Synopsis:
There’s two sides to every story...
And ours? Isn't pretty...
Then again, what's pretty about the mafia?
Trace Rooks, that’s what.
But she only wants one of us, and I'll kill him before I let him have her.
The only problem?
We're cousins.
And she may just be our long lost enemy.
Whoever said college was hard, clearly didn't attend Eagle Elite University.
Welcome to hell also known as the Mafia where blood is thicker than life, and to keep yours? Well, keep your friends close, and your enemies?
Even closer...
Read my review for Elite (Eagle Elite #1) by Rachel Van Dyken
Read my review for Elect (Eagle Elite #2) by Rachel Van Dyken
Read my review for Entice (Eagle Elite #3) by Rachel Van Dyken
Read my review for Elicit (Eagle Elite #4) by Rachel Van Dyken
ENFORCE
by Rachel Van Dyken
Chase
When we reached the dorms, she began to shake. I
didn’t know what to do to fix it. She reached in her purse but couldn’t seem to
get her hands past the barrier of the half-opened zipper.
With a curse, I pulled out my card and swiped it
across the access code for the elevator.
My hand naturally fell to her back as I gently
pushed her in.
The elevator was big — but it may as well have
been a shoebox. Every breath she took, every shudder that wracked her body
destroyed my sanity.
I wanted to touch her.
Instead, I did the only thing I knew I could do
that wouldn’t flag me as being disloyal to blood.
I stood as close as possible. My hand hovered
near her skin, feeling like it was damn-near singeing from the heat her body
was giving off.
When we finally made it into their room, Mo
started yelling.
“He’s an ass! I know I shouldn’t defend him, but
if he would have known they were your grandma’s shoes—”
I put my hand in the air. “I don’t get it.
What’s so important about—”
“She’s dead, you asshole!”
Yeah. I’d forgotten that.
Like a complete jackass.
Traces face fell as more tears streamed across
her plump lips.
And the pieces of the puzzle fell together. Yes,
she was upset about what Nixon had done, but even when he shamed her in front
of everyone it wasn’t the fact that he’d embarrassed her — it was the fact that
he’d unintentionally ripped her heart out and stomped on it.
By the looks of her clothes on the first day,
she didn’t have a lot of money or possessions, meaning only one thing. The
shoes from her Grandma? Probably one of the only things she had of value.
With a curse, I stomped out of the room. Tex
followed, eerily quiet for a guy who normally talked his ass off.
“So…” Tex shoved his hands in his pockets once
we were in the safety of the elevator. “…that was—”
“Shut the hell up,” I barked and stormed out of
the elevator so he wouldn’t follow me.
Tex barked out a laugh and went in the opposite
direction. With shaking hands, I dialed the number to the closest supplier.
“I need your most expensive boots from the new
spring collection.”
“I’d be happy to help you with your purchase,
sir, but you need to know those are specific boots are—”
“Get them for me. Now. I need them by six.”
“Six?”
“In the morning,” I said slowly. “Size nine.”
“Of course, sir.”
The line went dead.
But adrenaline continued to surge through my
veins. I didn’t know what else to do except sit outside the dorms and wait
until the boots arrived.
So that’s exactly what I did.
I sat in the shadows and waited. By the time
five-thirty rolled around, I got another phone call, and the boots were
delivered into my hands by one of my associates.
I wanted to put them at her door. I wanted to be
the guy to apologize, and I wasn’t doing it on Nixon’s behalf. No, I was doing
it for me.
Cursing the Mafia the entire way up to her
floor, I clenched the boots in my hand and went to her room.
I’d written a note.
It was lame.
Who wrote notes? It was like I’d reverted to
middle school, but I wanted to do something special, something extra. Hell,
after that shitty day, I should have put a bottle of wine in one of the boots
with a sedative.
I raised my hand to knock. Visions of Trace
opening the door filled my head. She’d, of course, give me a hug, invite me in.
Maybe it would be the start of our relationship. I’d slowly slink into her life
and we’d… what? What exactly would happen?
She wasn’t one of us. She didn’t belong in our
world.
I put my hand down and stared at the door.
Our future was over before it had even begun.
“Chase?” A female called out my name. “Is that
you?”
I turned to the left where Molly, a past
booty-call stood wearing nothing but a long tight t-shirt and a smile.
“Yeah.” I looked away.
“You wanna come over for a bit?”
No. I didn’t.
I wanted to knock on the door.
But instead of knocking, and potentially ruining
a girl’s life, a girl already on her road to ruination, I stepped back and
shook my head.
“Maybe another time, Molly.”
As my footsteps echoed across the floor, I
wondered. One day, would I look back on this moment? And wish… I would have
knocked?
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers!
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