Buried Lies (Hidden Truths) Read online

  BURIED

  LIES

  Brittney Sahin

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  Buried Lies

  By: Brittney Sahin

  Published by: EmKo Media, LLC

  Copyright © 2016 EmKo Media, LLC

  This book is an original publication of Brittney Sahin.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Editor: Sarah Norton, Chief Editor, WordsRU.com

  Cover Designer: ebooklaunch.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN:

  ISBN-13: 9780996668071

  Hidden Truths Books

  Silenced Memories

  Innocence & Betrayal

  Buried Lies

  Jake’s story-title pending (coming Fall/Winter ’16)

  Forever Series

  Forever Rome (Sept. 2016)

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Extract from Innocence & Betrayal

  Connect with Brittney Sahin

  Chapter One

  Connor

  Ciudad Juárez, Mexico

  The aluminum alloy of the Sig P220 cooled my sweaty palms as I attached the silencer. What had I gotten myself into this time?

  I rubbed the butt of the gun against my forehead and leaned up against the splintered stable door. The firearm dropped to my side as hooves stomped behind me. The smell of horse manure slammed hard and fast into my nostrils, settling in my throat.

  I needed to get out of there, if not for the damn odor . . .

  Shit. Something was moving outside.

  I edged closer to the door and peeked through a baseball-sized hole with ragged, singed edges.

  The men were tall, tan, and resembling villains from some cliché Western. They stood across the courtyard by the house. Each had a hand resting near a weapon holstered at the hip. They were waiting.

  Waiting for what? Me?

  They weren’t supposed to be there—not in the back. I’d spent the last two days studying aerial footage of the home, and there had only been guards at the front of the house. Why the hell were they in the back now? And why was the courtyard lit up like some Goddamn Christmas tree? I had planned to use the darkness as my cover, but now I needed a new strategy and fast.

  I ignored the buzzing of the smartphone against my leg as the sound of the neighing horse gave me an idea. It probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but it would have to do. Stepping back, I sucked in a breath and swung open the door to the stable.

  The horse angled its head, and a pair of black glossy orbs studied me as the beast pounded its right hoof in the dirt. I jumped out of the way just as he leaped forward and pummeled the barn door head first, busting it wide open.

  “Maldición,” one of the guards cursed, reaching for his weapon.

  The two guards chased after the mustang as it wheeled around the courtyard, raising its front legs up in the air as it cried.

  It was now or never.

  I darted through the broken door with my gun aimed at the first guard. My bullet stung him in the shoulder, and his pistol clattered to the ground. He dove away from the charging mustang as his tongue spewed forth several more curses.

  The other guards’ eyes locked onto me as the sound of death whistled past my ear. The bullet careened off the statue of an angel that stood just outside the barn.

  An angel? Really?

  The magazine of my weapon sprang, popping forth a new round into the chamber. My finger light on the trigger, I fired off another shot as the second guard began retreating to the house.

  My bullet pierced him in the hand, and an explosion of red rained as he stumbled.

  My combat boots carried me fast through the rest of the large courtyard, and I barely felt the guns’ recoil as I squeezed off two more perfect shots, which struck each man once in the leg. It would have been easy to kill them, but I prefer to leave God as the judge, jury, and executioner . . . well, at least the executioner.

  The people in the house must have heard the shouting of the guards, as well as the damn screams of the horse. With my back pressed to the house beside the back door, I pushed away the noise of the mustang and the groans of the injured guards.

  A shuffle of steps . . . only one guard? There had to be more than one. At least two or three inside.

  The rickety old door creaked open as my ears registered the familiar sound of a safety being removed.

  I whipped around in front of the door and blocked the man’s gun with my forearm. My assailant’s gun clanked on the floor as I gripped his arm and twisted it behind his back. His clothes reeked of cigar smoke, the cheap kind—definitely not Cubans. They were probably new to this game.

  “Where’s the girl?” I asked as another man appeared at the other end of the hall.

  The man charged, and I lifted my arm and shot him in the chest.

  Now that he was no longer a threat, I shoved the man before me to his knees and leaned forward, my face inches from his, my weapon pressed against his sweat-slicked temple. “Where’s Lydia?” I gritted my teeth, adding a bit of a snarl. There had to be one more man in the house, and he was probably with the girl.

  “Call out to your friend and tell him you took care of me.”

  Did he understand me? The same line in Spanish slipped fast from my lips.

  He shook his head before reaching into his pocket and revealed a knife. The silver blade flashed toward my face, but I shifted to the side, just avoiding the cut, and smacked the butt of the gun against his skull.

