Her Broken Pieces , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Shae Coon

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

101 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Gerry

Five years ago, Jax Townsend saved me from a fate worse than death. I was sold to a prince by a man who claimed to love me, then tortured and enslaved by another. That’s why I decided if that was love, then I wanted no part in it.
Now, I work for Marron House Security. Hired by the same man who shot a Sheikh to save me. The same man that haunts my dreams with the promise of a happily ever after. Jax sees my broken pieces, and it scares me. Because for all he sees, I see more.
I see his desire for me, and it heats my blood with untold need. I hide my body’s reaction to his innocent touches. I’ve never desired a man the way I desire Jax Townsend, but if I allow myself to embrace this passion, then I allow him a piece of my heart. And I just can’t do that.

Jax

She carved her name into my heart the moment our eyes locked five years ago on that yacht belonging to a prince. I killed for her, then left her in the hands of my best friend’s mother and went back to fight another battle.
Now, I’m co-founder of Marron House Security, and I’ve hired Gerry as our office manager. Her bright smiles and scent of wildflowers have me fantasizing about all sorts of naughty, after-hours escapades.
I want Gerry. Body, soul, but above all else…heart. And that’s the shit of it all. Because Gerry doesn’t believe love comes without cruelty, and I’m not sure I’m enough to prove her wrong.

Sujets

Romance contemporaine

BDSM

Contemporary

Romance

Bondage et discipline, domination et soumission et sado-masochisme

Fiction

Informations

Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 décembre 2021
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781644504284
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Table o f Contents
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Epilogue
Afterword
Shae Coon

Her Broke n Pieces
Copyright © 2021 Shae Coon. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publicatio ns, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover by Je n Kotick
Editor Tilda M. Cooke
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is book is meant as a reference guide. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All brands, quotes, and cited work respectfully belongs to the original rights holders and bear no affiliation to the authors or pu blisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 20 21948556
Print ISBN: 978-1-644 50-429-1
Audio ISBN: 978-1-644 50-427-7
E-book ISBN: 978-1-644 50-428-4

Prologue
Genev ieve Marsh
5 years ago
M y white-blonde hair dances in the wind as the four-hundred-foot luxury yacht cuts through the Mediterranean. Our location this time? I hav e no clue.
My Prince––how I am to address him––hasn’t told me. My Prince. One would think I am living in some type of fairytale world. After all, I am on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean. My clothes are designer, my jewels worth millions, and when you look at me and see my bright smile, my perfectly applied make-up, you think, damn, that bitch has it good . That perception only gathers strength when you see me standing on the deck of the luxury yacht, holding a glass of champagne worth thousands. And you look on, green with envy.
All the while, young women and pubescent boys are used in the most heinous ways by the revolting men on this boat. Me included.
You don’t see the healing bones caused by my early disobedience. The discolored skin beneath my designer clothes. The lash marks that mar my skin go as deep as the blue sea my current prison rac es across.
My make-up is perfect but thick to hide the handprint my prince painted across my cheek this morning. My most private areas have been invaded by anything he could find at the moment. I have been taken with such brutal force that a surgeon had to repair m y anoderm.
My prince is possessive and refuses to share me. So, he became livid when his father gave him no choice. My prince beat me for his father’s deviant behavior.
His family comes from a long lineage of an absolute monarchy and has the riches and connections that can afford them obedience from various governments. They take what they want ––like me.
My journey to the prince’s bed began with a trip to Cancun with my then long-term boyfriend, Peter. After graduating with my Bachelor’s in Business Administration, I decided a well-deserved vacation was in order.
I had no real family to celebrate with. My dad left as soon as my mom gave birth to me, and my mom? Well, let’s just say the woman was one acorn short of a nuthouse. I didn’t have any close friends, choosing to keep to my studies and spending my extra time w ith Peter.
I wanted to visit Ireland, but Peter was broke as usual, so he suggested we go somewhere a bit more economical, and I readily agreed. Peter had a job at a local pharmacy back home in Missouri, but he always seemed to be low on cash. I never really worried because we were in love. Was everything perfect? No, but we got along well enough, and I was content with my pat h in life.
We set off to have a wonderful time together in Cancun. The sun shone on our skin as we swam in the crystal blue waters. We made love in our small hotel room almost every night. Peter even surprised me with a romantic dinner the last night of our trip. He said a buddy of his raved that the place was a hidden gem. So, like a girl hooked on her guy, I didn’t que stion him.
I sh ould have.
The moment our taxi entered the less populated area of town, I should have asked questions. When the surrounding area became shadier, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, I should have told him to tu rn around.
But I didn’t.
I let Peter guide me into an old red brick building that looked one stiff breeze away from collapsing. We entered and were immediately engulfed with smells of traditional Spanish dishes, and my worry began to dissi pate some.
That was until a large, sallow-faced man lumbered from the kitchen. His once white T-shirt was stained with sweat, his pants were barely holding up under his ample beer gut, and his jet-black comb-over was oily and somehow crusty with dander at the same time.
“Took you long enough, gringo,” the man said in a heavy accent, his teeth rotten from lack of proper de ntal care.
“I don’t know the area. It took longer than expected, but we’re still good, right?” Peter asked. His skin had turned pale, and sweat dripped down hi s temples.
The man’s black beady eyes scanned my body, and the sensation of tiny bugs crawling over my skin had me rubbin g my arms.
“Pete r, what––”
“Sí. We are good. Yousef, temenos un paquete !” the man yelled, and a moment later, a young, strikingly handsome middle eastern man came from the back. He was tall and muscled with bright green eyes. His dark ebony hair was slicked back, and the three-piece suit he wore was tailored and expensive.
I looked at Peter in confusion, but he refused to meet my eyes. Instead, he stood and watched as the handsome man stroked a gentle finger down my cheek before swinging me around in his arms. My back hit his broad chest, and my arms were held against my chest as the man injected me with something that made my head swim and my pleas escape on a whisper.
The next day, I woke up in a plush bed made of the finest silks, the sun shining through the small window of the yacht.
I had been sold to repay Peter’s gambling debts. Debts I never k new about.
The day I woke in the princes’ bed was when Genevieve Marsh became a pet to a man who would beat, torture, rape, and ultimately declare his love for her. The prince wanted me to be his princess, and for that, I would pay the price. The prince’s father would not allow his son to take an American mutt as his wife.
So once again, the supposed love of a man brought cruelty, and I would accept it. After all, this is no fairytale. There will be no knight in shining armor to come and save the princess from the evil villain. And the heroine will not escape her captor through sheer determination and faith.
This is the real world. This is my new life.

