Ruthless (Fractured Farrells: A Damaged Billionaire Series Book 1) Read online

  by

  Mallory Crowe

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Fonts used with permission from Microsoft.

  Copyright © 2016 by Mallory Crowe

  Mallory Crowe (2016-3-31). Ruthless (Fractured Farrells Book One)

  Want to get more FREE from Mallory?

  Sign up for the author’s New Releases mailing list and get a free copy of Part One through Three of the Cross Falls Saga AND a free bonus scene showing April and Sam’s first meeting years before the events in Teaching The Boss!

  Click here to get started: www.mallorycrowe.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  RECKLESS Sneak Peek!

  Check out all of Mallory Crowe's Books!

  Jean stopped in her tracks when she saw the man in front of her. He didn’t belong here.

  He met her eyes and smiled at her, a quick friendly grin of a stranger who just wanted to get a seat and a cup of warm coffee, but it took a second for Jean to snap herself out of her daze.

  She was used to strangers at the busy truck stop and twenty-four-hour diner where she worked, but something about this guy had all the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She realized he was still waiting for her to say something. “Have a seat wherever.” She motioned around the small seating area with the pot of coffee she was carrying. “I’ll be right there with a menu.”

  The man nodded before he headed to the last table in the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. Even though she knew she’d stared for too long, Jean couldn’t tear her gaze away, trying to figure out what about him threw up all her inner alarms. He was dressed casually enough in black jeans, boots, and t-shirt. But he moved differently than the other truckers and plant workers who wandered in during the day. Usually exhausted from long shifts or sleepless nights on the road, the normal crowd would shuffle or stumble to a table.

  This stranger moved gracefully, as though in control of every muscle. And his clothes, although casual, weren’t dirty or ripped or worn looking at all.

  His face was clean-shaven, and his short brown hair was shorn in a severe cut. Not the scraggily manes of the guys she was used to serving.

  She shook her head and forced herself to focus on her own job, turning away from the handsome stranger to top off the coffee cups of the two truckers eating the largest breakfast the small roadside truck stop served.

  As soon as she had them taken care of, she pulled a menu out from behind the checkout stand and walked over to the stranger’s table. “Hi there.” She smiled, trying to make sure none of her curiosity showed in her voice. “Can I start you out with anything to drink?”

  “Just water today, Jean.”

  She frowned at his use of her name but then she remembered that she wore a nametag just above her right breast. The final piece to her customary uniform of black shorts and a black t-shirt. Now that she thought about it, she was dressed pretty similar to him. Except his pristine, soft-looking shirt probably didn’t have remnants of powdered egg on it.

  “Coming right up.” She gave him a quick smile before she started to turn away, expecting him to pull out his phone or turn to the menu in dismissal as all her other customers did.

  But he stared intently at her. No smile, no annoyance. It was as though he studied her for something.

  She opened her mouth to ask him what he wanted but stopped herself. He was just a weirdo passing through. No need to find out what made him tick. Finally she turned away to work on getting him his drink. As she passed by the other trucker sitting alone at a table, Dickie, one of the three plant workers at the only other occupied table, reached up a hand and snapped his fingers at her.

  Jean forced herself to hide her annoyed scowl. Dickie liked it when she got annoyed at his antics. Instead, she turned on her honed waitress smile as she headed over to his table. “Hey, Dickie. Anything I can get you?”

  Dickie and his two buddies, Justin and Brent, were regulars here. They all worked night shifts at the local steel galvanizing plant up the road and liked to top things off with a breakfast before heading home. Some days they were all too tired to cause much trouble, but it had been apparent from the second Dickie and his crew walked in that they were extra rowdy today. Which meant it was probably their day off tomorrow and they were celebrating, and they wanted to do it over grits and sausage with her.

  Yay for her.

  “Yeah, sweetness, can you get me a refill?” He held up his beer.

  The entire idea of breakfast food with beer churned her stomach, but it was the end of the day for these guys so she didn’t judge. She did judge them for calling her “sweetness.” Back when she’d first gotten the job here at Striker’s Truck Stop, she’d asked a few of the regulars to just call her Jean, but listening wasn’t one of Dickie’s strong suits.

  But this was a fight she’d already lost one too many times, so instead of pointing out how well he lived up to his namesake, she leaned forward to grab the beer, trying not to notice that he held it just a bit farther than necessary so she had to lean over extra far to grab the glass, giving him a better view than he deserved of her breasts pressed against her t-shirt.

  A disgusted shiver went through her as she snatched the glass away, her calm, happy facade dropping as she turned to get him his beer and Stranger his water. She slammed Dickie’s beer on the table slightly harder than necessary, but it didn’t spill, so she just kept on moving.

