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  A CHICAGO VIGILANTES NOVEL:

  BOOK ONE

  Copyright © 2020 by India Kells

  Editing and proofreading by Black Opal Editing

  Cover Art by Moonstruck Cover Design & Photography

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-989354-10-0

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  www.indiakells.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Also by India Kells

  About the Author

  Read More from India Kells

  About this book

  Carpe Noctem… To bring justice to this city, a vigilante must seize the night. And sacrifice everything else, including the woman he loves.

  When she hears rumors of a new drug about to overtake Chicago, reporter Orla Karlsen is desperate to defend her city and will stop at nothing to halt its distribution, including stepping into Chicago’s underworld. She has a second agenda—to uncover the person dispensing his own brand of justice to those on the wrong side of the law—the Vigilante.

  The Vigilante fights to protect the city in darkness and shadows. His latest goal is to track down the suppliers of the new drug and stop them before users start dying, and he targets Orla as a way to get information.

  Their common quest will intersect in a fiery showdown and they’ll need to trust each other to untangle a mess of lies, power, and danger. Orla seizes the opportunity to learn more about the man behind the mask and agrees to work with him to bring down those behind the new drug.

  Loyalties and ambitions shift though when she realizes he’s not just another criminal, but someone with honor that truly cares for the citizens of Chicago. The connection between them builds into an undeniable sexual need neither of them can fight and despite the danger, they can’t stay away from each other.

  Orla is willing to give her body, but when their lives are on the line, Orla fights to gain the trust of the man she’s given her heart to.

  Will love be enough to save them both, or will the Vigilante sacrifice Orla to keep his secrets?

  Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. ⁓ Oscar Wilde

  We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin. ⁓ André Berthiaume

  Prologue

  Even after unbuttoning the collar of his Navy whites, Lance Sorenson still felt like he was choking. He hated being the ice-cream man, especially when he had no choice in the matter. That was something he wouldn’t miss one bit.

  The diner was deserted, but that wasn’t a surprise at this time of night and in this area of Washington D.C. The real question was how he’d made his way from Arlington Cemetery to the diner; the last thing he remembered was the Admiral’s coffin being lowered into the ground.

  When the waitress came, he ordered coffee. Tiredness battled inside him, along with so much anger, he struggled to keep the violence at bay and not hit out at anyone. Something was broken inside him, and the pain was reaching unbearable heights.

  The waitress had put a steaming cup in front, her hand shaking, before scurrying away. She’d probably sensed the impending explosion simmering just below the surface and wanted to be out of the line of fire.

  He forced himself to unclench his fists and slow his breathing to control the rage burning in his gut. His hand went around the mug, but he didn’t drink. Lance doubted he could swallow coffee or refrain from throwing the cup at the wall if he dared to pick it up. Would violence alleviate his pain and guilt even just a little? Probably not.

  As he stared into his black coffee, his mind took over and reality blurred, he saw himself standing by two graves, surrounded by many people, both friends and strangers, all gathering around two lost souls. Two people he should have saved but had failed instead. Despite what everyone had told him, he knew he was to blame.

  On that fateful day, he’d lost his friend Beatrice Dante, and his mentor, her husband, Admiral James Feander. Both had played important roles in his life. After he’d become a Navy SEAL, he’d been assigned to a separate team created by the Admiral who’d pushed each of its members, honing their skills, valuing their intelligence and instincts in the field. Even when he’d become brass, James Feander had remained close to his men, and the realities of being in the field and the work they did.

  His wife, Beatrice Dante, was no ordinary woman. Rising from a dark and violent past, she’d founded Purgatory, an organization that worked in close collaboration with the US government to accomplish those missions judged impossible, using official and sometimes not so official channels. He’d gladly worked for her, as did his brothers and best friend, accomplishing the impossible time and time again without ever regretting his decision, until that fateful night when he couldn’t protect them both.

  He’d reached them too late, and today, lowering their coffins into the ground had been pure hell and confirmation his life would never be the same. He, Lance Sorenson, would never be the same.

  Air shifted around him, but Lance didn’t look up. He didn’t give a fuck what happened around him, too focused on drowning into this endless well of agony.

  Someone slid into the booth opposite him, and he didn’t have to look to recognize Sam Ferguson, friend and fellow Purgatory agent.

  “Damn, man. You weren’t easy to find, even dressed like muscled whipped cream” The man ignored Lance’s silence and ordered coffee and pie. Forced away from his somber thoughts, Lance wanted to give the intruder a piece of his mind, but he refused to look up and decided to continue giving him the silent treatment. When the waitress came with his order, she lingered a little longer, probably reassured by Sam’s easy and charming demeanor.

