by Faith Gibson
Frey
Stone Society Book 4
By Faith Gibson
WARNING: This book contains instances of domestic violence as well as non-consensual sex between spouses.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2015 by Faith Gibson
Published by Faith Gibson
Editor: Jagged Rose Wordsmithing
First e-book edition: August 2015
First print edition: August 2015
Cover design by: Elm Street Design Studio
Photography: Perrywinkle Photography and Shutterstock
Model: Drew Hale
ISBN: 978-0996366410
This book is intended for mature audiences only.
Domestic Violence Hotline
1-800-799-7233 or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY)
If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, I urge you to call the number above. Please, say NO MORE.
NATIONAL STATISTICS*
On average, nearly 20 people per minute are physically abused by an intimate partner in the United States. During one year, this equates to more than 10 million women and men
1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have been victims of [some form of] physical violence by an intimate partner within their lifetime
1 in 5 women and 1 in 7 men have been victims of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime
1 in 7 women and 1 in 18 men have been stalked by an intimate partner during their lifetime to the point in which they felt very fearful or believed that they or someone close to them would be harmed or killed
On a typical day, there are more than 20,000 phone calls placed to domestic violence hotlines nationwide
In domestic violence homicides, women are six times more likely to be killed when there is a gun in the house
Intimate partner violence accounts for 15% of all violent crime
Women between the ages of 18-24 are most commonly abused by an intimate partner
1 in 5 women and 1 in 71 men in the United States has been raped in their lifetime
Almost half of female (46.7%) and male (44.9%) victims of rape in the United States were raped by an acquaintance. Of these, 45.4% of female rape victims and 29% of male rape victims were raped by an intimate partner
* Statistics taken from http://www.ncadv.org/learn/statistics
Dedication
To any man, woman, or child who has ever been abused. You are not alone. May you find the strength to change your stars.
To the man for being the type of person I am proud to call husband.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank every single person who has read my books. Without readers, an author’s world is a lonely place. I hope you all enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them. To those of you who email me, telling me how much you love them, I love you.
My writing posse: Kendall, Jen, and Nikki – thank you for having what it takes to read this kind of book and still find the good in it.
My beta readers: Alex B, Sharon B, Theresa M, Shannon P, Candy R, Tanya R, Cherri S, and Lita T – Your input is invaluable.
The ladies at TaSTy WordGasms: Congratulations on your success. You deserve it.
Table of Contents
Warning
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
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Coming Soon
About the Author
Other Works by Faith Gibson
Prologue
2037
New Atlanta High School
“Next up in our talent show is Abigail Swanson. Miss Swanson will be dancing the Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker.”
Troy Quinn got an elbow to the side as his best friend George snickered. “Your girl’s doing the nutcracker. She ever crack your nuts?” George was laughing out loud, earning them some stern looks from parents sitting close by. The New Atlanta High School talent show was famous for producing some extremely gifted artists. Troy slouched down in his chair as Abigail twirled around in front of everyone with barely any clothes on.
Goddamnit, he was the only one who was supposed to see that much of her skin. The longer he watched, the madder he got. The song ended and applause erupted throughout the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet clapping and yelling. Fuck. He knew she could dance but this was ridiculous. As far as he was concerned, she wouldn’t be dancing anymore. High school was almost over and, by God, he wasn’t going to lose her. He had the perfect plan to keep her from going away to that fancy school for dancers.
Abigail bent down to accept a bouquet of flowers one of the senior football players was offering her. The tops of her breasts were spilling over the low neckline of her pink leotard. “Look, I bet Brandon can see Abbi’s tits!” George was howling. Troy punched him in the arm and took off toward the front of the building. As Abbi walked down the steps, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out the side door. “Ow, Troy you’re hurting me,” Abbi said, trying to pull away from him.
“You stupid slut. Where do you get off showing Brandon your tits? And why the fuck is he giving you flowers?” Troy grabbed the bouquet out of her hands and threw it to the floor, stomping the roses until the petals were trashed.
“Stop it!” Abbi was crying now. She wrenched away from him and ran into the girl’s bathroom.
“Troy! Hey, Troy!” He turned around to see Brandon Foster coming down the hall.
“What the fuck do you want, Foster? You stay away from Abbi, you hear me? She’s mine, and we’re getting married.” That was a lie, but fuckface didn’t need to know it. They had never even discussed plans after high school. Well, not their plans, only her plans to go away to college.
