Fractured Diamond

* * *WARNING* * *

Author’s Note

––––––––

Hello! If you’ve read my romantic suspense trilogy, Withered Rose, then you already know what I’m about to say. But if you’re new here, welcome!

The first thing you need to know about my books is that they are works of Christian fiction. I shamelessly believe the Bible is 100 percent true. I believe Christ is the Messiah—my Savior—and I believe the Holy Spirit is my guidance and God is my Father.

Due to my beliefs, I have strived to write this novel in a manner fit for Christian audiences, but I will never make the claim that this story—or any of my stories—are ‘Clean and Wholesome.’

The truth is, real life is not clean and wholesome, otherwise, we wouldn’t need a Savior. I write characters that are flawed—perfectly imperfect—and I enjoy portraying them in raw honesty. The goal is to demonstrate that God can save, use, and love even the worst of us.

There is no foul language in this book. There are no graphic scenes of sex. There is no graphic violence. However, this book is intended for mature Christian audiences. Topics such as manipulation, imprisonment, gang activity, assault, and psychological illness are explored in this story.

If you are a sensitive reader, I urge you to proceed with caution or perhaps enjoy one of my other novels instead.

Fractured Diamond is a standalone spinoff novel taking place in the crime ridden world of the Withered Rose trilogy. Some characters from the predecessor series make an appearance in this book but the plot is unrelated and can be enjoyed without reading the original trilogy.

Thank you, please enjoy.

Fractured Diamond

By Valicity Elaine

––––––––

A Rebel Christian Publishing Book

1

––––––––

A job interview is probably one of the most stressful things to dress for. Should I wear my little black dress? Make it more casual by adding my favorite blazer so no one thinks I’m trying to seduce my way into a contract. What about stockings? No. It’s mid-July, the only stockings I’ll suffer through in this heat are fishnets and we can both agree that’s not the best thing to wear in an interview.  

So ... No stockings. That leaves shoes. The little buggers.

Heels? Sure, but not more than four inches—actually, cut it down to three or I’ll definitely get accused of the seduction act. But my only pair of heels lower than four inches is a pathetic pair of brown oxfords my mother gave me two birthdays ago. One of them is scuffed on the toe.

Fine, four-inch heels but only if they’re black.

Accessories.

Simple studs with my matching silver chain and cross pendant. I’ll keep the hair loose today—yes, it’s a mop of tight curls that most will find ‘unprofessional’ or ‘inappropriate’ for the workplace, but there are perks to being the owner of said workplace, right?

Today’s interview is not about me landing a job at all, it’s about me hiring someone to fill a job—though it’s still important my scheduled candidate likes me somewhat.

I sigh as I look at my reflection. At least he’s getting paid for all this. If all goes well, I’ll be out of fifty-two thousand dollars—half up front.

I can’t be too upset about the price. I am asking for six months of personal security 24/7. That’s half a year’s wages. All of that just to follow me around all day. For some reason, I feel sorry for the guy. Admittedly, I can be a pain. But then I remember fifty-two thousand (half up front) and my pity goes out the window. I mean, my business is successful, but this is a stretch even for me.

You’d think selling diamonds would make me an instant millionaire, right?

We did bring in 2.3 million in sales last year, but we also accrued 2.1 million in costs. I barely had enough to pay my one employee, and she’s only parttime.

Gem Jewelers is barely staying afloat.

With those numbers, I really shouldn’t be shedding cash on personal security, but this isn’t something I’m doing for fun, believe me. The last thing I want is some beefcake following me everywhere I go all day long. But after what happened eight weeks ago, I’m not taking my chances anymore. My back still aches at the memory, but it’s the nightmares that are most painful.

At night, it all comes back to me. The rain on my lashes, trying to blink away the water as I punched the alarm for the store. The slow crawl of fear that’d slithered up my spine when I’d turned around and saw the hooded man. A flash of silver. My hands going up. A scream. My heels clacking on the sidewalk as I’d tried to run—his footsteps right behind me. Getting closer. And then a shred of pain tearing into me from behind.

I’d been stabbed in the back. Slashed up like confetti.

The shocking thing about it is I hadn’t been robbed. The jerk just stabbed me and ran. I suppose he’d intended to kill me or send a message but to whom and what for hasn’t been figured out yet.

To be honest, I really don’t care. I’m just happy to be alive, especially since that was the second time I’d faced a terrible assault.

The first time happened when I was eighteen. I remember that night from years ago as clearly as the assault two months in the past. Another thug with a knife, the only difference that time being the presence of my boyfriend. What help he offered. I still had a knife held to my throat; I still endured pain that’s left me with scars I wear today. I hadn’t expected my boyfriend to go all Batman on the guy and break his neck, but I also hadn’t expected him to do nothing.

To just stand and watch.

My friends and family have always believed he played a part in it all. Considering the fact that he disappeared afterward. I’ve always believed it too.

I subconsciously rub the cross dangling around my neck as my intercom buzzes. Lyla, my lovely assistant, speaks in a chipper voice, Your one o’clock is here, Ms. Gem.

