The Victorious Redemption Complete Series Boxed Set, page 1
THE VICTORIOUS REDEMPTION COMPLETE BOXED SET
BOOKS 1-6
MICHAEL ANDERLE
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Version 1.00, April 2023
eBook ISBN: 979-8-88878-216-3
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
to Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
to Live the Life We Are
Called.
— Michael
CONTENTS
Sins of the Father
Pack Rules
Don’t Dare the Dead
Dark Attitudes
An Unholy Reunion
The Final Showdown
Drafted
Connect with The Author
Books By Michael Anderle
SINS OF THE FATHER
THE VICTORIOUS REDEMPTION BOOK ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Treachery
Jasmine Vironsis opened her bleary eyes and stared at the plain cream walls in front of her. The air smelled of a mix between a cloud of cologne and the stale scent of lovemaking.
A smile crept across her face. Memories of last night’s activities flashed through her head, a dizzying array of movement, flexibility, lust, and competition.
She didn’t want to move, comfortable in her spot as daylight filtered through the curtains. One thing marred the moment, though. She was alone in bed. She chuckled, then sighed. Of course.
Jasmine brushed a stray piece of blonde hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She reached for her cell phone, picked it up, and unlocked the screen to check her notifications. She hoped to get clearance for the new piece she wanted to run on the connections between police confiscations and subsequent sales to city council members.
Her editor would complain about all the gray hair Jasmine was giving her, but the woman would never say no. She loved a good investigative article nearly as much as Jasmine did.
She swiped through the list of notifications, finding nothing from her boss or anyone else in her circle of acquaintances. She wondered if Ruby was awake or was currently in the office, knee-deep in fighting through the barrage of emails that often slapped her in the face every time she went to her computer.
Oh, the perks of being the top dog.
Or, perhaps—and this seemed unlikely—she was taking a rare Saturday off. Jasmine chuckled again. Yeah, right. Like that ever happens in this business.
She placed her cell phone back down, a gentle tap accompanying its return to the surface. The smile made her cheeks ache. Deshawne had been a great competitor in their game, someone with nearly the same stamina as her.
He’d locked eyes with her at the counter of the Straw Hat bar the night before. It hadn’t taken long before she knew he would be trouble.
The man was conventionally handsome with five o’clock shadow painting his cheeks. His shaved hair reminded her of the fuzz on a peach and elicited the urge to touch. His leather was immaculate over a V-neck tee pointed toward his buff chest. A thick silver ring banded his little finger, and when he flashed a smile, something inside Jasmine squirmed pleasantly.
He’d kept his distance to begin with, instructing the barman to supply her cocktails at no charge. Jasmine accepted the offer with hesitation. She observed each measure the bartender put in her drink and ensured no one else touched it.
Whether Deshawne was lucky or he had some other information on her, he chose her drink wisely, delivering the flavors that tickled her taste buds. By the third drink, he had scooted next to her, asking permission to occupy the seat. Feeling charitable, she had accepted, and they fell into easy conversation.
Jasmine had revealed only the bare bones of her career as an investigative reporter. Leaking company secrets or disclosing their investigative methods to the greater public was taboo. Not only would it get her fired, but it could also harm her and those associated with her.
Deshawne was kind and attentive. Something about his face indicated “trustworthy.” He told Jasmine about his private marketing business. His projects were primarily online, helping people farm likes, harvest comments, and find the attention they thought they deserved. Most of his clients were non-profits.
That last part broke the rest of Jasmine’s reserve. She leaned in, a little dizzy from the fifth drink, and planted a kiss on his lips.
His lips were soft. His smell was intoxicating. Their tongues danced. Before she knew it, more cocktails lined the bar, and that familiar yearning in her belly for some late-night fun got her engine revving.
She wondered if Deshawne would be the guy for her. If he would be the one who finally matched her hunger and prowess in the bedroom. Sure, he was a bar hook-up, but a girl could dream, right? As they pulled on their coats, Jasmine recalled her long list of disappointments—men who were all talk but sufficiently lacked action. Men with egos bigger than restraint, filled with empty promises, bullshit, and the ability to turn ghost come morning.
In the beginning, he had proven a worthy opponent. The cab dropped them off uptown, leaving them outside an upscale apartment block. They had fallen through Deshawne’s door and left a haphazard trail of clothes across the place as they utilized the floor, the bed, the walls, and the balcony of his luscious city condo. Wave after wave of pleasure had rocked Jasmine.
