Mad Gold (Providence Gold Series Book 2)

  Contents

  Untitled

  Mad Gold

  Mad Gold thoughts…

  1. Madix

  2. Dahlia

  3. Dahlia

  4. Madix

  5. Madix

  6. Dahlia

  7. Dahlia

  8. Dahlia

  9. Dahlia

  10. Dahlia

  11. Dahlia

  12. Madix

  13. Dahlia

  14. Madix

  15. Madix

  16. Dahlia

  17. Madix

  18. Madix

  19. Madix

  20. Madix

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More books by the Author

  Copyright © 2019 Mary B Moore

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written expressed permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incident are products of the authors imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Tracie Douglas https://www.facebook.com/darkwatercovers/

  Cover Photograph: Adobe © sergeialyoshin #127198768

  Editor: B&C

  The use of actors, artists, movies, TV Shows, and song titles/ lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for use only, then you should return it to the seller and please purchase your own copy.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1911 and the Copyright Act 1988, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

  This book is intended for mature adults only and contains consensual sexual content and language that may offend some. Suggested reading audience is 18 years or older. I consider this book as Adult Romance. If this isn’t your type of book, then please don’t purchase it.

  This book is covered under the United Kingdom’s Copyright Laws. For more information on the Copyright, please visit: https://www.gov.uk/copyright/overview.

  Mad Gold

  Madix

  From the outside looking in, I’ve got it all. An awesome career, an amazing sister, good friends…what else could I ask for?

  The answer to that would be - the love of someone not related to me. Specifically, the woman who kissed me at midnight on New Year’s Eve and then disappeared into the crowd. The same woman who reappeared a day ago on the plane that I was on.

  She’s trouble and mayhem and I don’t want to obsess over her, but I’ll be damned if I can stop.

  Dahlia

  It wasn’t my fault he thought I was having an allergic reaction on the flight. I tried to tell him the truth, but my tongue was too swollen. What are the chances of me totally embarrassing myself twice in front of him? For me – it was a given. Same day, not once but twice!

  Now, I can’t get those steel gray eyes out of my mind. Every time I allow myself to think, or even blink, there they are front and center. Apparently, we know each other, semi-intimately as well, and he seems offended that I don’t remember, but my mind is one chaotic mess.

  A walking chaos, the definition of calamity, shouldn’t be the perfect match for someone who’s organized to the point of being anal – should it? Or will he run for the hills?

  Dedication

  Wee James – we’ve been through a lot of ups and downs over the last year. We’ve had fun, we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve gotten through medical emergencies, we’ve fought, we’ve made up…it’s been a rollercoaster.

  Regardless of the downs, if you’d told me twelve years ago that this was where I’d be, I’d have thanked my lucky stars, which is what I do now – even when we argue.

  I promised that I’d dedicate a book to you, right? Well, what better plot than overcoming childhood issues and making your life perfect for yourself. I won’t let you read it (they do the nasty in it, so bruh!), but I will tell you Madix and Dahlia’s stories so you understand.

  I’m proud of you and the man you’re becoming, even when you’re driving me insane.

  Happy birthday on the 16th, bub. It’ll be the best one yet. Here’s to the next year going smoothly as you join the RAF cadets and move onto the next phase of life.

  Life is meant to be a blast, so make the most of it and have fun.

  Love, Mum xoxoxox

  May 2019

  J.L. – thank you for being my muse for Bonnie and lending me your story. Xox

  Mad Gold thoughts…

  Dear Marshall Mathers III (aka Eminem),

  What does happen when a tornado meets a volcano?

  Signed,

  The random thoughts of Madix Blue, the day after he sees the woman who disappeared, on the same plane as him and “saves” her life. Well, not really saves her life, more like throws a spanner into it like she did to his.

  A calm, organized, methodical man vs an irrational, crazy thinking, somewhat disorganized woman. Putting them together could either result in answering the question to Eminem, or it could end up in an explosion.

  That’s why putting them together is nothing but madness.

  M (madness, Madix, mayhem, minsanity – totally made that up, miracles, and morons)

  +

  G (gold as in oil, giant, gorilla, God almighty they’re freaking nuts and good luck)

  =

  Mad Gold.

  One

  Madix

  W hen I was roughly fourteen years old, I’d taken up smoking. Coach had given me a reaming over it, telling me I wouldn’t be able to run for shit and wouldn’t grow taller, but I hadn’t given a fuck so I continued.

  Ironically, I ran faster, and I grew taller. Much taller!

  Then, I’d graduated from high school and decided I needed to quit, not realizing until that moment how addicted to it I’d become. It hadn’t been easy, and I’d tried going cold turkey, but that had just sent me spiraling.

