On The Brink

ON THE BRINK BOOK 11 IN THE RYAN KAINE SERIES KERRY J DONOVAN Copyright © 2023 by Kerry J Donovan Published by Fuse Books 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The right of Kerry J Donovan to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988. All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Edited by Nicole O’Brien This book uses UK English, grammar, and punctuation. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 A FREE Ryan Kaine novella The RYAN KAINE series Please Leave a Review About Kerry J Donovan CHAPTER ONE Saturday 27th May – Afternoon Mike’s Farm, Long Buckby, Northants, England Ryan Kaine stared into his black coffee, watching the bubbles around the rim pop. The rich aroma did nothing to lift his mood. He hadn’t felt so alone since leaving home for the last time at seventeen. A pair of stinging, throbbing hands didn’t help. He tried not to pick at the scabs even though they itched like hell. The hands weren’t the only things that hurt. Grow up, Kaine. Move on. Retired Chief Petty Officer Mike Procter shifted in his special chair and tried to stifle a groan. Kaine tore his gaze from the dark liquid and looked up at his host. “Think about it from her point of view, son,” Mike said, looking at him through pained, light brown eyes. Mike rarely adopted his fatherly persona and almost never called Kaine “son”. The shock struck him again. In the nine months since Kaine’s fall from grace, Mike had aged considerably. Where once had been a healthy, lean, straight-backed, and robust septuagenarian, now sat a stoop-shouldered, baggy-eyed, and sallow-skinned elderly man. Advanced and inoperable prostate cancer would do that to the human body. When Mike had finally owned up to his condition, the words “end stage” had sliced through Kaine’s heart as easily as a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife. A crying bloody shame. Kaine hated the sense of hopelessness that had sluiced over him. It put into sharp perspective the minimal discomfort associated with his hands—which were healing nicely enough—and his heart. Mike would never heal. Never improve. A rapid decline to his final tour. Shit. Mike’s follow-up request, “Promise me, you won’t tell Lara,” had hit just as hard, and he’d blurted out the reason Lara hadn’t been with him and Will when they arrived at the farm that morning to plan their next moves. Enderby and Hartington. Puppeteers pulling on the strings of government. They were due a visit. “I’m trying, Mike,” he said in response to the older man’s statement. “But it’s not easy …” Kaine let the thought trail off, took a sip of coffee, and tried not to grimace. He’d been staring at the mug for so long, the drink had grown cold. Delicately, he lowered the mug to the coffee table and pushed it away. “Still feels like a betrayal?” Mike asked, his voice ragged, his breathing shallow and rapid. He was in a bad way and the pills clearly weren’t helping. “A little.” Kaine sighed. Could he have done or said anything to change her mind? He’d replayed the parting scene in his head over and over, but still couldn’t believe it. Lara had left him. It felt as though he’d lost an arm. She’d been with him since the day his nightmare began. At his side through … everything. Without Lara, he’d have died that first day. She’d saved his life. Sewn him back together. “She needs time, son.” Again with the “son”. What’s that about? The illness had taken its toll. Mike had grown soft. No, not soft. Open to his emotional side. Kaine nodded to himself. “As soon as I heard there were horses on Cadwallader farm, I sort of knew,” Kaine said, looking up. “I knew she’d stay.” He met Mike’s watery gaze once more and shook his head. “What is it about horses, Mike? I just don’t see the attract—” “Magnificent beasts,” Mike snapped, pulling back his shoulders and trying to hide the wince behind the raised coffee mug. “Loyal and trusting. Treat them right and they’ll never let you down.” “Are you trying to say I mistreated Lara?” Mike waved a hand in the air between them. “Not for me to say. But the thing in Paris …” This time, he let the wince show. “Bad move, son.” “She told you about Paris?” The former chief petty officer nodded and scratched at his long, white sailor’s beard. “She phones me occasionally. On a secure line, of course. I haven’t told her about … well, you know.” He waved a hand over his midriff. “We chat, mainly about horses. She’s always taken a particular interest in Dynamite.” “The same big black monster Will’s making friends with right now?” “Aye, lad. The very same.” Mike pressed a hand to his belly and leant back into his comfy chair. Apparently, he spent his waking hours in the chair, looking through the window, taking in the calming and bucolic view of Northamptonshire’s green