Benediction: Diversion Book 9 Read online

  Warning

  This book contains adult language and themes, including graphic descriptions of sexual acts which some may find offensive. It is intended for mature readers only, of legal age to possess such material in their area.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Benediction © 2020 by Eden Winters

  Domestication © 2020 by Eden Winters

  Cover Art by L.C. Chase

  Edited by Kaje Harper

  Formatting by Tarian P.S. / TPS Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission of the author, except as brief quotations as in the case of reviews.

  Published 2020 by:

  Rocky Ridge Books

  PO Box 6922

  Broomfield, CO 80021

  www.RockyRidgeBooks.com

  BENEDICTION

  Diversion Book 9 and Domestication Book 9.1

  Eden Winters

  DEDICATION

  the writing partner who shared my author journey for the past fifteen years: P.D. Singer. Your memory lives on in your words.

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  It’s been a long ride with the Diversion series, and many people have been a part, whether it’s advice, proofreading, editing, cover art, or handholding. Thank you, Dani Elle Maas, Lena Grey, Kaje Harper, Becky Condit, and many more for encouragement, support, and for recommending this series to others.

  I’d also like to thank L.C. Chase for the amazing covers, and Feliz Faber, TD O’Malley, Z. Allora, D.H. Starr, Carla Nilson, Kaje Harper, and P.D. Singer, for helping me bring the stories to life, and ensuring I didn’t release rough drafts on the world.

  Special thanks to the readers who’ve taken Bo and Lucky into their hearts and eReaders. I’ve enjoyed sharing this journey with you.

  And a very special thank you, Jay, from Joyfully Jay Reviews, for your continued support of Bo, Lucky, and the Diversion series.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  DOMESTICATION (BOOK 9.1)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  EPILOGUE

  NEED-TO-KNOW STUFF ABOUT EDEN WINTERS

  CHAPTER 1

  Lucky was too old for this shit. Pushing forty, and the next oldest person in the community center shared his blood. Folks over thirty-five had kids, didn’t they? His sister Charlotte provided living proof that “all her reproductive parts still worked” after thirty. Her words, not his. Did the couple in the corner do homework together every afternoon when they got home? The rest appeared late twenties, early thirty-ish.

  A whiff of bubblegum hidden beneath the cloying scent of two dozen or so competing colognes wouldn’t surprise him in the least. He rubbed his temples with thumb and middle finger, ignoring the stares he got when folks noticed his two missing digits. Hey, he could still flip them off.

  He sipped a cup of really awful coffee in a nice, safe corner while his sister worked the room, all smiles and laying on the Southern charm thick enough to cut with a chainsaw. Change the community center for a bar and she wouldn’t pay for a single drink.

  If not for being noticeably pregnant, though he’d not mention the “noticeably” part aloud. He’d come to like living and Charlotte owned a gun.

  Occasionally she reached down to rub the belly extra-large T-shirts no longer hid. She spoke with smiling couples, mostly Southern Baptist-approved male/female pairings, but for two women standing off to the side, keeping to themselves. The woman resting a hand on the pregnant woman’s shoulder, rubbing circles on her back with the other, appeared a few steps past friend or sibling.

  Most avoided him in his back corner of the room. Maybe because of his folded arms. If that didn’t work, the “fuck-off” grimace he’d practiced for the better part of his life seemed to do the trick. It had taken him only two days on his job at the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau to convince coworkers to leave him alone. These folks understood from the get-go.

  A group of mats lay in a circular pattern on the floor. Why couldn’t he and Charlotte have gotten here fashionably late and avoided all the mingling? Not his thing. He kept an eye on the door. Easy escape, but Charlotte knew where he lived.

  “Hi, there. I’m Mike Schultz, and this is my wife Laura.” A thirtyish man approached, outstretched hand first. After a moment the man’s smile, and ignored hand, dropped.

  “Simon Harrison,” Lucky mumbled. Also known as Richmond Eugene Lucklighter, Lucky, Ricky Getsinger, and a handful of other undercover names.

  “Oh?” The woman attempted better results, smile a bit tremulous. “You’re one of the fathers-to-be?”

  Now why the hell would he be in a childbirth class otherwise—without a court order. “Yeah.”

  Somehow this pair managed to miss his “leave me alone” cues. Then again, their accents marked them as transplants from another place. Chicago maybe? Philadelphia? Somewhere up north without a doubt, though without the New York accent of the current office asshole, Jameson O’Donoghue. The man spoke up again. Lucky hadn’t bitten the wife’s head off—yet—so maybe he assumed he’d be safe too. “Who are you here with?”

  He pointed with his coffee cup toward Charlotte. The couple paled.

  “And… and you’re the father?” The woman’s face took on the pinched appearance normally reserved for biting lemons or tossing back some particularly potent rot-gut whiskey.

  “That’s right.” What of it? he wanted to ask.

  “But… but…” The man clutched his wife’s arm and stepped back. “But… she said you were her brother.”

  Ah, Northerners were so fun to play with, bless their hearts. Lucky rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Well, this is the South. We got a reputation to uphold, you know.”