“Married? You’re out of your mind, Quinn. She’s too young to get married. Besides, Abbi has a bright future ahead of her, one that doesn’t include a scuzz like you.” Brandon thought he was the shit- big football play
er sporting daddy’s money. Troy punched him in the face. Brandon’s head jerked back from the strike.
“What the fuck, Quinn?” Brandon swung at Troy, but he ducked just in time to miss the fist. He came up with a punch to Brandon’s gut, doubling him over. Bringing his knee up, Troy caught him in the face, sending him to the floor with a bloody nose.
By now, a crowd had gathered in the hall. Several football players rushed Troy before he could stomp Brandon. Troy swung wildly, hitting as many of them as he could before being grabbed from behind by a truant officer. “You stay away from Abbi, you hear me? She’s mine. She’s having my baby!” Troy yelled at Brandon as he was put in handcuffs. “She’s mine, Foster! Mine!”
Abbi sank down to the floor of the girl’s bathroom. Troy had been getting meaner lately, ever since she told him she wanted to apply for the art college and not the community college he was going to. She wanted to be a dancer with the New Atlanta Ballet Company. That had been her dream for as long as she could remember. Her parents had given her every opportunity to achieve her goals, and if her performance tonight was any indication, she could very well receive the scholarship she needed to be admitted to the prestigious art school.
She fully expected Troy to burst through the door at any moment. He was yelling crazy stuff to Brandon. Why had Brandon waited so long to notice her? She’d had a crush on the hottest boy in school since they were in fourth grade. Of course, the captain of the football team only dated the head cheerleader, not some nerdy dancer. Troy was good looking, but his attitude left something to be desired. She tried to break things off with him several times, but he would lose his shit, threatening Abbi if she didn’t take him back.
The yelling continued out in the hall, and all Abbi could do was wait it out and pray her dad or some other adult would come rescue her. Hopefully, Troy would give up and go on home. She hadn’t seen her parents in the crowd earlier, but surely they had arrived by now. They never missed her shows. Never.
The door opened and her dance teacher, Miss Kelly, came in. “Abbi, you need to come with me, sweetheart. Something’s happened.”
She stood up, wiping her eyes. “I promise what Troy said isn’t true! I’m not pregnant!” She started crying again.
Miss Kelly frowned at her. “Abbi, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you need to come with me. Your parents were in a car accident. I need to take you to the hospital.”
“What? No. That can’t be right. Miss Kelly…”
Her teacher and mentor wouldn’t give her any details. The silent trip to the hospital was the longest ride of her life. When they arrived, Abbi knew something was wrong. Her aunt Judy was standing off to the side of the waiting room. To say Abbi’s mother and her younger sister didn’t get along was an understatement. For Judy to be there waiting…
The adults who were whispering loudly stopped talking when she entered the room. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Her little brother Matthew was sitting quietly. He never sat quietly. He rarely sat, period. It was all their parents could do to get him to sit down long enough to eat supper. “What’s going on?” Abbi asked no one in particular.
Miss Kelly took Abbi’s hands in hers as she explained, “Abbi, I’m so sorry. Your parents didn’t make it.” Miss Kelly didn’t go into the sordid details of the wreck. Or maybe she did. Her parents didn’t make it? Abbi’s brain was foggy. It felt as if someone had stuffed cotton in her head. My parents are dead?
“The doctors did everything they could for your mother. Your father died on impact. It appears the brakes gave out.” Miss Kelly was still talking, but Abbi wasn’t computing it. Not really. How could she and Matt go on without their parents? Who would take care of them? Abbi’s life was over.
“If you were already eighteen, you could declare yourself Matthew’s legal guardian. Since your birthday isn’t for another few months, your aunt is going to step in and take care of you,” Miss Kelly stated, rubbing her hand up and down Abbi’s arm.
Her aunt? Judy was going to be their guardian? She was wrong before. Now her life was well and truly over.
Chapter One
Present Day 2047
Geoffrey Hartley was standing at the counter of Lion Hart Dojo when the front door flew open. A furious young man sporting a black eye stomped into the gym. Frey didn’t hesitate to ask, “What can we do for you, Son?”
That was obviously the wrong thing to say. “I’m not your son!” The young man was pacing like a caged animal, ready to escape his confines and rip his captor to shreds.
“No, you aren’t. I apologize if I offended you. I don’t know your name, so I cannot address you properly. Let’s try this again. What can we do for you?”
