by May Gordon
Deep Devotion
Crime Kings Book 4
May Gordon
Copyright © 2018 by May Gordon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Photo: Bigstock Photos
Cover Design: May Gordon
Editor: Elizabeth Neal
Created with Vellum
Contents
May Gordon
Deep Devotion
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
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Crime Kings Series
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May Gordon
Bringing you sweet, sexy and safe reads! Happily ever after guaranteed!
Warning: This author writes what she likes to read. That means there will be instalove, OTT Heroes, and, brace yourselves, virgin characters at times. If none of those float your boat, you might want to find another book. If they do, you're in the right place.
Deep Devotion
Foster Warren hasn’t had it easy and has the scars and demeanor to prove it. Hard work and a lethal vendetta made him the man he is today, the crime king of Oregon. He’s had one goal his entire life, kill the man who destroyed any good he’d had in it. He had no problems using and sacrificing anything to make that happen. After all, he had nothing to lose, not until he met Annabelle that is.
Annabelle Glen spent years traveling but has lost her joy for it lately. She’s yearned for a home, someone to call her own. What she didn’t expect was a wounded Foster to come into her life, one that would never be the same. With a lifelong vendetta and strong enemies at every turn, will they make it through a war to finally get what they both long for? What those after them can’t understand is the depth of devotion between Foster and Annabelle. No matter what, Foster will have his queen.
Warning: Older double virgins ahead!
Prologue
Foster - Age Ten
Slums of Turkey
I hear the screams from outside the shack and they scare me. For some reason, I know he’s here. Suddenly, I feel my arm being yanked by my mother and she’s rushing us through the back of our temporary home.
“Come Foster; we must hurry.” She hushes me in her broken English.
“Mama, what’s happening?” I cry out.
Once outside, I see the fires and men clearing out homes, roughing up the others around us. I don’t have time to look long as my mother drags me away. She never answers my question as we weave between the roads, makeshift homes, and abandoned buildings.
“Mama!” I scream in a desperate plea to get some answers.
She looks scared, and now I know he’s here for sure. My father. My mother worked as a maid for a government official. We lived in an outer house on the property, which is where I was born. My father was an American that would visit the household, wanting nothing to do with me or my mother unless it was to abuse us for one reason or another. I don’t remember much of him when I was younger, but as I got older, he’d come by every few months and take out his anger over something on us.
One time he beat me so badly I almost died. That’s when my mother ran away, and we settled here, in the slums. We were protected from my father, or at least we were until now. He’s found us. We run until I feel like I'm breathing in ice chips, my arm hurts from my mother’s grip, but I ignore it. All I want is for us to be safe. Suddenly I’m grabbed from behind and pulled away from her.
“Mama!” I cry out. Men grab her too, forcing her to her knees.
“Kid, you are hard to find,” one sneers.
“Let him go, take me. Let him be,” My mother cries, but you can barely understand her from her accent as it’s thicker when she's upset.
“Don’t worry, boss wants him alive,” the man holding me tells her. “You, on the other hand, I’ve been told are worthless.” He nods to one of the men holding her.
Tears are pouring down her face, bottom lip wobbling, because she knows, and I do too, that she’s going to die. With horror, I see him pull out a large knife and slit her throat. I don’t look away, watching her body drop to the dirty streets, her eyes open, piercing my soul and my heart breaks.
“Does boss want her body?” The man asks.
“No, she’s trash, like everything else in this shitty place,” he comments.
I’m picked up and thrown over a broad shoulder. I'm shocked into silence, but the tears still run down my face.
“Boss is pissed you guys ran. He had big plans for you,” he says as he walks away from my mother's dead body.
That was the worst day of my life, or at least one of them, and I thought it had been hard before. What I didn’t realize then was my first ten years on this world would be a walk in the park compared to the next six.
I was my father's prisoner. He abused me, trained me, educated me, and abused me all over again. He wanted me to be his prodigy, his legacy. You see, he was an ex-Army Ranger who went AWOL and started working for a European crime king. He was his enforcer and had a team of mercenaries at his command and wanted to pass all that to me. What he didn’t realize that whole time was that I had my own plan. When I was sixteen, I escaped his clutches and worked to become stronger and smarter. All these years I’ve had one mission, one objective running through my mind and that was to kill my father. I’ve thought of nothing else since. I will succeed because I have nothing to lose.
What I realized years later is just how wrong I was, I’d almost lose everything.