  Just eating had made me think of a cigarette - the one that felt so good after you’d finished your meal. Sitting on the balcony of my apartment made me think of it. Reading did too, relaxing and letting the nicotine hit as you read the book. Not one thing I did on a daily basis didn’t have cigarettes associated to it for me.

  So, I went the down route of gum and cutting back until I was only smoking one a day. At that point, I realized I didn’t even need that one cigarette, so I quit. Since then, I’d picked it up again for brief periods of time, all for work situations because I’d been a cop. When I was working undercover, I had to appear inconspicuous and normal. Well, as inconspicuous and normal as you could when you were six-foot-fucking-eight.

  Blending into the crowd – cigarette. Going to a bar – head outside for a cigarette when the subject did. Who’s gonna notice the dude looking at the screen of his phone or staring into the
dark with a cigarette in his hand? Regardless of how tall I was, the answer to that had been zero.

  Did they really think cops didn’t smoke normally? Seriously? Most of my ex coworkers had been heavy smokers. Then again, a lot of them had also been corrupt fuckers which was why I’d left so using them as an example for anything in life wasn’t a good idea.

  I’d never been tempted to take smoking back up again after a case, though. It didn’t taste the same anymore and instead of making me feel calm or satisfied like it had at the beginning, it just left me feeling sick and sluggish.

  Thankfully, aside from that one problem in my teens, I didn’t have an addictive personality. I might have come from a good man, but the same couldn’t be said about my mother. She had been a drug addict. She’d hid it from my dad until she went further down the rabbit hole and couldn’t anymore. When he’d found out, he’d kicked her out and filed for divorce, getting custody of me. She’d then shacked up with another addict, had my sister, and had overdosed leaving her daughter with an abusive son of a bitch. So, it was a relief I hadn’t inherited shit like that from her.

  I also didn’t rely on alcohol to get me through the day. I did have a beer when I’d had a shit day, but that was normal. I’d never done drugs either – I hated the things given the shit I’d seen on the force on a day-to-day basis and what I’d spent the first years of my life around.

  Nope, no addictions – aside from coffee.

  Coffee I drank from the moment I woke up, until I went to bed. This wasn’t conducive with sleep though, so I slept for shit, which meant I needed more coffee to keep me moving. It was an evil repetitive cycle, and I’d realized not long ago that I was headed for a major burnout if I didn’t do something.

  I hadn’t taken a break from work in years. Even when I’d quit the police and had moved from the area I’d been living in before moving to be closer to my little sister, Luna, I hadn’t taken a break. I’d gone straight into my new position as the head of security for Townsend Oil’s operations and had taken up my duties before I’d even unpacked my boxes.

  I was almost twenty-seven years old and I don’t remember a time that I hadn’t been busy doing something, which is how my dad lived his life too. When I thought about it like that, I realized that I’d worked for six years solidly with no holiday, aside from my allocated days and national holidays off, so I’d decided to take a vacation. Nothing too far away from home - Luna was pregnant, and I wanted to be there when she had the baby in case she needed me - but just a break from work and life.

  Even the occasional nights out here and there that I’d had hadn’t let me properly relax. The last one, New Year’s Eve, had been a total bust. I’d been well on my way to ‘comfortable intoxication’ – that drunk level before you became sloppy – when this chick had bumped into me and spilled a red drink all over my white shirt. One trip to the bathroom where she’d doused me in water in her drunken efforts to help clean me up, one friggin’ phenomenal make-out session up against the door (and a door to the forehead because we’d forgotten to lock it) later and the chick that I couldn’t get out of my mind was gone.

  I wasn’t sure if I couldn’t stop thinking about her because she was as amazing as I imagined, or if it was just a drunken obsession. But, it was three months on, and I was now at the point where I had to accept that I would only ever have that one memory with her.

  With the acceptance of that reality, I’d booked a flight to New York to see my buddy. I wanted to let my hair down, literally seeing as how it had grown longer since I’d quit the police force, and to just relax for a spell.

  It had been just what I’d needed, and I’d felt refreshed and recharged - until I’d gotten to the airport to fly back home. Then it all went to shit.

  The guy in front of me at security, a hinky looking fucker, refused to take his shoes off. Then he refused to take his jacket off, or his belt. This meant that things got heated and because I’d been on autopilot and had put my shit on the belt to go through the scanner, I was stuck.

  That also meant that I literally just made my flight, running up to the gate just as they were about to close the door.

  It might have been my height or the fact they would know from their radios that there had been an incident back at security which had held people up, but for whatever reason, they let me board the plane. At my height, I was used to people being wary of a reaction from me, so it wasn’t unusual for people to acquiesce like that. I was also used to women staring at me for whatever reason. Luna said that it was an evolutionary reaction, an animal instinct – the bigger the man, the better he could look after you and whatever other shit. I had no idea, but it made me uncomfortable which was why I deliberately didn’t make eye contact with the two cabin crew who ran their hands over my arm as I put my bag in the overhead storage compartment to see if I needed any help. I was over a foot taller than them and eye level with the bin I was putting my bag in…what kind of help could I need with it?

