Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1)

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also by the Author

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Preview: Solace (Devastation Trilogy 2)

  Preview: Governor (Governor Trilogy 1)

  About the Author

  He doesn’t know how to let go…

  I was a husband, a father, a politician. Now, I’m just lost.

  Maybe they can help find me, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t be found.

  Maybe the devastation that is my life should be allowed to crumble and decay.

  There is no comfort in a funeral dirge, no solace in empty words spoken to me.

  There is no release from this hell but death, and I can’t do that yet.

  I don’t know how to let go.

  But…maybe they can help me hold on.

  Dirge

  Devastation Trilogy - 1

  Lesli Richardson

  http://www.LesliRichardson.com

  Dirge

  Devastation Trilogy Book 1

  Copyright © 2019 by Lesli Richardson

  First E-book Publication: April, 2019

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means currently available or available in the future, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, for free or for sale, without express written permission from the publisher and author.

  Distributing copies of this e-book to others is a violation of international copyright law and infringes the rights of the legal copyright holder. This e-book may not be shared, copied, sold, given away, offered as a contest prize, or otherwise distributed to anyone other than the original purchaser. Distributing this e-book as part of any collection, or with any type of resale permission, is also strictly forbidden and a violation of copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This is my livelihood. PLEASE do NOT share, upload, or otherwise distribute this book. When people buy my books, it pays my bills. Please don’t steal from me. If you want me to keep bringing you more stories, I need to be able to pay my bills. Thank you.

  http://www.LesliRichardson.com

  Also by the Author

  Please sign up for my newsletter, where I post info about both my Lesli Richardson and Tymber Dalton pen names, and never miss a new release or update:

  http://eepurl.com/cXKR7v

  Writing as Lesli Richardson:

  The Bleacke Shifter Series:

  1) Bleacke’s Geek

  2) Geek Chic

  3) A Bleacke Wind

  4) Bleacke Spirit

  5) A Bleacke Christmas (Coming May, 2019)

  The Great Turning Series:

  1) The Great Turning

  2) The Great Turning: Into the Turn

  3) The Great Turning: Future Ages

  Governor Trilogy:

  1) Governor

  2) Lieutenant

  3) Chief

  3.5 ) Yes, Governor

  Determination Trilogy:

  1) Dignity

  2) Diligence

  3) Desire

  Devastation Trilogy:

  1) Dirge

  2) Solace

  3) Release

  Of Boardwalks and Bison

  Cross Country Chaos

  Jailmates (Maxim Colonies 1)

  Coming Soon:

  Deviant Trilogy

  Inequitable Trilogy

  Poly

  Farborn (Maxim Colonies 2)

  Lesli Richardson is better known by her more prolific Tymber Dalton pen name. Please check out her website for more info on all her titles under both her pen names, including full book and series listings, trivia, character information, and more.

  https://www.tymberdalton.com

  Honest reviews are greatly appreciated and can help boost a book’s rankings on retail sites. Thank you!

  Dedication

  For all my readers who fell in love with Owen, Carter, and Susa—thank you. I hope by the time you finish reading this trilogy that you still love George as much as you did when you first met him in the life raft.

  And for Hubby, and for Sir. He knows why.

  Author's Note

  Politics are messy, nasty, sexy, brutal, funny, impossibly complex, and a lot of fun to write about. (Mostly because they’re messy, nasty, sexy, brutal, funny, and impossibly complex.)

  Since the focus of this trilogy isn’t the politics so much as it is the people, I’ve taken certain liberties and simplified a few things here and there.

  But the kinky shit is absolutely realistic.

  The Devastation Trilogy is a spin-off set in the same world as the books in the Governor Trilogy, Determination Trilogy, and others. It is a standalone trilogy that can be read separately. Some of the events in Dirge are also covered in Lieutenant, where George is first introduced.

  It is suggested the books in the Devastation Trilogy be read in order:

  Dirge

  Solace

  Release

  Chapter One

  Now

  A finger pokes me dead center in my forehead, insistently tapping and waking me up. For the briefest of moments I think it’s one of my kids, until I remember my youngest is now in college and lives on campus in a dorm.

  And I know it’s not my wife’s finger, because she’s—

  I force an eye open to see Casey standing there at the side of my bed, a cup of coffee in her hand. She’s staring down at me with that cocky head tilt she has, along with the disapproving smirk I’ve been graced with countless times over the decades we’ve known each other.

  She’s my best friend, and my wife’s best friend, but worse?

  She’s my chief of staff.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I grumble.

