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  Cover Artist: Reese Dante

  Editor: Venus Cahill

  Laird's Choice © 2012 Remmy Duchene

  ISBN # 9781614954071

  Attention Readers: This book uses US English.

  All rights reserved.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.

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  Dedication

  For Tyler C

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Rolex: Rolex Watch USA, Inc.

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Guinness: Arthur Guinness, Son & Co.

  Laird's

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  Prologue

  "Hey Cowboy! You leaving us?"

  Race McKade walked, chin up, eyes forward, down

  the long corridor. It'd been so long since he'd walked down them without chains around his wrists and ankles. The piece of paper in his back pocket was burning a hole in it. It was the one thing that gave him permission to take his life back. It was a piece of paper he would hold on to for the rest of his life.

  At the door, the guard stopped Race and patted his shoulder.

  "Don't come back," the guard warned. "Shit, Race, you weren't supposed to be here in the first damn place.

  Don't make it a habit."

  Race nodded but said nothing. He walked by the

  guard, stepped up to a window, and watched the man behind the bars. He was slightly balding and rummaging through a box. When he finally looked up, Race felt an overwhelming urge to shrug. Refraining, he waited for the man to give him the few things he'd been arrested with.

  "One Rolex watch—gold." He shoved the watch through the hole in the bars and Race picked it up and strung it around his wrist. "One silver necklace with a gold S pendant and a shark's tooth pendant."

  Race tossed the necklace over his head and inhaled deeply when the pendants hit his chest. He'd been away from it for so long. He brushed a finger over the S pendant and felt a closeness to it he hadn't felt in eight years. Taking a breath, he accepted a few other things, and with one final look around, he followed a couple of guards out the door.

  They stopped and stood aside as the gates swung

  open and he walked through. Stepping into freedom for the first time in eight years was like breathing again. He lifted his head, shook his hair out, and then closed his eyes. The sun on his face felt different—the way the wind brushed his skin was different. Everything about being free was different. The gates clanged shut behind him causing him to jerk around. The guards waved at him but Race only stared at them until they left. He was left once more, in the middle of nowhere, alone with the demons inside his head. He took a moment to press his eyes closed then stared up at the sky.

  It was wonderful seeing the clouds move slowly across the heavens without bars in the way. The sky looked attainable to him then—almost like he could reach up and touch it.

  "Race!"

  Jerking his head around, he glanced over his

  shoulder at the sudden tear through his thoughts but couldn't help the smile that danced about his lips. He extended his arms to the man and held on tightly. He pressed his eyes shut, stuck his face into Winston's neck, and inhaled. Clutching the back of the man's shirt, Race didn't want to step away, not yet. Winston must have known, for he said nothing. He simply held Race until Race took a breath and stepped back.

  "Hey." Race smiled, brushing a knuckle over Winston's left cheek.

  "Hey, yourself." Winston laughed, pulling Race back into a tight hug. "It's good to see you, Race."

  "How've you been?" Race stepped out of Winston's arms to ask.

  Winston wrapped an arm around Race's hips and

  led him to the car. "I've been good. Get in."

  Race climbed into the truck beside his friend and pulled his seat belt on. When he was settled and the truck was moving through the streets, he rested his head back and pushed some air out of his mouth.

  "I have some good news for you," Winston said, checking the mirrors.

  "Lay it on me. I'm pretty sure I can take it."

  Winston arched a brow and chuckled. "Well, the police department doesn't want to go to court over your conviction. They saw it my way when I said the media would get involved and things would get a hell of a lot

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  more complicated for them."

  "What does that mean?" Race shifted in his seat.

  "It means, Race, you're fifty million dollars richer as of yesterday."

  Race's eyes widened and he jerked upright. Staring at Winston, he wondered if he was hearing things. He had to be. That was it! He was dreaming and in a few minutes he'd wake up in his cell, cold sweat running down his body, chest heaving and eyes burning. He'd wake to inmates screaming down the hall, and when he walked by the other lifers they'd be dragging their metal cups along the bars screaming "fresh meat".

