes were wild, dark, and full of hunger. She enjoyed the pain she inflicted, and I was beginning to understand why she had no job teaching in the other world.

  The stick she used to whip me snapped, pieces falling to the ground beside me. Tears burned as I dug my fingers into the soil I sat atop. Crying showed weakness, and I wouldn’t grant her that pleasure.

  I c
ould no longer hear the peaceful sounds of nature. The birds no longer chirped. The wind no longer fluttered through the trees’ leaves. Even the sounds of insects fell silent. All I could hear was my heart in my head, and it ached, begging to be released.

  Chapter Two

  Now

  I loved the way her nose crinkled when she was choosing the perfect color. I loved the way her brows furrowed when she was concentrating on the next stroke. I loved the way she sighed when it all came together. But most of all, I loved that she was painting again.

  It had taken countless nights of lost sleep, appointments with a celebrity guru therapist, and more than a year’s time, but Jezebel was slowly becoming her former self. The quick-witted, smart-talking woman I’d fallen in love with despite my every effort not to.

  The locks clicked closed, and I typed in the security password on the alarm system. I smiled internally, thinking about the day I’d installed the system. She had insisted we choose 1-2-3-4-5-6 as the password. Her reasoning? Because it was ridiculous. No one would try it. I shook my head, suppressing a chuckle.

  Apartments in New York City were small, but Jezebel had managed to score the perfect place with this brownstone. She loved it. I could tell by the look on her face when she’d offered me a tour of my new home. As her bodyguard, I had been hired to protect her from a stalker, and part of the deal was that I lived with her until he was caught.

  Brent Miller.

  Brent Fucking Miller.

  His name made my veins ice. I exhaled slowly, my fists squeezed at my sides. I hated him, but I hated myself most of all. I’d promised her I’d protect her from him, and even though he’d met his fate, I still hated knowing he’d gotten as close to her as he had.

  I shrugged off my jacket and folded it over the back of the barstool chair by the kitchen counter. Without a formal dining area, we often ate here. Jezebel once teased that, in time, we’d do other—much naughtier—things on this very counter.

  But that was before.

  Before Brent Miller abducted her.

  Before Brent Miller nearly raped her.

  Before Brent Miller wormed his way into her soul, burrowing deeply, forever changing her.

  For many months after her return to me, she’d slept in the bedroom closet. I’d slept upright, my back to the wall beside the closed and locked door between us, my gun in its holster, clipped to my pants. She’d never admitted it, but she’d feared being alone with me while she slept. She’d feared being alone with anyone while she’d slept, so I’d installed a lock on her closet door, and she’d kept the world at bay, sleeping with the door locked and the light on.

  After several months, she’d slowly emerged from the closet, returning to her bed. I’d remained on the floor, but this time, I’d positioned myself between her and the bedroom door. After a few weeks, I’d woken to find her nestled beside me, her head on my lap, shivering without a blanket. I’d carried her to bed, tucking her in. Before I could return to the floor, she’d woken, grabbed my hand, and beckoned me to sleep beside her.

  A year after Jezebel’s abduction, I’d begun to see the brazen woman I fell in love with. There was a spark in her eyes, in the way she watched me move. I’d find her gnawing her lower lip, her eyes trailing my frame. I was terrified of returning those glances. While I yearned to touch her again, the thought of rushing her recovery made me feel ill.

  We’d had sex exactly one time since her abduction, and it was like nothing we’d ever experienced before. Usually a take-charge woman, she’d offered me the reins, and slowly, I’d made love to her. I’d touched her softly, sweetly. I’d kissed the scars he had left on her. But that was weeks ago.

  Usually, she painted in the spare bedroom, which served as her writing office and art studio, but today, sprawled on the floor, paint swatches scattered about, she was in the living room. She glanced up, smiling.

  “I smell Chinese,” she said, inhaling dramatically. She stood, wiping her hands together as she trudged toward me.

  “Chicken Mei Fun,” I said, pulling out the carton of noodles from the bag. Her eyes lit up, just as I knew they would. It didn’t take me long to learn her favorites from every local restaurant. Jezebel was a habitual eater, and that made my job as her bodyguard much easier. “And spring rolls with extra sauce on the side.”

  She exhaled sharply, her hand over her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut. “A man after my heart.”

