An Unlocked Mind Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  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

  More from K.C. Wells & Parker Williams

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  About the Authors

  By K.C. Wells

  By Parker Williams

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  Copyright

  An Unlocked Mind

  By K.C. Wells & Parker Williams

  Secrets: Book Two

  Rob Daniels is determined to prove to himself that his brother Alex got it wrong. Alex believes he found love through BDSM; Rob is certain that’s not possible. He even makes several visits to a London club to prove his point. But when he attends the grand opening of Secrets, Rob gets a shock, one that has him fleeing, vowing never to return—until he does… and runs into the brick wall that is Dom Vic Prentiss. As first meetings go, theirs is a disaster.

  The more time he spends around Rob, the more convinced Vic becomes of two things—one, something is eating away at Rob, and two, he’s looking for something. Every instinct tells Vic to help him, but trying to unlock the secrets hidden in Rob’s mind requires a key. All Vic has to do is find it. Because maybe then he’ll get to see the real Rob, the man who’s scared to let go….

  For all those who thought that Rob Daniels was an irredeemable little shit—We hope to change your minds.

  As always, our thanks go to our wonderful team of beta readers—Jason, Helena, Mardee, Debra, and Bev.

  Chapter One

  January, 2017

  “EXCUSE ME, young man, I wonder if you could help me. You do work here, don’t you?”

  Rob Daniels looked down at his uniform—a blue-and-red checked shirt, over which he wore a garish purple apron he’d had to borrow from Heather because he’d left his at home. The ghastly thing bore the supermarket’s logo across the chest, and the wide front pocket bulged with tape, a mountain of slim cards for shelf-edge pricing, several lists of what was on special offer, and a number of permanent marker pens that always seemed to end up staining his fingers. He bit his tongue, fighting the urge to voice his first thought—Why, yes, madam. What gave it away? He really didn’t need that kind of trouble. Thankfully his days off were coming. One less day to endure the crap he dealt with on a daily basis.

  He instead gave a terse nod and a mumbled, “Yes, madam.”

  Her eyebrows shot up briefly, but then she schooled her features. “I’m looking for something that’s gluten-free, but it also needs to be dairy-free and vegan.” She stood there, her bony arms crossed, waiting for him to answer.

  There was that urge again. The one he’d had to repress ever since he started working at Watts supermarket. He wanted to snap and say, Hey, I know just the thing! How about a fucking glass of water? But Rob wasn’t that stupid. He needed this job, which right then called for tact and diplomacy. So that meant burying his anger under yet another layer of false niceties.

  He gave her a cheery smile. “Let me show you to our specialty foods aisle. You’ll probably find what you’re looking for there.”

  He led her around the store, past the bakery, where the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread caused his stomach to rumble, down the sweets and chocolate aisle, and finally to the area where Rob was certain there would be nothing to satisfy her.

  He indicated the shelves with an outstretched arm. “Here you are. Everything you need should be in this area.”

  He turned to go back to his task when she cleared her throat. “Can you tell me anything about these products?”

  He groaned inwardly before facing her with his best smile glued in place. “What would you like to know?”

  She pointed at a colorful box of pasta that declared itself to be gluten-free. “Well, how do they taste? If you were making it, what kind of sauce would you use? What kind of wine would go well with it? Things like that.”

  Rob opened his eyes wide. How the fuck would I know? He’d never eaten the stuff before. And besides, no one had ever asked him things like that. Well, mostly no one—there had been a couple of awkward moments. He looked around for another person who might know, but there wasn’t anyone in the vicinity. Typical.

  When he returned his attention to his customer, her expression was smug, and he went from being annoyed by her to actively disliking the old bat. It was as if she knew she was getting on his nerves and was playing it up.

  “I’m afraid I’ve never tried them,” he said, keeping the because I have taste comment locked firmly in his mind.

  She huffed, and her sunken cheeks went bright red. “I want to speak to your manager. The level of service here has become very lax of late, and this is completely unacceptable.”

  What the hell? In his mind, her reaction was definitely over the top. All this over a box of fucking pasta?

  “I could try to find someone else to help you,” he said, hoping to placate her.

  It was obvious from her expression that that line wasn’t going to work. “This is just not good enough, but frankly it’s typical of the kind of attitude one sees so often these days in retail. This is your job, isn’t it? Every employee should be able to answer my questions immediately. Not only did you not have the answers, you’ve made me wait. That’s unacceptable. I want to speak to your manager.” Her voice was brittle, with a slight quaver.

  Oh, great. Rob had visions of yet another job going down the toilet, and for what? He’d tried to help her, he’d been nice to her, and now she was going to complain to his boss?

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Let me get Mr. Peterson for you.”

  He shuffled off in the direction of the office, knowing his shoulders had slumped. If it hadn’t taken him four weeks to land this job, Rob would have told her and the store manager where to go, and then walked out, his head held high. But this month’s rent would be due soon, and tonight was his weekly thrill of “face the bills.”

