Forgotten Truth (The Forgotten Series Book 1)
Forgotten Truth
by Virginia Wine
Table of Contents
Forgotten Truth
Copyright 2015 © Virginia Wine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by:
Social Butterfly PR
Editors: Louise Bohmer and L. Woods Editing
Formatting by Cassy Roop of
Pink Ink Designs
Dedication
To my husband, who listened, and listened.
Prologue
THE BLINDING LIGHTS
of the Vegas strip seem to touch the sky. The warmth takes my breath, as the heat soars into the cab making the ride almost unbearable.
I pull up to the hotel. luggage in tow, I head for the penthouse suite. Cash doesn’t know I’m coming but fiancé’ status has it’s perks with the front desk. Holding the key in my hand an unknown apprehension lies in the midst corrupting my thoughts, but I discard it.
The papers, the ones I know he’ll need for tomorrow, gives me the perfect reason to surprise him. Flashing the key over the sensor, the door opens quietly slipping inside and my pulse quickens.
As I walk through the enormous living area filled with luxurious furniture, a complete kitchen and an immense entertainment center, I wonder why Cash needs this suite, because it’s Cash. I leave everything behind in search for the man I’ll be standing beside and exchanging vows with in just a few short months.
Or will I?
Frozen in my tracks panic starts to rush in. My vision is blurred by sudden tears, but I can still make out two writhing bodies on the bed. Black is all around me, and I feel faint. I must be turning pale because I feel like I’m about to be sick. The papers I brought for him flutter to my feet.
“Bryer,” I hate my name on his lips. “Wait.” I wish I never knew what his touch felt like. Hot searing rage throbs painfully through my body.
“Don’t - just don’t.” I manage to grit out as tears run down my face. I can feel myself shutting down and my walls going up.
The shock disables me but I still manage to choose restraint where violence would be perfectly acceptable and I run from the suite, throwing my ring on the floor, leaving it behind just like my heart. I fumble to hit the button for the elevator. The only thing that I know is that this is when my dream was destroyed. When I was destroyed.
I’m consumed by this memory I thought I’d never revisit. He’s dangerous as hell. He’s the only man who’s ever hurt me.
MY NIGHTGOWN IS
drenched in sweat as I remember the dream. A storm of emotions hit me. Why would I dream of him? A chill runs down my spine. He was fucking napalm.
Blocking him out is my only defense.
Hearing wind chimes, I recognize my new ringtone I chose for mornings like this, when I’d need a gentle wake up call. Thank you, Jesus.
I stumble to reach the phone, but it falls and hits the floor. Groaning, I step over it and head to the kitchen for coffee. On my way back, I make a pit stop in the bathroom. I’m startled by what’s staring back at me.
What’s wrong with this picture? I ask myself, evaluating the damage from last night with Gen.
We had fun, as usual. I snicker when I remember Gen’s face plant into the bushes. Inspiring my new nickname for her—Tumbleina. How she made it into the cab, I’ll never know. I didn’t drink that much, but I’ve always been a lightweight. Well, compared to Gen.
Red, puffy eyes stare back at me from the mirror, where yesterday I saw light green ones. Alcohol has never been my friend.
My blotchy skin is a sharp contrast to the pale creamy tones that came from my mother, and my long blonde waves look like something a stray mangy cat might wear. This will require some work.
After what feels like the longest six minutes of my life, my coffee is brewed. I pour a cup, adding cream and sugar, and high tail it to the shower - my cure all. A blinding wave of hot water stings me as it hits like jets and pulses over every angle of my body. Savoring the smell of lavender body wash, I’m starting to feel alive again.
Saturday. The only thing on the agenda is a training appointment with Nathan. A nice ass-kicking should get me back to my old self again.
I love how he hovers behind me, his hands holding me in place. He’s wildly handsome and oh so tempting. I’ve had a fierce crush on him from day one. Strike that. Everyone has a crush on him and fantasizes about getting him horizontal. I’m pretty sure some have succeeded.
I put on my workout clothes, my hair in a standard ponytail and wear not a stitch of makeup. Even though I know I have hours before my appointment, I’m already preparing.
Still drinking coffee, I hear my wind chimes from my bedroom. I retrieve the phone from my floor to find a text from Genevieve. I grin to myself when I see her new screen name--Tumbleina.
Tumbleina: How much did you let me drink last night? And who were those 2 guys?
Bryer: I lost count after you switched to shots, and there were 4 guys. Remember you couldn’t decide which one was the best kisser?
Tumbleina: Ew, I kind of remember tongue and the taste of whiskey. Come over. We’ll watch chick flicks and eat junk food. Help me forget my pounding head.
Bryer: Sorry, its training day, and I’m not missing my hour with Nathan for a hangover party with your ass. LOL
My phone rings and Tumbleina flashes on the screen.
“I totally get it. I’d rather he kick my ass too.” Gen says instead of a greeting and laughs.
“You know I look forward to this all week. After all, I can’t remember the last time I had a man’s hands on me.” Remembering the dream, I’m a bundle of nerves. “Gen, I dreamed of him again. He owns my dreams now?” I know she’ll understand.
