Monster: Made & Broken (A Mafia Bad Boy Romance)

by Nora Ash

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Contact

  Summary

  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

  Want More?

  Monster

  Made & Broken

  By Nora Ash

  Copyright 2015 Nora Ash

  All Rights Reserved

  No parts of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format or by any means, without the express and written permission by the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any and all likeness to trademarks, corporations or persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

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  Summary

  I’ll kill to protect her. And then I’ll make her mine.

  Marcus

  They always called me crazy. Sociopath. A monster without a conscience.

  I always thought they were right. I've never backed down from anything, and the only thing that has ever soothed the monster in my chest was killing.

  Then she walked into my life. The woman who seduced me so she could sell my secrets to my enemy.

  I should have killed her, but when I looked into her eyes I knew she was the only one who could save me from myself.

  Evelyn

  It was supposed to be an easy job: seduce a ruthlessly handsome man and steal his pen drive while he’s sleeping. Not the worst thing I’ve had to do while working for the mafia. By far.

  I didn’t know Marcus Steel was the son of London’s most dangerous crime family—and I didn’t know one night with him meant that every criminal in London would be after my blood.

  He’s the only one powerful enough to protect me now, but I’m not sure if that’s what he’s got in mind. I’ve seen what he does to people who cross him.

  He’s a monster.

  And now, his sights are set on me.

  Monster is part 2 of the Made & Broken series, but it has a HEA ending and can be read as a standalone.

  This full-length mafia romance contains dark and explicit scenes. Readers beware!

  Chapter 1

  Evelyn

  I knew I was in trouble when my boss didn’t send a regular goon to pick me up.

  For the first time since I’d made the mistake of borrowing money from Gerald Brigs, casino owner, mafia boss and all-round scumbag, he came by my flat in person. Not a good sign.

  In my one and a half years of service to London’s underworld, I’d learned that any deviation from the norm was never good.

  “Evelyn. Always a pleasure, my dear,” said the man on my doorstep. He was wearing a trench coat and a thin-lipped smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

  I tried to return the expression, but could only manage a grimace as I swept my gaze over his three companions. The two goons he’d brought as bodyguards I didn’t recognize, but the third man I did.

  Where Gerald rarely bothered with his lowliest employees, his nephew, Leo, was the guy who usually briefed me on my marks and dealt with any situations the goons couldn’t. I’d also witnessed what he did to the prostitutes unfortunate enough to work for the Brigs empire. I made it a point to never be alone in a room with him.

  “Have I done something wrong?” I asked. Leo closed the door behind the two, leaving their two-goon escort outside. I mentally reviewed the details of the last assignment they’d given me. I had done everything they’d asked, as I always did. I might not have made it to university, but I was smart enough to know what happened to people who disobeyed a crime lord.

  “On the contrary,” Gerald said as he took in my studio flat. “You’ve been doing such an excellent job, we’ve decided it’s time to entrust you with something a bit more… delicate.” He reached into his coat and produced a brown A4 envelope.

  I took the brief from him, examining its contents. Where normally the envelope would contain a couple of pages’ worth of information on the mark, this time there was only a picture and a series of seemingly random words. I held it up, scrutinizing it to see what was so different about this guy.

  The first thing I noticed was that he was exceedingly handsome. His black hair was tousled perfectly, though it was obvious it had required no effort on his part. Dark brows framed his gray, almond-shaped eyes and his cheekbones were strong and defined. If his mouth hadn’t been so soft, his features would almost have been too prominent to call beautiful. But it was—and he looked like a freaking supermodel.

  “Er… are you sure I’m a good match?” I bit my lip, feeling oddly self-conscious under the intensity of the photo’s stare. “I mean…”

  It wasn’t that I was bad-looking. My figure might have been fuller than what was considered the hallmark of conventional beauty, but my curves had lured enough hapless men into Brigs’ claws that I knew the appeal of my red hair, round hips, and full breasts. But this guy was clearly a class—or five—above mine. I was distinctly more girl-next-door than swimsuit model.

  “I mean, he’s probably used to more high society girls,” I finally managed, pulling my gaze from the picture to look at my boss.

  A small smile pulled on his lips. “You’re the perfect girl for this job. His name is Marcus Steel, and he has something of mine. A pen drive. I want you to get an invitation to his flat and find this pen drive for me. It’s bound to be somewhere secure, so there’s a chance you’ll have to get into his safe. The list on there are things and people that might mean something to him. Use that to work out the code.”

  I blinked down at the list. “How on Earth am I meant to figure out a code to his safe from random words?” I might have plenty of street smart, but solving ciphers was above my pay grade.

  Brigs’ smile turned cooler. “Don’t sell yourself short. We’ve been nothing but pleased with your results so far—I am certain you won’t disappoint me this time, either. After all, such a delicate assignment will cut a thousand pounds off your debt rather than the usual five hundred.”

