We Met in Death (gay dark romance) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  We Met in Death

  K.A. Merikan

  Acerbi & Villani Ltd.

  We Met in Death

  K.A. Merikan

  — This is not the night you die. —

  After years of working for a loan shark, Robert is done with blood and violence. All he has to show for it is a bag of money and a lifetime of regrets. There’s no other way out of his line of work than in a body bag.

  So Robert decides to die.

  But on the night he chooses to seal his own fate, destiny offers him a chance at redemption. When Robert saves a handsome young escort from a terrible death, he has no idea he is setting in motion much more than one last attempt at proving that inside the hardened shell, he is a decent human being.

  Charming, quick-witted, and full of smiles, Nathan is all Robert could dream of. He’s also ready to fall into the arms of his gruff protector. Robert, on the other hand, has never been with a man and will first need to fight his own demons if he is to accept that his whole being wants to make Nathan his.

  With his former boss hunting them both, time is ticking, and Robert might just not get the chance to decide before it’s too late. More importantly though, Robert will stop at nothing to protect the man who’s made him feel alive again, the man who is the only thing between him and the abyss.

  *

  “I never had to think much about death before, but I did yesterday. I thought I would die. In a hole. Covered with dirt. Suffocate underground.

  But then you saved me.”

  POSSIBLE SPOILERS:

  Themes: enemies to lovers, protector, cruelty, homophobia, crime, self-discovery, family conflict, age gap, escort, self-hate, first time, revenge, on the run

  Genre: Dark, gritty, contemporary romance

  Erotic content: Scorching hot, emotional, explicit scenes

  Length: ~90,000 words (Standalone novel, HEA)

  WARNING: This story contains scenes of violence, torture, mentions of suicide, offensive language, morally ambiguous characters, homophobia and homophobic language

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, events, places or names is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without a permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

  Text copyright © 2017 K.A. Merikan

  All Rights Reserved

  http://kamerikan.com

  Cover design by

  Natasha Snow

  http://natashasnow.com/

  Table of contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  About the author

  Other books by K.A. Merikan

  Chapter 1

  It was a good night to die.

  The full moon above was a blurry ball of light, very much visible even in the fog that flooded the old cemetery. Its glow dispersed in the damp air, creating what looked like opaque glass walls that followed Robert as he rambled between tombstones with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Trees stretched their arms above him, some boldly black against the sinewy blue, the ones farther away only a fraction darker than the backdrop of colored air. A vast landscape surrounded him, yet Robert couldn’t see much of it, confined to what was within a few paces, as if he were walking the world with ghosts already.

  Guilt was a noose around his neck, but despite the visceral desire for it to tighten and choke the life out of him, a part of Robert wished for a few more minutes to finish his liquor. So he followed the invisible pull and walked off the asphalt, away from the safety of a guided path. The grass was soft beneath his feet, even if slippery with moisture as he climbed a soft slope toward a grave that stood alone beneath a leafless tree.

  Aimlessly, he moved his hand under his leather jacket to touch the hard steel of the handgun. It was still there, still loaded and ready to use as soon as the bottle was empty. He hadn’t left his apartment with a plan, just wishing to dull out the pain, but his mind had become clearer with each sip. He just needed those few more drops of liquid courage before he pulled the trigger.

  The late-night chill penetrated Robert’s jacket, making him miss the scarf he’d forgotten from the bar he visited earlier, but it didn’t matter much at this point. It was an expensive accessory, made of fine wool, so maybe it was for the better that someone else could use it from now on. It wasn’t like the cold could make Robert sick within the hour. The liquor would help with that too.

  Halfway through the bottle, Robert’s mind was hazy with the alcohol, which made his steps heavier and his head pleasantly light, lifting at least some of the grim thoughts clouding his head. He took a swig from the bottle, and the fine whiskey burned the back of his tongue as he swallowed.

  The moonlight spilled over the gravestones like milk, allowing Robert to admire each marble angel or cross as if this were a gallery, not the final resting place of so many people. Too bad he wouldn’t be getting one of those. Oh, well. Dying wasn’t all about pretty graves.

  Another gust of wind rushed under Robert’s jacket, so he quickly took another swig of alcohol to warm up. He almost stumbled over two human-shaped forms on the ground, hugging the bottle to his chest when for a split second he thought they were flesh and blood, not stone and concrete. Would this be how someone would find him in the morning? A dark shape so easily mistaken for a log or some rubble thrown aside?

  Why was he stalling anyway? It wasn’t like he really wanted to walk through the cemetery all that much longer. He’d never struggled much with pulling the trigger before. Then again, it’d never been his head on the other side of the barrel.

