House of Imperial (Secret Keepers Series Book 2) Read online

  House of Imperial

  Secret Keepers Series #2

  Jaymin Eve

  Contents

  Stay in Touch

  Note from author

  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

  Epilogue

  House of Leights - Secret Keepers#3

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jaymin Eve

  Jaymin Eve

  House of Imperial: Secret Keepers Series #2

  Copyright © Jaymin Eve 2018

  All rights reserved

  First published in 2018

  Eve, Jaymin

  House of Imperial: Secret Keepers series #2

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover: Alerim

  Editing: Lee from Oceans Edge Editing

  Proofed: Jamie from HolmesEdits

  ISBN-13: 978-1721099009

  ISBN-10: 172109900X

  Created with Vellum

  Stay in Touch

  Stay in touch with Jaymin: www.facebook.com/JayminEve.Author

  Website & Mailing list: www.jaymineve.com

  To Heather.

  Thank you for being a wonderful friend. Your enthusiasm for my books means everything to me.

  I appreciate you so much.

  p.s His death is still your fault.

  Note from author

  I had to change some locations, schools, and landmarks of the town/s used in this book. To fit with my world building. I did thoroughly enjoy my research of New Orleans, though, and hope to visit one day. :)

  1

  The French Quarter was a place I wanted to tell my children about – not that kids or family were an actual possibility in my life – but this city … it was a world worthy to be passed on, to be spoken about in stories and song. There was something special here. I had felt it the first moment we arrived.

  As I strolled along the colorful street that led into Jackson Square, I wondered what my life would have been like if I’d been born here. I mean, not right here on this somewhat grimy pavement, but in New Orleans. Maybe I would be reading tarot cards like the woman on my right, set up at her small white table, long dark curls spilling out from under the jeweled headpiece adorning her forehead, purple nails flashing as she placed cards down for an eager tourist.

  Or maybe I’d paint. That always looked like a fun way to tell a story. Street artists were everywhere, expressing their creativity in a way that I couldn't imagine doing. I’d never held a paintbrush, not even as a child. Circumstances from before my birth dictated that my life would never be my own.

  Something I’d grown numb to over the years.

  As if to prove me wrong, a haunting saxophone tune started up from a jazz musician leaning close to the wall of a café; the low reverberations hit me deep in my soul, in the place that had been cold and dormant for a long time. I basked in that feeling for a moment, closing my eyes and letting the music take me away.

  I probably looked like a crazy person, standing in the middle of the Quarter, face lifted to the sky, shoulder-length ash-blond hair sticking out in a million directions. Okay, so it was NOLA, I no doubt fit in perfectly, but for someone who had always tried to blend, being in public like this was making me uneasy. It was just that for the first time in a long time I felt alive. I wasn’t sure if letting myself feel things was a good idea, but I couldn’t seem to stay away. I kept coming back here, to experience this world filled with life and vibrancy, watching the tourists as they took their spooky tours and filled their bags with fancy masks, religious trinkets, and hot sauce. I envied their laughter, and ability to afford copious amounts of beignets. Those puffy balls of magic were everything. I'd had one my first day and since then I must have thought about their deliciousness at least seven times a week. I was addicted … and totally okay with it.

  Mostly, I envied them their happy moments and families. That existence was not for me, but at least by being here I got to experience a small sliver of that life. Glancing at my watch, I stifled my groan: 3:50 P.M. I’d already been gone for two hours, wandering the streets.

  It was Wednesday. I was supposed to be at the farmers market on Peters Street. My mom allowed me to make this once-a-week trip from our tiny condo in the Marginy to gather some groceries. I’d be punished for taking my time today. We had strict rules in my family – my mom and me – and one of the most important was that I never put us at risk of exposure. We were to always stick to the shadows and live like ghosts.

  Most days I felt about as substantial as a ghost, so she had achieved one of her goals.

  With reluctance, I turned away from the square and started my trek back toward the market area. It was only a few blocks, but in this million-percent humidity it would feel longer. Heat didn’t usually bother me, but I hadn’t quite understood the true scope of “sweating like a pig” until we moved here.

  As I walked, I let my eyes roam across the streets, waiting for the next new and crazy sight. One literally never knew what was going to happen here. We’d only lived in New Orleans for a few months. To the locals I’d always be a tourist, but I was okay with that. I would take that title in exchange for getting to experience this world. I was fascinated with it all. This city was hard to truly describe, a place like no other, and considering I’d moved two to three times a year since I was born, that was really saying something. Its French influences, not only in architecture but food and culture … I loved them all.

