Broken: Enemies to Lovers Romance (City Slickers Book 1)

by P Mulholland

  Broken

  P. Mulholland

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  www.authorpmulholland.com

  Books

  City Slickers

  Broken

  Cold Blooded

  The Fixer

  The Boss

  Kingston Valley U

  The Knight

  The Rook

  The Pawn

  The Saint

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents other than those clearly in the public domain are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission from the publisher.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter Forty Four

  Chapter Forty Five

  Chapter Forty Six

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Prologue

  “It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”

  - All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr about the sea.

  A golden-haired girl pressed her ear against the door of the study.

  She could hear the voices of family members that she hardly knew, arguing as to what should be done with her. The words breast cancer had been whispered as if made of poison, followed by death, made of rusty blades.

  It seemed her mother was no more; neither was San Diego, endless summers, her school friends and the many blue hues of the great Pacific Ocean.

  “I don’t want her,” she heard her father say, the father that she had met only three times before. Although he did send birthday cards for the wrong day and Christmas cards every year. He was old, old enough to be her grandfather, and her half-brother was married with his own children. He made it clear there was no room for another kid in the house.

  “She’ll go into welfare if someone doesn’t take her,” Farrah, her half sister-in-law argued. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  “It’s hardly my problem,” the brother answered back.

  “I cannot believe you just said that, Isaac,” Farrah spat coldly. “It wasn’t her fault her mother died.”

  “It makes more sense for her to go to a parent,” Isaac angered.

  “Come on! I barely know her,” her father answered back.

  “Who’s fault is that?”

  “Her mother’s.”

  A little boy with curly ink hair and a somber expression, tugged on the girl’s arm. “What’s those for?” he asked, pointing at the large dress-making scissors in her hand.

  She looked down at the boy with the large brown eyes that turned yellow in sunlight, giving a reptilian quality to his features. “I think there’s been a mistake,” she whispered, taking a hunk of her long hair and sliced through it in one go. The boy watched, not in horror, but with curiosity.

  She held the clump of golden hair in her hand and gracefully turned away from the study door. The boy followed behind, as she dropped a trail of hair leading to the pool outside.

  He found her standing on the edge, mesmerized by the leaves floating along the surface of the water. The scissors fell from her hand, as did the rest of her sliced hair before she succumbed, letting her body plummet into the water.

  It was early fall in Chicago, yet the girl was numb to the chill. As she sank to the bottom of the pool, the boy watched with interest. She was lying on her back looking up at him, her shorter hair was dancing in the water like leaves caught by a breeze.

  He was told that she had gills and could breathe under water. Instead of swimming like a dolphin, she just lay there as good as dead.

  The boy found a pebble and tossed it at her, hoping it might wake her up. It made no difference. So he tried another; still nothing. This confused him. Throwing a pebble at the Canadian geese floating on Lake Michigan triggered a response, same with the carp in the fishpond. But it didn’t work with her, the girl with the gills. Maybe she was tired and needed to sleep.

  The boy soon lost interest and walked away.

  Chapter One

  Nineteen Years Later

  Jake

  I woke with my cheek pressed against something hard and bumpy. It was dark, really dark and my skin prickled from a cold breeze running all over me.

  “Should we call an ambulance?” I heard someone say.

  “Nah, let the prick suffer,” someone else answered.

  Bright lights stung my eyes, a car door opened and closed. Someone threw a blanket over me that smelt like moldy cheese rolled in dust. I could hear the murmurs of someone having a one-way conversation about some guy who got hit by a car while going on a naked bike ride at night.

  He’s probably been drinking and got confused. I mean, who goes for a naked bike ride, when it’s more efficient to drive a car naked. With passengers. Chick passengers.

  A surge of horrendous pain suddenly struck every inch of my body. It was as if someone poured gasoline over me and set me alight. A wolf howled in my ear and I shivered all over from the vibration of the gut-wrenching wail.

  “He’s in a lot of pain,” the one-way conservationist remarked.

  The world went black…

  …until it turned white.

  I ached. My body was stiff and bruised. I was lying on a soft mattress, I knew that much, and the room smelt of disinfectant and chicken soup. I heard my father’s voice, rushed and impatient, firing orders at someone.

  Yeah, that’s him. Red Austin. Full name: Redmond John Austin. Red-Mond. It just occurred to me how weird his name is. Red-Mond. Who the hell names their kid Redmond?