  “Wake-up call. I knew you’d ignore the phone.”

  Damn her, she’s right.

  “How’d you get in?” This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation.

  Far from it.

  That she still has it with me proves to me she does, in fact, love me.

  Sort of.

  “I’ve had your key and alarm code for years, George. Duh. You really are a shit-for-brains before coffee, you know that?”

  “If you know me as well as you claim to, you know that.”

  She sets the mug of coffee on the nightstand closest to me before she walks over to the window. There, she throws open the black-out curtains, flooding the dark sanctuary of my bedroom with harsh early morning light and making me groan again as I clamp my eyes shut against it.

  “Wakey wakey, Governor Forrester,” she
sing-songs in a waaaay too cheerful tone for this obscene time of morning on a…

  Fucking Saturday.

  “Why do I put up with your shit?” I grumble.

  “Because I’m your chief of staff, asshole.”

  “Why are you my chief of staff, again?”

  “Because I’m the only one who’ll put up with your shit, George.”

  Damn her, she’s right.

  Again.

  “Why are you waking me up?”

  “Because I’m the only one—”

  “Who will put up with my shit. Right.” I crack an eye open.

  She’s still smirking. “Ah, lookit that. And they say you don’t know your head from your ass.”

  “Who says I don’t know my head from my ass?”

  “Well, me, for starters. Get up.” She heads for the door.

  “It’s Saturday, Case. Why are you waking me up on a Saturday?”

  “Because you have campaign prep, Governor. If you want to remain the governor of Tennessee for a second term, get your ass out of bed and get in the shower before I ask a couple of really gorgeous, hunky state troopers from the EPU to come in here and dump you in the shower for me.”

  “I really think you’d do that.”

  She turns at the door. “You know I would, Governor. Move. Now. I expect you downstairs in fifteen, showered, shaved, and dressed in a tie and jacket. You’ll want your overcoat, too. It’s chilly. Tick-tock, motherfucker. Clock’s running.”

  She slams my bedroom door behind her.

  Dammit.

  “You made coffee in my kitchen?” I yell after her.

  “You’re welcome, Governor,” she calls back.

  I sigh and force myself to sit up. If I don’t, I’ll fall asleep again, and I wouldn’t put it past Case to do exactly what she threatened.

  During my first campaign for the state senate, she dumped a glass of ice water on me one morning in a hotel room to wake me up for a Sunrise Rotary breakfast.

  Bitch.

  I reach for the coffee and take a sip, smiling. Perfectly prepared, of course.

  Damn, I love that woman.

  * * * *

  I drag myself out of bed and don’t bother throwing on a robe. It’s late January, but I keep the temperature set to a comfortable seventy-two at night when I’m home. Now that I live alone, I sleep naked all the time and don’t bother locking my bedroom door. Hell, half the time when I’m home I’m walking around naked.

  That’s on Case if she walks in without calling first and sees anything she doesn’t want to. Considering she’s known me since college, she’s gotten glimpses here and there when Ellen and I were dating.

  After I use the bathroom, I start the shower and stand in front of the mirror over the sink while steam slowly swirls around me. I didn’t drink anything last night because I knew today would be an early one, but my eyes still look bloodshot.

  Crying will do that to you.

  There are few nights when I don’t cry, even nearly two years out.

  I grab the bottle of eyedrops from the cabinet and squirt some in, blinking up at the light and squeezing them shut before opening them. Experience has told me they’ll look normal by the time I emerge from my shower. I brush my teeth and then shave with the electric razor. I don’t want to dress up today, but I know if I show up downstairs in anything less than what she ordered me to, I’ll hear about it.

  Oooh, how I’ll hear about it.

  And I’ll likely get something thrown on me—like coffee—forcing me to go change anyway.

  This isn’t my first rodeo with Casey-Marie Blaine.

  She wouldn’t be my chief of staff if she couldn’t keep me in line, either.

  As I climb into the shower I briefly consider beating off but the second I close my eyes I hear the screaming and the wind.

  Eyes open, then. Except for the moment I have to close them when rinsing shampoo out of my hair. And definitely no jerking off.

  With three minutes to spare, I sigh as I walk into my kitchen and hand her my empty coffee mug. “You’re trying to kill me, Case.”

  I lay my overcoat and suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs. My collar’s unbuttoned, my tie draped around my neck.

  “No, sir. If I was trying, you’d be dead.” She sets my empty cup in the sink and hands me a full travel mug.

