Dark Sins, page 1
Dark Sins
Kelly Myers
Copyright © 2021 by Kelly Myers
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.
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Contents
Blurb
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
Epilogue
Excerpt: My Secret Daddy
Also by Kelly Myers
Invitation to join Kelly’s Newsletter
Blurb
Navy SEAL, Hero, Survivor…
The moment I met Ryker Flynn, my brother’s best friend, sparks ignited.
But, he considered me off-limits, an untouchable angel.
Now, 10 years later, he hates me with a passion.
Because I am the CIA officer responsible for sending him, my brother and their elite squad to certain death.
Only Ryker managed to survive the doomed op but PTSD and survivor’s guilt have nearly destroyed him.
Meanwhile, I lost everything—my job, family and the respect of the one man I can’t seem to forget.
Now I get to know that I was set up to be a scapegoat.
I’m determined to find out the truth and clear my name.
But, I’m going to need help from someone I trust.
Unfortunately, the only man I trust never wants to see me again.
Chapter One
Avery
I tuck a strand of blonde hair behind my ear, peer through the camera lens and focus on the happy couple. Snap! I freeze-frame on the perfect shot. You can literally see the love for each other shining in their eyes, I think.
I’m happy for my clients, a newly engaged couple, but I can’t deny that a part of me is a little jealous. No one has ever looked at me with such adoration. I let out a small breath and take a few more final shots. Not everyone gets a happy ending with her soulmate, Ave. Deal with it.
“I think we’re done,” I say and give them a bright smile.
The couple exchanges another kiss, probably the hundredth since we started the photo shoot, and I place my camera back in its case. “Thanks, Avery,” the bride-to-be gushes. “I’m so excited to see the pictures.”
“I should have them ready in about a week,” I tell her.
“Oh, good! We can’t wait to share them with all of our friends and family.”
I force another smile and hand my card to the groom-to-be. “I’m glad I could be a part of your special time. If you ever need anything else…”
But, I don’t think they even hear me because they’re sucking face again.
“Okay, then. I’ll be in touch,” I say and give an awkward wave. I love taking pictures and photography of all kinds, but, God, sometimes it’s hard for me to do the newly-engaged couples and weddings. But, hey, they’re my bread and butter so I just suck it up and get the best shots that show off their undying love.
I figure at least half will be divorced within five years, anyway. That’s the statistic, right? It’s actually probably higher, I think, and head over to my car, beyond ready to leave the park with its Disney-like setting of singing birds, blue skies and smooching couples.
I’m not usually so bitter when it comes to happy couples, but lately, it’s been harder for me. I slip into my Jeep Wrangler, set my camera case on the passenger seat and flip down the visor. I open the mirror and study my reflection.
On the outside, I’m 32 with long blonde, wavy hair, blue eyes and a slim build despite my love affair with sugar. I guess I can thank good genes and the fact that I’m nearly 5’8” so I guess my weight just gets evenly distributed over my tall frame.
On the inside, things are a bit more complicated.
I sigh, shove the visor back up and slip on my sunglasses. Being Avery Archer hasn’t been easy, I think. But, I try hard not to wallow in self-pity. Everything fell apart for me two years earlier, but I dig deep, push past all of the hurt and live my life the best way I know how.
Because that’s what Luke would have done.
As I drive away from the park and back to my apartment, I feel my mind wandering back once again. Trying to make sense and understand how everything went so horribly wrong. I live in sunny Los Angeles now, but grew up in Lima, Ohio, a small town where everyone knows everyone and right now, in November, it was probably 40 degrees out, if they were lucky.
I look up, grateful to see palm trees and not bare, half-frozen skeletal branches.
My older brother Luke and I were super close, only two years apart. I looked up to him and wanted to do whatever he did. My parents adored Luke and thought he could do no wrong. Me, on the other hand? In their eyes, I couldn’t do anything right. Nothing was ever good enough and they were always so focused on Luke that I felt the need to prove myself.
It’s the whole reason I joined the CIA.
Biggest mistake of my life, I think, as I turn into my parking garage.
I turn my car off and sit there for a minute as the memories come flooding back. Luke joined the Navy after graduating high school and was determined to be a SEAL-- he had found his calling, the thing he was meant to do, and went after it with unrelenting passion and zeal. For Luke, there was no Plan B.
Luke went to Boot Camp and then on to Coronado, California, for phase one of BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. It’s a grueling 6-month, trial by fire, selection process where the majority of SEAL wannabe’s either quit or get injured. My parents and I couldn’t have been prouder. Luke was the best of the best and he was out there proving it.
