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  ALL BLUES

  A novel by

  Marie Wathen

  **Warning** Trigger scene possibility in this book for anyone who has suffered abuse. Due to graphic language and explicit sex scenes, this book is not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

  Synopsis:

  Baptized into the world of the southeast’s leading drug cartel, Ethan Sloane lives an existence riddled with betrayal. Raised the eldest son of the Lieutenant in the infamous X’kapz cartel, Ethan’s grim reality is accepting his fate of walking in his father’s footsteps. Buried beneath deep layers of trained acceptance and lies, lurks a decent man needing escape. Ethan breaks through the hard surface of deceit, extracting his coveted freedom.

  Resurfacing exactly the opposite of what he fears the fates planned, Ethan becomes a well respected Atlanta Police Officer, finally on the right side of the law. Even living the good life, he is driven with a relentless desire to inflict punishment for the wrong committed against his family. Deciding that retribution is worth throwing away the good, he goes undercover to infiltrate the deadly X’kapz. Almost immediately, Ethan “Blues” Sloane is promoted to second in command, the same role once held by his father.

  Unexpectedly, Blues discovers that drugs aren’t the only thing in this world that is addictive. Angel is the erotically beautiful woman with the good girl history mixed with a bad girl attitude. She is a major distraction for a man whose one constant is obtaining the truth. Evading Angel’s allure so that he can finish what he started and get everyone that he cares about out alive becomes a difficult mission. In his shadowy hell, she is the lone beacon guiding him toward something better.

  Lies can drown a person, consume and erase one’s soul. Nevertheless, if used properly they also hold the power to save. Keeping his undercover role a secret is paramount to everyone’s survival. Unfortunately for Blues, withholding the truth from Angel equals relinquishing all hope of a life that promises true love. Blues discovers that giving up something that you desperately crave is easier said than done. This isn’t a pretty story, nothing about drugs ever is, but the romance that surfaces within the dark life of a cop submerged under the criminal’s lies is Ethan’s, and can only be called All Blues.

  ALL BLUES

  Copyright © 2014 Marie Wathen

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the owner. Excerpts for reviews–only when stated as such and quoted–are an exception.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Resemblance to actual person, living or dead, events or locales, are entirely coincidental.

  Editor: ERM Editing

  Proofreader: Doug Carden

  Published by Marie Wathen PO BOX 239 Vincent, AL 35178

  Cover Art Design & Formatting: Sarah Sprinklepants with Sprinkles on Top Studio

  Photographer: Eric Battershell Photography

  Model: Joshua Scott Brown

  Dedication

  Blues is dedicated to the fans of the All series. What started out as a response to all the requests of a few chapters in his POV, turned into an outline of a novella. But then, Blues wouldn’t shut up. And really, he deserves more than a measly forty thousand words. What you have is a full-length novel of his account. However, it is hardly the same tale as All This Time. So if you read Sam’s version, you may think that you know what’s going on, but your assumptions are way off. His is a complicated story with some twists that might actually blow your mind. You asked for him, Mafia Babes, so the sex-god is all yours.

  Chapter One

  “Those things are going to kill you, Eth,” Jude insists, stepping out through the back access door of Holidays–the popular jazz club that we’re hanging out at tonight–and finding me smoking a cigarette before my solo saxophone performance.

  Deep bass vibrations and a high-pitched trumpet tone follow him, and are barely muffled when the solid metal door snicks closed again. The hot breeze on this May night in downtown Atlanta feels like a heavy pressure building along my skin. I can feel something different in the air tonight. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like my mind or soul has been expecting it for a while. Vicious anger rises through my body, spiking my blood, and I swallow hard, forcing it back into control.

  “You’re probably right.” Cutting a bitter look at him, I grunt before taking a deep pull from the damp butt of my short, extra light, sissy-bitch smoke. “Unfortunately, this pathetic excuse for a Marlboro won’t do the job tonight like I hope it will,” I counter with heavy hostility saturating my tone directed toward my partner of nearly two years.

  U.S. Marshall Jude Kinsley, alias Wise Kingston, joins me in a deadly quest, a con to beat all others, in taking down one of the most ruthless drug lords in southeast USA. Jude comes directly from Homeland Security. Over the past twenty months, he has been more than a partner. Jude is like a brother, and definitely my best friend. His sweet wife, Natalie, and their two children treat me like family. No one can ever know any of this, or we will all die.

  “Don’t get that bitch tone with me, brother,” Jude smirks, slapping a hand on my back. “Your idea to quit, remember?” He pulls out a pack of full-flavor cigarettes and lights one up. “Besides no one told you to smoke chick cigs to help you quit.” He glances at my short menthol, blows a puff of smoke at my face, and then when I don’t take the bait of his taunting, he changes the subject. “When is the big day?”

  I half-chuckle, half-sneer, and then reply, “She fucking wishes!”

  “The Queen always gets her wish.”

  “With me, she has no hope of getting that one.” I crush the glowing fire that I flick off my smoke against the asphalt underneath the heel of my black boot. “Marriage isn’t in my future. Just thinking about being with Lourdes Kennedy for a lifetime makes my gut churn.”