  His tone made it clear that I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I failed. Then the other implied part of the assignment dawned on me and I paled. I had lured men with the promise of my body before, but I’d never had to follow through. Once the poor idiots followed me to the designated drop-off point, Brigs’ goons had always taken over. But if I was supposed to get an invitation to this mark’s home… then there would be no one to intervene. And a guy like that would most definitely expect sex if he brought a woman home.

  It was kind of funny—before Brigs, I would have been more than happy to spend a night with a man that looked like this Marcus Steel, but now… When Brigs had discussed how I could repay my loan, I’d been very adamant I wouldn’t work in one of his brothels, which was what landed me my job as a Honey Trap. But deep down, I’d known it would only be a matter of time before they would make me go all the way.

  The way Leo treated the other women in his employ, it
was pretty obvious no one in the Brigs empire cared about a woman’s right to her own body.

  I dug my nails into the palm of my free hand. I knew better than to protest. I’d just have to work out how to get out of any sexual obligations once I was inside Marcus Steel’s home. I might be forced to work for the mafia, but someday I would be free from them again, and when that day came I wanted to be able to look myself in the eye.

  I forced a smile on my face as I looked at my boss. “Okay. I’ll get your pen drive back. Where can I find this Marcus Steel?”

  * * * *

  Chapter 2

  Evelyn

  Eleonore was one of the fanciest clubs I’d ever been to. I picked up my marks at clubs often enough, but they were usually the type with loud dance music and a mixture of drugs and semen lining the bathroom stalls.

  When I walked up to Eleonore, the red carpet guiding the way to the doors muted the sound of my clicking heels, and instead of jarring dubstep blasting out whenever a patron passed through the double doors, the soft, lilting notes of jazz music wafted into the night.

  I smiled hesitantly at the huge bouncer taking up most of the step in front of the door. Even though I’d worn the kind of camouflage that would help me fit in here—a black dress that managed to still look classy, even though it certainly marketed my cleavage nicely—I didn’t exactly feel at home. Even when I wasn’t working for Brigs, my usual attire consisted of jeans and a t-shirt. Or, of course, my uniform when I worked my day job as a waitress. Eleonore managed to make me feel like I was sticking out like a sore thumb before I’d even gotten inside.

  But the bouncer simply unclipped the red velvet rope for me, stepping aside as he let me through.

  “Thank you,” I said as I passed him, offering him a smile as well.

  If he heard me, he ignored me. Well, suit yourself, Grumpy.

  I left my coat with a girl working the wardrobe and continued in through another set of double doors, these ones made from glass with gilded bars functioning as door knobs.

  I had to pull myself together to not let my jaw hit my chest at the barrage of impression that washed over me on the other side. At the far corner was a beautiful bar, which looked like it was made from hardwood and polished so perfectly even the soft lighting in the club reflected off it. The plush, deep-red carpet from the entrance and corridor turned to parquet flooring that led to multiple high tables and chairs in front of a small dance floor and a stage. Not many people graced the chairs—it was a Tuesday night, after all—but on the stage a band played the enticing jazz rhythms I’d been able to hear since entering the club.

  I soaked in the atmosphere, enjoying the sophisticated ambience as much as the music itself. I’d always loved jazz.

  But I was here for a job, and it didn’t involve standing around wishing for things to have worked out differently. I sighed, pulling myself out of the revelry.

  A quick scan of the few patrons at the tables told me that my mark wasn’t among them, nor was he part of one of the two couples slow dancing in front of the stage, seemingly lost to the rest of the world. Thank God. That could have been awkward.

  I looked back over at the bar and frowned at the flirting couple near the end closest to me. They were blocking my view of the other side of it, so I decided to walk on over and check it out. If nothing else, a drink was always a good way to calm my nerves before I picked up my mark.

  On the other side of the couple, a tall man sat at the very far end, one shoulder leaned against the wall. My heart sped up with a burst of adrenaline. Could it be him? I craned my neck in an effort to see him better, but he was facing away. All I could see was ebony hair and incredibly wide shoulders underneath a black shirt.

  “What can I get you, miss?”

  I jolted at the unexpected voice and flashed a nervous smile at the barman. Something about the underplayed extravagance set me on edge, as if everyone would be able to tell I came from several rungs down the social ladder.

  “Vodka and tonic, thanks,” I said, trying to keep my tone indifferent and effortless.

  When he grabbed for the bottle of Grey Goose, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from protesting. Instead, I smiled sweetly when he passed me my drink and added a generous tip. Brigs always covered expenses, and if Tall, Dark, and Mysterious at the end of the bar didn’t turn out to be Marcus Steel, then I might need the barman’s help to locate him later.