  “Here you go.” She set Stranger’s water down next to the untouched menu. “Did you know what you want?”

  The stranger looked up at her, silent for a moment, wearing the same disconcerting expression he’d had on earlier. “Who’s that?” he asked finally, motioning to Dickie’s table.

  Jean glanced over her shoulder to where the three men were laughing about something with open mouthfuls of food. “Just a few regulars. You know ’em?” she asked, probing for what he was doing in town.

  “Nope.” He didn’t give her any personal information at all. “Just wondering if there was any reason for them to treat you like shit.”

  Oh Lord, it was a white knight. The last thing she needed. “Don’t worry about them. Did you know what you wanted?”

  “Meat lover’s skillet.” He brought the water to his lips, no straw.

  She watched his throat work as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the cords in his throat moved. She bet he’d be better defined beneath that black t-shirt than any of the lifelong plant workers in this town.

  Damn it. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from? “I’ll get that skillet right out for you.” She retreated back to the kitchen before she could do or say anything to embarrass herself. She didn’t think he’d noticed her staring, but who knew? She already had to be ca
reful. Probably ninety percent of the guys who wandered into Striker’s at odd hours of the night were decent, hardworking guys just looking for a quick meal or caffeine hit before going back to work or hitting the road. But the ten percent like Dickie were a pain in the ass.

  If she smiled too much or laughed at their jokes too loud, it was somehow an invitation to touch her and flirt full-on. When she’d first gotten her job at Striker’s two years ago, she’d tried to go along with it, hoping the tips would make up for the skeevey feeling, but apparently the perverts were cheap. Figured.

  So now she had to play it extra safe with the new guys to make sure she didn’t accidentally give them the green light to make a move.

  “Hey, Richie, can I get a meat lover’s?”

  The line cook, an army vet in his fifties with more of his skin covered in tattoos than empty and a burly beard that had somehow never gotten into the food, gave her a nod. “Will do. Is Dickie giving you a hard time?”

  “Dickie’s a dick,” she said softly enough that none of the guests would overhear. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Well, you let me know if I need to go out there.”

  More white knights. Great. “Really, he’s just annoying. You’re the first one on my list to call if it gets out of hand. Promise.” Richie was nice and all, but she’d never ask him to start anything on her behalf. The owner, Striker himself, had made himself very clear that customers came first when she’d first complained about handsy clientele. Waitresses came and went, but the people who manned these routes were his honored guests. His honored guests he served watered-down beer and shitty coffee to, but he didn’t care about them as much when it came to what was coming out of his bottom line.

  And if Richie caused trouble, they’d both be out on their ass and neither of them would be much use to each other.

  “One meat lover’s coming up.” He grabbed ingredients, mixing everything together on the same stovetop where the bacon and sausage were cooked up, ensuring that everything would have a great flavor. There were plenty of things to complain about working here, but the quality of the food was not one of them.

  She moved back to the dining area and scanned over her tables. Dickie and his crew seemed to be doing okay. The trucker was pushing away his plates, so she took them for him while discreetly setting his bill on the table, and Stranger should be fine until his food was ready.

  But before that could happen, Dickie snapped his fingers at her again. Jean rolled her eyes and started to turn around when she saw that Stranger was staring at her again. It made it so much worse when Dickie was like this in front of other customers. Especially ones who set her on edge like Stranger did.

  She’d have to deal with his opinion of her later. For now, she had to answer the call of the snapping. Glancing down at the plates not nearly clear of food, she took a hopeful guess at what they wanted. “Should I grab a few to-go boxes for y’all?”

  “Actually, I was hoping for another beer, hun.”

  Crap. He was empty already. She wasn’t sure whether she was more annoyed at herself for missing that he needed a refill or at him for drinking so damn fast when she knew he’d probably be driving himself home. People just didn’t watch out for drunk drivers at nine in the morning.

  But he’d only had two so far. Maybe if the next one was his last, it wouldn’t be too bad... “Coming right up.” She reached for the glass.

  Except he didn’t hand it to her. Once again, she had to lean across the table in front of Dickie, but this time he didn’t just stare. His hand came out and copped a feel of her ass, squeezing her hard as she yelped in surprise and jumped back.

  “What the hell, Dickie?”

  He gave her a mock innocent expression as his little buddies all snickered. “Well, it was right there in front of me. I’m only human.”

  “You’re a human piece of—” Jean snapped her mouth shut before she said something that would get her fired. Worse, the angrier she got, the more Dickie enjoyed himself. But that didn’t mean she was going to do nothing. “If you do that again, Striker is going to hear about it.” Striker wouldn’t do a damn thing, but it was a worthwhile threat.

  He held up his hands. “Fine, fine. But I do need another beer.”

