All of the
Lights by K. Ryan
Publication Date: August
22, 2016
Genres: Adult,
Contemporary Romance, Suspense
#PREORDER: http://bit.ly/AlloftheLightsKRyan
Synopsis:
Two households. One
secret that will change everything.
I was raised to believe his family was
nothing but trash.
I was raised to believe her family was the root of all
evil.
I sent his brother to prison.
I should hate her for what she
did.
I’ve never fought a day in my life.
I’ve fought every day of my
life.
I need him to help me find answers.
I need her to set the
record straight.
I should stay away from him.
I should walk away from
her.
But I can’t.
But I can’t.
*This book is a
standalone, contemporary/mystery romance and is intended for readers 18 and
older*
EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT
There’s
nothing but darkness in this alley and that’s all I need.
Am I
stupid? Absolutely.
But
something tells me it would be even stupider to stay out in the open and
anywhere near the lighted street. At least here, I can hide in the shadows. All
I have to do is wait.
What
exactly it is I’m waiting for remains to be seen.
I
shift anxiously from side to side, keeping as much pressure off my sore knee as
possible and my eyes tilt up to the night sky. Right in between the buildings,
above the skyline, there they are. All of the lights in the city can’t hold a
candle to the stars—they’re my savior from the darkness, the guides that lead
me to something bigger, something better, something peaceful.
A
door creaks open to my right and my head snaps toward the sound.
Out
here by myself in this dark alley, I’m pretty sure I’m a disgrace to my gender.
I know better than this. I know better than to drift away from the herd.
Nothing good ever comes from it.
And
then I get better look at this new, potential threat standing just ten feet
away.
Heat
flushes my cheeks and I have to swallow my heart back down into my stomach. It
flipflops one more time as my eyes flit back to my intruder, whose presence
seems to take up the entire alley.
He’s
tall with a mess of dark hair, the sides buzzed tight against his head, with
just a plain white Tshirt and black gym shorts on. My eyes zero in on his
broad shoulders and the myriad of tattoos reaching all the way down to his
wrists. Finally, my gaze trails back up to his face. Even though half of it is
covered by dark scruff, I can’t look away. His eyes glint in the moonlight as
he catches me staring and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad for me.
Is
it completely wrong that I’d gladly hand over my purse if he asked?
He
has one of those faces that’s almost painful to look at, but it’s the
contradiction written all over him that I can’t move past. From the tattoos,
the thick silver cross dangling around his neck, the dark intensity radiating
off him, the thick muscles peeking out from his shirt sleeves, everything about
him screams danger. Even his stance reads as defensive—wide legged, chest
puffed out, both hands in his pockets, shoulders square with the building in
front of us.
It’s
the curve of those full lips that has me rooted to the cement. The way his grey
eyes soften with curiosity as they roam my face. His left eyebrow lifts when I
find myself fighting a smile and finally, he tilts his head back to gaze up at
the stars I’d just been admiring before his interruption.
“Nice
night,” he murmurs and it takes me a moment to realize he’s not talking to
himself.
His
accent is unmistakable. The clipped syllables, hard consonants, and quick ‘i's
are a dead giveaway. It’s been awhile since I’ve heard a true, genuine Boston
accent—Philly doesn’t even come close to the distinct pronunciation you’ll hear
in Boston, and specifically, in Southie.
Bennett’s
inflection has waned through the years, mostly from when we lived in Philly
during college. From this guy, though, it might as well be music to my ears.
I
swallow hard as my stomach flutters a little too much. “Yeah, it is.”
That’s
the best I can come up with? Really?
He
tilts his chin up in my direction as he ventures a step closer to me. “Hey. You
got a light?”
“No,”
I laugh. “Sorry.”
He
just shrugs and pulls a vape pen out of his pocket so he can take a nice long
puff from it.
“Why
did you ask me for a light if you didn’t need one?” I frown at him.
His
lips curl around his vape pen and some vapor flows out of his nostrils before
both his shoulders shrug again. “Just wanted to getcha talkin’. Figured it was
worth a shot.”
