The Sacrifice Read online

  Copyright © 2017 Donna Collins

  The right of Donna Collins to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Willow Books.

  Cover Art: Jackie Elliff

  Cover Design: Will’ Terran

  Based on an idea by Donna Collins and Natalie Joppich

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle - ASIN: B0778P4V8B

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  Author’s Note

  Hunted: The Sacrifice

  More Books by the Author

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  About The Author

  I love the south-west of England.

  Needless to say, the majority of this book is set across Devon and Cornwall. Most of the places are real and some, although real, have a little of my imagination thrown in for good measure. It’s up to you to decide which aspects are true and which are false. For instance, it is true that James Hamilton’s residence is in Readymoney Cove in Fowey and based on the location of a house that Daphne de Maurier lived in for a year. And, it is true that if you walk towards the woods, there is a path that leads to the ruins that were once St Catherine’s Castle.

  I would also like to thank the following people who helped make this book happen.

  Natalie Joppich – to think, this all started with a paranormal script, a last-minute email from Warner and, of course, Baywatch.

  Jackie Elliff – Your artistic skills never fail to amaze me.

  Will Terran – For your great imagination.

  Kristen Lamb – For teaching me the ways of the WANA Warrior, and for taking me to pick a fight at the Bonsai Gardens.

  Mark, Megan, and Jamie – For bearing with me.

  For Dad

  My Rock. My Inspiration. My Hero.

  Who would you sacrifice to get what you wanted?

  When nurse Eliza Hamilton is mugged on her way home from work late one evening, the mysterious Roman Holbrook appears out of the darkness and fights off her strange attacker. He quickly disappears into the night before the police arrive, leaving a semi-conscious Eliza questioning if he was, in fact, a figment of her imagination.

  That is, until he shows up on her doorstep one rainy night – and all hell breaks loose again.

  But is this man her hero or does he have a more sinister motive for wanting her kept alive?

  The Sacrifice is the first novel in the Hunted Series.

  Resurrection

  The Undoing

  BOOK ONE

  THE SACRIFICE

  CHAPTER ONE

  TWO WEEKS AGO

  Amalfi Cathedral, Campania. Italy.

  The climbing harness cut into his groin.

  Roman shifted position, tried to ignore the dull ache as best he could, and listened.

  For forty-five sodding minutes he’d been hanging in the darkened caverns beneath the cathedral, listening.

  He pulled back his cap, ruffled his hair, and scratched his lobe. These earphones irked the shit out of him. Water droplets fell from the ceiling and splashed into the water fifteen metres below. At first the tiny splashes had absorbed his attention, each droplet falling exactly ten seconds apart. The bright light on his diver’s watch had timed the first twelve. After that, he’d grown bored and released the button. Now the noise just aggravated the hell out of him.

  The crowd in the room above shuffled across the floor, and Roman listened until the group exited through the north door. Time: quarter past seven. Time to rock and roll. He slid the headphones around his neck, hooked the listening device onto his belt, and pulled the additional ropes he’d secured to the ceiling to haul himself out of harm’s way. From his pocket he drew a pen-like detonator. He had exactly six minutes and forty-two seconds until the next tour arrived.

  Turning his face, he pressed the detonator. Pre-placed explosive wire fizzed to life, and debris rained down upon him. Light exploded in the air and ignited the damp, chiseled cavern, and only when visibility died did he turn back. The pungent aroma of sulphur hit the back of his throat, a taste he’d come to love, and he slipped the detonator back into its holster and released the rope until he hung underneath the weakened section of the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he raised his palms and pushed upwards, his arms shaking under the weight. The destabilised rock broke free and, with one last heave, flipped over onto the floor above him.

  Roman pushed the goggles up onto his head, loosened the harness around his waist, and pulled himself up through the small hole. Now perched on his arse, he illuminated his watch and glanced around the narrow sarcophagus he’d just broken into. Cobwebs, dirt, and the skeletal bones of St Andrew - wrapped in eroding cloth and crushed beneath the overturned concrete slab. Roman felt the underside of the coffin roof. Not jagged rock as before, but the cold smoothness of a more impressive, expensive stone. He placed his hands flat in the centre and slid it to one side. The onyx marble made a high-pitched squeal as it glided surprisingly easily apart, and Roman wondered how many dogs had heard. Once open, he popped his head out and gave the room a quick once-over. It was empty, as it should be, and he checked his watch again. Three minutes fifty-eight seconds remaining. Damn, he was fast.

  On the opposite side of the room, an old, oversized timber frame shrouded a wooden door. Ignoring several priceless antiques and treasures, Roman hurried towards it. Reaching over his shoulder for his backpack, he pulled out a bundle of material. Once unrolled, he removed four Plasticine pads and stuck them to the wall above the frame, each approximately a foot apart. Across them, he ran a metre-long length of wire and jammed each piece of clay with a small explosive. Then, he backed away from the door and took shelter behind a thick marble pillar.

