Unbroken: A Novella (Loveless, Texas) Read online

  UNBROKEN

  A Loveless, Texas novella

  Jay Crownover

  New York Boston

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer M. Voorhees

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

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  First ebook edition: May 2019

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  ISBN: 978-1-5387-3201-4 (ebook)

  E3-20190415-DA-NF

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue: Crew

  Chapter 1: Della

  Chapter 2: Crew

  Chapter 3: Della

  Chapter 4: Crew

  Chapter 5: Della

  Chapter 6: Crew

  Chapter 7: Della

  Chapter 8: Crew

  Chapter 9: Della

  Chapter 10: Crew

  Chapter 11: Della

  Chapter 12: Crew

  Chapter 13: Della

  Epilogue: Crew

  Author’s Note

  Discover More Jay Crownover

  All the Places to Find Me

  A Preview of “Justified”

  About the Author

  Looking for more cowboys? Forever brings the heat with these sexy studs.

  To my mom, who pretty much came up with the entire premise of this book on a flight home from Paris. I’m pretty sure she always wanted me to bring a cowboy home instead of a punk rocker.

  Prologue

  Crew

  My ribs were no match for the set of heavy brass knuckles.

  “Son of a bitch,” I wheezed out.

  I didn’t hear the bones crack, but I felt them and nearly puked when blinding pain shot through my body from the blow. My eyes watered, and it was a struggle to breathe, but I managed not to face-plant on the cement in front of me.

  “You ever been kicked by a horse? It feels almost the same.” How I managed to hold on to the sarcasm while my whole side was on fire was a mystery. But I wasn’t ever the type to let anyone else know they had the upper hand.

  The cement floor in the basement of the bar I shouldn’t have been at had questionable stains scattered from wall to wall. It looked like it was made to specifically withstand the bloodshed that came with the kind of beating I was currently taking. The man wielding the old-fashioned knuckles pulled back his fist and lined up his next shot with my face. I couldn’t suppress the shudder when his arm started to move toward me. I knew my night was going to go to shit when they tied me to a chair, hands zip-tied behind my back. There was no way to block the blow or defend myself from the upcoming pain.

  I’d suffered more than one broken nose over the course of my rodeo career. I’d had my head knocked around by an excited bronco and narrowly missed being stepped on by a pissed-off horse or bull on the regular. I’d always been lucky none of the damage was too serious and that I healed fast. But it was a known fact that everyone’s luck eventually ran out. I’d been borrowing against mine for so long it was no surprise I was about to have my skull caved in by a guy who looked like a scary combination of The Rock and Vin Diesel. I’d been heading here, to this exact spot, this exact situation, for months.

  I was a risk-taker, an adrenaline junkie, and a gambler by nature. I chased a rush, followed after danger and excitement like an eager puppy. My older brother wanted to save the world; I was the one who set it on fire. The need for a thrill, the longing for a challenge was what led me to the rodeo. I was a Central Texas boy through and through. I knew how to ride a horse almost as early as I knew how to walk. So it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when I dropped out of high school and started chasing the amateur rodeo circuit in Texas. It also wasn’t a shock to anyone that I had an instinctive knack for staying on the back of a twisting, turning beast that wanted nothing more than to drop me on my very fine ass. I found my calling and stuck with it, broken bones and all, until I reached pro level.

  But in true Lawton fashion, once I was on top, the only way for me to go from there was down. My fall started slowly at first. I had too much money, and too many people putting tempting but no-good things directly in my path. The spike of excitement from breaking in a bucking, writhing bronc had started to wane, my senses numbed from too much booze and too many late nights with willing women. I needed something more, a different edge to walk precariously along.

  When I slipped and fell, it was no surprise I’d landed with a thud, here in this dive bar. If you asked anyone who still loved me, this had been my destination for a long time coming. I forced myself to keep my eyes open. I might be a screwup, but I was a screwup who faced my repercussions head-on. There was no hiding from this. I was a little pissed that the last thing I was going to see before my face got smashed in was this snarling behemoth, not a pretty girl, or a blazing southern sunset. Those were things I wanted to remember.

  The air whistled a sharp warning as the other man’s tree trunk–like arm continued to swing toward my head. Sweat dripped into my eyes and down my temples as I tried to hold perfectly still and accept my fate stoically. Even though my older brother, Case, wasn’t here, I still wanted him to be proud of me for taking what was coming my way like a man. As much as I resented him, he’s always been my hero, the person I looked up to the most. Case was an annoying bastard, always questioning my motives and my integrity, but that never stopped me from trying to win his approval. I told myself, if Case were the one on his knees in a dingy basement out in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn’t make a sound. So, I was determined to suffer through this in absolute silence, no matter how many bones were broken or how many teeth I ended up losing.