“That
was your move, huh?” I laugh as my eyebrows shoot up into my forehead. “Does
that usually work for you?”
Now
his lips pull apart in a wince as his free hand scratches the back of his head.
When his head turns to find me, there it is again. The hard with the soft. The
masculinity right along with a sheepishness, a shyness even, that just doesn’t
make sense.
“Ah,”
he exhales. “You’re right. That beat wicked hard. It was the best I could come
up with under the pressure.”
His
accent has me biting down on my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Wicked hard.
If only he could hear himself from my end…
“What?”
he frowns.
“Nothing.”
Those
gunmetal eyes narrow ever so slightly, but there’s no danger to be found.
They’re all a playful softness that I haven’t seen in...God, I don’t know how
long.
“Can
I have another shot?”
And
here I was fully prepared to hand over my purse.
My
smile must’ve been the goahead he needed because he takes that opportunity to
inch a little closer to me, but he’s still got his shoulders square with the
street as he slips his vape pen back into his pocket.
“Okay,”
he rubs his hands together in thought and then shoots me a sly glance. “How
‘bout this one? I just heard someone inside the club say the word of the day is
legs. What do yah say we head back to my place and spread the word?”
My
eyes widen, momentarily stunned into silence, and my mouth practically hangs on
its hinges. It takes me a second, but as soon as I see the mischief in those
grey eyes, I bark out a loud laugh and shake my head.
His
hands spread out at his sides. “What? No good?”
“Terrible,”
I laugh. “And offensive, too. If I didn’t know you were joking, I’d have to
punch you. Or scream for help. There’s gotta be something a little better,” I
squint up at the sky in thought, “What about this one? It’s a good thing I
brought my library card with me because I’m checking you out tonight.”
After
a moment of careful consideration, he nods. “It’s not bad. It’s not great
either.
There’s
always this one—you look cold. Wanna use me as a blanket?”
I
blow out a breath, my head rocking back and forth a little on my neck as I mull
it over.
“Eh.
I’m not into it. How about this? I lost my keys. Can I check your pants?”
His
shoulders shake with laughter and he rubs a hand over his mouth. “Okay, okay. I
can get behind that one. I’m a big fan of this one though: are you free
tonight? Or do I have to pay you?”
"Ugh,”
I groan and tilt my head back to squeeze my eyes shut. “Never say that again.
Ever.
What about...got any Irish in you? Want some more?”
“Nice
try. I guess we’re on the right side of town for that one,” he shudders a
little through his chuckle and then snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it: you have
206 bones in your body.
Let’s
add one more.”
I
resist the urge to swat him on the shoulder. Do not get engage physically.
Pretend he’s a creeper. God, if this is what a creeper looks like, then sign me
up. He must have a waiting list.
I get
the sense our little game has reached its end because he glances covertly
around my shoulder and cocks an eyebrow at me.
“I’m
not gonna have an angry boyfriend all up in my face now, am I?”
This
time, I don’t miss a beat. “Geez. That’s probably the worst line you’ve used on
me this entire time. Not very subtle, my friend. Not. At. All.”
He
holds his hands up in defense. “Just tryin’ to cover all my bases before we
slide into home later tonight.”
“Oh
God,” I grumble. “I take it back. That was the worst one. And no, there’s no
angry boyfriend, so you can rest easy while you watch the fight now.”
Grey
eyes squint back at me for just a second and then one side of his face curls up
into a smirk. “I wasn’t that worried,” he slips his phone out of his pocket and
glances at the screen before tilting his chin up to me again. “Got a little
time before I have to head back inside. You’re comin’ in for the fight though,
right?”
“Ah,
no. I wasn’t planning on it,” I shake my head at him and his eyebrows fly into
his forehead.
“What?”
he frowns. “What are you doin’ then? And don’t take this the wrong way, but you
really shouldn’t be out here by yourself. You’re lucky as shit it was me who
walked out that door and not someone else.”