  I arched a brow. “I thought I already had that.”

  She smiled widely, closing the space between us. Standing on her tiptoes, she placed a gentle kiss to my lips before turning on her heels to face what she really wanted: dinner.

  “Chopsticks? Score!”

  “No plates tonight?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  She shook her head, turning toward the sink to wash her hands. I grabbed two wineglasses, poured generous splashes into each one, and carried them to the living room.

  “How was work?” she asked as I set up our dinner on the coffee table.

  “Good. I think I’ve found some temporary bodyguard work in the city.”

  “Really? That’s great! Where?” she asked as she dried her hands with a towel. She hung it on its hook and walked toward me.

  “There’s a small startup that’s looking for experienced guards. They cater to celebrities and the wealthy staying in the city short-term. New York is perfect for this kind of work.”

  She smiled. I knew saying that would make her happy. When she hired me, we’d talked about moving, but she loved Manhattan. Even though she’d known it was risky, her stubbornness had prevailed; she would not move. Now that that fucker was gone for good, she would breathe easier, and I could start settling down in the city. While I was still technically her bodyguard, she didn’t really need my services anymore. And if I had to sit through another weekday Gilmore Girls marathon with her, I’d go crazy, so I’d started looking for work that would get me out of the house while not keeping me too far away from Jezebel.

  She flopped onto the couch beside me and slurped her noodles from her chopsticks. Jezebel was a food junkie. She could dive into her meal and completely finish before ever realizing she’d forgotten to turn on the TV, which, let’s be honest, was the whole point of eating in the living room. I suppressed a smile after she moaned while eating.

  I turned on the TV and froze in fear when I saw the news headline.

  As a marine and as a bodyguard, I’d often faced dire circumstances. My decisions had resulted in loss of life. But rarely had I ever felt that feeling of utter dread when your heart seemingly stops beating yet your blood is rushing to your head. That moment of complete shock and fear when you know your world is about to end and all you can do is sit and watch it happen.

  But I felt it now.

  “Once again, for those just tuning in, two bodies have been found deep in the woods. Witnesses discovered the graves while hiking pine plantations near Morgan Hill State Park in upstate New York. More on this breaking story…”

  My chest clenched, and I felt like I was really, truly dying. I’d come close to dying before, and my career wasn’t exactly gentle on my soul, but I’d never feared death. Then again, I’d never feared life either.

  “You okay, babe?” Jezebel asked.

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and nodded. “Piece of chicken lodged in my throat. I’m okay.”

  She rubbed my back, trying to soothe my pain. I loved her caring nature. She was a spitfire most times, and it was rare when she showed how gentle a soul she actually was. But now, in this moment, I fought the urge to slap away her hand. Not because I wanted to but because I wasn’t sure I could lie if she asked one more time.

  “How about a movie?” I asked, hitting the button that silenced the news and turned on Netflix.

  She grabbed me by the hands, walking backward as she led us toward our bedroom. The glimmer in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. Excitement grew and threatened to bubble over, but I suppressed the urge
to succumb to my giddiness.

  When we made it to the bedroom, she gracefully slid her way onto the bed. I hadn’t noticed how nearly naked she was. In just a tank top and shorts, she was absolutely breathtaking. Her legs were long, lean, and pale, and I craved to run my hand up the length of them.

  Her abductor had scarred her body, but even more devastatingly, he’d ruined her confidence. Though she no longer found herself beautiful, the changes to her body didn’t thwart me or my near-constant erection whenever she was around.

  She faced me, frozen, her breath coming in quick, short bursts as I stared down at her. It had been so long since we’d bared ourselves to each other, and I could see how nervous she was. It hit me like a knife to the heart. More than anything, I hated how he’d changed her beautiful, confident soul.

  I kicked off my shoes, yanked off my shirt, and unbuttoned my jeans, letting them fall to the floor. Kicking my clothes to the side, I stood in only boxer briefs. I descended toward her, crawling until my lips reached hers. She latched on to me, seemingly needing this contact as much as I did.

  Her mouth opened to mine, and she swallowed my moans. The smooth caresses quickly turned fierce, and I found myself stripping her of her clothes until she was bare beneath me. Hiking up her legs, she removed my boxers with her feet, and I chuckled into her mouth.