“Matt.” The teenager stopped pacing and stood in front of Frey, sliding his hands in the pockets of his blood spattered jeans. “Name’s Matt.”
“Okay, Matt. I’m Geoffrey. Why don’t you come to the back with me so we can get your face cleaned up a bit?”
Matt hesitated, taking in all that was Frey. Being the largest of the Gargoyles in New Atlanta, he would intimidate anyone, especially a wiry teen who just had his face pummeled.
“Look, Matt. You came here for a reason. Wanna tell me why you’re here, besides the obvious?” Frey had been in this spot too many times to count. There comes a breaking point in everyone’s life. You either find yourself and grow, or you lose yourself and wither away. Matt was ready to take charge of his destiny.
“I want to learn to fight.” Matt was back to pacing the small area in front of the counter.
“Why?” This might seem like a stupid question, but it wasn’t. The reason someone wanted to learn was the most important thing Frey could ask.
“Why? Look at my fuckin’ face, man. That’s why.”
“Let me rephrase the question then. Do you want to learn to fight so you can beat the shit out of whoever did this to you? Or do you want to be able to defend yourself next time?”
Matt stopped pacing. “Is there a difference?”
“There’s a big difference. If you only want revenge, then you’ve come to the wrong place. If you want to be able to defend yourself, train, grow physically and spiritually, then you’re in the right place.”
“I want to protect my sister,” Matt almost whispered.
“Who are you protecting her from? The same one that did that to you?” Frey asked while pointing to the bloody nose and black eye. The teen nodded, looking at his shoes.
“Have you been to the police?” Frey had seen too many domestic cases come through the door. Their women’s self-defense class stayed full.
“He is the police,” Matt seethed through his teeth.
Fuck. Frey hadn’t been expecting that. “Let me guess, he’s your father?”
“Fuck no. Her husband.”
Frey needed to better understand the situation. “I tell you what, let’s go in the back and get your face cleaned up. How old are you?” This time Frey didn’t give Matt a chance to refuse; he turned and headed to the locker room.
“Seventeen.” The voice was directly behind him, so Matt was following.
Frey removed a first aid kit from the shelf, and once he got the blood cleaned off the kid’s face, he placed a small bandage over the cut below his eye. He found a spare t-shirt and offered it to Matt. The interaction had given the young man time to calm down and Frey time to assess his mood.
“Now, if you are serious about training, I’m going to need your parents’ consent since you aren’t eighteen yet. Just get your mom or dad to come sign the forms, and we’ll get you started.”
“I don’t have any parents; my sister is my guardian. Will that work?” Matt still wouldn’t look into Frey’s eyes.
“The sister whose husband did this?” Frey was ready to lay into the woman who would allow her husband to do this to her brother. Then again, she was probably getting the same treatment. He needed to find out the cop’s name and get Jasper and Dane to check him out.
Again, Matt
just nodded, moving his weight from one foot to the other.
“Yes, if she’s your legal guardian, that’s just as good. When can she come in? I’m assuming you want to get started as soon as possible.”
Matt looked at Frey then, “Yes, sir, I do, but I’ll have to wait ‘til she gets out of her class to ask her.”
At least he had manners, something Frey wouldn’t have to teach him. “Okay then. As soon as your sister signs the consent form, you can get started. I’m going to warn you, I expect you to listen to what I teach you and do what I tell you to, no matter how odd it may seem. I’m going to be tough on you. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Geoffrey walked Matt through the dojo and the gym, explaining the different types of classes they offered. When Frey first opened the place, it was basically a boxing gym. As mixed martial arts became more popular, he expanded training to include Muay Thai as well as other forms of martial arts. Frey was a master in every discipline he studied, holding the highest color belt offered in each. Being a Gargoyle meant he was much stronger than humans. He had to call on his shifter abilities to keep his power in check. It was the reason he was one of the best in the world. His discipline surpassed his strength.
Being afternoon, there were several rooms in the dojo being used. Matt was able to see the different forms being taught. “Why is it so quiet in here?” he asked Frey once they finished their tour.
“That is part of the discipline. When you work on your form, you need to concentrate. Open your mind, close your mouth. When you fight, you will use your voice and your core to help in strikes and kicks. Does that make sense?” Frey was strict when it came to the way his students were taught. He learned many years ago that the mind is the most powerful weapon, much more so than fists.