“I
know, I know,” I wave off his concern even though my cheeks are hot. “It’s a
long story. My sister wanted to see the fight, but she’s not on the list. My
friend has a cousin who bartends here, so he’s trying to get her in. I just
wanted some quiet, but this wasn’t really the place to look for it, was it?”
Now
his frown just deepens and I can see how this would be confusing. If I’m
standing outside waiting with my sister to get in the club, then why wouldn’t I
go inside too? That would just open up a whole other mountain of questions I
don’t want to touch with a tenfoot pole, so I skirt around anything that would
potentially identify me as the one person who shouldn’t be within a hundred
miles of this place.
“Besides,”
I push on. “You’re one to talk. I thought the whole reason people vaped was so
they didn’t have to go outside to smoke. What are you doing out here?”
“Same
thing you were,” he shrugs and then that sly glint is back. “If your friend
can’t get your sister in, I’m sure I could find a way to sneak her inside.”
“Thanks,”
I smile. “That would be really nice of you.”
“It’s
not a problem. Especially if it gets you inside the club, too.”
My
eyes lift back up to the night sky above us. “Another terrible line. And sorry,
but my friend and I have other plans tonight.”
“It
wasn’t a line,” he tells me and I think I believe him. “What exactly are these
other plans?”
“Oh,
you know, just some dancing and listening to awful club music. But it’s good
though. I’ve been needing to do something like this for awhile.”
All
I have to see is the question in his eyes and it just tumbles out.
“I
just moved back to the city three months ago. I was stuck doing accounting and
riskmanagement for a firm in Philly and I hated every single second of it. I’m
sure you’re wondering why I even bothered,” I glanced at him out of the corner
of my eye and didn’t give him the chance to respond. “I guess the simple answer
is that math was just always something I was good at, so I just kept doing it.”
It
was the safe choice and it was a choice I’d regretted all the way up until my
boss called me into his office. Still, a stable career with guaranteed income
and health insurance is hard to argue with, but there’s a reason I still
haven’t updated my resume.
“Anyway,”
I push on, very aware that his full attention rests on me. “I got let go,
which, let’s be honest, is just a nice little euphemism for you suck and you’re
fired.”
He
huffs out a laugh, but I find sympathy there, too. He’s listening. He’s not
walking away now that our conversation has shifted to something a little more personal.
He wants to keep talking to me, so I might as well run with it. Who knows when
I’ll ever get the chance to have a moment with someone like him again?
“It
was a relief, actually, even if their methods were terrible,” I shake my head
at the memory. “They actually called me in on a Thursday morning, told me I’d
lost my job, and then expected me to finish out the day.”
“Jesus
Christ,” he exhales and blows out a deep breath. “So did yah stay?”
“Nope,”
I grin back at him. In a rare show of real courage, I’d packed up the little
belongings I had at my desk and walked right out the door. It’s one of the few
things in my life
I’m
actually proud of.
“Good
girl,” he nods. “What were they gonna do? Fire yah?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s
feckin’ typical, though, right?” he shakes his head and tucks that vape pen out
of his pocket again to take a long pull from it. “You’ve got these corporate
jockeys who just see you as a number on their spreadsheets and a notch on their
yearly takehome ‘cause they have to give you a severance package. Lemme guess,
they used the good ‘ol, this has nothing to do with your job performance
excuse, huh?”
“Pretty
much,” I laugh mirthlessly. “And they added in, this is strictly budgetary too
just for good measure.”
“Bastards,”
he mutters with a smirk. “You’re better off where you’re at now.”
“Maybe,”
I allowed. This was the part where I really needed to end the story, but my
mouth just wouldn’t stop. “I guess it didn’t really help that my boyfriend
decided to dump me a week later.”
The
sting still hasn’t gone away. That rejection and dismissal from both my job and
my relationship. Not being wanted. Not being important enough to fight for. I
guess that’s the story of my life—one big fat deadend after another, forever
fated to afterthought status.
