Beneath These Chains

by Meghan March

  Copyright © 2015 by Meghan March LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design: © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations,

  www.okaycreations.com

  Photo: © Sara Eirew,

  www.saraeirew.com

  Editor: Madison Seidler,

  www.madisonseidler.com

  No part of this book may be 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 either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com

  I was raised on the streets, so I know things are rarely as simple as they appear—especially this rich girl showing up at my pawnshop demanding a job.

  She’s the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ll be damned if I can make her leave.

  Shit just got complicated … but when it comes to her, I want complicated.

  We’re both fighting our own demons, and our only chance at a future is to let go of the past.

  But will we be strong enough to break free from beneath these chains?

  Beneath These Chains is the third book in the Beneath series, but may be read as a standalone. However, if you prefer, it may be best enjoyed following Beneath This Mask (Beneath #1) and Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2).

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About This Book

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1: Lord

  Chapter 2: Lord

  Chapter 3: Elle

  Chapter 4: Lord

  Chapter 5: Elle

  Chapter 6: Lord

  Chapter 7: Elle

  Chapter 8: Lord

  Chapter 9: Lord

  Chapter 10: Elle

  Chapter 11: Lord

  Chapter 12: Elle

  Chapter 13: Lord

  Chapter 14: Elle

  Chapter 15: Elle

  Chapter 16: Lord

  Chapter 17: Elle

  Chapter 18: Lord

  Chapter 19: Elle

  Chapter 20: Lord

  Chapter 21: Lord

  Chapter 22: Elle

  Chapter 23: Lord

  Chapter 24: Elle

  Chapter 25: Lord

  Chapter 26: Elle

  Chapter 27: Lord

  Chapter 28: Elle

  Chapter 29: Lord

  Chapter 30: Elle

  Chapter 31: Lord

  Chapter 32: Elle

  Chapter 33: Lord

  Chapter 34: Elle

  Chapter 35: Elle

  Chapter 36: Lord

  Chapter 37: Elle

  Chapter 38: Lord

  Chapter 39: Elle

  Chapter 40: Lord

  Chapter 41: Lord

  Chapter 42: Elle

  Chapter 43: Lord

  Chapter 44: Elle

  Chapter 45: Lord

  Chapter 46: Lord

  Chapter 47: Elle

  Chapter 48: Lord

  Chapter 49: Elle

  Chapter 50: Elle

  Epilogue: Lord

  About Beneath These Scars

  Connect with Meghan March

  I have so many things to be thankful for and one of them is the amazing team I have working with me. This book would not be what it is without them. My editors, Angela Marshall Smith and Madison Seidler—I’m so grateful to you both for helping me shape and polish my stories. The world’s most fabulous publicist, Chasity Jenkins—You rock my world. Enough said. My fabulous beta readers, Angela, Natasha, and Carmen—I appreciate your time and willingness to read whatever I throw at you. Once again, Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations knocked it out of the park on the cover, and Sara Eirew shot the perfect pic. The Runaway Readers—you ladies amaze me with your passion, and I am humbled by how shamelessly you spread the word about my books. My family—your support means everything to me. A huge thank you to all of the book bloggers who read, review, and share my books. Not only do you make the indie book world turn, you do it graciously, with excitement, and for the love of books. Last, but certainly not least—my most sincere gratitude to the readers who spent their hard earned dollars to buy this book. As long as you keep reading, I’ll keep writing.

  I fucking hated people who stole from me. Which was ironic, considering the only thing that had kept me from starving as a kid had been picking pockets and snatching purses. I dropped my elbows to the desk and rubbed a hand over my buzzed head.

  “Goddamn, karma’s a bitch.”

  “She the bitch you fucked last night, bro?” The leather of my office couch creaked as Mathieu sank his tall, lanky frame into it.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to call women ‘bitches,’ boy?”

  My words were met with a long sigh from Mathieu. Ever since he’d walked into Chains and tried to grab a guitar and run back out the door—only to be tackled to the ground by yours truly—he’d been a fixture in my life. To be fair, his choices had been to work off the price of what he’d attempted to steal, or go directly to the nearest cop shop. The entire situation had been such a blast from the past, I’d caught myself smiling when I should’ve been glaring and scaring the piss out of the kid. But apparently I’d done an okay job of it because he’d decided starting a rap sheet at seventeen wasn’t a good plan. Thank fuck. Almost two years later, the kid was my right hand.

  And now that Chains was mine, someone was stealing from me—but not just someone. An employee. Someone I should’ve been able to trust. The cameras I had installed on her day off had already paid for themselves.

  I rolled my head from side to side, cracking my neck. I hated firing people. It never got easier. And this time? This time it was going to be even worse … because there would be tears. And quite possibly claws.

  Pushing up from the chair, I strode to the door without looking at Mathieu. Over my shoulder, I tossed, “You might want to stay here; Brianna’s ass is about to get canned.”

  “For real?” His words followed me out, but I didn’t bother to reply.

