Page 1 of Stolen Salvation

Prologue

Blood bloomed on his shoulder, and Charlie felt nausea stir in her belly, but it was the look of utter shock and betrayal on his face that shredded her heart into tiny pieces. She’d just shot the only man she’d ever loved. Lowering her weapon, she fought the urge to go to him, to help him and beg him to forgive her, to listen to her reasons, but none of them mattered. That single shot had ended any chance she might have of a happy ever after with him. Hell, with anyone. Nobody compared to Noah Bishop, they never had from the second they’d met years ago. From that day to this, it had been the two of them against the world.

But the world had won, tearing them apart and making a mockery of the vows they’d made to each other. To love, honour, and defend, in sickness and in health. How cruel that she was doing all those things as she watched him bleed, his wound allowing blood to seep from him.

“Come, Lottie, it’s time for us to leave.”

Cocking her head to the powerful and deadly man behind her, she set her jaw to stop the snarl edging up her throat. He needed to believe she was who she said she was, or they’d both die. “Coming, Armand.”

Her voice held an adoring quality, the falseness obvious to her and anyone who knew her, but this man had more ego than anyone she’d ever met. It was what made him so dangerous. She had to stop him, but she’d never wanted it to go down this way or for her husband, the man she loved, to end up as collateral damage.

Shifting the white dress so it didn’t swish through the blood at her feet, she crouched as if picking up her designer clutch. Laying a hand on Noah’s arm, she watched his eyes flicker open, pain from the earlier beating Armand and his men had given him already making him weak. “I’m so sorry.”

A strong hand gripped her wrist and she blinked away tears. “Don’t do this, Charlie.”

Pain echoed through her heart, shattering her in such a way she knew she’d never be whole again. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice.”

His voice was laced with pain, gritty and weak and she knew he’d fall unconscious soon and she needed to be gone when he did. “You’re wrong.”

Ripping her arm from his grip, she hated that the last time he touched her would be etched on her soul with the betrayal in his eyes. His head fell back, and he looked away as if her face caused him pain and distaste.

As she straightened her back and walked away, head held high, she knew that Noah would never know how hard this was for her or how her world had shattered that night. He’d hate her but she’d saved him, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Voices all around him seeped through the thick fog of pain in his chest, not from the beating or the bullet but from the betrayal he’d never expected. Charlie, his sweet Charlie, who still put out cookies and milk for Santa even as an adult because she’d missed out as a child. She was the absolute love of his life and she’d crushed that love under her dainty-heeled foot. His will to live and fight past this felt like it had been sucked out of him as she’d wrenched her arm out of his grasp and walked away, taking her excuses with her.

Large hands touched his shoulder, and he didn’t even have the energy to flinch.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. Let’s get a line in and get some fluids going.”

Bishop felt his body being lifted and wished they’d just let him die. He tried to articulate the words but whatever they’d put in his IV was making his tongue feel thick and his brain unfocused and black.

Maybe the blackness that beckoned was better anyway. He didn’t want to remember all the ways his life had gone to shit. Or the way Charlie smiled every Christmas morning when she came downstairs to find he’d eaten the cookies and drunk the milk she’d left. Or the way she’d thank him later, her body a sensual delight he’d never been able to resist.

Bishop jolted, his body slamming upright as bright light hit his eyes. His gaze shooting around the room, he took in the bed, the white walls, the incessant sounds of beeping, and the sterile scent of antiseptic. Lifting his hand, he saw the IV and the white gown he was wearing, and everything flooded back to him. Charlie shooting him, the look in her eyes, and then the pain as she walked away, leaving him for dead.

“You gave us quite the scare, Mr Bishop.”

Bishop turned his head toward the deep voice and saw a man leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, his intent stare taking in every nuance of Bishop’s reaction. He was tall, well over six feet, with dark hair and blue eyes. Muscular, and aware of every single sound in the room, he had operator written all over him and Bishop knew exactly who he was.

“Jack Granger, to what do I owe this visit?” Bishop motioned toward himself with his hand, the IV feeling uncomfortable. “I’m not really up for saving the world with you right now.”

Granger pushed off the wall and moved slowly across the room to take the seat beside him meant for visitors. The place where loved ones would wait, with worry etched on their faces for the person they loved to wake up. Bitterness, hot and nauseous slid up his throat making his head pound. He had nobody. But then he hadn’t had anyone he could count on for a long time, not until Charlie and now she’d proven his worth was shit.

“I came to offer you a job.”

Bishop thought the drugs might be affecting him more than he thought because he was sure Granger had just offered him a job. “Are you shitting me?”

Granger coughed to hide the smirk. “No, not shitting you. We found you beaten, shot, and left for dead by MI5. I figured you might be up for a new challenge, and I have a proposition for you.”

Despite everything, Bishop was intrigued. Granger was right, he had no intention of going back to his job at MI5. Not for the reasons Granger probably thought, but because he couldn’t cope with the reminders of Charlie. They’d worked every mission as a team. Even though the higher-ups didn’t like it, they tolerated them together because they always got the job done.

No, he couldn’t do that without her. It would be like a knife to his heart every time he spoke to one of his contacts and had to explain that she was no longer working with him. To see the looks of pity on the faces of the people they worked with. He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for her. That she was a wonder, a beautiful light in a world of darkness and far too good for the likes of him. Looked like she’d come to the same conclusion.

“I’m listening.”