  I’d started hoping each night, before I went to sleep, that nothing would spook my mom into running again. We should still have at least another two months here, if she kept to her normal timeline.

  I was not giving up one second of NOLA – not without a fight.

  Far too quickly I arrived at the market, hurrying about to finish my shopping before it closed. The walk back to our condo would take forty minutes, but I’d brought some bags with cold packs for anything that could spoil in this hot weather. As I left the market, a group of kids pushed past me. They’d probably just finished school for the day, coming straight here with their parents.

  I’d been homeschooled. Sort of. I wasn’t sure there was an actual name for what my mom did, which was teach me the basics, lecture me incessantly about the dangers in our lives, and fill my young mind with the sort of scary stories that not even adults should hear. I was probably one of the few kids who had wished to go to school, instead of being stuck inside a small house ninety percent of my life.

  My mom literally never left our home; never worked. She told me that neither of us could leave a paper trail, which included social security numbers and tax declarations. We lived off a large settlement payout from my father’s death. He was killed when my mom was pregnant with me. It had been a big deal, something to do with a workplace accident. Whatever the cause, I lost a
parent, one who might have actually loved me, and in exchange, we got enough money to live like nomads.

  The money was almost gone now. Eighteen years of being on the run was pretty expensive, even if we did live in rundown, no-names-asked rentals.

  “Callie!”

  The shout had me spinning on the spot, heavy bags swinging against my legs. There were only two people in this town who knew my name. One was my mom, the other was a pain in my butt.

  Turning away again, I yelled over my shoulder. “Not in the mood, Michaels. I have to get home.”

  Jason Michaels was a persistent bastard, I’d give him that, but even after he’d challenged me and I’d kicked his ass in the gym, he still hadn’t given up. What his endgame was, I had no idea. He never asked me out, or even implied that he wanted to go on a date. He just … asked too many questions and was always around. If my mom got any hint of his consistent presence in my life, my one other piece of freedom would be yanked away from me.

  Along with New Orleans.

  I was not letting this tenacious bastard take this place from me.

  “Are you training this afternoon?” he asked, falling into step beside me.

  “No,” I replied shortly.

  He just laughed. “You always say no, and yet you’re always there.”

  Spinning on my heels, I swung back in his direction, startling him enough that he blinked wide eyes at me. Michaels was a good-looking guy, tall, broad shouldered, bleach-blond tousled hair, the same as I’d seen from surfers when we lived in California – but in manners and speech, he was all Southern.

  “What exactly do I need to do to make you go away?”

  He just shrugged, flashing me that slow smile. “You like me, I know it.” He turned to walk away, calling over his shoulder. “See you this afternoon, cher.”

  I glared at his retreating back, before shaking my head and hurrying along again. After powerwalking for a block, I turned back once to make sure Michaels wasn’t following me. Leading him home would be the best way to kick Mom into flight mode. The street was empty of all tall blonds, so I felt safe in continuing – navigating the path to get me home quickest, while also being somewhat safe. We didn’t live in the best neighborhood, but during daylight hours, I hadn’t had too many issues. So far.

  When I finally reached the stairs to the condo, I paused and took a deep breath. I had to prepare myself. My mom was about to lose her shit at me. Some days I was just tired of this life, of my existence.

  You’re eighteen now…

  The stupid voice in my head had been reminding me of this for the last few months. My birthday had been in June, not that anyone remembered or mentioned it. But I knew, because it marked the moment I no longer had to follow my mom around. I could leave, get a job – paper trail be damned – rent my own shitty apartment and live an actual, normal life. But the same part of me that continued to hold people at a distance, the part that believed her stories, wouldn’t let me make the final break.

  With one more deep breath for courage, I started up the two flights, mentally bracing for the fight which was to come. As I put my key in the lock, the door pushed inwards, which didn’t surprise me. Mom was no doubt waiting right on the other side for me. But as the empty living area and kitchenette came into view, I ground to a halt.

  What in the…?

  Stepping forward again, my senses were firing as I catalogued everything, searching for something out of place to explain what was going on. I left the bags of food near the front door, wanting both hands free. I wished my hair wasn’t hanging loose; I didn’t like to fight with it in my face. I had at least just cut it back to my shoulders, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. As if to prove me wrong, strands of ashy blond fell in front of my face; a flick of my head put them back into place. The ceiling was low in here, and since I was five foot eleven, I ducked under the arched accents in the hallway. The last thing I needed was to smash my head and alert whomever was inside that I was here.