  “She is beautiful, intelligent, and with that hot bod, she’ll rock your fucking world in bed. What more can you ask for in a life-partner?”

  “I don’t give a damn if she has a golden pussy and can shift that shit into overdrive during the ride on my dick, I am not going there.”

  “No one said you have to fuck her.” Jude chuckles deeply. “Like that would really be so bad. You just need to make her believe that you’re together. Once you get that sealed, you’ll be one step closer to getting the information we need to prosecute Nelson.”

  “I’ve never felt more driven about ending this damn case than I am at the moment,” I growl, reaching for the door handle, holding it closed so I can prevent anyone from interrupting our conversation. I can remember the days that I enjoyed our assignment, expecting to get a confession easily, and then return back to my life prior to giving it all up to work for the devil. But those feelings are long gone and I fucking hate this disgusting life. Every day that this farce continues is like living in perpetual night, knowing that I’ll never feel the warmth of tomorrow’s sun.

  Jerking off my black rimmed glasses and piercing him with a determined look, I insist, “Get on the phone with Lassiter and let him know that we’re setting up a meeting soon with one of Nelson’s South American sellers, Juan Arturo. I want extra undercover guys brought in and wired up for this one. Distribution is not as strong of a sentence as the murder charges would hold, but it’s a huge shipment. We’ll take down everyone who is in anyway linked to the X’kapz. I need off this job now.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I’m not kidding. I hate this shit.”

  “Ah, come on Eth,” Jude jokes, using my preferred nickname, because he knows how much I loat
he my real name. He flicks the dead butt of his cigarette into the rancid smelling dumpster, wedged against the brick wall five feet away from us. “You’ll miss me when this gig is over.” He totally blows off my urgency to end this caricature of a life.

  Yeah, I said it, and part of me really means it. The truth though is I am driven by an unrelenting desire, buried deep within my dark soul, to get justice for the hell that Nelson Kennedy, the mafia boss of the X’kapz drug cartel, has turned my world into. I’ll stop at nothing, and no one will prevent me from serving it. Not even myself. Jude knows it, too. Equal condemnation is imminent for that son of a bitch.

  Still ignoring his goading, I slide my glasses into the inside pocket of my black leather jacket while jerking open the door and strolling into the smoke-filled employee lounge. Laughing as he passes me, Jude continues striding out toward the bar. After taking a leak, I drape my jacket over the back of a chair, grab my sax and warm up my lips, focusing more on the job than the tune that I’m practicing.

  Being the eldest child of Oscar Sloane IV, former Gulf of Mexico drug lord, isn’t something that I’ve ever been proud of, even after my father defected from the cartel, which he had partnered for thirty years. Mainly, I was disappointed because he didn’t actually leave behind the lascivious lifestyle. In fact, my father, Uncle Owen, and William Kennedy, Nelson’s younger brother, were working on a conglomeration, breaking off with some of the most ruthless members of the X’kapz. Their plans further included combining with some European drug kingpin, leaving Nelson’s mafia to fall from the top rankings slot of the northern hemisphere’s ‘Most Notorious’. The England based entrepreneur was said to be in the business of manufacturing, and was looking for partners eager to distribute his creation. Unfortunately and all too untimely, my parents, uncle and Nelson’s brother and sister in law, all died ten years ago when their plane crashed.

  My five year career with the Atlanta police department and close friendships with many law enforcement officers in most of the local departments afforded me access to many top secret cases. A buddy of mine in Homeland Security provided just such information on the FCC’s inquiry into my parent’s deaths. Unfortunately, all of the initial evidence that they came up with wasn’t concrete enough to point fingers at any one person specifically and they closed the case without launching a full blown investigation. In my opinion, their quick investigation felt sloppy and that was probably because of the identities of the victims. My suspicions were affirmed when I repeatedly came across incidents of mismanaged bits and pieces, and a video recording with one of the flight maintenance crew members who assured them that the two year old, company owned plane was in mint condition, and the problem must have been an error on the pilot’s end. He confided that he believed the elderly man was depressed, and a well-known alcoholic, who had no family to leave behind and that he loathed his bosses’ enough to take them down with him. With his testimony, the department wrapped up the investigation. The investigator noted that there was no detection of sabotage, but after reading through his notes and watching that bastard lie during the interview, I felt it in my gut, like a rock sunk down into muddy waters. The truth was there, you just couldn’t see through the calculated cover-up with the naked eye.

  Before his passing, I remember one afternoon when my father told me how Nelson lost his shit when he demanded that Nelson buy him out. Money was never anything for Nelson to worry about, but he is a greedy bastard. During my own online investigating into my father’s private files, I discovered that the cartel’s head accountant noted in his online journal that he broached the subject of a huge discrepancy between what Nelson reported to the ranking officers and what his books actually reflected. He became suspicious of numerous off-shore accounts, and smartly documented his discovery precisely before gathering his courage to confront Nelson. I have no idea of what prompted him to make such a risky move. Sadly, the accountant died two days after the entry was noted–the same day that he confided his fears to my father.

