Forsaken, page 1
InterMix titles by Sierra Kincade
Forsaken
Berkley Heat titles by Sierra Kincade
The Masseuse
The Distraction
The Confession
Forsaken
Sierra Kincade
INTERMIX
New York
INTERMIX
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Sierra Sierra Kincade
Excerpt from Forgotten copyright © 2017 by Sierra Sierra Kincade
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN: 9780451488282
First Edition: October 2016
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.
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Contents
Other Titles by Sierra Kincade
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Excerpt from Forgotten
Prologue
“Happy . . . dammit!” Marsella Talent stepped out of the driver’s seat of her black BMW, and immediately planted the heel of a new Prada pump in the gravel lot outside her father’s latest restaurant venture. The dirt road added to Rare’s rustic appeal—reviewers had called the converted hunting lodge “country swank” in last month’s Gazette article—but it was hell on her wardrobe.
“Happy dammit to you, too.” Cole Talent grinned down at her from the wraparound porch, adjusting his thick, black-framed glasses with one hand. In typical Cole fashion, he’d forgotten to shave and get his hair cut; dark waves fringed around his ears and collar. But he actually filled out the wrinkled, green button-down shirt he was wearing, and when she paused for a closer look it became apparent the scruff on his jaw was actually deliberate.
Good God. The Change had happened. Scrawny, computer-obsessed Cole had become a man.
“Sorry,” she said as she reached the solid footing of the bottom step. “Thought you were my little brother. Maybe you’ve seen him—sort of awkward. Total geek. Getting his second master’s in London right now. International business or something. It’s hard to keep up since he never calls his family.”
The last time she’d seen him had been almost a year ago, when he’d breezed through Reno on his way to a bachelor party in Tahoe. Being close to him reminded her just how much she’d missed him.
“I saw him,” said Cole with a wince. “He was blown over by Hurricane Elaina on her way into the building.”
“Tragic. He had such potential.”
Their youngest sister was a bitch on her good days, and a force of nature on her bad. It had taken an hour to convince her to get in the car, and after a sullen, silent ride, she’d been out and halfway across the parking lot by the time Marsella had turned off the ignition.
Before she could apologize for missing him at the airport, Cole had met her halfway down the steps and swept her up in his arms. A squeak slipped out of her throat, but before she could object, he’d turned and set her in front of the door.
“You have muscles now, too?” She squeezed his hard shoulders, then straightened her knee-length pencil skirt. “Seriously, who are you?”
“Cole, two-point-oh,” he said. “Modifications were made during the last update.”
“Oh good.” She clutched at her heart. “You’re still a nerd. I was worried.”
He scrunched his nose. Okay, the glasses were seriously an improvement from the wire rims he’d been sporting when he’d left for Europe.
Inside they were greeted by dim lights and a raven-haired hostess in a shimmery black halter-top jumper. Though most of the daily operations fell on Marsella’s shoulders, Candi with an i had been their father’s choice.
“Ms. Talent, I didn’t know you were bringing a date.” Candi looked up at Cole with a devious smile, curling a lock of hair around her finger. “Nicely done.”
Marsella blinked at her brother. Apparently modifications had been made. “This is my brother, Candi.”
“Cole.” He shook her hand. She touched his elbow. Somehow her boobs brushed his arm. It was hard to say how that happened.
“Don’t worry,” said Marsella. “We can seat ourselves.” She grabbed Cole’s shirtsleeve and dragged him onto the main floor, where they passed the cozy stone fireplace and made their way to the private room in the back.
“She seemed nice,” said Cole.
“I’m sure that’s why Dad hired her,” she muttered.
They reached the table, carefully nestled in the corner beside a bay window overlooking the Truckee Trickle—a local joke, since Nevada had been in a drought for the last billion or so years—and took their seats. She may not have been on time to pick up Cole from the airport, but she’d come to the restaurant this afternoon to make sure everything was in place for his special birthday dinner. There was a T-bone steak waiting for the head chef, and an actual Funfetti cake in the kitchen fridge with his name on it. Even the bartender had been notified that Cole liked a certain kind of bourbon and to serve it upon their arrival.
“Looks good, Marsi,” he said, making her beam. She wondered what had made him say that—the ski lodge décor, or the pristine glass tabletops? Maybe the iron chandeliers. She’d put a lot of thought into those damn chandeliers. Whatever it was, she liked that he saw her influence when he looked around. She just hoped their dad did, too.
