by Lane Hart
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.
© 2018 Editor's Choice Publishing
All Rights Reserved.
Only Amazon has permission from the publisher to sell and distribute this title.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editor’s Choice Publishing
P.O. Box 10024
Greensboro, NC 27404
Edited by Angela Snyder
Cover by Addendum Designs
Cover model/photographer: Nathan Hainline
WARNING: THIS BOOK IS NOT SUITABLE FOR ANYONE UNDER 18. PLEASE NOTE THAT IT CONTAINS SEXUAL ASSAULT SCENES AND/OR DESCRIPTIONS THAT MAY BE A TRIGGER FOR INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE BEEN IN SIMILAR SITUATIONS.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Prologue
Knox
I came into this world with a gaping hole right smack dab in the center of my soul. I don’t remember being held as a child, and there was never anyone there to read me a story or tuck me into bed at night. The emptiness that I was born with seemed to grow a little more each day that passed when none of the couples who came through the all-boys’ home wanted to adopt me. Once I was old enough to understand that I was unwanted from birth, I gave up hope of having a family of my own.
Me and the other boys at the orphanage weren’t abused or treated badly. To the workers there, we were objects on an assembly line rather than kids, dealt with only as required and fed three meals a day as fast and efficiently as possible because it was a chore, someone’s job. None of the employees gave birth to us. We weren’t their responsibility. They just showed up and got paid to ensure we had food on our plates, a shelter over our heads, and that we didn’t kill each other if they turned their backs for more than two minutes. Two minutes was the minimum amount of time it would take for me to wrestle someone’s neck into a choke hold and cut off their oxygen. Or at least it was when I was a kid. Nowadays I can put a man to sleep much faster.
Anyway, my skills with that particular maneuver is how I attracted the attention of the Italian mob boss, Vito Scarfone. On one of the days he happened to stop by to recruit for his fighting pits, he walked into the cafeteria at the exact moment I had one of the older boys on the floor in a headlock. The jerk tried to steal my banana pudding. Again. It had been two weeks since I last had a taste of dessert because Joey, the fat prick, along with his friends, were always taking it from me and the younger boys. Even though Vito was looking for teenagers, he was impressed enough by my feistiness at age six that he brought me home. Well, not to his house, but to the house he paid Mrs. Engle to raise the bratty kids he would later make a fortune off of.
I was so naïve when I left the boys’ home with Vito that I thought it meant that I was finally going to have a daddy. Imagine my surprise when I never saw the man again in my life.
By the time I was old enough to fight, Vito had been arrested and locked up for all sorts of bad shit. It’s embarrassing the number of years I kept waiting for him to come back to the house for me, only to have my hopes crushed when I was finally told that he picked me to be one of his human cockfighters, not his son.
Still, I put in long hours at the gym after school from the time I was thirteen, hoping to impress Vito or one of the other bosses with my grappling and striking skills. I desperately sought approval from the coaches and basked in the warmth of any compliments they threw at me.
My childhood wasn’t so bad. I can’t really complain. I mean, I also had my two best friends in the house that I had fun hanging out with. But still, I wanted more. Needed more even though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for more of.
Now here I am, almost twenty years old, with a bottomless pit growing inside of me and nothing to show for myself other than being a decent fighter. I’ve got hard-earned muscles that women look at with interest, and I wasn’t even close to being the dumbest kid in school. Yet, none of that is enough.
No one really sees me. Hell, maybe that’s because I don’t even know who the fuck I am, so how could anyone else see what’s behind the shell of a man I’ve become? I simply exist, like a wild and beautiful beast in the zoo — one that’s fun to look at when you’re strolling through the park. But really, within five minutes, you’re bored with the animal in the cage unless it does a funny little trick to entertain you. Maybe you even take a photo to share with your friends on social media. Then the show is over, you move on, and you never spend another second thinking about the wild beast again.
For once, just for fucking once in my life, I wish someone would give a shit about me for more than five minutes.
“Fighters ready?” the referee standing in the center of the cage asks me. Bouncing on the balls of my feet to stay warm, I give him my nod of agreement while glaring at my opponent and grinding my teeth into my plastic mouthpiece.
Tonight it’s showtime for all the spectators at the zoo. They’re wound up too, yelling for us and snapping pictures with their phones, greedy to see the brutal bloodbath they paid good money for. And I’ll give it to them, because that emptiness I was born with is twice the size it was to begin with, which means that I don’t have a problem hurting other men. My conscience couldn’t give a rat’s ass if my opponent walks out of here or limps. He’s nothing to me now but my enemy.
