Prologue
“It is clear to me, Mr. Alexander, that in the middle of a venomous rage, you paid no heed to the cries of your victim – a young woman who loved you deeply at one point. You intentionally desecrated her body with malice, caring not for the devastation you would leave in your wake. Had Ms. Cole lived, I'm sure she would have been paying for your crime for many years to come.”
Judge Roth paused, his glasses on the end of his red nose and his eyes like burning beacons of disgust. Every eye in the room settled on him with the weight of their hatred. He didn't give a fuck. Let them think whatever the hell they wanted. Head cocked sideways in a pretense of attention, Braxton Alexander glared right back at the judge, every ounce of his own hatred plain to see, stamped on his features in a permanent snarl.
“Furthermore,” the old bastard carried on, shoving his spectacles up his long nose with one perfectly manicured finger. “You deliberately sought to shoulder the blame elsewhere, pointing the finger at everyone but yourself, until the last possible moment. I do not believe you have one ounce of regret in you for your crimes. Nor do I believe you ever will.” Sheaves of paper crinkled together as he righted his already perfectly neat pile of documents. “Have you anything to say, Mr. Alexander, in defense of your crimes? Anything at all? A word for the surviving family of your victim at the very least.”
With a delighted smile, Braxton Alexander stood, brushing the creases from his dress slacks as he did so. He took his time, focusing on each juror, committing their faces to memory. The judge sighed, impatient to be done with things, but Braxton couldn't care less for his impatience. These were his last few moments as a free man. He would for damn sure savor them.
Women shied away from the heat of his stare, turning into the safety of their friends' and partners' arms. Gasps rang through the court room as he leveled the weight of his mindless hatred at one individual in particular. Brycen Cole. His dead girlfriend's brother. Smiling benignly, he motioned with one thick finger, the nail cut straight and short, almost to the wick, in direct contrast to the manicured and pampered judge's. “You'll join your sister soon enough,” he promised before utter pandemonium broke out.
~
“I feel that I have changed,” he told the parole board, inwardly smirking at the satisfaction that settled on the faces of the keys to his freedom. “I deeply, deeply regret my past crimes, and in fact, can hardly bear to think of them, for the shame I feel.” He bowed his head in mock-disgrace, keeping his eyes on the tips of his canvas shoes until the lead interviewer cleared his throat.
“I force myself to remember,” he admitted, daring them to believe him. “Every morning when I wake, I remind myself that she does not. Every time I swallow a bite of food, I remember that she cannot. When I laugh, the guilt that overwhelms me is shocking,” he lifted his cuffed hands to scrub at the non-existent tears in his eyes. “I am responsible for that. And I alone can atone for them. I do so in daily prayer, by offering thanks that I am still alive to bear my shame. If I could trade places with Ms. Cole,” he sighed, throwing his eyes to God in an appearance of pain. “Believe me, I would. I do not ask you to free me,” he announced, once more resting his gaze between the faces that would decide his fate. “I do not even ask for your forgiveness. I merely ask for a chance. A chance to spend the rest of my life making up for the wrongs I have done.” Taking a deep breath, laying everything he had on the line, he sighed. “I leave it to you to decide if I am worthy of the opportunity.”
The Commissioner nodded, a look of intense calm on his bird-like features. “Very well, Mr. Alexander. Thank you.”
When they led him back to his cell and closed the door, leaving him in blessed solitude, he reached under the slim mattress and pulled out the paper clippings he both used to torment and fuel himself.
“Seventeen Year Old, Rebecca Cole Found Dead Inside High-Society House Of Horrors.”
“Lovers' Feud Leaves One Dead.”
“Golden Boy Of Time-Piece Billionaire Set To Do Hard Time.”
“Town Mourns Loss Of 'Perfect Princess' Cole.”
“Braxton Alexander – Face Of A Killer.”
Stomach twisted in knots, he crumpled the clippings, his fingernails digging in so deeply the newsprint was partly obscured by smears of red. Fucking newspapers. He could only hope that the intervening years, and the shit he'd gone through in this hell-hole of a prison would hide his once patrician and perfectly handsome features. Judging by his reflection each morning, he was no longer the young boy found guilty of murder. No – now he was a twenty-six year old vessel for hatred, pain and bile, but he'd hidden it well at his hearing.
“Good job out there, Alexander.” The voice came from beyond the tiny hatch in the door. Braxton turned his head slowly, fighting for calm. “You fooled them good, didn't you, you fucking psycho?”
“Fuck off, screw,” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips as he rose, thundering to the unwelcome visitor by his door. “You don't know half of what you think you do.”
“I know this,” the prison guard replied, his voice low and flinty. “You murdered an innocent girl for nothing more than kicks. You'll do it again. And when you do, I'll be here to welcome you home.”
The hatch closed with a metallic screech, setting his teeth on edge. “Yeah,” he sighed. “You're right about that, screw. You're right about that.”
Chapter One
Brycen
With the smell of old sweat and hard work pulled deep into his lungs, Brycen felt himself relax completely for the first time all day. No amount of 'drinks with pals' could ignite the same feeling of accomplishment and pride as working out did in him. His muscles straining, he completed one last rep of dead lifts, his arms on fire, his face flushed. Damn it felt good to work with the iron after a long, hard day of bullshit at the office.
“Hey Bryce!”
“Marcus, man. How you doin'?” He slowly lowered the bar to the floor, the clanging of the iron weights distracting him for a moment. “Are you all set for next week?”