  Every time I stepped foot onto the shop floor, a feeling of pride surged through me—pride that I’d helped build this business into one that was not only honest, but profitable. At least, it was profitable when one of my employees wasn’t skimming off the till and messing with my bank deposits.

  Finger twirling in her long, dark extensions and gum snapping between her teeth, Brianna flipped the pages of a magazine with a giant black Sharpie in one hand, circling shit. Probably shit she wanted to buy with the money she’d been stealing from me. The store was empty, which made what I was about to do a little easier.

  “Bree, need a few minutes.”

  Her head popped up, lips pursing as she took me in. “You can have all the time you need, boss.” Her gaudy fake eyelashes batted at me in what I assumed was supposed to be a sexy move. I stowed the urge to tell her to save it for someone whose dick got hard at the sight of her … but since I was about to fire her, why add insult to injury? The woman had been unsuccessfully trying to add her notch to my bedpost since I’d hired her. Bringing her on had been a mistake, and I’d known it from the minute she’d walked in the door, but a friend had called in a favor.

  “Boss? You had something to say?” she prompted.

  I watched her, not speaking.

  She stopped the hair twirling and capped the Sharpie, resituating herself on the stool and folding her hands in her lap.

  “Lord?” />
  “You’re done.”

  Bree’s dark eyes flew wide. “Done? You mean done for the day?”

  “Done. For good. Get your shit and get out.”

  Bree lost the innocent pose as she crossed her arms and stared me down. “Not until you tell me why.”

  In two long strides, I closed the distance between the register and me and pressed my hands to the counter.

  “I gave you a job. Gave you a paycheck you didn’t have to suck a dick to get. But that wasn’t enough for you. You had to have more, and instead of coming to me and asking for a raise, you decided to make it happen yourself.”

  The color faded from her face, leaving her mocha-colored skin sallow. “Wh-what?”

  “Get your shit.”

  “I swear, I didn’t—”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me. I can show you the tape if you want to see what I saw.”

  Her lower lip started to wobble. It wasn’t going to work. I’d given her the benefit of the doubt, hoped I was wrong or it was just a one-time thing. But she’d gotten too bold.

  “But I need this—”

  I cut her off. She wasn’t even going to deny it. Not that she could. We both knew she’d done it, and I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her beg or justify her actions. Even though she didn’t know it, I’d already given her a second chance. And all that had done was cost me even more than I could afford to lose. “I needed someone to work the shop—someone who wasn’t going to fuck me over and steal from me. You weren’t capable of that, so you’re out. Now get your shit.”

  “But—”

  “Save your breath, Bree. I ain’t listening unless you’re here to tell me you’ve got all the money you’ve taken, and you’re putting it right back where it belongs.”

  Her face twisted into an angry glare even as the tears started falling. “You … you don’t understand.”

  “No, I really don’t understand.” I crossed my arms and waited her out. When she realized the water works weren’t changing my decision, she spun off the stool, grabbed her giant purple purse from behind the counter, and stalked toward the door.

  “You get all self-righteous with me about a little cash while you basically steal from people? Giving ’em twenty dollars for their shit? Like you’re one to judge.”

  A little cash? She’d skimmed enough to buy a nice used car, and I’d been too trusting to even realize it until the numbers hadn’t added up in a big way.

  She slowed near the guitars at the front of the store and malicious glee lit her eyes.

  She wouldn’t.

  Oh, but she did.

  Bree grabbed a guitar and swung it toward the rack as the chimes above the front door jangled. Wood crashed against wood, and two female screeches erupted.

  Shit … if she injured a customer…

  I charged Bree and ripped the guitar from her hands before she could swing again. A swirl of red hair caught my attention as the other woman dodged out of the strike zone.

  Bree struggled against my hold, and I wondered if I was going to end up with a face full of the acrylic claws tearing at my arms. “Let go of me, you asshole!”

  “Whoa, boss. Getting the door for ya.” Mathieu bolted across the shop and yanked the door open again. I hustled Bree out and set her free on the sidewalk.

  She spun to face Mathieu and me. “You’re gonna regret this,” she hissed. “I swear, you will.”

  A soft laugh came from the open door. “From what I’ve seen, I highly doubt it.”

  Bree opened her mouth to spew something else, but I shut her down. “Get gone. I don’t ever wanna see you near my shop again.”

  Bree’s flinty eyes narrowed as she shouldered her purse. “Fuck you, Lord. You think you’re better than me? Not a chance. You’re just thievin’ street scum. Fuck you.”

  “And now she’s getting repetitious,” the husky female voice commented from behind me.

  Lip curling in disgust, Bree turned and marched toward the corner, never looking back.

  “Her exit could totally use some work, but all-in-all, that was one hell of a welcome.”

  I turned to survey the woman standing in the doorway of Chains. Even without a photographic memory, I didn’t think I’d ever forget this particular pose: one arm braced on the doorframe and the other propped on her hip, a green dress hugging curves that had my entire body sitting up and taking notice. Matched with her long, curling red hair, she was a goddamn knockout. What the hell is she doing here?

  “You lost, sweet thing?”

