Sterling

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2011 Dannika Dark

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the Author. You must not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the rights of the Author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover art by Dannika Dark

Stock credit: Ana Cruz

http://dannikadark.blogspot.com/

“Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.”
—Raymond Lindquist

Preface

Dying isn’t the hardest thing you’ll ever do—it’s living
. There are many choices that determine the direction of your life, but death only has one outcome. At least, that’s what I used to believe.

Fate changes with every single decision made: right turn instead of left, yes instead of no, chocolate instead of vanilla, or taking the shortcut.

I can’t admit to doing anything remarkable on the last day of my life.

But then, can anyone?

They say (whoever “they” are) that you should live each day like it is your last. In my former life, I would have thought that was a true statement. Go out swinging, throw caution to the wind, and break all the rules.

I’ve learned something far more valuable since I was given a second life, a second chance, and a new beginning—live each day of your life like it is your first.

I was born Zoë Winter Merrick.

If names hold meaning then perhaps my fate was sealed from the beginning. Zoë means life, Winter represents death, and my surname means fame and power.

Fate is not without a sense of humor after all.

Merrick was my surname, but not my last name. Rebirth has a funny way of starting things anew.

Chapter 1

A black panther lapped his rough tongue across my cheek.
Max wasn’t actually a panther, just a housecat with a massive ego. When the only tongue you’re getting is from your cat…it’s time to get out more.

“Someone’s hungry,” I observed. “Do you want some tuna?”

Did I spoil my cat every night with a can of tuna on top of his food? Guilty.

Max extended his front claws and I flinched when they poked through my grey shirt. A quick shove to the floor solved that problem.

Six years ago when I was between jobs and going through a rough patch, I adopted Max. He was abused and needed special care, as did I. There was a grim chance that Max would be blind, but that didn’t stop the affection I felt for him. He needed me, and in a strange way, I needed him too. When the bandages were removed, it was a miracle—Max could see. But what I didn’t know was that my little panther had what the guys in spiffy white jackets like to call heterochromia. Mismatched eyes are what they really meant to say. I never understood the significance of medical jargon. Call it a bum liver, bad ticker, even the evil little bump—but for god’s sake, make it
understandable.

My friends were put off with that stare—one green eye and one yellow—but I loved him for being unique.

Eventually, Max grew into a 17lb badass, but he also deserved recognition for his services as an alarm clock and a foot warmer. Not that I needed much foot warming in a southern climate, but his efforts were appreciated.

The room was eerily silent, the kind of quiet that makes you wonder if the rest of the world existed anymore. The tips of the leaves on my bamboo plant glowed from the light creeping through the wood shutters. My apartment was small, but it surrounded me like a warm security blanket. A stream of rainbows slanted across the coffee table from a crystal hanging on the window, telling me it was late afternoon.

When the cordless phone went off I jumped, giving the flashing blue light on the coffee table a nasty scowl.

“Hello?” I answered, rubbing my eyes.

“Zoë girl! Rise and shine,” a female voice giggled.

“Sunny, friend of my loins, what can I do for you?” I was irritable and needed to shower after spending all day attached to my sofa.

Sunny was my best friend and partner in crime. I could tell she was in better than usual spirits—the kind that meant I was going be ass deep in Saturday night mischief.

“Uh, I don’t think I want to be that friendly with your loins. I know you aren’t asleep on that couch because I’m coming by in an hour. My car is finally out of the shop,
thank god
. That chucklehead robbed me blind after holding it hostage for three weeks. Seriously Zoë, I’m going to have to sell my firstborn to pay him and I don’t even want kids.”

I craned my neck and squinted at the clock. Jesus, I slept for
five
hours. My afternoon nap had turned into a full on coma.

“Sunny, I don’t know about tonight, I worked late last night and I’m not the best company at the moment,” I protested.

Which was true. Sunny was a flirtaholic and after watching a depressing romance movie that day, I was not in the mood to be charming.

“No four letter words allowed on a Saturday, not unless they involve acts beneath the sheets.”

The one thing we never discussed—or tried not to—was work. Nothing kills an evening like a fifteen-minute recap on how the toner cartridge from the printer exploded on your hand. Those stories were reserved for our phone conversations.

“Unless you have a man over there—which I’m sure you don’t—I’m coming to get you. And on second thought, if you do have man over there, then I’m
still
coming over. Some miracles are worth seeing. I know you’ve heard me say it a million times but you need to put yourself out there. Brandon was a royal ass but you deserve someone who can appreciate your finely sharpened wit.”

“I wouldn’t want to put out anyone’s eye with my wit.” Not wanting to discuss that particular subject, I switched gears. “I take it I’m paying?”

“That, my dear girl, is the most fabulous part of all. Tonight it’s on the house.”

“Whose house?”

“Finnegan’s. Anything we want. That means food and drink, free of charge.”