  I braced for the impact, but right before the rings of the glinting, metal knuckles made contact, a hand reached out and stopped the momentum of the swing. The big guy grunted in annoyance but quietly stepped back as another man, this one dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit, stepped in front of me. I let out a pained breath and let my head fall forward. I felt sweat drip slowly down my temples as it mixed with blood. I knew this was far from over, but I was taking the reprieve to collect myself.

  “Hello, cowboy. Seems like you’re having a rough day.” The voice was mocking and smooth. I hated it.

  Looking up into the calm and completely unaffected face of Dante Vargas, I wondered if the brass knuckles would’ve been easier to take than whatever pu
nishment the soulless gangster was bound to hand down. He was the man I owed over half a million dollars. I made good money; my problem was holding on to it. I spent it as fast as it came in, so while coming up with that sum shouldn’t be much of a problem, it was in fact a huge problem. I didn’t have the money, Dante knew that, but he let me keep making bets anyway. He had me over a barrel, and we both knew it. This beatdown was nothing more than a friendly reminder that he owned my ass, and the time was coming for me to make good on whatever scheme he had in mind.

  I couldn’t remember what I placed my first bet on, but I did recall the buzz that ran through me when I won a truckload of cash for nothing more than a lucky guess. I had money to spend, and it was a vice that was easy to hide from prying eyes, both the public’s and my family’s. I convinced myself it was harmless fun. But before I knew it, I was so deep in debt I lost my condo in Dallas, my truck, the entire college fund I’d been working on saving up for my sister, and my great-granddaddy’s pocket watch, which was pretty much the only thing my old man had ever given to me.

  “You lost your cowboy hat somewhere along the way, Crew.” Vargas’s tone was lightly sardonic and sent a shiver down my spine. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to flinch when he slid the blade of a very sharp knife right next to the skin on my wrists to cut through the zip ties keeping my hands behind me. He was setting me free, but there was also an implied warning in having the blade so close to my unprotected skin.

  I tilted my chin defiantly and narrowed my eyes at him. The enforcer standing behind him let out a low growl of warning, and I wanted nothing more than to flip him off, but I refrained. “Must have fallen off when your boys hustled me into your limo.”

  I never went anywhere without a black Stetson on my head. It was part of my brand, a trademark of my public image, and a security blanket to hide behind whenever anyone tried to get close enough to look behind the mask I wore so effortlessly.

  “That’s a shame. It was a nice hat.” Dante smiled at me, and the expression made my skin crawl. “You lose a lot of nice things, don’t you, Crew?”

  I grunted in response and tried to focus on his words and not on the pain radiating from my side. “I think you know the answer to that question, Vargas, seeing as you’re the one who’s taken most of those nice things away from me.”

  “Ahhh…well, that’s not exactly accurate, now is it? You took risks, and they didn’t pay off. That’s hardly my fault. Unfortunately, you’ve got nothing left of value to barter with, unless you want to talk about your sister’s bar back in your hometown. She seems to be turning a tidy little profit down there, and I’m always on the lookout for legitimate business opportunities to get my hands on.” The way Dante watched for my reaction when he mentioned my sister should have been an indication he was prepared for me to react violently.

  Which I did.

  Cracked ribs and bruised body be damned. I was on my feet in a heartbeat, reaching for his throat. I forgot all about the brute with the brass knuckles until they smashed into my cheek and sent me flying backward onto my ass. The cement made for a rough landing, and the coppery scent of blood made my head spin, but I still managed to bark out, “Stay away from my family, Vargas.” Especially my sister. She was the only one who still tolerated me most days.

  I swiped at the blood on my face and narrowed my eyes at Dante as he started to pace back and forth in front of me with his hands laced together behind his back.

  “Don’t give me a reason to go anywhere near them, Crew. I have a way for you to earn back some of the money you owe me. The key word is some. Even if you do this, you’re still going to have to come up with the balance, plus interest.” He grinned at me again, and there was no mistaking the malicious gleam in his gaze. We both knew there was no way in hell I would ever be able to come up with that kind of money while the outrageous amount of interest continued to accrue. I was never going to get out of this mess. The hole was so deep and dark I was no longer sure which way was up and which was down.

  Sadly, this was a situation I’d created, and now the only thing to do was ride it out. It was a good thing I’d made a name for myself. Being able to hold on when the ride was brutal and rough was a rare talent. I knew today was coming. I even smiled at my last event and put up a charming, excited front when my new, unexpected endorsement deal had been announced to the media. I played the role of cocky, confident cowboy to perfection, acting like I was untouchable and unstoppable, all while knowing as soon as I stepped out of the arena in Vegas, it was time to pay up. Even with the endorsements and the second-place win for the night, there was no money. The debt was so much bigger than I was.