  "Race? Race!"

  "I'm going to wake up in a few seconds," Race whispered, turning his head to look out the window. "I'm going to wake up and you
'll be gone. All of this will be gone and I'll have lost everything again."

  Winston pulled over to the side just at the sign

  "You're now entering Eros: Have a safe drive." Race took a breath and hung his head. Winston took his shoulder.

  "Race, listen to me. The nightmare is over now. I promised you I would stick by your side until the end and I did. You're free. We made the bastards pay; now it's up to you to live the rest of your life how you want. With that kind of change, you can do anything you want to—well

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  practically anything."

  Race lifted his head. He read Winston's brown eyes and smiled. The smile wasn't so much for himself but for Winston. There were so many thoughts, so many regrets and debates rushing through his head. Reaching over, he hugged Winston to his chest and when he released him, Race was breathing somewhat normally again.

  "We good?" Winston asked.

  "Yeah." Race felt the corners of his mouth tug upward. "Fifty million dollars."

  "Before you were convicted you were worth forty-two million. The other eight is for the eight years you spent in there."

  "I bet they weren't happy about it."

  "No. But do we really care? They screwed up

  royally with you and I wasn't about to let them off the hook that easily. Sure, the money doesn't solve everything but it's a heck of a start. Anyways, happy thoughts now. I'm going to take you to my place. You can sleep on a real bed for once then wake up tomorrow with a fresh mind."

  "A real bed… I don't know how good that's going to be for my back."

  Winston chuckled. "That's the beauty about being free, my friend! You can choose where you want to sleep!"

  Race nodded with a small smile. "Thanks,

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  Winston."

  "Hey, you'd have done the same for me, so no thanking me. You hungry? I am craving grits."

  Race grinned. "You haven't changed a bit."

  "Why? When you obviously love the old, sexy me."

  "My bad," Race laughed.

  He looked out window and visions of that day

  flashed through his mind.

  "Don't move Race, please."

  "You're helping them do this to me, X?" Race questioned, with his hands behind his head.

  "They wanted to send the Trigg after you. He shoots first and asks questions later, man. Do you think I could let his team come after you? Damn it, Race, how'd you get into this mess?"

  "Want us to take him, X?" someone called.

  "Nah, I got this," Xavier replied. He turned back to Race. "Sit down for a second. Everyone else clear the room."

  "Listen to me… I don't know what happened but I know you couldn't hurt Shane. But why the hell did you run?"

  "I didn't know what else to do…" He swallowed. "I don't know what to do now."

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  "Now, you face up to what's coming. I don't know what that is but it will look good that you didn't fight us. I'm not going to cuff you because as your friend I will show you that respect but please don't make me regret this."

  "Race? Race?"

  Race shook his head to clear the memory and

  looked around at Winston with a smile. "Yeah?"

  "We're here! Come on!"

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  Chapter One

  Laird sat across the table from Xavier. Jose had left them for the night for some booty call in Century. The thought made Laird smile. He could remember his last booty call—three years ago. It just seemed he was too old for that kind of behavior. Taking a drink from his beer, he eased back into the seat and released a breath while Xavier peered at his phone, which had beeped. It was probably a call to head to the station.

  "The station?" Laird questioned.

  "Nah, just Salsa being a dick," Xavier replied.

  Rajan entered the room and flopped down across

  from Laird after pressing a kiss to Xavier's lips. The two had been dating for so long, it just seemed normal to have Xavier around.

  "Laird, I wanted to talk to you about something."

  Laird leaned forward. "Sounds serious. What's up?"

  "I was offered a role in a TV show that's being developed by a major production company right now. It's a brilliant idea but I don't know if I can carry a whole series.

  We both know how finicky television viewers are and if it gets less than three million viewers, it gets cancelled."

  "I told him to take a chance," Xavier pointed out. "I

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  mean, his first English-speaking movie did so well they're talking sequel. How bad could it be?"

  "X is right you know," Laird said.

  Xavier laughed. "I never get tired of hearing that."