  I stepped around his crumpled body and strode down the hall. The vibration in my pocket alerted me to another call. Perhaps I should have powered down my phone . . . but that would introduce its own risks. If someone got the drop on me, at least my government pals would be able to track my phone.

  “Hello?” A young girl’s voice. “Help! There’s one more . . .”

  At the end of the hall, I peered around the corner to my right. A tall, lithe man stood be
side the girl. Her shoulders slumped forward with her head hung down. She was unconscious.

  “Drop your gun,” the man warned as he gripped her by the hair and yanked her head back, holding a knife to her throat.

  With no time to think I blasted a round from my weapon. Something told me the world wouldn’t miss this asshole.

  But I didn’t kill him—I didn’t need to. Although damned if I wanted to after seeing the girl unconscious.

  The bullet grazed the man’s neck, forcing him to drop the knife and apply pressure to the wound at his throat.

  “Back away from her.”

  He mumbled, “I’m not paid enough for this,” as he sank to the floor.

  “Cuff yourself.” I chucked a pair of handcuffs in his direction.

  His lips curved and twisted into an ugly scowl, but he followed my command quickly. He rushed his cuffed hands back to his throat to help control the bleeding.

  I hurried to release the girl from her restraints, not knowing how long it would be until the men from the courtyard came barreling in. Or, perhaps, the real man in charge.

  The girl was light in my arms. Aside from the recent blow, she appeared to have been unharmed.

  “Tell your boss that if he ever plans on kidnapping another American in Mexico, I’ll send ten men just like me down here to deal with him.”

  ***

  “Thank God,” Lydia’s mother cried.

  A smile tugged at my lips as she wrapped her arms around her daughter in a warm embrace. “These people are animals. They’ll go after anyone for money, but they don’t always stick to the deal.”

  I grimaced at the thought of what might have happened to the girl if I hadn’t gotten to the house in time. If I had a daughter . . . damn, I couldn’t even imagine. I’d be one of the fathers who stand in the door with a shotgun in hand when my daughter went on a date.

  What in the hell was I thinking? I would never marry. Never have a daughter.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” With a shaky hand, the girl’s father held out a check. There was an absurdly large number written on it.

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “But you did a job for us, a job the police couldn’t even do.” He exhaled a deep breath. “When I called Michael for help, I wasn’t expecting a handout. I’d pay anything to get my daughter back. Thank God he was willing to help out an old veteran like me, even though he was on his honeymoon.” He set the check on the kitchen table and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I—I just can’t believe they came after us. After my precious Lydia.” He looked over at his wife, who cradled their daughter in her arms.

  Sadness snaked its way up inside me. I wasn’t sure why—this had all ended well. “Sir,” I started before clearing my throat, “I think you should consider coming back to the States. The situation down here in Mexico is getting worse. I understand your wife has family here and all.”

  The man held up his hand. “Of course. We’re leaving immediately.”

  “Well, good luck to you, sir.” My phone vibrated in my pocket as I made my way over to the mother and daughter. “Are you okay?” I asked, placing my hand on her shoulder. “You’re one strong girl. You know that, right?”

  She wiped away the tears from her cheeks and flung her arms around my neck. “Thank you,” she cried into my ear.

  I allowed myself a brief feeling of relief. “Stay safe.” I tried to ignore the strange swell of emotion in my chest. “Goodbye.”

  On the way back to my rental car, I shoved my hand into my pocket to see who was calling.

  An unknown number.

  “Hello?”

  “Connor?”

  As the engine purred to life, my hand fell from the keys and onto my lap. “Mason? Mason, is that you? Are you okay?” Worry seized my body as my face grew taut with concern. Images of my own time in Afghanistan flashed into my head: IEDs, shrapnel, terrorists . . . had something happened to my kid brother? “Mason?”

  Static.

  “Mason, what’s wrong?”

  “Shit, Connor. I’ve been calling . . .” Interference. “I’m about to board . . . back to the States.”

  Did I hear him right? “Are you hurt? Why are you leaving? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m okay, but . . .”

  “What?” Panic strangled my nerves. Something wasn’t right.

  “No one could reach . . .”

  “What? You’re breaking up. I’m losing you.”

  “Dad’s dead.”

  Chapter Two

  Olivia

  The sound of his voice instantly gave me the chills. “Olivia?”

  “Oh jeez, what does he want?” Claire took a sip of coffee from her oversized, hot pink mug.

  I rolled my eyes and squirmed in my office chair, trying to get comfortable. “How did your date go with him, anyway?”

