Broken Rebel: A Lawless Kings Novel

by Sherilee Gray

Overview

She's loved him since he saved her from her evil stepmother all those years ago. He's sworn to never love her for fear of tainting her innocence with his criminal past.

What do you do when the one person you love is the one person who can’t have?

Broken Rebel is an intense, ultra-sexy standalone novel set in the world of the Lawless Kings. Sherilee Gray’s raw, hard, beautiful, deeply-emotional voice will leave you breathless long after the last page.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781250155672
Publisher:	St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date:	10/10/2017
Series:	Lawless Kings , #2
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	305
Sales rank:	344,429
File size:	1 MB

About the Author

Sherilee Gray is a kiwi girl and lives in beautiful New Zealand with her husband and their two children. When she isn't writing sexy, edgy contemporary romance, searching for her next alpha hero on Pinterest, or fueling her voracious book addiction, she can be found dreaming of far off places with a mug of tea in one hand and a bar of Cadburys Rocky Road chocolate in the other.
Sherilee Gray is a kiwi girl and lives in beautiful New Zealand with her husband and their two children. Her books include the Lawless Kings series: Shattered King, Broken Rebel, and Beautiful Killer. When she isn't writing sexy, edgy contemporary romance, searching for her next alpha hero on Pinterest, or fueling her voracious book addiction, she can be found dreaming of far off places with a mug of tea in one hand and a bar of Cadburys Rocky Road chocolate in the other.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Ruby

"Good class tonight, guys!"

I clapped with everyone else then headed to my bag, grabbed my towel, and wiped the sweat from my face. I'd been coming to this self-defense and close quarters combat class for three months. It was good, really good, but I was ready for more, for the next step. I wanted to learn holds and some kick-ass defensive moves. I wanted to be able to disarm a hostile skip during a fugitive recovery and then immobilize his or her ass so I could take them in. I wasn't going to get that here. I needed to find a new class, something more advanced.

If Neco wasn't such a goddamn control freak, I could ask one of the guys from the King Agency — the P.I. firm where I worked as a receptionist — to train me. But he was a control freak, completely unbendable, and I couldn't see that changing any time soon. So, that ruled that out.

I enjoyed my job. I was grateful that Van and Hunter King, brothers who had grown up in the same neighborhood as me, had been willing to give me a shot behind the desk, but now it wasn't enough. I needed more.

Becoming an agent was something I'd wanted for a very long time. Van knew, and had made rumblings about training me, but nothing ever came of it. I knew Neco was behind it.

It hadn't been easy, not after the shit I'd been though, but I knew who I was, what I wanted out of life. Yes, I slipped occasionally. I had my insecurities and fears like everyone else. But I was a different person. I was strong and resourceful and confident. Neco refused to see that, though. He refused to see any-damn-thing except what he wanted to when it came to me.

So, I'd been forced to take matters into my own hands. I'd been moonlighting at Hains Investigations for three months now. Harry, the owner, was teaching me how to research and trace, and had sent me on a couple of surveillance jobs. Nothing risky or anything, but it felt good. He'd also referred me to a friend who gave weapons training. I liked that he had faith in me and my abilities. I finally felt like I was heading in the right direction.

Of course, if Neco found out what I was doing ...

Yeah, that wouldn't be good.

I waved to my instructor, swung my bag over my shoulder, and headed out onto the street.

God, Neco drove me nuts.

He also heated me up like no one else, turned me into a drooling, idiotic mess ... that was, of course, when he wasn't pissing me the hell off. More than once I'd seriously considered firing my computer at him across the office. The man was stubborn, arrogant, and when it came to me, utterly immovable.

I wanted to lick him from head to toe and kick him in the nuts all at once.

But make no mistake — Neco Malik took care of what he considered his.

And I was his ... just not in the way I wanted to be. He'd appointed himself as my protector, my hero, when I was just a little girl. Now I didn't know what he was to me. I just knew I pissed him off equally as much. Which, I could admit, was kind of my own fault.

