Vow of Honor (Vow Series Book 3) Read online

  Vow of Honor

  Emma Renshaw

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Enjoy Vow of Honor?

  Bonus Scene

  Vow of Devotion

  Also by Emma Renshaw

  Acknowledgments

  About Emma Renshaw

  Connect with Emma

  Vow of Honor

  Copyright © 2018 by Emma Renshaw. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Content Editor: Hot Tree Editing

  www.hottreeediting.com

  Line Editor: Traci Finlay

  Traci Finlay

  www.tracifinlay.com

  Interior Formatting: Stacey Blake

  Champagne Book Design

  www.champagnebookdesign.com

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  By Hang Le

  www.byhangle.com

  Cover Photo: Shutterstock

  Photo ID: 587613308

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Visit my website: www.emmarenshaw.com

  Created with Vellum

  For Michelle and Suzanne,

  The first readers to reach out to me.

  I adore both of you so much. I’ll never be able to thank y’all enough for being a big part in my dreams coming true. Every message, comment, and share makes me grin like a maniac. Thank you for loving my stories and characters! Y’all are wonderful!

  As always, for my husband,

  You’re the reason I can chase my dreams fearlessly.

  I love you with everything I am and everything I have.

  Prologue

  James

  Ten Years Ago

  I’ve never had much in my life. Not a penny to my name. Don’t think I’ve ever owned a new shirt; it’s all been hand-me-downs from my foster “siblings.” I’ve never been outside the Chicago city limits. I’ve never had a holiday meal that’s shown on TV.

  Tonight is the most destitute I’ve ever been, though.

  No home.

  No city.

  No name.

  Nothing.

  I ran with just the ratty sneakers on my feet, a borrowed shirt under my dark gray hoodie, and jeans so tattered and worn, there’s a tiny hole on my ass right above the left pocket.

  That’s all I have.

  Those clothes.

  And the duffle bag of stolen cash. My hand grips the bag so tightly, my tendons ache. I can’t stop flashing my eyes down to the bag every other second, making sure it’s still there. It’s a conscious effort not to look around at the people like a crazed maniac.

  Play it cool runs through my mind on a loop. I squeeze my thigh to stop my leg from bouncing up and down as I sit by the window of an old Greyhound, the ripped vinyl of the seat biting into my leg.

  The hood of my sweatshirt conceals my face as I step off the bus, keeping my head down. The duffle bag and ratty clothes help. No one pays attention to a punk kid on a cheap-ass Greyhound headed to nowhere.

  I’m being as careful as I can, even though I know no one looks for a dead man.

  Chapter 1

  James

  Present Day

  Late. Again.

  Waiting. Something I’ve spent my life doing. Something I hate.

  First month of my life was spent in a hospital waiting for a vacancy in a foster home that accepted newborns born with an addiction.

  My youth was spent waiting for a family. Waiting for food.

  My life now is spent going day to day waiting for the world I’ve built to come crashing down.

  I fucking hate waiting.

  My eyes are glued to the clock above the door, watching the seconds ticking away. One after another, passing time, erasing precious minutes of my appointment. Every damn time, my physical therapist has come late but doesn’t extend the hour I should be here. I’m over it. Done with it. This changes today. If the PT was helping, I could overlook his tardiness. Maybe. But there hasn’t been any improvement since the first appointment. I’m half-way through the ordered six weeks and nothing to show for it.

  Simon Lambert, worst physical therapist in the damn world, and of course I land him.

  The surgeon assured me that the recovery after being shot should be simple enough. He only enforced physical therapy because of the extensive exercises I do on a normal basis. I chose the therapist with the most openings to get this done and over with, so I can get my ass back in the gym and not just watch.

  Simon finally appears in the doorway, twenty-six minutes late, looking around until his eyes fall on me propped against the wall. The displeasure on my face must be evident because he backs up a tiny step before swallowing and straightening his spine. His eyes cast down to his shoes, he slowly walks toward me. I track him with my glare, waiting for him to look me in the eye like a man.

  He doesn’t.

  Fuckin’ dick.

  The spineless prick doesn’t even look my way when he finally reaches me. Doesn’t even give me that courtesy.

  When he finally looks up, his eyes wander around the room, snagging on every female in here, leering at them with his beady eyes. My patience is paper thin after continuously catching him staring at patients and other therapists. He watches them, running his tongue over his teeth, looking like a damn predator.

