Once Upon a Time in Bliss Read online

  Once Upon a Time in Bliss

  Nights in Bliss, Colorado Book 8

  Lexi Blake

  writing as

  Sophie Oak

  Once Upon a Time in Bliss

  Nights in Bliss, Colorado Book 8

  Published by DLZ Entertainment LLC

  Copyright 2019 DLZ Entertainment LLC

  Edited by Chloe Vale

  ISBN: 978-1-942297-17-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Back in Bliss, coming September 10, 2019

  An excerpt from Lost in You by Lexi Blake

  About Lexi Blake

  Other Books by Lexi Blake

  Dedication

  For Kim, who always believes.

  Dedication 2019

  Flashback to roughly 2000. I meet this woman named Kim. She seems pretty cool. Our older kids are in the same kindergarten class and our younger kids are the same age. So we start a play group. It's nothing more than a few hours a week. We’re all housewives and it’s good to have some connection to other adults. It’s something to pass the long afternoons waiting to pick up the older kids.

  We do not know it at the time, but this is the beginning of a friendship that will change my life and alter my future because Lexi Blake does not exist without Kim Guidroz.

  Flash forward a few years and our kids are in third grade. We volunteer for the school and we’re room moms. We’ve fallen into a deep friendship. I’ve finished two books at the time but I’m not looking to actually publish them. They’re for fun. Somewhere in the back of my mind maybe one day I’ll do it. Kim asks to read one. I let her. She’s the first person to read my book and she offers to edit it. She encourages me. I make a crazy offer. Hey, if you help me out I’ll give you a percentage. It’s a good deal for me since I’m giving her a percentage of nothing. She works her ass off for that percentage and I start thinking…maybe.

  2010. It’s been years and she’s still with me. She’s still giving me her time and energy, lending me her inexhaustible strength when I am tired. She is beside me not because she thinks she’ll get a payday. She is beside me because we’re in this life together. Somehow we’ve become family in a way that will prove even stronger than blood. And I’m finally ready. We work hard and get a book called Small Town Siren in what we hope is good shape. We hit submit and pray.

  Ten years after we started, we’re an overnight success.

  I say “we” because this is truly a collaboration. She is my first editor, my assistant, the one who keeps me in line, often times my inspiration and always, always, always my sister. It’s been said that I am good at writing “found” family. It’s because she taught me what that means.

  So here we are almost ten years after we published our first book – twenty years into the friendship that changed the course of my life, and I’m so happy to put Nell back into the world.

  This book is dedicated now and forever to Kim – who always believes in me…

  Prologue

  Six years before

  A classified location in Colombia

  The man known as Bishop looked down at his handiwork.

  So much fucking blood. Why did the human body have to contain so much blood? The average male body contained six quarts of blood and there were six men on the floor. Thirty-six quarts of blood. That was what he’d spilled today. Thirty-six quarts of evil, drug-running blood, and it wasn’t enough and it never would be. The US government would make sure of that.

  “You doing okay?” a deep voice asked.

  He looked up and Ian Taggart was standing there. Tag was one of the younger operatives he was mentoring. He’d been recruited straight out of the Green Berets, and sometimes Bishop wondered if it would have been better for the man if he’d been left there. The big blond Viking of a man smiled less and less as the months went by. He was becoming a true CIA operative. “I’m fine. Did we lose anyone?”

  Bishop took a long breath, the hot Colombian air humid in his lungs. He was so fucking sick of foreign countries. He didn’t go to the nice parts. He didn’t get to walk around the pretty parts of Cartagena or enjoy the beach. No, he was sent to the pits of the world—the places where humanity and rights were a distant dream. Now he was here in a drug-torn section of Colombia.

  “Absolutely not,” Tag replied. “They might be soft because they’re SEALs and not Green Berets, but they’re still US military.”

  “Fuck you, Tag,” one of the aforementioned SEALs shouted, but there was no malice in the words.

  The SEAL team he’d gone in with high-fived and smiled as they joked with Taggart. They were heroes. They’d done their job, and they’d done it with precision and the perfect amount of mercy. They didn’t play with their targets. They took them out quickly when they could, giving the vicious killers an easier death than they deserved, because they were soldiers, not animals.

  Not like Bishop. Bishop did know what it was like to play with his targets. He was well versed in the art of getting what he needed. He knew the fine line between torture and reward and when to walk it. Yes, he knew how to get what he needed.

  But a question increasingly plagued him. What did he want?

  Lieutenant Wilder walked up, a smile on his face. Wilder was a big man, six foot seven at least. He dwarfed Bishop. He was lean and mean, and Bishop would bet Wilder had nothing on him when it came to brutality. “Hey, Mr. Bishop, are we done here? What more do you need from us? I’d like to call the extraction team and get my boys home.”