  The door opened and Lucky let out a relieved sigh. Loretta Johnson, “Call me Rett,” wove her way through the crowd, which parted to let her pass. Good idea when faced with six-plus-feet of muscular woman, with Celtic armband tattoos decorating her dark skin. Her hair, worn natural today, and three-inch heels made her the tallest person in the room. She’d changed out of her SNB polo shirt and slacks, and wore skinny jeans and a blousy short-sleeved top that did nothing to hide her six-pack abs.

  Bo Schollenberger, the love of Lucky’s life, followed behind her, crossing the room slowly enough to smile and nod, with the occasional, “Good evening,” thrown in for good measure. He’d lost the tie, but still being in his suit meant he’d likely come straight from work. His dark brown hair looked a bit wind-tossed, or like he’d run his fingers through the strands repeatedly. Didn’t take away from his looks one iota. He beamed at Lucky, The Dimple in his cheek making an appearance.

  The couple who’d accosted Lucky murmu
red to each other. Yeah, Bo and Rett did make an odd couple.

  Genuine happiness blossomed to life on Lucky’s face. Rett bent at the waist and left a sticky, red lip smear on his cheek, which Bo removed with a thumb. Lucky wrapped his arms around both, careful not to tip his coffee. “Hey, y’all,” he addressed the couple he’d been speaking with. “I’d like you to meet my partner and my other partner.” He flipped his head toward Rett. “She’s the one who knocked up my sister.” A potion she’d brought over in a thermos took Charlotte from “I’m never going to get pregnant!” to long morning sessions spent worshipping the porcelain god. Something about easing Charlotte’s anxiety enough for nature to take its course.

  Whatever the case, he’d gotten a lot of mileage out of accusing Johnson of getting Charlotte pregnant. Some jokes never got old.

  Watching the blood drain from the couple’s face amused him for a full minute and a half. The woman’s mouth did the twitchy thing most people’s did when they weren’t sure if he was joking, and hung suspended in that moment between humor and horror.

  Rett extended her hand. “I’m Loretta Johnson. Pleased to meet you.” She nodded at the woman’s prominent belly. “I see you have no need of my services.”

  Somehow the couple materialized on the other side of the room. Like magic. Dang, they’d run fast.

  Lucky and Rett stared at each other and waited a full ten seconds to guffaw.

  Bo elbowed Lucky and glared at them both. “I can’t take you two anywhere, can I? I swear, you grow more alike by the second.” His lip twitch betrayed his amusement.

  A slender woman stepped into the room from a side door. “Oh no, she didn’t,” Rett hissed. “The last thing a bunch of women who haven’t seen their feet in a month need is advice from a skinny woman in yoga pants with zero cellulite.” She exaggerated panicked eyes. “If one of these pregnant women attack her, get Charlotte to safety.”

  “Charlotte will probably be the one attacking,” came from behind them. They all turned and pretended not to notice the slight waddle in Charlotte’s walk. “Oh, to have a lap again. Cat Lucky is taking the loss personally.”

  The prospective parents each chose a mat, the mothers-to-be twisting, turning, and using their partners to get into a sitting position, partner in the back. How had the other mats gotten so far away? The Lucklighter-Schollenberger party scored half the room. Oh, well. More space for them.

  Bo raised an eyebrow at the seen-better-days carpet, sighed, and lowered himself down.

  Charlotte sat on the mat, Bo, Lucky, and Rett gathered behind her. A quick once-over of the room showed no other foursomes, but one threesome. Interesting.

  The instructor sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder to roll her eyes for a sympathetic audience. “Like I could fold myself up like a human pretzel with this one in the way.” She patted her belly.

  Between his sister’s size and Loretta Johnson’s brew-in-a-thermos, he’d swear the affectionately named “Bump” held twins, if not for the doctor saying otherwise.

  The woman on the closest mat said, “I couldn’t cross my legs like that even before I got pregnant.”

  The instructor either ignored the griping and sarcasm or had fine-tuned her selective hearing. She probably heard the same snide remarks in each class. “I’d like to start with introductions. Now, introduce yourselves and tell us a little about yourself and why you’re here.”

  Rett groused, “Um… because they’re knocked up and want to figure how to get Junior out without permanent damage?” The instructor continued to ignore comments, but several other mothers grumbled agreement.

  “Hi, I’m Mike,” the man who’d accosted Lucky earlier said without giving anyone else a chance to speak.

  “And I’m Laura,” his wife said, patting her belly and smiling the inanely proud smile only mothers seemed capable of. Lucky had seen the look often enough on his own mother’s face. Or on Charlotte’s. Or Rett’s.

  Come to think of it, Bo managed a pretty good imitation while playing with their son Alejandro.

  Umm… Not Lucky. Someone please tell him he’d never looked that sappy.

  “This is our first baby,” the woman continued, adding, “together. Little Kyle Martin already has a half-brother and a half-sister. Mike’s in marketing and I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

  Some others made polite noises. Lucky stayed quiet—okay, he may have grumbled a little—and managed to avoid Bo’s elbow. Rett’s caught him square in the side. Hey! No tag-teaming.