“You know it, Bry.” He flexed his impressive biceps, sweat glistening on every curve. “I've been working on building mass for the past few months. I can't wait to get in the cage.”
Brycen laughed, thinking the guy was way too cocksure for his liking. “You know what they say, Marcus. The bigger they are–”
“The harder they hit,” Marcus assured him with a throaty laugh. He sauntered into the main room, a towel slung over his bulging shoulders. “Later, man.”
Brycen nodded, the conversation already forgotten; thinking about Gem and the promise she'd made him before he left for work this morning. More a threat than a promise, he amended, remembering her soft scowl and her wrinkled brow.
“If you come home tonight stinking of sweat and aggression, I'm out of here.”
She might back up her threat too, he thought. Underneath all the shy reservations, she was a little wild-cat, and she hated nothing more than when he sauntered in from the gym, slick with the sheen of sweat and stinking to high heaven of adrenaline and lust. Working out made him horny as hell – always had, and he liked to take her whilst the high of the work-out still rode his body.
Most times, he skipped the showers and drove straight from the gym to her apartment, sinking into her welcoming warm depths as soon as the door closed behind him. This evening, she would be waiting in his apartment, tentatively trying out this whole 'living together' thing they'd spoken about last week. They'd been dating for an entire year now; it seemed like the thing to do.
Living with a woman, even one as sweet as Gem, was something he didn't know if he was cut out for, but he was willing to give it the 'good old college try' so to speak. The wintry air hit him hard as he stepped through the door, keys jangling in his hand as he jogged toward his car. Gem might leave, but he'd have her first.
Smiling, he thumbed the fob on his key chain and pulled open the door to his pristine car, his pride and joy, sinking into its frigid depths with a hiss when the leather molded itself to his damp skin. It had been a damn cold winter, and there was no sign of it giving up its controlling grasp, even though it was mid-April. With a practiced hand, he pulled out of the mostly abandoned lot, dialing as he went.
“Pete,” he greeted when the man answered with a quick “yes?” “I need you to check out the venue for next week. See if there's anyone sniffing around. The last thing any of us need is heat.” That would be extremely bad news, especially for the owner of a major corporation like Cole's Institution of Research and Development. Nobody was exactly sure what the corporation did, due to the non-disclosure agreements he insisted upon, but they knew he kept a building full of staff, and put food on everyone's table. If that were jeopardized, everyone would go hungry.
“Sure thing, boss.” Pete was his one-stop-shop for surveillance and general sneaking around. If there was any hint of a raid, Pete would figure it out before the cops had even finished setting it up. Between himself and the team, the venue would be quickly and painlessly changed over with little or no fuss.
In his more shady line of business, it paid to have a plan B. And a plan C, D and E. The cops surely had better things to do than shut down illegal gambling rings, but they rode his ass like a Dom and practically salivated at the thought of bringing him down.
Why?, he couldn't fathom; he'd been careful to never make waves, never make a name for himself, and provided the town with a lot of paychecks. The only time the law ever had him in the hot-seat was when his beautiful and beloved sister had been found dead in her boyfriend's home. And that had been a quick statement and handshake.
The past two years, though? Someone, somewhere, had leaked info. The cops' ears had pricked up like a hound's, and they were straining at the leash at the idea of a big case. Pity they never found any trace of evidence at any venue to link him, or anyone else to the ring. Most they could charge him with, even if caught, was attending an illegal fight. A slap on the wrist, if that.
As the town's biggest employer, the cops had to be damn sure of something before they would make a move. With no intentions of leaving any crumbs for the vultures to pick at, they were barking up the wrong tree; he was too smart for that.
“Any word on the other matter?” A courtesy call had informed him of Braxton Alexander's imminent release, and he was taking no chances.
“Not a peep. Man's ghosted.”
With any luck the guy would just disappear into the ether. If it came to it, he could have Alexander put down, but he couldn't afford to make a leap like that yet. He'd be the first suspect. “Good man, Pete. I can always count on you. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, boss,” he agreed, hanging up with a swift goodbye.
Brycen turned the last corner smoothly and pulled up to the curb, careful to leave enough space for his neighbors to park on either side; he was considerate like that. The cold air invaded his mouth as he smiled, jogging to the door and pulling it open. The oiled hinges made hardly a sound even in this damp weather, and already imagining the feel of Gem's hot pussy around his suddenly straining cock, he stepped into the elevator with a grin.
~
Gem
The smooth hardwood floor was in danger of having a path worn in it – she'd been pacing the damn thing for an hour now, with no sign of Brycen. She really didn't know why she bothered, sometimes. Dinner was ruined, the candles burned down to nothing more than stubs of congealed and melted wax. Her mood had turned sour. This living together business was harder than she'd thought. Angry, Gem thought she was beginning to regret his offer of moving in.
What if he continued to keep his own hours like this every night? She glanced at the clock, busy ticking away on the pale gray wall over the palatial dining table. Ten p.m. This was such bullshit. She'd worked damn hard all day in the office and had thought it would be nice to relax with a hot dinner, a warm bath and her man curled up behind her in bed. But, nooo. Brycen had to go work out again. As usual.
Four hours was, in her opinion, too long to spend in the gym after work. Didn't he ever just feel tired? She supposed not, aroused simply thinking of his stamina and pistoning hips. She felt a bit ashamed of the way her temper settled when she thought of him inside her. She should just grow a backbone and tell him it was unacceptable. Shouldn't she?
