Destroyed: Falcon Brothers (Steel Country Book 2)

by Mj Fields

  Contents

  Dedication

  The Playlist

  To The Reader

  Vegas

  We’re All The Same

  New York State of Mind

  Chasing Dragons

  They’re All The Same

  Reality’s Foul

  Facing Hell

  Calm Before...Her

  On My Knees

  Once Again

  Torn

  Be A Man

  Living Hell

  Cowboy Up

  Owned

  Respect

  Reminder

  In Deep

  Falling Part II

  Spilled

  Pain

  Clean Up

  Popping Pills

  Make Her Feel Beautiful

  Explosive

  Lucky She’s A Girl

  Fear of the Dark

  Re-Cast

  Mags’ Girl

  Memories

  All New

  Tractor Ridin’

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Wasted

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Other Titles by MJ Fields

  Destroyed

  By MJ Fields

  Copyright © 2017 MJ Fields

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of MJ Fields, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1st edition published: May 29, 2017

  Editing by: C&D Editing

  Proofed by: K. Ginsberg

  Cover Model & Photographer: Nathan Hainline

  Cover Design and formatting by: Jersey Girl Designs

  Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my mom, who doesn’t read my books because they are...naughty. I’m glad you don’t. My ass aches from the thought of the flyswatter lashings I would get. And yes, I know you can still spank my ass. It’s your right and responsibility as my mom...forever.

  You have raised five children to never see color, social, or economic status as a determining factor of a person’s worthiness in friendship or respect. Worthiness is dependent on the person’s actions, character, and never societies’ stereotypes. Love is a guarantee, regardless.

  Good is good, and bad is bad. It’s in actions and words. It’s in the way we lead our lives and in our treatment of others.

  You raised dozens and dozens more humans while working full-time and dealing with five biological children. Very different children, on very different paths. Because of that, of you fostering so many children from so many different backgrounds and beginnings, your words, your expectations, and your demands of how we treat others were shown. We learned from your actions, words, and love in the truest form.

  Humans are flawed, none are less or more deserving of love, and we all choose who we become. Once we decide, decide not to wallow in our past or imposed pains, decide to be the good, treat others good, life changes.

  I love you because of...

  The Playlist

  “Bruises” by Lewis Capaldi

  “A Little Bit Stronger” by Sara Evans

  “In Case You Didn’t Know” by Brett Young

  “Flatliner” by Cole Swindell (Feat. Dierks Bentley)

  “Who I Am With You” by Chris Young

  “Bless The Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts

  “Remember When” by Alan Jackson

  Listen On Spotify

  To The Reader

  We are not born with the ability to choose where we come from. Social and economic statuses are no more a choice than color, nationality, or birth families.

  Life is neither black nor white. It’s not cut and dry. A person’s suffering may be more visible on the surface due to social and economic factors, while others suffer in silence, behind pretty clothes, nicer “walls,” and hidden pains.

  Unfortunately, some are raised to dwell on the things in which they cannot change, and they find comfort in the negativity in which they are surrounded by, instead of looking toward a future and daring to take a chance on themselves and the little lives they may someday bring into the world, hoping, praying, and damn near demanding better for themselves and those they love.

  What you see on the surface—judgement if you will—isn’t always the cold, hard truth. We are not born with the right to judge. We do not die better people because we have judged, but we all do it.

  Garrett and Juliana’s story shows two people whose visible scars are of different shades. One can be seen from miles away, while the other’s is hidden behind pretty walls. Yet, they are not much different at all.

  Their paths are different, their lives are different, the color of their skin is different. Visibly, they are different. But, when you step back and watch their journey, on their dirt road to something better, are they really that much different?

  You decide.

  XOXOXO MJ

  *This book does contain triggers in the form of flashbacks*

  Chapter One

  Vegas

  Garrett

  “I paid extra for this, Cherry,” I grumble when the prostitute with the clean bill of health looks over her shoulder at me, wide-eyed and a bit fucking nervous.

  “But...” she begins then stops when I roll off the bed, stand up, and walk over to do another line of coke off the small square mirror on the hotel room’s dresser.

  “All set,” I say as I swipe my hand under my nose, ridding myself of the excess powder under it.

  “But...” she begins again.

  “Butt, anal. Yeah, that. Take the cash, and I’ll get someone else,” I say, tossing it on the bed.

  “But...” she says again, and this time I let the whore finish. “You’re...big.”

  “Six-foot-two, two hundred pounds,” I say, grabbing my jeans. “If my cock was small, I’d look fucking ridiculous.” Pulling up my jeans, I walk to the door and open it as she jumps up and grabs her clothes. “Next!” I yell out into the hallway.