  She stepped onto the sidewalk and tore the HELP WANTED sign off the bottom corner of the front window. Holding it between two fingers, she smiled. “Nope. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m your newest employee.”

  The sign had been there since long before my brother bought Chains over two years ago, and it was faded to the point where you could barely make out the words. But still, I had to admit her move was slick.

  “You’re in the wrong neighborhood to be looking for a job. I suggest you take your cute little ass over to Magazine and apply at one of those fancy shops. I’ve got nothing for you here.”

  She flicked her wrist a few times, snapping the sign.

  “It says ‘help wanted.’ I’m help, therefore I’m wanted.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her no way in hell, but she spun on her blood-red, four-inch heels, grabbed the door handle, and let herself back inside.

  Well, hell.

  “She for real, boss?” Mathieu asked.

  Through the barred windows, I watched as she studied the interior of the store, running her hand over the rack of guitars before stepping to the row of glass cases where the expensive shit lay—except the most expensive thing in the whole place was wearing a hot-as-fuck green dress and miles away from where she belonged.

  Elle Snyder. Best friend to my brother’s girlfriend and born with a gold-plated spoon in her mouth—because silver probably wasn’t rich enough for her blood. Skip gold-plated, and make that solid gold. Some of us weren’t even born with a spoon. We’d had to claw our way to a meal and grab onto it with both hands before it could be ripped away.

  There was no way she was actually here for a job. She had to be fucking with me. Might as well go in there, figure out what she wanted, and escort her fine ass right back out the door—all while keeping my hands to myself. I wasn’t about to go there, regardless of how sexy she was. She was in the no-go zone. You didn’t screw around with a girl who your family considered family.

  “Boss?” Mathieu prompted.

  “I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here, but I’m about to find out.” And that conversation didn’t need an audience. I pulled out my wallet and flipped off a couple bills. “How about you go grab us some food while I sort this out?”

  “You just want to be alone with the rich bitch.” Mathieu winked and reached out to grab the money, but I yanked it back.

  “What did I say about calling women—?”

  He held up both hands in surrender. “I know, I know. Sorry. Chill out, man.”

  I held out the cash again. “Just go get us some damn food.”

  Snatching the bills and pocketing them, Mathieu asked, “How long do you want me to take? You going for a quickie or a long ride?”

  “Go,” I growled.

  Mathieu turned and strode off down the sidewalk, whistling as he went. “Little punk,” I muttered under my breath as I pulled open the door.

  My annoyance bled away at the sight that greeted me: Elle leaned over the countertop, her dress clinging to her perfect peach of an ass. My cock twitched in my jeans, but I forced the reaction down. No. Ain’t happenin’, buddy.

  “We both know you’re not here for a job. So if you’re lookin’ to pawn or buy something, you might as well get to it.” Even the thought of her pawning something was ridiculous, because, from what I’d heard, the woman was flush with cash.

  She turned to face me, and the chain handles on her big, white purse jangled whe
n she moved. “Do I look like I’m here to pawn something?”

  My eyes dropped to her red-polished toes and skimmed up long, tan legs, the green dress, her ripe tits, and finally her face. She was sexy as fuck and screamed high class from every angle. And off limits, I reminded myself. Wasn’t that a shame?

  “Sweet thing, you look like you’re here for a whole hell of a lot more than a job.” My natural instinct to flirt slipped out, and I beat it back.

  The smile that spread across her face and curled up the edges of her lips was pure temptation. “You’re lucky I’m not the kind of employee who has problems with sexual harassment from my new boss.”

  She couldn’t be serious. Whatever wild hair she was on needed to end right now.

  “I’m not hiring you. I don’t care who you are.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “So you do know who I am.”

  “You’re hard to miss, Elle.”

  I’d seen her first at a boxing tourney about a month ago. She’d sat next to Vanessa—my brother’s girlfriend—and cheered for the boys Con and I trained at the gym with the help of an old boxing legend. It was nearly impossible not to notice Elle, even from my position as a cornerman. Con had laughed at the way the women had cheered enthusiastically, but I’d focused my attention on the bouts and our boys. I didn’t need the distraction then … or now.

  “Then you know I should get the friends and family hiring perks.”

  “I don’t think so. That’s bad business,” I replied, shaking my head.

  Elle stepped toward me, all swinging hips and sassy smirk. “Come on, Lord. I’m out of a job. Help a friend out.”

  I thought of Bree and the shitstorm she’d just witnessed. “You saw the she-monster I just fired? She was my last favor for a friend.”

  Elle’s lips turned down into a frown that would probably qualify as a pout. “Come on … at least you know I’m not going to steal from you. I’m going out on a limb here, but that is why you fired her, right? Or do you toss all your employees out on the sidewalk on their last day?”

  I had no interest in talking about how badly Bree had fucked with Chains. “You’re a rich girl looking for some kind of weird kick by taking a trip to the pawnshop on the rough side of town. You don’t need a job any more than I need another bullet hole in my body. So how about we cut through the bullshit, and you tell me why you’re really here.”