By the time the key turned in the door, Gem was standing behind the island in the huge open-plan room, squeezing her thighs together in anticipation, even though she was mad at him. His smile when he strode through the door, dropping his heavy gym bag and toeing off his trainers said it all. He was just as ready for her. That didn't mean she had to make it easy on him. “Dinner is ruined,” she complained.
“I'm sorry,” he replied.
“I made steak.” She'd never cooked steak in her life; she was a pasta and sauce kind of girl, so used to the simple things in life that Brycen's entire world made her head spin.
“I'm sorry,” he repeated, stalking her. She backed up, allowing him to herd her towards the bedroom, never more than a few feet away from him.
“You should make it up to me,” she suggested playfully. Life was too short; she'd much prefer to end the night on a positive note.
“I intend to, Gem. Starting now.” He pounced, wrapping his corded arms around her waist, his soft lips already nuzzling her neck, the stubble he'd grown in over the course of the day making her squirm and sigh.
“Ugh,” she batted at him with open fists. “You stink! Get off me, Bryce. I mean it,” she shrieked when he loomed over her at the foot of his gigantic bed, his height making her feel safe and secure, despite how small and insignificant it could make her feel at times. “Shower,” she pouted. “Now.”
“Fuck that,” he growled, his top lip curling in bare-faced denial. “No time.”
The maroon bedspread dragged to the floor, he lay her down on his pristine sheets and proceeded to dirty them up, good and proper. “Bryce,” she sighed. Forgiving his odor, she allowed him to drag her jeans down her legs. The cold air made her shiver as her thighs parted, and he rubbed the tip of his nose along her slit through her damp panties.
“My little Gem,” he whispered. “You smell fucking delicious.”
“Unlike you,” she replied, her laughter cut short when he tongued her through the satin of her underwear, his tongue seeking her heat through the material. “Mmm, I suppose I can be persuaded to forgive you this one time.
“Oh yeah?” He slid her panties to the side, parting her lips with the stiffened tip of his tongue, sinking inside her a fraction before retreating. “How can I persuade you?”
“Like that.” Gasping, writhing, she thrust her hips higher, meeting his greedy mouth. “Just like that.”
The orgasm took her by surprise, her core contracting and releasing around his tongue while he used the thumb of one hand to work her clit, using his other hand to press hard on the softness just above her pubic bone. God, the man knew his way around a woman. “Bryce!”
Vibrating with his low growl, his chest descended upon her own, crushing her into the giving surface of the mattress. He didn't even waste time stripping his own clothes, instead dragging the waistband of his sweats so they sat under the curve of his ass. In a smooth stroke, he entered her, swallowing her gasp with his open mouth pressed to hers.
Hard and fast, he took her with a beast-like frenzy, pumping deep, his balls slapping against her ass. Lust rode him as hard as he rode her, and in mere moments, Gem felt another orgasm bubble to the surface, leaving her shaking and spent under him. He joined her with a muffled cry into the flesh of her neck. “Fuckkkk.”
Dinner forgotten, she curled up on her side, dragging the discarded comforter from the floor to wrap around her as he at last made way for the shower. Too spent to even think of washing his sweat-stink from her skin, she felt sleep take her. Maybe this living together thing would work out.
~
Braxton
The half-way house wasn't as bad as he'd pictured, he decided, sitting on the edge of his narrow bed, hands steepled under his chin as he struggled to find a way to pass the time. Sure it was a dump, but it was warm, and more privacy than he'd had in years. In the morning, he had to check in with his parole officer, but until then, he was free and loose. Fuck, freedom was boring when you had nothing to do and nobody to do it with.
Knowing they were watching his every fucking move, he had stayed holed up in this dusty room. Even now, the urge to turn around and check behind him was fierce. He needed to work out some frustration before he cracked. It was too soon for that; he had plans. Maintaining his changed persona was essential. Nothing would stop him once the way was clear, but until then, he had to pretend to be a normal motherfucker, living his life after release, with all the struggles that came with it.
He'd already asked the custodian for the situations vacant part of the newspaper. He was supposed to look for a damn job, as if anyone would hire a murdering rapist to pack bags at the local store. Fuck that. He had a lead to make money another way. If there were one good thing about being in prison, it was hooking up with those who could help him on the outside. He had good information on an underground gambling ring. Friday Fight Night. Sounded just up his dark and dangerous alley.
Thing was, nobody could say who ran the damn thing. He was either a ghost, or scary enough to keep wagging tongues stilled. Smart bastard.
Brax ran his fingers through his too-long, black hair, pulling it a little when frustration got the better of him and he saw red in his mind. Not yet, he told himself sternly. He couldn't afford to lose it. Not until his parole was up. Two fucking years of acting normal, but he'd manage; his plan was too long in the making, too important and would be too fucking satisfying to fuck it all up now by being stupid.
How was he to get next to the likes of Brycen Cole nowadays? His simpering old man had died, leaving him the family business, and fortune. The asshole was almost as hard to pin down as the mystery runner of the gambling ring. He knew where the corporation offices were located – of course he did – but with constant eyes on him, he couldn't chance being seen to spiral out of control. First step of that spiral was to visit the business of his victim's family. Yeah, the cops wouldn't like that one little bit.
He supposed they'd informed the Cole family of his release, which meant he had to be doubly fucking careful. Bryce would be on the look-out for anyone matching his description, and he had no intention of letting his prey make him. He had to be sure nobody would look at him and make the connection between this rugged ex-con and the murdering son of the multi-billionaire watch maker, Giles Alexander.
