Break Her Free
A Curvy Captive romance
Alice May Ball
TzR Publishing
Copyright © 2020 by Alice May Ball
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Hot romance, action and suspense
Goodies and swag
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Hot romance, action and suspense
Goodies and swag
Hot romance, action and suspense
Bad Russians
Older men Russian men who know what they want. Curvy American girls. Insta-love action.
Obsessed – Alexandr: Bad Russian Book 1
Possessive – Arkady: Bad Russian Book 2
Protector – Yevgeni: Bad Russian Book 3
Demands – Nikita: Bad Russian Book 4
Dominant – Mischa: Bad Russian Book 5
Powerful – Nicolai: Bad Russian Book 6
Driven – Dimitri: Bad Russian Book 7
Unstoppable – Leonid: Bad Russian Book 8
Urgent – Konstantin: Bad Russian Book 9
Jealous – Valentin: Bad Russian Book 10
Ruthless – Anatoly: Bad Russian Book 11
Brutal – Christof: Bad Russian Book 12
* * *
Hard and Hot and Fast
Fast-paced insta-love stories with curves, twists, and toe-curling thumps
Hard As Iron
Buck Moon Beach Party
Double Down
His Royal Hugeness
* * *
Perfect
Novel length romantic action and suspense. Crime, action and adventure, with scorching hot romance.
Perfectly Bad – Pierce: Perfect Book 1
Perfect Damage – Luka: Perfect Book 2
Perfect Revenge – Hunter: Perfect Book 3
Perfect Burn – Jack: Perfect Book 4
Perfect Pain – Vassily: Perfect Book 5
Perfect Hurt – Maxim: Perfect Book 6
* * *
Hitmen
A curvy girl needs a lot of love
2 Hitmen
3 Hitmen
4 Hitmen
Goodies and swag
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Prologue
Prologue
Connor
I was born into the life, back in the old country, and I love it. I know what’s what. I don’t kill people if I can avoid it. Not now. It always leaves a mess and makes a whole load of trouble. The boss thinks it’s good for shaking things up. “Keeps everyone on their toes,” he says. Tosser.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a ruck as much as the next man. Sure, it’s all part of the craic. But not when I’m working. A lot of the fun in a roar of the old argy-bargy is all of the mess. Never knowing how it’s all going to end up. What’s going to be left when it’s all in a heap and the kicking and gouging and the roundhouse swings are all done. After the busted bottles and chairs are all scattered and the blood’s all drying and the dust hangs with the mist and the smell of sweat and stale beer.
When I’m at my work and I shake things up, I don’t have any of that. I know exactly where everything’s going to land. I act for results, not for the laughs.
Through the windshield, red taillights and blue neon streak and blur through the rain, and Garret’s words echo and turn over in my head. With that for an outlook, I wonder how long he’s going to be the boss. Either way, it’s a small mercy that he’s only going to be my fucking boss for the two weeks that I’m here. The town, I could easily take for longer. Music everywhere—grown-up music, too. Music for people with something going on between their ears as well as a fire in their pants. Food you can never get tired of. All the best Cajun, Creole, French, Spanish, Caribbean and American flavors. Spices like magic spells. Even the weirdness is weirdly magical. I don’t think I’d be getting tired of this place anytime soon.
Nighttime here sounds, looks, and smells like the sin capital of a tropical paradise. Seductive, sexy music breathes out of every low-lit doorway. Names in neon and fairy lights invite and entice. Exotic flowers, herbs and shrubs spill out of baskets and wind around the wrought iron of the balconies and awnings. The Quarter is definitely getting to me.
Yeah, I could cope with a longer stay here. The boss, though? He was wearing on me before we finished our first meeting.
Hercules Garret gave me the black Mercedes when I got here from Boston. An AMG C63 S Coupé. I didn’t like it much then. I like a car with American muscle. A throaty Dodge Charger, or a Mustang. Or, if it’s called for, something discreet and Japanese. Your Mercedes takes too much attention. Makes the wrong kind of a show. I just don’t feel it’s my style.
I asked him, “Is that your real name, ‘Hercules’?” and he holds my eye and he gives me his most solemn nod. Head like an anvil, and he’s stocky, right enough. He’s not what you’d call big, though. He’s no more than average height. He comes up to about the top of my chest.
I told him, “You don’t look like a fucking Hercules to me.”
And he says to me, “Appearances can be deceptive.” Seriously. Me from the land of Joyce and Yates and he tells me that. Fucking heathen tosser.
So, it might be that my first encounter with the boss has colored my impression of the car. Still, I have to work with him, on account of I got sent. And it’s got me out of fucking Boston, anyway. So there is that.
But I’m still not warming to the car. Too fucking smooth. I’ve parked on the wet street across from the night club. Even in the dark, the black car stands out like an English banker in a Dublin bar. Maybe it’s all the shine.
