Broken By A King: The King Brothers #3

  Broken By A King

  The King Brothers #3

  Lisa Lang Blakeney

  Writergirl Press

  To Every English Teacher Who Told Me I Should Write

  LISA LANG BLAKENEY

  Thank you for purchasing Indebted To A King. Please join

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  Copyright © 2018 by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Writergirl Press

  Edited by: Marla Esposito

  Cover by: WritergirlPress

  Contents

  License Note

  Books By Lisa

  Introduction

  1. STONE

  2. STONE

  3. TINY

  4. STONE

  5. TINY

  6. TINY

  7. STONE

  8. TINY

  9. STONE

  10. TINY

  11. TINY

  12. TINY

  13. TINY

  14. TINY

  15. STONE

  16. STONE

  17. STONE

  18. TINY

  19. TINY

  20. TINY

  21. STONE

  22. TINY

  23. TINY

  24. STONE

  25. STONE

  26. STONE

  27. TINY

  28. STONE

  29. TINY

  30. STONE

  31. TINY

  32. TINY

  33. STONE

  34. STONE

  35. STONE

  36. TINY

  GUNSLINGER

  Introduction

  Gunslinger Defined

  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

  Claimed By A King

  Indebted To A King

  Note From Lisa

  Where You Can Find Me

  Acknowledgments

  Bonus Stuff!

  Book List

  Praise For Cousins

  Cousins Book One

  Cousins Book Two

  Cousins In Love Book Three

  About the Author

  License Note

  This book is available for purchase at Amazon.com. If you found this book for free online or from another retailer other than Amazon, it means the author was not compensated for it.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  NOTE: All characters in the book are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.

  Books By Lisa

  THE COUSINS SERIES

  Cousins: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 1)

  Cousins: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 2)

  Cousins In Love: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 3)

  Cousins Boxed Set (Limited Edition)

  THE KING BROTHERS SERIES

  Claimed By A King

  Indebted To A King

  Broken By A King

  STANDALONES

  Gunslinger: A Sports Romance

  Introduction

  First he lied to me.

  Then he seduced me.

  Now he’s broken me.

  I knew him as a boy, but now the boy is back—a hardened criminal.

  Big as hell. Blindingly beautiful. Sexy as sin.

  Dripping with attitude. Covered in ink.

  And carrying a colossal chip on his shoulder.

  I want to keep my distance.

  Needing to protect myself and my virginity.

  He’s awakening parts of me that I never knew were dormant.

  Ruining me for any other man.

  I should have known that nothing this good would be healthy for me.

  He’s a liar. A thief. A convict. A deviant.

  I need to walk away from this man who’s breaking me piece by piece.

  Only my heart is not cooperating.

  AUTHOR’S PROMISE: This is a full length, standalone novel, featuring a strong alpha with no cheating (and as always) a happily ever after. Be advised that due to strong language and yummy sex, this book is not intended for the easily offended or readers under 18.

  One

  STONE

  Visiting Room

  White Pines Penitentiary

  White Pines Village, New York

  "I don't usually accept visits from strangers."

  I stare menacingly at the vertically challenged man wearing a black cloth patch across a missing eye as he sits down. He looks like a short pirate in a three-piece suit.

  "Correction, you don't take visits from anyone."

  I narrow my eyes and take a longer look at my visitor. He's been doing his homework on me which means he wants something. Anyone who takes an interest in me wants something.

  "How would you know that."

  "I know a lot about you, Michael Barringer, and it's time that you know a bit about me too. The name's Silas Buckshot Porter. Most people call me Bucky, and I'm the man you stole seven million dollars' worth of heroin from."

  Fuck me.

  So, this is him.

  I'm serving time in prison, because I was caught in possession of a large quantity of heroin with an intent to distribute. This man's heroin.

  I've been watching my back inside of these prison walls for five years. Waiting for some connection he may have inside to make their move on me in retaliation, but no one ever did. I thought maybe I got away with it. That I was all good. But it's in this exact moment that I'm realizing that was a mistake. I let my guard down. Only now am I remembering and understanding what my father always told me.