Yet, as it so often did, her lust exceeded his. Once again, Jasmine stood victorious, triumphant as she milked him for all he was worth. His eyes lit up as she showed him things he’d never seen before and claimed what she wanted until Deshawne was a used husk left fast asleep in the bed, and still Jasmine wasn’t satisfied.
Would she ever be? Or would it take another of her kind to fill the gaps where humans inevitably fell short?
She had debated revealing her secret partway through their session, of letting the alcohol influence the tone of their verbal interactions as they teased and goaded each other using words a mother should never hear. As always, she opted for no. It’s best to keep this truth locked away, especially in a stranger’s arms. I learned that the hard way.
Her smile slipped, and her brow wrinkled. Her thoughts strayed to the absent Deshawne. Without the alcohol influencing her, she once again felt alone and a little empty. Am I cursed to live with an endless string of go-nowhere relationships and one-night stands? She softly snorted. Experience indicates probably yes. Hell, I don’t even know this guy’s last name. Worse, I don’t feel like trying to look him up right now. Ruby would probably call that a crime against my trade.
She drew the satin sheets closer and wrapped them around herself as she sat up and gazed around. The soft, smooth, and luxurious feel was a startling contrast to her worn cotton variety.
A gentle breeze flapped the curtain, allowing golden sun rays to illuminate the dust motes that sparkled around the window. The rush of Boston traffic maneuvering through the city filtered in. Car engines revved and horns honked. A nearby pedestrian crosswalk signal buzzed and intoned its mechanical message. Jasmine didn’t look for them, but she knew cyclists were flying through the bike lanes on either side of the road. People were already on their way to work.
No photos graced the room’s walls. No trinkets or other objects indicated that this man had a life beyond what he’d told her. Although the place was luxurious and very expensive, there were no personal touches, no indications of a life well-lived.
Her gaze settled on a box resting on the padded bench at the end of the bed. She leaned forward, letting the sheets slip as curiosity got the better of her. She picked up the package.
It was a wooden box made of dark oak. An elegant golden ribbon twisted around it and ended in a bow. The small card with a corner tucked under it drew her eye.
To the victor go the spoils.
A laugh escaped her when she read the message. Maybe this is the prize I earned from last night’s session. Classy guy.
She pinched the corner of the ribbon and was about to pull it open when the door opened. Deshawne strolled confidently inside. Two takeout cups of coffee rested on a carry tray. In the other hand, he held a paper bag. Its contents filled the bedroom with an odor of promised savory delights.
“Morning, slugger.” Deshawne’s grin was infectious as he crossed the room to place the drinks and food on the bedside ta
Jasmine pulled the sheets up to cover her chest. The box rested on her lap, all thoughts of opening it discarded as Deshawne kissed her. His scent, a mix of cologne and man, clouded her brain. Her palms rasped across the stubble on his cheeks. His breath was minty.
She wondered how long he had been awake, then forgot about it as he fell on top of her, knocking the box to the side, and they held each other.
She pulled away, coming up for air with her hands still on his face. “Are we getting ready for round two?”
Deshawne laughed. His teeth clamped his lip as temptation filled his eyes and mind. He kissed her briskly, then sat up. He removed his shoes, made himself comfortable, and motioned at the gift.
“I see you still haven’t opened your present.”
Jasmine held his gaze a moment longer, her mind in a different place than his. Although from the bulge in his pants, a little convincing would sway him to join her.
Still, curiosity drove her. She picked up the box. A silent “Thank you” passed from her lips to his.
She placed the gift on her lap. The satin sheets slipped as she moved, revealing her naked chest. Internally she was pleased with the effect this had on Deshawne—his cheeks flushed, and he swallowed dryly.
She pulled on the ribbon, and the gold strap melted away like construction paper in water. There was a gold clasp on the box’s front, which she flipped. Her brow creased as she gazed upon the pristine silver revolver resting inside on a cushion.
“Wow,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say. She didn’t quite understand the excitement in Deshawne’s eyes. She lifted it from the box and flipped it over in her hands, examining the weapon.
The handle was waxed sandalwood, the cylinder and the barrel cut from flawless, clean metal. There wasn’t a single fingerprint or smudge on it, as though someone had taken extreme care when packaging it.
“Do you like it?” He leaned forward, his grin stretching ear to ear.
“It’s beautiful. Honestly, it’s…” Jasmine paused, unsure how to react to receiving a deadly weapon as a gift for a late-night fuck fest. “It’s just… I mean, were the coffee and food not enough?”
Deshawne looked at the paper packet. “They’re cinnamon twirls.”
Jasmine nodded. “Exactly.”
Deshawne wilted a little. “You don’t like it.”
