Shattered King

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  To my mother, thank you for always believing that I could. No matter what it was. Love you, Mum.

  PROLOGUE

  I came to say goodbye.

  Walker James Correctional Facility, NY

  Lulu

  The metal seat was hard and cold, its chill seeping through my favorite faded jeans and the plain black T-shirt I’d blindly grabbed from my dresser that morning. The place smelled like a hospital, that strong aroma of disinfectant.

  I hated hospitals.

  But not as much as I hated prisons.

  A shiver raced through me, and I dropped my gaze from the dull gray walls, down to my clasped fingers.

  My hands felt oddly numb, almost like they weren’t attached to my wrists. My legs weren’t much better. I couldn’t feel my toes. Inside though, I was on fire, burning up, twisted in knots. My heart was about to burst through my chest. I wanted to scream and cry and hit something until my hands were bloody and raw. But I couldn’t do any of those things. All I could do was sit, and wait.

  I was here for one reason and one reason only.

  To say goodbye.

  Somehow, I had to walk away.

  The buzzer sounded and the door opened. I sucked in a breath as different emotions welled inside me. I sat frozen in my seat as inmates entered the room, moving quickly to their loved ones, giving their wives, girlfriends, kids, hugs and smiles. Happy to see them.

  Hunter walked in last.

  I swallowed, forcing down the anguished sound trying to crawl up my throat. Seeing him again was a kick in the gut. Somehow, I kept my ass glued to the seat instead of rushing to him and wrapping myself around him. Begging him to forgive me.

  There was no smile curving his lips as he scanned the room, and when his clear blue eyes found mine, they were cold, completely devoid of emotion. There was none of the warmth, the heat that had always been there for me. It was gone, completely. I curled my fingers into fists as he moved toward me, so hard my nails cut into my skin.

  Hunter was tall, over six feet, leanly muscled, hard and strong. The white T-shirt he wore stretched across his chest and shoulders, showing off the ink covering half of his arms. Ink I’d traced with my fingers a million times. Ink I’d kissed. He usually got me to give him a buzz cut every few weeks, but we’d missed the last one for some reason that I couldn’t remember now. I had no idea what happened with hair in a place like this, but it still hadn’t been cut. His hair was almost black, and the longer length made his striking blue eyes stand out even more.

  He walked toward me, those eyes, that hard gaze, pulsing right through me, like an electric current, never leaving me once.

  Finally, he was there, sliding into the seat opposite. I couldn’t meet his stare, not yet, not when he was so near. I looked at his lower lip. The plain silver ring that had been there when I last saw him was gone. The piercing had been on the right side, close to the corner of his mouth. It drove him crazy when I slid my tongue over it, tasted him. He’d growl and kiss me back, hot and hard. God, he had beautiful lips.

  His strong nose had a bump in the bridge, from where it’d been broken by his asshole father more than once. I hated the way he got it, hated it, but weirdly, it suited him. I couldn’t imagine him without it. His cheeks and jaw were covered in a day’s growth. I remembered how those whiskers felt against my fingertips.

  On a shaky breath, I lifted my chin, my gaze finally colliding with his.

  Nothing.

  He gave me nothing.

  My toes curled in my cherry Docs, and my pulse beat hard enough I could feel its thick, steady rhythm at the side of my neck. I opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come out. His stare got harder and, though I didn’t think it possible, colder. My fingers flexed against my still flat belly. I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand. I wanted to tell him about the baby growing inside me, tell him how scared I was. I wanted to tell him the truth. That this was the only way I knew how to keep him safe, that I loved him more than anything in this world. But I couldn’t say any of those things. I opened my mouth again. Closed it. My throat felt dry, like I hadn’t had a drink in a week.

  He sat forward suddenly, forearms going to the small metal table between us. “You got nothing to say? Nothing? Seriously?”

  I flinched. I couldn’t help it. Oh God. I knew he hated me. I did. But seeing it, having it directed at me, I didn’t know if I could take it. Not when I loved him so damn much. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg him to forgive me, beg him not to stop loving me.

  I swallowed, trying to get some moisture going in my mouth. I had to say what I’d come to say. I had to. I started to shake. Fuck. “I’m . . . I’m sor . . .”

  “Don’t fucking say it, Lulu. Don’t you dare fucking say that to me.”

  Hearing him say my name was a knife to the chest. He was the only one who called me that. Everyone else called me Lucinda or Lucy. Pierce, my stepfather—even thinking his name made my skin crawl—had hated it. Hated Hunter period. Now the sick, sadistic asshole had found a way to get him out of my life for good.

  I stared into his eyes, desperate for a piece of my Hunter, no matter how small. But he was gone. The full impact of his hatred for me, his disgust, was as bright as a neon sign. What else could I say? He didn’t want my apology. I got that, too. How could an “I’m sorry” make up for losing three years of your life?