  Jean tightened her lips as she waited to see whether he was really done or just gearing up for round two. But if Striker found out she’d refused to get a paying customer more beer, there’d be hell to pay. Namely, she’d be out on the job market again. It had taken her forever to even get this waitressing gig, so she wasn’t ready to be out on the unemployment market, no matter how shitty it was right now.

  Ten minutes. She could do this for ten minutes more. And then she’d do it for another ten. And she’d keep on with it until her shift was over and she could relax at home.

  Jean held out her hand. “Give me your glass,” she said sharply, not wanting to play any more of his stupid games.

  “I don’t know what has you in such a shitty mood. I was just joking around.” Dickie started to hand her his empty glass.

  “I guess I don’t get the joke,” she bit out as she reached for the glass. At the last second, he dropped it, and out of instinct, she jerked forward to grab it before it fell on all the food. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dickie rear to go for another feel, but his hand never made contact. Jean started to back away as quick as possible, glass in hand, and Stranger was already there. He stood between her and Dickie, holding Dickie’s wrist at an awkward angle as he stared down dispassionately at the man.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” he said in a calm voice. As though everyone should listen to the orders he gave.

  Of course, Dickie wasn’t easy to order around. “Who the hell do you think you—”

  Stranger bent Dickie’s hand at an unnatural angle. The sickening sounds of cracking filled the diner. Dickie’s face immediately went ashen as Jean stumbled back, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “I’m the man who thinks you should leave.”

  The blood rushed from Jean’s face. Even though it wasn’t directed at her, the words were so calm and he seemed so...sure of himself. As though he knew he could follow through on any threats he made.

  Dickie’s two friends both started to stand, and visions of the fight that would happen on her watch raced through her mind. No way. She reached forward and grabbed the stranger’s arm as she tried to pull him back to his table.

  The second she touched him, she became aware of two things. One was that his arm was rock hard. Two, there was no way she could move him anywhere if he didn’t want to go.

  But she tugged him and he allowed her to move him until they were in the back corner of the restaurant. “You need to leave.” She looked over Stranger’s shoulder to where Dickie’s friends stood around him, taking stock of his broken hand. Belatedly, she realized she was still touching the man, and she jerked her hand away.

  Stranger shrugged, obviously not worried about the three-to-one odds. “He needed to learn some manners.”

  “It’s not your job to teach him anything.”

  “You obviously weren’t going to tell him to keep his damn hands to himself. Only fair I give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  “Well, if word of your medicine reaches my boss, I’ll be out of a job. So you need to get the hell out of here before Dickie and his buddies get their nerve up.”

  “If you’re worried about a job, I can take care of that.”

  Jean’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s why I’m here. I have an opportunity for you that could set you up for life.”

  Dickie stood and walked over. Somehow Stranger knew. “Let’s go somewhere more private to talk about it.” He reached for her and Jean jumped away.

  “What? No. This is your last warning. You need to leave or I’m going to call the cops.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, and even though Jean couldn’t see his face, it must’ve been terrifying since all three of the app
roaching men stopped in their tracks.

  “Fine. This obviously wasn’t a good time. I’ll be talking to you later,” he warned as he plopped a twenty down on his table and, while shooting a glare at Dickie, walked out. The door slammed shut behind him.

  Colin parked his truck at the gas station next to the diner where he could still see through the large windows. Jean was saying something to the three assholes who had been giving her a hard time, but he couldn’t tell what. Probably apologizing for him.

  Well, tough shit—because he wasn’t sorry. He shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of anything. This entire trip had been a scouting mission. To check up on Jean and see whether she was anything like her mother or father. So far she’d seemed perfectly pleasant, which meant she was nothing like either of her parents.

  Admittedly, he had much more experience with one parent than the other. Her father had been a lying piece of shit who left a trail of misery wherever he went. For some stupid reason, Colin thought he’d be the exception to this rule. But once Walter Farrell had died, he’d given Colin the ultimate middle finger by leaving him nothing in his will. The son of a bitch had billions and he didn’t leave Colin a single fucking penny.

  Colin had fought for that man. Bled for him. Not to mention making others bleed... Now it was time to get what was owed to him, and Jean was the key to doing that.

  After a few minutes, the guys who had been giving Jean a hard time stormed out of the diner. From the way the main one, the one with the now broken hand, slammed the door, they were still pissed. But the fact that they were leaving meant they probably hadn’t called the cops, which was a good sign. He had things to do in this small town, and getting the attention of the police wouldn’t make things easier.

  All the more reason for him to have kept his damn hands to himself. If he’d stayed in his seat, he would’ve at least had his damn breakfast. Now he was going to be eating the trail mix he’d snacked on during his entire trip out to this small Arkansas town. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but it would get him by. He’d gotten by on much worse before.