  I tried to open my eyes, but the lids were gritty and heavy so I kept them closed a little longer.

  “Happy twenty-first, kid,” I heard my father say. Was he talking to me? “You’re going back into rehab
.”

  Yeah, he’s talking to me.

  I heard a door open and close and the room fell silent. I decided it was safe to open my eyes, only I was greeted by an intense starkness that stung like a thousand bee stings. I blinked away the blurriness and rubbed them with the only hand that felt unrestrained. I didn’t need to see to know where I was. The clues were all around; the smells, the whiteness, the squeaky sounds of shoes against the floor. Without a doubt I was in Kansas, baby, with a one-way ticket to Oz. I’ll see you on the other side. BTW, I hope they serve Old Rip Van Winkle.

  I was alone in the room of white. Except, I wasn’t alone. I detected movement in my peripheral vision and turned my head to see Corey, looking like he just stepped out of the year 1967. He was leaning against the window frame, wearing a smirk that was a fitting accessory for his retro suit and tie.

  My brother epitomized cool. He didn’t have to try to be cool, because he just was. He reached into his jacket pocket for a packet of cigarettes, took one out and held it between his fingers. He was the only person in our entire family, grandparents included, that smoked. He was the only person in our entire family, grandparents included, that looked like him.

  “You ever had a paternity test?” I asked, except my mouth was as dry as the Californian drought and only a croak came out.

  “You fucked up again,” he said, placing the smoke between his lips.

  “I think wolves were on the loose,” I said, remembering the howling last night. “They were close. Real close.”

  “You’re off to rehab again, for the second time in eighteen months,” he said. “You can’t handle your liquor.”

  “So I heard. You’re seriously not going to smoke in a hospital room?”

  “You were dropped on your head as a baby,” he said. “It was when me and Trent used you as a football.”

  “I didn’t think you liked football.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why do you wear sunglasses inside?” I always wanted to ask him that.

  “’Cos I can’t be assed taking them off.”

  “Naturally.”

  “It was posted all over social media and in the gossip magazines,” he bit.

  “What was?”

  “Your bare Austin ass.”

  “It’s not bad.”

  “What’s not bad?” he asked, glancing out the window.

  “My ass. Chicks tell me that all the time.”

  “You celebrated your twenty-first by getting drunk as a skunk and riding a bike naked.”

  “That was me?”

  “And then you smashed into a car.”

  “Can we sue?”

  “The car was parked on the side of the road and empty. Red’s not happy.”

  “Is he ever?”

  “You’re rolling the Austin name in dog shit, Elmer. You’ve gotta stop this crap.”

  “It’s not like I drink every night, just the weekends and on special occasions, like Tuesdays.”

  “Jeez!” He shook his head in disgust. “Are you trying to break our mother’s heart?”

  I was stopped in my tracks. I had no witty come-backs when it came to my mother.

  Chapter Two

  Three Months Later

  Brydie

  “I gotta get you out of my house,” Isaac said, before I got the chance to sit down. He called me into his home office, which was code word for man cave, decorated with Bears paraphernalia going back decades. I doubted actual work ever got done in there, unlike his city office.

  He continued, “You’re upsetting the equilibrium. Too much female energy and I don’t like it.” His eyes kept drifting to the baseball game playing on the large TV screen behind me.

  “No problem,” I said, glancing at Leon who was sitting in a chair reading a motorcycle magazine.

  “Whenever you turn up, it’s havoc. Always havoc. My ears can’t handle all that constant chatter between you, my daughter and wife. I mean, they pay you more attention than they pay me.”

  “It’s only because they haven’t seen me in a while,” I said.

  “Even the dog pays you more attention than me. And I’m the one who pays for his food. Damn mutt.”

  “My friend is sub-leasing my apartment in San Diego. I’ll contact her to let her know I’m coming home sooner.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, turning dark. Isaac picked up a Bears pencil and pressed the lead tip into his thumb to check how sharp it was.

  “I thought you wanted me out?” I asked.

  “I do want you out. But you’re not leaving Chicago until you’ve paid your debts.”

  “What debts?” I asked, utterly confused.

  “You’re asking me what debts?”

  “Yes I am asking you, what debts?”

  He faked an exaggerated flinch to show how flabbergasted he was by my ignorance. “You mean, you don’t know? Leon, she doesn’t know about her debts. Can you believe this?”

