ELECT by Rachel Van Dyken (December 2, 2014; Forever Trade Paperback, $12.00)
Would you die for the one you love?
Nixon Abandonato made his choice. And now he has to pay the price. Tracey is the love of his life, but being with him has made her a target of his family's enemies. The only way to keep Trace alive is convince the world she means nothing to him.
Trace Rooks has fallen irrevocably in love with the son of her family's sworn rival, and she knows in her bones nothing can tear them apart. Until Nix suddenly pushes her away and into the arms of his best friend... But Trace isn't ready to give up on a future with Nix--and if he won't fight for them, she will.
Nixon Abandonato made his choice. And now he has to pay the price. Tracey is the love of his life, but being with him has made her a target of his family's enemies. The only way to keep Trace alive is convince the world she means nothing to him.
Trace Rooks has fallen irrevocably in love with the son of her family's sworn rival, and she knows in her bones nothing can tear them apart. Until Nix suddenly pushes her away and into the arms of his best friend... But Trace isn't ready to give up on a future with Nix--and if he won't fight for them, she will.
In the end, a sacrifice must be made. A life for a life. For what better way to cover a multitude of sins than with the blood of a sinner . . .
Excerpts:
One:
“Let’s make a pact.” Chase put his
hand on my shoulder.
“A pact?” I sniffled and turned to
him. “What kind of pact?”
“One that’s forever. One that
protects people rather than hurts them.”
“How do we do that?” I was suddenly
interested. What if I could make all the hurt go away? What if I could save
everyone!
“We do this.” Chase pulled out his
pocketknife and cut open his hand, then nodded to me to do the same thing.
Without pausing I cut open my hand and handed back the knife. “Blood brothers.
We’re never gonna hurt each other and we’re gonna save those like your ma,
Nixon. Ones who can’t save themselves. We’re going to protect them.”
“How?” I watched as the blood
dripped from my open palm.
“Rules.” Chase shrugged. “They keep
people safe, right? At least that’s what my mom says.” He smiled. “We make
rules and we start our own club. That way, we don’t have to listen to anyone
but us.”
I liked it. I chewed on my lower lip. “What
do we call ourselves?”
“The chosen?” Chase offered.
“No, that sounds lame. We have to
sound… more powerful than that.”
My eyes flickered to the road, and
a sign poked into the ground. It said election. “Elect.” I pointed. “Let’s call
ourselves The Elect.” It made sense; after all, the president was elected,
wasn’t he? We weren’t exactly chosen, but we were making the choice, we were
electing ourselves protectors. That’s what we were.
“Who else can join?” Chase asked.
“Tex and Phoenix. They’ll want to.”
A weight suddenly felt like it was being lifted off my twelve-year-old
shoulders. “Should we shake on it?”
“Yeah.” Chase smashed his hand
against mine as our blood mixed. “No going back, Nixon.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No going
back.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples and watched, replaying that moment
over and over again in my head as the outline of Chase and Tracey flickered in
the moonlight. Would he really do this to me? After all the shit we’d been
through?
I gauged her reaction, hoping that I would be wrong. Praying to God that
Trace would just this once listen to me. Her eyes flickered with interest for a
few brief seconds before she looked down at the ground.
“Shit.” I waited in the shadows. A part of me knew this would happen. The
part that told me to damn my feelings to hell and ignore all the warning signs
that I’d been seeing. But now it seemed like it was too late. I stayed, planted
where I was, watching, waiting.
“Chase, you can’t…” Trace shook her head. “You can’t be like this. We
can’t do this!”
“We aren’t doing anything,” Chase said in low tones, reaching for Trace’s
hand. “Don’t you?” He looked directly at me, although all he saw was a shadow.
I knew I was well hidden. “Don’t you feel the same way?”
Trace jerked her hand away from Chase’s. “It doesn’t matter what I feel.
It’s not about me, Chase.”
“But it is.” Chase reached for her again. This time her hand grasped his
in such an intimate embrace I thought I was going to vomit all over the ground.
The outside air was cold as hell as little pieces of ice tried to find their
way into my wool coat.
“It isn’t.” Trace sighed. “It never was.”
Chase jerked her toward him. She fell against his chest and looked up
into his eyes. “What are you doing?”
Chase sighed. “What I should have done a long time ago.” He grabbed the
back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. Their lips touched.
I had to look away.
The only sound in the night was that of my soft footsteps as I walked
away… leaving my heart in broken pieces where I’d last stood. She was lost to
me; it wasn’t even the Sicilians that had taken her, but my best friend.
A gunshot rang out loud and clear in the night air. I turned back around
just in time to see Trace collapse into Chase’s arms.
She jerked her hands away
from mine and glared. “Oh no you don’t, Nixon Anthony Abandonato!”
Wasn’t expecting that. I
laughed without really thinking, and then she slapped me across the face. It
stung like hell. “What was that for?”
“You aren’t leaving me!”
“Did I say I was?” Although
my cheek was throbbing I couldn’t help but keep laughing at her response. And
this was why I would never walk away. Who would walk away from such a little
pistol?
“Oh.” Trace tugged her lower lip between her teeth and
sheepishly looked up at my cheek. “You should probably put some ice on that.” I
winced as she touched my cheek.
Covering her hand with mine, I winked. “Yeah, well,
I’ve had worse. Promise.”
Her eyes welled with tears, but to her credit she kept
them all in. If anything I fell in love with her a little bit more. Her
strength was so damn sexy, I couldn’t even put into words what she did to me.
I kissed her softly and sighed against her still
chocolate-tasting mouth. “Sweetheart, Chase was . . . well, today he was gifted
with a stroke of brilliance. The head of the Nicolosi family talked with us this
evening, and he had Phoenix with him.”
I quickly explained to her what had happened, leaving
out all the violence, guns, and threats. So basically I censored everything and
then dropped the bomb. “You and Chase need to pretend to be together. People
will be watching you, they’ll be following you.”
Tracey swallowed and licked her lips. “And you’ll
what? Pretend you hate me again?”
“Hell no!” I snapped, grabbing her ass and lifting her
until her body was firmly pressed against mine midair. “I’ll just be the
friend. Basically, Chase and I are switching parts. He gets to play the
boyfriend, I get to play the jackass.”
That earned an eye roll and a laugh from her. I
dropped her to the ground and kissed her nose. “If they find out how much you mean
to me, they’ll use that against our family and against your grandfather.”
She was silent for a moment. Her hands traced circles
around the tattoo peeking out from underneath my white t‑shirt. The writing was in Sicilian, but it said,
“Every Saint has a past, every sinner has a future.” I had always wondered
which I was. The saint or the sinner?
It was Trace’s favorite tattoo, even though I had
several down my left arm and a few on my stomach and back. Her favorite had
always been that one, on the left side of my chest. She said it gave her
comfort. I guess she was using it for comfort right now.
“Okay,” she whispered, “I’ll do it.”
I was waiting to feel relieved, but all I felt was
tense. My muscles literally tightened underneath her touch the minute the word
“okay” had fallen from her perfectly pouted lips.
“I’m going to apologize in
advance, though.” Tracey sniffed as a tear ran down her cheek.
“Why are you apologizing?”
Her eyes
met mine. “Because I’m going to break your heart.”
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About the author:
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandyken.com
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