While I step out, a kid, he looks about twelve or thirteen at most, slouches out of the shadows.
“Nice car.” Little kid, acting like he owns the street. I take a breath to hold back a chuckle. “Doesn’t belong around here, though,” he says, I wait. Let him make his pitch. “I can take care of it for you.” I wait some more, looking him in the eye. “Twenty bucks.”
“You mean you’ll stop anyone from stealing it or vandalizing it, or do you just mean you won’t scrape a key down the side of it?”
“Fifty bucks, I can do both.”
The kid’s got balls. I like that.
So I tell him, “Ten bucks. But if anything happens to it, you’re responsible.”
“How long are you going to be?”
“As long as it takes.”
I turn to cross the street for the club. He shouts after me, “Hey! Where’s my ten bucks?”
“Earn it first, kiddo. You know that as well as I do.”
“Half in front. And I don’t like to be called ‘kiddo.’ Call me Mikey.”
“Nice try. All on delivery. Mikey’s not your name, though,
right?”
“No,” he hesitates. “My names ‘Paulie’ but I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I get you. ‘Mikey’s’ not whole a lot better, though.”
“I know. I like ‘Gabriel,’ myself, but it doesn’t sound tough enough.”
“Good call. It sounds the way you’ll make it sound, Gabriel. Earn it. See you here later.”
“What’s your name?”
“Are you thinking you’ll ask me out on a date with your ten bucks?”
Chapter One
Connor
Decor inside the club is dark, and faded and it all feels pretty out of date. Nostalgic for lost nostalgia. Some people go for that, I suppose. Shiny girls are all in lingerie, seamed stockings, push-ups, and heels, flashing the promise in their eyes. Girls seem to outnumber the customers. That’s never a good look.
I’m still only making my way to the bar when three different girls, in three separate parts of the club, all start toward me. A well-sculpted redhead and two stacked blondes all turn and start to move. I give each of them a smile, and a small wave of my hand to tell them, ‘no.’
Not now, for sure. I’ve work to do. And I want to get it done while the club is still quiet. The fewer customers are around, the better for all parties concerned.
The girls are all too much on the long and skinny side for my appetite, anyway. One by one, they all drift back to dancing, looking bored, and hunting for marks.
The barmaid is curvier. She flashes her eyes and gives me a smoky look. Now she would be more like my kind of a woman. Not her. But a woman like her. I don’t ever understand women, not in any way. But I do adore them.
She hasn’t even had time to finish fixing my drink when a guy comes at me, straight out of the door in the back marked ‘Private.’ A short fellow. You always need to watch them. Redheaded, too, so double volatile.
Space clears around me immediately. Untidy clusters of drinkers around the bar all fall quiet. Girls look discreetly about them, checking their nearest exits, shrinking back and away. No-one’s dancing now. The music still plays but a silence hangs in the smoky air as everybody steps back a pace to watch from a safe distance.
A glint in the man’s eye gives his move away. He’s smooth and rounded, carrying some flab. I’m six three, and half his weight again, and all of me is solid. Muscle and bone. He ought to have more sense than to start anything with me. I suppose he’s acting under orders.
His voice is low. Menacing. “You’re not the guy,” his head bobs. Moves side to side. His shoulders roll as he shifts his weight. Feinting. Watching for me to react. I don’t. He wants to get a sense of how fast I am. How aggressive. And which way I’ll jump first.
I’m relaxed and I don’t move a muscle. Give nothing away. Just wait.
I made a point to visit the club when it’s not busy. Minimum disruption. My intention was to take a quiet moment for a word in the boss’ ear. Introduce myself, and remind him he has obligations. Show him that I’m serious if need be. Give him twenty-four hours. The usual thing.
Instead of meeting me like a man, he sends this poor fucking goon out while he hides in his office.
Big mistake, Nico. Bad move. Showed yourself weak there.
The goon’s glint and the shift of his weight, the way he drifts on to the back foot, it all says ‘knife’ to me, so I’m ready when he reaches back. His left hand comes forward for balance. No hesitation. I snatch his hand.
Wrap his thumb in my fist. Grip hard. Bend it back, down, and around. Make him twist away to his right. All the way. Wind him up, with just his thumb up his back as a handle. His knife hand is away on the wrong side now.
I push him forward, twisting harder. His eyes bulge and his mouth stretches open, but he doesn’t make a sound as I crank his arm around. He’s forced to fold over, facing away as I pull harder on his thumb. Keeping the pressure up and his thumb joint flexed back. Maximum pain.
You can bend someone’s arm till it breaks, a tough man can fight on through it. The thumb, it’s got too many nerves in too small a space. That amount of pain, it’s just a couple of notches below amateur dentistry. But he doesn’t make a sound. He’s controlled, I give him that.
