Twisted Love (Stockholm Syndrome Series Book 1)

by R. Linda

  Other books by R. Linda

  Dedication

  Three Years Ago

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Connect with R. Linda

  Excerpt: Asher Black

  R. Linda Novels

  www.rlindanovels.com

  Editing: Spell Bound Editing Services

  Cover Design & Formatting: Pink Ink Designs

  ISBN-13:

  ISBN-10:

  Copyright © T by R. Linda.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: November 2018

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business

  establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Other books by R. Linda

  The Scandalous Series:

  Bailey and the Bad Boy

  Indie and the Brother’s Best Friend

  Harper and the One-Night Stand

  Kenzie and the Guy Next Door

  Audrey and the Hero Upstairs

  Christina and the Rebel Affair

  For Dad,

  Because you’ve been waiting for this one and won’t read my other books,

  just in case they’re based on real-life events—they’re not, by the way.

  I love you xo

  Hendrix

  EVERYTHING HAD TO be perfect. He would be home with her soon, and I needed to make sure everything was ready. If it wasn't, I would pay for it later. I always did.

  I had just finished smoothing out the decorative covers on the cast-iron bed and tucking in the sheets when I heard the garage door open.

  Rushing up the stairs and into the hall to the only mirror in the house, I checked my reflection in the dirty glass to make sure I looked presentable. The bags under my eyes were unavoidable. Nightmares did that to a person. The bruise on my cheek had started to fade; yet another imperfection that was inevitable. I was used to them by now. I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t have a bruise and or more on my body.

  No matter what I did, it never seemed to be enough. I always seemed to disappoint him and make him angry, and when he was angry, he would hit me. I tried to be a good boy, the perfect son, but I wasn't.

  I was never enough for him.

  Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not fast enough. Not strong enough.

  I was pathetic, slow, weak. A waste of space. Nothing more than a prisoner in my own home. It wasn’t even a home. Not really.

  It was a house. But it had never been a home. Not since she died.

  When the car door slammed closed, a cold rush of dread settled over me at the same time as a jolt of excitement surged through my veins. It was a strange feeling. Fear for her, fear for me, the thrill of her coming home, and anticipation for what was to come. Maybe, just maybe, he would be so taken by her he would forget about me, give me a break and leave me alone, just once. Maybe she would be the one. The one to make him happy and the one to save me from him.

  “Get out here and help me, boy.” His voice boomed down the hallway through the open door that led to the garage.

  Straightening my collar, I made my way to where he was struggling to pull a large bag out of the backseat.

  “I've got a good feeling this time, boy. She’s perfect.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and I tried not to buckle from the pain it caused.

  I was pretty sure that my collarbone was broken, but there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t go to the hospital to get it checked out, and if I complained, he would make it worse. I didn't want to hurt anymore.

  Together, we pulled the long black bag out of the car and dragged it over the musty brown carpet in the dark hall to the stairs. I flicked the switch and turned on the light. Electricity buzzed through, and it flickered on and off a few times before casting a dull orange glow over the stairs. Lifting my end of the bag, I bit my lip until I tasted blood, to stop myself from crying out in pain. My collarbone was definitely broken.

  “Get a move on,” he growled and pushed the bag at me until I stumbled down the first step. We carried her down the stairs, to the room I had been preparing and lifted the sack and placed it zipper side up on the bed with a thud. He straightened up and ran a hand through his wavy blond hair before straightening his beige cardigan and fixing his collar. I stepped back and made my way toward the door. He always wanted to be alone when he brought her home.

  He wanted his time to bond with her while she was unconscious.

  “Where you goin’? Come see ya mother.” He rounded on me, and I stopped moving. My stomach rolled. He was not a patient man and not one to disobey.

  “Sorry, sir,” I apologised, staring him straight in the eyes, like he taught me to growing up, and tried not to drag my feet as I walked back over to him. I avoided looking anywhere but at the bed, wanting to get out of there. I couldn’t watch; I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see her, the terror in her eyes, or the pain that would come. The thought alone was enough to make me sick.

  “Watch and learn.” He curled his lip and winked at me before reaching over to unzip the bag.

  “It’s your turn next.” My stomach lurched as he chuckled at his words. I was nothing like him. I would never be like him.

  Lucy

  I COULD RUN all day, every day if I had the time. But I never seemed to have the time, which was why I was running today. How’s that for irony?

  Running was one of my favourite things to do. I loved how it made me feel. Calmed me when I was stressed; hitting the open pavement with nothing but the music in my ears was relaxing. It was freeing, like a bird, and I loved being free.