I'd been ... messing with him, for lack of a better word, for a while now. Calling him to bail me out of situations I'd put myself in, asking for help when I was perfectly capable of sorting the problem out myself. I don't know why I'd started doing it ... no, that was a lie. I knew exactly why. I'd wanted to spend time with him, just him and me, like it used to be, and I'd wanted him to see me as more than the scared, heartbroken little kid standing outside his bedroom window. I wanted him to see me as a woman. So far, my plan had been a monumental failure. All I'd succeeded in doing was convincing him I was an irresponsible moron who constantly got myself into ridiculous situations that he needed to bail me out of. The complete opposite of how I wanted him to see me. It was like I was on this runaway freight train, heading full-speed for disaster. We were caught in this vicious cycle and I had no idea how to stop it.

We were dysfunctional, as messed up as two people could be — and we were also inexplicably connected. We were like a Russian wedding ring. When all the pieces were linked, lined up perfectly, it was intricate and complicated — a perfect, beautiful mess. But as soon as you removed one of the rings, the whole thing fell apart. That was us.

We needed each other.

Unfortunately, Neco didn't agree, or at least refused to admit it. Because apparently, he needed everyone but me.

And so, the cycle continued. I tried to make him see me as more than an annoying little sister, while he worked at fucking his way through every available woman in New York City.

I turned down the next street. It was out of my way, taking me farther from my place, but I couldn't help myself. Usually I resisted, but tonight something inside me made it impossible to ignore. Four blocks later, I was standing outside Neco's apartment building.

How badly I wanted to make him drop his guard, knock on his door, and make him give me back my Neco.

Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I started to turn, to head back the way I came. Why the hell did I keep doing this to myself? I lifted my head to check for traffic before I crossed the street, and that's when I saw his SUV. Shit. I quickly stepped back into the shadows of the shop behind me and watched him pull up outside. He climbed out and I sucked in a sharp breath. I may want to strangle him, but he always succeeded in knocking the breath from my lungs. He was wearing soft, worn jeans that hugged his long legs and heavy thighs. His long-sleeved T-shirt was black and clung to his chest and abs in a way that made my mouth water. All that sexy ink was covered — all except for the ones you could see on his hands, and the skull tattoo on the right side of his neck. God, he was beautiful. He'd always been beautiful.

The passenger door opened and closed.

He wasn't alone.

A woman climbed out as well. She was tall, had long, dark hair, serious curves. Her dress was short and showed off her rack and long legs. She looked like a runway model.

Everything in me coiled tight. I hated her instantly. Jesus, I didn't want to see this. Then why couldn't take my eyes off the nightmare in front of me? Why couldn't I tear my eyes away as Neco walked around and swung his arm over her shoulders, leading her to the main entrance of his building. Her hand slid down his back and she grabbed his ass, and as much it made me want to hurl, I couldn't blame her. Who wouldn't go home with him if he asked? I couldn't imagine any woman turning him down, ever.

Neco stopped and turned to her then, and I watched in horror as he dipped his head.

He was going to kiss her.

My body jerked back, like I'd been struck by lightning. There was no way Neco could've see me, could even be aware of my presence, but his eyes lifted at that moment, and locked on me, like he was seeking me out through the shadows. I held my breath, not moving a muscle. Don't panic. He can't see you. There's no way he can see you.

The kiss Neco was about to plant on supermodel girl's lips suddenly veered off and instead landed on her forehead.

Heh.

His "date" frowned up at him.

Maybe she had onion breath. I started to grin, thought he might actually send her on her way. But of course, I was wrong. He grabbed her hand again and a few seconds later, they'd disappeared inside his building.

My smile vanished and I stood there for several minutes after, heart racing.

Why the hell had I come here? It was like the universe had sent me, giving me a great big slap upside the head, telling me to move the fuck on.

I spun and headed for home.