1
Ja x Townsend
5 years ago
“ Okay, men, this is it. We dive in ten. Remember, the prince and Sheikh are on board with ten of their goons and their supplier, Yousef Balil. The women are being held in a room on the lowest level of the boat. We’re going in nice and quiet. Townsend, you’re lead. I want the prince and the Shei kh alive .”
“Copy that,” I confirm into my comms. My team of twelve shadow soldiers and I are currently on a speed boat built for stealth, racing across the dark waters of the Mediterranean just off the coast of Monaco. The salty air is a familiar perfume as it whips ove r my face.
Our team is commanded by Captain John Phips, who watches things from HQ. Our mission is to intercept the King’s Wishes ––a four-hundred-foot superyacht owned by Prince Saad Ayad, son of a Saudi sheikh and all-around evil son of a bitch. Both men were known for ordering literal truckloads of women, drugs, and booze for a single night of debauchery. And the man supplying them? Yousef Balil. A well-known trader of rare and expensive “objects,” he was the go-to guy if you wanted to acquire something––o r someone.
All three have been on our radar for years, and we finally got the go-ahead to bring them in. We are going in under the guise of saving women who are trafficked. But the real prize for the powers that be is taking down one of the wealthiest families in the Saudi nation and their little minion, leaving their oil and land up for grabs.
I don’t give a damn about oil or land. I will capture the bastards as directed, but I’m not leaving without every last one of th ose women.
As we approach the coastline, the yacht comes into view. The hip-hop music blasting from the yacht speakers can be heard from our position two miles away. I switch on my waterproof night vision goggles––thank you, Caleb Marron––and get ready to dive into the glassy water. We will have a two-mile swim ahead of us. Nothing I haven’t done before since I joined up at eighteen.
The boat slows to a crawl before the engine is cut. “Alright, prepare to dive.” I lift my six-three body from my seat and move to the edge of the speedboat. “Team one, go.” I hear the faint splash of four bodies hitting the water. “Team two, go.” I’m in the last team and will watch their backs. “Team three, go.” I lean back and let gravity do its job. The cool, salty water of the Mediterranean engulfs me in its arms, and I embrace it as I turn and start paddling.
We reach the yacht in less time than expected, and I’m proud of my men as I look out at them. Not one of them is out of breath or fatigued by the long swim with heavy gear attached