Fallen from Grace

Copyright © 2014 by Leigh Songstad

All rights reserved.

Edited by Jennifer Roberts-Hall

Cover Designed by Indie Book Covers

Interior Designed by Kassi Cooper

No part of this book may reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

J
UDAS
W
OODS
THREW
HIS
LEGS
off the side of the bed and stroked a hand along the stubble shading his jaw. Across the room behind him, sunlight poured through steel encased windows that spanned the width of the wall and gave way to a breathtaking view of Midtown Manhattan. It had been nearly dawn before he’d gone to bed, and the reason was fast asleep and snoring behind him. Rubbing his sore neck, he glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping blonde who the bed belonged to—Rebecca Meyers.

He shook his head and looked at the clock. 9:30 am.
Shit
. Judas had to be in court in thirty minutes, and only a miracle would get him there on time. At the beginning of his career, he’d taken his oath seriously and thought he could make a difference in the world. But that hope slowly died inside him like a flame denied oxygen.

“Why did you get
that
tattoo? It’s absolutely beautiful, but haunting at the same time,” Rebecca said, stirring behind him.

Judas knew which one she was referring to; the beautiful, ominous woman with the eyes of despair—The Virgin Mary. His outlet was ink, each
mark
a new piece on his back. Soon a t-shirt wouldn’t conceal them. His tattoos, his sins would be bared for the world to view.

Rebecca’s question compelled him to remember; to revisit the death of his mother and the events that followed. He leaned forward and braced his elbows against his knees as he tried to shake away the thoughts, but they came roaring back to him even as he thrust his fingers through his hair.

Judas never called his father, Jack Woods “Dad”, or any sentimental endearment, and he never would. Maybe asshole, or SOB, but not Dad. He’d always been controlling, but the unexpected death of his wife had left him cold and callous. He forced Judas to go to law school, and though he had other dreams, he acceded to his father’s demand. It hadn’t been out of fear or diffidence, but an inexcusable guilt that haunted his dreams and forever gave his father the ammunition he required to control his life.

Judas studied at Harvard Law School for six years, and at the age of twenty-four, he graduated first in his class. Law wasn’t his passion, but he discovered a love for it during his years of study.

He didn’t receive one phone call, email or visit from Jack. Just an annual check to pay his tuition and rent. Judas shared a house with two guys who were notorious for parties, but he usually sat in his room with the door closed as he read or studied.

When he graduated, Jack wasn’t in attendance among the proud parents, family and friends at the ceremony. There was no one in the crowd for Judas. The following day, a driver in a black Town Car arrived and brought him back to New York City.

When Judas was delivered to the palatial penthouse space, his father wasn’t there. He assumed his father had sold the loft Judas spent the first eighteen years of his life, and had done God knows what with his personal things. Inside the guest bedroom, a black Armani suit and an invitation to New York’s Annual Breast Cancer Awareness Fundraiser sat on the bed.

He unpacked his bags, took a hot shower, then shaved and dressed in the tailored suit and shiny black shoes. Taking the elevator to the first floor, he walked across the lobby that was a sea of silver, and through the revolving doors that opened to the city. The driver who’d driven him to the penthouse was parked along the curb, and he opened the door as soon as Judas stepped outside.

“Have you been here this entire time?” Judas asked, coming to stand next to the car. It had been over three hours.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Woods.”

“Do you know where my father is?”

“I believe he will be at the fundraiser, sir.”

Judas nodded and unbuttoned his jacket before sliding into the backseat. The driver shut the door, and they drove through the city to the Hilton located Midtown. Judas climbed out before the driver could come around and open his door. He wasn’t used to the luxury of a personal chauffeur, and quite honestly, it unnerved him. He’d rather drive, but his car was missing, along with everything else.

Inside the hotel, his nerves didn’t get a reprieve. He felt out of place as he walked around the lavishly decorated event space. He picked a glass of champagne off a tray as a server walked by, then took a drink as his gaze soaked in the room and the people. The women wore extravagant gowns with layers of jewels snaked around their wrists and necks, and the men wore black and white suits with bow ties.

Judas adjusted his bow tie that suddenly felt very tight.

“You look as bored as a house cat,” a predatory voice purred from behind him.

Judas turned around and was caught off guard by an incredibly pretty woman. Her blue eyes shifted slowly down his body as if she was summing up his market value, and her blonde hair fell in curls to the top of her round breasts, which were pressed together, barely concealed by the neckline which dipped very, very low. One hand held her champagne flute, and the other tapped a red, manicured finger against the stem. It matched her dress and her lipstick screamed sexual siren.