Possession: An Interracial Romance (Redemption Book 3) Read online

  POSSESSION

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not sponsored, associated, or endorsed by the trademark owner.

  Published by Carpe Per Diem, Inc. / Tracy Kellam, 25852 McBean Parkway # 806, Santa Clarita, CA 91355

  Edited by: Kim Young, Kim’s Editing Services

  Image Permission:

  Geber86 Copyright 2020

  Used under license from iStock Photo

  Copyright © 2020 T. K. Leigh / Tracy Kellam

  All rights reserved.

  The Redemption Series

  Each duet in this series can be read separately as each stands on their own and revolve around a different couple.

  Commitment

  (Redemption Duet #1)

  Redemption

  (Redemption Duet #2)

  Possession

  (Possession Duet #1)

  Atonement

  (Possession Duet #2)

  Contents

  Possession

  A Note from the 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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Atonement

  Playlist

  Connect with Me

  Free Book!

  Acknowledgments

  Books by T.K. Leigh

  About the Author

  Possession

  Sometimes the right path isn’t the easiest one.

  Weston Bradford entered my world in a whirlwind.

  Or, more accurately, during a torrential downpour.

  After our brief encounter, I didn’t think I’d ever see the attractive man with mesmerizing blue eyes again. Not in a city the size of Atlanta.

  Until I agree to take on a historic home renovation and learn the owner is none other than the same Weston Bradford who I met in the rain.

  We’re as opposite as two people can be, but there’s no denying the spark, the connection, the invisible tether pulling us toward one another.

  But my past has left me broken and scarred, forcing me to erect walls around myself. That doesn’t seem to deter Wes, though. He’s more than happy to scale those walls to possess the one thing I swore I’d never give another person again — my heart.

  When the past collides with my present in an unexpected way, will he stand by my side and weather the storm threatening to destroy everything? Or will he abandon me like everyone else in my life?

  To the great RBG.

  Thank you for paving the way.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up Possession. I can’t tell you what your support means to me.

  This is a bit of an interesting book. I’ve been planning this story for nearly two years now. Unfortunately, other projects kept getting in the way, but when I finished up my last release, Royal Games, I said I was going to finally take the time to write what I knew would be a very challenging book.

  Then the race riots started happening, and I nearly canceled the project altogether. All along, I knew this would be an interracial romance, and that it would address subjects that may make people uncomfortable or angry, and rightly so. Because of this, I started to question whether the time was right, given the current state of violence in our country.

  Thankfully, a dear friend and reader I respect very much, who also happens to be a black woman, told me to just write the dang book. So that’s what I did. I wrote the dang book. And I can’t tell you how proud of this book I am. I’ve never been one to shy away from difficult subjects, but I didn’t know if I was the right person to tell this story. I’m still not sure I am, but I’ve learned so much about myself during this process.

  It goes without saying that I absolutely love this story. I love these characters. And I love the love that comes off the pages. Like I mentioned, this isn’t an easy story to read or experience. You will get angry. You will question things. But at the end of the day, you will feel this incredible love between the characters.

  With that being said, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention there are a few scenes which may trigger extremely sensitive readers. As with all my books, I approach sensitive subjects with care and respect, and don’t glorify or write certain things with unnecessary detail just for the shock factor. That’s never been my style. Sometimes what the camera doesn’t show you is more poignant than what it does. And this is the approach I take here.

  Again, thank you for picking up a copy of Possession. I adore this story. I hope you do, too. I hope it makes you think. Makes you angry. But most of all, I hope it makes you feel love.

  Peace and love,

  ~ T.K.

  Chapter One

  Londyn

  The butterfly effect in chaos theory states that sometimes insignificant events bring about extensive change, either good or bad. It’s the notion that a butterfly can flap its wings, triggering a chain of events that will lead to a massive tsunami, forever altering the face of the earth and the lives of those affected.

  I’ve always been intrigued by the concept that a seemingly innocuous and everyday event could have major consequences.

  What would have happened if Archduke Ferdinand had taken a different route through Sarajevo, thwarting a young nationalist’s assassination attempt, which eventually led to the start of World War I? Would some other event have been the catalyst for it, the world just a ticking time bomb? Or would society have continued living in peace?