Jasmine corrected him. “I do. It’s just… I’ll be honest. This isn’t the type of gift I’m used to receiving from a guy I met in a bar the night before.”
Deshawne laughed. “I always try to make my meetings memorable. Be honest. You’re never gonna forget a night like last night and a morning like this.”
She flipped out the cylinder, surprised to find six bullets loaded inside. A glance indicated they were live rounds. Her eyes widened, but she tried to hide this from Deshawne as she snapped the cylinder back.
A jolt of cold washed down her spine. Silver bullets. She felt their presence and the danger they intimated.
Her ears burned. Her hackles raised a touch. She wondered whether this was merely a rich man posing—showing off his material goods and truly trying to create a memory with his latest in a string of one-night stands, or if this was something…more…
“Is this what you get every girl who graces your bed?” Jasmine gently laid the revolver back in the box.
Deshawne drew closer, his cologne overpowering her senses. He reached for the gun, prying it from her fingers. He stood excitedly, rolling the cylinder with his thumb.
“Do you want to know how to use it?” He spoke eagerly, the same fire that drove him the night before now concentrated on the firearm in his hands.
Jasmine turned to the nightstand, longingly staring at her coffee and food. He was sweet. He had shown her that much last night. Now she wanted to jump back in time and lose herself in the throes of passion, forget about work deadlines and digging deeper, and get lost in what it was to be human.
She slid out of the satin sheets and rose to her knees, revealing her naked form. Perhaps if she could get his blood boiling and bring him back to the animal he had been last night, they could sidle past this atmosphere. Maybe they could return to the good—
Jasmine stared down the gun’s barrel.
She offered a weak chuckle that matched the uncertainty written on her face. “Nice one. Now would you stop fooling around? There’s room in this bed for two. If you think last night was anything to measure me by, I’m about to show you what a real workout looks like.”
Deshawne remained unyielding, his hand steady. His gaze had turned serious, and his lips had pressed into a thin line.
“Deshawne?”
When he thumbed back the hammer, she knew she was in trouble.
“I’m sorry.” All comedy, charm, and charisma melted from his presence.
Despite that, Jasmine’s gaze still strayed to his bulging biceps stretching through his shirt’s thin fabric.
She froze, unsure of what else to do.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Deshawne stated. “You’re a lovely person, and last night is one I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Given what you are, there was no alternative, was there?”
Jasmine gently pulled the sheets closer and wrapped them around her waist. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t bullshit me. I know who you are. If you weren’t in my way, maybe this could have ended differently, but the fact is, you’re an obstacle, and I don’t let any obstacle stop me. Understand?”
He waited for a response that Jasmine didn’t give.
“It isn’t personal, Jasmine. To be honest, I’d rather have someone else do it,” Deshawne continued. “But only the person who kills an offspring of Tylindale MacConaugh gets the credit. So you see, I can’t give this to someone else even if I want to.”
Jasmine frowned. “Kills?”
The report rang around the room. Pain exploded in Jasmine’s body. The bullet entered above her left breast and stopped deep in her flesh. The silver sizzled and melted her insides. She clutched the wound as she fell back into the soft sheets, grimacing and howling in pain.
“Don’t you think someone will notice the gunshot?” Jasmine asked. The sound was so loud that it would’ve been impossible not to hear it six floors down.
Deshawne shook his head as the end of the revolver smoked. “Oh, my neighbors have selective hearing. Don’t worry. Your last moments are getting recorded for posterity. Those going after the necromantic master and his children need to know you’re truly dead.”
As Deshawne spoke, Jasmine forced herself off the bed. Each step was torture, each movement a lightning bolt of pain in her chest as her breathing came in ragged gasps. She moved past the coffee on the nightstand toward the sliding glass doors that led onto the balcony. In her mind, she saw her pistol lying in the folds of her dress, but before she could reach down, he shot her again.
More pain racked her form. She staggered backward, but this time the bullet passed straight through her, breaking the glass, leaving her open to fall onto the balcony.
Jasmine tried to staunch the bleeding with her hands. “I don’t know my father. I never knew him.” The words came out in painful hitches between gasps.
Deshawne descended on her without a hint of regret or empathy in his eyes. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to matter to them. They insisted that both you and your mother die. I was glad to find that your mother was already dead. It would have been a shame if I had to fuck two dogs to finish this one.”
The city whirled below her, including the fenced-off area undergoing a major landscaping redesign on this side of the building. Nearby traffic passed in streams, and people walked in their hundreds. Surely, if she caused enough fuss, there would be a chance that someone would bring Deshawne to justice for her death.
