Tyrant (KING Book 2)

by T. M. Frazier

  “But I don’t think I’ll ever be done apologizing,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

  “Why don’t you come in the house? We were about to make some breakfast,” I offered. King stiffened by my side and I elbowed him. My father smiled.

  “Which brings me to the real reason I’m here,” he said, reaching into the car and cutting the engine. He finally shut his door and walked around to the passenger side.

  He opened the door. “It’s okay, you can come out. You’re home now,” he said into the car.

  Who was he talking to?

  And then I had to blink several times to make sure that what was in front of me was really happening. My eyes went wide the second blonde pigtails peeked out from behind the door. When her little Mary-Jane’s hit the pavement, my eyes darted to King, and watched as the weight of what was happening came crushing down on him. He dropped to his knees on the gravel, his hands coming up to cover his open mouth.

  My father knelt down beside the little girl and pointed to King. “Remember him from the pictures I showed you?” he asked her. The little girl nodded. “And who is that?”

  “Daddy.” She held the hem of her little white dress in her hands and swayed from side to side.

  King let out an audible gasp, tears welled in his eyes.

  “Do you want to go give your daddy a hug?” my father asked her. Tentatively the little girl shuffled over to King, looking down at her shoes. When she stopped right in front of King, she looked up.

  And she smiled.

  “Hi Daddy,” she said. King opened his arms and she ran into him, closing her arms around his neck. King’s shoulders rose and fell as she buried her head in his neck. He held her tight, his hands on the back of her head.

  Looking up at my father in complete disbelief, I found him smiling warmly at Max and King’s long awaited reunion.

  “Hi, Max. Hi, baby,” King said, pulling back so he could get a good look at his little girl, tears on her little red face.

  “Why are you crying, princess?” King asked.

  “’Cause I happy,” she said in between short intakes of breath.

  “Me too, baby,” he said, pulling her in again for another hug, this time standing up with her in his arms. “Me too.”

  I hadn’t realized I was crying as well until Sammy reached up and wiped a tear off my cheek. “No cry mommy.”

  “They’re happy tears, sweetie. Very happy tears,” I told him.

  “How?” King asked.

  “I called in that favor to the judge. Turns out I could do more than just write a letter of recommendation after all,” my father said.

  “She’s ours?” King asked. I could tell he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to come and take her or for my father to tell him that this was only a visit.

  My father nodded. “You’ll have to meet with the counselor, take some parenting courses, and there will be some home visits. That stuff I couldn’t get you out of.” He laughed nervously. “But the judge has already signed off. She’s all yours.”

  King stood up and came over to me.

  And there we were.

  King was holding his daughter in his arms.

  I was holding my son in mine.

  Our baby growing in my belly.

  “Hi,” Sammy said to Max.

  Max pressed the side of her face into King’s chest. “Hiiiii,” she sang, between the fingers in her mouth.

  “Mommy, are you still making pancakes?” Sammy asked, tugging at the ends of my hair to get my attention. Tears formed in my eyes as I looked around from face to face of my family.

  My real family.

  The one I was always meant to be with.

  I pushed Sammy’s hair out of his eyes and planted a kiss on his forehead. I looked over to King who smiled a rare ear to ear smile, his eyes glistening with his own happy tears. King reached out and grabbed my hand.

  I gave him a squeeze and smiled.

  “Because, Pancakes.”

  I was finally home.

  Epilogue

  King

  “I’m glad I didn’t just kill you the first chance I had. It turns out that keeping you alive has served a greater purpose. So in a way, I’m grateful that you’re here right now, still breathing.” I leaned over the chair and stared into the motherfucker’s black soul.

  “You’re going to let me go?” Eli asked, his face swollen and bleeding, covered in burns from the fire pit explosion.

  “Not a fucking chance, you piece of shit. You’re going to die. But not right now and not by my hand. I’ve got special plans for you.”

  “Ww-hat are you going to do?” Eli stammered.

  “I’m going hand you over to a friend of mine. Who in exchange for a little playtime with you this evening, helped me kill another stupid motherfucker who decided to fuck with the wrong trailer trash.” I stood and cracked my knuckles, clearing room for Jake to step up. Eli’s eyes went wide.

  “I know you!” Eli said. “They call you…The Moordenaar.”

  “Good,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Then you two are already acquainted.” I pushed off the wall and headed for the door, leaving Jake staring silently down at Eli, his eyes black, the demon within him ready to do what it does best.

  Kill.

  “But you just said that I wasn’t going to die right now,” Eli called frantically to me as I opened the door of the shed.

  “You’re not,” I said. “Jake here has cleared his schedule.” I tipped my chin to Jake. “He’s got all fucking night.”

  With miles and miles of nothing but the Everglades in every direction, Jake could make Eli scream as loud as he wanted. Which was exactly what he did because I hadn’t walked ten steps before Eli’s scream tore through the night. I stopped to light a cigarette and smiled to myself.

