Stolen Hearts

Stolen Hearts Don’t Call Me Hero Book 6 Eliza Lentzski Contents Other Works by Eliza Lentzski Standalone Novels Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Afghanistan, 2012 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Afghanistan, 2012 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Afghanistan, 2012 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Afghanistan, 2012 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Afghanistan, 2012 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Afghanistan, 2012 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Epilogue About the Author Copyright © 2023 Eliza Lentzski All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically or otherwise, without written permission from the author. ISBN: 9781687683717 Imprint: Independently published Other Works by Eliza Lentzski Don’t Call Me Hero Series Don’t Call Me Hero Damaged Goods Cold Blooded Lover One Little Secret Grave Mistake Stolen Hearts * * * Winter Jacket Series Winter Jacket Winter Jacket 2: New Beginnings Winter Jacket 3: Finding Home Winter Jacket 4: All In Hunter http://www.elizalentzski.com Standalone Novels Lighthouse Keeper (forthcoming) Sour Grapes The Woman in 3B Sunscreen & Coconuts The Final Rose Bittersweet Homecoming Fragmented Apophis: Love Story for the End of the World Second Chances Date Night Love, Lust, & Other Mistakes Diary of a Human * * * Works as E.L. Blaisdell Drained: The Lucid (with Nica Curt) To C Prologue Throttle “I still don’t understand the appeal.” Julia ran her fingertips along the gunmetal grey handlebars of my Harley Sportster. “It’s not a very practical vehicle.” Julia had met me after work at the facility where I stored my motorcycle during the winter months. I was born and raised in Minnesota—with an eight-year detour while being stationed in Afghanistan—but even my hearty upbringing had me admitting defeat to the upper Midwest’s brutal winter weather. “Maybe not,” I admitted, “but I look damn good riding it.” I watched Julia’s painted mouth part. The tip of her pink tongue poked out from between perfect teeth to flick at the barely visible scar above the right corner of her mouth. “That’s not the only thing you look good riding, dear.” If her goal was to jumpstart my libido, she’d accomplished her mission—although it had never really taken much effort on her part to get me going. I swung one long leg over my bike and settled onto the low seat. The motorcycle was only intended for one rider, but there was just enough room between where I sat and the gas tank for my girlfriend. Julia had never taken me up on my many offers to take her for a ride on my motorcycle, however. “Come here,” I urged. Her upper lip curled momentarily. “Why?” I patted the empty space in front of me. “I want to show you something.” “I’m not exactly dressed for a motorcycle ride,” she rejected. Since she’d driven to the storage facility directly after work, she still wore her work clothes from the day—dark grey dress pants and a matching jacket with a dark purple shell underneath. She always looked like she’d stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine, even after a long day of litigation. I patted the leather seat again and showed her my teeth. “I promise you’ll like it.” I spied the quick roll of her caramel-colored eyes, but then had to suppress a victory whoop when Julia stepped closer to me and my bike. She eyeballed the motorcycle with trepidation. “I’ve never been on one of these things.” I started up the bike and cranked on the throttle to make the engine roar. “Glad I can be your first time at something,” I said cheekily. Julia pursed her lips. I could see her mentally wrestling between wanting to put up a fight but also her curiosity about what I wanted to show her. “It’s just like riding a regular bicycle,” I assured her. “Toss one leg over the seat and sit down.” “You’re not planning on driving this thing in here, are you?” she openly worried. I could have felt insulted that she’d called my beloved motorcycle a thing, but I was too focused on getting her on the bike to feign injury about her unfavorable word choice. “We won’t move an inch. I promise.” I kept my feet firmly planted on the concrete floor to make sure the bike wouldn’t wobble when Julia finally got into position. Experience with this woman told me she would bolt the moment she believed I had ulterior motives. I did have ulterior motives, but it had nothing to do with taking her on a joyride around the storage garage. Julia sturdied herself with her hands firm on my shoulders before she swung one leg over the leather seat of the Harley. She gingerly lowered herself until she sat in the empty space between my own body and the chrome gas tank. I leaned forward until my chest pressed against her back. With my leather jacket and her wool blazer sandwiched between us, I couldn’t feel much of anything. But this wasn’t about me; it was all intended for her. “Scooch up a little,” I coaxed. “And grab onto the handlebars.” Julia slid forward on the seat, but didn’t immediately reach for the handlebars. I kept my boots firm on the ground. I rested my hands on her hips. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.” I tightened my hold on her body. “We’re not going to move,” I reiterated. “I promise I won’t let us tip over.” Julia tentatively reached for the handlebars. She lightly rested her manicured hands on either bar. I was impressed by her willingness to trust me and follow my instructions. An earlier version of Julia Desjardin would have been stomping out of the storage facility by now. I was being