His
eyebrows fly all the way up to his hairline and he lets out a long whistle. Now
he’s angled his body so that we’re finally facing each other for the first time
since he walked out here.
A
tight smile presses to his lips, but this time, some of the playfulness that
had been there before has evaporated. Before either of us can get another word
in, my phone rings from inside my purse and I dig inside it to glance at the
caller ID.
My
sister’s puckeredup face flashes across my screen. For the first time in too
long, I hit ignore as he watches my movements from over my shoulder and toss my
phone back into my purse.
“That
was my sister,” I shrug, but I can’t focus on much else but the way his
forehead has creased into a deep frown. “I’ll check in with her in a little
bit.”
His
eyes flick back up to me again and some of that softness is back again.
“Your
sister doesn’t look anything like you,” he muses, gauging my reaction
carefully.
He’s
officially hit a sore subject—I’ve responded to this exact same nonquestion my
entire life and giving my stock answer one more time still doesn’t sit well. My
sister, with her long, flowing chocolate hair, matching eyes, and tiny frame,
is the spitting image of my stepmom. I, on the other hand, look like a clone
of my mom, or so I’ve been told.
“We’re
halfsisters,” I tell him, my eyes drifting back down to the pavement as I
speak.
I
have no idea why I just told him that. It wasn’t like he asked, but I offered
that piece of information without a second thought.
He
mulls it over as he rocks back on his heels a little. “Families are bizzah.”
I’m
still rusty, still trying to shake Philly off me, and it takes me a second to
realize he means bizarre. Still, I appreciate the sentiment and return the
sympathetic smile he’s sending my way.
“All
families are messed up. I think some of us are just better at hiding it than
others.”
He
nods with a somber smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So I really can’t
convince yah to come in, can I?”
“Nope,”
I shake my head even though I have to admit, he’s almost got me. “Sorry.”
“Did
you at least put some money down on the fight?”
I
hadn’t thought about it, but I guess since I’m here anyway…
“Who
should I bet on?”
That
devilish smile slides up his lips again. “Put whatever you’ve got on Flynn. He
never loses.”
“Huh.
I didn’t know that.”
He
slips his phone out of his pocket again to glance at the screen. “Couple more
minutes and I gotta head back inside. Well, if you’re ditchin’ me tonight,
maybe I can catch yah tomorrow?”
Heat
rushes into my cheeks again and spreads all the way down to my toes. If he knew
who I was, he’d probably push me into oncoming traffic, but I can’t resist the
sincerity in his voice. I’ve known this guy for a whole ten minutes and I’ve
basically told him my life story, save for a few minor, important details. It
just slipped out and I don’t really know why I felt comfortable enough to tell
him all that. I just know I felt it. Too bad there’s a little snag in his plan.
“I’m
pretty much working all day tomorrow,” and then the words slip out before I can
stop them. “What about Sunday?”
He
clucks his teeth together and winces. “Sundays aren’t real good for me, but I’d
move some things around if I didn’t have to work.”
“Where
do you work?”
It
finally dawns on me that he hasn’t asked me that question yet and I’m grateful
for it. I just want this to last a little longer before the inevitable
implosion.
He
motions with his head toward the bar.
“Really?
Are you a bouncer or something?”
He
laughs again and shakes his head. “Nope. I bartend here pretty much every day
except Fridays and Saturdays. It turns into a pretty nice, respectable sports
bar when all this other shit isn’t goin’ on.”
I
can’t help the way my lips curl up at his pronunciation: baah.
“What?”
“Nothing,”
I say innocently.
He
rolls his eyes up to sky and glances at me exasperatedly. “Anyway, if you’re
done zooin’ on me, maybe you’d wanna stop by this way on Sunday anytime after
six? I gotta go to mass and then I gotta visit my brother, so I won’t be in the
bar before then.”
“Oh,”
I nod carefully, weighing the pros and cons of actually showing up here again
on
Sunday.
