Rapture & Rogue Read online

  Rapture

  &

  Rogue

  By

  Sydney Canyon

  Rapture & Rogue © 2015 Sydney Canyon

  Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.

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

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – 2015

  Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Interior Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Editor: Jessica Roth - Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Also by Sydney Canyon

  Novellas:

  Bella Vita

  Fine

  Igniting Temptation

  Miracle at Christmas

  One Night

  Shadow's Eyes

  Light Reading: A Collection of Novellas

  Full Length Novels:

  Second Chance

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to my amazing and wonderful editor, Jessica. Your expertise made this story that much better.

  Dedication

  To my wife:

  Each chapter is small part in the book of life that I’m fortunate enough to share with you.

  Chapter 1

  A big, American Moving Company truck with red and blue block letters pulled away from the curb in front of the large brownstone and puttered down the street.

  Taren Rauley swept her long, light-brown curls over her shoulder and tore her hazel eyes away from the window, sighing when she focused on the pile of boxes the delivery truck had just dropped off.

  “I still can’t believe my car won’t be here for two days. I should’ve just driven it,” she muttered as she began unpacking the nearest box.

  “That’s silly. Why would we drive two cars from San Diego to Chicago?” her boyfriend replied with a smile, pushing his dark-framed glasses back up his nose as he bent to pick up the box marked ‘bedroom.’

  Taren watched him walk down the hall. Ken reminded her a little bit of Matt Damon, except a nerdy, bookworm version. His dark brown hair was kept neat and just long enough to comb, and it was starting to show more and more gray on the sides, despite his age. He was 33, only a few years older than Taren. He wasn’t very big for a man, standing at only five foot eight with the slim build of a morning jogger. Taren stood eye-to-eye with him when she wore three inch heels.

  Focusing back on the project at hand, Taren went back to unpacking the kitchen. She hated moving across the country, but Ken received a promotion with his company that he couldn’t turn down. Taren quit her job at a small accounting firm to move with him. She’d met Ken when she took on his company as a new client two years ago, and they had been together ever since. Taren hadn’t been looking for a relationship, but Ken seemed to fit neatly into all of the little boxes she’d checked off in her head. He was genuinely nice, compassionate, book smart, and as loyal as a day is long. They’d moved in together after nine months.

  “This is smaller than our apartment in San Diego, but at least it’s furnished,” Ken muttered as he entered the living area to get another box.

  Taren mumbled in agreement without looking up. The apartment was actually the second floor of a four-story brownstone in an area close to the nightlife and downtown.

  The front door opened to a small hallway, with bedroom and kitchen on the right. The hallway ended in a combination living and dining room.

  The apartment was about eleven-hundred square feet and recently remodeled. A black leather couch and matching chair sat in the living area with dark brown tables. A flat screen TV hung over the corner fireplace. The small, four-person dining set had a matching dark brown frame with a glass top. The queen-sized furniture in the master bedroom was the same dark wood. The walls were a light shade of burnt orange with cream colored trim.

  Taren finished setting up their coffee pot, toaster oven, and utensils. Then, she moved on to the next box, labeled ‘dishes and cups.’ She hated packing and unpacking, especially knowing the apartment wasn’t permanent. Ken’s company had paid the first six months rent in advance as part of the job offer. That way, they’d have time to look around and get the feel of the city before buying something. He’d sold Taren on the idea of exploring the real estate market in the new city. They sold their old furnishings to a friend, watched the movers pack their boxes into the truck, put her car on a shipping trailer, and headed across the country in Ken’s compact SUV with their possessions stuffed in the back.

  “I was thinking maybe we could go check out the area and get a real deep dish pizza.”

  Taren laughed, knowing he’d rather eat pizza than anything else.

  “It seemed so much easier packing everything up,” he sighed, plopping down on the couch and scratching the back of his head.

  “It always does,” she replied, sitting down next to him.

  Ken wrapped his arm around and kissed her temple. “So, pizza?”

  “We might as well. These boxes are going to take the rest of the day anyway. I can’t believe we got here quicker than our stuff and my car,” she sighed, running her fingers through her beautiful, wavy curls. “I can’t even start looking for a job until I get my car.” She’d hated quitting her job, but with her qualifications, she’d find another one easily.

  Ken shrugged. “I know, honey. It’ll be fine.”

  Taren kissed his lips and put her hand on his thigh as she pushed off the couch. “Where’s the pizza place?” she asked as she headed into the bedroom to change clothes. She checked herself in the mirror. Her tanned skin contrasted nicely against the white cutoff shorts and pale green tank top she was wearing. She was going to miss sunny, southern California.

  “This is Chicago. I figured we’d ride around until we found one. They’re probably on every corner,” he replied, tucking his light-yellow polo neatly into the waistband of his jeans.

