Impossible Attraction: Deadly, #1

By Tarisa Marie

Impossible Attraction (Deadly, #1) 65,000 words

From bestselling author Tarisa Marie, comes an addictive new romance series.

Forced into a gang to protect the life of the woman he loves, Blake has spent years working for the men who killed his parents eight years ago and turned his entire life upside down. Anna, the love of his life, believes him dead and he's been forbidden to ever see her again. Blake has resigned himself to this life until he runs into Anna in a bar after nearly a decade. It isn't a coincidence, though. Anna has been contract killing to gain closure for his 'murder', but then he ends up on the top of her kill list because of the unspeakable things he's done.

Once from the same world, now both immersed in vastly different ones, will the two be able to sort through their differences? Will Blake be able to leave the gang life and battle his drug addiction and dark past? Will Anna be able to forgive Blake for the sickening crimes he's committed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tarisa Marie
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386425663

Tarisa Marie

Tarisa Marie loves interacting with fans on her Instagram account @TarisaMarie_Author and encourages them to send her selfies with her books. You will be her favorite person if you review one of her books, she reads every single one and appreciates them all. 

Book preview

Prologue

Eight Years Ago

Blake

Iwake up to my mother’s bone chilling scream and the sound of rapid footsteps throughout the house. I jolt up in bed and automatically reach for the gun in my bedside table, the one I never thought I’d actually have to use. A sick, knowing feeling slides up my spine as I realize that it’s happening.

I was only eight years old when my father told me the Scott family secret. Our family's dark past began with my great, great something grandfather Jacob Scott in 1806 when he created a gang called the Charcoal Cobras in Orlando, Florida. From what I understand, my ancestor Jacob was a cold, manipulative man who only cared about himself. The gang he created was designed to rid the world of minority races. Every male member of my family has been a part of the Charcoal Cobras—the CCs in short—ever since 1806.

I grip my gun tightly and take the safety off before quietly moving stealthily towards my bedroom door.

Find the kid, a male voice orders loudly from out in the hallway. My heart picks up pace and I pray to god that this is a nightmare, that I’m only dreaming this.

My father warned me growing up that this day might come, that the CCs might find him, find us. I just never actually thought it would happen.

Keep him alive, the gruff voice snarls, getting louder. I position myself next to the door, waiting for them to swing it open. I won’t hesitate. I can’t hesitate. I have to shoot. I have to shoot a living, breathing person.

The gang is after my father because he ran from them, he ran from a lifelong commitment he made to the CCs, and with it, he took a hefty chunk of cash that belonged to them. My father ran eighteen years ago, soon after I was born, to save my mother’s life and to give me a better one.

You see, my father made the biggest mistake a CCs member can make. He fell in love. The CCs see women as a liability, a weakness. They use them to create new legacy members, more males. Once they’ve fulfilled their purpose, the CCs kill the women and any female children that may have been born in the process of trying to conceive a male. They’re dark and twisted men and that’s why I can’t hesitate. I have to shoot. My hand shakes as I attempt to hold my weapon steady. I can’t take waiting any longer.

I turn the door knob slowly and begin to ease open the door, just as another blood curling scream comes from my mother and father’s bedroom. I’m not letting them fuck with my mom.

I wouldn't have believed my dad's stories growing up if it weren't for the things the man knew, the things he told me, the answers he had to some of the country's biggest, most terrible unsolved crimes, and the details he had about them. The things he told me... Some things people are better off not knowing. I know he told me to protect me, like how he taught me to use a gun as soon as my mom would let him.  

My father isn't a bad man. Sure, he’s done bad—no terrible—things, but he is not a bad man at heart. Everything he did while with the CCs was because he was brainwashed to think it was right. He grew up hunting, killing, tracking, doing drugs, and drinking. He grew up surrounded by men who wanted nothing more than to kill and wreak havoc.

I swing the door open and ease into the hallway with stealth. I duck into the bathroom as a man comes sprinting from my parent’s room towards me. Training for something like this is one thing, actually being in this situation is a complete other thing. I’m relieved when the guy doesn’t see me and rushes past the bathroom and into my bedroom. I wonder how many men are in the house. I’ve complained for years about the hardcore weapon and physical training my dad has made me do near daily for as long as I can remember, but I suddenly, completely understand why it was all necessary, suddenly I’m thankful I’ve been trained for this, even if I’m not ready to face it.

As the man rushes back out from my bedroom, having not found me, I raise my gun at his head and pull the trigger without hesitation. There isn’t time for hesitation. My mom is in danger; my dad is in danger; my future is in danger. The gun goes off with a loud bang, shaking the house.

My father warned me that if they came one day—the CCs—they’d come at night and they’d kill my mother and him, leaving me alive to pay back a debt that he owed them. Technically, you see, I’m a legacy, a male born into the CCs and therefore not given a choice about joining, but forced into it by birth. A rule my ancestor Jacob made. I wish he were alive today so I could strangle him.