  ***

  “Give me a fucking minute,” I grumble into the mattress as my arms get jacked up behind me.

  “It’s time for you to go home,” a voice, that certainly isn’t the whore whose ass I just tore up, booms in my ear.

  I start to struggle, but there is no fucking point. I did enough coke, drank enough whiskey, and fucked enough pussy and ass in the past few days that I am destroyed.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I ask, still trying to fight.

  “Patrick Security. Your brother sent us.”

  “Fuck,” I groan as they release me.

  “Get dressed.”

  “I’d like to fucking shower,” I snarl at the two fucking goons.

  “You got three minutes,” he says.

  Fucking Gage.

  ***

  Looking out the window of the rented SUV, I grab the bag that the two goo
ns threw my shit in, pulling out my sunglasses and a bottle of pills. I toss back a few Vicodin, put on my shades, lean back, and let those fucking pills take me to a place where I’m numb. A place where I give no fucks about my brother who can do no wrong. A place where I don’t see disappointment in my mother’s and father’s eyes. A place where there are no secrets. A place where there is no pain. A place where the damned have a reprieve, the broken feel whole, and no one puts hands on anyone who doesn’t want it.

  Numb.

  Through the haze, I make my way out of the vehicle and into a private jet, where I sit down and close my eyes, enjoying the high, the numbness, knowing I am heading for hell.

  I am without sleep. Can’t find it. How the hell can I sleep when I am being dragged back to face what I have been running from for six years?

  Six fucking years!

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and walk to the bar.

  “Do you think that’s a wise idea?” one of the two goons asks.

  I set the rocks glass I had grabbed down and take the bottle of whiskey instead.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are, so I’m not about to tell you what I think is or isn’t wise.” I tip the bottle back in my mouth and drink it a quarter of the way down.

  “Your brother asked us to find you.” One of the two copper-haired, blue-eyed, suit wearing fuckers stands up and walks over as I sit back down. He hands me a card. “I really don’t give a fuck.”

  I toss the card beside me, lean back, take another swig, and then the fucker pulls it away.

  “Fuck—”

  “Xavier Steel is our brother-in-law,” he snarls. “You wanna pop a handful of pills, and then down a bottle of whiskey, you go right ahead, but not on our time.”

  “That name supposed to make me shake in my boots?” I laugh. “I’ve known him for years. Long before he had fucking money.”

  “Money doesn’t impress us, asshole. Doing the fucking job right does,” the other one speaks up.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes. Fuck them. Fuck every single one of them.

  ***

  Seven Years Ago...

  On the outskirts of Asbury Park, I pull up in front of the little rundown ranch that I assume was once painted white, but the paint is now nearly gone. What’s left of it is chipping and peeling off the shithole.

  I turn off the engine of my Hellcat. Fucking thing sticks out like a sore thumb in this area of town. Should have taken Razor’s beater for a trip like this, but he was fucked up when he gave me the name and location of his dealer. I certainly wasn’t going to give him the keys to my ride or stick around for him to realize the fact that he fucked up. I could now go right to the source to score the Blueys or Sticks I needed to turn off the noise in my head.

  Mom caught on to the fact that her little stash of Xanax she would pop when she flew was dwindling at a rapid speed. Didn’t ask my older brother Gage if it was him, but she sure as fuck asked my younger brother Gray and me. I wasn’t going to let him take the shit for me, so I owned it. Now she locks them up.

  You know what a seventeen-year-old with a big fucking wallet and no responsibility does with his disposable income and a mom who decides to lock up her pills? Not buy fucking baseball cards. But that’s what they think. Or maybe it’s what they want to believe. Either way, I need the shit, so I’m going to fucking get it.

  The front windows are boarded up, there is no street lights or light illuminating from the windows, and some thugs a few houses down are hanging out on their porches, pointing at me.

  A bit of nervousness washes over me, but the thought of another night getting fucked up on coke that is readily available in my town, just to stay awake, shakes that feeling off really quick-like.

  I walk up the steps, keeping the guys a few houses down in my peripheral, and my foot goes through the top one. Immediate pain, and then the feeling of warm liquid running down my leg causes me to curse. “Fuck.”

  I hear the sound of someone sniffing as I pull my leg out of the damn hole and look toward the source of the sound.

  I see someone sitting against the house in the dark corner, knees pulled up to their chest, arms wrapped around them, and shoulders hunched forward. A car passes by, casting a light on them.

  It’s a girl with two long pigtail braids, hair sticking out of them.

  When another car passes, she stands and walks closer to me.

  She’s not a girl. Well, not a young girl, anyway. She has on denim overall shorts with a tank top underneath. She’s rail thin, but has a nice rack.

  “You looking for Deeds, you’re two blocks away.” She points left.

