Undefeated, page 1
UNDEFEATED
SYDNEY RYE MYSTERIES, BOOK 15
EMILY KIMELMAN
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Sneak Peek
Author’s Note
Find the Author
Emily’s Bookshelf
Undefeated
Sydney Rye Mysteries, Book 15
Copyright © 2022 by Emily Kimelman
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
Heading illustration: Autumn Whitehurst
Cover Design: Christian Bentulan
Formatting: Jamie Davis
To my daughter, Juniper, who made me a mother. I love you fiercely and always will.
CHAPTER ONE
The moon hangs low and full, her silvery light reflecting in the facets of black choppy water. Blue and I sit in the cockpit of a sailboat. My eyes scan the open ocean while female Peshmerga fighters sleep all around me—below deck, on the open deck near the bow, and one curled up behind me in the stern.
I cup my pregnant belly, allowing myself room to grieve in this peaceful moment. Rida saved my life…and I got her killed.
My old story starts to ride its rails: Everyone I love dies.
Tears wet my cheeks and my throat tightens. My dog Blue, sitting by my feet, leans more heavily against my leg, his focus steady on the horizon as he lends me comfort. I reach out and sink my fingers into the thick ruff across his broad shoulders, finding some peace in the warmth there. Blue doesn’t die.
Rida did, though. Shot in the back. Killed in an instant.
The faces of other people I’ve lost crowd my mind’s eye. My brother, James, grins at me like he knows all my secrets. My friend, Malina, winks, her eyes sparkling with joy. I got them killed too…
I spawned the lies that Rida used to start a revolution. Right before she died, Rida told me my lies were truth, that she was a messenger from God, and so was I. Because we are all divine. We are all one.
Bunch of fucking bullshit.
But Rida’s lies lent strength to women in bondage, offering them the opportunity to recognize their worth.
Her words freed women who’d believed other lies about our sex. That we are dangerous and in danger. That we are the root of all evil—Eve tasted the forbidden fruit…knowledge in a woman’s hand is damnation for all humans.
More bullshit.
But women believed Rida’s new story instead of the old ones…fascinating how much power belief lends reality.
Rida claimed to be a prophet, to have heard the voice of God, and that He said women were equal, and should rise up, spill blood, do whatever it took in order to claim their rightful positions next to men. But it wasn’t God, it was a very brain-damaged me.
The lies took on a life of their own, as they so often do. Fueled by enough belief, a well-told lie—fiction—can change the world.
The boat rocks gently, the sails filled by a fresh gust of wind.
We are in the Mediterranean Sea, miles off the southern coast of France, fleeing. Running away is how my life as Sydney Rye began: Blue and me in a boat, escaping New York City. But it is no longer just the two of us. My son shifts inside me as if he can sense my thoughts of him…and maybe he can.
The connection I feel to this new life is not something I can articulate. Maybe because I am afraid of what it sounds like. It sounds like a bunch of bullshit.
I’ve always insisted that faith in a God, in a deity outside yourself, is dangerous. It leads to absolution of one’s actions. If you’re killing for God…well then, that’s one thing, isn’t it? If you’re oppressing for God, really, how could you not subjugate other humans? God made me do it—for a higher purpose, of course.
I always held myself responsible. Insisted that I choose to save lives, often by taking others. I made those choices. No god told me what to do, or absolved me of the burden of my actions.
Those beliefs brought me here, to this boat, to these waters, to this life growing inside of me. To a grief as deep as the sea beneath me.
Is there a way forward without bloodshed? Can I break this curse and hold onto the ones I love without giving up and just letting the world spin on without me? It’s all the trying that gets people killed. But every time I try to stop… as they say, they suck me back in.
Lightning flashes in the distance and I look at Blue. He doesn’t react to the storm I see hovering on the horizon. It lives in my damaged brain. A lie I’m telling myself.
A smile tugs at my lips, humor in the absurd softening the blanket of grief cloaking me.
Thunder rumbles and a voice whispers within it. Burn it all down.
A shiver runs along my spine as images spring to life inside my mind’s eye. A web of lies suspends humanity in a constant struggle, each of us flies buzzing against the spider’s perfectly designed snare—the more we fight, the stronger the web holds. Each of us tangling ourselves further, twisting the silk tighter, holding us in our singular perspective.
But even if we don’t fight the web still holds us—it does not release when we surrender. There is no escape…except to destroy the web. To burn it down.
