Broken Boy: A Dark Gay Menage Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Broken Boy

  Loki Renard

  Copyright Loki Renard 2018

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover image by Milan Stojanovic / Design by Loki Renard

  This is a M/M/M adult book for adults.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  1

  AIDEN

  Running and throwing up wasn't easy.

  Withdrawals were kicking in hardcore, making him sweat profusely. He was hot and then he was cold, his eyes darting around the forest as he stared down the dangerous shadows that rose and fell all around him, taking animal, human, even demon form before turning back into bushes and shrubs.

  Six miles east of the rehab facility he'd recently escaped, Aiden Taylor-Chapman was running for his life, hounded by memories and disembodied threats that found him wherever he hid.

  They had been chasing him for weeks. Every time he drew ahead of them, they'd close the distance again. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Couldn't relax. Even rehab hadn't offered an escape. It was supposed to be secure, but he'd felt the eyes of the hunters on him even there.

  Something cracked nearby. A footstep that sounded like a gunshot to his panicked mind. He started to run, his arms and legs pumping as fast as they could go.

  It wasn't fast enough.

  It was too late to escape.

  All his attempt at flight did was bring the chase to a head as those who had been stalking him burst into action.

  He couldn't see them properly. His gaze was foggy and the light was bad, but they could see him. They came through the forest, one on either side, flanking him. He made out their great muscled forms, their flashing eyes, moonlight gleaming off jet black leather and mesh.

  They shouted at him, words he couldn’t hear through the blood rushing in his ears. He yelled back, cursing them for all he was worth.

  A tackle hit him hard, big arms around his waist. They took him to the ground where he got a face full of forest. Bitter leaf mold filled his mouth, the taste of dirt sickening against his tongue.

  He screamed incoherently as his hands were pulled behind his back then secured with cable ties. It all happened so quickly he didn't have time to fight back. He couldn’t protect himself. He couldn’t even see as a black hood was pulled over his head and he was lifted up, thrown over someone's shoulder and carried away.

  2

  STEVEN

  Steven looked dispassionately at the man on the mattress. He had a junkie's physique, and he'd been sick three times since they captured him. He kept mumbling and swearing and falling in and out of consciousness. Even when he was awake, he was a million miles away, his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and dirt, his blue eyes glazed over.

  “Hold still,” Rob said, his tone soothing and calm. The kid was barely conscious, shaking all over, from fear or withdrawal, Steve couldn't say.

  Robert settled their charge in the recovery position, wrapped a blanket around him, tucked him in tight with one arm outside for the IV. He used a couple of long belts to strap the young man down, wrapping one around his crooked knees, the other over the middle of his chest. They weren't tight, but they'd stop him from thrashing around and hurting himself if he started to seize.

  Steven watched with a sneer on his lips as Rob settled the young man's head onto a pillow. Kid didn't deserve a pillow. Kid wasn't really a kid either. He was thirty. Old enough to know a hell of a lot better. He was still younger than Steven's forty years and Rob's forty two though, which added up to make him their junior in a lot of respects

  In spite of his disdain for the client, Steve liked watching Robert work. Rob was tough as nails. He'd done some dirty work in his time, but he could be as tender as he was rough. As Rob crouched over their client, Steve noticed he had to push his sandy brown hair out of his eyes several times. Needed a haircut. Steve made a mental note to tease him about that until he did it.

  “Have you been in touch with Mason?” Steven asked the question hopefully, thinking they'd be able to hand their captive off sooner rather than later.

  “Mhm. He wants us to hold him. Rehab him.”

  Steven dropped his head and sighed deeply. “Babysit him, you mean.”

  “You signed up to be a bodyguard.”

  “For high profile figures, not miserable little junkie boys.”

  “That's Aiden Taylor-Chapman,” Robert said, standing up. “He's worth more than most of the country put together. It doesn't get much more high profile than that.”

  “He's worth fuck all given Bobby Cornoli wants his head on a stick,” Steve snorted. “There's packs of his men out looking for this guy.”

  “Well they're not going to find him, are they? Because we've got him.”

  Steve shut up. It wasn't worth arguing about, but he wasn't happy. This was not the sort of noble pursuit he had signed up for when he first joined MM security. Twenty years of military service had left him in his early forties and without any real meaning. Civilian life wasn't an option. He couldn't stand it. This work was about as good as it got for him, but most days even this wasn't enough.