  Home. For SEAL Team 4, home was Little Creek, Virginia. For Bishop, home was a one-bedroom in DC with next to nothing in it. He lived out of a suitcase. He roamed from place to place with little to call his own. Nothing except the next bloody plan.

  “Give the boss a minute,” Tag said, sounding serious for once. The man could take sarcasm to its limits, but he also knew when to pull it back.

  Wilder’s brow furrowed as he looked at Bishop. “Come on, man, you gotta be happy about this. We just took down the biggest drug cartel in Colombia. Do you know how much coke we’re going to keep out of the States?”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell Wilder the truth. Even if he had, he was contractually obligated not to. This operation wouldn’t keep an ounce of cocaine off the streets. The CIA and the American government had taken down one cartel to give the business to another. A more US-friendly drug dealer. One that would prop up the US-approved local gover
nment.

  But SEAL Team 4 was just a tool, and they didn’t get to make the big decisions.

  Fuck, the world would be a better place if they did. “Yes, Lieutenant. We’re done here. You can call the extraction unit.”

  The choppers would come for them all, and he would be taken back to Langley where he would debrief all the right people and say all the right things, and spend a night or two in that bland apartment that held nothing of his soul before being shipped out to the next hellhole.

  Was this what a midlife crisis felt like?

  “Awesome,” the lieutenant said. “I’ve got a little girl who’s having a birthday party tomorrow and I don’t want to miss it.”

  The lieutenant strode off, calling his men to him.

  “I do not get that.” Tag shook his head. “Kids. They’re stinky and weird, and did I mention they make a lot of poop they expect you to clean up? I’m never having kids.”

  Having children wasn’t a good idea when one worked for the Agency.

  He was thirty-five years old, and he had no idea who the hell he was. He was who the Black Ops team had made him. He was who the CIA had molded him into.

  “That’s probably a good idea. They make such excellent leverage against a man,” Bishop commented.

  “Dude, you are even more cranky than normal. Let’s get on the chopper, head back to the States, and find a club to hit.” Taggart spent a lot of his off time in BDSM clubs, a hobby they shared, though Taggart went about it with his normal enthusiasm and Bishop went through the motions these days.

  Taggart was something like a son to him, though they weren’t so far apart in age. He’d been in the Agency years longer, and sometimes wondered if he’d ever had the younger man’s energy. “I think I’ll have to pass this time. I’ve got a couple of leads I need to follow up on while I’m here in Colombia. And you shouldn’t party too hard. I heard you’re heading to the Middle East with Tennessee.”

  Another of his protégées. Ten was incredibly smart. He was ruthless in a way Bishop wasn’t sure Tag was yet. He would get there.

  For some reason the thought made Bishop infinitely sad.

  “Yeah,” Tag said with a sigh. “I really need to find some bad shit happening in France or Spain. I could use some tapas. Germany, maybe. I’m Ten’s backup, and we all know that means I’m stuck in some craphole motel without room service eating MREs and trying to figure out how the TV works.”

  Unfortunately, he didn’t see a lot of work for Tag in the more luxurious parts of the world. “Have you talked to your brother lately? Isn’t he in the Middle East?”

  Tag’s face went completely blank, a sure sign he didn’t want to talk about this. “Sean’s busy. He just got promoted and he’s got a group of friends. He’s in good with a couple of guys on his team. Adam and Jake. They seem cool. I don’t think he needs his big brother taking up time, if you know what I mean.”

  Oh, he knew exactly what Tag meant. Talking to his brother would mean lying to his brother, so he simply ignored the situation. All the while he was putting distance between himself and the people he’d cared about before he’d joined the Agency. Yes, Bishop understood that far too well.

  “I think you should call him.” He put a hand on Tag’s broad shoulder. “Make it a part of your routine. Once a month you call your brother. I know it’s hard, but it’s necessary for you to maintain ties to the outside world. You need to remember that this isn’t normal.”

  Tag’s lips quirked up. “Standing around in the middle of dead bodies? It oddly feels normal to me.”

  And that was the problem. Bishop winced and moved toward the door that led outside. There was a large porch that wrapped around the house that cocaine had built. It looked out over the peaceful grounds. Of course they were only peaceful now because the SEALs had done their jobs, and done them well.

  “But I do get you,” Tag was saying as he joined him on the porch. “I’ll call my brother and I’ll reach out to a couple of friends. Alex and Eve. They’re throwing themselves an anniversary party soon. I was kind of thinking of skipping it, but I was Alex’s best man. I was thinking I could throw him a flashback bachelor party and if I leave it to Sean, it will be all about gourmet food and won’t have a stripper in sight.”

  “You can’t have that.”