CHAPTER TWO
The elevator doors open onto a plush hallway with just one door. The penthouse at the Hôtel de Crillon is pure luxury. Gold and blue paisley carpeting dampens the sound in the foyer. Blue’s nose touches my hip to remind me he is there as we navigate around a gleaming wooden table with a vase of fragrant flowers at its center.
The thick wooden door to the penthouse suite opens. Robert Maxim, his dark hair swept back from his forehead, fills the entryway. His beard is trimmed short—glinting with the same silver that sparkles at his temples.
He raises one brow, his lips tilting into a half smile. “Sydney,” he says, his voice a low rumble. Robert’s heather-gray dress shirt, fastened by diamond cufflinks at his wrists, fits him perfectly—hugging the lines of his body like ocean water lapping the coast. “Good to see you.”
I stop in front of him, but Robert doesn’t move to invite me in. Blue sits, his head coming level with my hip. As tall as a Great Dane with the thick coat of a wolf, long snout of a collie, one blue eye and one brown, Blue thumps his tail in greeting.
“Good to see you, too,” I say.
Silence stretches between us; Robert’s eyes hold a mix of humor and anger. That’s often how he looks at me—like I piss him off and he finds that funny. A smile teases the corners of my mouth, Robert’s presence creating space for play in my chest where moments ago there’d been only purpose.
Movement behind him draws my attention into the suite. A narrow hall opens to a sitting room—large windows framing the city, the brightly-lit obelisk at the center of the Place de la Concorde in the foreground, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance. Mulberry’s large body blocks the view as he comes around the corner.
He breaks into a smile when he sees me. His left eye is swollen and purple but he doesn’t seem to care. “Sydney,” Mulberry says. “Thank God.”
Robert, his gaze still on me, moves slightly to the left as Mulberry shoulders up to him then keeps going, coming right into my personal space. His arms circle around me and suddenly I’m in his embrace.
I take in a deep breath of him and, wrapping my arms around his waist, lean into his muscled strength. Hiding in the dark, familiar scent of the man I love, grief washes over me again, as if my body senses that my sadness is safe with Mulberry.
Everybody I love dies.
I swallow my emotions and pull back, looking up into Mulberry’s bruised face. His eyes sparkle down at me, tracking to my lips; intensity focuses his gaze.
Robert clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he says. “That’s my wife.” His voice is even, eerily calm…but both Mulberry and I know the danger that lurks beneath.
I step out of Mulberry’s arms and walk into the palatial hotel suite. The city twinkles outside the windows. Blue’s wet nose brushes my fingers.
The living area of the suite is large and sumptuous with two armchairs facing a long couch—the interior design is elegant in pale grays, light lavenders, and rich ocean blue. I take
“Can I offer you anything?” Robert asks.
“Just water, please.”
He gets me a glass and the two men sit on the couch across from me. Robert crosses his legs and laces his hands. Mulberry leans forward, his elbows on his knees. Both wait patiently while I sip my water.
“The prophet…was murdered.” Mulberry falls back against the couch as if my words were a blow. Robert blinks, as if they were nothing. “Declan Doyle led the raid. I didn’t see her killed but Petra did—she says it was clearly a part of the mission. She’s not one to make shit up.”
Robert nods, agreeing with my assessment of Petra. A Czech-born self-made woman, she ended up pulled into the prophet’s realm for reasons she never got to learn—since Rida was murdered before they had a chance to speak. Though I doubt that movement is done with her yet.
“Here is how this is going to work,” I say. “First of all, Robert, you were right.”
“I like the sound of that,” he says, smiling.
“Don’t get too excited because I don’t think you’re gonna love the next part. You said I don’t pay enough attention to the big guys. I think you’re right. I have been trying to change the lives of individuals instead of trying to change the system.”
“Go on,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
“Joyful Justice,” the vigilante network inspired by my legendary acts of revenge, “started because people were desperate. And why are people desperate?”
“Lots of reasons.” Robert shrugs.
“No, just one. Because our system—the way that humans have built our societies—is predicated on some people having a lot.” I wave my hand around the room. “And others having very little.”
“Is it our system, or just nature?” Robert asks, his smile a smirk.
“Doesn’t matter,” I reply. “We don’t shit in the woods anymore, so why live by the laws of nature? We hit pause on evolution when we got smart enough to change our environment instead of letting it change us. Now it’s time to evolve society.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Robert asks.
Mulberry isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at me. His swollen eye makes him look rough—as if he is some sort of dangerous criminal…which I guess he is. But more than anything he looks angry and frustrated. Join the revolution, mother fucker. You’re not the only one.