  After a couple of bites of his pie, Sam reached out and slapped his shoulder, flashing his thousand-watt smile when Lance raised his head, which made Lance clench his teeth. Once more, violence bubbled to the surface, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it together. Not even for a friend.

  Sam took a sip then pushed his unfinished dessert and coffee aside. He probably realized it wasn’t a good idea to leave potential weapons within Lance’s reach. “Everyone is worried, Sorenson. You didn’t say a word from the moment you arrived at the ceremony until you disappeared. Your brothers are looking for you, and you’re not answering your phone. What’s going on, man?”

  Lance raked his hair, but all he wanted to do was punch Sam, and his hand shook with the effort it took to hold back. “Leave me the fuck alone, Ferguson.”

  He leaned back, and Lance decided the blond man had a death wish when he smirked at him. “As if that’s gonna happen any time soon. What’s going on?
Answer me, and if your answer’s sane enough, I’ll leave and won’t tell your brothers where you are.”

  The last thing he wanted was to have the cavalry after him. “There’s nothing to say, Ferguson.”

  “It’s hard for everybody. We lost two of the most important people in our lives.”

  It was clear that Ferguson didn’t understand any of it. He felt responsible for Beatrice and the Admiral’s deaths, and it went way deeper than admiration, loyalty, or friendship. Words were unable to express how he felt.

  “Lance, it’s not your fault. I’ve spoken with the others, even those who were assigned to that mission, and it couldn’t have ended any other way. Beatrice was one of the most intelligent and skilled agents out there. If she couldn’t find a way out, nobody could. And let’s not forget the Admiral. He was a powerhouse in his own right.”

  His pain was so vivid and untenable, Lance slammed his fist into the wooden table. “There’s always a way. If I hadn’t been so involved in the mission, if I’d thought outside the box, I would’ve seen it.”

  Sam put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “There wasn’t. Beatrice led that mission as she always did, straight as an arrow and no holds barred.”

  “Fuck that, Sam. Bea ran Purgatory like a government organization, played more by the rules than she let on. She took on individuals with blood on their hands and offered them a second chance, but the way she functioned was by the book. That’s what got her and the admiral killed. They didn’t have the right perspective and didn’t allow themselves to stray outside the lines enough to keep themselves alive.”

  Sam seemed to think on his words, a frown forming on his face. “I don’t know if that had an impact on their deaths. I’m a thief by trade, and I don’t play well with rules, so I’m used to the discomfort. I deal with it for the organization, but it’s a challenge. I guess rules are easier for you being a Navy SEAL.”

  Bile rose in his throat. “Was.” That simple word said out loud for the first time shook Lance to the core, but he stayed with it.

  “What do you mean was?”

  “I’ve resigned from the Teams. I’m no longer a SEAL, I’ve also resigned my commission. I’m waiting for the paperwork to process, but I’m done, man. It may take several months to put everything behind for good, but I’m closing that door and not going back.”

  It wasn’t often Sam Ferguson, international thief, Purgatory agent, and well-known smart ass was rendered speechless. His eyes widened a moment before he nodded. “Does that mean you’re taking over Purgatory with Gabrielle?”

  Gabrielle Thorne was Beatrice’s natural heir and had become Lance’s friend over the years. Would he be interested in slipping into Beatrice’s shoes? What he expected to be a sarcastic bout of laughter turned into a half-sob. “No. No more walking the line for me. I need...”

  What did he need? The storm churning in his gut required more; more space, more freedom, more... violence. Something inside him wanted to explode, to destroy everything around him until there was only ruin. He thought the feeling would have dimmed and disappeared over the last weeks, but instead, it had intensified to the point where he knew he had to act, to channel this energy before it consumed him to the core. “I need to play on my own terms. The more I look at what I accomplished, the less I see its impact. What good have I done? What difference did I make? Medals and honors are just bullshit. I want change and I want it now.”

  “We’re making a difference with Purgatory.”

  Just the name tore a hole inside him, so much so he wanted to slam his fist in the table again and barely realized he’d done exactly that until the hit reverberated through his arm and shoulder.

  “Hello, boys. I see I’ve arrived just in time. Move your ass over, Fergie.” Sloane Friday’s appearance wasn’t a surprise. As a former vice cop and undercover agent, the pink-haired woman had a talent for turning up when least expected, and as she and Lance had become close friends over the years, her popping up wasn’t unexpected, rather an additional annoyance. “Who on earth didn’t finish that piece of pie? Fergie, I should arrest you.”

  Sam pushed the unfinished pie and coffee toward Sloane with a mumbled curse. “Damn, woman. One would think you never eat. We were having a serious conversation here.”