  “Thank you, Rett,” Charlotte muttered. They fist bumped.

  How did she know what went on behind her? Must be a mama thing. His own mother had the ability too. She had to, or her five little hellions would’ve burned down the farm.

  More than once.

  When the trio’s turn rolled around, the pregnant woman acted as spokesperson after several moments of hushed chatter among the three of them. “I’m Angie, and this is Liza and Steve. I’m acting as their surrogate.”

  Finally, Lucky and company’s turn arrived.

  “Hey, y’all. I’m Charlotte,” Charlotte proclaimed with a small wave and one hell of a lot of Southern in her voice. “I’m also a surrogate, for my brother, Lucky, and his partner, Bo.” She waved a hand toward Rett. “That’s my bestie, Rett. They’re in law enforcement, so they’re all attending classes to ensure at least one will be available to go with me when the time comes.”

  Did at least three couples stop leaning so hard away from them?

  “Aren’t you afraid of having kids with such dangerous jobs?” clashed with, “You’re gay?” This from Mike. His wife sniped, “Children need a father and a mother.”

  Motherfucking homophobes.

  “In your rather bigoted opinion, what is a mother?” Lucky asked. He even managed to sound only semi-threatening.

  The woman glanced at her husband, who shrugged. Taking his non-committal response as backing, she spouted opinions better kept to herself. “You know. A mother. Gives birth to the child, cares for the child’s needs.”

  She called herself a stay-at-home mom, yet admitted she hadn’t given birth to the two children her husband brought to the relationship. Hypocrite, much?

  A poor young woman who’d been dealt a bad hand gave birth to Alejandro, and feared she couldn’t meet her child’s needs. Bo and Lucky could, and did. “What needs?” Lucky asked, arms folded over his chest, and feeling every bit the cocky bantam rooster folks accused him of being.

  “Feeding, changing diapers…”

  “You don’t think we can do that? I’ll stack Bo’s cooking up against yours any day of the week, lady.”

  Laura narrowed her eyes and attempted to mimic Lucky’s posture—twice, since the first attempt got thwarted by her belly. She gave up. “What if it’s a girl? Who’s going to talk to her about girl stuff?”

  “The strip club we go to has plenty of drag queens—” A hand over his mouth shut Lucky up.

  Bo, looking so professional in his business suit, took over the argument, the slight tremble in his hand the only outward sign of his anger. “What my partner is trying to say is that our child will have two loving parents, an older brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends”—he nodded to Rett— “and will be better off in our home than most of the kids we see on a regular basis while busting their traditional father/mother parents for drugs.” He kept his voice so syrupy sweet he probably induced sugar shock in a few people.

  Wow! Go Bo! It might take some of these folks a while to realize how thoroughly they’d been burned.

  Lucky licked Bo’s palm. Bo removed his hand, too busy glaring at Mike and Laura to glare at Lucky.

  The two women seated together shot the bigots the fiercest go-to-hell look in the history of go-to-hell looks. Impressive.

  Lucky didn’t like many people. Those two stood a chance of joining the exclusive ranks.

  “Not to mention that all four of us are marksman level or higher on a f
iring range.” Rett released her best shit-eating grin. “Three of us have a security clearance. We’ve been background checked so hard, that someone, somewhere, knows the last time I ate Cheetos.”

  Lucky raised his hand. “That’d be me. And they were my Cheetos that you found in my car.”

  Charlotte snorted. “Some of the most screwed up people I know had a father and a mother.” Okay, maybe they needed to have a talk. If Lucky couldn’t cuss to keep from teaching Andro bad language, she couldn’t either. Oh, who was he kidding? Once a day he’d have to disappear out the back door and release his share of F-bombs to keep from exploding.

  As long as the world kept cranking out fuckheads like Mike and Laura, Lucky would keep pointing out what douchebags they were. As a public service.

  The instructor clapped her hands together. “Alrighty, then. I’m Madeline, and I’ve been a midwife for twenty years. I’m here to provide information you can actually use, calm your fears, and answer any questions you may have. If I can’t answer them, I can refer you to someone who can. Now, tonight we’ll focus on the weeks leading up to the big event.”

  The class began with instructions on recognizing labor pains versus something called Braxton Hicks contractions, and moved on from there. Lucky listened with half an ear. With any luck, Rett or Bo would be there to enter the birthing room with Charlotte. Somebody had to remain behind and pace in the waiting room, right?

  After class a few folks ventured over to talk, but not Mike and Laura. Could Lucky just get out of here? Going on about his sister’s private parts and the agony she’d soon go through on his and Bo’s behalf wasn’t his idea of a good time. Besides, them all being here meant leaving Andro at home with Ty and Mrs. Griggs. Sure, Ty was an able enough baby sitter, but Lucky’s former landlady sucked up any opportunity to cuddle a two-legged baby instead of four-legged ones.

  As long as she didn’t start calling him “Fluffy” or “Tigger”.