  He went into the office and stood at the desk of Mr. Peterson, his direct supervisor.

  “What can I do for you, Rob?” he asked without looking up.

  Rob breathed evenly. “I’ve got a customer who’d like to speak to you. She has a question about the specialty foods that I can’t answer.”

  Mr. Peterson glanced up, his brow furrowed. “Like what?”

  Rob sighed. “She came to me while I was putting up the flyers, asked me for something, and I walked her to the aisle most likely to contain it. When she wanted specific details, I told her I hadn’t tried the items and couldn’t give her an informed opinion. Then she got annoyed and said she wanted to speak to you.”

  Mr. Peterson wasn’t a bad manager. He actually seemed to care about his employees, unlike some of the others Rob had worked with. He’d seen Mr. Peterson dealing with staff many times during the last month,
and he had always been fair. Rob hoped this would be one of those times.

  Mr. Peterson crossed his arms on the desk and leveled a steady gaze at Rob. “You should have attempted to answer her questions at least.”

  Shit. Apparently not one of those times.

  Rob stared at him. “How could I? She’s asking about wine pairings and sauces to go with her gluten-free pasta. I don’t know the answer to those things.”

  “Then at the very least you should have told her to give you a moment to check. Now? She’s going to be angry that you didn’t know, plus she’s likely to be more upset for having to wait.”

  “I was honest with her,” Rob protested. “How can she expect me to know details like that about every product we sell? Don’t you think that’s unreasonable?”

  Mr. Peterson arched his eyebrows. “She had no way of knowing your status here. For all she knew, you could have been the manager of that department. And what you should have done is excused yourself and gone to fetch the manager of that department, or come and spoken with me.”

  Rob wanted to scream. “But I did come to speak to you.” They were going in circles, and all the while, that old bitch was probably growing more and more irate.

  Mr. Peterson stood and moved the papers he’d been working on into a folder. “Well, let’s go and see if we can smooth things over, shall we?” He made his way to the door, then turned back. “Both of us, Rob. You can use a bit more training on how to deal with people.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  A deep sigh, a dip of the chin, and Rob trailed after his manager.

  The bitter old hag was still standing there, looking at her watch. When Mr. Peterson approached her, she put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

  “I have to say, this store has really gone downhill. I’ve never had to wait five minutes to speak with someone before. This is just not acceptable.”

  “My apologies, madam,” Mr. Peterson said in a steady voice. “I was on the phone when Rob came in, and I just now finished up the call.”

  She grunted, and then her gaze flicked to Rob. “I don’t like this young man’s attitude. I asked him questions about pasta, and he refused to answer me.”

  “I didn’t—” Rob began, but he stopped when Mr. Peterson held up a hand.

  “I do apologize for Rob. He’s new here and doesn’t know everything about the store just yet.” He spoke smoothly, confidently, his apologetic tone evident.

  “Then maybe he should have received better training,” she barked. “He obviously wasn’t ready to be dealing with the public, and it seems to me that it’s your fault he’s out here in the first place. When I come here, I expect to have all my questions answered promptly and courteously. This time I received neither. Unless you do something about this, I’m going to be phoning your manager when I get home.”

  Mr. Peterson’s cheeks pinked slightly. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I’ll be dealing with the problem directly.”

  She wagged a finger in Mr. Peterson’s face. “See that you do,” she snapped. The woman crossed her arms and shot Rob a smug look before she turned and stomped off.

  Mr. Peterson stared after her. “Rob….”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Rob protested, though he knew it wouldn’t do him any good, of course.

  His boss turned and gave a weak smile. “I know, but we have to keep the customers happy. Would it kill you to be a little friendlier to them?” His smile did little to take the edge off his words.

  Anger welled up inside Rob, but he bit his cheek to keep from lashing out. “She asked me to help her and I did. What else was I expected to do? Open the box and eat the pasta for her too? I don’t know the products. I offered to get someone else to help her, but that wasn’t good enough.”

  People hurried past them, shop assistants and customers alike, but Rob didn’t care if they felt uncomfortable. He was about to be punished unfairly for doing his job to the best of his ability.

  “I understand that, but in her mind, she’s made a legitimate complaint.”

  “Legitimate?” Rob ground out. “Tell me, then. How should I have handled it? Because I don’t see where I did anything wrong.” His stomach churned and his palms were clammy. This is all fucked-up.

  His boss wiped a hand over the back of his balding head. “Why don’t you take a couple days off? Give this some time to blow over. Come back on Monday, and we’ll be okay again. If management asks, I can tell them the situation was handled, and that will be the end of it.”

  “You’re… suspending me?” Rob bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting.

  “No,” Mr. Peterson assured him, his voice soothing once more. “This won’t appear on your record. We’ll just give you a few days off to, you know, relax.”

