Savage Locke (Locke Brothers, 2)

by Victoria Ashley

  Savage Locke

  Copyright © 2017 Victoria Ashley & Jenika Snow

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Designer:

  Dana Leah, Designs by Dana

  Cover model:

  Jonny James

  Photographer:

  Wander Aguiar

  Editor:

  Kasi Alexander

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Table of Contents

  SAVAGE LOCKE

  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

  Epilogue

  VICTORIA ASHLEY

  JENIKA SNOW

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  STERLING

  I feel a rush of adrenaline take over, heightening my need to punish this asshole, and hyping me up about what we’re going to do next.

  This motherfucker has no idea how much I’m going to enjoy pounding his face into a bloody pulp and leaving him here on this filthy fucking floor to rot if he doesn’t talk soon.

  “Where’s the kid, huh?” Tightening my hold on the collar of the asshole’s shirt, I pull him up so we’re face to face, not giving a shit about the blood that is dripping onto my jeans. “Tell me where you took him. I won’t ask you again.”

  My brass knuckles are blood-covered, and I make sure to keep them in his view, reminding him of what it felt like to have them embedded into his face.

  “Just tell him, Paul,” Ace says from the doorway, swinging his hammer around with a wicked grin. “We’ve already broken two fingers and that pretty little pinky toe of yours. Want it to be your face next? Not sure how much more of a pounding it can take before those bones begin to shatter.”

  Paul shakes his head violently back and forth, blood splattering all over me as he fights to catch his breath enough to talk. “I didn’t kidnap anyone. He’s my fucking nephew. He wanted to work for me so I gave him a job.”

  His words make me angrier, causing me to lose it on this piece of shit.

  Growling out, I slam my forehead into his hard as fuck, and make sure to keep my hold on his shirt. I want it to hurt more for him. “You know that shit doesn’t matter, now does it, motherfucker? Family or not, he’s fifteen and selling fucking crack.”

  “How the hell did you guys even know about Abel?” the little fucker wheezes out.

  “You took off with Camille’s son in the middle of the damn night and you didn’t think she’d call us to handle your junkie ass?” Ace tosses his hammer down and snatches Paul out of my reach, dragging him across the ground by his neck.

  He doesn’t stop pulling him, not until he’s shoving his body halfway out the fifth-floor window.

  This shithole warehouse is so abandoned that I’m not worried about anyone hearing his screams. Other than cracked-up fiends that are so used to this sort of violence that it won’t even faze them, the surrounding area is pretty much barren of life.

  “If I were Killian, your body would already be smashed against the pavement below and I’d be home happy and peaceful, getting my motherfucking cock sucked while throwing back a bottle of whiskey. But since Abel is like a son to him, here the fuck we are dealing with your dirty ass. You’re lucky Killian isn’t here himself.” Ace grins as if he’s just now thinking about what he said. “Oh, wait . . . did I say lucky?”

  With that, he releases Paul’s body, catching his feet right before he falls to his death.

  This has the asshole so shaken up that all I hear is him crying and pleading through snot bubbles to not let go of him.

  “All right, brother.” I laugh and put out the cigarette I just barely lit. “I can deal with blood but I’m not dealing with the stench of this fucker’s shit if he loses control of his bowels. Pull his ass back in.”

  Ace shrugs and pulls him back inside. He kicks him to the floor and pins his neck down with his boot.

  Then he pulls out a cigarette and lights it as if he’s got all night to chill and torture this asshole. “You have until I’m done with this smoke to give me a fucking address or your ass is mine for the rest of the night. We’ll be having a motherfucking sleepover, except instead of jumping on the bed and pillow fights . . .” He stops to take a drag from his cigarette, speaking as he blows out the smoke. “There’ll be breaking bones and losing body parts.”

  “Okay!” Paul screams, prying at Ace’s big-ass boot. “Okay! I’ll tell you where he’s at.”

  Ace grins at me before flicking his cigarette at Paul’s head and kicking him over to his back. “Write that shit down.”

  I laugh and toss the pad of paper and pen at his busted-up face. “You could’ve just told us this shit an hour ago and saved us the fucking hassle of beating the shit out of you.”

  He grunts and rolls over, fighting to open his swollen eyes far enough to see what he’s writing. When he’s done, he tosses it at my boot. “You’ll find him at this address unless Benny has him working the block. Fucking assholes.” He whispers the last part.

  I look down at my boot and crack my neck before reaching down and wrapping my hand around his throat. “Want to say that shit louder and see if you’re still breathing afterward?”

  He shakes his head.

  “That’s what I thought.” I release his neck and stand up. “Let his friends out of the closet so they can see what’ll happen to them if they ever attempt to fuck with us.”

  “Gladly.” Ace reaches for his hammer and walks over to the closet door. He swings it around as if practicing for impact. “Might want to stand back, nut sacks.”