I tap the button. Send him in.

I turn around and face the window of my office as I wait for the sound of the door to chime open. My eyes are closed, and my chest is filled with air. I’m holding my breath, trying not to freak out. I really shouldn’t have gone down memory lane right before my first interview. I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack right in the middle of my own office.

My hand twitches as I fight the urge to reach into my desk drawer and grab my meds—something I was given for anxiety. I haven’t been taking them. I don’t want them. All I need is to calm down, I tell myself, and like a genie from a bottle, the smooth voice across the room grants my internal wish.

You’re okay.

It isn’t a question—it’s a statement. A firm belief that I am indeed fine and that this brief moment of panic will pass.

I shudder, slightly embarrassed that my client walked in on me freaking out, but the embarrassment doesn’t last long. When I turn around, it’s replaced by a violent jolt of shock.

I recognize the man before me right away. How could I not? It doesn’t matter that it’s been six years, I’d know this man after six centuries.

My one o’clock interview is none other than Robert Ackard.

On my desk is his file, which I quickly glance at as he smirks at me from across the room. His name is right there, in bold letters. But I hadn’t looked at his file—Lyla had done all the vetting, and I’d trusted that she wouldn’t let my ex-boyfriend slip through the pile.

Rob? my voice is but a whisper and I hate it because the sound of his name on my lips makes me weak in the knees all of a sudden.

Robert Ackard.

He’d gone by Bobby when we were in school. Of course he went by Bobby... All the girls had loved his nickname, like he was some bad boy heartthrob from cable TV. He was a bad boy heartthrob, and he had the looks to be on TV back then, but still... He shouldn’t look that way anymore. The fact that he does sends my heart doing cartwheels through my chest.

I will not do him the liberty of a detailed description. Just know that his blue eyes are still sharp enough to pierce my heart, and his smile is as dangerous as it’s ever been.

The corner of his mouth turns up the slightest bit, it’s a look Bobby mastered in high school. Something that teeters between a charming smile and a teasing grin. I hate that look. Because I used to love it. But things are different now. I’m not a starry-eyed teenager madly in love with her high school crush, I’m a businesswoman who was literally stabbed in the back—twice now.

What on earth are you doing here? I snap—and just like that, all my anxiety is magically gone. Told you I didn’t need the meds.

Bobby takes a step forward and I launch like a cat. "Don’t come any closer!" My hands fly up like I’m ready to claw his eyes out if he takes another step, but there is no shock on his face, no surprise in my sudden outburst. That’s because he knows it isn’t so sudden.

There’s a reason I hate my old boyfriend of two years. There’s a reason the sight of my high school sweetheart brings burning tears to my eyes. Bobby’s presence is shocking enough to bring attention to his charm and his handsome appearance, but riding on the coattails of his pretty smile is the reminder of our past. This isn’t a nice gentleman returning for a shot at love, this is my boyfriend who watched me get stabbed, and then ran away afterward—but it gets better.

Bobby didn’t run while the guy still had the knife in his hand. It was weeks later, after I was released from the hospital and had finally worked up the strength to attend high school graduation. My family threw me a party, in celebration of my achievement and in joy of my recovery. Bobby had attended, had told me how much he loved me, how sorry he was that he’d gotten spooked by the whole assault.

We made love for the first time that night, each passionate kiss melting away the pain of the nightmare I’d lived through. Bobby had swept me off my feet. He’d made my world whole again.

And then he left.

Vanished like he’d never existed—all on the night that I’d given him my heart, mind, and body. He’d given his thanks via sticky note left by the bed.

I grit my teeth at the memory, at the thought of my younger self reading his stupid little goodbye note with my hand balling fists into the sheets. Pathetically, I still have that stupid sticky note. I didn’t have it in me to throw it away, despite all the raw hatred, anger, and bitterness I’d suffered from that whole situation. Two years of my life with him, and it ended in one night without a single word in explanation.

Maybe that’s why I kept the note. To remind myself that liars, scumbags, and snakes are not the shady looking ones with missing teeth and a lazy eye. No, the snake in my life is a charming blonde in a pressed suit.

Bobby stuffs his hands into his pockets. All right. I’ll stay right here, Bri.

"Brianna, I correct him sharply. He doesn’t get to use my nickname anymore. Actually, it’s Ms. Gem to everyone who isn’t a friend."

Bobby nods. "Fair enough, Ms. Gem."

What are you doing here? I snap.

The interview.

You knew Gem Jewelers was my business when you filled out the application.

Actually, I didn’t fill out the application. He shrugs his shoulders, it’s such a smooth, fluid motion, I actually watch the corners of his suit jacket crinkle and then settle on his lean frame.

His voice draws me back.

The company I work for saw the bulletin and applied in my place.

But you accepted the interview.

I did.

Even though you knew it was my business.

Yes.

Why?

Because I knew there was no other way I could get you to speak to me.

"You had six years to speak to me, I hiss, and I hope to God I sound like a pit viper because that’s what I feel like right now. My words drip from my mouth, each one meant to sting like venom. What happened in all that time? I scoff. Couldn’t find another sticky note?"