  ***

  Later that evening, they finally finished all of the unpacking and headed to the bedroom. Ken was usually pretty quick in bed and smaller than average, but he was always attentive to Taren’s needs, which made for a comfortable sex life. She thought about the reasons she loved him as he kissed her goodnight and curled up next to her. He was a compassionate, gentle person, who fumbled with romance, but made up for it in other ways.

  Chapter 2

  A week after the move, Taren received a call with a job offer for major accounts manager with a prestigious accounting firm. She stared at the phone, in shock.

  “Are you there, Ms. Rauley?”

  “Yes. Sorry, we must have a bad connection,” Taren fibbed.

  “Oh. Anyway, we’d like you to start on Monday. Do you have any questions?”

  “No. Thank you so much. I’m looking forward to it,” Taren replied, and hung up. She ran around the apartment in her bare feet, a pair of short, cotton shorts, and the thin, low-rise tank top she’d worn to bed, even though it was three in the afternoon. “Yes!” she squealed and fist-pumped the air, before grabbing her phone to call Ken and give him the good news.

  “That’s great, babe! We should go out tonight to celebrate,” he said.

  “I think you’re right,” she answered.

  ***

  Ken asked around before leaving the office and many of his co-workers said an upscale cocktail bar called Rapture was the place to go. Taren dressed to the nines in a sleeveless, black, cocktail dress with a
V in the front, showing off a hint of her perky cleavage, and strappy heels. Ken decided not to wear the coat and tie he’d worn to work, choosing to wear just the dark blue slacks and light blue button-down instead. He opened the first two buttons, allowing the collar on his white undershirt to be seen.

  “This is different,” Ken murmured as they walked through the doors of the high-end cocktail lounge.

  There were bars along each side of the room with a stage in the far back, where a jazz band played softly. High-top tables were scattered around both bar areas with booths and couch and coffee table style seating in the middle. They made their way to the bar on the left, and Ken ordered a glass of red wine for each of them.

  “It was twenty-five dollars for these,” Ken squeaked, turning to hand Taren her glass.

  “Wow,” she replied. The bar wasn’t full, but it was early. Everyone was fashionably dressed and the décor was modern with a lot of black, brushed stainless steel, and mirrors. “This place looks like something you’d see in Los Angeles,” she added.

  “Yeah, or maybe New York City. This must be where the rich people hang out,” he replied. “Come on. I see an open table.”

  Taren followed as they made their way to one of the tables in the middle. She sat down and sipped her wine.

  “The drinks are a little pricy, but I like the atmosphere,” Ken said. The lighting was dim, but bright enough to see the fine artwork on the walls. The music permeated the air, but didn’t drown out table conversation.

  “It’s a nice place,” Taren agreed as she looked around the room. She froze, feeling a shiver crawl up her spine when her eyes landed on a woman in a corner booth with two suggestively dressed women snuggled up against either side of her. She had short, messy black hair, a flawless tan complexion and piercing blue eyes that were boring a hole through Taren. She quickly pulled her gaze away, gulping nearly half of her wine in one sip as she tried to focus on Ken.

  “I’m going to find the restroom. Do you need anything?” Ken asked as he pulled her hand up and kissed the back of it before standing up.

  Taren smiled and shook her head.

  As soon as Ken walked away, a waiter stopped next to her table and set a drink in front of her. Taren didn’t need to taste it to know it was a gin and tonic. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the lump in her throat as the dark-haired woman from the corner booth slid into the seat across from her.

  “I don’t drink gin anymore,” Taren murmured, avoiding the intense blue eyes staring at her.

  The woman across from her laughed lightly. “You sure drank it in college,” she said with a hint of arrogance in her voice.

  “A lifetime ago,” Taren sighed.

  “I don’t think five years constitutes a lifetime,” the woman replied.

  “It does for me.” Taren finally pulled her eyes up to look at the woman across from her. “What do you want, Gi?” she asked, meeting her gaze.

  “Miss me?” Gi asked with a casual smile.

  “Hell no. What are you doing in Chicago anyway?”

  “Surely you haven’t forgotten all of our years of pillow talk. My family is here. This is where I grew up. What are you doing here, and who is the guy?”

  “My boyfriend, Ken,” Taren answered.

  The woman laughed. “Does that make you his Barbie?”

  “Fuck you,” Taren spat.

  “Oh, you used to do that. Quite well, I might add.” Gi grinned. “It’s odd, seeing you with a man. In all of the times we fucked, you were never interested in using a dildo, so you can’t possibly enjoy being pounded by his dick.”

  “Gi, I don’t care to see or talk to you. Please leave me alone,” Taren said with a harsh tone in her voice.

  “No, you’re in my bar,” Gi smirked.

  “What?” Taren said.

  “I own this bar.”

  “Oh, please,” Taren huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Is there a poker table in the basement or something?”