  There's no way to avoid the wrath of the devil, Stone. When he comes, he comes, and you just better be prepared to deal with the motherfucker.

  "So, it was your product."

  "Not even going to pretend that you didn't take it, huh?"

  "Nope. I definitely took that shit and it was real easy."

  He grins baring a set of perfect white teeth.

  "I like that about you. You've got balls. May I ask what made you target my shipment in particular?"

  "No reason."

  He smooths the lapels of his jacket.

  "I don't think that's true, Mr. Barringer. I think you targeted me specifically, because that seems to be your pattern. You stole from a few other people I know. You have a particular hard-on for heroin dealers."

  "You do realize that our conversations are being monitored, right?"

  He chuckles.

  "If I was worried about that I wouldn't be here. The dif
ference between you and me is that I have connections that you don't. That you'll never have. That's why you're in there and I'm out here. You'd do best to remember that."

  "I'm getting tired of this fucking conversation. Say what you came here to say and leave."

  "All right–"

  He leans in farther toward me.

  "You took seven million dollars from me, and I want it back."

  "I don't have it."

  "You're going to get it."

  "I'm not–"

  "You know how I got to where I am, Mr. Barringer? I served my country flying supply planes from the states for army rangers."

  Alarms go off in my head when he says army rangers. My adoptive father, Jack, was an army ranger, but I'm not going to let this guy know that what he's saying means anything to me.

  "And."

  "And I knew your foster dad or sorry...adoptive father, Jack."

  I don't move a muscle in my face.

  "Your father and a man named Nathan Carter and I had a deal back in the old days. We were all partners."

  "That's bullshit. My father was a stone mason."

  "Come on now, you think you and Jack lived in the ritzy part of Brooklyn off of a mason's income? Hell fucking no. Your father made his money with me back when we were rangers. I moved a lot of heroin in those planes I flew and he helped me. The split was fifty/fifty. I got fifty percent for transporting it and your father, and Nate split their half for helping me get it on the plane."

  "Even if I were to believe this tall tale of yours, if you think Jack left me a lot of money when he died, let me assure you that he didn't. Just a small life insurance policy. If he had the type of money you're talking about, I would have known."

  "You're one lucky son of a bitch, do you know that? If you were anyone else, you would have been dead the first thirty days of your stay in this steel cage. But seeing that your father saved my ass once or twice when I was young and dumb, I'm going to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself. I know Jack didn't have any money when he died. I knew everything about Jack. He had a gambling problem and a woman problem. He spent way too much money on craps and beer and pussy."

  I tighten my fist that's resting on the table between us.

  Jack was a good man, and I won't tolerate anyone telling me any different.

  "Listen up–"

  "No, you listen, Mr. Barringer. Our other partner, Nate, probably still has his money and the sweet thing is, is that I don't owe that son of a bitch shit. You're going to get it from him, or I promise you that you're dead the second you step out of this prison."

  I stare at the one-eyed devil in his one good eye and can see that he means exactly what he says. I didn't protect my ass literally and figuratively in this place for five years to die.

  "I haven't seen Nate since my father's funeral, but when I did he certainly didn't seem like he was rolling in it."

  "What made us good at what we did is that we never brought attention to ourselves. You never even heard of me, right? That's because I keep a low profile. I'm way under the radar. So is Nate. Trust me when I say that he has some money stashed somewhere, and you better hope that it's at least seven million dollars."

  "And how do you propose I steal this imaginary money?"

  "You're a professional thief, Mr. Barringer. Do what you do best. Lie."

  I slam my hands flat on the table in frustration garnering the attention of a couple of guards.

  "Keep it down, Barringer," one of them warns me.

  "I steal drugs from drug dealers," I say through clenched teeth. "I don't steal money from my father's friends."