The guy falls to the ground in a heap and adrenalin races through my veins. I don’t even notice the blood or the fact that I just killed a man. I rip down the hallway towards my parent’s room, only to have a gun pulled on me from behind as a man throws me into the wall, busting the drywall as my back collides with it.

Fucking try something, kid, I dare you, the gruff man sneers. His muscled body holds me still and he brings a gun up to my temple in threat. My breath catches and I freeze. His breath is rancid, cigarette smoke and beer.

Another man, this one with a 5 o’clock shadow and a scar from the corner of his left eye across to his ear, runs out from my parent’s room. Don’t kill him, Bert, I told you not to kill him.

Bert scoffs and digs the barrel of the gun into my skull harshly.

I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt them, I beg, teeth clenched. An array of terrible situations present themselves in my mind as I imagine the scene going on in the bedroom.

Take my son but don’t hurt my wife, I hear my father begging, my mom whimpering.

His words piss me off a little, but hell, they can take me instead of killing my mom any day. Tears form in my eyes but don’t fall down my cheeks. I really never thought this day would actually come.

There’s a sick, throaty laugh from in the bedroom. "Oh, fuck, you really think we’re going to let her live? You know the rules. You’re a traitor and she’s just a bitch."

A gun shot rings out, bursting my ear drums. I begin to panic, and I jerk from the man’s grip, lurching for my parent’s bedroom. My dad lets out the most pained sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life and without seeing, I know. They just shot my mom. A second shot blasts and it takes me a few steps to realize that this time it’s me who’s been shot. I don’t feel the pain at first, not until I’m caught and thrown onto the ground. I’m restrained with rope as blood begins to pool underneath me. I’ve been hit in the shoulder.

The most pained, cold, heart wrenching scream imaginable comes from my father in the other room. I don’t need to reach my parent’s room to know that I’ve failed, that both my father and I’ve failed in protecting mom. My father’s wail is cut off by a gritty, low chuckle and another bang of a gun.

I find myself screaming almost as chillingly as my father as moments later two bodies are pulled roughly from my parent’s bedroom covered in blood. I shake, and I wobble on the edge of consciousness. The blood loss is too much and the scene in front of me just isn’t comprehendible. It’s all too much.

I black out from blood loss, pain, and shock.

I wake up on a creaky cot, my shoulder screaming in pain. I glance around as much as I can without moving my shoulder. I’m bandaged up in an old, rundown bar. I’m also tied to the cot I lie in and can't move.

I’m terrified but also resigned. My mom and my dad are both dead. The situation I trained my whole life for, over. I failed. I can’t help but think about the third a final person in my life that I’d give my life for. Is she safe? Did they find her too?

My father warned me against making too many connections growing up in case we would have to move one day, or the CCs would come and use everything I loved against me. Against his warning, I befriended and eventually fell in love. Okay, I didn't just fall in love; I gave my heart away to my girlfriend Anna. I fell head first. Hard. If they do anything to her, I’ll be lost. I’ll be done. I knew the last two years with her were risky, I knew I shouldn’t put her in danger, but it’s too late now.

A man walks into the room dressed in a hoodie and track pants. Just looking at the guy, I can tell he’s something dark, something truly evil. The sight of him makes me want to throw up. He introduces himself as Harry with a sly smile and cuts the ropes holding down my hands with a knife. Then he tosses me a folder and demands I open it.

I do, though my shoulder screams in protest. Papers slide out onto my chest, and I pick each one up to read. I don't have to look long because I see the only name that will make me do anything in the world. Anna Fairchild's name is on every single paper. Each piece of paper contains information on her location, health, everything. There are pictures upon pictures. These guys have been watching her, stalking her, stalking us. The last photo in the folder is one of the CCs members pointing a gun to her head while she sleeps peacefully in her bed, seemingly completely unaware of his presence. My blood turns to ice and I want to leap up and kill every last one of them, but I can't.

You cooperate, you do as we say, we won't kill her. Before your dad left, he made a significant withdrawal from our funds. You're going to have to pay off his debts, kid. We don't want the money. We want the elbow grease. We know your father has trained you well. We know you can handle a gun. You will pay us back by working for us, being one of the men who deals with those who don't want to cooperate with us and don't follow the rules. Do we have a deal? The man's voice is raspy and harsh. There is no warmth in it whatsoever.

Before I even think about it, I’m nodding. I know I can't let anything happen to Anna. Never can I let them lay a hand on her. Losing my parents is more than enough pain. I can’t imagine any more. She’s all I have left.

The man hands me another piece of paper and a knife. We take shit seriously around here. Sign this and you're our bitch for ten years, boy. When your contract is up, you may go. The Scotts are no longer needed here if they've lost track of the CC's purpose. We don't need those here who we can't trust. Then again, you never know, maybe after a while, before the ten years is up, you'll change your mind and want to stay. Maybe there's something in you that there wasn't in your piece of shit father.

I’m not sure what to do with the knife, so Harry grabs it from me and slices open my palm before pressing it to the paper. A signature in blood.

