by Debra Kayn
EVERY LITTLE PIECE OF HIM
Book 1
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
By
Debra Kayn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Every Little Piece Of Him (Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series, #1)
EVERY LITTLE PIECE OF HIM
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Author Bio
Debra Kayn's Backlist
Sneak Peek
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
EVERY LITTLE PIECE OF HIM
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
1st Digital release: Copyright© 2018 Debra Kayn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
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Dedication
To those who live in the Bitterroots — Two legged and four
Prologue
The sound of barking dogs outside the cinder-block walls caused tension in the room. Anders wrapped a short piece of rope around the knuckles of his hand, made a fist, and held his arm out for Will to tie the ends.
At any moment, if they were lucky, Joney would be brought back into the room after fighting the dogs, and they'd put their long-planned escape into motion.
"We have to do this now. It's our only chance." Two-crow pressed his back against the cement wall and scrambled to his feet. "The next one who gets called out will never survive. They're egging on the dogs, and they're getting thirstier for blood."
For two years, the six of them lived in the cement block room with only blankets to protect them from the roughness of their surroundings. One toilet and sink sat in the corner, no walls, no privacy. Food came twice a day—usually tortillas and beans.
The only time they were let out into the sunlight was when the men holding them captive took them to the barn to train the dogs and get them ready for the ring.
Anders had no idea where they were living. Though Quint believed the men who'd taken them out of state care delivered them to a foreign country. The men at the barn were dark haired, dark skinned, and darkly possessed. Everyone spoke a different language, only shouting the names of the men in charge in English.
Richard Parker.
Sam McCloud.
Ken Powell.
Don Durham.
Owen Roberts.
Michael Jaster.
The others remained nameless, but their faces and hands were branded in Anders' head, he'd be able to spot them out of a crowd.
Will paced the small room. "What if Joney doesn't come back?"
Mark sat on the floor and rubbed his eyes. "He's been gone a long time."
"They'll bring him back, and if they don't, we'll find him." Anders flexed his fingers, staying alert.
At seventeen years old, he had a man's body. With a lot of time stuck in the room, he exercised to build his strength and plan for the day they could escape. They all had.
"What if they sic the dogs on us?" Quint tucked in his threadbare shirt that appeared almost brown rather than white. "We'll never make it out of here."
"That's why we're going to get the boss-man first. He won't be able to alert the others," said Anders, sweeping back his hair. "We all have to attack him when he brings back Joney. If one of you bails and they get control or more come, they'll kill us."
"Where are we going to go?" Will hitched his jeans higher.
"We run to the right of the barn toward the trees. If the others come after us, we'll have to split up." He looked at each of them, feeling their fear penetrating the room. "We need to pick somewhere to meet up if we go in different directions and lose each other."
"Montana," said Two-crow.
"Why there?" asked Will.
"Because no one will know us. None of us came from that state when we were kidnapped. Nobody will be looking for us. We can finally be free. The Bitterroot Mountains are there. We can hide and live off the land." Two-crow undid the knot at the bottom of his braid.
Anders studied the others, wondering if their destination was the right one or if the Louis L'Amour book that Two-crow had in his back pocket when he was taken had to do with picking Montana. "If we get split up, we'll meet there."
"The mountains are huge. Aren't they?" asked Quint.
"Don't worry, we'll find each other," said Anders.
He hadn't set foot inside a school since he was fifteen years old and was removed from the boys' home for orphans because of behavioral problems. The wilderness therapy program he was assigned to was his last chance before going to juvenile detention hall until he turned eighteen years old.
Instead of being thrown in the woods to survive and learn coping skills, he was blindfolded, handcuffed, and taken to where he was ordered to train dogs to fight inside a ring to their death. Lately, the men in charge forced him and the other boys to stay in the ring and defend themselves against the dogs when they turned on them.
He ran his hand over his chest. When the dogs got a whiff of blood, they could no longer see the difference between human and canine, and he had the scars to prove it.
"What if we're really in a different country?" whispered Quint.
More than likely, they were in Mexico or some Spanish villa in the south. Going anywhere but here was the only thing Anders cared about.
"Just remember, go to Montana if we lose track of each other. I don't care how many weeks or months it takes, we all need to get there." Anders shook his hand, making the blood go to his fingers, making him stronger.
"Sh." Two-crow held up his hand and stepped closer to the door. After several seconds, he looked back at the group of boys and nodded.