First, a trip to the old neighborhood. He would test his new look on those who'd known him the most, but he would never approach them, no, he had no interest in speaking to any of the fucking fools from his former life. In fact, he might just get the urge to kill them slowly if they recognized him. Tomorrow, he would visit the area around his old home. Tonight, he had to work off some frustrations before he exploded.
For a few moments, he procrastinated, thinking about the Cole brother. Brycen was always a bit of a fitness freak, so it would be a good bet to check out any gyms in the area. Long-shot, sure...but it was all he had. He tapped his fingertip against the glass front of his luxurious one-of-a-kind watch – almost the only thing he had to remind him of his previous life, a gift from his father for his eighteenth birthday – he stood, the vague outline of an idea forming. Time was dragging so painfully slow, he had to wonder if getting out was all it was cracked up to be.
The clippings reminded him of his purpose – he had a job to do. Brycen Cole must lie stiff and cold beside his sister in the earth. It was the only acceptable outcome. He didn't give a fuck that he'd spend the rest of his natural life in prison for it; it would be worth it. That prick had lived eight years too long and soon it would be time to set in motion the ways to correct that error.
The other thing he had to remind him of his previous life was a fat bank account. A payoff of sorts, from his father. A bribe to stay far away from his family upon release. If the old man wanted him to stay away, he was only too happy to oblige, after his experimental visit, of course. The money wasn't even necessary, but it would be helpful. He knew just what his first purchase would be.
Lifting his chin, the crown of his head pressing against the rough brickwork of the wall, Brax inhaled deeply through his nose, with his eyes tightly shut against his surroundings. The filthy alley behind his temporary home smelled of shit and piss...and other things, but he ignored it, concentrating on the warm, wet recesses of the mouth that was currently sucking his cock.
His traitorous balls had drawn up tight almost the first moment the whore covered him with her lips, her tongue swirling like a machine, but he fought it off, unwilling to spill into her mouth after anything less than a few minutes at least. But fuck, it was difficult when he hadn't had a woman in eight years.
The last time he'd been so close to a woman, she'd been lying dead at his feet, bleeding out, her body torn and her dull eyes wide with fear. He thrust the image aside, focusing on the feel of the slut slurping on his dick. Loathe to touch her too much, he couldn't resist grabbing handfuls of her bleached hair and driving himself so deep that she gagged, tightening and swallowing on the head of his cock.
The weak rays of the streetlight shining on her face as glistening tears streamed down her cheeks, he thrust back and forth, uncaring of her discomfort. Fuck her, she was getting paid for this shit. As he spilled down her gagging throat, he thought to himself that it was money well spent.
She swallowed every last drop of his cum, licking her lips afterward for good measure. The smile she gave him was slightly nervous, and full of eagerness to please. “That good for you baby?”
“Fuck off,” he told her roughly, thrusting a few notes into her grasping hands. “There's your Scooby Snack.”
She smiled as he brushed past her. “Whatever you say, baby.”
~
Brycen
Gazing down at a softly sleeping Gem, Bryce took a moment to savor her peaceful face, that reminded him so much of his sister's. Damn, the girl was beautiful in a 'girl next door' sort of way. “Gem,” he whispered, tripping his fingers over her the swell of her cheek. “Time to get up.”
“Mmm-no. I don't wanna.” She snuggled deeper into the covers, pulling the comforter over her head. Grumbling from beneath informed him that she was awake and hating it. One thing about Gem was that she could never go back to sleep once awoken.
“You'll be late for work,” he snickered, striding from the room, his limbs already rearing to go. “And I hear your boss is a real asshole.”
“You should know!” she called after him, her voice thick with sleep, throwing a pillow which landed with a quiet breath on the floor just past the threshold.
“Now, now.” He bent to pick up the pillow, throwing it playfully back at her. “I don't want to have to fire you. Breakfast is on,” he called, making his way to the bathroom to shave. “Keep an eye on it, would you?”
Gem grumbled something about slave-driving bosses, but he knew she'd get up. Missing dinner the previous night would have her appetite out in force this morning. He could have woken her after his shower last night, but he found he wanted to enjoy the solitude of his apartment while she slept, and instead grabbed quick omelet for himself, throwing the congealed remains of her lovingly prepared steak dinner in the trash.
The sun had risen fully by the time he finished up and strolled in to find her, legs curled up beneath her, still in pj's, nibbling toast and munching on bacon. He had to admit she made a cute sight, but something in him felt uncomfortable knowing that this would be the sight he'd walk into every morning now that they lived together. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” she grouched, swallowing a mouthful of coffee with a sigh of bliss. “Why are we up so early?”
“I thought you might like to get a work out in before the day starts,” he suggested, poking her side with a stiff laugh. “Don't want you thinking you can let yourself go.”
“Huh?” The look on her face was priceless. He kept a straight face before giving in to the grin that stretched his lips.
“Joke.”
“Oh.” She went back to munching.
“But I really do want to work out together this morning. Come on,” he told her, whipping the coffee away. “Get your gear together and we can put this in a cup to go.”
With a slightly irritated sigh, Gem rose and made her way to the bedroom. Half of her clothes were still packed in boxes, and he supposed he'd have to invest in another closet or two, judging by the amount of them. “If you can find anything,” he smirked.
“I happen to know exactly where everything is,” she wagged a finger at him, her eyes narrowed. “Chaos, yes. But organized chaos.”
