Soar high, p.1
Soar High, page 1
About this book
Whether she’s writing about a BDSM club in Florida or a tiny town in Alaska, Cherise Sinclair is always magic.
~ Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
She survived.
Kit survived her abusive husband. Survived imprisonment and beatings from the Patriot Zealots. Now free and healing, she can make a new life for herself and her son…except he has attached himself to a terrifying, scarred, tattooed ex-mercenary.
* * *
Women take one look at him and flee.
An ugly childhood and combat left Hawk with scars, a rasping voice, and an aversion to talking. So, why in hell does the four-year-old stick to him like glue?
The kid’s pretty mother is smarter. There’s fear in her eyes when she looks at Hawk. That hurts. The sweet woman is everything he’s ever wanted--loving, affectionate, and patient. But after what she’s been through, she sure won’t want to be around men—especially the one who killed her husband.
* * *
He’d saved her.
Kit agrees with her son. Being near Hawk is the safest place on earth. Beneath the menacing appearance, he’s protective…and kind. The better she gets to know him, the more she sees him as a man--a very sexy man. But, considering what had happened to her, she knows--
No man would want her now.
Soar High
Sons of the Survivalist: 4
Cherise Sinclair
VanScoy Publishing Group
To Kathleen Cole, the Alaska Ice Lady, who fought long and hard. I’m going to miss you so much. Your joy in life was an inspiration to us all.
Soar high, my friend.
Soar High
Copyright © 2021 by Cherise Sinclair
ISBN: 978-1-947219-37-3
Published by VanScoy Publishing Group
Cover Art: I'm No Angel Designs
Edited by Red Quill Editing, LLC
Content Editor: Bianca Sommerland
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this eBook only. No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Acknowledgments
Hugs and so much gratitude goes to my psychology consultants, Ruth Reid and AnnaMaria Boullion. Y’all have the biggest hearts.
I’m so very blessed with my critique partners, Fiona Archer and Monette Michaels. Thank you!
My editors simply rock, what can I say? Content editor: Bianca Sommerland, and copy-editing/proofing from Red Quill Editing with Ekatarina Sayanova, Tracy Damron-Roelle, and Rebecca Cartee.
Many hugs and thanks go to Lisa White, Barb Jack, and Marian Shulman for the amazing beta reading. Y’all have saved me much embarrassment!
My Alaska experts went above and beyond the call of duty with ideas and corrections. Thank you, JJ Foster and Kathleen Cole. Any errors that slipped in are my very own.
Finally, thank you all, my readers, for going on this trip to Alaska with me. *muah!*
Prologue
When everything seems to be against you, remember that an airplane takes off against the wind, not with it. ~ Henry Ford.
* * *
“Keep up, boy.”
The sarge’s firm command jerked Hawk’s attention from where he trudged along the steep trail behind the other three kids. Kinda like he was in the army. In a lot of soldier movies, the badass sergeant was always yelling at some poor bastard. Mako didn’t yell much, but his voice was as big as he was.
Hawk didn’t speed up. He didn’t want to get up all close with his foster-brothers.
Nah, he shouldn’t call them that. The sarge wasn’t running a foster home, and he sure wasn’t their father. He was just the guy who’d taken—rescued—the four of them from a California foster home and brought them to Alaska.
Because the foster father in LA had been a pervert.
Hawk scowled and fell even farther behind. He could still feel the guy’s hands touching him, ripping his shirt. The knee pinning him down to the bed.
Sometimes those memories got mixed up with the beatings his real father had dished out. Sometimes he kinda got caught, like in that steel trap the sarge had showed them. Mako’d been pissed off, cuz the trap was all steel teeth that’d dig into some poor animal.
The shit Hawk’d been through had left behind big holes.
Turning, Gabe gave him a worried look. The kid was ten, a year older than Hawk. He was okay, but kinda like one of those weird dogs that rounded up sheep. Gabe got antsy, like, if he couldn’t keep track of the other boys, they might get hurt or something.
Hawk looked away. Nobody needed to worry about him; nobody ever had before.
“Caz, where’s the closest water?” Mako kept moving up the trail. It wasn’t right. He was old, maybe even fifty or something, but he wasn’t even breathing hard.
The rest of them were panting like dogs in L.A. during the summer.
“Water. It is…” Caz looked around. He was a year younger than Hawk and Bull—and Hawk liked to call him the baby to piss him off an’ make him swear. Not that Hawk usually understood what Cazador said; the baby still dropped into Spanish when he got mad.
Caz’s shoulders hunched. “No sé.”
Hawk didn’t know either.
“Listen,” Mako said. “You got two ears; use them. All of you.”
They stopped to listen. And yeah, Hawk could hear water running. A creek or something. Keeping one hand on the rock wall, he turned his head to try to pinpoint it. It was somewhere way, way, way down the scary-as-shit slope part on the other side of the trail.
Why’re we walking up the side of a mountain, anyway?
They all pointed toward the creek.