  “Well, fuck. Here we go . . .” I mutter.

  I stand back and watch as Ace swings his hammer through the door, taking the shit down with four swings.

  He doesn’t even wait to make sure he didn’t kill one of the two assholes inside before he turns and walks away. “Let’s go pick up this kid and get him home where he belongs.”

  Paul must’ve sent word ahead because Benny is nowhere to be found when we arrive at the address thirty minutes later.

  Abel is sitting on the couch, high out of his mind and seconds away from losing consciousness.

  “Fucking shit.” Rushing inside, I pick him up and get him into the SUV as quickly as possible, slamming the door behind me. “Drive fast. I’ll call Camille and let her know we’re headed to the hospital.”

  Paul better hope on his motherfucking life that this kid doesn’t lose his or he won’t just be hearing from us.

  And if they think we’re bad . . . t
hey should meet Killian.

  STERLING

  I slam back the third beer of the night, my knuckles burning from the beating I gave that little prick earlier, but my fucking adrenaline still going strong.

  I stare at my youngest brother, his girl Kadence on his lap, the affection he has for her clear. I know Aston would fucking die for her, as it should be when you love someone.

  I instantly think of the one girl I wanted, but never had. I think about her so fucking much it’s damn pathetic.

  Wynter Lowe.

  Fuck, even thinking her name gets me hard.

  I shift on the seat, not really caring if my brothers see how hard I’ve become, but wanting to be comfortable.

  Flexing my jaw, I reach for another beer, pop the cap and down half of it before taking another breath.

  There’s a flash of headlights coming up the gravel drive, and everyone straightens, already at attention, wondering who would be stupid enough to come out here. Wanting to be prepared, I set the bottle down, reach in my pocket for my brass knuckles, and get ready to beat some motherfucker’s ass.

  But when I see the little white car come to a stop a few feet from the bonfire, I feel my entire body stiffen with attention.

  Fuck.

  I’d recognize that car from anywhere. Even if it has been years since I’ve seen it.

  She cuts the engine and climbs out of the car. Wynter looks the same: small, petite, her hair seeming darker now that it’s dark as hell outside.

  And I still fucking want her.

  When she comes closer, her nerves clear, the shadows covering her face partially, my damn cock jerks to attention even more.

  But it’s when she comes more into the light that I see her face is all busted up. She’s got a swollen purple and blue eye. Her lip is split, and there’s a nasty fucking scrape along the side of her face.

  I toss the half-empty bottle of beer aside, my anger, rage, burning so damn badly I wish there was some little asshole here for me to beat the fuck out of.

  I walk over to her, see she’s on the verge of crying, and pull her against my chest instantly. I hold her, telling her things will be okay, and feel myself soften for her.

  Only her.

  She starts to cry and I grow pissed, not that she’s broken in this moment, but because I want to hurt whoever the fuck did this to her.

  And I will hurt whoever did this. I’ll make sure to work them over so much that not even a dental record can identify them.

  “Come with me.” I keep her head held against my chest and guide her across the yard and into the house, where she can feel comfortable and safe, out of everyone’s view.

  I know my brothers are on fucking edge, just as anxious to find out who did this to her as I am.

  But this is something I need to handle by myself first.

  WYNTER

  I let Sterling take me into the house, up the stairs to a bedroom, and set me on the bed.

  I feel like I’m unraveling, like what I’ve been through doesn’t compare to the fact I am actually here with him.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Sterling, since I left this fucking town and tried to start my life elsewhere.

  Should’ve known that someday I’d be back. This town has a way of keeping people here and my reason is Sterling Locke.

  The bed dips beside me when he sits down, causing my heart to race with anticipation of his closeness.

  So many times in the past I have wondered what it would feel like to be touched by the middle Locke brother.

  He turns me to face him, tips my head back with his finger under my chin, and stares at me, looking at the fucking disaster that is my face.

  His anger is tangible. I feel it surround me, coating the air. But it’s clear he’s trying to stay calm, maybe for my benefit, maybe because he thinks I’m broken.

  I’m not wrecked, not yet anyway.

  “Tell me what the fuck happened so I can destroy whoever did this to you.”

  I turn away from him, staring at presumably his bedroom. It’s sparse, lacking anything warm, inviting . . . just like Sterling.

  He turns my head so I’m looking at him, his gaze fierce, strong, frightening. “Tell me who did this, and I promise they’ll pay.”

  I knew coming here would be dangerous, not for me, but deadly for the asshole who’d put his hands on me. But when Kevin had started hitting me all I could think about was Sterling.

  “Tell me, baby.”

  In all the years I’ve known Sterling, known the Locke brothers, never have I heard him sound so . . . gentle.