  I couldn’t tell him I’d let him swing to save his life. My stepfather had people on his payroll in this prison. He’d told me they’d be watching today, that if I said one thing to tip him off, Hunter was dead. If I went to the cops, if I said anything to anyone, Hunter was dead. My nose and eyes stung, tears threatening to escape, but I swallowed them down ruthlessly, forced them back.

  I glanced around. No one seemed to be watching us, but I had no way of knowing for sure. I couldn’t risk Hunter’s life just to appease my guilt. “I’m leaving,” I told him. “I’m never coming back. I came to say goodbye.”

  He stared at me for several long seconds, showing no outward reaction. But then he fisted his long fingers in front of him, the ink on his knuckles becoming stark against the tight, whitened skin. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re already gone. You’re dead to me. You don’t fucking exist.”

  I was going to throw up. Nothing in my entire life had hurt more than those words. I couldn’t bear it another second. I couldn’t sit here with him looking at me like that. Lying to his face. Pretending I didn’t care. Pretending I was okay, when I was so far from okay I didn’t know where the hell I was.

  I stood abruptly, and had to grab for the table when my legs threatened to give out from under me. Before I could get my bearings, Hunter’s hand snaked out, wrapping around my wrist, yanking me forward. I fell across the table with a cry, the bolted down metal legs rattling loudly against the concrete floor as he dragged me closer.

  “Why?” he hissed in my face.

  His grip was tight enough to hurt, and the table dug painfully into my side. Tears welled up and spille
d hotly down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

  The guards were on him, trying to pull him off me. He fought, still not letting go. They yanked him back and I was dragged forward, going down hard on the floor.

  “Why?” he roared in my face.

  His fingers were pried from around my wrist, and they dragged him from the room. He yelled the same word over and over the whole way. It echoed off the walls around me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, lifted to my elbows, and threw up in front of everyone. I didn’t care.

  Hunter was gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three years and four months later

  Hunter

  My footsteps were soundless against the thick carpet as I headed up the darkened stairs. I didn’t need a flashlight; the moon was doing a decent job through the skylight.

  The Upper East Side townhouse had that smell. A smell that, to me, screamed money and privilege, not something I could describe easily. The word sterile rattled around my skull. Furniture polish. Floor cleaner. Whatever other shit they had their cleaning staff use to wash away any traces of personality. Anything real.

  It hung heavy in the air. Lifted the damn hair at the back of my neck.

  I despised the types of people that lived like this. Firsthand experience had taught me they couldn’t be trusted. That they’d stab you in the back as soon as you looked the other way.

  And in this guy’s case, commit insurance fraud rather than admit they were living beyond their means.

  I did a walkthrough and a quick search of the bedrooms before I headed to the office. I found the safe quickly, in a closet on the far side of the room, hidden under a stack of boxes. I’d been cracking safes since I was fourteen. Raul Esposito, a man who had become a second father to my older brother Van and me when our own had been a drunk and an asshole, had trained me well.

  I’d picked up the skill so fast, I’d actually impressed the old bastard. The pride I’d felt when I did it on my own for the first time was something I’d never forgotten. Some people would think it was messed up that the only decent male role model I’d had taught me how to be a good thief, but I didn’t give a fuck. I owed Raul more than I could ever repay.

  I crouched low, getting a good look at the safe. Getting into it wouldn’t be overly difficult. But before I pulled out my stethoscope, I entered several try-out combinations. Combinations that most new safes came with from the manufacturer. A lot of people never bothered to set a new one themselves, and that was always what I started with. None of them worked, so I searched around it. Another common mistake, writing the code down and keeping it close by. No luck there either. I went back into the office and searched the desk.

  “Jesus.”

  Shoved to the back of the bottom drawer, under a stack of Playboys, was a notebook. The fucking moron had actually written “passwords” on the front. I found the code I needed, then checked the time. There was still ten minutes on the clock.

  I had the safe open in five seconds.

  Empty. I had another flick through the notebook, just in case they had more than one safe. Nothing. It was a long shot, but this guy was obviously a total idiot. Definitely dumb enough to keep the painting at his own house.

  I was heading for the door when a photo sitting on a bookshelf caught my eye.

  My legs just fucking—stopped. Like a nail had been driven though the tops of both my feet mid-step, pinning me to the goddamn floor.

  It was a family photo.

  A Carson family photo.

  I looked around the room again, almost giving myself goddamn whiplash, confused as hell.

  Where the hell had my brother sent me? Anger flared to life, growing steadily, pumping through me.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  One of those assholes lived here?

  My eyes were drawn back to the picture, like someone else had control over them. Fuck, I couldn’t look away, heart hammering in my chest.

  Standing there, big smiles on their faces were Elizabeth and Pierce. Lulu’s mother and stepfather. Alongside them her aunt and uncle and their kids.