  Devouring the last of the pastry and downing the leftover coffee, the unusual agent leaned back. “Let me guess, Lance here is still blaming himself for what happened to Bea. Threatening to leave everything behind and turn into a Rambo style Buddhist monk or some similar shit.”

  Lance could feel a headache growing and wondered what it would take for them just to shut up and disappear.

  “Something like that. Lance has resigned from the Navy and Purgatory.”

  When Sloane locked her baby blues with his, Lance felt understanding coming from her, and sadness darkened her face.

  Frustrated, Sam sighed. “Hey, Sloane, you’re supposed to say something, like convince him to reconsider, tell him he’s made a bad decision.” As the silence stretched, Sam sighed in disgust. “Don’t tell me he already told you about this fucked-up decision. Leaving everything behind? Bea wouldn’t have wanted that, nor would the Admiral.”

  Lance’s soul twisted in agony. “They’re dead. They rode that thin and narrow line, and it wasn’t enough.”

  “Bullshit. They changed lives!”

  Sloane swept her wild hair to the side. “Yes, ours. Of all the missions, all the victims we helped, her greatest achievement was the opportunity she gave us, Sam. Lance sees it. I see it too. And so should you, especially because of where you came from and who you were.”

  Lance sighed at the ongoing low-key acrimony between the two. “It’s not important anymore. I’ve made my decision. End of discussion. Now, leave me alone.”

  All fight left Sam and Sloane as they looked at each other before Sloane looked back at him. “What are you going to do?”

  Tired of talking, Lance stood to leave, but Sloane touched his hand. No words were exchanged, but it was clear they were far from backing off. Thoughts had circled in his mind for weeks since that fateful event. His perspective had changed, and a decision had been made. However, he didn’t want to drag anybody in his madness. “I’ll be okay.”

  Sam snorted, not convinced. “From the look on your face, it’s clear you have a plan, and I want to know what it is. Lance Sorenson always has a plan, and this time is no different. Spill it, for fuck’s sake!”

  Lance shook his head. “I’m not bringing you in. You both overcame a lot before you joined Beatrice, and there’s nothing noble in what I intend to do. Carry on with your work, change the world.”

  “You’re going rogue.” Sloane’s words said aloud solidified his decision even more.

  Sam snarled and shook his head. “Damn, man! You can’t be serious. Going rogue like doing mercenary stuff?? Selling your services to the highest bidder?”

  Lance searched for the right words, as it was clear neither of his friends was going to let him go unless he spilled his guts and told them his plan. “I don’t want to work for anyone. I’m through with it. I’ve seen the official obligations of working for the government, and the path you must navigate when working as an organization like Purgatory. I’m tired of it. Nothing moves, the bad guys are still roaming the streets, and we face the same issues over and over again. I can’t stay without doing anything, and I’ve run out of patience for official channels. I’m going to explore less official ones.”

  Lance could see the wheels spinning in Sam’s mind before he sucked in a breath and looked at Lance in shock. “A vigilante? That’s your plan?”

  “Cut the crap, Sam! Don’t tell me the idea isn’t viable. How many times have your hands been tied because of politics during a mission?” Lance turned his attention to Sloane. “You were a cop for fuck’s sake. You of all people know how improper paperwork allowed scums to walk free. Don’t tell me it’s what you wanted when you wore a badge. I know it’s not what I fucking wanted whe
n I became a SEAL. Fuck politics, fuck paperwork. Why can’t we bring those criminals down, one by one, and protect the innocent? That’s all I ever wanted.”

  The silence that descended after his outburst was heavy. The three of them were lost in their thoughts, not that it would change Lance’s mind. The more he analyzed his decision, the more certainty crystallized in his gut.

  “I’m in.”

  Sloane’s soft voice made Lance whip his head up. His ears rang, and he was sure he’d misheard. “What?”

  The former cop angled her head, pink hair framing her face. “Whatever you intend to do, I know it’s for a good cause. I’m in. And don’t say you have to do it on your own. You’re right. I’m tired too. I love Purgatory, and it gave me a purpose for a long time, but something was missing. Purgatory changes things on a global scale, and I want to make more direct changes now.”

  Lance opened his mouth to stop her when Sam heaved a dramatic sigh. “And here I thought my criminal days were behind me when Beatrice saved me from jail... Man, I’ve been a thief all my life. It started out of survival, and I know what it is to be a victim, and there’s no way I’m turning down the opportunity to give back.”

  “It’s not an opportunity! You aren’t coming with me and destroying what you’ve built. A second chance like Purgatory won’t come again. If I get caught, it will be death or jail. I can’t, no, I won’t ask the same of you. Or allow it.”

  Sam arched an eyebrow. “You’re not asking or allowing, and we’re offering. And get real, you won’t last a minute without us. You military people are useless without street smart geniuses like me to watch your back.”