  Rob, on the other hand, could have fitted in anywhere. He was more easy going, and being a medic meant he was always useful.

  There wasn't as much call for ex-Marine hard operatives like Steve. The police would have been an option, but he’d heard that was mostly low level domestic work and Steve wasn't sure he had the self control to attend the sort of calls cops did without taking matters into his own hands.

  Working for another ex-Marine, Mason Malone had seemed like a perfect solution. Mason gave them enough leeway to be effective, didn't cramp their style. He paid for a job to be done and they did it. Most of the jobs had been interesting and worthwhile. Until this one. This one plain pissed hi
m off.

  “He needs a shower. He stinks.”

  “You offering to give him one?”

  Steve shot a scowl at Rob. “Yeah. Pass. Hard pass.”

  “I guess it's my job then,” Rob smirked. “I'll do it later, when he wakes up.”

  3

  ROB

  Catching Aiden Taylor-Chapman had been the easy part. He and Steven had taken their charge to an apartment in Brooklyn. It was the perfect place to hold a captive, though they usually used it as a safe house for Mason Malone's clientele. It was a very well appointed apartment, comfortable in every respect. They'd made some adjustments for Aiden's benefit, starting with removing every bit of furniture in his room other than the mattress on the floor.

  Junkies could get messy.

  Aside from that, the room was already soundproofed and it was internal, so there were no windows. The only way out was through the door which lead into the living area, an open kitchen / lounge with clear lines of sight.

  “I'm going to take a shower,” Steve said as they left Aiden to rest for a bit. He was more or less out of medical danger now. It was just a matter of waiting for him to come around.

  “I'll keep an eye on our boy.”

  “Thanks.”

  Steve’s relief at being able to get away from Aiden was obvious. He was not the nurturing sort.

  Rob settled in on the leather couch. He could see the door to Aiden's room from there, and planned to check in on him in a few minutes.

  As he watched television, his thoughts drifted to his partner of a half dozen years. Steve would have hated to hear it, but he was pretty cute when he was angry.

  He was two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and aggression, perfect for this or practically any job – besides caretaking. Usually his aloof act impressed the client. Rob didn't know how it was going to pan out with Aiden Taylor-Chapman. That boy had a reputation for being a class-A pain in the ass. Mason had given them plenty of warning about that.

  Unlike Steve, Rob wasn't bothered by this job. It was something different. A change from following business people around. Most of the time they were more decoration than real muscle. They always did their job, but there was something about helping someone who really needed to be helped that made him feel like this was actually worthwhile.

  Mason Malone had the boy's sister. From all accounts she was a handful too – and the Cornoli boys had taken a crack at her at her place. The young mob were royally pissed. And it was all because of Aiden. He'd managed to bring a shitstorm down on himself and his sister like Rob hadn't seen in a while. He was curious to see what would happen when he woke up. Would he live up to his reputation as a hellion?

  “HEY!”

  Almost on cue, a shout emanated from the bedroom.

  Rob rose to his feet and made his way in. Aiden had woken up and pulled the belts off him, not to mention yanked the IV. He was sitting up, crosslegged, pale, and pissed.

  “What the fuck is this?” He held the leather in his hand. “And who the fuck are you?”

  His tone was educated, strident, and arrogant. Steve was going to have a field day with him.

  “My name is Robert,” Rob said. “I'm looking after you.”

  “Oh yeah? You are? You have a weird way of showing it, don't you? How did I get here?”

  “We picked you up a few hours ago,” Rob said. “And we brought you here for your safety. We're working for Mason Malone.”

  “Oh.”

  That news seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails.

  “Well, thanks, I guess.”

  “You're welcome,” Rob said. “You hungry? Want to eat?”

  “I'm uhm... not hungry,” Aiden said. “But I do need a little something something.” He waggled his brows suggestively.

  “There are no drugs in this apartment, nor will there be,” Rob said. “But there's food.”

  “Fuck food.”

  Aiden turned petulant almost instantly. Rob would have been angrier with him if it weren't for how utterly shitty Aiden looked. There were dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks were sunken, he looked like hell.

  “You need to eat. I'll bring you something.”

  4

  AIDEN

  There was no fucking way Aiden was going to eat. He wasn't hungry, for starters. All he was really aware of was the craving. It was in every fucking cell. He needed to get something inside him. Didn't really matter what. H would be perfect, but he'd take anything.