Navy SEAL training is notoriously intense and few candidates actually make it through. My brother said it was around an 80 percent dropout rate. But, Luke made it through all of the training, became a full member and received his Trident pin. While he continually proved he was one of the elite, I floundered around in my first year away at college, not sure what I wanted to do.
One day, I was walking through the Student Union checking out the various booths set up for a job fair. The moment I saw the Central Intelligence Agency representative, I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to join the freaking CIA. I was super smart, good at puzzles and had a knack for languages. I’d make a great analyst, help my country and make my parents proud.
It seemed like a no-brainer.
So, I majored in Political Science, got my Bachelor’s degree and I applied to the CIA. After several rounds of tests and interviews, I was accepted. Then, I had to complete basic training at the Sherman Kent School in Reston, Virginia, just outside of Washington DC.
By this time, Luke had made DEVGRU (Naval Special Warfare DEVelopment GRoUp), commonly known as SEAL Team Six, which is literally the crème de la crème of warriors. He was based in Virginia Beach and only about a three and half hour drive away which was great.
I felt like Luke, who had gone through so much training, as I went through the Career Analyst Program, or CAP, which gave me a thorough understanding of how to think, write and brief according to CIA standards.
In my eyes, Luke was out there saving the world. I may only have had a desk job, but I was gathering intelligence that would help SEALs like him take down the bad guys. It felt really good.
Then, I fucked up. I fucked up so badly that I ended up killing my brother and his team, losing what relationship I had with my parents and quitting my analyst job.
That was two years ago and now here I am, unable to forgive myself. It’s like I’m stuck in limbo. I can’t move forward and I certainly don’t want to go backward. So, I hover in the middle, drowning in guilt, not knowing what to do.
Just...lost and floundering...
With a sigh, I grab my camera and purse, slip out of the Jeep and walk up to my apartment. It’s small but cozy, tucked away in a residential North Hollywood neighborhood in the Valley. It might get obscenely hot here in the summer, but the rent is decent and nobody bothers me.
Nobody bothers me to the point where I kind of have no friends.
Except Liberty. I open the door and my German Shepherd lopes over. I give her a big kiss and leash her up. “Hang on, Libs,” I say and head into my bedroom. I change into a t-shirt, leggings and tennis shoes and sweep my hair back into a ponytail. Then, I grab Liberty’s leash and we head out for our daily jog.
Liberty loves the exercise and running helps me clear my head. Because no matter how much time passes, I can’t let go of the events that happened which caused people who I love to die.
I pick up speed, push myself harder. The cliché
Working as an analyst was challenging and I enjoyed receiving classified information from a variety of sources, then examining and evaluating it. My old job was to gather information from around the globe from individuals, foreign media and satellite surveillance. Because this information varied in how reliable and complete it was, it was up to me to draw coherent and useful intelligence from it all.
For me, it was like being sent the broken pieces of a vase from all over the world and having to glue them together in the right order to see what the vase looked like.
I was good at what I did until I wasn’t. Until I shared information that turned out to be wrong. Deadly wrong. I shake the memories off and Liberty and I finish our run. I feel a little better afterward and give her some fresh water while I eat a couple pieces of chocolate. Then, I hop in the shower.
Afterward, I throw on pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt with the Navy SEAL emblem-- an eagle with an anchor, pistol and trident in its talons-- that used to belong to Luke. I plop down on the couch and Liberty jumps up and lays down beside me. As I stroke her soft black and tan fur, I open my laptop and check my email.
I scan down the messages, mostly from clients, and then pause when I spot one that jumps out at me. I don’t recognize the email address, but something makes my spine tingle. I open it up and read the short message: Avery, I have information regarding Operation Armageddon that will interest you. It will also clear your name of any wrongdoing. G.
For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I just sit there, frozen with shock, re-reading the message.
Information that will clear my name?
Is that possible? I blink, trying to wrap my head around the idea that maybe the shitshow known as Operation Armageddon isn’t my fault. That just maybe I’m not the one solely responsible for sending my brave brother and his team to certain death.
Because they all died except one.
One very tall, very handsome, very muscled man named Ryker Flynn.
I let out a shaky sigh, remembering the first time we met. My brother and Ryker were on leave and dropped in to visit my parents for a few days. They had met at Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois, hit it off and trained together until they reached the top. That weekend, I came home, too, so I could see Luke.