  A rough sound rasped up my throat, past my lips. Lulu. She was a little ways off to the side, on her own. She looked about sixteen here. She’d been a couple years older when I first met her, but her hair was the same—down and a little wild. Her gray eyes were aimed at the camera, and they sliced right fucking through me. I wasn’t prepared to see her face, hadn’t had a chance to sure up my defenses.

  Something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time, hammered me from behind. I hadn’t seen her, not even a picture, not since she came to see me in prison.

  And there she was. Tormenting me. Mocking me.

  I picked it up, stared into her traitorous eyes. But the fury I’d lived off like fucking oxygen the last three years wouldn’t come, because this wasn’t the Lulu that tore me to shreds. She was a kid here, a kid who looked a little lost, and a whole fucking lot lonely.

  The urge to fire it across the room nearly got the better of me.

  I quickly put it down and got the hell out of there, before I did something stupid.

  Jude was coming up the stairs when I hit the hall. Jude Wayland, ex-cop, and at six-foot-five, two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, not someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of. He still had good reliable contacts on the force, not to mention his expertise with security systems—namely how to shut them down. Add to that his size and ability to be intimidating as hell, he’d become our go-to guy when someone needed to be leaned on. Persuasion was one of his specialties.

  “Company.” He tilted his head to the front of the house.

  We jogged down the stairs and I moved to the French doors off the living room, while Jude did his thing, reactivating the security system. We were shutting the doors behind us as the front door opened.

  I turned to Jude when we were outside, fighting the rage pounding through me. “Who lives here?”

  Jude rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty as hell, and then tilted his head toward the living room window.

  We’d walked out the door two minutes ago and already there was a woman bent over the back of the couch, pants yanked down around her thighs, while some guy, not her husband, fucked her from behind like he was in the throes of a fit.

  I recognized her instantly.

  Lulu’s aunt.

  Jude shook his head, a look of disgust on his face and held up his hands. “You need to talk to Van. I’m staying outta this shit. I fucking told him this was a bad idea.” Then he turned around and walked off.

  I’d be talking to my brother all right.

  Twenty minutes later I was back in Queens, striding across the underground parking lot toward the elevator that would take me up to our offices.

  Van and I opened the King Agency before I went to prison. We started off doing personal protection and security, private investigation, mainly corporate, but some domestic as well, then moved onto high-risk fugitive recovery and missing person and kidnapping investigations. Coming from a rough neighborhood, living on the streets most of the time, you acquired certain skills to get by, to survive. Turned out that was better than any college education in our line of work. Clients started coming to us with jobs that other agencies refused to take them, either because they were too dangerous or crossed lines they weren’t willing to cross. We’d never had that problem. Higher risk meant higher pay. We were good at what we did, the best, which was why getting taken down for arson when shit was finally looking up for the King brothers had fucking near torn me apart. Being set up was bad enough, but being forced to put my life on hold damn near did me in.

  Ironic that the same woman that drove me to succeed, the woman I loved, the woman I believed loved me too, was the one that took it all away. I’d wanted to prove that I could provide for her, that I could give her everything she was used to. A big house. Money in the bank. A nice life. The agency was the first thing that had truly been mine. I�
�d been so fucking proud of it, wanted her to be proud of me. Coming from a home where I was constantly told I was nothing, that I was worthless, I’d needed that.

  Finding out tonight my own fucking brother was keeping something from me, something that involved her family, the same family responsible for setting me up, getting me locked up . . . yeah, I was pretty un-fucking-happy.

  I climbed into the elevator and punched the button for the fifth floor, trying to lock down the anger riding me hard. I got a look at myself in the mirrored doors as they slid shut—it wasn’t working.

  When they opened again I was outside our glass-fronted reception area, three and a half inches thick and bullet proof—something that hadn’t been tested yet, but the way I was feeling right then finding out how many rounds it would take sounded like an excellent way to blow off steam.

  I pushed the door open, and strode into the stark white reception area, not surprised to see Ruby sitting behind the desk.

  Ruby Styles was from our neighborhood, and a few years younger than me. Her home life had been about as fun as mine and Van’s. And when she’d come to us for a job, we’d decided to give her a shot in reception.

  She lifted her head, tucking her purple streaked hair behind her ear, and shoved her black-rimmed glasses higher on her nose. Her eyes widened when she got a good look at me.

  “Is he in his office?”

  She shot to her feet. “What’s going on . . . ?”

  I headed for the door that led to our offices, ignoring her calling after me, anger unfurling in my gut, and punched in the access code.

  Shoving it open, I strode down the hall. Van’s door wasn’t closed, and I could hear several voices coming from inside. I rounded the corner and my jaw got tight. Zeke and Neco were there along with my brother, deep in conversation.

  “Something you forget to tell me about tonight’s job?” I asked.

  Van’s gaze shot to me. “Hunt, let me explain . . .”

  “Yeah, that’d be good.”