  My fingers snap in front of his face. “Late,” I clip through clenched teeth.

  “Won’t happen again,” Simon says, holding his hands in front of him trying to placate me with a smile. My scowl deepens, my lip curls, and the smile slides from his face.

  “Been hearin’ that for weeks.”

  “Shall we get started?” he asks, changing the subject and expecting me to fall in line like I have been. Yes, I’m desperate to get out of here and don
e with this, but not with this guy. Not anymore.

  I didn’t have a damn person to teach me manners growing up, and I have more than this clown. Not even an apology. Every little thing is getting to me since I got shot near my shoulder and lower chest. I feel like a wounded animal trapped in someone else’s clutches. Unable to find release my normal way, my anger is faster to rise to the surface.

  Turning and striding toward our area, I wait for him to follow. His steps are slow and would be faster if he wasn’t constantly distracted by every girl in the room. Won’t lie, there are some beautiful women in here, but the way this man gawks, you’d think he’s never seen a woman before in his life.

  “Start with a shoulder roll.”

  I roll my eyes instead. He’s been having me do light stretches and shit they do in an elementary school gym. An exasperated sigh passes my lips as I start my shoulder rolls, counting at a rapid pace. If I have to do this shit, I’ll push myself any way I can.

  “Take it easy, James.”

  A growl erupts from my chest, my glare locking on his eyes. “Done takin’ it easy.”

  Simon Lambert excels at being a pain in my ass. He’s excelled at this since the moment I met him. Fuck. Dealing with him and his constant need to move my progress along at the speed of a fuckin’ snail is worse than the pain of the bullets that tore through my body several weeks ago.

  Two bullets. One in the shoulder, one in the chest. Surgery was required for both, but it’s the shoulder wound that needs physical therapy. The bullet ripped through my muscle, limiting my range of motion after surgery. I own a damn gym, and I can’t do shit while I’m there. My body aches to get back in front of a bag or under a bench press.

  “Let’s start with the two-pound medicine ball, it’s the lightest,” Simon says lifting the ball from the rack.

  “He looks like he can handle more,” a female voice says from the side. I turn toward the voice to find a blonde nurse in hot pink scrubs. I’ve never seen scrubs so tight, they’re perfectly molded to her body. Her eyes are slowly moving over every inch of me.

  What the hell is wrong with this place?

  “Kimmie,” Simon greets with his usual leer.

  “I came to drop this off,” Kimmie says handing Simon a folder without breaking her gaze from me. “What happened to you?”

  I know she’s asking me this question, but I stay silent grabbing the puny ball from Simon’s hands and turning my back on the pair of them.

  “He was shot. Twice,” Simon boasts as if he’s the surgeon that saved my life.

  “Oh my god,” Kimmie breathes placing a hand on my arm. Her small hand has long pointed nails painted the same pink as her scrubs. I shake it off, take a step to the side, and proceed to mimic a shoulder press with the medicine ball resting in my palm. A two-pound medicine ball. I could lift this damn thing with my pinky finger.

  My fingers curl into the ball, pressing in the rubber when Simon starts speaking again.

  “He was shot by a police officer who was working with a gang,” Simon brags. I see him move closer to a riveted Kimmie out of the corner of my eye.

  The dirty cop was in a drug cartel’s pocket. If this motherfucker is going to share my story, he could at least get it right.

  “He was shot twice,” Simon repeats. “He totally saved one of his friends though.”

  “You’re so brave,” Kimmie says, placing her hand on my arm again. I shake it off. Again. “What else happened?”

  I don’t answer. I don’t tell her my friend, Harper, and her man, Roman, were in a bind with a ruthless cartel president. I don’t tell her I was shot by a dirty cop.

  I clear my thoughts before the anger creeps in. That’s what I feel every time I think about the situation. Story of my life. I told Harper to dial 9-1-1. First time I trusted the authorities to handle anything, and only told her to do it because that’s what Roman would have wanted her to do. He was trusting me to do right by Harper and protect her until he could be back at her side. Trust is something I take seriously. I don’t give it freely, but I aim to earn it from the people in my life. If I earn it, I’ll do damn near anything to keep it. Out of respect for Roman, I played it his way—I told her to call the cops. Dirty fuckin’ cop showed up and pushed Harper out of the way to drill two holes in my body, taking out her only protection.

