Secrets of the Arlington: The Orphans of St John's, #1

By Monica Misho-Grems

Secrets of the Arlington is Monica Misho-Grems' debut novel and book one of The Orphans of St John's series.

 

Content.

Felicity felt like the luckiest woman in the world, working for her favorite place in the world: The Arlington. The John Arlington Library was not just a hub of international knowledge; a collection of history's greatest tales, heroes, and villains; a star map to all of the possible worlds in the universe – but a safe haven for bookworms and introverts alike.

 

Until it all changes.

This is what the young, orphan Felicity Johnson loved about it – and why the adult Felicity chose to be a librarian. Well, that and her boss, John Arlington. A man who became a father to her once she discovered The Arlington. That is, until one day when he doesn't return to lock up the library.

 

Whirlwind.

Worried and confused, she searches for answers. Felicity soon uncovers why he never made it back, and that he may not have been the man that she once thought he was. What other secrets will Felicity unearth as her world crumbles to pieces while she tries to escape the past she never knew she had? Can heartthrob FBI agent Cage Murphy help Felicity figure out her past and ensure she has a future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monica Misho-Grems
• Release date: Nov 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201373276

Monica Misho-Grems

Monica Misho-Grems is a young and budding author from Portland, Oregon. As a child, she split her time between many hobbies, including dance, reading, and writing. At a young age she showed a deep passion for literature - both reading it and writing it - but it wasn’t until her teen years that she began to dream of doing it professionally. Monica got her start writing more serious content by writing fanfictions on various message boards late in her teen years and early twenties. Once she became more comfortable, with herself and her writing, she began dabbling in more erotic literature, and eventually found the style that we see. Nowadays, Monica Misho-Grems lives in Southeast Portland with her husband, John, their three daughters, and her father. She is a full-time mother, wife, daughter, friend, and Clinical Trainer for a local OB/GYN company; she hopes to add “writer” to the full-time mix.

Book preview

Prologue

1983

The ambitious young man with a head full of dark, wavy hair sat at the edge of his seat as he observed the goings on in front of him very closely. His dark brown - almost black - eyes surveyed the expansive garage as he watched mechanics run back and forth, carrying tools, scraps of metal, and welding torches. The garage boss barked orders from an office back in the corner of the grimy shop, occasionally saying words that had sounded like gibberish to the young man. The more he watched and listened, the more he learned. For example, he learned that to strip the engine compartment, you had to unbolt and remove the battery, take out the radiator and fan, remove the carburetor, then disconnect the alternator belt and remove the alternator before you could even think about taking the engine out.

He was glad he’d spent so much time as a young child watching his dad restore old cars, or all the parts would be as foreign to him as the names of all the bones and organs in his body. He’d never paid much attention in anatomy, but auto shop, he’d excelled in. He watched as cars came in and out, were torn apart and rebuilt, over and over.

He was taken out of his thoughts as one of the mechanics yelled at him. Hey, kid, come clean up this grease! 

The young dark-haired man ran to the cupboard and grabbed the bucket of sawdust, kept full for this exact purpose. He lugged it over to the grease spill and started covering the slick, black goo with the bucket’s contents. He let the sawdust start absorbing the grease as he took the bucket back to the cupboard at the back of the shop. When he took his seat, tucked in the far corner of the shop, the mechanic stalked up to him and began shouting about finishing the clean-up.

It needs to soak up for at least 24 hours, the kid argued with the red-faced mechanic.

If you leave that shit there, we’re gonna slip in it and fall. The boss ain’t gonna like it if we get hurt on the job. Understand? he shouted. 

It’s not gonna do what it’s supposed to if you don’t give it time to absorb the grease, then you’ll slip and fall on that! The kid shouted back as he placed his hands on his knees, readying himself to stand if necessary. 

You better not be yellin’ at me, kid. I’ll knock your lights out, he said as he waved his fist in the kid’s face. The young man stood up from his chair and squared his shoulders up to the mechanic, if he showed fear now, he’d most likely get a beating and be considered a kid forever. He’d be a punching bag for the rest of his life. The mechanic bumped the young man with his chest and pressed his forehead against the kid’s, trying as hard as he could to make the younger man back down.

Joe! Yelled an elderly man who’d emerged from the office in the back. In the same voice he’d shouted in earlier, a mix of parental sternness and professionalism, he shouted, Leave that kid alone and get back to work. If you didn’t spill that shit, it wouldn’t have been a problem! He stayed poised in the doorway until the angry mechanic walked away, taking his losses and going back to work, mumbling angrily the whole way about teaching the kid a lesson. The elderly man walked over to the young man and slapped a hand on his shoulder. You alright, kid? he asked. 

