Broken Love
Tabatha Drake
Contents
Reading Order
Prologue
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
Books by Tabatha Drake
About the Author
Copyright
Reading Order
While the Killer Love saga follows multiple couples, the books should not be considered stand-alone and are meant to be read in order of release.
Reading Order
1. Killer Love
2. Secret Love
3. Tainted Love
4. Broken Love
Coming Soon…
5. Mad Love
6. Cruel Love
7. Endless Love
Prologue
Caleb
Family.
It can mean a lot of things. It can mean the people who share your name. The friends who stood by you during war. The ones you couldn't help but fall in love with.
For me, it means secrets and lies.
Killers and thieves. Each and every one of them.
I look at Boxcar lying on the casino floor beside me. He's still unconscious and bleeding slightly from a fresh welt above his eye. He should have disappeared when he had the chance. He's done it before.
But he couldn't leave us behind. That's not the kind of man he is.
I gently raise his head and rest it in my lap. Handcuffs dig into my wrists. I ignore them, channeling the pain into rage instead, but it tapers off quickly as I scan the wrecked room.
The other girls are bound and gagged by the bar, surrounded by agents with guns. Lilah's knocked out on the floor beside them. As much as that pleases me to see, it's not helpful to our current situation. Fox is out cold. Dante, too.
My heart aches. I realize how hopeless it is.
I dab the blood off Boxcar's cheek with my sleeve. I wish I could tell him it'll all be all right. That he was everything I could have ever wanted in a husband. That he would have been a great father.
But I'm not sure what's real and true anymore.
Secrets and lies. Killers and thieves.
A family forever broken.
But this is the family I chose.
What does that say about me?
Chapter 1
Caleb
“Hey, sweetie, how much for the 9-iron?”
I twitch. Nothing pisses me off more than when random, strange men start firing terms of endearment at me, but I can’t risk losing another sale right now.
I throw on my best customer-serving smile and crane my neck to get a better look over the counter. “Oh, that one is two-hundred and fifty.”
“Dollars?!”
“Yes, sir.”
He waddles toward the counter and his bulbous gut quivers beneath his shirt. “It’s a damn golf club.”
“It’s an antique,” I point out, still smiling.
His eyes blink as if I just spoke some foreign language. “It’s a golf club.”
I hold my breath, trying very hard not to sigh with annoyance. “It’s a really nice golf club, sir...”
“I’ll give you twenty for it.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
“I’m sorry, sir. Prices are final.”
He scoffs and tosses the club to the floor. “What the hell kind of pawnshop is this? I want to speak to the manager.”
I clear my throat. “You’re looking at her.”
His cackle travels through my ears and down my spine. “No, honey. I mean the owner—”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
He looks me up and down and his eyes pause just a hair too long on my cleavage. “You? What are you, like, four-foot-nine?”
“Five-five in heels but that’s not really relevant to the one-hundred-year-old golf club you just dropped on my damn floor.”
He chuckles. “And what are you gonna do about it, huh?”
“Pick it up, please.”
He keeps laughing and little drops of spit hit the counter between us. “Yeah, sure, honey, I’ll get right on that once you’re done sucking me off like a good girl.”
I sigh. Saturdays always bring in the absolute worst customers, especially the last ones of the night. There’s something about this city that attracts the most worthless scum in the world, but I guess that’s one of the reasons why I strayed out here in the first place. It’s easy to get lost in the fray and blend in with the bright lights of Hollywood Boulevard.
City of Angels, my ass.
“Pick it up,” I repeat.
He steps back, humoring me. “Okay, okay…” He waves his hands and bends over to grab the club.
I watch him closely, looking for any sudden flexes in his muscles. His fingers wrap around the thin grip, instantly going white with his tight squeeze. There’s a stiffness in his abdomen as he clenches up and he quickly inhales.
Yep. That’s what I thought.
He rises fast, spinning around to strike me with the club. I’m sure he has his reasons. An uppity woman having the audacity to disrespect him most likely at the top of his list. I’ve dealt with insecure fuckwads like him in the past and I’m positive he won’t be the last of them.
I easily block the blow with one hand, wrapping my fingers around his wrist and holding it in the air. He tries to tug away but he can’t. The surprise in his eyes is absolutely delicious.
“Apologize,” I say, calm as standing water.
“What the fuck—”
I twist his hand, bending it just a touch more than its meant to, and he squeals like a little, pink piglet.
The club slips from his hand and I grab it as his instincts kick in. He tries to fight back but not before I pull him down to the counter and hold him against it with the club, pushing it hard into the back of his neck like a rolling pin.