Anders raised his fists, ready to attack. They'd talked over their plan for almost a year. The only way they'd gain their freedom and stay alive was if they fought their way out. They had to do it durin
g one of the days they each were taken separately to the dogfights.
The men who usually watched the outside of the building would be occupied inside the barn.
The lock on the other side of the door rattled.
Anders whispered, "Make sure Joney knows where we're going before we run."
The door crashed open. Quint and Will jumped on Mateo, the escort. Unable to take the three-hundred-pound man down, Anders attacked, punching the large man in his face, over and over.
Freedom spurred him on. Fear put the power behind each hit.
The others pinned Mateo down, keeping the man from swinging back. Anders used the only opportunity he had to escape and used all his anger and distress over the last two years to beat one of the men holding them hostage.
Every punch released the rage consuming him. The loud grunts as he pushed his muscles to work harder than ever shouted his pain. Blind to the act, he let his humiliation and fear out, hitting Mateo, spreading the contamination in his life.
Mark fell into Anders, pushing him to the ground on top of Mateo. He continued to swing. Left, right, left, right. Sweat rolled into his eyes, but he no longer looked for a face to beat. He continued his attack until Quint grabbed his arm and Will pushed him off their capture.
Breathing hard, he blinked, focusing on the man in front of him.
"He's dead," whispered Mark.
Quint pulled Anders to his feet. "Let's go."
"Where's Joney?" Anders slapped out, trying to stop them from leaving. "We need to get him."
"There's no time. They'll kill us if they see us around the pens." Will pulled him toward the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"No, we need Joney." Anders looked around frantically. "We promised.
Two-crow crouched to run. "How do we get him?"
"I'll go to the back of the barn and look for him. You guys go ahead." Anders shook his hands free of the ropes.
"Okay. Let's go," said Mark, looking over his shoulder as he ran forward.
Anders ran with them until they reached the corner of the barn where the pens were located. Where they fought the dogs. Where Joney was taken.
Changing directions, he ran to the back of the building, ignoring the other boys who called his name, urging him to run. He slid to a stop under the window and stood on his toes to view inside.
His heart beat frantically, echoing in his ears. Fear of being caught made it hard to focus. He rubbed his fist against the dirty window, wiping the film of dust away.
Inside, a crowd of men gathered. He couldn't see Joney.
His concentration wavered. He couldn't leave without him. They'd made a pact.
The men moved closer. The back door swung open.
Anders plastered himself against the building. Caught outside, he'd never be able to outrun them. They'd send the dogs after him. The animals would smell his fear and take him down, the way he'd trained them to.
A body flew out the door and landed on the hard-packed dirt. Anders sucked in his breath and stopped breathing.
Joney.
Staring at the lifeless body, he forgot about the others. He forgot about the men. He forgot about the dogs.
The door slammed shut. Anders crept forward and fell to his knees beside Joney.
"Hey," he whispered, jostling his friend. "Hey, Joney. Wake up."
He shook harder. Joney's head lolled to the side, and Anders reeled back, falling on his ass.
Half of Joney's face was gone. A bloody, meaty mess hung from his friend's jaw.
Anders turned, knowing those in power had turned the fighting dogs on Joney for their entertainment and money.
Stumbling to his feet, he gagged and ran away. Looking forward, he lost sight of the others. He ran toward the trees.
He ran toward freedom.
Chapter 1
Two bodies collided behind the blackjack table. Anders Stone lifted two fingers, signaling security to take the two fighting men out of Stone Lair. Arguments, punches, and even a knife or pistol were common occurrences at the only source of entertainment around without going eighty-eight miles into Missoula.
Anders called the Bitterroot Mountains home on the Northwest border of Montana—Out far enough, the law rarely set foot off the interstate.
His rules were his own.
He answered to no one.
As the owner of Stone Lair, he controlled everything from the casino, the bar, the restaurant, and all those that stayed to enjoy the entertainment he provided under one roof.
The building, built from the trees that used to populate the acreage he owned, provided a setting that blended into the mountains. Made out of lodgepole logs, the two-story building, at over twenty-thousand square feet, impressed every visitor.
He lived above the establishment, taking the second floor as his private quarters. The Lair stayed open twenty-four/seven and also had a gas station, pole building, and ten cabins.