Yeah, I’m good. The young man took a deep breath, taking in the smells of the garage. Dust, grease, and oil. A smell he’d have to get used to. 

Alright. Let me know if you need anything. 

The kid nodded in reply. He fully understood the mechanic was doing what was best for business. That was what he intended on doing in that shop. Making a name for himself by getting in good with the owner, learning as much as he could about running an auto shop. Getting his foot in the door. But, he had a reputation to keep up, he wouldn’t get that done by backing down from a fight. He’d probably have to get in a lot of fights. He’d have to win most of them, as many as he could at least.

The kid took his seat and waited patiently to be called on again. It wasn’t more than half an hour later that the boss had popped his head out of the back office again. Hey, kid! Why don’t you go get us all some coffee? I know I could use some. Take everyone’s order and take this. When the kid reached the office the boss slapped a wad of cash into the young man’s open hand, much more than it would take to get a few coffees.

Sir, I don’t think it’ll cost this much for some coffees.

Oh really? The old man smirked. Consider the rest a tip.

The young man took the cash without debate and grabbed a small piece of scrap paper and a pen and began taking orders. Once he got to the angry red-faced mechanic, he wasn’t surprised to find that the mechanic was still upset about their earlier encounter. Just get me a coffee, punk.

What did you just call me? 

A punk, ‘cause that’s what you are. A little bitch-ass errand boy. 

Rage gnawed at the young man’s insides like a monster trying to claw its way out of his chest. Take it back, the kid warned. His dark brown eyes were darkening even more into a swirling black storm of viscous anger. 

That you’re a bitch? Nah, I don’t think so. Go get my fucking coffee, he said as he turned back to the motor he was dismantling. 

Take it back, or find out that I’m not a fucking kid. The young man squared his shoulders to the older mechanic for the second time that day, who had dropped his wrench and smiled.

Alright, whatever kid, I’m just fuckin’ with you. He laughed as he walked over next to the young man and slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. Coffee, black. The mechanic went back to his work on the motor of the car he was taking apart. 

The young man walked down the street to the nearby coffee shop, placed the orders, and walked back after picking them up. Much of the day carried on the same way, cleaning up small messes behind the mechanics, grabbing tools for them when they were stuck underneath the cars, learning all the while. At the end of the day he was handed a stack of cash for the day’s work by the garage boss. He ordered that the young man be back early the next morning if he wanted to see more of the same. 

On his walk home, he felt a chill in the evening air, a sign to him that Summer was coming to an end and that he’d left his jacket at the garage. Not wanting the mechanics to mess with it or get it dirty, he turned around and walked back to the garage. When he made it back, he walked over to the chair he’d spent most of the day in and picked up his favorite jean jacket and inspected it for dirt or grease. It had made it safely through the day without getting anything on it. He was about to leave when he heard a commotion in the office. He couldn’t pinpoint what had made the sound, but it piqued his curiosity. The mechanics had all left by that point, leaving him alone in the garage, or so it had seemed. He walked as silently as he could to the office door. He studied it, watching for any shadows to pass by the frosted glass. There was another shuffle of activity, it had almost sounded like someone going through drawers and sifting through papers. 

The young man slowly moved towards the door, careful to not block the light and make a shadow on the glass. He wanted to have the element of surprise to have an advantage over whoever was in the boss’s office. He silently turned the door knob and waited until the shadow that was moving inside was close enough to the door to be able to hit them with the door when he pushed it open, hopefully knocking them off balance and catching them by surprise. 

The shadow moved just close enough to the door and the young man shoved the door open, catching the masked person in the face. He jumped on the burglar, making them fall to the floor, and began raining punches down on them, forcing them to cover up by raising their arms over their face. The young man shifted his weight to turn the burglar over and wrapped an arm around their neck to cut off their airway. He wrenched his arms tighter until the person stopped moving. The second he stood back up the garage boss walked into his office. 