  My Converse were quiet as I crossed the threadbare carpet heading toward the first small bedroom, just off the hall. The bedrooms were across from each other, the bathroom at the back. That was all there was to this place. Nowhere really to hide.

  It was deathly quiet, a bad omen, because my mom played Mozart and Bach constantly. She said it helped ease the turmoil of worry that plagued her mind. I wasn’t sure how I felt about classical music – I was starting to think I was a jazz girl at heart – but I sure as hell missed it now.

  Because something was wrong.

  Using my foot, I nudged my door open to reveal the twin bed, white dresser, open closet – or locker as they called it here – with my few clothes spilling out onto the floor, but nothing amiss. Ducking my head inside, I looked around to double-check, but as far as I could tell, the room was empty.

  I sucked in some fortifying air and crossed the hall to my mom’s room. In normal circumstances, I would never enter her domain. She was fiercely private, totally crazy, and prone to smacking me with wooden spoons. But this was no normal day. Her door was firmly shut. I twisted the handle, wincing at the telltale creak of the lever lifting. Stepping back, I swung the door wide open and waited a second for something to jump out at me. When nothing did, I peeked around the edge.

  Her bed was twice the size of mine, neatly made with a faded green duvet. Her closet was closed, not a single item out of place, not even a shirt on the floor. I let my eyes run over everything, even dropping down to glance under the bed.

  What was happening? Where was she?

  Just as I was straightening, a creak from the living area sent a shot of adrenalin through me. I froze and unfroze almost in the same instant, crossing back to the door. I took two deep breaths, ducking my head out to look along the hall.

  Holy fuck…

  A man filled the doorway to the condo. I mean filled to the point where there was no space around him and he had to almost bend himself in half to fit inside. I was tall, but he had to be at least six inches taller than me. Our eyes locked across the room. Since my first step into the condo, everything had felt like it was going in fast forward. But right then, I couldn’t move.

  He stepped inside, untangling himself from the doorframe, only to find that the ceiling in the rest of the place wasn’t much higher. With a scowl, his body hunched forward and he took another step toward me.

  “You need to come with me. You’re in danger.”

  His accented demand was low and husky. For an instant I craved to hear some sort of music or song from him, because he had a voice like an instrument, deep and rich, vibrating right through my body.

  “Did you hear me?” The snap of his question knocked me out of my stupor and, managing this time to ignore the way his voice made me feel, I sent a scowl right back at him.

  He took another step toward me and I straightened, shifting into a fighter stance. “Who the hell are you? Where is my mom?”

  Those intense eyes remained on my face. I couldn’t even tell what color they were; the lighting was shit in here, but they looked dark and … somehow also light at the same time. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a man like him before. He looked to be a few years older than me. A shaved head. A crap-ton of ink – from what I could see. Very well-toned biceps and chest muscles. This dude was ripped, and yet, despite his bulk and height, he moved smoothly, which was the most worrying thing so far. Every now and then, there’d be a fighter like him in the gym. They were lethal: strong, athletic, able to kick ass without breaking a sweat.

  I needed to get out of here.

  We were only a few feet apart now and I remained outwardly calm, hoping to distract him enough that he would be unprepared for my sudden breakaway. “Where is my mom?” I repeated, mostly to keep him talking. I did not expect an honest answer. He clearly hadn’t been in the apartment when I first entered – no way could I miss him – but he might have already taken my mom and was back now for me.

  “I have no idea. I got here just after you did
.”

  My stomach clenched at that voice again. On top of that he had the sort of raw masculine beauty that I generally thought existed only in Hollywood. Why was it always the physically-perfect men who were deranged psychopaths?

  “You need to leave. Now!” I was slowly edging to the right, aiming for a clear path to the door. “Or I’m going to call the police.”

  I would never call them, of course. We didn’t trust police. They were corrupt, blah, blah, blah. Even when my mom wasn’t here, her voice was still in my head.

  Tall, dark, and deadly paused, tilting his head to the side. “You’re caught up in a world you have no idea of. The police can’t help you, Human. I’m your only hope. Right now, I don’t have time to enlighten you, so you’re just going to have to trust me.”

  Panic like nothing I’d ever felt before hit me, so hard that my knees went weak and I almost dropped to the ground.

  A world I have no idea about…

  Oh, he was wrong. So very wrong. I reacted then without another thought.

  Dive-rolling forward, I popped up right before him. As I rose, I slammed my fist into his groin and he let out an angry rumble. I continued rising, smashing my fist into his gut with a power hit, and then finally into the side of his head. I was fast; it was my greatest asset, and I knew exactly what angle to use and how hard to hit for maximum impact.