Read an excerpt from Revived, Cold Love Book 4

 

Don’t you know I’m completely worthless?”

Kanen Kannack lives under the shadow of alcoholism, Alaska, and his feelings for his best friend, chief of police Jamie Allen. He’s never been honest with Jamie as long as he’s known him, but Jamie’s long lost to him, living with Ephram, the love of his life.

When a new arrival in town causes Kanen to lose control in spectacular fashion, long-buried secrets are unearthed, threatening Jamie and Ephram’s happiness and the fragile life Kanen has long clung to.

There was something about Kanen’s obvious power and brooding hostility that appealed dangerously to him.

Jensen is running from his past too. Broken and battered, he isn’t looking for a hero, but finds an unlikely one in Kanen anyway. In Kanen he sees a kindred soul, not someone to be afraid of.

Kanen has never been anyone’s hero. He’s down at the bottom again and battling against the tide. But the urge to protect Jensen is strong and for the first time in his life, someone wants him despite all his many flaws and dark history.

He’d never seen his dark eyes look so wounded. His face looked raw, flayed apart. He touched the scar on his cheek, smoothing over its puckered line. “Ugly bastard,” he whispered. “No wonder you’re on your own.”

Possible spoilers:

While books 1 and 2 of the Cold Love series can be read as stand-alones, book 4, Revived, is the sequel to book 3, Entangled.

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, angst, guilt, loneliness, hurt/comfort, midnight sun.

Genre: Dark and gritty contemporary romance

Erotic content: Scorching hot

Warnings: Cheating. Violence, rape, stalking, suicide, drug abuse and alcoholism. Strong language and sexual scenes

EXCERPT

By nine-thirty there was already a gaggle of people waiting outside Barrow Delights much to Kanen’s astonishment. He watched them troop inside at opening time like a pack of vultures picking over whatever the hell Jensen Carter was selling, and half an hour later when even more people had arrived, he started to itch with curiosity. Maybe he should pop in and get that special discount, although he was still refusing to dwell on what that might entail. The time to replay that scene was later, alone at home, because he was sure the thoughts he had were all wrong. Kanen was a virtual monk after all. He didn’t get propositioned. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

Finally, hating himself, he washed his face, unfastened his hair from its ponytail, brushed it until it shone sleek and coal-black, and refastened it. Then he stepped out of his shop into the hot sunshine and locked the door.  

It was only a few paces across the sandy path to the new shop but it may as well have been a vast chasm that Kanen had to negotiate with grappling irons and crampons. He arrived at the gaping door exhausted and afraid and stopped on the threshold. Just in the doorway, a little station was set up with sparkling wine and canapés, for fuck’s sake, and Kanen stood there, rolling his eyes, unable to believe the bribes Jensen Carter was handing out.

Inside, bodies mingled, and Kanen, who had always preferred his own company and always would, changed his mind. This was no place for him. Any more than four people in his shop usually triggered a panic attack. He was about to turn around and go when the goddamned tanned Californian loomed up out of nowhere.

“Hi, Kanen, you came.” He grinned with those pearly whites and Kanen refused to analyze the jump his stomach gave. A jump of repulsion, he told himself, because this dude made his skin crawl. “Come on in and see.”

Still Kanen hesitated, until, furious with himself, he had no choice but to step inside the interloper’s lair. Jensen grinned like the cat who had got the cream and Kanen glared at his retreating back. Inside, everything smelled of newness and paint. Wind chimes made of shells brushed his head as he walked through the room. Paintings adorned the walls. A large central stand showcased trinkets and souvenirs made from driftwood, pebbles and gems. Kanen came to a halt and stared at one particular piece.

An intricately carved police officer, six inches high, wearing a badge on his chest, a gun on his hip, hat pulled down over his eyes. A piece that Kanen had carved as some sort of panacea to his broken heart five months ago and which had been stolen during a break in at his shop along with most of his stock six weeks ago.

He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. A wave of red flowed up his gullet and into his brain, draining into his eyeballs until he saw vermilion. With teeth and fists clenched, he whirled on Jensen.

“What’s this?” He gestured to the carving and Jensen frowned, looking wary at the expression on Kanen’s face as well he might, because although it was rarer than hen’s teeth, when the Alaskan lost his temper, things got broken—usually people’s faces.

“It’s a hand carved piece, made with Barrow driftwood and…”

“Made by me,” Kanen intoned in a voice like stone. “And stolen by you.”

Jensen stared at him. The tan drained from his face as well it fucking might. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not. You’re confused.”

“You fucking son of a bitch.”

Kanen threw a punch that knocked Jensen into the middle of the display in an explosive cascade of glass and wood. People screamed and someone tried to drag Kanen back, but he threw them off without effort and stepped into the wreckage, dragging Jensen up by the collar of his pristine white T-shirt. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he said.

“Take it easy, man!” Jensen seemed to have no interest in fighting him, he just hung there like a limp marionette which made Kanen even madder, because a fight—and a fair one —was exactly what he wanted.

“I won’t take it easy, you thieving asshole,” Kanen snarled into his face. The guy had a thick stream of blood running from a cut above his eye and Kanen nearly became mesmerized by following its trail down Jensen’s pretty cheek toward plump, symmetrical lips.

Jensen shoved him back, but Kanen didn’t let go of him. “I bought a whole lot from some guy. I didn’t rob you, man!”

“Yeah, right,” Kanen said and punched him in the face again. Jensen spun around and landed face down in the debris with a crash and then the door flipped open behind Kanen and the strongest arm he’d ever felt went around his chest from behind, dragging him back so hard, that he had no choice but to acquiesce. At least until he got outside, when he knocked the pressure away and whirled, fist raised ready to take his anger out on a new person.