“Okay, Porky. I’m going to ask again and then I’m going to get mad,” I say. “Apologize, please.”
His wet breath heaves against the glass countertop, fogging it up with his stench. “All right — all right! I was just fuckin’ around. Don’t gotta be such a bitch about it—” I dig in harder and he shrieks. “Fuck, lady! I’m sorry!”
I push into him as I let him go, bouncing back to put a bit of distance between us. “Now, get out of my shop.”
I keep my grip on the club as he rises, ready to beat him with it if he drifts even an inch closer.
He straightens up and adjusts his jacket, his eyes once again falling to my chest. This time, he looks right through my tits and notices the dog tags hanging from my neck.
“Christ, lady, what are you? Army?”
“Once upon a time,” I answer.
His face shifts from annoyance to respect. “Thank you for your serv—”
“Dude, get the fuck out.”
He spins around and rushes outside without looking back.
I hop over the counter and walk across the aisle to hang the golf club back up onto the wall where he got it. A quick glance a
round the empty shop tells me there were no witnesses to that little spat — either that or they all bailed the second he tried to hit me.
That’s Los Angeles for you. I ain’t seen nothing, officer.
Oh, well. It’s almost midnight anyway. Might as well close up and count the pennies I earned today selling old and used shit to the masses.
Tomorrow is Sunday. Sunday is my favorite day of the week. It’s my day off. It’s quiet. And best of all, debt collectors take the day off, too.
Twenty-four whole hours to myself. It’s all I have to look forward to every week.
And then it’s back to this dump I call my basement.
Chapter 2
Caleb
Then
“Fawn, you stay back.”
I nod and roll my eyes, thankfully hidden behind the shaded goggles on my head. “Yes, sir.”
It’s not the first time Sergeant Rhys has told me to keep to the rear in a potentially dangerous situation. Honestly, I don’t really blame him. Society is hardwired to protect women and children and I get that, but I signed up for this war just like every other man in my unit. By default, they are soldiers.
I have to prove it.
“Damn, you are seething right now…”
The soft chuckle beside me belongs to Fox Fitzpatrick, possibly the only friend I’ve made since I was shipped out to this damn desert.
“No, I’m not,” I say, steadying the tone of my voice.
Fox looks ahead at the sergeant to make sure he’s not watching and quickly raises his goggles up to scratch his nose. He squints his brown eyes to block the harsh sunlight above our heads. As he targets the stubborn itch, he accidentally wipes a bit of dirt on his clean-shaven, underwear model-like cheeks. At least the gritty look is in around these parts.
“Okay,” he says, grinning as he slides his goggles back into place over his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”
“You’d think he’d let me take point,” I say. “I’m the one who noticed the damn signal in the first place.”
“Eh, you don’t know who could be in there,” Fox replies, resting his rifle on his shoulder. “Better to let them go in first to check it out.”
“Yeah, it’s a great strategy. Stick their best close-quarters combat soldier in the back with the sniper. That’s definitely how you win wars.”
He laughs again. “Seething…”
“Shut up.”
The five of us close in on the warehouse and Rhys signals us to stop. Fox readies his rifle in both hands while I keep my grip on mine.
“Fawn, Fitzpatrick,” Rhys says. “You two check the perimeter. Neutralize anyone who comes out — except us.”
“Yes, sir,” Fox and I reply in unison.
The three of them slowly push into the building with their heads down and guns up. A sting of jealously strikes me but I shake it off quickly. Maybe Fox is right. I have a better chance of going home again if I play it safe, but I didn’t exactly enlist in the United States Army to work on my tan.
Fox and I walk side-by-side around the warehouse. I switch to my sidearm while he scans the distance around us for any sign of movement. I peek around every corner we pass, each one revealing nothing at all.
“This isn’t right…” I mutter. “Intel said there were at least a dozen men here.”
“Maybe they’re all inside?”
“They’d have regular perimeter patrols. There’s supposed to be an entire armory in there. This doesn’t make any sense.” I look up as we reach the rear of the warehouse, noticing the crushed roof along the back wall. “This place has already been hit…”
Fox scans the damage himself. “Think we’re too late?”
“Shh—” My ears perk to a sudden, rhythmic sound. “Do you hear that?”
He lowers his gun and tilts his head, raising his ear higher into the air. “Is that music?”
I remove my helmet so I can lay my ear against the hard, stone wall. “American music…”
“These guys certainly have a thing for pop culture.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Calling the kettle black, aren’t ya?”
“Shut up.”
I exhale a soft laugh but quickly stop. Now isn’t the time to tease Fox about his movie star crush.
