Visibly broken, p.1
Visibly Broken, page 1
Visibly Broken is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Loveswept Ebook Original
Copyright © 2016 by Chelsea Camaron and MJ Fields
Excerpt from My Song for You by Stina Lindenblatt copyright © 2016 by Stina Lindenblatt
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book My Song for You by Stina Lindenblatt. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
ebook ISBN 9781101969205
Cover design: Caroline Teagle
Cover photograph: Deviant/Shutterstock
Chapter 1: Jason
Chapter 2: Lo
Chapter 3: Jason
Chapter 4: Heidi
Chapter 5: Lo
Chapter 6: Jason
Chapter 7: Heidi
Chapter 8: Jason
Chapter 9: Lo
Chapter 10: Jason
Chapter 11: Lo
Chapter 12: Jason
Chapter 13: Lo
Chapter 14: Jason
Chapter 15: Lo
Chapter 16: Jason
Chapter 17: Lo
Chapter 18: Jason
Chapter 19: Lo
Chapter 20: Jason
Chapter 21: Lo
Chapter 22: Jason
Chapter 23: Lo
Chapter 24: Jason
Chapter 25: Lo
Chapter 26: Jason
Chapter 27: Lo
Chapter 28: Jason
Chapter 29: Lo
By Chelsea Camaron and MJ Fields
About the Authors
Excerpt from My Song for You
To break the chains that bind me, I must first acknowledge I am damaged. To change the patterns started long before me, I must first find the power from within to hold back. To be the man I want to be, I must break down the man I am today.
—Jason “Cobra” Stanley
FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER
“How dare you shame me!” The backhand comes before I can brace for it.
The burn, the sting, the copper taste of my own blood fills my mouth as the next blow comes crashing down. By now, I should expect this. By now, I should know better. By now, I should give him back what he gives and give it harder. But I don’t.
There is some warped, twisted part of me that feels like I have earned his punishment even when I can’t explain what I did or even what he thinks I did. Some days, I could be given the blows simply because it rained and his designer suit got wet.
“How can people believe I’m able to run a city when I don’t have control of my own house?” His voice booms, making each word thunder in my aching head. “Everything we do is under scrutiny.”
I should say something. I should fight back. I should do anything to get away, to find a reprieve. I don’t. Instead, I numb my mind and let him hit me.
My face is swelling, and I think I may have a chipped tooth, but I don’t cry. I don’t make one sound. I learned as a young boy that the less I say, the less I move, the quicker it ends.
I can’t remember a time in my life when everything I did wasn’t under a microscope. I can’t remember a time in my life when I did not make him angry to the point of rage. The more he reacts, the more he loves me. My mom has told me that more times than I can count.
At first, I told myself it was me. If I were a better boy, smarter, stronger, he wouldn’t have to punish me. Later, I told myself it was him, and I simply needed to get by until I could get out. I dreaded summer vacation from school. It meant more time home and more time to fuck up. The only thing that kept me going was telling myself I would break the cycle.
At fifteen, I found my outlet in the gym. When the rage inside would build so deep I could feel it pulse through my very veins, I needed somewhere to get it all out. The heavy bag takes every punch and kick I give, and then it waits for more. The octagon of the underground fights has been my escape since I was nineteen. I take the hits I need to and lay out the motherfuckers when the time is right. Finally, I found a place I don’t have to hold back.
By day, I’m Jason Stanley, son to Mayor Stanley. I grew up behind the gates of an upper-class suburb of Detroit. Politics and presentation are everything. By day, I work in the voter registration office of the city. By day, I am a college-educated, entitled prick. By day, I walk with my head held high and know I’m untouchable…except by him.
The man who made me, the man who molded me, the man who I disappoint at every turn, James Jason Stanley, my father, accepts nothing less than perfection, and I fail every day. He rules the city with laws and police officers at his back. He rules his home with an iron fist.
I’m out of his reign of terror now. Missy, my girlfriend, and I have our own place. She is a twelve on a scale of one to ten. With tits, ass, and so much sass, she pushes my buttons and keeps my dick hard. She needed a deeper commitment than just fucking, so we moved into this condo together. It’s not large, but it’s far from small. I give her freedom with my bank account to decorate it however she likes. Thank fuck, she doesn’t put up a bunch of dust collectors and frilly stuff. I could give a shit about décor; I just need a place to fuck her when I want, how I want, and without anyone to answer to.
“I saw you today.” The brunette in my life walks in. That’s Missy: no regular greeting, just balls to the wall, in my face.
“Well, hello to you, too.” I give back her attitude.
“I saw you with her,” she adds as she steps out of her sky-high heels and walks into the kitchen.
I raise an eyebrow in question. “Inform me; who exactly did you see me with?”