  A few days off? His finances were already stretched razor-thin. There wasn’t any way he could afford to lose more than two days’ worth of pay. “But—”

  “It’s for the best, Rob. Go ahead and punch out. Come back on Monday, and we’ll put this behind us.”

  Rob ground his teeth as he stormed away from Mr. Peterson. He went into the back of the supermarket, jerked the apron over his head, and tossed it to the floor.

  “This is bullshit,” he grumbled. “I didn’t do a bloody thing wrong.”

  He jerked open the door to his locker to grab his jacket before slamming the door hard enough to have it bounce back open. He hit it several times, until finally it stayed closed, then leaned his head against the cool surface.

  Life wasn’t fair. There was Alex, his brother, with a new job, married to a man—Rob still couldn’t believe that part—who thought the world of him, and happy as a fucking lark. And there was Rob, stocking shelves at the local supermarket. A dead-end job instead of what he should have had. The injustice of it all wearied him, and he tried his best to push aside such thoughts. He didn’t need the whining voice in his head.

  “No use crying over spilled milk,” Rob said to himself as he put on his jacket, before reaching for his trainers and dropping onto a plastic chair.

  The door to the lockers opened, and another assistant, Neil, came strutting in. “Suspended, huh?”

  The cocky bastard grinned, which set Rob’s temper skyrocketing. “Yep. And for no good reason.”

  Neil sat on a plastic chair next to where Rob was pulling on his trainers. “You didn’t really think Martin was going to side with you, did you? If the choice comes down to him getting in trouble or you, well, there’s no contest, is there?”

  Rob stood. “I thought he was better than that.” He ignored the use of Mr. Peterson’s first name, clearly an attempt to put Rob in his place.

  Neil snorted. “No one is going to go to the wall for anyone else, mate. People aren’t like that.”

  After he shrugged into his coat, Rob turned to Neil. “Good luck. Those flyers still need to be hung.”

  He’d made it to the door when Neil called out to him. “Take care, okay? You didn’t deserve it, you know.” The remark was so out of character, Rob stopped and turned to face him. Neil gave him a half smile. “Seriously.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Rob waved at him and then stepped out the door that led to the rear of the supermarket.

  The late-January air had bite to it, and Rob shivered despite the coat he wore. He reached into his pocket and counted out money for the bus. Then he realized he needed to save every penny. Walking home it is, then. The fact that it was over two miles didn’t matter, as it gave him time to think about what had happened. He’d tried to be decent to the woman. After all, it wasn’t like it was the first time a customer asked him something he couldn’t answer. But she’d been the worst of the lot because she hadn’t been willing to give him a chance to resolve her issue.

  Rob sighed. What the hell am I going to do? Thank goodness the previous month’s rent was up-to-date, because he’d been short and it had taken him four extra days to pay. His landlord, Mr. Mackenzie, had given Rob the time to come up with
the money, but he knew he couldn’t expect the man’s good graces again.

  Of course, walking two miles with so much going on in his head had both positive and negative outcomes. The journey passed quickly, but by the time he walked into his flat, he was beside himself with worry. He grabbed a glass of water from the tap—even though he really wanted a beer—and sat down in the threadbare gray chair he’d found in the local charity shop for a couple of quid. It was comfortable, and after regular applications of both upholstery cleaner and Febreze, it now smelled okay too. He glanced at the small table next to it, where bills lay. Several of them.

  Can’t put it off forever.

  Rob groaned and reached for the stack. There were so many it made Rob’s stomach clench. He was going to come up short on several of them because of his lost wages. Maybe if he didn’t eat for the next few days, it might take some of the sting out of it. On cue, his stomach protested the idea. He tossed everything back onto the table and noticed an embossed, cream-colored envelope that had somehow slipped to the floor. He picked it up. Secrets? He had no clue what that was about. The card inside was one of the fanciest he’d ever seen, gold-tone with more of the embossed printing, telling him he was invited to an opening. He opened the card, where he discovered Secrets was apparently the name of a club in London. Why the hell is some club in London inviting me to—

  Then it clicked. The place had formerly been known as Whispers. Rob groaned and threw it into the dustbin. That was the last thing he needed.

  Pulling open the door, he found the refrigerator was a stark wasteland. He’d expected to get paid next week and had planned to do a little shopping to tide him over. When he extracted his wallet from his pocket, he found a grand total of forty-seven pounds and twelve pence. Hardly enough to last him the week.

  Now what do I do?

  He was still trying to work out where else he could claw some money from, when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and pressed Ignore. After the day he’d had, he was in no mood to talk to Mum. She wasn’t a bad sort, but she’d become increasingly clingy since Alex moved out. She was always asking him if he wanted to visit, along with not-so-subtle hints about moving back home. Right then, that particular option had some merit, but he couldn’t see himself living under his parents’ roof again. Maybe if the situation got dire enough, but things weren’t that bad yet. His efforts would be best served by looking for a solution.