  "Drugs are money, Mr. Barringer. My money. Listen, I realize that you have some sort of Robin Hood fetish. I don't know why. Maybe you heard that your biological mama was a heroin addict or maybe a few of those kids in the foster home overdosed on some bad smack? Whatever the reason, that seems to be why you steal from businessmen like myself that only deal in heroin, and then you flush it down the toilet or some ridiculous shit like that. You think you're making a difference? Hurting us? Well here's the reality check. You aren't making a dent in my business. You aren't stopping anything. You're just making things difficult for yourself."

  "If I wasn't making a difference, you wouldn't be here now would you."

  He tightens his tie.

  His voice rises an octave.

  "You make zero difference. Trust and believe that. But I have a business to run and I can't let a theft like yours go unchecked. It sets a bad example for the other brazen dickheads out in the world like you."

  He takes a deep breath like he's attempting to center himself.

  "Listen, I don't want to argue. In fact, I'm going to be a nice guy and give you options. You see just like you, Nate took something from me a long time ago, and I never forget a debt. He owes me. So, you can either steal the seven million dollars you owe me from him or you can steal something else even more precious of his."

  "What."

  "His daughter."

  "What?"

  "Make her fall in love with you then break her."

  This motherfucker is crazy.

  "I'm not doing that shit."

  "It's either that, my money, or your death, Mr. Barringer. Any one of those will satisfy your debt. The choice is yours."

  * * *

  Two

  STONE

  FEBRUARY

  My name is Michael Blackwood Barringer, but everyone calls me Stone. The story around the origins of my nickname isn't particularly creative or unique. The way I heard it, it was simply because I was a very big kid. Heavy as a rock to carry. Hard as a boulder to move. Therefore, I was given the nickname Stone.

  The name stuck with me through my younger years in elementary school and into adulthood, not just because of my size, but because no one could really read my emotions.

  Kids called me Stone, because they didn't dare call me anything else. They were mostly frightened of me and rightly so. I was tall and muscular for my age and often used it to my advantage. Starting fights. Breaking up fights.

  There were also a couple of teachers who used the nickname as well. They would often say that I was unreadable or unapproachable, because I wore a "stoned face" throughout the day. I think that even one or two of them wanted to get me tested at one point for a personality disorder.

  I'm sure that if I had been a cute little girl, with ringlets, and a big grin across my face all the time, those same teachers would have discovered that I wasn't some damaged or flawed kid, but that actually I was pretty intelligent for my age. Smart but bored. Unfortunately, most of my mediocre teachers couldn't get past the fact that I was bigger than them, stronger than them, and quieter than most. They didn't realize I had a brain, and I'm not even sure how much they would have cared even if they had known. I don't bring out the nurturing instinct in people. I bring out the urge to fight or take flight.

  For the five years that I served as a prisoner in the New York State penal system, I was also known as Stone or inmate 745924. I served my time quietly and without any real serious issues. Sure, there were definitely times when I had to prove that I was the wrong one to fuck with, but unlike the many prison television shows and movies depicting horrible daily violence such as murder and rape, jail was actually pretty damn boring.

  Day in and day out, it was the same routine for mostly every man there. Everyone who isn't serving life in prison, just wants to serve their time quietly so that they can make parole. I was no different. I served my predictable and ritualistic sentence one month, one week, and one day at a time. Biding my time. And that time has finally come.

  I was released this morning after serving five of my seven year prison sentence with an early probation under specific conditions. When felons like me are released under a court agreement, someone has to vouch for them. They need to vouch that I won't leave the state in which I committed the crime (New York). Vouch that I'll meet with my assigned probation officer regularly. And vouch that I
won't be a menace to the community and actually become a productive member of society.

  Because I was an exemplary prisoner, and have no real home to call my own in New York, the court was willing to grant me a parole transfer to another state and place me under the supervision of the one person I needed to put a roof over my head and that's Nate Carson.

  Nate isn't my family by blood. Actually, I don't know if I have any blood relatives to speak of. Never cared to find out. If they don't give a damn about me, why should I give a rat's ass about them? Nate Carson was the best friend of my adoptive father, Jack. They were very close. Served over twenty-two years as rangers in the army together.