  I whistled the entire way to my bike.

  That night, with my girl tucked in close to me, my hand over her growing belly, Max and Sammy sound asleep in Preppy’s old room; I was able to take a very long awaited deep breath.

  The sounds of Eli and Tanner begging and screaming for their lives lulled me into a very deep and very happy sleep.

  Doe

  Five Months Later

  I was sitting at the kitchen table working on a sketch of a tattoo for one of King’s clients, my swollen feet propped up on one of the other chairs, when King came bursting into the kitchen looking frustrated.

  “Baby, have you seen my keys? They were on the table and now I can’t find them,” King said, searching through drawers and cabinets.

  I looked up from my sketch. “No, did one of the kids take them?”

  “I don’t see how they could have, I had them an hour ago before I dropped them off at Grace’s.” I rested my hands on my belly, the baby, another little girl, had the hiccups so fierce my stomach jumped every few seconds.

  “Did you try—” My thought was interrupted when a burst of sound from the living room caught both our attention. We slowly turned to face the TV, which was changing from channel to channel.

  “What the fuck?” King asked. Walking into the living room, he picked up the remote from the side table and started pushing buttons, but the TV kept changing channels at the same pace before finally coming to a stop.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  American Ninja Warrior.

  “Check the freezer,” I said.

  “Why the fuck—” King started.

  “Your keys, they’re in the freezer,” I said, turning to face King, who looked at me like I was as crazy as I felt. Reluctantly, he walked over to the kitchen and sure enough, he produced his keys from the freezer and dangled them in the air.

  “Who the fuck put them in there?” King asked.

  “Fuck yeah, I am here. I’ll always be here…”

  “A friend,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye. “My best friend.”

  Keep reading for a preview of Lawless, available now!

  Acknowledgments

  I want
to thank my readers for being as excited to read more of King and Doe’s story as I was to write it. Every message, every review, every single comment about how much you love them keeps me motivated to write more.

  Thank you to Karla, for being your lovely charming self as always. (SARCASM)

  Thanks to Vanessa and Manda at Prema Editing for taking me on at the last possible second and talking me off a bridge. You ladies have been a pleasure to work with and I look forward to tackling new projects with you.

  Thank you to the agent that has taken me on and all the baggage that comes with me. You are so fantastic and I couldn’t ask for anyone better to deal with my crazy. Kimberly Brower you are a literary agent MACHINE!

  Thank you to all who have shared the love for King and Doe on social media; authors, bloggers, readers, friends, and family. I love all of you and appreciate everything you do for me and my books.

  Thank you to everyone who has left a review for King, good or bad, on Amazon. Taking the time to leave a review means the world to an author.

  Thank you to Jodi, you beautiful British twat, I love your face. Thanks to Aurora Rose Reynolds for being a great friend and support system. Thanks to Milasy and Lisa over at The Rock Stars of Romance for knowing how to represent a release right! Thanks to Aestas for speaking up when you find a book you love so others can love it too!

  Thank you to Julie Vaden for your support. For being a great beta-reader and for doing the work of an employee without a single one of the benefits. You are a rock star to me. Love you.

  Thank you to my parents, Anne & Paul, for all that you do for me and for others. Every day I realize more and more how extremely lucky I am to have parents like you.

  Thank you to my husband. I cannot express my gratitude to you enough. Some days I wonder why you love me so much. You make every single day an easy one to exist in. Thank you for taking good care of me, and not just with every day things so I can write, but for taking good care of my heart too. I know it will always be safe with you.

  Thank you to baby Frazier. I’ve done nothing in this life to deserve you or your father, but I promise I will try each and every day to be worthy of you. Mommy loves you to the moon and back.

  Also by T.M. Frazier

  THE PERVERSION TRILOGY

  PERVERSION (Book 1)

  POSSESSION (Book 2)

  PERMISSION (Book 3)

  NINE (King Series #9)

  AVAILABLE NOW

  THE OUTSKIRTS DUET

  THE OUTSKIRTS

  THE OUTLIERS

  KING SERIES

  King & Doe’s Story (Duet)

  KING

  TYRANT

  Bear & Thia’s Story (Duet)

  LAWLESS

  SOULLESS

  Preppy & Dre’s Story (Triplet)

  PREPPY PART ONE

  PREPPY PART TWO

  PREPPY PART THREE

  Smoke & Frankie’s Story (Standalone)

  UP IN SMOKE

  STANDALONES

  Jake & Abby’s Story

  THE DARK LIGHT OF DAY, A KING SERIES PREQUEL

  Rage & Nolan’s Story

  ALL THE RAGE, A KING SERIES SPIN OFF

  Visit T.M. Frazier’s AMAZON page for a listing of all her available books.

  About the Author

  T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier never dreamed that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she’s a five-time USA Today bestselling author and her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.