Mac, his manager, approached him. "Our crew is outside making sure those involved in the fight drive off the property."
"Good." He gazed around the room. "Let security know I'm going upstairs if any problems arise."
Mac dipped his chin and stepped away. Anders walked out of the casino, crossed the entryway of the Lair, and entered the bar. Two employees worked on the stage, setting up for the singer scheduled for the weekend. He headed to the back of the room to the locked door that led up to his personal residence when the music started.
A husky feminine voice greeted the crowd. Forgetting about going upstairs, he turned as the singer made her way out to the front of the small stage.
"She walked into the night...," she sang, lowering her gaze to the floor and turning sideways.
Both of her hands held the microphone. Her billowing sleeves pooled around her elbows. He stepped away from the door, getting a clear view of the owner of the seductive voice.
Tits and ass packed in a tight body, she flowed on stage. Pure liquid with soft movements. She could've worn a robe from neck to toes, and every man in the room would've wanted to fuck her for her voice alone.
Her dark blonde hair highlighted with a brush of red shined in the spotlight. She swayed hypnotically as she continued to sing. He lowered his gaze to her hands, looking at her ring finger. Though he'd take her whether she wore a wedding band or not, he wanted her single and uncomplicated.
The song slowed. His balls throbbed and he refused to leave the room.
As soon as the first song ended, the second one began. Her gaze slid over him, and he wanted to call her back to him.
People moved to dance in front of the stage. His view of her polluted by customers, he could only see her shoulders on up.
The soft rock song excited the room. He wouldn't stand here and share her with a room full of customers. Turning away, he strode over to the bar and searched under the counter until he found a notepad and pen.
He wrote one word and folded the paper. Taking out his cell, he texted Mac to meet him.
Within two minutes, his manager stood in front of him. He turned his head to keep their conversation private.
"I want this note and a bottle of Onus One delivered to the singer the moment she walks off stage." He straightened his shoulders. "Make sure she comes upstairs."
Mac dipped his chin. "Of course, Mr. Stone."
He turned toward the stage, took in the high coming off the singer. "What's her name?"
"Iliana." Mac caught his silent question. "Just Iliana."
He walked over to his door, keyed in the code, and slipped out of the room. Going straight to his office, he turned on the widescreen on the wall and sat behind his desk. Using the remote, he found the camera for the stage and enlarged it.
Iliana sang straight to him. He removed one of the cigars from the box, clipped off the end, and lit it, leaning back in his chair and propping his boots on the corner of the desk.
Puffing away, the vision in front of him blurred and he let her voice wash over him. Closing his eyes,
he concentrated on the words. He knew shit-all about music but what she could do with her voice stroked him until his cock hardened and he was determined to have her.
He opened his eyes, set his cigar to the side, and called Two-crow. He and Two-crow went back far enough, they claimed to be family. Along with Quint, Will, and Mark.
"Hello?" said Two-crow.
"It's Anders."
"What's up?"
He gazed at the woman on the screen. "I need some info."
"Business on a Friday night at ten thirty, and you don't have a woman in your bed. It must be serious."
"I need you to find whatever you can on a woman named Iliana." He stared at the screen. "Five feet seven inches. About one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Blonde hair—natural. Blue eyes."
"Last name?"
"There isn't one, yet. She's a singer at the Lair tonight."
"Let me Google." Two-crow paused. "Which you can do yourself or ask your manager who booked her for the Lair to do for you."
"Shouldn't have to when I have you." He leaned back.
He never watched television, listened to the radio, or learned about the internet. It wasn't needed when he had other people to do the work for him.
Iliana finished the song. After the cheers and clapping faded, she excused herself for a ten-minute break. Knowing when she returned to the stage, she'd only have thirty minutes left of her show, he stood from the chair and flipped on the lights to the office.
"Okay, her last name is Teel. She was born in Missoula," said Two-crow. "She's a local singer, popular from the looks of it. There's no tour, only local gigs in the Pacific Northwest and inner PNW."
"Age?" he asked.
"Twenty-five."
"Family?"
"That'll take me longer to find out," said Two-crow.
"Go ahead and send me the full report when you get it. Thanks, Two-crow." He disconnected the call, shut the door to his office behind him, and walked down the hallway.
Women caught his interest every night, but he'd never wanted to know more about them than if they were willing to have sex. Despite his business and position, he had nothing to give a woman.