  “No.” Gi smiled. “I left gambling when you left me.” Her smile faded.

  “Back to selling drugs?” she said sarcastically.

  “No. I did dabble in guns and running call girls for a bit, but the crime boss life is a hassle.”Gi gave her a smug look.

  “You should go back to your whores. They look lonely,” she sneered.

  “Want to join me? They’re pretty good in bed. Nothing like you.” Gi wiggled her brows. “By the way, does Ken know how much you like eating pussy?” she taunted, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  Taren snapped, opening her mouth to yell at the woman across from her, when a man in a solid black suit stepped up to the table.

  “Ms. Revisi, someone is here to see you,” he said, nodding towards the front door, where a man stood, dressed in a dark grey, three piece suit. He had two younger men flanking him.

  “Show them upstairs and tell Natasha their tab is on the house,” Gi answered.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Taren watched as the men were escorted through the bar and around the corner. They were all dressed in expensive suits and had the same dark hair and flawless olive skin that Gi had gotten from her Italian heritage.

  “You’re seriously washing money for the mob?” Taren screeched.

  “Not so loud, tesoro,” Gi murmured, using the Italian word for sweetheart.

  Taren’s chest burned when the pet name rolled off Gi’s tongue like no time had passed. “Don’t call me that, not anymore,” she whispered heavily, turning her head away.

  “Even after five years, you still get that look in your eyes. You’re not fooling anyone but yourself,” Gi stated softly before standing and walking away.

  Taren refused to look up until Ken sat back down next to her.

  “Where did this come from?” he asked, pointing to the drink on the table.

  “A waiter dropped it off by mistake,” Taren sighed.

  Ken shrugged and took a sip. Taren watch him grimace.

  “Gross!” he spat, sliding the glass to the other side of the table.

  “I’m not feeling well. Do you think we could head home early?” Taren scrunched her face.

  “Sure. Are you okay? You don’t look well,” he replied, noticing the color had drained from her face. It looked as though there were tears in her eyes.

  “Yeah. The leftovers I ate were bad or something. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. This night was supposed to be for you. I’m sorry you feel bad. Do you want me to stop and get you something on the way home?”

  “No. I’ll be fine. I just want to go home and lie down. I guess you’ll have to get dinner without me. Is that okay?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Come on.” Ken stood and held his hand out to her.

  Taren took his hand and they walked out of the bar together.

  Chapter 3

  Taren woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. She threw back the covers and slid out of bed, careful not to wake Ken who was sleeping soundly next to her. She quickly peeled out of her soaked tank top and replaced it with a new one from her drawer and walked out of the room.

  Heavy rain drops pelted the windows from the storm outside, causing a steady rattle on the living room windows. Taren poured herself a cold glass of water and gathered her long, wavy curls and twisted them, holding her hair up to let the air conditioning caress the heat of her neck as she gulped the water down.

  Afraid to wake Ken with her disturbed sleep, she stretched out on the sofa, allowing the coolness of the leather to soothe her back to sleep. She was barely out when the dreams invaded her conscience again.

  ***

  Taren walked across the UCLA campus towards the row of campus apartments, the last of the sun’s warmth kissing her skin before disappearing for the night. Long, wavy curls bounced along her back, hanging over her light blue tank top. She’d been invited to a party that evening and, as a newly moved-in freshman, she was looking fo
rward to meeting new people.

  “Hey! You made it,” Christy said when she opened the door of the apartment. They’d met in one of their classes and had paired up as study buddies.

  “Whose party is this?” Taren asked.

  “Gi. Don’t you know her?”

  Taren shook her head.

  “Really? Everyone knows Gi.” Christy said, handing her a cup of beer from the keg. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  They walked towards the back of the apartment where Texas Hold’em and Black Jack tables were set up, each with a dealer. People gathered around them, holding cards and placing bets. Taren sipped her beer, grimacing at the bitter taste.

  “You don’t look like a beer drinker,” a dark-haired girl with a sultry voice said, leaning close to her.

  Taren turned to see the most beautiful, dark blue eyes she’d ever seen. “No, not really,” she replied with a smile. “Do you know if there is anything else?”

  “Come on,” the girl said, holding her hand out.

  Taren looked around for Christy, but she’d lost her once they got near the crowded tables. She shrugged and went with the girl who was tugging her hand. She was maybe two inches taller than Taren, and had short black hair that stuck out in all directions, wild and carefree. She was dressed in an old, thin t-shirt that clung to the small curves of her toned torso and worn blue jeans with a few holes in them.

  There was an array of choices, as well as a dozen mixers, lining the kitchen counter.

  “Is this your place?” Taren asked.

  “No. I just supply the gambling,” the girl answered.

  Taren nodded.

  “Where shall we start?” the girl asked. “Are you even old enough to drink?” she teased.