“Good. Next time, find it before I ask,” Mako said. “Which way is home?”
Home.
Hawk scowled. Guess he’d lived in the log cabin like a month now, so okay, maybe it might kinda be almost home. In the loft, he had a bed and even a box for his stuff. Nobody bothered the shit he found—the eagle feathers, the tiny nest, an eggshell littler than a grape.
Suddenly there was a rattle of stones from behind him. A baby elk darted out and dodged past him, heading up the trail past the others.
Jesus, it was cute.
“Move,” the sarge roared and pointed at something behind Hawk.
What? Glancing over his shoulder, Hawk gasped.
A fucking huge elk charged up the trail—right at him.
He threw himself back—not far enough.
Its giganto-shoulder slammed into him and knocked him toward the drop at the trail’s edge. He screamed in terror. “Nooo!”
Grabbing his shirt, the sarge swung him around and tossed him safely against the cliff wall.
Making weird grunting sounds, the elk mama lunged at Gabe like she wanted to stomp on him.
The kid dove away.
“Leave, dumbass!” The sarge threw a big rock at the beast’s huge nose.
The elk shook its head, then its ears went back again and—
Huddled against the rock wall, Hawk stared as a giant crack appeared right under the animal’s hooves. The trail was falling apart!
“Gabe, get back!” Hawk yelled.
Gabe tried, stumbled, and went down on one knee.
The elk leaped away from the collapsing path and ran after its baby.
Lunging forward, Mako caught Gabe’s collar and threw him farther down the trail, even as the ground disappeared right out from under the sarge’s boots. In a mass of falling rocks and dirt, Mako went over the edge.
“Nooo,” Hawk whispered.
“Mako!” Bull shouted. No answer. Bull started to follow, and more of the trail crumbled away.
“Stop,” Gabe yelled. “Just wait.
Bull paused.
“Hawk, you got rope, right?” Gabe called.
“Yeah.” Hawk dug in his pack and pulled out a bunch of coiled rope. Mako was gonna teach him to use it on the cliffs.
Gabe pointed to a tree off to one side. “Caz, tie it there.”
Cazador scrambled to the spot, caught the rope Hawk tossed him, wrapped it around the tree, and made a solid knot. Something else Mako had taught them.
Bull kicked the coil off the side of the slope and held it. He leaned out. “I think he fell all the way down to the stream.”
“Let’s get him. Bull, you take backup.” Gabe grabbed the rope and used it to slow himself down as he went over the edge.
Caz followed.
Hawk slung his pack on, took a step—and tripped as loose rocks rolled out from under his foot. Arm windmilling, he teetered.
Still gripping the rope, Bull grabbed Hawk’s shirt and kept him from going over.
Jesu s. Hawk latched onto the rope with shaking hands. “Thanks.” The word came out in his ugly, rough voice.
“Sure.” Bull grinned.
With a steadying breath—and a tight grip on the line—Hawk headed down. It wasn’t a cliff like on the other side of the trail but was steep enough he’d have tumbled a dozen times if not for the rope.
Bull followed.
The sarge lay at the bottom of the slope, half in the rushing creek.
“Sarge?” Hawk’s hands clenched when he didn’t move. Gabe took one arm, Hawk the other, and they dragged him onto the flat bank out of the water.
He didn’t move.
Fear was colder than the icy water. “Is he d-dead?”
“Wait.” Kneeling, Caz put his head on Mako’s chest. “Heart is alive. Breathing. Him arm broked.”
Now what? Hawk looked at Gabe. So did Caz.
But Gabe had his arms wrapped around himself and was shaking. They all were. How were they supposed to deal with this? To help the sarge?
“Yo.” Bull bumped his shoulder against Gabe’s. “What now?”
Gabe blinked, then hauled in a breath and planted his feet like he was getting ready to fight. “O-okay. Um. Guess we’re staying here for a while.”
“He cold.” Caz held Mako’s big hand in both of his.
“Right.” Gabe motioned to their backpacks. “Dig out your emergency blankets. We’ll wrap—”
Deep huffing and growling sounds made them freeze. Hawk knew that sound from the river by the cabin. It was a bear.
Oh fuck. He was shaking so hard his knees started to give out.
The bear was farther down the stream. Looking right at them. It didn’t have a hump on the back, so it must be a black bear, not a brown…even though it was kinda brownish.
Mako had said to get real noisy for the black ones.
Hawk swallowed hard and glared at Gabe. “Be noisy.”
Gabe nodded and snapped at Bull and Caz. “Start yelling. Scare it off.”
Bending, Hawk snatched the giant gun from Mako’s holster.
The other boys were screaming and waving their arms.
Damn bear didn’t run. Why didn’t it run?
Hawk gripped the gun and pointed it at the bear. The pistol was really heavy.
“Wait.” Gabe leaned over and shoved the safety button thing—and stepped back.
Okay then. Gritting his teeth, Hawk pointed the gun toward the treetops, cuz hitting the bear would piss it off and it’d attack for sure.