“I’m sorry, Bryer. It’s been a long time. He doesn’t deserve to be in your thoughts, consciously or subconsciously. Just let it go, girl. It’s over. Remember: new town, new job, and new life. He won’t find you.”
“I know.” Although truthfully I’m not convinced. This private battle still wars within me I never looked back, I never wanted to face him, his lies, or the pain again.
“At least you left him with all the canceled wedding debris”
“I’m sure he’s bitter about that, karma.”
“C’mon, let’s forget him, Let’s do something later.” I change the subject.
“Leave it to me.” Gen says.
I get to the gym with only three minutes to spare. I see Nathan stretching some blonde in a very inappropriate position, but totally acceptable in his world. Her legs are bent and spread, and he is practically laying on her, applying pressure. Does he have a clue how hot that looks? I can’t wait for my turn.
She smiles up at him, but he ignores her, completely concentrating on the task at hand. He helps her up and I can see how she wants to linger. Who wouldn’t? But being a true professional, he says goodbye and turns away.
“I’ll take one of those,” the woman next to me says. I smile in understanding.
Glancing my way, he yells, “Bryer, one minute.” Holding up one finger, he smiles as I nod in response then grab my water off the treadmill. He probably winks at everyone. That’s a shame.
Warming up is supposed to be part of this self-inflicted hour of pain, but I’d rather stick a fork in my eye.
While I get the machine rolling faster, I see him talk to another trainer. I stare as if a force field is holding my gaze. Nathan’s brown hair is slightly wavy. Enough to give him trouble if he wanted to go for the clean-cut, perfect boy next-door style. But for the just fucked look? It’s works perfectly.
At six foot two, he towers over his equally hot friend, and those baby blues sparkle even from here. I see him walking in my direction. He smiles, and looks at me from head to toe. Does he do that with everyone? Probably.
“Warmed up, Bryer?” That’s a loaded question.
“I’m sweating. Is that good enough?”
“Sweating is a good start.” He smiles, and it reaches his eyes,
which only fuels my game.
“Well, I’ve never seen anyone jogging and smiling at the same time, so I’m happy to get off this thing.”
I psych myself up for an intense work out. He means business. He
is
all business. We start with his precisely instructed squats. I admire his strong thighs and the size of his biceps. They’re very impressive and very distracting. I inhale his aroma. Nice, but I can resist. Said no one
ever
.
“Your goal is strength, if I remember correctly. Technique is key. No cheating or cutting corners. You’ll do each set perfectly,” he orders.
“Of course. I always do.”
“Really, Bryer? Prove it.” He chuckles.
He always has his hands on me, correcting my technique. “Bryer, elbows in. All the way down. Touch my hand. Yeah, that’s it”.
You would think I would do it wrong intentionally, but no. I actually attempt to conform to his constant commands.
“Bryer, planks, and while you’re down there, lift your right leg while I count to twenty. ”
“Come again?”
“Down on the floor.” I obey.
“Is it twenty yet?” I gasp out, barely keeping my leg in the air.
“No.”
I should ask him how old he is. That would be a totally inappropriate question in between planks, right?
My body starts to tremble holding the pose. “Nathan, I can’t hold it. I’m slipping.”
He spots me by squatting over my body and gently grabbing my hips in case I fall. I can’t think.
Oh God, please let me fall.
“Do you work everyone this hard, Nathan?” I gasp out.
“Yes, I do. Stop the chatter and step it up.”
Thirty minutes into the workout, I start to have an internal dialog with myself.
Kill me now. Sweat is running down the crack of my ass. I pay for this?
It’s the longest and most delicious hour of my life. He pushes me beyond anything I would ever attempt myself. But that’s what I need.
He counts to 40. What happened to 20? I like 20.
“Set one, again.”
If I puke, he earns a badge of honor. I won’t give him that.
“Breathe, Bryer. Just two more and this set is done.” He keeps up his motivating montage the entire time.
“Evil,” I whisper, and he smiles. “I should have the ass of an apple when I leave here.”
He looks at my ass.
Hell.
“How do you think this shit up?” I complain, half-teasing, half-flirting.
“Hey, bro, I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you have a second?” someone asks.
“Sure, Clayton,” Nathan says. “Bryer, excuse me for just a minute.”
When Clayton approaches, I feel invisible. He gives a smirk to Nathan like some ‘guy code talk’ about what they did last night. I can only imagine two single guys who look like that are up to when they’re out on the town. I can’t let my mind go there.
So instead I enjoy the view, staring while I have this undetected opportunity, and eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Sorry about the lamp, and waking you with that fucking nightmare. I don’t know what got into me,” Nathan says while he leans into Clayton.
“Relax, it’s not that big of a deal, man.”
They take a few extra steps away to ensure their privacy, but it only gives me a better view. Nathan’s shirt is tight across his expanded muscular chest, offering a peek of his chest hair. Yum. God, he’s just wearing a normal black T-shirt, the standard uniform for all trainers, but it looks amazing on him. A slight tease of a tattoo on his upper arm shows when he reaches for the weight bar. What is it? A tribal design? A dragon?
It has to be some egotistical label indicating his ultra-male ego
, I laugh to myself.