The universe had a point. Maybe it was time I listened.

CHAPTER 2

Neco

I pounded up the stairs from my office. I'd been working on cracking a security system all morning. The King Agency crew had a retrieval tonight, namely stealing a big-ticket item back from the thieves that took it in the first place so the insurance company didn't have to pay out, which also meant a little breaking and entering. Nothing new, but the house they needed to get into was like Fort Knox, high tech all the way, and it had taken longer to get in the back door of the system than usual. I cracked it of course. Always did. The men at the agency specialized in getting around the law when it was required. It helped that we had the kinds of pasts that made us perfect for this kind of work. Criminal pasts. A bunch of ex-street thugs that had finally wised the hell up enough to go legit — well, at least that's how it appeared.

We did things our own way, and that wouldn't ever change.

The reception was quiet when I hit the top of the stairs, the only sound the music Ruby had streaming from her computer. Some alt shit that she loved. Like always, my eyes were drawn to her. I'd given up fighting it. Not looking at her would be as easy as asking the sun not to rise. If she was in the same room, I knew it, instantly. Her every move, no matter how subtle — shit, her every damn breath. No matter how much she pissed me off and made me fucking insane. Which she did constantly.

Jesus, I'd even thought I'd seen her last night, outside my place. It'd thrown me. I hadn't been able to get her out of my head after that. I'd had a hot, willing woman begging for it, and in the end, I'd sent her packing. I'd already fucked enough women pretending they were Ruby. Last night I couldn't face it. I'd lain awake hard as iron, tossing and turning, refusing to even rub one out, desperate to get her out of my damn head. It hadn't worked.

Which meant today I was tired and horny and pissed the fuck off.

My gaze slid over her from head to toe. Her back was to me, standing at the copy machine, straightening a stack of papers. Her ass jiggled as she worked and danced. Shit. I gritted my teeth and lifted my gaze. She'd cut her hair; it was up to her shoulders now. Her hair was thick and black, with that ever-changing stripe of color down the side of her heart-shaped face. Today it was purple.

She turned to me, blue eyes connecting with mine through her black-rimmed glasses, and I felt a gut-punch. It'd been like that since the first time she'd knocked on my window, scared as hell, tears running down her face — in need of a safe place. I'd been that for her, for the longest time. I never thought that would ever change. I'd been wrong. So much was different now.

I was different now — my soul was a hell of a lot blacker, that's for damned sure.

Her eyes widened a fraction, like they always did when she looked at me, lips parting slightly, as though her breath had been pushed from her lungs. There was an innocence I sensed inside her that called to me, called on every one of my possessive and protective instincts. Something she used against me whenever she got the chance.

It made my dick hard every fucking time. Maybe that made me a sick motherfucker, but I'd never pretended to be a saint. I was far from it.

But my dick would have to deal, because Ruby wasn't for me. I won't deny I wanted her. I wanted her in a way that bordered on obsession. Who was I kidding? I was obsessed. But we weren't right for each other. We were both marked by our childhoods, by what followed, and in a way, that made the pair of us as compatible as oil and water. Or more like fire and gasoline.

Being with her like that would only bring out the worst version of myself. A side of me I never wanted her to see.

Today was her twenty-fifth birthday. I never forgot, though I pretended I did. Neither of us needed a reminder of the past, of the day it all went to hell.

I held her gaze, forcing a look of indifference. Whatever it took to keep her at arm's length. "Are the rest of the guys here?"

Her head tilted to the side and those blue eyes narrowed in defiance, bright and terrifyingly beautiful, lighting her up from the inside. "Nice to see you, too, Neco. Surly as always, I see."

Always with the attitude. It'd piss me off if it didn't turn me the fuck on so much. And today, the way she looked, that pink sundress, showing her inked-up arms, shapely legs, nice little peak of cleavage — I wasn't in the mood to play her games. I was never in the mood to play her games. Unfortunately, Ruby didn't give a shit what I wanted.

