Substitute Marriage: Healing My Disabled Husband

Audra Holmes POV:

A thick stack of legal breach notices slammed against my ankle the second I pushed open the hidden door to the top-floor office of the Holmes Sports Agency by Boston's Charles River. The heavy manila envelope skidded across the cracked wood floor with a sharp screech.

Behind the mahogany desk, my adoptive father Hollis Holmes shoved his oily beer belly upward and slapped the tabletop. The deep lines around his nose twitched as he chewed a cheap cigar stub between his yellowed teeth, his eyes glinting with raw greed.

He crossed the room in three strides and swung his palm toward my cheek.

I shifted my weight back by a few millimeters. His hand missed my skin and smacked straight into the solid wood bookshelf with a dull thud.

Hollis clutched his reddened palm, his chest heaving.

"Without the living expenses I gave you these past few years, your dead grandmother would have been tossed into a mass grave!"

The side door clicked open. My stepmother, Janyce Holmes, walked in wearing ten-centimeter heels and a tailored dark blue velvet suit. Her red-painted lips curved into a sneer as she pulled a yellowed photo from her crocodile handbag and slapped it onto the glass coffee table.

"Sweetheart, you recognize this picture, right? If you don't want your dead grandmother's last bit of dignity ruined, you'll do as you're told."

I looked down at the table, and my breath hitched. The photo showed my grandmother in a faded coat, standing in terror outside the wrought-iron gates of Boston's Kensington Manor on a snowy night just one week before her murder.

My mother's dying plea to find the truth rang in my ears. A micro-thin silver needle slid from my sleeve into my fingers, the cold tip pressing hard against the pad of my thumb to keep my killer instinct as the underground operative Frost from spilling over.

My stepsister, Kadence Holmes, strolled in behind her mother, filling the cramped room with heavy sweet perfume. She looped her arm through Janyce's, her gaze raking over my pilled gray hoodie and faded ripped jeans.

Kadence tossed a gold-stamped marriage contract at my feet, her manicured nails digging into her designer bag.

"Letting you take my place to marry Conley Bond is a favor to you. A crippled, violent washout who can't even walk deserves to ruin my social future?"

I stared at the light brown mole near the corner of her eye and stepped back half a pace, making my voice raspy and timid.

"Captain Conley is the backbone of the Boston team. This engagement used to be the envy of the entire sports world."

Kadence let out a sharp laugh and ground her heel onto the toe of my shoe.

"Right now he's a raging cripple stuck in a wheelchair who can't even take care of himself! Next week the league's morality committee is stripping his Captain 'C'. Why should I be his free nurse and live like a widow?"

Hollis stepped closer and jabbed a thick finger toward my chest.

"Kensington Manor paid eight million dollars in PR settlement fees. Sign your name and get over there in Kadence's place, or I'll have your grandmother's trunk of belongings dumped into Boston Harbor to feed the fish!"

I lowered my eyelids to hide the chill in my eyes. Inside my cuff, a micro-recording bracelet blinked with a faint red light, uploading every word of their threats to my cloud server.

Kensington Manor was the exact place I needed to investigate my grandmother's death. This PR marriage contract was my legal pass inside.

I bent down with trembling fingers and picked up the cold paper, skimming the strict clauses separating all property for this PR marriage.

Kadence lifted her chin and held out a diamond-studded pen like she was tossing scraps to a stray dog.

"Sign it fast. Don't make me late for my yacht party tonight with the sports drink sponsor's son."

I took the pen and wrote "Audra Holmes" on the line, mimicking a clumsy country girl's scrawl until the final stroke hooked upward with the sharp habit of my classified operative files.

Hollis snatched the contract, checked the signature, and handed it to Janyce with a snort.

"Good thing you know your place. Pack your trash. The Kensington car is waiting in the back alley. Don't embarrass our family in front of the locker room media."

Kadence pulled a pair of thick black-framed glasses from her bag and threw them at my chest.

"Put these on. Don't let your plain, dead face piss off Mr. Bond. You belong in the gutter."

I slipped the thick non-prescription frames onto my nose, hiding my sharp amber eyes. Without another glance at the three of them, I pulled open the creaking wooden door and walked into the dim fire stairwell.

Thunder rolled outside the stained-glass window at the landing as the autumn rain lashed against the pane. I walked down the narrow iron steps, the cold railing biting into my palm as I reviewed the list of suspects in my grandmother's murder.

I pushed open the rusted alley door into the freezing wind. A black stretched bulletproof Lincoln limousine sat parked at the edge of a deep puddle.

The driver's window rolled down a crack, revealing a pair of cold black eyes.

"Get in, Miss Holmes. Kensington doesn't welcome guests who waste time."

I tightened the straps of my worn canvas backpack, stepped through the water, and pulled open the heavy armored door. The scent of aged cigars mixed with clinical nerve painkillers hit my nose as I sank into the leather seat.

The driver floored the gas pedal, splashing muddy water two meters high as we sped onto the rain-slicked Boston highway. I leaned back, spotting the tiny red surveillance dot above the rearview mirror through the tinted glass.

In my pocket, my encrypted communicator buzzed, projecting a message from my subordinate Axel Stone onto the inner lens of my glasses.

"Frost, Kensington Manor's underground defense network is modified from retired Pentagon systems, and Conley Bond's medical files are locked by the Alliance Syndicate. You're walking into a minefield."

I tapped three long and two short beats on my knee in Morse code.

"Good. The prey is right there. Get ready to close the net."

The limousine cut through the dense fir woods outside Boston and stopped before a massive Gothic black stone estate. Amidst the roar of thunder, the heavy cast-iron gates swung open without a sound.