  She’s still in a state of shock.

  T.M. enjoys writing what she calls ‘wrong side of the tracks’ romance with sexy, morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.

  Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.

  She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please don’t pinch her because she's not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.

  For more information on her books and appearances please visit her website

  www.tmfrazierbooks.com

  Lawless

  A prewire of Bear and Thia’s Story

  PROLOGUE

  Bear

  I was born a Bastard.

  A soldier in the lawless army of the Beach Bastards Motorcycle Club. Groomed to one day take the gavel from my old man.

  Duty came before my conscience, before family, before everything.

  I didn’t choose the life, it chose me, and living it came with knowing, and accepting, that every morning I got up to take a piss, could be my very last day above ground.

  Or, depending on my orders…someone else’s last.

  Being a biker, a Bastard, wasn’t just in my blood. I didn’t just live it.

  I breathed it.

  I drank it.

  I fucking loved it.

  It was everything.

  Until it wasn’t.

  I don’t remember the exact moment it happened, maybe after my first kill, maybe on the day I was patched in, but it happened. Motor oil, leather, violence, and a penchant for laying down enemies of the club, replaced the blood in my veins.

  I became more biker than man.

  And I was proud.

  I never thought of it as a problem, but I also never thought there would come a day when I wouldn’t be a Beach Bastard anymore.

  But it came.

  And I wasn’t.

  On the day I laid down my cut and walked out the door of the MC, I’d turned my own hourglass and set the expiration on my life.

  Once a Bastard, you were always a Bastard.

  Or you were dead.

  They’d come for me. But the fucked up thing was that it wasn’t the thought of my brothers trying to put me to ground that bothered me most, it was the uncertainty.

  I knew everything about being a biker.

  I didn’t know shit about being a man.

  I’ve been tortured and on the verge of death, violated for the amusement of my captors. Through it all I’d never lost that edge that kept me alive. That fight. The thing inside that makes your heart beat so fast it feels like it’s going to beat its way right through your chest, and tells you that no matter the situation, you’ll not only get the fuck out of it, but that you’re going to burn every motherfucker alive who tried to take you down.

  I’ve been beaten, but I’d never been broken.

  Until Thia…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Thia

  Ten years old…

  I don’t know where it all went wrong.

  I never understood that saying. Because looking back on my life I can pinpoint the exact day, the exact hour, when it all changed and took a turn that no one could have predicted.

  Especially me.

  Three weeks away from my eleventh birthday, I had just ridden my little red bicycle the three miles to the Stop-n-Go. Dad wanted me to drop off a crate of oranges so I’d tied them to a skateboard and tied a rope from the front wheels to the seat of my bike with a rope I’d found in my dad’s old boat. “Will you watch the counter, Cindy?” Emma May asked, swaying her hips from side to side, she shimmied her way over to the door, clutching her little square purse in her hand. “I’m just going to pop next door to the salon for a bit. No one will probably even come in,” she added, leaning over the counter she opened the antique cash register using a series of button pushes and a slam of her fist on a spot at the bottom. She removed some cash and smiled back at me, pushing through the glass door that chimed when she opened it and again when it swung shut.

  Emma May was right. She’d asked me to watch the store before and no one had ever come in.

  Until that day.

  It’s not like I was eager to get home. Mom had started acting weird. Cleaning the floors for hours until the wood lost its shine. Talking to herself in the kitchen. Anytime I asked her abo
ut it, she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. Dad told me that it would be okay and to just stay out of her way and give her some space.

  I did what he said and stayed away as much as possible, most of the time not getting home until just after the sun set.

  Watching the store was a good reason as any to prolong going home.

  After an hour I got fidgety. I straightened the wall of cigarettes behind the register, turned the hot dogs on the rollers that didn’t work, and tried to read a magazine, but I didn’t understand what ‘Seventeen Positions to Make Him Ache’ even meant.

  If someone was aching why didn’t they just go see a doctor? Or a dentist? That’s where I went when I had a toothache.

  I’d given up on magazines and was leaning back on an old bar stool that creaked every time I swiveled on it. With my feet up on the counter, I turned the channel dial on the little black and white TV that was propped up on a phone book sitting on the corner of the counter. The only two channels that came in was some western one and the weather channel. Both pictures were fuzzy and the only sound coming out of the speakers was the sound of static and white noise. I tried to turn the entire thing off but nothing was working, if anything I’d only managed to make it louder. It became so loud that I didn’t hear the motorcycles pull in the parking lot or the chime of the door bells against the glass.

  I pulled the plug from the outlet. I was still holding the cord when I looked up into the eyes of a dark-haired stranger.

  And his gun.

  “Everything you’ve got,” he ordered, pointing with his gun to the register. He was swaying from side to side and his eyes were rimmed in red.

  “I don’t know how…” I started, but the man interrupted.