“It is clear to me, Mr. Alexander, that in the middle of a venomous rage, you paid no heed to the cries of your victim – a young woman who loved you deeply at one point. You intentionally desecrated her body with malice, caring not for the devastation you would leave in your wake. Had Ms. Cole lived, I'm sure she would have been paying for your crime for many years to come.”
Judge Roth paused, his glasses on the end of his red nose and his eyes like burning beacons of disgust. Every eye in the room settled on him with the weight of their hatred. He didn't give a fuck. Let them think whatever the hell they wanted. Head cocked sideways in a pretense of attention, Braxton Alexander glared right back at the judge, every ounce of his own hatred plain to see, stamped on his features in a permanent snarl.
“Furthermore,” the old bastard carried on, shoving his spectacles up his long nose with one perfectly manicured finger. “You deliberately sought to shoulder the blame elsewhere, pointing the finger at everyone but yourself, until the last possible moment. I do not believe you have one ounce of regret in you for your crimes. Nor do I believe you ever will.” Sheaves of paper crinkled together as he righted his already perfectly neat pile of documents. “Have you anything to say, Mr. Alexander, in defense of your crimes? Anything at all? A word for the surviving family of your victim at the very least.”
With a delighted smile, Braxton Alexander stood, brushing the creases from his dress slacks as he did so. He took his time, focusing on each juror, committing their faces to memory. The judge sighed, impatient to be done with things, but Braxton couldn't care less for his impatience. These were his last few moments as a free man. He would for damn sure savor them.
Women shied away from the heat of his stare, turning into the safety of their friends' and partners' arms. Gasps rang through the court room as he leveled the weight of his mindless hatred at one individual in particular. Brycen Cole. His dead girlfriend's brother. Smiling benignly, he motioned with one thick finger, the nail cut straight and short, almost to the wick, in direct contrast to the manicured and pampered judge's. “You'll join your sister soon enough,” he promised before utter pandemonium broke out.
~
“I feel that I have changed,” he told the parole board, inwardly smirking at the satisfaction that settled on the faces of the keys to his freedom. “I deeply, deeply regret my past crimes, and in fact, can hardly bear to think of them, for the shame I feel.” He bowed his head in mock-disgrace, keeping his eyes on the tips of his canvas shoes until the lead interviewer cleared his throat.
“I force myself to remember,” he admitted, daring them to believe him. “Every morning when I wake, I remind myself that she does not. Every time I swallow a bite of food, I remember that she cannot. When I laugh, the guilt that overwhelms me is shocking,” he lifted his cuffed hands to scrub at the non-existent tears in his eyes. “I am responsible for that. And I alone can atone for them. I do so in daily prayer, by offering thanks that I am still alive to bear my shame. If I could trade places with Ms. Cole,” he sighed, throwing his eyes to God in an appearance of pain. “Believe me, I would. I do not ask you to free me,” he announced, once more resting his gaze between the faces that would decide his fate. “I do not even ask for your forgiveness. I merely ask for a chance. A chance to spend the rest of my life making up for the wrongs I have done.” Taking a deep breath, laying everything he had on the line, he sighed. “I leave it to you to decide if I am worthy of the opportunity.”
The Commissioner nodded, a look of intense calm on his bird-like features. “Very well, Mr. Alexander. Thank you.”
When they led him back to his cell and closed the door, leaving him in blessed solitude, he reached under the slim mattress and pulled out the paper clippings he both used to torment and fuel himself.
“Seventeen Year Old, Rebecca Cole Found Dead Inside High-Society House Of Horrors.”
“Lovers' Feud Leaves One Dead.”
“Golden Boy Of Time-Piece Billionaire Set To Do Hard Time.”
“Town Mourns Loss Of 'Perfect Princess' Cole.”
“Braxton Alexander – Face Of A Killer.”
Stomach twisted in knots, he crumpled the clippings, his fingernails digging in so deeply the newsprint was partly obscured by smears of red. Fucking newspapers. He could only hope that the intervening years, and the shit he'd gone through in this hell-hole of a prison would hide his once patrician and perfectly handsome features. Judging by his reflection each morning, he was no longer the young boy found guilty of murder. No – now he was a twenty-six year old vessel for hatred, pain and bile, but he'd hidden it well at his hearing.
“Good job out there, Alexander.” The voice came from beyond the tiny hatch in the door. Braxton turned his head slowly, fighting for calm. “You fooled them good, didn't you, you fucking psycho?”
“Fuck off, screw,” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips as he rose, thundering to the unwelcome visitor by his door. “You don't know half of what you think you do.”
“I know this,” the prison guard replied, his voice low and flinty. “You murdered an innocent girl for nothing more than kicks. You'll do it again. And when you do, I'll be here to welcome you home.”
The hatch closed with a metallic screech, setting his teeth on edge. “Yeah,” he sighed. “You're right about that, screw. You're right about that.”
Chapter One
Brycen
With the smell of old sweat and hard work pulled deep into his lungs, Brycen felt himself relax completely for the first time all day. No amount of 'drinks with pals' could ignite the same feeling of accomplishment and pride as working out did in him. His muscles straining, he completed one last rep of dead lifts, his arms on fire, his face flushed. Damn it felt good to work with the iron after a long, hard day of bullshit at the office.
“Hey Bryce!”
“Marcus, man. How you doin'?” He slowly lowered the bar to the floor, the clanging of the iron weights distracting him for a moment. “Are you all set for next week?”