This is my night.
My cage.
My show.
This, fighting, is the only thing I have, a few minutes in my life when I’m not invisible.
So, until that bell rings, I’ll be the baddest motherfucking beast these people have ever seen.
Chapter One
Officer Jade Horton
&nb
sp; October
My eyelids are fighting to stay open as I type the last of the notes on tonight’s hit and run into the computer. It’s after midnight and I’m so tired I could fall asleep right here at my desk. I should’ve gone home hours ago, but you don’t get ahead in the department unless you put in the extra effort. And as a woman, one of only a handful on the Raleigh PD’s payroll, that means I have to work twice as hard to get the same amount of respect from the boys' club.
Even though I’m stuck handling vehicular homicides, I can’t really complain. It’s a helluva lot better than the parking tickets I was giving out five years ago when I first came out of the academy. Sure, the hours suck as a cop, but I’m doing what I’ve always dreamed of, solving crimes, helping people, and making the city a little safer from low-life deadbeats like my own father. Not only was dear old dad an alcoholic, but he was a mean drunk, beating me and my mother over and over again because the criminal justice system failed us. Mom or I, whichever was still able to move, would always call for help. The police would come to our house in the small rural town of Emerald Isle I grew up in, lock up Dad for the night; and by the next morning, he would be back, even meaner than before.
It was an awful cycle that I intended to break for other women and children. At least that’s why I first went to college and majored in criminal justice before I joined the academy. Turns out that dealing with domestic violence, seeing the faces of the abused kids and not being able to promise them that their daddy wouldn’t do it again was too much of a head fuck for me, bringing back all the bad memories and turning me into the one thing a female police officer can never be — weak and emotional. That’s when I decided murders were a helluva lot easier to solve than the endless cycle of violence in a home. So, I’ve slowly been working my way up the bureaucratic ladder to make detective.
Unlike most families dealing with abusers, my mom and I got lucky. When I was eleven, my father left a bar behind the wheel of his car. Thankfully no one else got hurt in the accident. Well, just him and the power pole he wrapped his old Buick around. I was so happy when I found out that he couldn’t hurt us anymore that I hugged the two men in uniform who brought us the news, like they had done the deed themselves. Maybe that’s another reason why I decided I wanted to be a cop, because standing there in their arms that morning was one of the best days of my life.
A few months later, my mom remarried. Wyatt’s a nice guy who would tie himself to train tracks before he would let anyone hurt either of us. His sons, my two stepbrothers, were pains in the ass growing up, but I love them and miss them all. I haven’t seen my family in months…
“Horton.”
My name being spoken in that deep, stern, no-nonsense voice hits me harder than a pot of coffee upside my sleepy head.
“Yes, sir?” I ask as I jump to my feet to stand at attention and face not just my boss, but Randall Stokes, the fucking Chief of Police.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks as he smooths his fingers over his thick, salt and pepper mustache that matches the wavy hair on his head. While he may not be much taller than me, he’s built like a tank, showing that he’s keeping in shape even though he’s almost fifty and works behind a desk all day.
“Of course,” I answer since it’s really a hypothetical question. When the man who runs this place wants something, you better jump to it.
“Let’s talk in my office,” he says before he turns and marches in his crisp uniform and boots toward the back of the building that’s emptying out this late at night. Only a few officers are still at their desks, some finishing the paperwork for their shift like me, and the few unlucky ones chugging coffee as they start their day on the graveyard shift.
Inside the low-lit office, the chief shuts the door. I remain standing until he takes his chair. But instead of going around the other side to sit down, he remains standing behind one of the guest chairs.
“Have a seat, officer,” he instructs me, nodding to the seat in front of him, so I do as I’m told. Honestly, that was one of the hardest things for me to get used to in the academy. I’ve always been really freakin’ stubborn, which is probably part of the reason why my dad slapped me around when I stood up to him. It took some time for me to get used to following every order I was given by Clint Douglas, our instructor. In fact, it caused some strife between the two of us those first few weeks of the academy. I nearly got kicked out before I learned to keep my mouth shut. Or more accurately, Clint discovered a way to handle me and my mouth after hours.
“What can I do for you, sir?” I ask the chief, feeling strange talking to a man who remains behind me.
“I have an opportunity I want to discuss with you,” he replies. Placing both of his hands on my shoulders, he gives them a squeeze that quickly turns into a massage.
“An opportunity?” I repeat in surprise.
“I’ve narrowed it down between you and Webb to fill the new homicide detective position we just added to the budget.”