  Her voice is rough, deeper than I expected. Her tone isn’t warm or inviting, not like her look. Of course it’s not. This is a fucking drug house.

  “Deeds?” I ask, trying to remember if that’s the name Razor spilled.

  “He buys the cars. No one here’s got that kind of bank.” She shrugs then points down. “You’re bleeding through your jeans.”

  As I look down, she squats and grabs the cuff of them, pulling them up. Then she looks up at me.

  “Got a lighter?”

  Fuck, she’s kind of beautiful in a totally unbeautiful way. Her hair makes no sense, her clothes are ridiculous, her shoes, well, I’ve seen my mom throw out flip flops that were a fuck of a lot less worn. A long strand of black waves hangs down the front of her face, and my hands itch to push it back, but I can’t. I can’t fucking touch her.

  “Lighter?” she asks again, bringing me back to the here and now.

  I reach into my pocket, pull out the black Zippo, and hand it to her. She takes it and lights it.

  “Dang, that’s pretty—”

  “Fuck,” I snap when she touches it.

  “—bad.” She looks up at me, and I can tell she’s trying not to smirk.

  “And that’s fucking funny to you?” I ask, trying not to do the same damn thing, but I can’t help smiling.

  Her eyes are the lightest shade of brown I have ever seen, freckles bridge her nose, and from what I can see, her tits are nice. Better than nice. Her tits are perfect. Looking over her head, I see the roundest little ass I have ever seen. I’m damn sure I could bounce a quarter off that thing.

  Shaking her head, she pulls a bandana out of her pocket and holds it against my wound.

  “Thanks,” I say as she ties it in the back.

  “Should stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down.” She stands, hands me the lighter, and steps back.

  “What’s your name?”

  “What’s it matter?” She shrugs then turns her back to me.

  Suddenly, I’m afraid I will never see her again.

  I grab her elbow, stopping her.

  She looks back with fear in her eyes. No, terror. I recognize that look. I wore it once before...many years ago.

  Needing to keep her here, not wanting her to go inside because what if...What if something happens to her?

  “Just wanted to know what my little nurse’s name was,” I say, forcing a smile.

  She cocks her head to the side, her eyes searching, seeking, scrutinizing mine.

  “Juliana. My name’s Juliana.”

  “Juliana, I’m kind of hungry. You feel like going to get something to eat?” What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck!

  “You gonna drop that car off at Deeds?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

  “No.” I shake my head slowly back and forth. “It’s my car.”

  Her eyes grow bigger, and she grins. “No way.”

  “Yes way.” I nod.

  Her smile turns into a straight line. “I’m not a hooker. I’m not gonna—”

  “Jesus, I just wanted to thank you.”

  “I’m not going to give you a blowjob. I’m not—”

  I throw my hands in the air and turn. “Can’t do a fucking nice thing for anyone anymore.”

  I start to walk down the steps, avoiding the broken ones.

  “Wait!”

&n
bsp; I turn and look back at her.

  “Tell me why I should trust you.”

  “I’m not from here, Juliana. I’m not gonna try to hurt you. I never would. But I’m not begging you to go. I’m out.” I turn and walk down the last step, heading toward my car.

  Once inside, I start it up, when there’s a loud tap on my window. It’s her.

  I crack it just a few inches, because I’m fucking pissed at her for assuming I was like any of these shitbags.

  “McDonalds. I want McDonalds.”

  “I want Taco Bell,” I retort, narrowing my eyes at her the same she is me.

  “I want both,” she says, trying to play it off as a challenge, but there is eagerness and honesty in her eyes that can’t be mistaken for anything else. She’s hungry.

  I hit the door unlock button. “Get in.”

  Once inside, she runs her hands over the dash. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I drop it into gear.

  “I wanna drive,” she says, and I look at her. “I’m serious.”

  I shake my head, turn away from her, and hit the gas, peeling out. “That ain’t happening.”

  When she laughs, it’s a beautiful sound.

  I look at her out of the corner of my eye. “Where to first?”

  She shakes her head then shrugs. “I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”

  At that moment, I wanted to do nothing but take her away from whatever she was hiding from.

  ***

  She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the restroom inside of the golden arches. I’m not sure what to make of it, and when I hesitate, she looks back. Our eyes meet, light brown to dark, and then she laughs again.

  Christ, that does something to me. The whole ride here she fucked with the radio, smiled, laughed. Hell, she even sang. Complete opposite of the girl who was cowering in the corner. I’m not sure if she’s insane or just relieved to get out of that shithole.

  “We need to clean it up.” She smiles then turns away, still pulling me behind her.

  Once inside the bathroom, she tells me to pull up my pant leg. I do.