“I don’t have all the answers,” I say. Mulberry’s frown deepens and he glances at Robert then back at me again. “But I propose we burn it down. Burn it all down.”
“What does that mean?” Robert asks, his smirk softening into a flat line.
My lips pull up into a grin. “I guess we’ll find out…”
“You know I’m always happy to help you, Sydney,” Robert says, his voice as smooth as ever—as if I’d asked for help with a charitable donation rather than a complete reordering of human society.
“What do you need from me?” Mulberry asks.
“I want a break from both of you,” I say, simply, truthfully.
Mulberry’s mouth betrays him instantly, slipping into a deep frown. Robert smirks again—the cat anticipating the mouse’s next move.
“I’m going to go to the island,” I say, referencing the isolated Pacific island owned by Joyful Justice and used as our base of operations. “And I’m going to ask Merl to meet me there.” Mulberry nods; he trusts Merl. Robert nods as well. Something the two men can agree on. A miracle. “I’m going to talk to him about all this.”
“That’s wise,” Robert says.
I snort a laugh which twists Robert’s smirk into a subtle smile. No one has ever called me wise. Nor should they…
I’m fierce, dangerous, and brave. But wise…no. That is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me—because most people can see the crazy all over me. “I didn’t say you were wise,” Robert remarks, as if reading my mind. “Just that talking to Merl is…” His smile grows teasing and intimate.
“What about the baby?” Mulberry asks. It is his child, after all…he does have a right to know…
“I still have a while to go,” I say, cupping my belly in what has become as natural a gesture as throat-punching white supremacists. “We have a doctor on the island who can keep an eye on me.”
Mulberry nods. “You’ll let me be there, for the birth?” he asks. The question makes my chest ache—it’s as if I hold his heart in my hands and he is asking, politely, that I don’t keep it from him forever…or crush it.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “Of course.” I swallow and blink, casting my gaze to the floor. Blue’s muzzle lands on my knee, and I reach out to play with one of his velvety ears. “I’m going to take Nila and Frank, too.”
“They are in my apartment in DC,” Robert says. “I’d happily escort them to the island for you.” He smiles, as if the attempted manipulation is an inside joke.
“Thanks,” I say. “But Dan will need to fly back and they can get a ride with him.” One of the other Joyful Justice council members, Dan Burke, lies in a medical suite in Washington and needs to come home. Dan was recently attacked by the “Action Men”, a group of white supremacist who can’t get laid and are so mad about it they’ve organized into a militia. They call themselves INCELS—involuntary celibates. They think the problem is women have too much power…including the power to say no to their advances. I agree the world is fucked, we just have very different perspectives on why.
Robert nods, expecting my deflection. His eyes sparkle at me, we are playing our game. My heart gives a little thump of love—our relationship is kind of awesome. “What I said is true…I want you both,” I say, reminding them of my declaration days before that I loved them and wouldn’t choose either. But instead requested them both…
Mulberry sits further back, as if trying to get away from the idea. His eyes fall to his hands, clasped in his lap. His whole body is rigid with rejection.
Robert takes a slow breath and smiles at me. “I admire how clearly you’re expressing your desire.” He says the last word in a voice so deep and dark that heat rises up my throat and I’m sure a blush is staining my cheeks. I will blame pregnancy hormones for this reaction.
Clearing my throat, I stand. “Okay, I’m going to go now.”
Both men rise and, as Blue and I move toward the door, they follow. I turn back to them and take a deep breath. Mulberry smiles at me. “I’ll see you soon, and you’ll keep me updated on how you’re feeling…and our son. You’ll…”
“I’ll take really good care of him,” I promise. At that moment he kicks, and I put a hand on where the flutter of movement presses against my skin. Without thinking I reach out and take Mulberry’s thick wrist, placing his palm against my belly.
His hazel eyes widen when our son kicks again. “That’s amazing,” he says, his voice a low whisper of awe. Suddenly, he drops to his knees in front of me and presses his face against my rounded stomach. “Hi in there,” he says in a voice I’ve never heard before from him. It’s low and happy. He’s talking to his baby. That’s Mulberry’s Dad voice.
My eyes sting, and when Mulberry kisses where our son is kicking, my breath stutters on the emotions in my throat. Blue presses against my side, and I take in a clear breath. But my mind is drawing pictures of what kind of life I could live if I’d just let it go. Just let the world spin and justice falter, and Mulberry and I could share a space and a life…maybe peace would find us if we let it.
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