“Thanks.” Holding up her hand, she crossed two fingers and whispered, “Hope paying my dues pays off.”
In the last six months, her marketing efforts had doubled their nightly revenue. Every health code inspection had been passed with flying colors. The food was some of the best in the city, and she assured it’s freshness at the crack of dawn every morning when she met the delivery truck outside.
She wanted Rare. She’d already proven she could manage it; she just needed to convince her father she was ready to take the reins.
“Dad’s going to let you have it? Good luck with that.” His gaze turned out the window.
Marsella’s smile tightened. Cole and their father had never been close. August Talent set the bar high, sometimes unreachably high, and no one felt the strain more than his only son.
“Where is he anyway?” Cole said, a familiar scowl pulling at his brows. “And where’s Elaina?”
“Of course you’re talking about me.” Elaina strode into the room, eyes flicking from her siblings to outside the window. There was a jerk in her step that hadn’t been there earlier, and at the sight of it Marsella felt a prickling of dread climb up her spine. Elaina was only four months out of her most recent stint in rehab, and the five minutes they’d been apart could have been just the window needed to kill a solid drug-free stretch.
She should have followed her inside, stayed with her.
“Hi. Again,” said Cole. He waved.
Elaina threw herself into the seat closest to the door and picked black polish off her fingernails.
An awkward silence fell over the table. Marsella smoothed down her wheat-colored hair, checking the highlights absently in the window’s reflection. The length fell just below her chin, where she’d kept it since she’d turned twenty, seven years ago. Not a single strand was out of place, thanks to an enormous amount of taming oil and some possible type-A personality features.
Nobody was perfect.
Her hand paused halfway through the motion, her attention caught by a man outside pacing beside an old silver sedan. He held a cell phone to his ear, his face hidden by the brim of a gray ball cap as he stared at the ground. In jeans and a simple white Henley, he wasn’t exactly the type of clientele Rare catered to, but the way the fabric stretched across his shoulders and the jeans rode low on his hips made her wish he’d come inside to give her a better look.
Probably broken down and using the lot to call f
It was a very nice back pocket.
She wondered how her father knew him, but wasn’t surprised that he did. People were always involved in one job or another for him, everything from banking to construction to things he didn’t discuss in her presence—things he’d made it clear were not her business. Whatever the case, she couldn’t help the sting of disappointment. He’d told her he wasn’t working tonight.
“Tell us about school,” Marsella said to Cole. “Tell us about the ladies.” She wiggled her eyebrows, trying to pull their collective mood out of the ditch where it had crashed. She would deal with Elaina later.
“What ladies?” asked Cole, smirking into his lap.
“The ones you’re so clearly fucking now that you look like an ad for Hollister.”
“God, Elaina,” said Marsella, but Cole only leaned back in his chair and grinned. He was so much harder to rattle.
“Oh, those ladies,” he said. “Let’s just say Global Macroeconomics was kind to me this term.”
“Still a fucking geek,” muttered Elaina.
“Least I’m not still living with daddy,” Cole shot back.
Marsella groaned. “Can we not just talk? You know, like normal people?”
“Who’s normal?” The edge in her sister’s voice straightened Marsella’s spine. “You’re a control freak, I’m a stripper, and he’s . . . Jesus, like the King of Japan or some shit.”
“I am, in fact, the King of Japan,” said Cole. “Or some shit.”
“I prefer the term managerially inclined.” Annoyance had crept into Marsella’s tone, and she inhaled, knowing Elaina fed on conflict.
“And I prefer the term exotic dancer, but we all don’t get what we want, do we?” Her sister finally looked her way, stare daring and cold.
Elaina was beautiful in a harsh way—arching brows, high cheekbones, all sharp lines emphasized by cosmetics. Though they had the same parents, few people could see the resemblance between them. Where Elaina was pale with dark accents, Marsella took after their mother, with tan skin, lighter hair, and hazel eyes.
“Wait. You’re seriously a stripper?” Cole cringed. “Let’s go ahead and file that under things I wish I could un-hear.”
Elaina cackled as Marsella’s mouth pulled into a tight frown. Sometimes she envied her sister’s ability to do whatever she wanted, no matter the cost, but someone had to be responsible.
“Sorry I’m late.”
August Talent stood in the doorway, wearing a gray suit with a navy button-up and a look of wary obligation. His pewter hair gleamed, just like his white teeth and his alligator boots. Of all his children, Cole resembled him the most. They had the same streamlined build, tall with lean muscles, though Elaina had his dark eyes, and Marsella had his smile.