  He pushed his hand under the jacket again and touched his trusty Glock. It brought relief, the grip so familiar to Robert’s hand. There was no reason to hesitate, because the bullet meant for him would not hurt him. It would bring an end to the pointless misery that his life had become—both to him and all others.

  Shuddering from the cold, he pulled the gun out of its holster and pressed the side of the barrel against his cheek, just to let himself think in peace, to enjoy this last moment alone.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  Voices penetrated the dull silence of the howling wind, knocking down the walls of Robert’s solitude as if they were the kind of thin crystal that could shatter from high-pitched sound. He clenched his teeth and leaned against a tall tombstone, hugging its sl
im form with one arm. Could a man not have peace when it was most needed?

  Slowly, he looked up and spotted faint lights in the fog ahead. For a brief moment, he wanted to walk the other way, to take care of the business he’d wanted to deal with since he’d left the bar. But maybe there was a part of him that wanted to prolong the inevitable, because instead of doing the sensible thing, he stepped toward the weak light that moved in the air like a giant firefly.

  Back when he was a kid, he used to think the moon was a giant wheel of cheese, because his older brother told him so. Hank had even gone as far as telling Robert the moon had originated in the Milky Way. Even after Robert found out it was all bullshit, he still later bonded with Hank over stuffing the same lies into their youngest brother’s head. That was a long time ago. Back when he wasn’t estranged from his family over being a shitty human being.

  As he stalked closer to the sounds, his muddled mind prompted him to consider how his cold dead body would be found. He had week-old scruff, hair in a mess, and jeans that were ripped not because of fashion, but because he’d torn them while drunkenly climbing over a fence. Would any of it even matter once maggots start eating his brain? They would hardly mind that he hadn’t shaved.

  His mind became less fuzzy when he realized the repetitive sound he was approaching was that of a shovel thrusting into ground time and time again, and this was the historical part of the cemetery. People were no longer being buried here.

  Were those people... grave robbers?

  He swayed somewhat and held on to a late nineteenth century tombstone, listening with more care to what was actually being said. Still unable to discern individual words, Robert was positive there were three distinctive voices, all male, all speaking with a local accent. Were they trying to get hold of the bones of one of the famous people whose remains rested here?

  Robert growled and wiped off the sweat that built up on his forehead despite the chilly air. He knew he should dedicate his last night to contemplation instead of spying on random sickos, but in the end he didn’t walk away. His legs carried him forward, and he crept through the foggy shadows, hiding behind tall tombstones and straining his eyes to avoid any obstacles in the dark. The bottle of whiskey felt warm in his hand, and in this moment—so did the Glock.

  In the fog, the tree silhouettes presented an eerie sight—faceless shadows working their shovels in silence, with only two flashlights positioned to illuminate an old gravesite to disperse the gloom. The blurred rays of light allowed glimpses of jeans, a black and white flannel shirt, a dirt-stained dress shirt, but gave Robert no other clues to identify the men.

  Once the three of them were done with whatever it was they wanted to achieve, Robert would be left to contemplate the dirt piled upon the coffins and then use a single bullet before falling the six feet to his death and have the ground swallow him whole. But now the men were still here, unaware of Robert’s presence behind a stone lion stretched above someone’s dead body. With the haze in Robert’s mind becoming stronger, he slumped to his knees and rested his forehead against the animal. The way even the cold was starting to feel more distant with each sip from the bottle was exhilarating, almost to the point where Robert’s eyelids were becoming heavy.

  A muffled shriek tore Robert out of peaceful lethargy and sent his gaze looking for the source of the sound. There was a huge pile of dirt next to a gravestone now, and the men all dropped their shovels in favor of picking a large object Robert hadn’t noticed before. Had he fallen asleep?

  Before he could think of the implications, his brain froze in stunned silence when the oversized maggot in the sack or sleeping bag began wriggling so hard one of the faceless men dropped it.

  Another muffled cry came from the inside, and Robert hated how it was making him sober up. As if the panicked whine physically removed the ethanol from his bloodstream. His breath became shallower, and he leaned down to disappear farther behind the gravestone as he watched the scene unfold in the fog lit up by moonlight.

  The three men—all big and strong—chose a cozy spot close to the bushes, in a remote part of the cemetery. No one would think twice of the lack of grass by this one gravestone, and even that could be cleverly hidden by strategically placing some gravel or stones over the fresh grave.

  Robert winced when one of the men delivered a kick to his fallen victim, putting all his strength into the attack.

  “Give up,” the man snarled.

  One of the others pulled out a cigarette and shook his head as orange glow illuminated his face for half a second before it died. “You signed your death warrant when you stole from Mr. Vogel.”