  Mustering my courage, I took a quick sip of my drink and then walked over to the seat right next to the guy I was hoping was my mark.

  “It’s a lovely band,” I said as I slid in on the bar stool, somehow managing to get on it relatively gracefully. Being a short girl doesn’t make wrangling of bar stools an easy task.

  Talk, Dark, and Mysterious didn’t so much as spare me a glance.

  Maybe he didn’t hear me?

  “Do you come here often?” Okay, so it was cheesy, but from my experience, it worked.

  His only reaction was to take a swig of what looked like cola from his own glass.

  Right, then. So he was an arse. I pinched my lips and reminded myself I preferred it that way—my job was better when the guy Brigs had me lure into a trap was a jerk. It made it easier to pretend like he deserved what happened to him after I left him with Brigs’ goons.

  Emboldened by my annoyance, I skipped past the usual smalltalk and instead slipped my drink-free hand underneath the bar and onto his thigh, letting my fingertips graze the bulge between them.

  The strength of his muscles clenching underneath my touch surprised me—I could feel the power in his thigh against my palm and half-expected him to shoot out of his chair.

  It wasn’t what I’d expected. Surprise, sure, but the deathly silence from my unwilling companion made an eerie sense of foreboding tingle down my spine and raise every hair on my body. Slowly, I looked up, my irritation with his previous lack of response replaced by anxiety.

  Marcus Steel’s ice-gray eyes met mine when my gaze made it all the way up.

  Only the man staring down at me was nothing like his picture. Sure, his ruthless good looks were the same, from the black cascade of tousled hair to the soft lips and defined features, but what was behind that icy gaze, the photo hadn’t managed to convey. If it had, I would have tried much, much harder to get out of this assignment.

  Everything about that look screamed danger, making the reptilian part of my brain wake in a shock of adrenaline.

  I trembled as every nerve ending strained to its fullest, making my skin so hypersensitive I could feel the warmth radiating from him. The faint trace of his cologne hit my flared nostrils, along with something else. Something unidentifiable that heated the lower parts of my abdomen and made me squeeze my thighs together, even as a primal fear dug its claws in deep.

  Oh. Maybe “it” wasn’t so unidentifiable, after all.

  There was no doubt in mind, after no more than three seconds’ eye contact, that this man was trouble.

  But he was also one hundred percent alpha male, and despite the overwhelming sense of peril that rushed over me staring into his eyes, my body was seemingly also perfectly in tune with the other aspect of his nature.

  The unexpected flood of arousal dampened my initial fear enough that I remembered I probably needed to say something soon.

  “Hi,” I croaked. Not the smoothest of lines, but given how my hand was still grasping his thigh, too petrified to let go, I figured it was better than nothing.

  Marcus didn’t respond, and his face remained completely impassive.

  “I’m Evelyn Embry,” I continued, my voice still not much louder than a hoarse whisper. The second my name left my lips I could have smacked myself. I hadn’t meant to give him my real name—it was page-freaking-one in dealing with a mark. But his overwhelming presence had made it slip out without conscious thought, and now there was nothing I could do to take it back. Hopefully, he would have forgotten it before he ever realized my true intentions.

  His eyes fi
nally moved then, flicking briefly to my hair, across my face and—finally—to my amply displayed breasts, where they lingered for just a second before he looked back up again. His gaze made a hot blush follow the path of his eyes, and I couldn’t hold back a shaky exhale as I stared into his darkened eyes. His pupils seemed larger, as if the light in the room had dimmed, even though the shine from the polished bar told me otherwise.

  “What you’re selling, little sister, I’m not buying.”

  I blinked at the rumbling timbre of his voice. The softness in it completely contradicted everything else about his presence.

  “I’m not selling anything.”

  His eyes briefly landed on my hand on his thigh. My fingertips were still brushing ever so lightly against the bulge of his cock.

  “Oh! No, I’m not… I’m not a prostitute,” I stammered, my blush increasing ten-fold. Yeah, of course he would think the stranger groping him would be looking for a client. Eleonore wasn’t your run-of-the-mill nightclub—uninvited touching wasn’t expected.

  This wasn’t working out at all like I’d planned. I finally managed to remove my hand from his thigh, placing it awkwardly on the bar between us.

  “I just…” I looked up into those glacier-cool eyes and felt all my barriers come crumbling down. How did a single person shake me so thoroughly? I felt naked underneath his stare, and it both frightened and aroused me more than it had any business doing. “I wanted to meet you.”

  “Why?”

  Not the question I’d expect from a guy who looked like Marcus Steel.

  “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” I frowned. “Why do women normally want to meet you?”

  His face remained impassive, but the darkness in his eyes intensified, pulling at those warring sensations in my gut: the cold dread of adrenaline, and the hot, champagne fizz of pure sexual attraction. “They don’t.”