What are you doin’ here? he shouted at the young man, but his whole demeanor changed the second he saw what had happened. His office was a mess, a masked burglar laid on the floor, and his new employee was standing there heaving to catch his breath. What in God’s name? he said as he stalked over to his desk to ensure everything was in place. Once he was satisfied that everything was still present and the burglar hadn’t picked anything up, he bent over the person to remove their mask. When he did he saw that the burglar was not just unconscious, but dead. Great, he mumbled. He walked over to his telephone and dialed a phone number. The ensuing conversation was unheard by the young man, who was still surveying the dead body. He’d just killed someone. The garage boss slapped him on the shoulder as if it were a job well done. Don’t worry about it, kid. Got the cleaners coming.

What? he asked incredulously. His boss should be calling the cops, having him arrested. 

You did good. Hey. What’d you say your name was, again? 

The young man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Draven, he replied as he stared at the boss, his eyes narrow in suspicion. Why was he not calling the cops?

Good job, Draven.

Chapter 1: For Now

1993

Karina leaned back in the white rocking chair that inhabited the far corner of the pink and white princess-themed nursery and ran her hands over her swollen belly. She scrunched her brows together, concern etched all over her face. Her mind had been full of worries of what the next few days would bring. She knew she was going to give birth soon and she was terrified. She supposed most new mothers were, but she had a different reason. She felt her baby turn and shift inside her, providing little comfort for the thoughts that had put the expecting mother in a dreadful mood. 

What’s wrong? Angelina asked as she sat on the fluffy white rug that covered the light oak stained and perfectly polished hardwood floor, sorting through baby clothes and folding them to prepare for putting them away. She knew if her mother was alive, she’d have been volunteered to help finish getting the nursery prepared for the soon to come infant. Karina’s due date was fast approaching and there was still much to do. Diapers needed to be put away, clothes needed washing, folding and putting away. More than Karina could handle alone at nine months pregnant. 

Just thinking about a dream I had last night... Karina replied quietly. Her heart still ached deep in her chest, it had felt so real. She could feel it in her soul. 

What dream? 

I - uh...I dreamt...I died. I bled out after giving birth. The doctors couldn’t stop it and I died. She fiddled with her fingers as a tear escaped the corner of her eye. She quickly wiped it away, she didn’t want to alarm Angelina. She didn’t want her to think she was crazy, but Karina couldn’t explain how real it felt. More of a premonition than a dream, but she worried if she said it out loud they would lock her away at Sacred Heights. 

Oh Karina, it was just a dream. Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen. Angelina scrambled up and over the piles of baby clothes and held Karina’s hands in hers. It’s not gonna happen. You’re going to be fine, and so is that precious little girl in your belly. Angelina rubbed a hand over Karina’s pregnant stomach and felt the baby stretch and shift before settling again. 

Can you promise me something? Karina whispered to her best friend, the Godmother of her child. 

Karina, stop. You’ll be fine. Angelina didn’t want to play into her stress and allow her worry to hurt her or the baby. 

Please, Ange? It’s important to me, Karina begged, her bright green eyes pleading with Angelina to hear her out. She couldn’t explain the aching dread in her soul. Something was going to happen to her and she had to make sure her baby was safe. 

Karina, you may not be family by blood, but you’re my sister. I won’t let anything happen to you, you got that? Angelina told the anxious pregnant woman as she gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. 

If it does, can you take care of her for me? You’re the only one I trust to make sure she’s safe and lives a happy, healthy life. Please, can you do that for me? Tears streamed down Karina’s cheeks as she pleaded with her best friend, bearing her soul to the one person she knew would listen. 

Angelina could see this was clearly important to the woman in front of her, her best friend, she truly believed she was going to die and wanted to make sure the most important part of her was safe. Reluctantly Angelina nodded, sealing her promise to keep the child safe from anything and everything. 

Angelina was surprised that the memory felt as though it had taken place years ago, when in fact it had only been a week and a half. She blinked away the tears that clouded her vision and watched as the rain splattered on the windshield of the black pickup truck that was nestled unassumingly around the corner from the small, brick clad building that housed her place of worship for as long as she could remember. Memories of her dressed in her Sunday best at 6 years old - her long, curly brown hair held in pigtails, bouncing around and flowing behind her as she and her twin brother Angelo ran around the front lawn of the small church, awaiting the beginning of the service. She could almost hear their mother shouting at them to quit messing around before they got themselves all messy. She missed those days; the time before Angelo took a turn down the same dark path that ripped their mother and father away from them too early. As she thought of it she kind of felt like Bruce Wayne, but...a more dysfunctional, more real-life version.

Angelina’s heart ached as she thought of her twin; her twin whom she loved more than almost anything else in the world. They were raised that way - that family meant everything, that you do anything for your family and love them unconditionally. That was why she fought back