  What also made me uncomfortable was the lack of space on planes. Rows and rows of seats, and not one of them was made for someone my height. This meant I had quite a few hours ahead of me on the flight back to Texas where my knees would be at an angle against the seat in front of me while my hips made their way back into my pelvis. Fucking awesome!

  I could read to try to distract myself from the discomfort. I could also try to sleep. Instead, what I did was stare at the attractive woman a few rows ahead who looked like she was in pain, and who kept sticking her tongue out and fanning the air around it with her hand.

  She looked familiar, but with only brief glimpses of her side profile, I was stumped where I’d seen her before. Initially, I’d wondered if she was having an allergic reaction, but she was fine aside from the weird actions and begging the flight attendant for iced water – ‘heavy on the ice’. At least, that’s what I was sure she was saying, but it came out much more convoluted than that with the ice sounding like ‘dithe’.

  As a former cop, I knew that this could be a sign of drug use, or maybe she’d swallowed some and was a mule? It could also be an attempt at distraction if she was a terrorist or working with other terrorists onboard.

  Was her name on one of the look-out briefs we’d had? I just couldn’t place her.

  I’d clocked the air marshal when I’d gotten on, and he was watching her too. His angle from where he was sitting in front of me, in a row between mine and the woman’s seats, had obviously put his mind at ease over the problem though, because he was sitting with a small smile on his face at whatever she was doing.

  The longer I watched her, not realizing how many hours I’d been doing it for, the more stumped I became. She’d been sucking on ice and knocking back water the whole time, so maybe if it was an allergy, she was reacting to something that she’d had before she’d gotten on the plane?

  Was there a list that said: “This is what will happen with every single allergic reaction, ever.”?

  Just as I had that final thought, she suddenly went to stand up, forgetting to undo her belt first, and immediately hunched over and squealed. It was her panting afterwards that had me jumping out of my seat – remembering my belt unlike her – and moving quickly over to her.

  The tongue that was peeking through her open lips as she gulped in quick bursts of air was definitely swollen, badly enough to have me panicking and wondering how she was still breathing if she was that allergic to something.

  Without even second guessing what I was doing, I hit the call button for a member of the crew and sat her back down on her chair, ignoring her protests. Well, the protests that consisted of her hands waving dangerously close to my face that was.

  “You’re okay,” I muttered, sweeping her hair away from her flushed face and pausing. The beautiful shade of brown-green eyes looking back at me made my brain function flatline momentarily, until she swallowed and then groaned. Then it all clicked where I recognized her from. “Holy shit, it’s you!”

  It was the chick
from the bathroom at New Year’s. What were the chances?

  Also, what were the fucking chances that she could be close to asphyxiating from an allergy when I’d only just found her again after all these months?

  Reclining the back of her seat and shooting a glare at the douche behind her who dared to protest, I tried to make her comfortable.

  “Is she okay, son?” the old man beside her asked me, looking worriedly at the sick woman.

  “Would you mind hitting your call button in short and sharp jabs, please?” I requested, getting pissed that no one had come yet. I wasn’t exactly difficult to miss, and we had enough people watching what was happening to draw attention from a member of the flight crew – if they paid attention that was, which apparently they did not.

  Standing up, the old man did just that and then topped it off by cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, “Yo!”

  Sure enough, someone was there within seconds – one pissed off, overly made up flight attendant with black Nike ticks for eyebrows that looked like they’d come from a Sharpie.

  “Yes, sir?” she hissed, making no effort to hide how irritated she was at being interrupted from whatever awesomeness she’d been doing. Snotty bitch!

  “Can you get the Captain to request that if there’s a doctor onboard, they come and attend to this woman immediately,” I snapped, giving her back the attitude she was dishing out.

  My dad would beat me around the head for leaving off any charm when talking to a female, but this one was pissing me off.

  I stood up when she didn’t make a move to do anything, almost hitting my head on the luggage compartment, which was made for people of a more normal height, and growled, “Now!”

  Sure as shit, within twenty seconds the message was announced through the plane’s speakers, which made my mystery woman panic even more. Shortly after it, the flight attendant was back beside me, along with the Captain.

  “I don’t think there’s anyone onboard this flight with medical knowledge. We have some medication we can give in circumstances like this, but I don’t know if it’ll be strong enough. It’s just Benadryl because someone forgot to make sure we had a proper kit onboard after the last flight,” he explained, a million times more helpful than the ass sucking bitch beside him, still glaring at the sick passenger.