  Rajan tossed a peanut at him with a grin.

  "What's the show about?" Laird questioned.

  "It's a detective show—the detective went through some kind of trauma in the military and for some reason he can't remember anything. But he's good at his job…

  apparently every season there will be some major

  recollection or danger from his past that will cause everything to spiral out of control."

  "Makes sense." Laird nodded.

  "That's one idea…" Rajan got up to open the fridge.

  When he sat again, he had a bowl of grapes in his hand.

  "The second idea is about an elite SWAT team…"

  "Like the SIU?" Laird reached for a handful of the cold grapes.

  "No. This team operates under the radar… they can go across borders… The reason why I'm so hesitant is this would be filmed in Canada. I'll be gone eight months out of the year."

  "He's worried about me," Xavier said. "Like I said to you before, take a chance, baby. I am a big boy—I can visit you. You can come home. I'm not going anywhere so

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  when you wrap and come home, I'll be here."

  Rajan smiled.

  "I say do it, Raj. I'm pretty sure when Sav and Jamal come back they'll tell you the same thing. Go and do this television show. It'll be something to make you work while you're not in India. And you always said you wanted to branch out."

  Their conversation continued, slowly deviating

  from Rajan's decision to Savaro as they wandered from the kitchen to the living room. Savaro and Jamal had taken their thirteen-year-old son, along with his high school soccer team and cheerleaders, to Brazil for some kind of championship. They didn't exactly take them—Jamal and Savaro were the chaperone parents for the games. Laird suddenly felt as though he was missing something in his life. He ran his hand over his bearded face. It'd been a couple of days since he'd shaved. He didn't really see the point.

  "I didn't notice it before but you look like a hobo,"

  Rajan joked.

  "Yeah, bite me." Laird lifted his beer to his lips to hide a smirk.

  "You've been quiet, Laird," Xavier said, reaching over to drop a kiss to Rajan's head. "You all right?"

  "I don't know," Laird replied. He took a drink from his beer before lifting his eyes to his brother's boyfriend.

  "Lately something doesn't seem right and I can't put my finger on it."

  "Ah yes… the famous paranoia us Anatolis men are so famous for," Rajan said.

  "You're an ass, you know that?" Laird couldn't help his smile though.

  Rajan took a dramatic breath before reaching over to grab Laird's hand.

  "Don't be afraid, Laird Anatolis! And if you see a bright
, white light, just stay away from it."

  Xavier burst out laughing as his pager went off.

  Laird knew what it meant—the SWAT team captain had to go. Smiling, he held out a fist to Xavier. When it was bumped he watched his brother kiss Xavier goodbye, and soon they were alone in the house.

  "Seriously, what's wrong?" Rajan asked.

  Laird shrugged. "When I know that, I'll let you know."

  "Do you need to get laid? Because I could hook you up with…"

  "No! No hook-ups. I can get laid all by myself.

  There's more to it, you know?"

  Rajan nodded. "All right, when you're ready to talk to me, I'm right here."

  Laird smiled and nodded. "It's just, lately I've been off. You've seen it. Sav saw it. My game is all wobbly."

  "Well, everyone is allowed a down day once in a while."

  "It seems like my whole month has been down. It's irritating."

  Rajan drank from his bottle. "I hear that. But don't push it. Things will feel better soon. If not, you can take a vacation."

  "To where?"

  "Timbuktu? No clue. Just breathe."

  "What about Brydon?"

  "You do like that kind of farming dealie." Rajan looked thoughtful. "You can go visit Winston. See what he's been up to lately. He did say he'd be happy to have you…" Rajan wiggled his brows.

  Laird burst out laughing. "Stop being a pervert."

  "Fine, but when Xavier comes knocking about why I'm no longer a freak you're going to have to give him some good answers."

  Laird chuckled. "Besides, Winston's not my type and vice versa. I could use the break though."

  Rajan nodded.

  "All right, but I won't go until Jamal and Sav come back. You and Xavier need help babysitting Lee."