"You have a good weekend?" she tacked on when I remained quiet.

I dipped my chin and waited for the blast to follow. We didn't just shoot the shit. Asking about weekends was not something we did, not anymore. Our interactions now consisted of her getting herself into shit and me bailing her out. Which meant she was about to do or say something to piss me off.

"You?" I could fake the "let's be friends" deal when I had to. And it was fake, we both knew it. We hadn't been friends since Ruby's sixteenth birthday. We tried to pretend for a while, but it never was the same after that night. I sure as hell knew why being her friend wasn't something I could be anymore. I could only assume she knew as well, going by her constant attempts to get under my skin and push me to breaking point.

Her lips curled up. They were soft and full, and looked even fuller with her dark lipstick. "I got some knew ink," she said.

My gut tightened. "Yeah?" I swallowed, hard. Ruby had creamy, smooth, pale skin, and she liked to decorate it. The ink she chose was always colorful, feminine. I'd imagined tracing every tattoo with my tongue ... a lot. I had a vivid memory of when she got her first one. I'd taken her to my guy, my present for her sixteenth birthday. I hadn't wanted her to do it, but I knew if I didn't take her, she'd just go and get it done behind my back. At least I knew she was going to someone I trusted. I'd watched while the guy inked the Superman logo on her hip. I'd questioned her choice and she'd looked up at me and smiled.

This is you. You're my Superman. Now you'll always be with me.

I slammed the shutters down on the memory. I did not need to be thinking about that night, what happened after, how everything between us went to shit. But it had been getting harder lately. Especially after the hell Hunter had gone through with his woman and kid a few months ago. Since Lulu had been kidnapped, almost raped, I'd been struggling with this thing between Ruby and I. Found my mind going back there, to that time, more than I wanted.

Ruby moved from out from behind her desk, expression too goddamn innocent. "You want to see it?"

My dick jumped behind my zipper, and my mouth felt glued shut. I needed to tell her no, or at least shake my head and walk away. Instead, I just stood there, trying to work out where it was, what it was.

Resting her pert little ass against her desk, she reached down, and pinching the bottom of her dress between her fingers, started to inch it higher. With the glasses she wore, she looked like a sexy schoolteacher. Ruby had her own style, her own unique look, and it suited the hell out of her.

My mouth went dry as she revealed inch after inch of creamy, bare thigh. Move. Get the fuck out of there. But my goddamn feet stayed glued to the carpet. It was on the same side she'd gotten the Superman symbol, and suddenly I was desperate to see it again. The last time I'd seen it, she'd been on the table getting it done.

But her dress stopped high on her thigh and the strength of my disappointment at not seeing it again made no sense.

"What do you think?" she asked.

There was a simple pale pink flower, small and delicate on the front of her thigh, high enough that I caught a glimpse of the edge of her yellow panties. I wanted to wring her goddamn neck for making me feel this way. I wanted to walk over there, shove her back on the desk, and give her what she wanted from me, hard enough the fucking walls shook.

"It's a cherry blossom." She tilted her head to the side again, looking down at it, thumb lightly brushing over her skin. "It's a symbol, to me anyway, of moving on, of new starts. I'm not sure it's finished yet, I might add some script."

Moving on? What the fuck did that mean? My phone vibrated in my pocket. I checked the screen.

Hunter: Stop looking up Ruby's skirt and get your ass down here.

The guy was obviously watching us through the surveillance camera in his office. Hunter King, my best friend since we were snot-nosed kids, started the King Agency with his brother Van several years ago. While Hunter did a stretch in prison for a crime he didn't commit, I joined the crew. Shoving my phone back in my pocket, and refusing to look back at Ruby who was still standing in front of her desk, gaze burning into me, I strode to the internal security door. I entered the code, and headed to Hunter's office. Van had an office down here as well, along with a break room and other rooms the guys used if they needed a place to work.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Broken Rebel"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Sherilee Gray.
Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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