“You know it, Bry.” He flexed his impressive biceps, sweat glistening on every curve. “I've been working on building mass for the past few months. I can't wait to get in the cage.”
Brycen laughed, thinking the guy was way too cocksure for his liking. “You know what they say, Marcus. The bigger they are–”
“The harder they hit,” Marcus assured him with a throaty laugh. He sauntered into the main room, a towel slung over his bulging shoulders. “Later, man.”
Brycen nodded, the conversation already forgotten; thinking about Gem and the promise she'd made him before he left for work this morning. More a threat than a promise, he amended, remembering her soft scowl and her wrinkled brow.
“If you come home tonight stinking of sweat and aggression, I'm out of here.”
She might back up her threat too, he thought. Underneath all the shy reservations, she was a little wild-cat, and she hated nothing more than when he sauntered in from the gym, slick with the sheen of sweat and stinking to high heaven of adrenaline and lust. Working out made him horny as hell – always had, and he liked to take her whilst the high of the work-out still rode his body.
Most times, he skipped the showers and drove straight from the gym to her apartment, sinking into her welcoming warm depths as soon as the door closed behind him. This evening, she would be waiting in his apartment, tentatively trying out this whole 'living together' thing they'd spoken about last week. They'd been dating for an entire year now; it seemed like the thing to do.
Living with a woman, even one as sweet as Gem, was something he didn't know if he was cut out for, but he was willing to give it the 'good old college try' so to speak. The wintry air hit him hard as he stepped through the door, keys jangling in his hand as he jogged toward his car. Gem might leave, but he'd have her first.
Smiling, he thumbed the fob on his key chain and pulled open the door to his pristine car, his pride and joy, sinking into its frigid depths with a hiss when the leather molded itself to his damp skin. It had been a damn cold winter, and there was no sign of it giving up its controlling grasp, even though it was mid-April. With a practiced hand, he pulled out of the mostly abandoned lot, dialing as he went.
“Pete,” he greeted when the man answered with a quick “yes?” “I need you to check out the venue for next week. See if there's anyone sniffing around. The last thing any of us need is heat.” That would be extremely bad news, especially for the owner of a major corporation like Cole's Institution of Research and Development. Nobody was exactly sure what the corporation did, due to the non-disclosure agreements he insisted upon, but they knew he kept a building full of staff, and put food on everyone's table. If that were jeopardized, everyone would go hungry.
“Sure thing, boss.” Pete was his one-stop-shop for surveillance and general sneaking around. If there was any hint of a raid, Pete would figure it out before the cops had even finished setting it up. Between himself and the team, the venue would be quickly and painlessly changed over with little or no fuss.
In his more shady line of business, it paid to have a plan B. And a plan C, D and E. The cops surely had better things to do than shut down illegal gambling rings, but they rode his ass like a Dom and practically salivated at the thought of bringing him down.
Why?, he couldn't fathom; he'd been careful to never make waves, never make a name for himself, and provided the town with a lot of paychecks. The only time the law ever had him in the hot-seat was when his beautiful and beloved sister had been found dead in her boyfriend's home. And that had been a quick statement and handshake.
The past two years, though? Someone, somewhere, had leaked info. The cops' ears had pricked up like a hound's, and they were straining at the leash at the idea of a big case. Pity they never found any trace of evidence at any venue to link him, or anyone else to the ring. Most they could charge him with, even if caught, was attending an illegal fight. A slap on the wrist, if that.
As the town's biggest employer, the cops had to be damn sure of something before they would make a move. With no intentions of leaving any crumbs for the vultures to pick at, they were barking up the wrong tree; he was too smart for that.
“Any word on the other matter?” A courtesy call had informed him of Braxton Alexander's imminent release, and he was taking no chances.
“Not a peep. Man's ghosted.”
With any luck the guy would just disappear into the ether. If it came to it, he could have Alexander put down, but he couldn't afford to make a leap like that yet. He'd be the first suspect. “Good man, Pete. I can always count on you. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, boss,” he agreed, hanging up with a swift goodbye.
Brycen turned the last corner smoothly and pulled up to the curb, careful to leave enough space for his neighbors to park on either side; he was considerate like that. The cold air invaded his mouth as he smiled, jogging to the door and pulling it open. The oiled hinges made hardly a sound even in this damp weather, and already imagining the feel of Gem's hot pussy around his suddenly straining cock, he stepped into the elevator with a grin.
~
Gem
The smooth hardwood floor was in danger of having a path worn in it – she'd been pacing the damn thing for an hour now, with no sign of Brycen. She really didn't know why she bothered, sometimes. Dinner was ruined, the candles burned down to nothing more than stubs of congealed and melted wax. Her mood had turned sour. This living together business was harder than she'd thought. Angry, Gem thought she was beginning to regret his offer of moving in.
What if he continued to keep his own hours like this every night? She glanced at the clock, busy ticking away on the pale gray wall over the palatial dining table. Ten p.m. This was such bullshit. She'd worked damn hard all day in the office and had thought it would be nice to relax with a hot dinner, a warm bath and her man curled up behind her in bed. But, nooo. Brycen had to go work out again. As usual.
Four hours was, in her opinion, too long to spend in the gym after work. Didn't he ever just feel tired? She supposed not, aroused simply thinking of his stamina and pistoning hips. She felt a bit ashamed of the way her temper settled when she thought of him inside her. She should just grow a backbone and tell him it was unacceptable. Shouldn't she?