I just wasn’t expecting my heart to skip a beat when I laid eyes on Ryker.
With short dark hair and eyes the color of expensive whisky, he made the butterflies in my stomach flutter to life. I’ll never forget looking up into his tan, rugged face and being at a complete loss for words when he said hello the very first time.
Damn. My heart still pounds when I think about him.
The attraction caught me off-guard and I thought I saw a spark of interest on his end, but then Luke swept in and they went off and did whatever craziness military guys do when they’re on a break. I have no doubt that it involved copious amounts of alcohol and loose women.
Hell, they were U.S. Navy SEALs. The shit they went through to become a part of that elite team…they deserved to let loose.
Later that weekend, my Mom made dinner for all of us and I got to sit across from Ryker and discreetly drool over him the entire meal. While my brother was loud and always talking, Ryker was quieter. Yet, he possessed such a commanding presence. He listened closely to everything I said and even asked me quite a few questions about working as an analyst. When I talked a little about what I did, he looked impressed.
Obviously, neither of us could divulge too much information because everything we did was classified. But, we found a common ground and I enjoyed talking to him so much. Because Ryker listened to me like no one else ever had before. He showed interest, enthusiasm and respect.
Luke and Ryker left the next morning and I usually saw him once or twice a year after that. I lived for those brief visits when he came back with my brother and I always made sure I was home. A couple of times, I even drove to Virginia Beach to see them.
I’ll always remember when Ryker came and spent the holidays with us. His parents had died in a car accident earlier that year. He was an only child who didn’t have any other close family so, of course, Luke insisted that he spend Christmas and New Year’s with us.
It was Christmas Eve and my flight got delayed. My parents complained about picking me up because they wanted to attend Christmas Eve Mass. So, Ryker offered to pick me up from the airport while Luke and my parents went to church.
I didn’t expect to see Ryker and instantly regretted wearing minimal makeup, throwing my hair up in a messy bun and being in my comfy old sweatpants. I must’ve looked a mess after waiting around all day and then flying for hours, but Ryker didn’t seem to notice. He greeted me with a big bear hug, grabbed my luggage and guided me to my parents’ SUV.
It was the best greeting I ever got and I remember he smelled like pine, all Christmas-like and woodsy. On the drive back, our conversation was easy and light. Snow flurries fell and when we got back to my parents’ house, we made hot cocoa. Ryker built a fire and we sat on the couch and talked for nearly two hours. I think it was the best night of my life.
And then I sent Ryker into a bloody ambush. It’s a miracle he survived. He barely made it to the extraction point alive and they got him out just in time. His physical injuries were extensive so I can only imagine the mental trauma he sustained.
The guilt I’ve endured since that night nearly broke me a few different times. But, it’s something I’ve learned to live with and handle. Some days are worse than others, especially birthdays, holidays and anniversaries.
I always had a huge crush on Ryker Flynn and a little part of me wonders if the feeling was mutual. But, everything changed after Operation Armageddon. Any affection Ryker may have had for me disappeared and was replaced by a bitter hate.
Because I was the one who fucked up. I led Luke, Ryker and the rest of their team into a slaughter and I took the blame, the guilt, the fall.
But, now someone is telling me it wasn’t my fault? That they have information that can clear my name? It seems too good to be true, but I have to find out the truth. If I can ease my conscience from the crushing burden I’ve felt these last couple of years, I will in a heartbeat.
But, even more than that, I’ll be able to face Ryker, my parents and everyone else who blames me for Luke’s and the others’ deaths.
And, maybe, I’ll finally be able to forgive myself.
I’m determined to find out the truth, but I don’t know if I can trust this “G.” I’m going to need help. Someone I trust.
I trust Ryker.
Problem is he doesn't even want to look at me anymore. The last time we spoke, he made his feelings for me quite clear: he hated me and would never forgive me for leading his brothers into that massacre to die.
I try to push back the terrible things he said and focus on the hope that this mysterious “G.” may have information to help me finally be able to move forward.
I pet Liberty and decide that I’m going to track Ryker down and ask for his help.
Even though he will probably tell me to go to hell.
Chapter Two
Ryker
“And, I also want to welcome Harlow to the team,” Jax Wilder says, holding up his champagne glass. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to deal with a bunch of macho Alpha males, but try to cut us a little slack. We’re still learning.”
My gaze moves over to the dark-haired beauty and Harlow Vaughn tilts her glass with a smile.
