For Love of Freedom (Stone Brothers Book 3)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Front title
Copyright
Dedication
Want to start at the beginning?
Inner title
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
The End!
Want more of Tori and Sebastian?
Mailing list - don't miss out!
Other Works by Samantha Westlake
Check out my website!
About the Author
Contents
Front title
Copyright
Dedication
Want to start at the beginning?
Inner title
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
The End!
Want more of Tori and Sebastian?
Mailing list - don't miss out!
Other Works by Samantha Westlake
Check out my website!
About the Author
For Love of Freedom
Samantha Westlake
Copyright 2017 Samantha Westlake
All rights reserved.
For Love of Freedom
Book design by Samantha Westlake
Cover Image Copyright 2017
Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:
http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0
Adult content warning: All characters are legal and fully consenting adults and are not blood relations.
Dedication
For all my readers, both new and returning. I write it all for you.
Did you read the first two books of the Stone Brothers series?
While this book is a standalone romance, the other two Stone Brothers already met their loves in previous novels! They went through quite the trials to earn that love, and you can read all about it.
If you'd like to read their stories, be sure to check out Book One and Book Two of the Stone Brothers romance series by clicking the links below:
For Love of Valor
For Love of Honor
For Love of Freedom
Chapter One
SEBASTIAN
*
There was a baby staring at me in the Starbucks line.
No, it wasn't in line for coffee. That would be stupid. I'm only just approaching my thirtieth birthday, and I've got decidedly limited experience with babies, but I know that they shouldn't drink coffee. It's bad for them, isn't it? Caffeine will stunt their growth, keep them up all night. Plus, I don't think Starbucks serves coffee with a nipple on the cup.
No, this baby was hanging over its mother's shoulder, staring at me. I tried shifting slightly side to side, trying to get out of that big, blue-eyed, uncomfortable gaze, but its eyes followed me around. It opened its mouth, revealing pink gums, as if it was trying to say something to me.
Instead of words, however, all that came out of its mouth was a gurgle, accompanied by a dribble of spit.
Creepy little thing.
Trying to avoid that baby's gaze, acting like I was trying to avoid one of my many past hookups at a strip club, I almost forgot about the killer hangover burning in my head.
Almost.
God, what the hell did I drink last night? I dimly remembered holding a bottle of rum in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other, dribbling them both into my mouth as I held them both over my head.
In hindsight, that was probably a mistake.
Still, it had been a hell of a party. And that was what I was known for, wasn't it? I, Sebastian Stone, youngest heir to the Stone military fortune, threw parties that everyone talked about, even though most of them didn't remember anything that happened past the first hour. I knew the hottest girls, the richest and most fashionable guys, and I never skimped on budget. At one point, last night, I dimly remembered watching a stripper, drunk and high off her ass, attempt to grind her ass against the life-size ice sculpture of me. God, she managed to melt that thing in a matter of seconds, even though she slipped in the spreading puddle and ended up giggling on that same round ass.
But right now, in the harsh light of the morning – no, scratch that, early afternoon – I needed some coffee to try and keep my head from unscrewing itself and falling off into the street. I had to go meet my two older brothers for one of these inane monthly lunches that they insisted on, for the sake of "family unity." Yeah, like that's a thing. They're both just desperately trying to avoid the realization that, since choosing the path of dull monogamy, they've become bored out of their minds. I only go to these monthly lunches so I can be there when one of them announces his impending divorce, so that I can point and laugh and say "I told you so".
If I'm going to survive this lunch, however, I need coffee. Real coffee, with multiple shots of espresso, not the watered-down crap that they serve in restaurants.
Which brings me to Starbucks. And to this baby, staring at me like it's the world's freakiest ventriloquist dummy.
Uncomfortably, I followed behind the baby, trying to keep a couple feet of distance between it and me. What if it spits up, or tries to grab me, or something like that? I didn't want to get any sort of bodily fluid from that creature on my clothes. Despite my pounding headache, I'd managed to change into some fresh clothes this morning (mostly because I woke up naked), and I didn't want this baby managing to get throw-up on my Brioni shirt.
The woman holding the baby managed to order, despite the baby wrapping its fat little fingers around a lock of her hair and happily tugging away. She sounded a bit hassled, but I imagined that I'd feel much the same way if I had a small demon in my arms trying to distract me. What in the world made women decide to create little spawn-monsters? Who looked at a screaming, shitting baby and decided that they wanted one of those?