I push my helmet back on and stand up to keep moving around the warehouse.
“Hello?”
We pause and turn back to the singing wall. The music’s volume dims.
“Hello?!”
Fox knocks on the stone. “Hello!” he greets.
“Oh, thank fuck.” The man laughs. “English-speaking people!”
I stare at Fox with confusion. “Are you all right, sir?” I ask.
“I’m doing much better right now.”
This must be the American journalist being held captive inside the warehouse.
“We’re here to get you out, sir. Sit tight,” I tell him.
“Oh, believe me, honey — I’m not going anywhere.”
I flex my jaw and Fox’s lips curl once again.
“Is there anyone inside with you?” Fox asks the wall. “Any guards or other prisoners?”
“Nope. It’s just me.”
I holster my sidearm and we move around the building to find a place to dig away rocks that won’t cause the rest of the building to collapse on the guy. Although, after hearing him call me honey, I don’t think it’d be the worst loss the world has ever known.
We start rolling debris out of the way, constantly glancing over our shoulders in case someone is looking to sneak up on us, but no one shows up. Whatever this place was used for, it was abandoned a long time ago.
Something definitely isn’t right here.
Finally, a hole forms and light shines through to the other side. The man’s laughter echoes through it as he crawls out with a small messenger bag on his shoulder and he collapses against the sand at our feet.
He’s just a damn kid, no older than myself or Fox. His hair is dirty, along with his skin and clothes. There’s a smear of dried blood wiped along his forehead beneath a pair of filth-covered glasses.
He rolls over onto his back and smiles up at the two of us with dry, cracked lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have some water, would you?” he asks.
Fox reaches for his canteen and kneels to hand it to him. “So, uh…” he says, “want to tell us what’s going on?”
The kid sits up and chugs the entire canteen dry, spilling more of it onto his chin than down his throat. “I got trapped,” he finally chokes out.
“Right…” I mutter. “We received word of an American journalist being held captive in a weapons cache—”
“Never happened,” he says, shaking his head.
Fox stands up. “Never happened?”
“Sorry. I lied.”
Fox and I blink with confusion.
“You what?” I ask.
He reaches out his hand and Fox takes it to help him up. “Yeah, sorry. I hid out in here during the last raid and the ceiling kind of caved in on me…”
I take in the features of his face. Full, boyish cheeks. Dimpled chin. Green eyes. He stands about an inch taller than me. I glance down at his sneakers and jeans and all the way back up to the thin, white dress shirt that’s now completely soaked through with sweat and dirt.
“The last raid in this area was three days ago,” I say.
“Is that all? Feels longer…”
Fox shifts on his boots. “Okay, wait. Go back. What do you mean, you lied?”
The man pats his duffel bag. “I hacked your equipment.”
My jaw drops. “You did what?”
“I sent the intel,” he admits. “Made up a story about a bunch of evil terrorists guarding some crap, I don’t know. Dehydration has me kind of loopy—”
“You realize that’s a felony, right?” I ask.
He chuckles, flashing his perfect, white teeth at me. “Believe me, honey, there are far easier ways to get me in handcuffs.”
Fox lays a hand on my shoulder
and gently eases me back to keep me from punching this bastard in the jaw.
“Sir, that’s enough of that, please…” he says to him, although Fox can’t keep the smile from spreading on his face. “So, the roof caved in, trapped you inside, and you hacked our equipment with a distress signal to come and get you out?”
The man nods along with him. “Right.”
“How?”
“I wrote a program to transmit a frequency wave that hijacks any vulnerable government equipment within about ten miles. Kid stuff, really. The only downside is that I had no way of differentiating between American equipment and the not-so-American equipment. So, they could just as easily be headed here right now to shoot me, but it was either take the gamble or die of starvation and/or exposure and that sounds really unpleasant, so…”
He shrugs.
I narrow my eyes at him, inhaling slowly to keep my annoyed rage at bay. “Who the hell are you?” I ask him.
He adjusts the strap on his bag and grins at me.
“I’m Boxcar.”
Chapter 3
Boxcar
Now
Los Angeles.
What a fucking dump.
I promised myself I’d never travel this far west again unless out of absolute necessity, but I guess having two assassins on my trail qualifies.
Elijah and Lilah Hart. I spent my flight over here reading up on them. Apparently, they aren’t the only members of the Hart family in Snake Eyes. The other being their big brother, Dante, and I definitely hope he’s not traveling around with them right now. If I have any luck left in the world — and that is one big if — he’s hiding out in their childhood home on Geneva Lake.
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