“Oh, wow, that’s great,” I say enthusiastically. It’s been six weeks since I took and passed the detective exam, but the department hasn’t had the money to add on anyone and no one’s retired. “I’ve tried to put in the hours and dedication to show you that I deserve the promotion more than anyone.”
“I’ve noticed,” the chief agrees.
“If there’s anything I can do to help with your decision, just let me know,” I add.
“That’s what I was hoping you would say,” he tells me as his hands continue to work on my tense shoulder muscles. “It’s been a stressful week around here, and I could use a little…relief tonight. I saw you working late while Webb is probably already home, fast asleep in his bed.”
“Is there some paperwork I can help with or cases you need me to follow up on?” I ask even though I’m exhausted and ready to go home.
“No, I was hoping you could put in some of that overtime you were so eager to do with Clint back in the academy…”
“Excuse me?” I ask him softly, my entire body becoming paralyzed as his words slowly sink in. I won’t even allow myself to take a breath or exhale as understanding dawns. I’m a wild animal, snared in a hunter’s traps. His hands on my shoulders now feel like restraints, keeping me from going anywhere. Maybe, if I don’t move a muscle, the chief will notice that I’ve gone rigid and uncomfortable; that I’m not interested in anywhere this conversation may be going. All these years, I thought what Clint and I did together was a secret, that no one knew about us. He swore to me he wouldn’t tell…
“No need to play dumb. I know everything that goes on in my precinct, all the explicit little details too, like how innocent and inexperienced you were the first time, to what a fast learner you became, and how you couldn’t get enough at the end.” He chuckles at that, like my heart getting broken is a funny joke.
“I’m not asking for weeks like you were with Clint. I just want to see some of that same enthusiasm tonight that you showed him to graduate from the academy. And as a reward for your hard work, going above and beyond, tomorrow I’ll hold a ceremony for you to finally receive your detective badge.”
“Sir, that’s not what happened in the academy. And I don’t…I don’t want to earn anything that way,” I stammer in response.
The hands on my shoulders both slide down my chest until they're massaging my breasts through my uniform without my permission. I sit there frozen, feeling stupid and naïve for getting myself into this position, now unsure how to make the man stop touching me without losing my job.
“I don’t think you fully understand my proposition,” the chief says as he squeezes each of my breasts hard. “Either you participate in this…promotional opportunity with me tonight, or I’ll tell every department in the country that you try to apply to about your extracurricular activities in the academy.” Letting go of my boobs to grab handfuls of just my uniform fabric, he jerks so hard that it splits apart down the middle. Cool air hits my chest and stomach as my beige bra is revealed, making m
e feel vulnerable. Moving his mouth against my ear, I can smell and feel his hot, bitter, coffee-flavored breath when he asks, “Do you know what that embarrassment would mean? That you’ll never work in law enforcement again, including my precinct.”
Before his threat can fully sink in or I can form a response, he says, “We’re done talking. I want your pants off and you lying down on that sofa or bending over my desk by the time I lock the door.”
No, this must be a joke. Or an awful nightmare.
“Get up, Horton. Now,” the chief demands when I don’t move, still confused and dumbstruck.
“Is that…is that an order?” I ask, hating how timid and uncertain I sound as he takes his hands off of me and starts for the door. This isn’t a position I’ve ever been in and nothing like my brief relationship with Clint. It sounded like the chief was giving me a choice on whether or not to do this with him, but hearing him turn the deadbolt, locking me alone in his office with him makes me feel like I’m trapped regardless of my decision.
“Sure, think of it as an order if you want to keep your job,” he says as he starts to walk back toward me.
I don’t want to lose my job that I’ve spent nearly a decade studying for in college and then long, stressful hours for almost six years in the field trying to move up. But I don’t want to have sex with him either. It’s like the two shittiest choices ever, and I’m running out of time.
“Horton?” the chief asks as he comes to a stop in front of me and tugs on my arms to pull me to my feet like I’m a puppet and he’s controlling my strings. “Fine, I’ll undress you myself,” he says as his hands begin to undo my pants. Only when he shoves them to my knees do I realize what’s been done, and yet I didn’t try to stop him. “I can’t wait any longer, and we both know you’re not gonna turn this down.” My panties easily follow the same path as my pants. Then his rough, calloused hands are on me. Everywhere. “This is a helluva good deal for you. I bet if Webb were here in your place he’d let me fuck him to make detective too.” He chuckles at his crude joke before his mouth slams down on mine. I try not to choke on his tongue or gag from his coffee breath.