By the time the key turned in the door, Gem was standing behind the island in the huge open-plan room, squeezing her thighs together in anticipation, even though she was mad at him. His smile when he strode through the door, dropping his heavy gym bag and toeing off his trainers said it all. He was just as ready for her. That didn't mean she had to make it easy on him. “Dinner is ruined,” she complained.
“I'm sorry,” he replied.
“I made steak.” She'd never cooked steak in her life; she was a pasta and sauce kind of girl, so used to the simple things in life that Brycen's entire world made her head spin.
“I'm sorry,” he repeated, stalking her. She backed up, allowing him to herd her towards the bedroom, never more than a few feet away from him.
“You should make it up to me,” she suggested playfully. Life was too short; she'd much prefer to end the night on a positive note.
“I intend to, Gem. Starting now.” He pounced, wrapping his corded arms around her waist, his soft lips already nuzzling her neck, the stubble he'd grown in over the course of the day making her squirm and sigh.
“Ugh,” she batted at him with open fists. “You stink! Get off me, Bryce. I mean it,” she shrieked when he loomed over her at the foot of his gigantic bed, his height making her feel safe and secure, despite how small and insignificant it could make her feel at times. “Shower,” she pouted. “Now.”
“Fuck that,” he growled, his top lip curling in bare-faced denial. “No time.”
The maroon bedspread dragged to the floor, he lay her down on his pristine sheets and proceeded to dirty them up, good and proper. “Bryce,” she sighed. Forgiving his odor, she allowed him to drag her jeans down her legs. The cold air made her shiver as her thighs parted, and he rubbed the tip of his nose along her slit through her damp panties.
“My little Gem,” he whispered. “You smell fucking delicious.”
“Unlike you,” she replied, her laughter cut short when he tongued her through the satin of her underwear, his tongue seeking her heat through the material. “Mmm, I suppose I can be persuaded to forgive you this one time.
“Oh yeah?” He slid her panties to the side, parting her lips with the stiffened tip of his tongue, sinking inside her a fraction before retreating. “How can I persuade you?”
“Like that.” Gasping, writhing, she thrust her hips higher, meeting his greedy mouth. “Just like that.”
The orgasm took her by surprise, her core contracting and releasing around his tongue while he used the thumb of one hand to work her clit, using his other hand to press hard on the softness just above her pubic bone. God, the man knew his way around a woman. “Bryce!”
Vibrating with his low growl, his chest descended upon her own, crushing her into the giving surface of the mattress. He didn't even waste time stripping his own clothes, instead dragging the waistband of his sweats so they sat under the curve of his ass. In a smooth stroke, he entered her, swallowing her gasp with his open mouth pressed to hers.
Hard and fast, he took her with a beast-like frenzy, pumping deep, his balls slapping against her ass. Lust rode him as hard as he rode her, and in mere moments, Gem felt another orgasm bubble to the surface, leaving her shaking and spent under him. He joined her with a muffled cry into the flesh of her neck. “Fuckkkk.”
Dinner forgotten, she curled up on her side, dragging the discarded comforter from the floor to wrap around her as he at last made way for the shower. Too spent to even think of washing his sweat-stink from her skin, she felt sleep take her. Maybe this living together thing would work out.
~
Braxton
The half-way house wasn't as bad as he'd pictured, he decided, sitting on the edge of his narrow bed, hands steepled under his chin as he struggled to find a way to pass the time. Sure it was a dump, but it was warm, and more privacy than he'd had in years. In the morning, he had to check in with his parole officer, but until then, he was free and loose. Fuck, freedom was boring when you had nothing to do and nobody to do it with.
Knowing they were watching his every fucking move, he had stayed holed up in this dusty room. Even now, the urge to turn around and check behind him was fierce. He needed to work out some frustration before he cracked. It was too soon for that; he had plans. Maintaining his changed persona was essential. Nothing would stop him once the way was clear, but until then, he had to pretend to be a normal motherfucker, living his life after release, with all the struggles that came with it.
He'd already asked the custodian for the situations vacant part of the newspaper. He was supposed to look for a damn job, as if anyone would hire a murdering rapist to pack bags at the local store. Fuck that. He had a lead to make money another way. If there were one good thing about being in prison, it was hooking up with those who could help him on the outside. He had good information on an underground gambling ring. Friday Fight Night. Sounded just up his dark and dangerous alley.
Thing was, nobody could say who ran the damn thing. He was either a ghost, or scary enough to keep wagging tongues stilled. Smart bastard.
Brax ran his fingers through his too-long, black hair, pulling it a little when frustration got the better of him and he saw red in his mind. Not yet, he told himself sternly. He couldn't afford to lose it. Not until his parole was up. Two fucking years of acting normal, but he'd manage; his plan was too long in the making, too important and would be too fucking satisfying to fuck it all up now by being stupid.
How was he to get next to the likes of Brycen Cole nowadays? His simpering old man had died, leaving him the family business, and fortune. The asshole was almost as hard to pin down as the mystery runner of the gambling ring. He knew where the corporation offices were located – of course he did – but with constant eyes on him, he couldn't chance being seen to spiral out of control. First step of that spiral was to visit the business of his victim's family. Yeah, the cops wouldn't like that one little bit.
He supposed they'd informed the Cole family of his release, which meant he had to be doubly fucking careful. Bryce would be on the look-out for anyone matching his description, and he had no intention of letting his prey make him. He had to be sure nobody would look at him and make the connection between this rugged ex-con and the murdering son of the multi-billionaire watch maker, Giles Alexander.