Finally, I made it to the front of the line. I ordered a large, with a couple extra shots of espresso thrown i
n for good measure, then stepped off to the side while they prepared my order. Look at me, worth nearly a billion dollars, slumming it with the commoners.
I kept on casting sidelong glances at that baby, attempting to keep out of its range. Unfortunately, its mother noticed my attentions, and took them the wrong way.
"Isn't he precious?" she cooed to me, as if the two of us were anything besides total strangers. "His name's Ben. He's very sweet."
"Sure." I tried to make the word sound less like a question. He looked like a messy eruption waiting to happen.
"Just turned six months old, and I'm so proud of him." The woman turned the baby in her arms so that she could press her face in against its own, a revolting display of affection. "Yes I am, yes I am!"
I tried to avert my eyes, to avoid watching as she squished her nose against its fat little cheeks. If she didn't have that baby, she might be almost cute, in a homespun, fresh-faced, farm girl just arriving in the big city sort of way. Her figure, clad in a pair of black leggings and a draping exercise shirt, looked okay. Decently sized tits hiding in that shirt, although the baby probably had something to do with those.
Hell, the baby probably also did a number on other areas as it emerged, I groaned to myself. Just another reason to avoid the things. Causing destruction and damage from the moment that they're born.
The lady lowered the baby, finally, turning back to me. I caught a little sparkle from her ring finger as she slid her arm back around the baby. There. Married. I'd broken most of the rules that I set for myself over the years, but I still insisted on never getting involved with a married woman.
Not because of a strong sense of morality, of course. Single chicks were just less hassle, more available on my late-night party schedule.
Especially when I didn't have to worry about some snotty little baby vying for my attention.
Finally, the barista called my name, and I snagged my cup of coffee. Time to make an exit, before that baby erupts into screaming, or vomiting, or shitting, or any other disgusting bodily function. The bright afternoon sun seemed to cut straight through my head, aiming directly for the pain sensors behind my eyeballs, so I dropped a pair of expensive mirrored shades down from my forehead onto my nose. A long pull of the hot, steaming, bitter coffee seemed to help.
Ambling down the street, heading towards the restaurant where I'd be meeting my older brothers in a couple minutes, I tried to remember specific details from last night's party. My aching head certainly remembered alternating between pulls of rum and tequila. I remembered the stripper, laughing as she splashed down in the remains of the ice sculpture. I remembered looping my arms around two very willing young women, trading kisses with first one, and then the other, as they led me out of the party and up to my room. I unfortunately only remembered flashes of the fun that followed my exit, although even those flashes were enough to provoke a stiffening in my designer jeans. I'd exhausted myself enough to sleep in past noon today, at least.
Had one of those girls been Tori? Their faces were little more than blurs in my memory, but I didn't think so. Had she been at the party at all?
Now that I thought about it, I couldn't remember the last time that I'd seen my favorite party girl. Now, there was a real woman, one whose body wasn't tainted by childbirth or screaming infants! Closing my eyes, I could see Tori's long, golden hair dancing down her back, the slender curves of her body, the swell of her surprisingly big breasts sitting high on her chest, the sultry smile that she always flashed me when she teased me, both of us knowing that we'd end up together, tangled, and sweaty by the end of the night...
Damn, she was amazing. And along with her knockout body, her sharp tongue kept me on my toes, and she could handle her liquor almost as well as I could.
But she hadn't been coming to any of my parties for the last couple of weeks, and I didn't know why.
I fished out my phone, tapped on her contact picture to dial her number. I took another long sip of my coffee as I listened to her phone ring, but she didn't pick up. I hung up at the start of her party-girl voicemail, not bothering to leave a message.
Where was she? What was she doing instead of coming out with me, and why wasn't she returning my messages?
A frown grew on my face, one unrelated to my hangover. Out of all the girls in my phone, Tori was the one that I trusted the most, at least as much as I trusted anyone. Hell, aside from my brothers, she was the one I cared most about. If my antics ever landed my ass in jail, I'd probably use my one phone call to get ahold of her, have her come down and bail me out. Richard, my oldest brother, would want to give me a long lecture on responsibility, while middle brother Teddy would likely just laugh at me and hang up.
No, Tori was my girl. Since I met her, back in my college days, she'd always been by my side.
So why the hell was she ignoring me and refusing to even text me an update on what was going on?
By the time I reached the restaurant, just a few minutes later, my annoyance had grown into full-on depression. My long legs carried me across the restaurant to the central table where my brothers, Richard and Teddy, and the two women that they'd chosen as their forever life partners, were sitting.