  She shifted in her four-inch leopard print heels and continued to chew on her lip without making eye contact—I knew what she was going to say.

  Claire set her cup on my desk. Her young, porcelain skin assumed a barely-there frown. “Um. He’s a total asshole. It wasn’t even a date. It was an ‘I want to screw you’ kind of thing.” She pulled on the strands of her raven black hair and squinted at me.

  Thoughts of pounding our boss in the face with my killer right hook shot into my mind. The cheap plastic arms on my chair melded with my palms as I gripped them in a frantic attempt to keep my thoughts to myself. It was even harder than usual not to say more than I should about the jackass of a boss we worked for. “Claire.”

  Even with her shoulders slumped forward, she was incredibly tall. Why was she a secretary when she should’ve been a model? She had crazy long legs and a bust size that should be X-rated.

  “We skipped dinner and went straight to his place.” She looked at me with hooded eyes. Ugh, why him? Anyone but him.

  I must have lost my poker face, because she said, “Don’t give me that look, Liv. I couldn’t help it. He’s just so damn hot.” She fanned her face with her free hand and rolled her shoulders back. “I know you don’t like him, but it was just sex.”

  “Okay.” I stood up and reached for my tablet.

  “He totally looks just like this super sexy DJ I have the hots for, who spins at The Phoenix. You know the one I’m talking about, right?”

  “Um . . .” My mouth parted as I waited for her to continue, knowing that I probably didn’t want to hear what else she had to say.

  “And Declan’s kind of kinky,” she whispered. “Into all that Fifty Shades stuff . . . and you know how I have a thing for bad boys.” She sat in my vacant chair and sipped her coffee.

  “He’s not a good guy, Claire.”

  “Shit. I know, and I resisted his approaches for the last two months that I’ve worked here . . . but I’m weak.”

  Something in my chest physically hurt to hear her talk. “I wish you would stay away from him. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” That was all I could say. “Be right back.” My lips puckered sourly as I left my cubicle, and a tingling coursed through my body as disgust swallowed me whole.

  I wish I understood why men like him existed, not to mention why women are attracted to them.

  “Come in,” he ordered when I tapped on his door. “What took you so long?” Declan Reid, owner and CEO of Reid Enterprises, was the same age as me. Twenty-freaking-nine. His father had retired three years ago and left Declan his failing portfolio of businesses. Somehow, the inexperienced young owner had managed to turn everything around. It didn’t impress me, though—not with what I knew.

  Declan turned away from his wall of windows and sipped his coffee, and I indulged in a mental image of his coffee spilling and burning his chest as I stepped inside what I had nicknamed Lucifer’s Den. “Just wrapping up a discussion with Claire.” I cleared my throat and sat in the bright red leather chair in front of his desk. Red—the devil’s color. How perfect.

  I set my tablet on his silver desk, which was massive and had no d
rawers. “What can I do for you?” The sound of my overly pleasant voice was enough to make me nauseous.

  Declan remained standing in front of the windows, which overlooked the water. Our office sat near the docks, as the majority of the business was handled overseas, and cargo shipments were made on a daily basis. “How would you feel about a promotion?”

  My shoulders arched back as my attention focused on his black dress shirt.

  “What?”

  He squinted down at my black heels. Then his eyes wandered up over my calf muscles to the hem of my modest, black pencil skirt.

  What sinister thoughts were going on in his head?

  I bit back my desire to curse at him as his heated stare settled on my chest, which wasn’t even exposed. He’d just imagined me naked, hadn’t he?

  I hated that Declan was so good-looking, with his spiky black hair and haunting brown eyes. He was fit and strong, but not muscle bound, and he had black ink on his forearms, which I noticed whenever he rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

  My hand slipped up to my chest, double checking the buttons on my blouse.

  “Mr. Reid?”

  He approached his desk and set his coffee down before sliding into the nearby leather chair. A quick image of red leather and whips popped into my head as I remembered what Claire had said.

  “Olivia, you’ve been a valuable asset here at the office, but I think I’d prefer to offer you a different position—one outside of Reid Enterprises. Or at least, outside of this building.”

  “What did you have in mind?” I rolled my tongue over my front teeth as I considered the implications. I didn’t mean for it to come across as sexual, but it must have because he narrowed his eyes on my face. His attention pinned to my mouth.

  “I’d like you to work for me as my personal assistant,” he said after shaking his head a bit. “It’d be more of a nights and weekends kind of deal. I want someone who can help me with the nightclubs and restaurants I own.”