First, a trip to the old neighborhood. He would test his new look on those who'd known him the most, but he would never approach them, no, he had no interest in speaking to any of the fucking fools from his former life. In fact, he might just get the urge to kill them slowly if they recognized him. Tomorrow, he would visit the area around his old home. Tonight, he had to work off some frustrations before he exploded.
For a few moments, he procrastinated, thinking about the Cole brother. Brycen was always a bit of a fitness freak, so it would be a good bet to check out any gyms in the area. Long-shot, sure...but it was all he had. He tapped his fingertip against the glass front of his luxurious one-of-a-kind watch – almost the only thing he had to remind him of his previous life, a gift from his father for his eighteenth birthday – he stood, the vague outline of an idea forming. Time was dragging so painfully slow, he had to wonder if getting out was all it was cracked up to be.
The clippings reminded him of his purpose – he had a job to do. Brycen Cole must lie stiff and cold beside his sister in the earth. It was the only acceptable outcome. He didn't give a fuck that he'd spend the rest of his natural life in prison for it; it would be worth it. That prick had lived eight years too long and soon it would be time to set in motion the ways to correct that error.
The other thing he had to remind him of his previous life was a fat bank account. A payoff of sorts, from his father. A bribe to stay far away from his family upon release. If the old man wanted him to stay away, he was only too happy to oblige, after his experimental visit, of course. The money wasn't even necessary, but it would be helpful. He knew just what his first purchase would be.
Lifting his chin, the crown of his head pressing against the rough brickwork of the wall, Brax inhaled deeply through his nose, with his eyes tightly shut against his surroundings. The filthy alley behind his temporary home smelled of shit and piss...and other things, but he ignored it, concentrating on the warm, wet recesses of the mouth that was currently sucking his cock.
His traitorous balls had drawn up tight almost the first moment the whore covered him with her lips, her tongue swirling like a machine, but he fought it off, unwilling to spill into her mouth after anything less than a few minutes at least. But fuck, it was difficult when he hadn't had a woman in eight years.
The last time he'd been so close to a woman, she'd been lying dead at his feet, bleeding out, her body torn and her dull eyes wide with fear. He thrust the image aside, focusing on the feel of the slut slurping on his dick. Loathe to touch her too much, he couldn't resist grabbing handfuls of her bleached hair and driving himself so deep that she gagged, tightening and swallowing on the head of his cock.
The weak rays of the streetlight shining on her face as glistening tears streamed down her cheeks, he thrust back and forth, uncaring of her discomfort. Fuck her, she was getting paid for this shit. As he spilled down her gagging throat, he thought to himself that it was money well spent.
She swallowed every last drop of his cum, licking her lips afterward for good measure. The smile she gave him was slightly nervous, and full of eagerness to please. “That good for you baby?”
“Fuck off,” he told her roughly, thrusting a few notes into her grasping hands. “There's your Scooby Snack.”
She smiled as he brushed past her. “Whatever you say, baby.”
~
Brycen
Gazing down at a softly sleeping Gem, Bryce took a moment to savor her peaceful face, that reminded him so much of his sister's. Damn, the girl was beautiful in a 'girl next door' sort of way. “Gem,” he whispered, tripping his fingers over her the swell of her cheek. “Time to get up.”
“Mmm-no. I don't wanna.” She snuggled deeper into the covers, pulling the comforter over her head. Grumbling from beneath informed him that she was awake and hating it. One thing about Gem was that she could never go back to sleep once awoken.
“You'll be late for work,” he snickered, striding from the room, his limbs already rearing to go. “And I hear your boss is a real asshole.”
“You should know!” she called after him, her voice thick with sleep, throwing a pillow which landed with a quiet breath on the floor just past the threshold.
“Now, now.” He bent to pick up the pillow, throwing it playfully back at her. “I don't want to have to fire you. Breakfast is on,” he called, making his way to the bathroom to shave. “Keep an eye on it, would you?”
Gem grumbled something about slave-driving bosses, but he knew she'd get up. Missing dinner the previous night would have her appetite out in force this morning. He could have woken her after his shower last night, but he found he wanted to enjoy the solitude of his apartment while she slept, and instead grabbed quick omelet for himself, throwing the congealed remains of her lovingly prepared steak dinner in the trash.
The sun had risen fully by the time he finished up and strolled in to find her, legs curled up beneath her, still in pj's, nibbling toast and munching on bacon. He had to admit she made a cute sight, but something in him felt uncomfortable knowing that this would be the sight he'd walk into every morning now that they lived together. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” she grouched, swallowing a mouthful of coffee with a sigh of bliss. “Why are we up so early?”
“I thought you might like to get a work out in before the day starts,” he suggested, poking her side with a stiff laugh. “Don't want you thinking you can let yourself go.”
“Huh?” The look on her face was priceless. He kept a straight face before giving in to the grin that stretched his lips.
“Joke.”
“Oh.” She went back to munching.
“But I really do want to work out together this morning. Come on,” he told her, whipping the coffee away. “Get your gear together and we can put this in a cup to go.”
With a slightly irritated sigh, Gem rose and made her way to the bedroom. Half of her clothes were still packed in boxes, and he supposed he'd have to invest in another closet or two, judging by the amount of them. “If you can find anything,” he smirked.
“I happen to know exactly where everything is,” she wagged a finger at him, her eyes narrowed. “Chaos, yes. But organized chaos.”