  “You know you could come with me. Alex lives right outside DC. He’s a cool guy,” Tag offered.

  He knew everything there was to know about the young FBI agent. Working up dossiers on all the people in Taggart’s life had been part of the process of recruiting him. Actually meeting those people in real life would be a breach of his personal protocol.

  He could get on that chopper with the SEALs and Tag, but it wouldn’t take him anywhere close to home. He didn’t have one. He’d given up his search for a home the minute he’d decided to join the CIA and forgo the whole “have a life” thing.

  At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Years and experience had proven otherwise. He hadn’t truly made a difference. He’d simply made it easier for blood to flow and the power players to get exactly what they wanted.

  There was no such thing as good. No such thing as humanity.

  He sat down in a chair that had likely been chosen by a dead man. He didn’t want to get on that helicopter, but he didn’t know where he would go. He had no place. No friends he could be open and honest with.

  He liked Taggart, but he was the man’s boss. He had to hold himself apart. He had to make decisions that could actively put him in danger. He couldn’t be friends with anyone.

  “Unfortunately, I have to stay here for a few days.” He didn’t, but he couldn’t work up the will to tell Taggart the truth about why he wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. He couldn’t tell him that men who called themselves Bishop and ignored their real names didn’t get to have friends.

  Well, he had one. Bill Hartman, his former CO. Where had that come from? He hadn’t thought about Bill in years. Bill had been the one who’d tried to convince him he shouldn’t leave the Army to join the CIA. Bill had offered him a job in his business back in Colorado. He’d been like a father, but Bishop hadn’t had a father in so long, he’d forgotten to listen.

  What if he didn’t go back to DC? What if he decided to come in from the cold and find somewhere warm and private? What if he walked away from it all?

  His real name was gone. Erased. He had no home. No family. No life.

  He was nothing. Nothing at all.

  “It’s probably for the best.” Taggart shook his head as he looked out over the yard where the SEALs were packing up. “They are one lovey-dovey couple. I mean it can get nauseating. I love them. I do, but sometimes Alex looks like he’s going to burst into song or something. I’m never getting married.”

  Tag went on, talking about all the ways he was going to keep his life simple. Bishop found a set of comfortable-looking chairs.

  He sat in a dead man’s chair, the sun moving over the horizon like a veil closing, beckoning him to choose a side. The comfortable side? The one where he was a ghost and he didn’t have to worry about anything but completing his next assignment? Or something new?

  Time passed, the sun waning in the background as the blood around him cooled. It was a mess that would be left for someone else to clean up. His brain worked but nothing really congealed. He was stuck. He was lost.

  He had no idea how to be found.

  “Hey, Bishop, Tag.” The lieutenant leading the SEAL team ran up, his pack slung over his back as the thud thud of the chopper blades could be heard in the distance. “We need to get to the extraction point. We’re green in five minutes. Back home. First beer’s on me.”

  It was a false promise the lieutenant made. He knew damn well that once they hit US soil, Bishop would walk away and they would likely never see each other again. CIA operatives didn’t go out for a cold one with the team afterward. CIA operatives didn’t get close to the soldiers they might have to sacrifice like chess pieces in a
nasty game.

  Tag grabbed his own pack. “I will take you up on that, Lieutenant. Where I’m going next, the beer is nonexistent.”

  Taggart would sit with the men. He would joke around and be one of them for a while. He wasn’t so far gone he couldn’t still be one of the guys.

  How long since he’d sat down for a beer with a human being who knew his real name? Sometimes it seemed so fucking far away.

  What if he took a vacation? Would the world really end? What if he took a single week to relax and be someone else? And then he’d go back to this life he’d chosen. Surely he could take one week.

  He had passports the CIA didn’t even know about. He wasn’t stupid. He knew he could be burned at any moment. He had money and IDs stashed. He could say he’d gotten a lead and had to follow on the down low.

  One friend. Maybe it was time to visit him. Just for a week to clear his head.

  “Go on. I’ll make my own way back,” he said, rising from the chair, his choice made.

  “Must be a hell of a lead.” Tag jogged down the steps. “Stay safe.”

  The lieutenant gave him a thumbs-up. “Good luck, Bishop. Fight the good fight.”

  The SEALs jogged out in their tight formation, Taggart joining them like he’d done it a million times.

  The good fight? He’d thought he was, but now he wasn’t sure. Maybe there was no good to be fought for.

  He turned his mind to his friend. The last he’d heard, Bill was in a little town in Colorado.

  Bliss.

  Bliss was a good thing to seek. He hadn’t had a whole lot of bliss in his life. And he didn’t have a family anymore. He hadn’t had a family in a long time. It had just been him and his mother, and after she’d died, he’d been through a long stream of foster parents until he’d made his way into the Army. Bill had been his family for a while.