Chapter 1

Anna

Present Day

Eight years, that's how long it's been since the murder at the Randal house. The day I lost my best friend and the love of my life. Blake was my everything. No one in the neighborhood had any idea why someone would murder such a kind family. The Randal’s were active members of the community, friendly, hell, they even attended church on Sundays. The police said there were multiple bullet holes in Mr. and Mrs. Randal’s bedroom wall as well as a gunshot hole in the wall at chest height in the hallway, enough blood around each of them for it to be assumed that all three were murdered in cold blood, but there were no bodies to prove it.

Blake Randal was the kindest guy I’ve ever met. He didn’t deserve what he got. He didn’t deserve to die such a terrible death. I’ve never been a real religious woman, but Blake was a religious guy. He never missed church, ever. If god is real, why take someone as pure as Blake so soon? What did Blake do to deserve such a fate?

The last moment I spent with him is one I revisit often. He’d just finished playing a football game and we were in his car in front of my house. We got talking about school and prom. It was easy, simple, relaxed. I was happy and I didn’t even realize just how perfect my life was in high school. I had something that so many people in their life search for and never find. I had true love. Even now, at twenty-six, I know it was real, it was the real thing. I had it and then I lost it, it was ripped away from me in a single fleeting moment. 

I waited around, living with my parents and putting off college for a year before it really sunk in that Blake wasn't coming back, that he was truly gone. I snapped and that's when I got mixed up with some bad shit and happened to stumble upon a guy who worked for someone doing contract killing, hitman work. He hooked me up with his boss’s contact information and after debating whether or not to call the number for two weeks, I finally met up with him at a coffee shop.

My parents think I went off to college and got a degree in psychology. I didn't. I've spent the last seven years killing criminals who the justice system failed to punish. It's not legal but fuck the law if they can't even find out who killed my best friend. Fuck the law if they can't even manage to punish those who deserve to be punished.

I know I'm doing this to somehow avenge Blake's murder, even if with every kill I make I don't feel any better. I don't get closure, but for a mere instant, the thought of taking out someone who has hurt people, who has killed or sexually abused someone, numbs a little bit of the pain in my heart, if only for a moment.

I'm comfortable with what I do. I wasn't at first, but when you feel so strongly about something it doesn't take you long to learn to deal with the downfalls. It’s not an easy job. Killing people, taking people’s lives from them, is far from easy and it doesn’t get any easier as the body count rises. With each kill my partner Adam and I make, I wince, I think about it afterwards, dream about it. I remember each and every one of our jobs, every person we’ve taken from this earth, all in vivid detail. Adam's been at this for longer than I have and it doesn’t seem to faze him as much as it does me. Adam and our boss have taught me everything I know. In some ways, they’re family. We’ve grown close.

I throw on a pair of pants and big hoodie that I can easily conceal weapons under. A knock on my door tells me that Adam is here to pick me up. I look through the peephole to confirm it's him before opening the door to his smiling face. Adam is dressed in all black, his brown hair buzzed short and his face clear of any facial hair. Although we’re nearly the same age, he appears to be much older than me.

Adam is a nice guy. He's been at this since he was sixteen after being tossed around in the foster care system. I'm not going to lie; this guy is messed up. There's something deeply wrong with him. He can shoot a person in the forehead without blinking an eye and without feeling the slightest bit of remorse. He's scary, so I'm glad I'm on his good side.

Ready for another night? he asks me grinning. Adam has always been incredibly nice to me, but I wouldn't doubt that getting on his bad side could get me killed. He's dangerous.

Yep. I pick up my suitcase and toss it into the back seat of his SUV parked right outside the motel room door. I never thought I'd be so sick of staying in motel rooms.

This is going to be a quick one. I've been watching the guy all week. He's really something. I almost went after him without you. Fucking pervert has a three-year-old daughter. Need I say more? Adam says with a grin that contains absolutely no humor, it's a sick grin, a demented grin. It’s the one he gets when he’s so disgusted by someone that he’s already picturing their death in his mind. He throws the vehicle in reverse and we speed towards the outskirts of Indiana.

I can't believe how many sick people there are. It's unbelievable, I mutter under my breath and check my phone for missed messages from our boss. None. Pedophiles are the easiest kill for me. You hurt a kid and you more than deserve a bullet between the eyes.

We park down the street from the target's house and jump out of the truck quietly. Attracting any attention is always bad news. We then slip down the alley to the back of the house and through the yard. Adam picks the back-door’s lock as I keep lookout. I glance down at my gloved hands and my gun. This is the moment my adrenalin goes wild.

The sound of the door clicking open causes me to focus. There's no time for hesitation. Adam goes in first. I follow once the coast seems clear. He's been scouting the place all week so that we know what to do and where to go. While he’s been here, I've been scouting another target's place that we'll hit up later tonight if all goes well.

Adam silently opens the door of Mr. Wicken’s bedroom and shines his flashlight on the bed. He sleeps soundly. We're here to take this abusive husband and pedophile out of the picture and give his family freedom.

His wife is out of town on business; she's a publisher. We’ve done extensive research on the target as usual.

Adam unsheathes a knife and ends