He pulled the trigger.
Bam. The gun jumped up in his hands and hit him right in the forehead.
Ow. His face hurt, and his ears were ringing from the noise.
But the bear veered off and disappeared into the trees.
Gone.
The others cheered, then silence fell. Because…now what?
Caz had pulled his blanket out, and they worked to wrap the thin crinkly thing around the sarge.
Mako was so quiet, like he was dead, only he wasn’t, was he?
Tears stung Hawk’s eyes, and Caz was blinking hard, and Bull kept patting the sarge’s chest like he was a dog or something.
Gabe was frowning. “We’re gonna need a fire.”
“Yeah,” Hawk said.
The other two nodded. And looked at Gabe.
Then Mako groaned.
His eyes opened, blue eyes in a tan face that was all scratched and bloody. He started to move, grunted, and scowled at his arm. “What the fuck?”
Bull grinned. “The trail fell apart—and you fell too.”
“Smartass boy.” A corner of Mako’s mouth tilted up. He moved an arm and patted the silver blanket around him. His gaze hit Bull, then Gabe, Caz, and Hawk.
The sarge grinned. “Good job. You men got the makings of a fine team.”
Good job. Mako didn’t say those words often.
Hawk stood a little straighter. But…
A team?
Yeah, maybe. If the others hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have figured out to use a rope to get down the cliff. Would’ve probably fallen. Couldn’t have pulled the sarge out of the creek by himself. Wouldn’t know to get Mako warm. Or have remembered the safety.
Without Hawk, there’d be no rope. And the bear might’ve attacked.
A team might be good.
Because they were stronger together.
Chapter One
Twenty-three years later
* * *
The way I see it, every time a man gets up in the morning, he starts his life over. Sure, the bills are there to pay, and the job is there to do, but you don’t have to stay in a pattern. You can always start over, saddle a fresh horse, and take another trail. ~ Louis L’Amour
* * *
In the tiny garden of the rehab facility, Kirsten Sandersen pulled in a breath of moist, cool air. Springtime in Alaska, and although damaged in body and spirit, she was free. Like the leaves on the plants around her, she was putting out tender, new growth.
Her bag was packed and sitting at the door. The discharge paperwork had been signed, and she’d come to her favorite hideaway to wait for a ride home. Well, not home.
I don’t have a home.
Or a job.
Or a husband, for that matter. She waited to feel grief for Obadiah’s death. The only thing she felt was regret that she’d been so incredibly stupid. So needy for love that she’d fallen for his lies. His manipulation.
Shame bloomed inside her. Her desire for a strong man had tossed her and Aric right into a nightmare. Eventually, she’d recover, and if she didn’t, then she’d deal with it, but her son was only four years old. Would he ever get past the months of fear? Of abuse?
Baby, I’m so sorry.
She brushed the tears from her eyes, feeling like a wimp.
But her counselor had warned her that her emotions would be erratic for a while. Not a problem. Soon, she’d be out of this place—and back with her son.
Nothing mattered more than that.
Hearing a man clearing his throat, she jumped to her feet, grabbed her aching ribs, and swore under her breath in a way that would’ve gotten her caned by the PZs.
Two men wearing button-up shirts, jeans, and sports jackets stood near the door.
She retreated several fast steps.
The fair-skinned one held up both hands in a take-it-easy gesture. “Sorry, Mrs. Traeger.”
“It’s Ms. Sandersen.” Darned if she’d keep Obadiah’s name. “I’m sorry, I know we’ve met, but I don’t remember your names.”
It seemed as if every person in Alaskan law enforcement had interviewed her.
The shorter man with brown eyes and hair pulled out his badge. “FBI, ma’am. Special Agent Acosta.”
“Special Agent Langford.” The tall one showed his badge. “We asked the facility to let you know we’d be coming.”
Kit let out a pained breath and tried to settle her nerves. Be brave, Kittycat. Her father’s affectionate name for her always helped. She’d clung to the memory of his voice when she was growing up. Still did. “What with vacation season, the place is understaffed. I’ll probably get your message tomorrow.”
Langford barked a laugh. “Figures. Sorry, we’d have called you directly if we’d had a number.”
“I haven’t bought a phone yet.” Because she had no money. No income. Her anxiety surged, and she pushed it aside. She’d manage; she always did. “Has something happened? Did you catch Captain Nabera?”
“Not yet, no.” Acosta gestured to one of the café tables in the shade. “He holed up somewhere. Maybe in the forests. The rest of the Patriot Zealots have scattered.”
Arm pressed against her ribs, Kit carefully took a seat. At least the incision where her spleen had been repaired no longer felt like a burning brand. “Then…?”
“Apparently, your husband was one of Nabera’s so-called lieutenants.”
They’d probably learned that during their interviews with the other women freed from the Patriot Zealots. Kit nodded. “He was.”
“Did Obadiah share any information with you about the Patriot Zealots’ future plans—ones they’d been making before they left?”