  Making sure Harper was safe from that lunatic was worth it though, and Roman has become a fast friend, even if I still want to kick his ass from time to time. I’m thankful as fuck those bullets hit me and not her. They’ve both been dealing with the fallout and the high body count of that night. Only thing I’m dealing with is this worthless physical therapist who sets off everything on my radar. The events from that day have had little effect on me otherwise. I’ve seen worse carnage. I’ve done worse carnage.

  It’s been a long time since I ran away from that life. Now I just try to live my life as honorably as I can and protecting the trust I’ve earned.

  “Hey, asshole,” I call when Simon continues to embellish my story. Kimmie and Simon look my way. “Does HIPPA ring any bells? Doctor-patient confidentiality? If I want someone to know my business. I tell them.”

  Simon’s jaw snaps closed and he gives me a curt nod. My eyes move to Kimmie. She scurries out of the room without a word. My tongue runs across my front teeth as I slowly inhale through my nose to calm myself. After another beat, I start raising the ball into the air again.

  “You have to give your shoulder time to heal,” Simon says, putting his hand on my shoulder, trying to slow me down.

  I throw his hand off me as I whip around to face him. “It’s a fucking two-pound ball,” I growl. “I could lift you over my head with my one hand.”

  Simon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. We’ve been doing this back and forth since my first appointment. I’ve seen no improvements in my shoulder, and I’ve been as patient as I can. Six weeks of therapy, that’s what they promised. At this point, I’ll be here for the rest of my damn life.

  “We have a plan, James,” Simon says with his hands up in front of him, trying to calm me down.

  I cock an eyebrow, challenging him to admit that his plan isn’t fucking working. Not even a little bit. It’s time for a new plan.

  His lips roll between his teeth as he takes a step away from me, his hands still slightly raised. “Let’s stick to the plan.”

  “Fuck the plan,” I mutter.

  “If you don’t follow the plan, I’ll have to move you to someone else’s service,” Simon threatens, placing his fists on his hips.

  This could be the best news I’ve had in a long time. I raise my eyebrows. “That an option?”

  “Well—”

  I cut him off with an order. “Make it happen.”

  “James—”

  “Make. It. Happen,” I repeat in a low, thick tone. My jaw hurts from clenching my teeth so hard.

  Simon stares at me, waiting for me to change my mind.

  “Now.”

  With a shaky jerk of his head, Simon turns on his heel, rushing out of the room.

  Chapter 2

  Tatum

  My body shivers as I hum, happily slurping my vanilla iced coffee. Heaven in a cup. Not one thing could take away from my good mood today. I woke up before my alarm, feeling fully rested instead of needing to drag myself out of bed. My hair dried fast, and for once my natural waves don’t look frizzy after the hair dryer. That is enough to consider this a good day—no, a great day.

  It’s just kept going up from there, though. The cool, crisp fall air decided to make an appearance overnight. This is my absolute favorite time of year. I left on time to stop at my favorite Starbucks where the best barista works. When I arrived, there wasn’t a single person in line. Usually it’s so busy, I have to allow a good chunk of time before I’m supposed to be into work. This morning I waltzed in and ordered my delicious coffee and a croissant, just to celebrate the day.

  The absolute best part about the empty Starbucks? No S
imon. Simon Lambert, creepiest creeper on the planet. Most mornings I run into my weird coworker. Seeing the guy that makes my skin crawl before I’ve had coffee? Not the greatest thing in the world. Unfortunately, there’s no other Starbucks on my drive to work.

  Not one red light was hit on my drive from Starbucks to the hospital, just smooth sailing with my windows cracked open enough to let the fall breeze through, but not enough to mess up my hair. Now, here I am sipping on the best drink in the world, with the perfect amount of vanilla and the perfect amount of cream, while eating a soft, warm croissant. My shift hasn’t even started yet, and I’m in blissful heaven.

  Nothing can bring me down today.

  A throat clearing on my left makes me doubt my declaration. Slowly, I turn my head to the man I know will be standing next to me. Skeevy vibes are already rolling off him, and I’m not even facing him yet. I take in his beady eyes and disgusting leer. My lips purse as I force myself not to grimace.

  “Tatum,” he says slowly, stepping closer.