  Robert almost dropped his bottle when he heard the name. It was so familiar the coroner would likely find it branded into Robert’s bones. Vogel was the man who many years back had offered Robert an easy life—or so it had seemed back then, before everything went to shit and the ground crumbled all around Robert, burying all that he held dear.

  It was only now that he realized the men’s voices sounded vaguely familiar. They were all like him—the roots that kept Vogel growing strong and spreading his branches through the city—but younger, hungrier for their master’s acknowledgement than Robert was. His own times of carrying out cold-blooded murder were long over, though the events of the last few days called into question all he’d believed about himself.

  Nausea gripped Robert by the throat, and he clenched his hand on the stone lion’s hind leg. Bitterness twisted inside him like pieces of barbed wire, but he kept breathing and somehow managed to keep down the whiskey and the few nuts he’d had at the bar. For years, he used to tell himself that all the people he’d personally gone after in Vogel’s name had had it coming. They’d come to a loan shark and accepted his terms, so they should have known what their fate would be if they couldn’t pay up on time. He might have even told himself that all those people had brought their misfortune upon themselves by getting entangled with the criminal underworld, but the truth was that most of them had done so out of desperation. Most of them hadn’t deserved a visit from Robert.

  And tonight they would feast on Robert’s flesh in the afterlife.

  But not yet. If Robert was to go, then maybe at least Vogel’s latest victim could stay behind? Someone to think fondly of Robert, the man who’d saved his life?

  The bag thrashed and wrapped itself around the leg of the man who’d just kicked it, and the high-pitched whine that followed had Robert’s blood boil. What if it was a child? A woman? An inexperienced man who’d met Vogel in the wrong place, at the wrong time?

  Robert’s last job had only been this past week, and to Vogel’s knowledge, it was all business as usual. He had no idea how much Robert had grown to resent the organization that had made him into the man he was, because walking away had never been an option. Robert had seen men try, and then hear of their dead bodies turning up somewhere. So he’d locked his feelings away and soldiered on while his skin slowly turned into scales that nothing could pierce.

  Until yesterday.

  Robert squeezed his fingers around the warm neck of the bottle, took two more gulps, and pulled out his gun. His feet carried him forward, undetected with the wind masking the sound of his footsteps. At night, in a closed old cemetery, Vogel’s men had no reason to suspect they were being watched, and that lapse of judgment would be their undoing. Tonight. Robert could leave Vogel on his own terms, and he would grant mercy to yet another victim of the man who’d pushed Robert where he’d never intended to go.

  The liquor made the inside of Robert’s head tingle, but it couldn’t affect his marksmanship. He hadn’t had nearly enough whiskey yet for that. He steadied the gun against the lion’s head and pulled the trigger.

  The man who had so viciously attacked the helpless victim earlier dropped dead, a falling shadow in the fog.

  Before the other one could pull out his gun, Robert shot again, and again.

  His ears still rang, and the previously wriggling sack of human went rigid.
br />   Robert scowled when his foot hit something, making him stumble. Saving both himself and his bottle, Robert managed to keep upright and continued toward the fresh dig. With his eyes focused on the motionless body in the sleeping bag, he approached, helping himself to more whiskey on the way. It felt so damn good on his tongue, smooth but with an aftertaste of wood.

  He was almost at the pile of dirt removed from the hole when one of Vogel’s men twitched, and Robert didn’t hesitate, sending yet another bullet into the man’s head. He dropped dead this time.

  Picking up one of the flashlights, Robert took his time checking the other two, but they were already getting cold, pulse gone and no longer breathing. He knew their faces and he wasn’t saddened by their demise, even though someone else might have thought the same thing of him. “What did they get you for?” he asked with a slight slur to his words.

  The person in the zipped-up sleeping bag moved slightly, as if turning their head to where Robert’s voice came from.

  “Who-who are you?” A male voice. With an accent. Clattering teeth made the words choppy.

  Robert massaged the base of his nose, watching the three bodies and the hole that surely was as near completion as it would have been. He placed the bottle on the ground and pushed the corpse nearest to the fresh grave. It rolled into the hole and hit something with a dull thud.

  “Nobody. Who are you?”

  “M-my name is Nathan,” the man uttered. “Are you here to… I mean… are they dead? Mr. Nobody?” The sleeping bag larvae crawled closer to Robert.

  Robert walked over to his next victim, who also landed inside the hole. “As dead as they can be. I bet you’re relieved.”

  “Are you… drunk?”

  Robert had known forming words was more difficult with a tongue as thick as his was now, but it was clearly also obvious in his speech. Nathan on the other hand had an accent Robert couldn’t place. Who the fuck was he? Was Robert even interested enough to find out?