He saw the uniform first, then the flashing hazel eyes of the police chief before his best friend shoved him so hard into the side of the building that he thought his spine was broken.

“Don’t you dare, Kanen,” Jamie said. “Don’t you fucking dare or I’ll cuff you.”

The red mist started to trickle down from behind his eyes because as wounded as he was at everything that had happened seven months ago, he would no more harm Jamie than he would hurt a child, or an animal.

He sagged against the wall, head down, breathing hard.

Jamie stepped closer. “What the fuck are you doing, you prick?”

“He robbed my shop, now he’s selling the merch.”

Jamie glanced into the shop and when Kanen did too, he saw a multitude of people he knew congregating in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the spectacle of Barrow’s most taciturn man losing it like a maniac.

“If he did, you call me, and I investigate,” Jamie said. “You don’t beat the guy half to fucking death. Get back to your shop and wait for me. If he wants to press charges, your ass is going down to the station, Kanen.” The look on his handsome face was one of utter disgust, his best friend suddenly a stranger to him.

Kanen slunk away across the path and when he’d unlocked the door, he saw Jamie entering the shop and consorting with the enemy.

 

****

 

Jensen came to with the crackle of a radio and a disembodied voice floating above him. He tried to move and searing pain went through his back and shoulders. He rolled over and glass crunched under him before he heard a voice say, “Stay where you are, sir, an ambulance is on its way. They might want to put you on a spinal board.”

Jensen shook his head because his scattered senses were returning to him now and no way was he going to hospital after a couple of punches from the Neanderthal over the way. He sat up and a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Sir, please keep still.”

Jensen looked up at one of the most handsome police officers he’d ever met in his life. He stared into hazel eyes burning from a face of exquisite beauty and he could only draw in his breath and smile in appreciation. He almost forgot the fight because really, when this specimen intervened on your behalf, it didn’t matter.

“I’m okay,” he said and when it became clear he was ignoring the officer’s instructions and intended to get up, the policeman helped him with a strong hand. “Thanks.” He hobbled over to the reception desk feeling multiple points of wet spikiness all over his body that he guessed were puncture wounds from glass. He leaned on the desk and touched his eye.

“I’m Police Chief Jamie Allen. What’s your name?”

“Jensen Carter.”

“Okay, Jensen, I’ll ride with you to the hospital and take your statement.”

Great, the fucking chief of police, after what Kanen had just accused him of. He glanced across the path into Traditional Handicrafts and saw Kanen silhouetted in the window, staring at him.

He swallowed. “It was a misunderstanding. There’s no need for any…” He trailed off as the door opened and two EMTs bustled through. They took his arm and he didn’t protest as they led him to the back of the ambulance.

 

****

 

Just fucking great, he was going to the hospital.

Kanen watched the guy sitting on the edge of the gurney in the open back of the ambulance while the EMTs chatted to him and Jamie stood there grim-faced, one hand on his radio. Without doubt he was coming over here within minutes to arrest Kanen. He felt everlasting shame at his behavior and that Jamie, the only one whose opinion meant anything, had witnessed it.

Jamie glanced over at him and Kanen’s stomach clenched. Here we go. But instead, Jamie and one of the EMTs climbed into the back of the ambulance and the second closed the doors and got in the front. The ambulance pulled away and Kanen was left to the accusing stares of his neighbors from across the path.

***

 Jensen was floating under a nice veil of morphine when he saw the police chief again and he groaned inwardly as he readied himself for the Spanish inquisition. He was in a quiet room and the window was open to the hot day, making him wish he could go straight back to the hobnobbing and champagne drinking at his opening day. He’d had a nice buzz on from two sneaky glasses before that dick Kanen had ruined everything. But he’d done something very stupid that had led to this. He had no one to blame but himself.

“Chief,” he said and heard the slur in his voice.

Jamie Allen looked wary, probably assessing if Jensen had capacity to make a statement. He drew a chair up and sat, pulling his notebook out, and Jensen’s gaze dropped indecently down his body to the bulge in his uniform pants and liked what he saw. He’d also very much liked what he’d seen of the wild man in Traditional Handicrafts across the way too, until Kanen had beaten the shit out of him.

He sighed.

“You good to talk?” Jamie asked.

Jensen nodded the most reluctant nod in the history of reluctant nods.

“What happened?”

“Mr. Kannack came over to the opening. He saw something, thought it was… something of his. He got mad.”

Jamie cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

Jensen hesitated. “He said I’d stolen it from his shop.”

The police chief’s jaw was hard as granite, eyes like flint. “And did you?”

“No. I met this guy selling a bunch of handmade stuff. I bought the lot for my shop. That’s it, I swear.”

Jamie regarded him. “You knew it was stolen, didn’t you?”

Jensen swallowed. “No, Chief. No. It was an honest mistake.”

Jamie sat back in his chair and folded his arms. He hadn’t written anything in his notebook. “Before I check, have you got a criminal record, Mr. Jensen?”

“No, sir.” Jensen shook his head. “I’ve never been in trouble with the law.”

Jamie gave him that stare that police officers used to make people shit their pants. “Do you want to press charges?”

Jensen shook his head again. “No. He was upset. I get it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re feeling better.” Jamie stood and put his chair back. “Sleep well, Mr. Carter.”

Jensen watched him disappear down the corridor. Fuck it. Fucking, fuck it. He’d known something was off, he absolutely had, and yet still he’d bought the stuff, like the biggest asshole that ever lived. Who could blame Kanen for half-killing him?

 

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