Pulling out a bottle of her favorite red wine, she sets a wineglass in front of her and pops the cork.
I stalk over to her, waiting for an answer.
“Renee Felicia—I saw you with her at lunch.” She pours her wine and sips the liquid slowly. As she closes her eyes, I can feel the anger coming off her. It amps me up.
I feel my heart beat faster, my blood pump harder, and my eyes zero in on my target as the adrenaline fuels me. Just like before I enter a fight, the energy builds up inside me like I may explode.
“Renee Felicia, as in my father’s secretary?” I ask, knowing damn well I was with her today, but we did not have lunch. She was at the same sandwich bistro I was at. She had to get my father’s sandwich just right, and she was already having a bad day. She asked my thoughts, I gave them and hoped he was in the mood for roast beef on rye; otherwise, Renee would have the afternoon from hell.
Setting the glass on our counter, she taps her professionally manicured nails against it. “Do not patronize me. Do not act like I’m crazy.” She raises her voice with each word. “I saw you with her!”
“Baby.” I come around the corner and into the kitchen. I need to diffuse the situation. I feel myself on the edge. She will push me, and it may be too far. “I helped her order my father’s meal. That’s it.” She raises an eyebrow at me in irritation. “Sh
Missy doesn’t speak. Before I can react, her hand is around the neck of the wineglass and it’s in the air. The wineglass hits my face, the red liquid splashing into my eyes, burning and blurring my vision. The glass hits the tile floor and breaks, shards flying everywhere.
What the fuck is she thinking?
“Don’t you baby me, Jay.” She doesn’t move, only glares. “I know all about the cougars in city hall. She probably sucked your cock in the bathroom before having your father for an afternoon snack.”
Rage fills me. I step closer to her, and she steps back. Ignoring the pain in my feet as the glass slices into my skin with each step I make, I move until she’s backed against the counter.
“Were you not on my dick this morning? Were you not on my dick for hours last night? I’m not fucking Superman. I love pussy, but, Missy, a man has to let his dick have a small break. That’s why we get jobs and go to work.”
“Yeah, and you probably fucked her wrinkled pussy in the bathroom for your lunch hour.” Reaching down, she rubs her pussy through her pants. “Hope that cobweb-filled, old, stank pussy was worth giving up all this, because you aren’t coming near it again for a long damn time.” She taps her finger on her lip like she’s thinking. “I’m sure I can find someone to take care of my needs.”
She threw a glass of red wine on me. My feet are sliced and bleeding because of her. To top it off, she taunts me. Does she not realize she’s poking a sleeping bear?
I step toward her, the glass cutting deeper into the bottoms of my feet. The pain only adds to my anger.
“Jagger gave it to me good in the past.” She sucks on her finger. “I wonder if he could free up his schedule for another round.”
I see red, and it’s not from the liquid running down my face. My hand goes around her throat, and I push her into the back wall of our galley kitchen. She has nowhere to go as I pin her there.
“Bitch, if I wanted her on my cock, she’d be there. She’s a damn cougar, sure, but she didn’t have a piece of me. Before you come in here, spouting some crazy shit, you better have your facts straight.” I release her neck, and she gasps for air as she runs her hands over the reddened skin. “As for someone else wanting your magic pussy, you should know there isn’t another fucker out there who will put up with your crazy outside of a bedroom, so your pussy is all you’re good for.”
“I’ll show you crazy, Jay.” She scratches at my face, and I feel the burn as she cuts me.
I raise my right hand in the air and swing down. The only noise is the sound of me connecting with her.
I can’t think anymore.
I can’t see.
I can’t hear beyond the roaring in my ears.
I feel pain.
I feel infuriated.
I feel betrayed.
I feel hurt.
I feel completely out of control.
It’s like my brain leaves my body; I am watching someone else as she paws me, scratching, clawing. She screams as my hand comes down again. She keeps fighting me. She yells, but I can’t understand her words as I reach up with two hands and grip her throat.
I need her to stop.
I need her to be quiet.
I need her to feel me.
I need her to feel my pain.
I need her to understand my emotions.
I love her. I hate her. I can’t be without her.
My lips crash down on hers as I release her throat. She reaches up and pulls my hair, my ears, trying to get me to stop kissing her. It takes a moment, and then she relaxes against me and kisses me back.
My mind calms. My body relaxes. The tension between us moves from that of anger to sexual. All the emotions and passion take over, and we can’t get enough of each other. This twisted game only fucks with my head more.
I told her the first time I put my hands on her that it wouldn’t happen again. That time, I only grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. She winced, and I immediately released her. Somehow, things changed, and she pushes and pushes until I crack now. She knows where it will lead, but she won’t back off. She doesn’t deserve this, but why can’t she stop herself from pushing us there?