I just need more time, so I shift from side to side, wincing a little as the
pressure on my knee shoots down to my ankle.
He
frowns at the moment, catching the pain that must be written all over my face.
Now
I throw the first thing I can come up with at the wall and hope it sticks.
“Does your brother live here in the city?”
Cloudiness
fills his eyes and all I get is: “No.”
Still,
I push forward because I’m grasping at straws in my weak attempt at stalling.
“Where
does he live?”
“Prison.”
“Oh,”
that’s about all I can come up with. “I’m sorry.”
He
just lifts a shoulder, but a tight line ticks down his jaw. “Maybe it’d be a
little different
visitin’
him every week if he actually did what they said he did.”
I
don’t have much time to digest that because my phone rings again and some quick
digging inside my purse shows me that Bennett’s calling me this time. This is
dangerous territory, but I just can’t force myself to walk away just yet. It’s
so easy, standing here and talking to him like this. I can’t remember the last
time anything felt this effortless.
But
when he glances at his phone again, I know our time has officially run its
course. It was bound to happen eventually, but that still doesn’t explain the
disappointment that this fleeting moment in a dark alley outside a club is
over.
“I
gotta head back inside now,” he pauses and then his lips curl into the most
devastating grin I’ve ever seen. “You gotta come in for the fight. Even if it’s
not your thing, your sister’s probably already inside and you can meet up with
her. And after the fight, I’d really like to buy you a drink. I can usually
guess people’s drink and I think I’ve got you figured out. I
wanna
see if I’m right.”
“I
doubt it,” I laugh, but it’s forced and fake, seeped in regret. It feels
duplicitous, standing here talking to him like this when I know I’ll never get
to see him again, when I know something he doesn’t. “I don’t drink hard alcohol
anyway.”
He just
shrugs like that little kernel of information isn’t important and in the grand
scheme of things, I guess it isn’t. I almost said, anymore, but he doesn’t need
to know that. And I don’t need to rehash why either.
So I
waver between doing the smart thing and the dumb thing. The problem is that it
feels like there’s a dangerous grey area between those two choices. Part of me
desperately wants to see where this goes and how long I can slide under the
radar. The other part of me knows this will just epically blow up in my face.
“Come
on,” he tries again. “I don’t even know your name. Help a guy out, you know?”
My
body freezes right where I stand. Here it is. Next stop, Implosion City.
“Okay,
fine. Let’s do this the hard way,” he chuckles and shakes his head as he
backpedals toward the side door. “I lost my number. Can I have yours?”
A
light chuckle vibrates in my throat and even though the risk is obvious, I
don’t care.
This
is a freefall I don’t know if I can survive. But I jump anyway.
My
fingers grope around my purse for a pen and something to write on. When my name
and number are scribbled on the back of an old receipt, I hand it to him and
leave the rest up to fate. His eyes skim the paper and his lips curve up
victoriously.
“Rae,”
he murmurs. “That’s pretty.”
“Thank
you.”
He
shoves the paper deep into his pocket and holds a hand out for me to shake. I
slip my hand into his larger, warm one and the feel of his skin against mine
shortcircuits my brain for a second.
“Jack,”
he tells me with a wide grin.
He
doesn’t let go of my hand, but I freeze all the same. Jack. Whose brother lives
in prison. Who works here at this club. Every day except Fridays and Saturdays.
When the fights happen.
His
lips dip into a frown, but when they part, his eyes shoot up to something over
my head and toward the front of the street. Strong arms shove me protectively
into the cement as a hard body shields mine from the chaos around us.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion and before my brain even has a chance
to catch up, the quiet night air erupts in earsplitting pops.
About K. Ryan
K. Ryan lives in the
Green Bay area with her crazy-supportive boyfriend and the best decision of her
adult life, a not-so-stray cat named Oliver. When not writing, she’s either
binge-watching something on Netflix, running, reading, or cheering on the
Packers. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram (@authorkryan) and Facebook
or visit her website,www.authorkryan.com,
for updates and news.
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