  What would have happened had the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna not rejected Adolf Hitler’s application to attend…twice? Would he have taken a different path, saving the world from his tyranny and hate?

  And what would have happened if I hadn’t fallen in that crosswalk on a rainy day in Atlanta? Would I have carried on with my life, content with my relatively solitary existence? Or would our paths have crossed anyway, starting a series of events I never could have predicted in my wildest imagination?

  I’ll never know. Because I did fall in that crosswalk.

  Our paths did cross.

  Our lives did intersect.

  One seemingly insignificant event.

  One meeting most people wouldn’t think twice about.

  But one event that eventually altered
my entire world.

  “Don’t tell me you got the ax.”

  I pull myself away from packing the few personal items from my cubicle at the interior design firm I’ve called home the past few years. Looking up, I meet Justine’s dark gaze, her expression awash with sympathy.

  “I did.”

  “Oh, Londyn…” Arms extended, she approaches, wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I lean back, giving her a reassuring smile. “It was bound to happen when they brought in the efficiency experts.” I shrug, swallowing past the lump in my throat. It doesn’t matter how inevitable today was. It still hurts. “I’m one of the last hires. Not to mention I have the least experience out of everyone on the team.”

  Justine rolls her eyes, flipping a few blonde waves over her shoulder. “Experience and talent are two different things. You can have years of experience but be a talentless hack.” She edges closer, lowering her voice. “Like half the people here.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay. Or at least I will be after I drown myself in a bottle of wine later.”

  “That’s my girl.” She squeezes my bicep.

  On a dejected sigh, I step away, scanning my cubicle, which is now devoid of anything personal. Except one.

  Walking to the corner of my desk, I grab the small, framed photo of my parents and me from years ago. Twenty years to be exact. This was the last picture taken of us as a family before my mother was killed on this very date.

  I think that’s why losing my job on today of all days has hit me so hard. Not because I’m now unemployed, but because of all the horrible memories associated with this day. Just once, I’d love to have a positive memory of June third.

  “Well, I guess that’s it,” I say after placing the photo into my bag.

  “It won’t be the same without you here, but I believe this is the best thing for you. You’re too talented to work here. I felt it the first time we met. You’re destined for greater things than designing kitchens and bathrooms in accordance with what our client saw on the latest HGTV show.”

  I laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  She pulls me in for one more hug before releasing me. “Drinks soon?”

  “Absolutely.” I hold her gaze another moment before turning and making my way through the cubicle-filled space for the last time.

  Sympathetic smiles greet me as I pass, other designers in tears as they pack up their own cubicles. I suppose I should feel lucky I’d only been here a few years before getting fired. Some worked here for ten or fifteen years. Have families to support. College educations to pay for. I don’t. I only have myself.

  I make my way to the elevator and press the down button. A car arrives almost immediately, and I hurry inside. When the doors close, I expel a breath, thankful to be alone at last. I lean against the wall, looking up at the florescent lights in the ceiling. Maybe Justine is right. Maybe I’m destined for bigger things than regurgitating the same design over and over. I’ve always felt my creativity stunted here. Maybe this is my chance to go out on my own, start my own firm, do what I want.

  My head held high and a renewed outlook filling me, I step out of the elevator and into the lobby, waving to the guard sitting at the security desk.

  “You, too?” Oliver asks.

  “Me, too,” I respond, my lips quirking into a half-hearted smile.

  “Sorry to hear that, Lolo,” he says in his deep baritone, using the nickname he made up for me years ago.

  “It’s okay. You should know by now I’m a fighter.”

  “I know. I’ve seen the photos of you in boxing gloves on your Instagram. There’s no doubt in my mind you’ll get through this.”

  “Thanks, Ol.”

  Noticing a flicker, I glance over his shoulder to one of the half-dozen monitors spread out in front of him, most of them containing surveillance from various parts of the building. But the far one is connected to the computer, a news website showing a live broadcast from a church I know intimately.

  “Do you remember that happening?” Oliver inquires, noticing my gaze drawn to the screen.

  I swallow hard at the split-screen feed, one side showing the memorial currently underway, the other displaying archive footage of white-sheet-covered bodies being rolled out on stretchers.

  I should have expected a few news outlets to cover the twentieth anniversary of the shooting. It was a pretty big deal back then. The first mass shooting since Columbine, this time at a church. It still catches me off guard, though. I didn’t think I’d see coverage of it here in Atlanta when it happened in Virginia. Or maybe I just hoped I wouldn’t.