The gleaming blade is out in his right hand now, but it’s useless pointed away. He spins the handle to aim the knife back. Ready to jab and stab. I turn his thumb joint harder. Feel it click. Hear the wet crackle. Turn his hand. It makes him fold lower.
I feel the gristle heat up as his thumb joint is nearly ready to pop out.
I speak softly. Relaxed and easy. Makes him listen harder. “Shall I break your thumb off?” He hesitates. I give his thumb a sharp turn. “Believe me?”
I won’t tell him to drop the knife. Tell a thug what to do and it becomes a face-off. That never ends well. Thugs live their lives on face. On not backing down. Make them choose what you want them to do.
The big joint in his thumb starts to rip. A slow, wet crunch. He jolts. Then, quickly he nods. He bends forward more and the knife drops. Point down. It flashes, juddering in the wood floor.
His groan is tight. Pained. “You’re not the guy.”
I twist his arm until, finally, he cries out.
“I’m the guy.” I tell him quietly. “Now. I am, and now you know.”
I only moved one hand and he’s bent double. He’s red in the face, sweating. I look around the club. He’s the muscle around here. I know. I do my homework. So I’ve made a point.
Nico bursts out of the door at the back. I know him from his picture. He sent a thug, I’ve twisted his thug in two, and now he thinks he’s going to face me down? Nico, I’m thinking, You’re not cut out for this line of work. He’s bigger than I expected.
I lean down and whisper to the goon. “Get your thumb in ice. Right away. And get some sport massage.” I lay my hand on his back. “It will be fine if you don’t wait for it to swell.” Not so anyone else can hear or know what I said.
The man’s a professional. No hard feelings on my side.
Nico, though. He’s another kettle of eels altogether.
He’s raising his eyebrows, opening his hands. Like a shrug. Starting to speak. “You’re not the...”
I rush him. One hand out, palm flat. I won’t take a fucking word from him.
I shove him hard in the middle of the chest. Bang him back through the door. And that’s all the courtesy that I’ll give him. We’ll take it behind the door. Away from his paying customers.
“You can take what’s coming to you from here,” the door swings shut behind me. I walk toward him, he crawls back, as fast as he can, “Go on. Up the corridor. Back in the rancid little mousehole of your office. I won’t make you cry in front of your fucking clients. You grizzling little bollocks.”
He’s on his ass. Scrambling backward. Eyes wide, he crawls like a panicking crab. I advance. Slow enough so he can keep moving. Fast enough so he knows I’ll stomp his bollocks if he doesn’t.
He’s backed up against the door with Office painted on the frosted glass.
He twists around to reach for the handle.
I grab his throat and pull him up. His face puffs. He gurgles and reddens as he gags and chokes. I could put him through the glass. It might be a mess, though. I just bang his head against it, hard enough to crack the glass.
Or so I thought. The back of his head just bangs and bounces. His eyes roll.
I’m surprised. I ask him, “Toughened glass, Nico?”
Choking, he nods.
I give him a, sorry-not-sorry shrug and a tilt of my head. I tell him, “Now you’ll wish you fucking hadn’t.”
Still holding him by the throat, I pull his head forward, then slam it back. This time a bulging web of cracks sprays out over the glass.
There’s a shriek from inside the office as the door swings open behind him. Nico tumbles in.
A startled girl is off balance, behind the door.
I put out a hand to catch her. She jumps back. Her hand was on the doorknob and she forgot to l
et go. She almost falls to the floor.
I’m about to step over Nico to catch her. She holds up her hand. Steadying herself, she shakes her head. I can see she’s nervous. It makes a big impression on me.
“It’s alright,” I tell her. From the look on her face, I can see she’s heard that before. And she doesn’t want to hear it again.
Her half-open mouth is a cupid’s bow of purity. Her eyes are burning lights of sin. She’s got curves to die for. Or die in. Either way seems good. She’s too young for me. And I’m too old and much too much of a fuckup. Too much of soiled and damaged goods for her. I can’t stop the way she makes me light up inside, though. In a tee-shirt and loose jeans, she’s sexier than all of the half-naked girls outside.
A trickle of blood rolls down along the spider-web in the bulging frosted glass of the door.
Nico slips to the floor, holding his head and rolling, side to side.
The girl’s face glows, peachy and innocent. Her breasts swell. One look from her eyes and she flips all my switches to ‘ON.’ A soft, curvy, golden-skinned angel.
I tell her, “Wait in the office.” Her eyes flash at the hardness in my voice and I feel the connection right in the middle of my chest. Another part of me is waking up and taking notice, but I’ll have to try and ignore the fattening, lazy uncurling.
She turns. The of her mouth-watering ass makes me stiffen and my heart pounds. I almost lose concentration.
Break Her Free: A Curvy Captive Romance Page 1