  “Slave driver,” I say, nudging my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

  “That’s me.”

  I take a sip of coffee. Perfectly prepared, as always. “You know it’s illegal to kill the governor, right?” I remind her.

  “Lucky for you, sir.” I move my hands out of the way as she reaches up and fixes my collar, then ties my tie for me. I’m careful not to catch her eye while she does, because if I do, I’m going to start crying.

  She knows this, so she’s careful not to look me in the eyes while she does it.

  This woman has helped keep me vertical, keep me functional, and don’t think I don’t know and appreciate that.

  I’d probably marry her if I thought I had half a chance with her. Except she’s way out of my league and always has been, even if our initial meeting and first couple of months of friendship was…rocky.

  Once she has my tie tied, I set the travel mug on the table so I can pull on my blazer and overcoat. Then I grab my coffee and we head toward the foyer. She’s already packed my laptop for me and has it sitting on the bench just inside the front door.

  “You break into my house, make me coffee, wake me up early on a Saturday, and scrounge my computer from my living room. That’s gotta be some sort of felony. I am the governor, you know.” I shoulder the strap for the laptop case and dig my keys out of my pocket.

  She shoots me her trademark smirk. “You’re welcome, sir.” It’s always a lower-case s when she says it. “You have shitty security, by the way.”

  We both laugh, because it’s a running joke with us. The Executive Protection Unit probably hates me because I want the bare-minimum contingent of officers around me at home. Casey has full access to my security system, including an app that allows her to remotely arm and disarm it.

  Hell, she has complete and unfettered access to all parts of my life, personal and professional.

  She’s the only one who does.

  I set the alarm with the keypad to begin the exit countdown. Then I grab the front door and open it for her, holding it and indicating for her to go first. After we step outside and I lock the door behind us, I realize it’s just Case’s car parked in front of the house.

  “I thought you threatened me with state troopers?” I shiver in the cold early morning air and watch my breath frost in front of me.

  She shrugs as she slips on sunglasses and walks around to the driver’s side. “I lied. So sue me. Get your ass in the car, George.”

  I head for the passenger side. Her smirk and mine are practically identical. I never would have said that before I saw a picture taken of us at an event last year, where we were looking at each other and both smirking the same damn smirk.

  I don’t honestly remember if I learned it from her or she learned it from me. We’ve both been doing it as long as we’ve known each other, so I guess it doesn’t matter.

  * * * *

  At my front gate, she waits while the officers who will be shadowing us fall in behind us for the drive. We’re not going to our offices at the capitol today. This is campaign stuff, and I don’t mix campaign stuff with my work as governor. I mean, there are things that legally can be mixed, but I prefer to separate as much as possible.

  It’s less bullshit to ensnare me in a scandal. It’s something Casey drilled into me early on in my political career and she’s never steered me wrong. The less stupid stuff we trip over and give opponents a way to hamstring us, forcing us to defend avoidable unforced errors, the better.

  Today we’re going to our old law offices, where technically we’re still partners in the firm, although we’re both on official leaves of absence since I ascen
ded to my current office. We’ve rented the place for the day—literally rented it, paid for that out of our campaign expenses and everything—and will be taking over the large conference room. It’s what we’ve done for my previous campaigns. It’s private, it’s large enough for us to bring in the people we’re using, and there’s plenty of parking.

  I tip my head back against the seat. “They still got the kick-ass pizza place down the street?”

  “Yeah, they do.” She smiles. “Went there last week with Declan for lunch when we drove over to give Lila the check for the rental.” She glances my way. “And yes, we’re ordering lunch from there. Don’t worry.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Gotta take care of the leader of the Volunteer State.”

  “You know me so well.”

  She snorts. “Luuucky me.”

  We drive with the satellite radio playing indie rock to chase away the silence as I sip my coffee and try to wake up. It’s still early, not even seven yet, and I suuuuck at mornings.

  Case knows this, too, which is why she always cuts me slack for my morning grouchiness. Especially on weekends.

  “Thank you,” I tell her when we’re halfway there.

  She reaches over and pats my leg, and that’s the last either of us speak until we pull into the parking lot.

  Thank god she knows me.

  And thank god she puts up with me. I don’t know where I’d be right now if it wasn’t for her.

  I probably would have killed myself by now.

  Actually…

  There’s no probably about it.

  Chapter Two

  Then

  I pick up Ellen from her last class of the day and drive her home to their apartment so she can get ready ahead of our date. At the building’s front door, after she unlocks it, I quickly step around her to open and hold the door for her.