  It was also the best way to get from my afternoon lecture to my tiny one-bedroom shoebox apartment across campus when I was running late.

  Which I was always doing.

  Late for class.

  Late for work.

  Late for lunch with Annabelle.

  Late for dinner with
Mr. and Mrs. Wynn, my parents. But, in my defence, I purposely tried to be late to those dinners, in the hope I’d miss them entirely. No one would blame me if they knew what my family life was like. I was nothing more than a showpiece. And not a terribly good one at that, if my parents were to be believed.

  Hence, the running.

  I ran to escape my controlling family. I ran to get somewhere faster. Like work. I was going to be so late, and if I were late one more time, I was sure that Rock would fire me, and I couldn’t afford to lose my job.

  Losing my job meant that I wouldn’t be able to pay tuition or rent. I’d have to drop out of school and return home to my parents with my tail between my legs. And that was not an option.

  The charming Mr. Wynn kindly cut me off from the family fortune just shy of my eighteenth birthday because I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps and get into politics. I’d been supporting myself ever since, paying my way through school and life without a cent from my parents. I’d speak to them once every six months to let them know I was alive and not dead in a ditch, or locked in some creepy forty-year-old man’s basement being used as a sex doll, because he still lived with his mother and couldn’t get it anywhere else. And my parents, the loving people they desperately attempted to portray they were, let the universe, (a slight exaggeration, maybe the nation… definitely the state) believe all was well and I was studying abroad for a few years before I’d return home and follow in daddy dearest’s footsteps.

  Running as fast as my feet could carry me across the quad, I skirted around students, jumped over stray bags thrown on the ground and smacked straight into a hard body.

  “Whoa there. What’s the rush?” His voice was deep and husky and sent shivers down my spine as his strong hands gripped my shoulders, stopping me from toppling over.

  I dragged my eyes up his body, noticing he wore all black. From his motorcycle boots to his skinny jeans with holes in the knees, a black t-shirt, with a black and red checked shirt over the top, finished with a well-loved leather jacket. And then my eyes landed on his face and I forgot to breathe or how to speak. I opened my mouth, but words failed me. How was that even possible?

  “You okay?” He chuckled, the sound nearly knocked me off my feet. I stood, mesmerised by the dimples in his cheeks and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. There was a slight bruise on the underside of his jaw.

  “Y-y-ye,” I cleared my throat and shook my head. “Yes, sorry. Running late for work.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said with a grin and stepped to the side to allow me to pass, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the boss.”

  My eyebrows pinched together. That was a very gentlemanly action. Most of the morons around this campus would have offered to take me home or for a ride, hoping to get laid or something. “Thanks.”

  I walked away, shifting my bag on my shoulder but not before glancing back at the man in black. He was still standing there, watching me leave. When I turned to look at him, he smirked and waved. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. Three years on this campus and I’d never come across him before, but I knew I’d be on the lookout for him from now on.

  I waited until I was out of sight before picking up my speed and running again. I didn’t want to embarrass myself further in front of him.

  Once back at my apartment, I hurried to change into my work uniform. Tight white t-shirt and jeans – the tighter, the better, according to the boss man. He wasn’t a pig, but most of the patrons in the bar were. The tighter our clothes, the more they tipped, and we lived for tips.

  Since I was already running late and the bar was across town, I drove. My piece-of-junk car took five attempts before it spluttered to life. I just hoped it made it the whole way without conking out again. I needed to get it fixed and I needed a car that wasn’t older than me, but funds were a precious resource, and food and school took priority.

  Thankfully, my car survived the short trip across and didn’t choke and die until I was close enough to roll into the parking lot behind the bar, cleverly named ‘Moonshine’. I rushed inside, dreading what Rock was going to say. I was only twenty minutes late, but when I was only twenty or thirty minutes late to every single shift, he got pissed. But, it must have been my lucky day. The bar was empty, and Rock was nowhere to be seen.

  I darted past the bar, waved to Madeline and threw my bag in the back office, before sneaking into the bathroom before I started my shift. I hadn’t even had a chance to pee between finishing class, running into Handsome Chiselled Cheekbones and rushing to get changed and to work on time.

  “You’re late,” Madeline said, flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulder when I finally made it behind the bar.

  “When am I ever on time?”

  “True, but now you’re here, I can take my break.” She grinned and threw the cloth she was using to shine the wine glasses at me. It hit me in the face, whipping me in the eye and blinding me temporarily as she skipped away.