Every time, I’m left with regret. I’m left giving the apologies that are nothing more than words. As much as I don’t want to put my hands on her, I can’t seem to hold back. I can’t break the cycle. I am weak. I am a bastard, born of a bastard, and I am destined to repeat my father’s mistakes.
I hate myself. I hate what I do to her. I hate what we do to us.
I don’t mean to hurt her. I don’t mean to hurt us. I thought I could break the cycle. I was wrong. Can’t she see I need her? Doesn’t she see I love her? Can she understand this is all I know?
Getting ready for the day, I stand at the bathroom counter in only my green boxer briefs. I pick up the can of shaving cream, then squirt the white foam into my hand. Wiping it across my jaw and neck, I turn when the door opens.
Missy enters in her black silk lingerie. She moves to me and pushes me back, climbing onto the spare space of the countertop. She picks up my razor, leaning over and wetting it under the running water. Without hesitation, she slides the sharp metal down my face and neck. The only noise between us is the running water.
I cage her in with a hand on each side of her as she leans over to wash away the shaving foam and my facial fuzz. Eye to eye, I take in the woman who consumes me.
She’s short, five foot three to my six-foot-two frame. Missy has ample breasts with an hourglass figure that bubbles out into the hips and thighs I love to grip as she rides me. Her tanned skin is flawless, as is her heart-shaped face that is full of pinup style seduction.
How did it start so amazingly and go to hell so fast?
I get hard as she sits in front of me, her chest rising and falling with every breath she takes. Her nipples poke out from the thin material. She licks her lips, and I want a taste.
Leaning in, I lick her lips. With our faces inches apart, she pulls the razor down my face again. Her legs wrap around my back, keeping me in place.
“What’s on the agenda today, Mr. Stanley?” she whispers seductively.
I smile as she rinses the blade. “Meetings at nine and eleven, lunch with Tatiana, planning conference at two, and then I’ll be at the gym till after dinner.” I give her my day honestly.
With a smile, she brings the blade to my face. She starts at mid-cheek and comes down. At my jaw, she twists, and I feel the telltale burn of a cut.
“Lunch with Caldwell’s woman?” The tone in her voice is pure evil, as was the cut I now sport on my chin.
I jerk back, her legs releasing me. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes flash from sexy to malicious. “Maybe I should give Jagger a call. He sure did give me good. I don’t know why I ever came back to you.” She reaches out to swipe at me with the razor, but I catch her wrist, stopping her.
“Are you fucking psycho? I could crush you, yet you cut me and try to do it again.” I fight to contain my anger. “Why do you do this, Missy?”
“Don’t you give me that shit, Jason!” she screeches, swinging out with her other arm, which I catch at the wrist, forcing me to step into her. “This is not on me!” I wonder how she can say that when I feel the trickle of blood move down my freshly shaved throat. “You put your hands on me,” she continues yelling. “Then it’s ‘I’m sorry, baby,’ and you do all the right things until you fuck up again.”
I look in her cold, dark eyes and spout, “I fucking hate you.”
She smiles. “Likewise,” she taunts, which makes the rage build inside. “The Cobra, so deadly. Watch his strike…more like, watch his strikeout against Caldwell.”
I wrench her arms behind her back, holding both her wrists
Inches away from her face, I inhale, smelling her soap and arousal. “You shouldn’t play games with someone who has as much venom inside as me,” I warn.
She laughs in my face. “What are you gonna do, hit me? We’ve done that dance before, Jason.” She meets my stare. “More than once.”
Shame washes over me. I said I wouldn’t put a woman through what my mother and I endured.
Releasing her, I shove away and move to stand in front of the sink. I pick up my dropped razor, ignoring her, as I do a quick finish of my shave. I fight the fury inside me that wants nothing more than to break her.
Like she’s broken me.
I won’t do it.
Growling, I continue about my morning as she sits on our countertop, watching me.
“Legacy. Oh, the Caldwell legacy,” she whispers, removing her top. “The way he handled me.” She cups her breasts and tweaks her nipples. I watch from the corner of my eye as I try to clean up the cut on my jaw. “Your little mouse, Jagger Caldwell’s little one, can’t handle a man like that. It’s only a matter of time before I can have another hit of the Hitmaker. He’s a drug all his own.” She slides her hand down her panties.
Ready to blow my top that Jagger Caldwell can turn her on with me standing right here, I move away from her and drop my boxers. I step into the shower as she moans out his name.
Where did the love go?
Once upon a time, I couldn’t get enough of her. Now, I swear she lives to see just how deeply she can cut me.
The water beats down on my body as my muscles flex instinctively. Jagger fucking Caldwell, the man who came from nothing to be a legacy of everything I ever wanted to be and won’t ever be.
by Chelsea Camaron / Romance / Suspense / Contemporary have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes