Destiny Disrupted (There's Always Tomorrow Book 1)
Read Destiny Disrupted (There's Always Tomorrow Book 1) Online
Authors: M.D. Saperstein
Destiny Disrupted
There’s Always Tomorrow
By:
M.D. Saperstein
Copyright
© 2015 by M.D. Saperstein
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Except for the original material written by the author(s), all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or used in any manner whatsoever, via the Internet, electronic, or print, without the express written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For more information, or information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author:
OR
https://www.facebook.com/MdSapersteinAuthor
OR
Edited by: Megan Hershenson
Cover Design by: Andria Large
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, May 2015
ISBN:
978-1512102345
Homicide Detective Vance Summers has seen his fair share of bloody crime scenes, but nothing could have prepared him for the gore he is about to endure, not even his nine years of experience on the job. A serial killer is on the loose in Los Angeles attacking whole families, and Vance is the only one who can catch him. But that’s not what the killer seems to think. What becomes a fun game of cat and mouse to the killer, turns Vance’s life into a living hell for him, his family, and his friends.
Sweet, demure Melina Higgins is minding her business when – BAM! – she literally crashes into the most gorgeous man she has ever seen. Although hesitant to date a man whose dangerous job consumes his life, she is unable to control her attraction to this sexy, sensitive, family man. When a serial killer sets his sights on her new detective boyfriend, Melina has no choice but to help fight for her man…and her life.
*
Warning* This book is intended for mature readers over the age of 18. It contains graphic sexual content, foul language, gruesome murder details, an emotional rape scene, and some hot m/f and m/m action.
Vance Summers stretches out over his navy blue silk sheets with a groan, blindly reaching over and slamming his alarm clock into silence. He hates getting up at six am. Rolling onto his back, he stretches again, his morning wood straining against the sheet that barely covers his naked ass. He talks his unwilling body into sitting up, rubs his face with his hands, and then rakes them through his thick blond hair. As he finally drags his reluctant self out of bed, there is a quick knock on his bedroom door before it opens. One of his best friends, Ryder Townsend, walks in with a phone in his hand.
“Jesus, Van, didn't you give the monster a little affection yet?”
Vance snorts. “I just woke up, asshole. I'll be doing that in the shower.”
“Ah, good, because that thing looks like it's gonna explode.” Ryder chuckles.
“Did you come in here for a reason?” Vance snaps.
“Damn, you're fucking grumpy in the morning. You left your cell on the coffee table and it keeps ringing. I think it’s work,” Ryder says and tosses Vance the phone. Vance catches it and looks at it.
“Shit, thanks,” Vance mumbles and returns the call, resting the hand not holding the phone on his hip as it rings. On the second ring, his boss picks up.
“Hey, Chief, what's going on? Uh huh...fuuuuccckk...alright, I'll head right over...okay...right...yeah, later,” he grumbles, squeezing the bridge of his nose with the hand no longer on his hip.
“Bad news?” Ryder asks.
“Yeah, I gotta get movin’. I'll talk to you later about it.” Vance shakes his head and starts for his bathroom.
“Alright, later,” Ryder responds as he heads out of Vance’s room.
Vance replays in his head what his boss told him on the phone: A family has been murdered. Mother, father, and three young girls. He needs to mentally prepare himself for what he is about to see. The Chief said that it’s really bad, which means Vance needs to make a valiant effort to disassociate himself from the victims. He can’t look at them as a family; they have to be nameless, faceless victims of a crime that he has to solve. The little girls are going to be the hardest to do this with, but if he doesn't separate his personal and professional feelings, he will drive himself crazy with grief.
Vance takes a quick shower, shaves, and then dresses in one of his many suits. He actually has to look presentable as a homicide detective for the LAPD. While shoving on his socks and dress shoes, he slides his wallet into his back pocket, slips his badge over his head to hang around his neck from a chain, and puts his shoulder holster on. Vance grabs his Glock off the dresser, checks it, and then holsters it. He shrugs into his suit jacket and heads downstairs to grab a quick bite to eat before heading off to the crime scene.
As Vance waits for his food to cook, Tripp shuffles into the kitchen wearing only his white boxer-briefs. Tripp Saunders is another one of his best friends that he lives with. He is a deactivated Navy Seal sniper, honorably discharged after a few tours in Afghanistan, and is now working with the FBI. His dark blond hair is usually cut military short, but is a little outgrown right now.
He has three roommates - Ryder, Tripp, and Dayne Propers. Well, four, actually, if you count Mike. Staff Sergeant Michael DiAngelo, to be exact. He rounds out their motley crew, but he is on active duty, stationed somewhere in bumfuck Afghanistan. Actually, so was Tripp’s younger brother, Damien - who made it home, but has been out of touch for the past few years - but they are no longer close. They kind of have a love/hate relationship due to Tripp’s closeness to the guys. And then there is Vance’s younger brother, Xander, who is very close with the guys, but knows his place as the younger sibling.
Anyway, the five of them have been best friends since preschool. Now, at twenty-eight years old, there’s nothing they don't know about each other, or couldn't do in front of each other, or wouldn't do for each other. They are brothers, family, and love each other deeply. They also do almost everything together; you rarely see just one of them when they are outside of work.
“Detective Summers, don't you look spiffy,” Tripp teases, his voice gravelly as usual.
Every morning Tripp sounds like he's been up the whole night screaming. His voice is always fucked up when he first wakes up because of the time he spent in Afghanistan; all of the sand and dust storms have permanently damaged his lungs and esophagus. After his morning coffee, he'll have a coughing fit where he’ll spit out a shit load of gunk. Then he's good for the rest of the day.
“You alright, Bro?” Tripp asks, glancing over at Vance.
“Yeah, just preparing myself for an investigation,” Vance answers after swallowing a bite of his sandwich.
Tripp makes a noise of understanding then hits the start button on the coffee maker. “If you need to talk about it later, let me know,” he says softly.
“Thanks,” Vance replies just as softly.
His friends all understand what his job entails. Because of the emotional strain that it causes, Vance takes advantage of the support his friends offer. He refuses to talk to his parents or siblings about his job, but his friends…he pours his heart out to his friends. And they never tease him or crack jokes about how vulnerable he is after working a tough case. Tripp, Ryder, Dayne, and Mike always have his back. Always. No questions asked.
Ryder and Dayne walk into the kitchen all dressed for work. Ryder and Dayne own a custom bike shop together, both having the knack for Harleys, leather, and custom bodywork with intricate paint jobs. They are both amazing artists and have always been obsessed with Harleys…and tattoos. Ryder, however, is definitely more fascinated with piercings than Dayne. His nipples are pierced, as are his ears, tongue, and one eyebrow. His dark hair is long on top and it usually hangs down in his eyes. Those two are the bad boys of their five-some, while he and Tripp are more of the athletic, law enforcement-minded type of guys. And Mike, well, he's kind of in the middle somewhere.
Dayne's shoulder length blond hair is still damp from his morning shower. He also has a long goatee that makes him look totally badass. Dayne walks up behind Tripp and grabs his underwear-clad ass.
“Mornin' sexy,” he growls.
“You really are a perv, you know that?” Tripp snorts and glances over his shoulder at Dayne.
Dayne chuckles and gives Tripp's shoulders a squeeze before moving to the fridge for something to eat.
“Morning, Van,” he throws over his shoulder.
“Yo,” Vance murmurs and finishes off his juice.
Vance gets up and takes care of his glass and plate, then grabs his keys out of the bowl on the counter where they are all thrown.
“I'm heading out, see ya later,” he says to them collectively as he heads for the garage door.
He gets a “Peace” from Ryder, a “See ya” from Tripp, and a “Holla” from Dayne. Vance smiles and shakes his head at Dayne's goodbye. That dude is crazy, but he always has a way of making Vance laugh.
Vance takes his suit jacket off as he walks over to his midnight blue, tinted-out Dodge Charger then tosses it on the back seat. A minute later, he’s in his car, taking off toward the address that the Chief told him. Vance has always had an exceptional memory, especially for phone numbers and addresses, which is essential in his line of work.
He parks down the block from the crime scene, which is already swarming with all kinds of law enforcement. He pulls on his suit jacket and buttons it as he walks up, his badge hanging in full view from his neck so no one questions him, and he ducks under the yellow tape. He spots his partner, Shawn Peterson, standing by the front door of the house talking to the coroner. Vance shoves his hands into his front pants pockets as he heads up the walkway.
Shawn, thirty-five, is a bit older than Vance, but he’s still a good-looking, well-built, light-skinned black man. He is married with three kids - two boys and a girl - and how Shawn is going to handle going in there worries Vance. Shawn glances over at him as he walks up, then finishes talking to the coroner and starts toward him.
“Hey, partner,” Shawn greets him, clapping Vance on the shoulder.
“Hey, buddy.” Vance gives Shawn a pat on the back. “Have you been in there yet?”
“Nah, I waited for you. I'm not exactly excited to get in there,” Shawn says solemnly.
“I hear ya,” Vance grunts.
“You know Banner?” Shawn asks.
“Yeah, I know Banner. He’s one tough street cop,” Vance replies, giving Shawn a suspicious look. “Why?”
“He was first on scene. He actually came running out to puke on the lawn.” Shawn frowns.
Vance stares at Shawn blankly. “You're fuckin’ with me, right?”
“Wish I was,” Shawn says, shaking his head.
“Fuuuucckk,” Vance groans and drags a hand down his face.
Vance doesn’t want to go in there. It’s times like these that make him question his career choice. What the hell had he been thinking getting into law enforcement? At first, it was for his father, who was in the Army then a police officer until he retired at sixty-five. Vance has always wanted to be like his father for as long as he could remember. In Vance's eyes, his father is the most amazing man ever to live. He was the best father anyone could ever ask for growing up, and still is to this day. And Vance has stayed in law enforcement because it makes him feel good when he gets to help someone. But ever since becoming a detective, he helps families of murder victims, which is satisfying in some ways, but not nearly as much as when he was just a street cop.
“You ready, V?” Shawn asks, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Vance nods and lets Shawn lead the way into the house.
The drive home that night is all a blur for Vance. When he pulls into his spot in the garage, he has no idea how he got there. That had been the worst crime scene that he'd ever seen. Blood was everywhere, along with body parts. It seems like it was a random act of violence committed by a complete psychopath. Whoever did this had enjoyed every minute of it and got off on it. Vance is sure that whoever did it had thought of how to fuck up the mind of whoever sees it. He is going to have nightmares for months; it has happened a few times before with other bad scenes.
“Vance?” Tripp's voice cuts through his thoughts.
Vance startles and looks at Tripp, who is getting up from the kitchen table with a concerned look on his face. How the hell did he get into the kitchen? He doesn't even remember getting out of his car. Tripp stops in front of him, face-to-face, just a couple of inches shorter.
“Van, you okay, my man? Vance,” Tripp says, his name coming out a bit sharp to get his attention.
Vance's eyes snap to Tripp's. “Huh?”
Tripp's gaze turns extremely worried. “What happened today?”
Vance shakes his head and sighs. He steps around Tripp and tosses his keys into the bowl.
“I'm gonna go take a shower,” Vance whispers and heads for the stairs.
Tripp follows. “Van, buddy, tell me what happened,” he says softly from behind Vance as they walk up the stairs.
Vance doesn't answer, just goes into his bedroom and starts to undress. Tripp watches him as he sits on the end of his bed to kick off his shoes. Socks are next off, and then he shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it toward the pile of clothes on the floor that need to be dry-cleaned. Vance keeps his head down as he pulls his tie loose and starts to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands.
“Van, come on, talk to me,” Tripp says and squats down in front of him.
Vance's hands drop away from his shirt and land in his lap.
“I'm never having kids,” Vance say, voice hollow and emotionless.
“Why?” Tripp asks.
Vance swallows hard and closes his eyes. “After what I saw today in that house, I refuse to bring kids into this sick fucking world,” Vance chokes out.
His emotions are on full blast. He just wants to get into the shower so he can process what he just went through in private. The sight of those three little angels cut up into pieces and put on some kind of sick display more than Vance can handle right now.
“Shit, I'm sorry, man. Is there anything I can do for you?” Tripp asks, putting his hand on Vance's knee.
Vance shakes his head as his throat works to stop the undignified moan that wants out. He goes back to unbuttoning his shirt. In a zombie-like trance, he takes off his holstered gun then pulls his shirttails out of his pants before he can pull it off. His undershirt is next. Tripp straightens up as Vance stands and takes off his pants, also landing in the pile with the rest of the clothes. Vance heads into his bathroom in his underwear and shuts the door without another word to Tripp.