She’d seen it a few times over the years to know.
He placed a hand on Marsella’s shoulder. “Did I miss dinner?”
Elaina scoffed. Cole checked his cell.
“Dad, we just got here,” Marsella told him quietly. She looked outside again for the stranger on his cell, but found only his car.
“Oh. Good.” Reluctantly, he sat down at the head of the table, a spot they’d unconsciously left open for him. “What were we talking about?”
“Nothing,” Marsella said, though she was sure Elaina would have happily announced her career choice if only as a way to leave the party early. How their father never noticed her rolling back into the guesthouse half-dressed at dawn every day was beyond her.
“Well.” Their father’s statement hung in the air. He turned to Cole. “The prodigal son returns. Twenty-six, right? I hear at twenty-seven they start making you pay your own way at college.”
A muscle in Cole’s throat twitched. He said nothing, even while August chuckled and raised a hand for the waitress to take their drink order.
Since she was driving, Marsella kept to water. But Cole and Elaina took two shots each, and their father was three-quarters of the way through a mason jar of Long Island Iced Tea before the conversation came a little easier. Soon Cole was telling stories from school and even Elaina had cracked a smile.
It was going well, just as Marsella had hoped. No one was yelling, no one was sulking. She had done this, and though it would probably go unnoticed, she didn’t mind. She’d been taking care of this family since she was thirteen, and moments like this were why.
So it was a real shame when her father ruined it all in the next breath.
“Cole, how would you like to own this restaurant?”
Cole’s head snapped up. “What?”
“This restaurant. Rare.” August grinned. “Happy birthday, son.”
Marsella squeezed her jaw shut. She smoothed down her hair. This was a bad dream. A joke. Ha. So funny.
“And,” said her father, scratching his hand over his smooth jaw, “We’ve already put a bid on a property for a sister venture in Vegas, and I have three more locations scouted out across California and Arizona for variations on the same theme. What do you say? Let’s put all these degrees you’re adding up to good use.”
Cole looked to Marsella, a mix of wariness and wonder in his eyes. He’d dreamed of something like this, too—their father finally recognizing that he wasn’t just a waste of space, but useful, capable of great things. But there had to be at least a billion other ways to achieve that dream. This one—Rare—was hers, and she’d earned it.
“He’s not even finished with his program,” Marsella sputtered. “He still has half a semester left!” Broken ground in Vegas? She hadn’t heard about that. She was managing Rare; if Vegas was a “sister venture,” she should have known about it.
“Burn,” whispered Elaina.
“He’s finishing with honors. That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Marsella?” August turned back to Cole. “She talks about you all the time.”
Just then, she regretted every nice thing she’d ever said to build her brother up in front of their father.
For the next five minutes, Marsella felt like she was stuck underwater watching life pass by above her. August removed his phone from his pocket, scanning through the screens. The papers had already been drawn up, he said. Cole just needed to sign.
Cole keyed in a signature, and the document was emailed to their lawyer.
It was done, just like that.
She wanted to get that damn Funfetti cake and shove it in both their faces. Elaina’s, too, since she seemed to find this whole thing very amusing. Her brother was a year younger than her, still in school, and now the proud owner of five soon-to-be restaurants. And she, who had worked her ass off for the last year building this goddamn place from the dilapidated biker bar it had been when they’d acquired the property, had nothing.
She rose, intending to say something, or do something, or even go to the bar and drown herself in a strawberry margarita, when Candi rushed into the room and bent to whisper something in her father’s ear.
His jaw hardened, lips drawing back to reveal a flash of teeth.
“Tell the boys to hold them off,” he said quietly. She raced back toward the entrance.
Any anger was suffocated by the sudden tension in the room. Marsella stood, looking after the hostess in hopes of seeing who had rattled her. Food critics? Health Inspectors? They weren’t always informed when reviewers came by, but that didn’t mean they weren’t prepared. Everything at Rare was perfectly up to code, thanks to her.
“Marsella.” Her father stood, and gripped her shoulder so tightly she winced. He’d never grabbed her like that, and she’d never, in all her memory, seen such an urgent look in his eyes. Behind them, Elaina and Cole rose from their seats.
“Marsella, listen to me,” he said, leaning closer. “You need to take this and leave right now.”
“What? Why?” She glanced down at the small, brown leather journal he removed from his breast pocket and pressed into her hands. She’d seen it before; he was rarely without it. It helped him keep track of his thoughts, he’d once told her. The organizer of all things Talent.