There is a grin on his face, but I see the flicker of emotion that passes through his eyes before he says, The fact that you’re still angry about our breakup says a lot.

I burn. I’m not just angry about losing my high school boyfriend. I’m angry about everything else! And the fact that you can stand here and sum things up to bitter heartbreak proves just how disgusting you truly are.

Brianna, I’m just trying to lighten the air.

Spit flies from my mouth as I practically scream, "I got stabbed and you want to lighten the air?"

On cue, the intercom buzzes and Lyla’s pleasant voice comes over the little speaker. Everything okay, Ms. Gem?

I clear my throat and take three deep breaths, nostrils flaring. Yes, everything is good.

Lyla buzzes back right away. Your next appointment will be here in ten minutes.

Thank you, Lyla.

I don’t have another appointment today; Bobby is my only one. But Lyla knows this already—her little heads-up was her way of giving me a chance to politely end things here and now with Bobby.

I glare at him, not caring that there are tears welling in my eyes.

Get out, I say. It comes out in a whisper; that’s all I can produce right now. When he doesn’t move, I say it again. "Get. Out." There’s a whimper woven into the words, my voice cracking with emotion.

Bobby catches it.

He swallows hard and stares at the floor before he says softly, I’m willing to do the job for half of what you’re offering.

My breath hitches. He can’t be serious. Not only would it be a huge relief for my finances, but it would also be a burden lifted from this entire process. I wasn’t lying when I said Bobby was my only interview today. He’s been my only interview all week—probably because I’m not offering enough money.

You can find cheap security on Craig’s List if you want, but I’m not looking to hire the fat guy with pit stains who guards the sliding doors of the Walmart Supercenter. I need a qualified guard who’ll take a bullet for me.

After everything that’s happened between us, I won’t make the assumption that Bobby is willing to take a bullet for a girl he left six years ago, but right now he’s the only one even willing to apply. And now he’s saying he’ll take the job for half the pay.

A very tired sigh blows from my lips as I lean over and grip the sides of my desk. This can’t be happening right now. Bobby Ackard cannot be in my office. My business cannot be doing this poorly two years into the industry. I cannot be in a corner, forced to choose between no security or being guarded by my scumbag ex-boyfriend.

Bobby fishes something from his pocket, when his business card slides onto the desk, into my line of sight, I snap my head up at him. I told you not to come any closer.

You seem calm enough to approach.

I don’t want your business card.

He smirks.

I resist the urge to spit at him.

My business number is on the bottom. My personal number is on the back.

I don’t care.

His grin widens, and he winks. Yes, you do.

2

––––––––

Celery crunches between my mother’s teeth as she enjoys her charcuterie board. The only reason I agreed to have lunch with her is because I truly had nothing else to do. I’d cleared my schedule for the day, anticipating a slew of candidates to interview. With Bobby being my one and only, and having kicked him out of my office in less than three minutes, I’m officially free for the day.

I could have gotten some other work done. Taken inventory, polished some of the display jewelry, checked the analytics for our website. But after bumping into my ex-boyfriend like that, I’m not in the mood for anything.

Well... I stare at the bottle of wine the waiter left at our table. There is one thing I’m in the mood for, but I wouldn’t dare have a glass in front of my mother. Not because she’s my mother, but because she’s my overbearing, headache inducing, Christian mother. Don’t get me wrong—I love Jesus too, but my dear mom is the type of Christian who loves reminding you of everything you have ever done wrong in your entire life. And she loves finishing my pretty rap sheet with a reminder that we’re all forgiven.

God remembers our sins no more, she says, patting my hand.

Apparently, He’s the only one who doesn’t remember. And if, by chance, He ever needed a reminder of my wrongdoing, I know a woman who’d be happy to list every single sin I’ve ever committed.

I force a smile and pluck my eyeballs from the wine bottle to return my gaze to my mother. She’s still patting my hand, waiting for a response to whatevertheheck she was saying before I started daydreaming about guzzling the deep red that’s been calling my name since Bobby walked out my office.

Gosh ... I can still smell his cologne, like he stuffed a cotton swab of it up my flared nostrils. Smooth and rich, like the fragrance of pure gold. That’s what he was, a thicc bar of gold walking around my office. Yes ... a THICC one—not a thick one.

But despite the refined nature of his scent, nothing else about Bobby Ackard has changed. He’s still got that rugged look to him, dirty blonde hair with an equally dirty smirk, strong shoulders that broadened with age. He’s all man now, not the thin kid with the crooked grin from trigonometry class. Even his attitude hasn’t changed, I could tell that much just from looking at the arrogant gleam in his eye.

Bobby has always been trouble. He was that scholarship kid who didn’t belong at Manhattan Academic Prep, which is exactly why I lost my mind over him. And exactly why my parents never approved of him.

He’d come from the wrong side of the tracks. Rumor had it his family had ties with the mafia, which made my heart go wild. I was a sheltered Christian girl, and he was a mafia rebel at some prissy prep school in New York City. We