Chapter 1
Foster
Mexico
I clutch my side with what little strength I have left as I run. I stopped a little while ago and was able to dig out the bullet. I think I made it even worse though. I feel dizzy, out of breath, and can barely stand. I just finishing tracking down one of Arnold’s stash houses, it was full of cash, guns, and god knows what else. I’ve been hunting them all over the globe, trying to get him out of hiding. Unfortunately, this one was guarded with some of his men which was unexpected. But I guess when you start setting fire to them across the country a man’s going to defend the ones he has left.
I duck into a small alleyway to take a breather. The men are still after me and I stupidly came alone. The first few places were easy enough, but I guess my luck ran out. Arnold is still running with the same guy after all these years, causing trouble, doing his bidding, and cleaning up his messes, though it seems he's made most of the latter. All I know is he’s a dead man after the attack on Lawson and Cleo and so much more he deserves it. Over the last few months, I’ve been working non-stop trying to find him and came up with nothing at every turn, hence, my plan to get him to come out of hiding. Maybe I shouldn’t have come alone, but I’ve had problems with moles in the past. I left my second-in-command, Jace, and my tech guy, Cole, in charge back home in Portland. They’re the only ones I trust completely beside Lawson, Quinn, and Novak. The pain in my side grows, and I feel the urge to vomit. I hear voices, and that’s my cue to get moving. I didn�
�t see myself getting beat up, shot, and roaming the slums of Mexico when I woke up this morning. I would laugh at myself if i knew it wouldn’t hurt like hell. I push through the small alley only to find a dead end.
“Fuck!” I curse out loud.
I scale the wall, stumbling over and landing on the hard concrete on the other side. I grunt, making way too much noise. I’d call Cole for an extraction route, but I lost my phone, gun, and knife, basically anything useful, and I'm leaving the perfect trail to follow, my blood. I'm a fucking idiot. I hear their voices, and a shiver overcomes me, making me break out into a cold sweat. How I'm freezing I have no idea, but I'm running out of time. I turn down another alley, seeing some people there. That’s good, they’ll help with my cover. I move along the inner walls, trying every door I pass. When I’m able to shove one open, I fall through it, once again landing on hard concrete.
"Fuck!" I shout.
I’m dizzy and disoriented, but hear a gasp and a little scream, followed by a woman talking in Spanish. I can speak it, but with my state, I can't understand what she's saying. I try to look up, but everything is blurry and she’s now yelling at me. She shuts the door and starts talking to someone across the room, but I can't see who it is. I begin to feel myself fall into darkness, then suddenly a face pops into my line of sight and I’m startled awake, like a bolt of lightning just struck me. She’s beautiful with piercing deep blue eyes, long black hair, and porcelain skin.
“Angel,” I murmur, wondering if I’m dying? I guess the shock didn’t last long since I'm still bleeding out after all.
“Hang in there big guy.” Her voice is heavenly, so she must be exactly what I called her.
Her lips are moving, but I can't hear anything as I’m fading once again. I don’t remember much after that. Somehow, I was lifted onto a cot, my angel working on my injury. She peers over every so often and cleans my face, wiping off the sweat. It might’ve been hours, maybe even days that go by, but I remember talking, or trying to. The only thing I do really remember is her. My angel. And all I can keep thinking is, if I died right now and the last thing I saw was her beautiful face, I’d die a happy man.
Chapter 2
Annabelle
I sit at the stranger's bedside, surprised he survived as it’s obvious he’s been through hell the last few days, but looking over the scars that litter his chest and arms, I know he’s survived much worse. How, I have no idea. He’s a fighter like most people who come in here. Here is the hospital, well at least the best you can get in this small town in the middle of the slums of Mexico.
“How is he?” Maria asks in Spanish.
“Much better now,” I smile as I reply. She nods, going back to her rounds.
Maria and a few other townspeople are kind enough to help, which is rare to find, with some of the patients. I think about all the things he's mumbled over the last few days. He was burning up with a fever, so most was nonsense. He called me his angel, said I was beautiful, and asked me not to send him to hell. I had to keep reassuring him he’s not going there, that he’s staying with me which seemed to calm him down.
"Forever?" He’d mumble.
"Yes, forever," I’d reply.
I wondered what the heck happened to him, and about his life story. He already seemed like he’s been through hell and back. I told him mine, though he probably didn’t hear any of it. Both my parents worked with Doctors Without Borders. I was actually born while they were on duty and traveled the world with them. I was homeschooled, if you can call it that, and loved every minute of it. They taught me everything they knew and I grew up with one passion, to be just like them, helping those who needed it. How could I not after growing up watching my parents save lives?