  “It was horrific. Some known white supremacist walked into the church during a choir rehearsal and opened fire. Killed twelve people, including the pastor’s wife. Luckily, the pastor and their daughter were elsewhere in the church and escaped. Sawyer Ross was one of the survivors, too. Do you know who that is? That television preacher and civil rights activist?”

  I keep my expression even. “I’ve heard of him.”

  “It was all over the news,” Oliver continues, not picking up on my unease. “Such a tragedy. A senseless act of hate. But you’re too young to probably remember.”

  I nod. “Yeah.” I turn my attention from the screen, peering out the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the torrential downpour covering the streets.

  “Pretty nasty weather, isn’t it?”

  “Got to love Atlanta in the summer,” I muse, shifting through my bag for my umbrella, but it’s not there. Just my luck. When I don’t need it, I practically trip over the damn thing. When I do, it’s nowhere to be found.

  “Take mine,” Oliver offers, grabbing the umbrella from the side of his desk.

  “That’s okay. The garage isn’t far.”

  “Are you sure?” He tilts his head. “I don’t mind. You can just drop it back to me tomorrow on your way into…” He trails off, realizing I won’t be back tomorrow.

  “I’ll be fine. See ya around, Ol.” I continue past him, needing to get as far away from any mention of the infamous Virginia church shooting as possible.

  Approaching the front doors, I hesitate when I see the rain is more like a waterfall, coming down fast and hard, the angry wind whipping around. I doubt even an umbrella will help in this weather. Maybe I should just wait for the storm to pass, sit with Oliver for a while. He wouldn’t mind. I’ve done it before.

  But then I make out the familiar sound of my father’s voice coming from the coverage of the memorial. I can’t stomach watching that. Can’t face the reminder of everything I lost. Not only when that gunman opened fire in the church, but also five years ago when my own father refused to stand up for me at a time I needed him most.

  “You can do this,” I murmur to myself, then open the door and step onto the sidewalk. A gusty wind blows back at me, causing me to lose my balance. I use the side of the building to steady myself, briefly reconsidering this decision, but eventually power through.

  I rush down the sidewalk as fast as I can in my heels. The rain pelts me from all angles, scraping against my face, drenching my jeans and blouse. I hold my breath, as if that will make the rain not as bad, but nothing will help against the deluge coating the city.

  Fighting to lift my head, I concentrate on the crosswalk signal, seeing the countdown at eight seconds. I gauge the distance to it, not wanting to be stuck at a busy intersection in downtown Atlanta for several minutes in this downpour. There’s no way I’ll make it to the other side in time, but I convince myself it will be okay. That after my crappy day, something has to go my way. So instead of playing it safe, I quicken my pace.

  The few yards to the corner seem to expand with every passing second, the crosswalk feeling like it gets farther away with each step. But I don’t give up, powering through the wind and rain, not caring I must look like a sight with my tight, brown curls plastered to my forehead and cheeks.

  I step onto the street, my sole focus the sidewalk opposite the four
-lane road, praying all the drivers show me some sympathy and don’t gun the gas the second the light turns green.

  As I scurry along, my heel slips on the slick pavement, legs giving out beneath me. Time seems to slow as my body is propelled up before my back and head hit the pavement with a hard thump.

  Disoriented, I struggle to capture a breath, the force of my fall knocking the wind out of me. My head and back ache, making movement difficult. I manage to slowly turn my head, feeling like I’m in some sort of dreamworld as I watch a white pickup truck barrel toward me.

  My brain tells my muscles to move, but they’re frozen, unable to obey a simple command, even though I’m seconds from being hit by someone who can’t see anything in this rain.

  You know how people claim they see their entire life flash before them just before they think they’re about to die? Well, that’s what happens to me. When I squeeze my eyes shut, muttering the words to prayers I haven’t said in years, my life flashes before me. It’s almost like a slow-motion rewind, taking me from the present and through my early years. Some moments fill me with anger. Others with regret. And still others with love.

  When my mother’s affectionate dark eyes flash before mine, I somehow find solace that, even if the worst happens, I’ll see her soon. Peace fills me, making me feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. That I’m flying.