"Well, look who finally showed up!" Richard's wife, Linda, gave me a smile to remove the sting from her words. "We were getting ready to send out a search party!"
I tried to give her at least a brief smile back. Linda wasn't so bad, I had to admit; she'd stayed over at our house when Richard had been recovering from a car crash, and she always made extra food. The woman might be thin as a stick, but she sure knew how to cook! And although I always felt a sneaking suspicion that she was trying to use her professional talents as a psychiatrist to analyze me, I still grew pretty comfortable in her presence.
The conversation quickly shifted away from me, instead focusing on how Callie and Teddy had managed to successfully move in together. I still found myself casting sidelong glances at Callie, trying to figure her out. Short, curvy, and full of seemingly irrepressible energy, she seemed like the polar opposite of my serious, almost robotic brother Teddy. What in the world did the two of them have in common that made them work together?
I tried to listen to them. Really, I did. But honestly, there's only so long that I can fake interest in some tiny little not-a-real-problem like what to do with a second microwave. I guess one of my sighs came out too loudly, because Callie finally spun around and glared at me.
"Something on your mind?" she snapped, her eyebrows climbing up towards her short, wildly cut mess of hair.
I considered lying to her by saying that it was nothing, that her microwave woes were far more important, but decided against it. Why put in the effort, when we'd both know that I was lying?
"Tori's been ignoring me," I said. "It's not like her, and I'm starting to get worried." As evidence, I held up my phone, showing the multiple texts that I'd sent to her, along with her lack of response.
As if it had been waiting for that precise moment, my phone started buzzing in my fingers. Surprised, I turned it around to look at the screen, as Callie made some other sarcastic comment that I didn't bother to catch.
It was Tori! I jumped up from my seat, dashing away from the table so that I could find someplace a little more private. I swiped my thumb over the screen. "Hello?"
"Hi, Seb." It was her! My initial joy faded after a second, however, as I caught her concerned, almost scared tone. That didn't sound like the happy-go-lucky, always ready for a good time Tori that I knew.
"Tori, what's going on?" I asked. "Why haven't you been returning my calls, or showing up at my parties?"
"I have to tell you something," she answered, but then paused. "Er, you might want to be sitting down for this..."
Chapter Two
TORI
*
"Yeah, girl! You get it! Celebrate that birthday in style!"
I gritted my teeth, hoping that this expression looked something like a smile. My head was pounding, and I really
didn't want to be here right now. But I couldn't tell that to my friends, not after they'd gone to the trouble of planning this day out. Instead, I needed to just grin and bear it.
In a rush of arms, blonde hair, and exposed, tanned skin, Ellen Beckers flopped down in the seat next to me. "Hey, bestie!" she greeted me, brushing loose strands of hair back from her face as she beamed broadly. "Isn't this great? This is supposed to be the best Chippendales show in the country, and we've got front-row seats!"
I considered sarcastically pointing out that we were at the midday matinee, but bit my tongue. "Yeah, great," I replied instead, but something in my expression or my tone must have given my true feelings away. Ellen blinked, her own smile fading as she peered a little closer at me.
"Hold on, something's wrong," she said, her frown deepening. "Tori, what's going on? Are you not having fun?"
"No, I am," I lied. "I'm just... feeling a little under the weather, I guess."
"Hangover?"
"Maybe." I hadn't had anything to drink for nearly a week, now – an age, compared to my usual mostly-liquid diet. For this reason, I guessed that my pounding head wasn't due to alcohol consumption.
"I could go grab you another drink, if you want. Hair of the dog, all of that." Ellen's eyes drifted past me, landing on the still totally full margarita glass that another one of my friends had pressed into my hands earlier that morning. A breakfast margarita? It sat on the armrest's little cup holder. "Or not, I guess."
I considered that I probably should have surreptitiously dumped it out earlier. Too late now. "Maybe it's a stomach bug," I tried. "It's not your fault at all."
Ellen frowned, looking like she wanted to say something more. At that moment, however, the lights dimmed, and the murmuring of the other women in the crowd rose to a brief cheer before falling into expectant silence. The show was about to start.
As I watched the show's opener and tried to ignore my queasy stomach and generally uncomfortable feelings, I did have to admit that the production value on the show was great. Each grinning, oiled-up, shirtless man who strode on stage looked sexier than the last. Normally, I would have loved watching this, might've even hopped up from my seat like some of the other girls around me and begged the men to pull me up on stage.