“How did you swing that Sunshine?”

I dragged my stubborn feet to the floor, praying she had not slipped into the dark and lurid world of prostituting for rib eye.

“I have my sources. In fact,” she said in a voice edged with secrets, “I want you to meet my source. You met him once before—remember Marco?”

“Marco….”

I had to give it some thought. Sunny tried men like flavors of ice cream. I heard a short stubborn sigh on the other line and smiled.

“At Finnegan’s, he came over and I introduced you. Italian, tall, sexy accent?” She paused in irritation. “Mother of God, you spilled your beer on his lap.”

“Ohhh, Marco! Sure, I remember. Just how are his pants these days? I’m assuming you’ve been in them.”

“Ha-ha.”

“So why the reintroduction?” Sunny was never evasive; this was a girl who could talk nonstop about her trip to the nail salon, in
bleeding ear
detail.

“No time. Get ready because I’ll be there in an hour. Put a hustle in it!”

To be honest, I had no qualms about slumming it on my sofa for the evening, but Sunny would give me no choice in the matter. That girl was always on the prowl for men. I didn’t get that kind of attention she did, nor did I want it after my last relationship with Brandon.

The ex.

The one I tried to push away like a terrible nightmare.

After I turned twenty-nine, Sunny’s personal goal was to make sure that I had a good time. I loved her to the moon for it. I could tell her anything—she was the vault that held all my secrets. Plus no one else could make me laugh so hard I would spit out my drink out. I felt more comfortable with Sunny than anyone else in my life—especially my mother, who was about as affectionate as a Brillo pad.

Sunny approached life with a reckless abandon that I adored. The truth is, her and Max were all I had in the world.

“Hold down the fort, panther boy.”

Max glanced over his shoulder indifferently and proceeded to polish the windowpane with his tongue.

***

Fifty-six minutes later, I stepped off the curb as Sunny’s bright red mustang prowled around the corner. A glittery disco ball swung from the rear view mirror as she flung her arm out in a pageant wave. That girl was a walking cliché without a clue.

“Hey Sunshine,” I greeted, slipping into the passenger seat. As I buckled my seatbelt, I was blasted by the air conditioning that sent strands of coppery hair all over the place. I smoothed the ends and frowned—all that time wasted on straightening and gloss cream.

“Where are we going? I hope this is something you won in a radio contest and not one of the perks for dating a waiter.”

Sunny’s eyes flashed at me as she blew past a stop sign.

“
Owner
. Not waiter.”

“Ah, moving up the food chain are we? Nice.” I shocked her with a snap of static electricity.

“Cut it out!” she squeaked.

My friend gave a brilliant performance at hiding her amusement, but failed miserably. It was one of my few quirks. I could build up a static charge that was unparalleled. So naturally, I used it to my absolute advantage. It kept Max off the dining table and Sunny in check.

I felt the hostility behind those icy blue eyes and guilt crept up on me…until I became distracted by the glitter shadow on her lower lids.

“You know you’re a freak of nature, Zoë.

“But you love me, admit it.”

“Can you please move out of BFE? These half hour drives are killing me.” A topic she launched in almost every conversation in her futile attempts to get me to move in with her.

The girl lived downtown where the crime was as high as her rent (and her neighbor for that matter). Personally, I preferred to live as far away from prostitution and drunks as possible. I guess everyone has their thing.

The city invested in a public rail system after job expansion increased to accommodate the commuters. I loved the rail and rode it daily; after a while you start wondering why you need a car.

Forty minutes and two obscene gestures later, we arrived at Finnegan’s.

They had a huge bar that curved around two walls, and it was filling up fast. Mosaic candleholders brightened the tables and if I had a big enough purse I might be tempted to take one home. A busy game room was nestled behind closed doors but we never went in there; Sunny insisted a quality man would never be found lingering over a musty pool table. Winding stairs spilled into the dining room on the lower level—showy with its bright colors and metal art sculptures on the walls. The food was delicious, even if it was served on triangular plates.

“Follow me to the bar,” she called out over her shoulder.

Sunny floated across the room with the finesse of a cat and I followed her trail of perfume to a high table. She slid into the tall wooden chair crossing her sun-kissed legs as predatory eyes watched her from all angles. The form fitting black skirt and sparkling blue eyes were a deadly combination. Sunny had the kind of hair most girls would kill for—thick, wavy, honey blonde and styled fashionably above her shoulders. She could have been a model, but instead she was just adorable.

I on the other hand didn’t spend much time with primping. I was a few inches shorter than her 5’8” stature, but in heels no one noticed. She was always trying to drag me to go to the gym and tone up, but I liked my soft figure. I was slim but by no means perfect. My hair was like a chameleon—sometimes brown and other times a rich auburn. Overall, I may have been considered average, but I had a confident swing in my step that got noticed.