  With the detonator in his hand again, he pressed the button. The wall above the door ripped apart and plaster and brick tumbled to the floor, sending a cloud of white debris gusting across the immaculately kept room. Roman raced back towards the door, stumbling across the minefield of broken limestone and concrete. Clearing the fog of dust from his view, he saw the wooden frame lying among the rubble. It could have been mistaken as part of a railway sleeper. Luckily, it wasn’t nearly as heavy as one. He dragged it back to the sarcophagus, tilted it upwards, and dropped it through the hole. It hit the shallow sewer below with more of a thunderous crash than a splash, and by the time the echo died, he’d already climbed back into the crypt.

  The hall door burst open and a herd of security men charged the room. Any sound the coffin made as Roman reset the lid was drowned out by the disorganised shouting of panicked guards. Another thirty seconds before the dust settled and his footprints around the crypt would be swallowed up by every Keystone Cop who scampered around up there. Roman reattached his harness, lowered himself down through the hole until water touched his feet, and then unhooked himself.

  Taking his baseball cap from his rucksack, he pulled it onto his head. The timber weighed heavily on his shoulder as he broke into a light run through the shallow sewer and towards the open sea.

  WEDNESDAY – PRESENT DAY

  Pendennis Port, Cornwall. England.

  Roman saw the old man – or at least saw his blacked-out Mercedes waiting at the docks.

  As he approached, the old timer got out, his grey hair combed over to cover the bald patch on top of his head, and his two
-piece suit no longer able to hide the hunch across his shoulders.

  Roman held out a hand but the old man crossed his arms, clearly discouraging any attempt to connect.

  “Do you have it?”

  Roman glanced over his shoulder and motioned towards the wooden crate being winched off the boat.

  “Good. As before, I will need to verify the contents before payment.”

  Roman blocked the pensioner’s path. “And as I said before, I need to know where the blood is.”

  “And, as I also said before, we are still working on that.” The old man turned towards his car. A burly gentleman emerged and raised an aluminum case into view. “Now. The contents?”

  Roman stood aside.

  A thin, almost anorexic-looking woman got out of the Mercedes and scurried over to the crate. She waited while a second, hefty-looking gentleman prised the lid off the box, and then examined the contents, her spindle-like fingers whisking through the straw packaging like a dog digging for its bone. It wasn’t until she gave a thumbs up that the old man signalled for the briefcase to be handed over.

  “Expenses for your next trip are also in there,” he said.

  Roman took the case. “Thank you. I’ll have the third piece back here day after tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be late, Mr. Holbrook. I have much depending on this arrangement of ours.”

  “We have much depending on it.” Roman looked the old man in the eye. “And I expect to hear some news about the blood then, as well.”

  “You will know as soon as I do.”

  Roman leaned in closer to the old man. “I hope you’re not thinking about shafting me.”

  “Shafting you?” The old man chuckled. “Do I have to remind you of what’s at stake? This arrangement between us will fall apart if we don’t work together.”

  “From where I’m standing, it feels like I’m the only one doing the work.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Have you forgotten what I am capable of doing to you?”

  “Don’t threaten me, old man. You can’t kill me.”

  The old man glanced at Roman’s hand. Immediately, Roman’s little finger snapped outwards to the side.

  A suppressed groan left Roman’s lips. He felt his face redden, cracked his finger back in place, and hoped his short-lived vulnerability had been overlooked. “Thought you’d have learned some new tricks by now.”

  “Likewise.”

  Roman didn’t need to look at his finger. He felt it realign with the knuckle. It was seconds from being fully healed. To prove the point, Roman raised his hand. “I could take your life like that.” He clicked his fingers.

  The old man smiled. “Then why don’t you?”

  Roman clenched his fist.

  The old man grinned. “We need each other, Mr. Holbrook. Whether you like it or not.”

  Roman relaxed his hand and stretched his fingers. He wanted to tell the old man to go fuck himself.

  “Remember, Mr. Holbrook. We want the same thing, you and I. I will soon have the blood.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and I will soon have the wood.”

  The old man headed back towards the car. After the skinny woman had gotten in, he climbed in alongside her. It was only after the car pulled away from the docks that Roman let out the frustrated breath he’d been holding. Shit. When exactly had he become the old man’s bitch? He slung his rucksack over his shoulder, picked up the briefcase, and headed towards the Aston parked in the far corner of the docks.

  He knew one thing for sure: the old man had no intention of handing over the blood. So Roman would just have to find it for himself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Doctor Bob Marino moved like a little boy trying to make it to the toilet on time.

  He swiped the stack of disposable surgical gloves and cardboard kidney dishes to the floor and patted the cleared surface, unable to hide the expectation of what the next few minutes would bring.

  Eliza Hamilton stepped forward, and Bob’s expression turned to one of pure excitement. He handed her a plastic champagne flute and topped it to the brim with a wine Eliza had never heard of, then gulped back the contents of his own glass and offered a strawberry from a supermarket punnet.