  I picked up the glass she dumped on the counter and continued polishing it until it sparkled before placing it in the rack and continuing with the rest. It was a mindless task, but the bar was quiet, and all the prep was done thanks to Maddie’s effort. It kept me busy until Walter walked in for his 4pm beer. Every day like clockwork, seven days a week, Walter hobbled in, leaning on his walking stick and sat at the bar nursing a beer.

  “Lucy, my dear.” He smiled as I pushed a beer toward him. “How’d you know?”

  I leaned over the bar and dropped a kiss on the top of his balding head. “Lucky guess.”

  “You’re too good to me,” he said, bringing the cold, amber liquid to his lips.

  “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” I joked with him. His wife died a few years ago, and he was lonely, more so now since he had retired and had nothing to do with his time and no one to spend it with. It wasn’t often he finished his beer when he came in here, and whenever I was working, I never charged him because I knew he came to the bar just for the company. Rock would kill me if he ever discovered it, but I couldn’t bring myself to charge him for a drink he never drank.

  I left Walter to it and flitted around the bar, wiping the surfaces over until they sparkled as much as the wine glasses.

  The door opened, letting in a stream of light, instantly brightening the place up and causing me to realise that Maddie hadn’t turned on half the lights and the bar was much darker than usual. I left Walter with Maddie and walked out the back to the switchboard and flicked on all the lights.

  “Oh, that’s so much better,” Maddie called across the bar as I returned. She was smiling at a guy leaning over the bar. Dressed head to toe in black, it was the motorcycle boots and the flash of red from his shirt hanging below his jacket that gave him away. I stumbled on the sticky floorboards but caught myself before I made a fool of myself further.

  The guy from earlier turned as I cursed my clumsiness. Maddie wiggled her eyebrows at me and fanned herself, taking advantage of his distracted gaze to look her fill.

  I rolled my eyes.

  I totally got it. The guy was gorgeous.

  I straightened my shoulders and walked toward the bar, trying not to let my nerves show. I was embarrassed enough about the quad earlier, but then I had to go and fall over the flat floor just now. A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth, but he remained quiet. He seemed too much of a gentleman to bring attention to the fact that that was twice I had almost fallen to the ground in his presence in one day.

  Twice.

  Three years I’d been going to that school and had never seen him before, and now, twice in a matter of hours. I wasn’t complaining though, not if his eyes continued twinkling at me like that. My stomach fluttered, and I gasped. It had been a while since a guy had given me butterflies and certainly not after one brief encounter.

  “You,” I said, as I walked around the bar trying to maintain my cool. “Are you stalking me?” I laughed a
t my own joke, but he remained quiet. Eyes focused on me, he chewed his lip. His stare was intense as though he could see right into my soul. A shiver ran down my spine, but I shook it off. He was already smug, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he unexplainably affected me too.

  “You know each other?” Maddie stared wide-eyed.

  “We ran into each other earlier,” Chiselled Cheekbones said with a smirk, picking up the whiskey I hadn’t noticed Maddie pour him and taking a sip.

  I angled my head and studied him. He slipped a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it between his lips before lighting it. I usually didn’t like smoking, but for some reason, when he did it, I did. He would have been that kid in school; the bad boy who smoked under the bleachers and looked so cool doing it that everyone else would have started smoking in the hopes they looked as good as he did. But, everyone else would have paled in comparison to him.

  “Why do I think there’s more to that story?” Maddie asked and turned to face me, but I was too busy watching him take a drag of his cigarette, tilting his head back and blowing smoke slowly out of his mouth toward the ceiling.

  “Your friend here…” He paused and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Lucinda,” I answered his unspoken question automatically and raised a challenging eyebrow back at him. So, I was in the habit of giving random, yet deliciously good-looking strangers my name now? What next? My phone number? My underwear?

  “Hi, Lucinda.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners again. His voice was smooth and warm. Like velvet, if a man’s voice could even sound like velvet. “I’m Hendrix.”

  Hendrix.

  Hendrix. I tried it out silently. I liked his name. It was strong. Powerful. Just like I imagined he would be, given the bruise on his jaw. The more I looked, I was sure there was a faint shadow over his eye too.

  So many bruises. Maybe he was a fighter. Or just attracted trouble. And that should be worrying to me, but for some reason it only made him more appealing.

  “And I’m Maddie.” Maddie reached over the counter to shake his tattoo-covered hand. I’d almost forgotten she was there. But he graciously grasped her hand in his and shook it gently.