  “I was dating this guy . . . Kevin.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “At first, he was nice, sweet. But when he started getting verbally abusive I knew I couldn’t stay. I knew I had to get out before it escalated.”

  Sterling’s body is tight. I can see the way his muscles are bunched under his shirt, how tense his jaw is.

  “But when I went to break it off the escalation was already there.” I touch the side of my face, wincing at how tender the whole thing is. “I ended up knocking him over the head with the first thing I could grab, which was a lamp.” I can see the scene in my head, fresh, brutal. “He’d just gone crazy, hitting me, cursing at me. It was so bad that I even passed out once and close to a second time. Finally, once I got enough strength to fight back, I reached for the lamp and knocked it over his head as hard as I could manage.” I know my eyes are wide when I look at Sterling again. “What if I killed him?”

  I’d seen blood, knew I’d cut him pretty good when the ceramic had broken.

  Sterling starts grinding his teeth in anger. “I hope not, because what I have planned for that asshole is far worse than death.”

  He pulls me against his chest again and I close my eyes instantly. I just absorb the feeling of being here, in his arms, knowing everything will be okay.

  Yeah, it’ll be okay, with a dose of blood and violence that only a Locke brother can deliver.

  But somehow . . . I’m okay with that.

  WYNTER

  Without a word, Sterling begins searching through his dresser, pulling out items of clothing before walking back over to the bed and handing them to me.

  “The shower is down the hall. You’ll sleep in my room tonight. No one will fuck with you here, I fucking promise you that.” His voice is deep, rough, as if he’s finding it hard to be gentle.

  “Thank you, Sterling.” I stand up and walk over to him, stopping just inches before him. I know reaching out and touching him, especially his face, without permission might be stupid, but I do it anyway, wanting him to look me in the eyes when I say this next part. “I trust you. I know no one will touch me with you around.” It’s why I came here. “You’re the only person I wanted to come to when he hurt me. No one else . . .”

  His jaw tenses beneath my fingertips and a small growl leaves his lips, causing goosebumps to cover my flesh. If Sterling Locke growled at anyone else this way, they’d go running. And they’d have good reason to.

  “Clean up and I’ll bring you something warm to drink and eat.” His amber gaze locks on mine with an intensity that makes my knees go weak. He wasn’t asking. He was telling me. “If you weren’t covered in bruises, I’d offer to help, but my touch is anything but gentle. When I lay my hands on things . . . they get broken.”

  With that he turns and walks away as if he has no other choice.

  I take a deep breath and slowly release it, while gripping the pile of clothes in my left hand. His words shouldn’t turn me on right now, but I’d be lying if I said the idea of him helping me in the shower doesn’t have my body burning with need.

  I’ve always wondered how rough and savage Sterling would be in the bedroom. How much it would hurt when he slammed deep inside me. I’ve fantasized about his big, strong body taking me far too many times to remember.

  And just as I expected . . . he’d break me. He just said so himself.

  The very knowledge that Sterling is so brutal makes me
feel this heat inside. I shouldn’t feel anything but pain, disgust, and fear over what happened, but there are buried feelings—strong ones—that can’t be ignored.

  When I get to the bathroom, the shower water is already on for me, a towel draped over the sink for when I get out.

  In the years I was with Kevin, he’d never once taken care of me in the way Sterling has in just the last twenty minutes.

  Sterling may be dangerous, but I know without a doubt that he has a gentle side. I know from when we used to talk at school that he believes any gentleness is long gone from the years of abuse he suffered at his parents’ hands.

  He’s wrong.

  I moved to Rookeland just after my fourteenth birthday, over eleven years ago, and I still remember the day I laid eyes on Sterling.

  His biceps were covered in bruises and scars, and it was clear he fought to keep them hidden, even though his shirtsleeves were too short for him and kept riding up his long arms.

  I remember thinking he was the biggest fourteen-year-old I had ever laid eyes on. He was even taller than our teacher, Mr. Hannagan, by a few inches.

  Then by our junior year he finally stopped growing, after reaching just over six feet and four inches. At least that’s what everyone said. I’m pretty positive no one was ever brave enough to get close to check.

  But by that year, the bruises had spread to his face. The abuse had shifted from his parents delivering it to Sterling causing fights with other students. I paid attention to him each and every day and wished I was brave enough to at least talk to him about his family and see if he needed a friend.

  He watched me every day too. I could never figure out if it was only because he knew I watched him and he wanted to make sure I stayed out of his business, or if it was because he was protecting me.

  After Bobbie Mason came to school one day with his face beat to hell and back—the day after causing a scene with me in the hallway—I knew then the real reason that Sterling watched me.

  He was protecting me. Just like I wanted to protect him.

  By the time we graduated, Sterling had moved on to bigger, more dangerous things, causing the whole town to fear not only him, but all the Locke brothers.