  “Happy birthday, Eliza,” he said, re-topping her glass. “How’s it feel hitting the big three-O?”

  Eliza took a strawberry and seductively bit it in half. “Officially, it’s not my birthday for another fifty-four minutes.”

  Bob was a handsome guy, although older than her by about fifteen years. He put down his glass, along with the punnet, and grinned like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. His arm slipped around her waist and he gently pushed her into a secluded corner of the supply cupboard.

  “I still have a patient to see before I can leave tonight.” Eliza glanced towards the door, her feeble attempts to stop him going unheard.

  “But I can’t hold back any longer.”

  “Someone could come in and find us.”

  A satisfied grin crept across his face. “C’mon. You’ve got five more minutes.”

  This tryst between the two of them was supposed to happen back at her place later, where she had a bed, and candles, and romantic music. Not now, in a cramped cupboard surrounded by bottles of liquid soap and a bin of used syringes. But Bob was gorgeous and had that Doctor Kildare thing down to a tee, and like some teenager with a school crush, Eliza felt extremely flattered at his persistence in trying to get her into bed. Okay, so it was true he’d slept with almost every nurse in the hospital, but Eliza hadn’t had sex in seventeen months – not that she was counting – and my God for once did she need to just let her hair down and live a little. It was this latter point that made it very hard to say no to Bob now. Well, that, and the staff gossip that ranked Bob’s sexual performance second to none. Oh God, was she actually going to go through with this and have some rushed, sneaky shag in a dingy hospital supply cupboard?

  Heck, yes.

  Bob eyed her, and his cocky smile widened. “We can do it all over again back at your place later. This can be the test drive.”

  His blue eyes sparkled, and although Eliza knew it had more to do with his bout of autumn hay fever and less to do with his Italian heritage, she couldn’t help but feel aroused.

  “And,” he pressed against her, his erection evident, “whatever we fail to discuss tonight, we could continue over breakfast tomorrow.”

  A full night of sleazy, sordid, hot, sticky sex. Guaranteed. Finally, that little red number from Victoria’s Secret would see some action. Oh, tonight would quench her yearning needs. Tonight, 50 Shades and the vibrator had the evening off.

  Bob maneuvered his thigh between her legs and gently tugged open the collar of her uniform. The stiffness in his trousers couldn’t be ignored.

  “What about my rounds?”

  “The patients can wait. Half the buggers are so drugged up they don’t even know what day of the week it is.” He ran his index finger along the edge of her bra and his eyes lowered to her bust.

  A shiver tickled the length of Eliza’s spine.

  He cupped her breast. “Oh, Eliza, I want you so much.”

  I want you, too. But maybe play a little harder to get. “Bob, I don’t think I can. Not like this.”

  “You’re right.” He took her champagne glass and lifted her onto the counter.

  “No, I mean I think I should finish my rounds and we continue this back at my place like we planned.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we will do all that. After. This won’t take long.” He hooked up the hem of her skirt, then fiddled with the buckle on his belt. “I need to unload before I burst.”

  Unload?

  “Rub it, baby. Tell me how much you need it.”

  Unload?

  Less than a second. That’s all it took for her fantasy to disappear in a puff of smoke. Goodbye, hot sex siren. Hello again, workaholic nurse...albeit now a seemingly naive one with moist knickers. “I’
m not a sperm bank,” she said.

  Bob nuzzled into her neck. “Mmm, I know. Now, spread ’em. Daddy needs in.”

  His aftershave wafted beneath her nostrils, and for a moment she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. Regardless of how much she needed this rendezvous, she had standards, and this sleazy tryst had just plummeted to a whole new level she didn’t appreciate. She slapped his hand from her breast.

  “I’ll be real quick, I promise,” Bob said, reaching for it again. “I can only release with you, baby.”

  The tip of his warm tongue teased her neck. His lips covered her skin. Was he actually giving her a love bite? Eliza grabbed a scuff of his hair and yanked his head back.

  A puzzled look clouded his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  She jumped down off the counter and straightened her uniform. The bastard had undone her bra. When the hell had that happened? “I’m sorry, but I have to go check on a patient.”

  “I don’t understand. Is it something I said?”

  Eliza stifled a laugh. He was almost funny. “No, no. I just feel like…” Bridget Jones...? “Daddy will have to release somewhere else tonight.”

  “And what am I supposed to do with that?” Bob looked down at his erect penis.

  “You have an imagination. Use it.”

  He smiled. “You have a mouth?”

  “I have many things, all of which are off limits to that thing tonight.”

  “But I won’t be able to leave this cupboard until it’s deflated. You could at least give me a hand.”

  “Tell you what, Bob, you give yourself a hand. I’m going to finish my rounds.”

  Bob’s lips tightened. “At least stay and watch.”