  Leon shrugged. “She might have a short memory,” he said, without looking up from his magazine.

  “Are you talking about when you saved me from the snake pit?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Now we’re talking,” Isaac said. “See Leon, she’s not as stupid as she pretends to be.”

  “So you didn’t do that out of the goodness of your own heart?”

  He laughed. “What heart?” He turned to Leon, while pointing at me. “Hear that, the Malone humor?”

  I sighed. Yes, he saved me…again. Isaac Malone never did anything for free, unless it was for Farrah and his kids, oh and the dog. I’m a half-sister on our father’s side, so I’m way down the pecking order.

  “This is what’s happening,” he said, pausing a moment to watch an action replay on the screen. “You’re going to work for me, three nights per week in the Dust Room.”

  “Accounts?”

  “They’re a mess. There are invoices and bills all over the place.”

  “So you never bothered to buy that accounting program I told you to get?” I asked.

  “We downloaded a demo, but no one knew how to use it. So we just gave up.”

  “How long for?”

  “Until you’ve cleaned it up enough to take to the accountant.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. I knew what that meant. I’d worked for Isaac before doing his accounts. He’d take the figure I came up with to the “accountant” but then he’d come up with a better figure. And by better, I mean smaller figure.

  “Fine,” I said. “It’ll take me a week.”

  “That’s not all,” he said. “I got you your old job back.”

  “Why?” I was slightly baffled. “I won’t be staying long.”

  “You reckon? Do you really want to bet hard earned cash on that notion?” His warning tone meant there was more to come. I could feel the grand finale, the cliffhanger, the shocking blow that was on the tip of his tongue ready to send me into a stunned stupor.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “I said debts.”

  “I heard you.”

  “Debts, plural. You owe me and you also owe Mr. Austin.” He was wearing his cold, stern business face now.

  “Mr. Austin? What for?” The name Austin rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place him. Whoever he was, Isaac Malone held him in high regard, or else he wouldn’t have called him Mr.

  “If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be in that jungle crying for your dead mother.”

  “That was below the belt, Isaac.” That comment pissed me off. Asshole. “Don’t ever mention my mother.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “He needs you to look after his son who got himself in trouble.”

  “Wouldn’t a nanny be more appropriate? I’m not that great with kids.”

  “He’s twenty one.”

  “Wouldn’t a prison officer be more appropriate? I’m not great with delinquents.”

  “He’s due out of rehab any day and he needs someone to watch over him. Got a problem with the drink.”


  “How am I going to do that?”

  “You’re going to live with him.”

  “Can’t I just write a check to pay for the Austin debt?” I suggested.

  He laughed and turned to Leon again. “See, Malone humor. She honestly thinks she has enough money in her bank account to pay back Mr. Austin.”

  Then I remembered where I heard the Austin name. The infamous Chicago billionaires. I dated a boy when I was a teenager who was an Austin. He was a real player, even then. What was his first name? Oh yes, it’s all coming back to me. Mr. Austin was long-time friends with Isaac. Chums. Probably spent Friday nights soaking in a bath of their debtors’ blood while sipping cognacs and puffing on Cuban cigars.

  “For four months,” Isaac added. “The apartment will be supplied. Mr. Austin owns the building.”

  “Is Austin that rich guy?” I asked, more bells ringing. It’s been 18 months since I was last in Chicago. Before then I was stuck there for 3 years and 23 days, reluctantly, and only because I was dating a Bear. Before then, I hadn’t stepped foot in Illinois since I was 17…deliberately. Not that I hated Chicago. I adored Chicago, but my life was ruled by the ocean. Without it, I’m like a stranded pilot whale, lost and confused and desperate to soak in the deep, salty blue. Furthermore, I struggled to live in the same city as Isaac. I loved Farrah and gorgeous Abbie, and even Leon, but Isaac? There were two sides to him, and neither side was pleasant.

  “Rich? You could say that,” he said, sniggering.

  “So the deal is,” I began, “to pay Mr. Austin off I have to make sure his son doesn’t drink for four months?”

  “Correct,” Malone said.

  “While living with him stuck here in Chicago?”

  “Correct again.”

  “I don’t think I can do it,” I protested. “I have to get back home. I have responsibilities. There are classes I have to teach and diving tours to take people on. I’m due in Bali in two months for -”

  “You can teach here in your old job. And what’s wrong with Lake Michigan? There’s plenty to see in there.”