  The moment the guy left, Aiden got up. He shambled toward the door, his joints stiff and aching, his head pounding. He did not feel good. Not at all.

  He opened the door and looked out into the apartment. He didn't recognize it, but that didn't bother him. He was used to waking up in weird places. It was nice enough, some couches and shit, whatever. The guy who said he'd get food was doing just that, working at a stove with his back toward Aiden.

  The front door was pretty obviously not too far away, so Aiden made his way toward it, moving quietly on socked feet. They'd taken his shoes. He didn't care. There were always more shoes in the world.

  Before he could get to the door, muscles stopped him.

  A wild set of washboard abs suddenly appeared sparkling with a few remnants of water. To his glazed eyes the torso seemingly floated in mid air until he forced them to focus and he realized that a guy was standing in front of him, a towel wrapped around his waist, a scowl on his handsome face. “What are you doing out of your room?

  “Uhhh... what ever the fuck I want?”

  The answer didn't make the muscle man any happier. He looked like he could have been one of the bad guys in an old 80's action flick. He had absolutely zero hair, but the dark pattern beneath his scalp told Aiden that he still had all of it, which probably meant he had it shaved to look tough. It was working. Dark brows hung low over brown eyes, framing the glower perfectly.

  “Get back in there.”

  “I'm going out,” Aiden said, ignoring the guy. He was hot, but sex could come later, if that was going to be on the agenda. Right now, he needed his fix.

  “You're not going anywhere.” The broad chest planted itself in front of him, blocking his way. A thick fist rose, one finger extended to point where Aiden had just come from. “Go back to your room. Now.”

  Just who the fuck did this guy think he was?

  Now the kitchen guy was paying attention. He came over and they all looked at one another. Rob. Was that the kitchen guy's name? Yeah. He looked like the most reasonable out of the two of them. He wasn't quite as tall as Muscles, but not many people were. That guy was a fucking behemoth. Rob was still bigger than Aiden, who had never broken 5'7, much to his chagrin. Being short was a fucking curse, especially now with these guys who were about half a foot or more taller, and a hell of a lot wider. It was like being confronted with a wall of man.

  “You should go back and lay down,” Rob said. “I'm getting you something to eat, and...”

  “Yeah, I don't give a fuck about that,” Aiden said bluntly. “I'm getting out of here.”

  “You're not going anywhere,” Muscles said abruptly. He had the fucking nerve to look irritated, as if Aiden was upsetting him just by wanting to go somewhere and do something.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, am I in prison?” Aiden cut his eyes at Muscles.

  “Yeah,” Muscles said. “You are. So get back in your room and do as you're told.”

  Aiden's temper started to really flare. He didn't like being told what to do at the best of times, and this was definitely not the best of fucking times. His stomach was starting to churn and the sweating was getting worse. He needed a fix, and he was going to get it.

  “Out of my way,” he said, trying to push through them.

  It didn't work. They reached out as a pair, one hand on each of his shoulders, and held him back. Aiden found himself being relatively gently, but firmly propelled back to the room he'd started in. Rob followed him in, Muscles stayed outside.

  “You don't und
erstand,” Aiden said, attempting to make an appeal to reason. “I need to get out of here. I'm sick and I need my, uhm... medicine.”

  “I know you're sick, and I know why you're sick,” Rob said. He had calm hazel eyes that were much more sympathetic than Muscles' hard dark stare. “The next few days will be rough for you, but once it all works its way out of your system, you'll feel a lot better.”

  “I don't want it to work its way out. I want more.”

  “That's not an option.”

  Aiden looked at Rob, really looked at him, not because he was interested in him as a person, but because it was obvious that this guy was going to be the one he had to manipulate to get out of here. The man was wearing a black cable knit sweater and khakis, preppy, sort of, but there was a harder edge to him that suggested military. Unlike Muscles who had no hair, this guy had a bit too much, shaggy and hanging into his hazel green gray eyes. He said he worked for Mason, so probably a bodyguard. Working for money.

  Good.

  Wherever money was an issue, Aiden could win.

  “I'll pay you,” Aiden said. “Whatever Mason's giving you, I'll double it. Just bring me what I want. I'll even let you keep me here. Just make sure I get my stuff.”

  “No deal,” Rob said calmly.

  “I'm rich,” Aiden said bluntly. “A lot richer than Mason Malone ever could be.”

  “Word is you've been cut off,” Rob replied. “And even if you could pay me, the answer would still be no, sunshine.”