  The government and our judicial system may not believe they have anything other than circumstantial evidence, but after thumbing through copies of their reports, I refused to buy that bullshit. After garnering approval from my Police Chief and with assistance from the HLS Administrator, I took leave from the job to pursue the ice cold trail of the murder investigation. I don’t work because I need the money. I am a law enforcement officer because I believe in the work and want to save lives.

  Along with my department supervisor and with the Marshall’s offices’ assistance, we worked out a ploy to make me appear as though the apple didn’t fall far from my rotten family tree. A fake drug shipment was set up for me to confiscate while on duty. Then once our drug task force finished processing the scene and everything was documented, a very large portion of the load was lifted from the secure evidence lockers within the crime lab. There was only one signature on the log sheet during the time between processing and discovery of the heist. Mine.

  I was taken into custody immediately. However, with the unwavering support of my father’s best friend and business partner, Nelson Kennedy, I was released just as quickly. Needless to say, with my unemployment status hanging out there like a neon-sign for everyone to see, I was washed up as a law enforcement officer. Nelson offered me a position on his crew. Thanks to my street contacts, I increased his earnings significantly within the first six months. Because of my due diligence and unwavering commitment to his organization, not to mention because of who my father was, I was ushered up the ranks, leapfrogging over his own blood-relative, and given the rank of Lieutenant, second in command. Hillary “Decks” Kennedy, Nelson’s nephew and William’s son, wasn’t interested in climbing up the family corporate ladder, so there wasn’t any tension between us after the abrupt promotion.

  The only problem I face at the present time is getting Nelson to trust me enough to confess his transgressions. I need to hear the words come out of his mouth. The son of a bitch will give me every damn password to every damn account listed under his godforsaken name, but that one bit of information, which I consider pure gold, the old coot won’t divulge. My last resort in winning his complete trust is securing a relationship with his niece, Lourdes Kennedy. I absolutely hate the uppity bitch, but this union is Nelson’s idea.

  Up until tonight, I haven’t so much as given her a second look the entire time that I’ve been with Nelson. Even before then, when we were growing up alongside each other, I ignored Lourdes’ attempts at making me hers. However, this evening I am finally making us legit as a couple in front of our Holidays’ crew during her brother Decks’ birthday celebration. Lourdes doesn’t even suspect what I have planned for her this evening. Jamming my fist into my front jean pocket, my thumb slides over the silky ribbon bunched up in the bottom, and I shudder. It makes me physically sick just thinking about hooking up with her. So much so that I can’t even utter the words. Instead, I’ll just have to show her.

  Tonight, I forfeit my morals for the sake of this case again. Fucking the bitch from hell isn’t something that I will enjoy, but it’s quite possibly the only way that my sacrifices will have a purpose. It is my last option in garnering the truth. I hope.

  Chapter Two

  “Fucking Christ, that shit was smooth, Blues,” North, the band’s drummer, shouts through the throngs of sweaty people greeting me as I step off the stage at the end of my solo. Blues is the nickname that he awarded me last year after my first set with the three-man jazz team. The Zill headlines at Holidays every night when the club is open. Occasionally, I’ll sit in. Tonight is one of those special times. Decks requested it for his birthday.

  North offers me a whiskey, and I chug it fast, building my courage and praying that the shit stays down. I suspect that it will threaten to come back up the moment I have to kiss the blonde troll later on her ugly, over-injected lips. Speaking of Lourdes, I don’t know if she has arrived yet. Quite frankly, I couldn’t care less. I wasn’t really looking for her while I was on
stage. For some reason, I just performed the best damn song of my life, and I don’t even give a shit if my soon-to-be girlfriend missed it or not.

  From the first breath, that piece came alive, and I felt like I was playing for someone special. A woman who doesn’t think she is a superior over everyone else. The song that I chose isn’t usually played so slowly. Once I started though, it felt like I was wrapped in an embrace with a sexy lover and I wanted to savor her. With each note, I devoured her lips, pressed kisses against the tinted flesh above her breast, and lapped up every juicy inch of my favorite spot on a woman. The instrument was calling out to someone, and with every puff of air across the reed, I could feel a sensation of tiny hands sliding along every inch of my flesh, begging to possess me and I was more than willing to let her have her way.

  Not wanting to tip off Nelson to my undercover conspiracy, and because I have been so focused on work for the past several months, I haven’t had a free minute to get laid. After that damn song, I’m going to need several more drinks or a freezing-ass shower before the Queen makes her grand entrance. There ain’t no fucking way that I’m letting Lourdes touch me while I still feel the lingering effects of seduction pulsing through my veins, caused by some fantasy woman.

  Since the diva thrives on attention, it’s still too early for her anyway. Lucky me! A perfectly timed entrance is her favorite way to piss off her brother. Whenever she chooses to arrive is always ill-timed for me.

  Shaking off the hot desire surging through me, I tug out a smoke from the flip box, slip it between my bulging lips, which are still tingling from playing, and then light it, drawing in a deep breath. I make eye contact with my two armed guards, who trail me specifically to take down any threat and make sure that I stay alive. Zeke nods and I notice that Bale’s jaw is ticking. An agitated assassin is the last thing that I need. The crowd around me makes him edgy. I need to send him off on a vacation soon.