When I was seventeen, a group of bandits raided the small African village we were in and they killed my dad, mom, and most of the people. I managed to escape, but that’s when I realized I didn’t have a home. Never did, honestly, as it was wherever my parents were assigned, then they died. So, instead of wallowing in my sadness, I picked up and moved on my own, continuing to travel and help those in need. That’s what lead me to this slum, and the last thing I ever expected was to be caring for a beast of a man like him.
And it is an accurate term. He’s huge with thick black hair and a long beard, his skin is a warm darker color, so different compared to mine. He looks so sad and lonely, even as he sleeps, and I can't help but feel his pain in my heart.
A low groan takes me from my thoughts and I sit on the bed beside him. Leaning over, I wet the cloth here for just this reason and wipe his face.
“Hey, you finally awake big guy?” I whisper.
His eyes open and he takes a minute to focus before really looking at me. “You're real,” he breathes out, his voice scratchy. “My angel.” He tries to sit up, and I help, then give him some water once he’s settled. He takes a big swig, never taking his eyes off me. “You’re real,” he says again.
I can't help but laugh at him as I reply, “I am.” I smile.
He returns it instantly, transforming his whole face. Before, he looked scary and intimidating, and still does, but his beautiful smile shows another side of him.
“What’s your name angel?”
He’s been calling me that for days. “Annabelle, but everyone calls me Anna.”
“Annabelle the angel, it suits you.” His voice is soft and warm now and I have the urge to cuddle against his chest to listen to it.
“What’s yours?” I’ve been dying to ask since he got here.
“Foster Warren.” Its mysterious and robust, just like him.
“Annabelle Glen,” I say, giving him my full name. I extend my hand and he looks at it for a beat before taking it. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“You saved my life,” he states.
“I did,” I agree with a grin.
“Thank you,” he says, the words seeming like he doesn’t use them often. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost four days. You were in bad shape. I’m guessing you ran after you were shot. You lost a lot of blood,” I tell him. “And that’s like gold around here.”
He looks shocked. “Then how did I recover?”
“I’m a universal donor, so I decided to be generous and share some with a handsome stranger.” I give him a playful wink.
“So, your blood is running through my veins?” He asks.
“Ummm yes,” I answer, not understanding the big deal. He looks eerily pleased, and I have no idea why.
He stares at me for the longest time and I start to fidget under his impossibly powerful gaze. “Foster, are you okay?” I finally ask.
He snaps out of it and says, “You're so beautiful, I can't help but look at you.” I blush under his compliment. “Who knows I’m here?”
“Just a few women, but they won't say anything,” I assure him. “I said you were a friend of mine, otherwise, they would’ve never let you in.” He raises a brow in question. “This hole in the wall is used as a clinic and women’s shelter, so they’re wary of men coming in,” I explain. “Especially ones that are big and intimidating like you.”
Suddenly, his expression turns into rage. “You have a man and he made you run to a shelter?” He growls out. “I’ll kill him.”
It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. The quick change in his demeanor should scare me, but instead, something dead inside is pleased he wants to protect me.
“Is that what you do? Kill people?” I ask, no judgment, just curiosity.
“Some days,” he replies instantly. “Now, tell me who I need to kill today.”
“No one. I don’t have a man, but I do help out here when I'm in town.” He takes a deep breath, relaxing at my answer.
“What do you do on the days you don’t kill people?”
He looks at me for a long moment, then answers, “Angel, I’ve committed so many sins in my lifetime I’ve lost count."
For some reason, this doesn't surprise me, but his honesty is refreshing and intrigui
ng. I lean in closer and give him a small smile. “Tell me everything.”
Chapter 3
Foster
I look at her in pure shock. She wants to know more, well, everything to use her word. How this beauty isn’t scared of me I don’t know. She’s sweet, kind, and stunning, yet looks genuinely interested in knowing all my deep dark secrets. What's weirder is that I want to tell her.
“I don’t believe you committed every sin out there,” she pushes. “Let’s see, there’s lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.” She lists the seven deadly sins making me grin.
“All but lust,” I pause and look her over slowly. “Until now.” I wink like I'm some smooth operator and not a man with the soul of a hermit.
She laughs at me which I guess is a good sign. I feel like I’m in uncharted waters because I’ve never had any interest in a woman. Hell, Cleo, Molly, and Willow are the only women I’ve spoken more than a few sentences to in my lifetime.
“So, what is your day job that makes you commit so many sins?”
I don’t hesitate to answer, having a gut feeling I can trust her, tell her everything and unburden myself. That she’ll be here to save me, like the angel she is.
“I’m a crime king.”
“A what?” She asks like I’m speaking a different language.