  “What do you want me to do?” I pretended my voice didn’t crack when I asked the question, and I acted like my heart didn’t fall out of my chest when Dante answered.…

  Chapter 1

  Della

  I sneezed and tried to hide the gesture behind my hand. The woman sitting next to me gave me a dirty look and turned her nose up in my direction. I rolled my eyes in response and sneezed again. I couldn’t care less what someone dressed in painted-on denim—covered in bejeweled embellishments—and a skintight plaid shirt thought of me. I sincerely doubted this woman had ever been to Fifth Avenue and suspected she couldn’t spell haute couture. We were part of two very different worlds, and I resented the fact I was currently being forced to spend a sweltering afternoon in hers. Especially now that I realized I was allergic to straw, or maybe it was one of the animals that were making the arena smell like the inside of a barn? The closest I’d ever been to a horse before today was when one of my ex-boyfriends thought it would be romantic to take a ride around Central Park at Christmastime. I didn’t remember sneezing my damn face off then, but that was probably because I was freezing and too busy fending off wandering hands. That particular guy was an ex for more than one reason, not just the typical one where I decided I was bored and walked away.

  I sniffed again and turned when the bedazzled woman cleared her throat and wordlessly offered me a tissue. I took it with a weak grin and wiped my eyes. I was sure I had mascara smeared all over my face, along with a red nose. Dust covering my Louboutins. I was wholly unprepared and overdressed for a rodeo. I should have known my usual wardrobe wouldn’t cut it in this kind of environment, but I’d been wearing designer duds and sky-high heels with an expertly applied face as armor for so long, I felt naked and exposed without the expensive trappings.

  “Thank you. I think I’m allergic to…everything.” I blinked my watery eyes and noticed the woman’s return smile was much more genuine than mine.

  “Yeah. You actually look like this is your first rodeo.” She didn’t bother to hide a snicker at my expense.

  I nodded miserably. “It is.” And it would be my last if I had anything to say about it.

  The only reason my ass was parked in this arena was because my father’s million-dollar investment was about to take my dream, my precious baby, my future, and my stake in my family’s company under. I wasn’t going to let that happen without putting up a fight. I’d never been on board with the plan to sign Crew Lawton as the face of our company’s new men’s skin care line. This product launch had been my idea, years of personal investment and work. It was set to be the project that would finally force my father to see I could take over the business and move our brand toward what was modern and happening now. I was targeting upwardly mobile men who were out to make an impression in both the boardroom and the bedroom. I envisioned suave and sophisticated gentlemen in Tom Ford suits who wined and dined heiresses and A-list actresses. Nowhere in any of my plans was there room for a man like Crew Lawton. And there definitely wasn’t a rodeo with horses, bulls, poop, and mud anywhere on my vision boards.

  “They’re a good time, and you can’t beat the scenery.” The woman gave me a knowing look and inclined her chin toward the dirt-filled center of the floor in front of us. A blond man, tall and whipcord lean, was getting tossed around like a ragdoll on the
back of a beautiful, rust-colored horse. The people seated around me seemed to be holding their collective breath as his body twisted and arched with every wild move the big animal made.

  I couldn’t see his face because my eyes were still itchy and watery, but I saw enough to determine the scenery was indeed no hardship. Unfortunately, the scenery was what got me into this mess in the first place.

  I’d spent enough hours on social media stalking the man to know that there was no denying Crew Lawton was ridiculously good-looking. His pictures showed he was the perfect kind of cowboy—all rough and rugged in an effortless sort of way. He had the quintessential bad-boy image down pat. His dark hair was just a little too long. His chiseled face with its razor-sharp jawline and electric blue eyes were the stuff of secret daydreams and grown-up fantasies. His face, and the incredible body that went with it, were definitely worth a million dollars; they just weren’t right for selling my products. I was searching for James Bond levels of sophistication, yet I’d ended up with someone oozing raw masculinity and in-your-face sex appeal. Said sex appeal might work for women in the market for products to spoil the men in their lives. But I was banking on a target audience of men who had the desire, and the money, to buy my line to use in their everyday routines. Guys like Crew Lawton did not care about fine lines and wrinkles. He did not obsess over the sustainability of the ingredients in his body wash and shampoo. And there was no way in hell anyone could ever convince me he had a regular grooming routine he felt lost without. He was so far from the man I was trying to sell to it wasn’t even funny, and again I wondered how my father could be so clueless.

  Since the woman next to me was being nice and offered a diversion from how miserable and awkward I felt, I did my best to make small talk with her.

  “Are you from around here?” I asked with fake interest.