Monster's Claim

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2019 Winter Sloane

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-885-3

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers, I hope you enjoy reading Matthias and Lara’s story as much as I loved writing it.

  MONSTER’S CLAIM

  Severin Family, 2

  Winter Sloane

  Copyright © 2019

  Chapter One

  “How short do you want it, honey?” the hairdresser asked, sass in his voice.

  She wished she could pull off his wild, rainbow-dyed hair, envying his confidence.

  Lara gazed at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the same awkward, curvy girl who’d never learned to accept or grow comfortable with herself. She reached for one tumbled lock of dark brown hair that fell below her shoulders, twisted her fingers into it, and gave it a tug. Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe for a few seconds.

  Bad memories resurfaced, like water trickling through a hole in the boat. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Lara remembered his leering face, his fingers tugging at her hair until her entire scalp felt like someone set it on fire.

  Breathe in, breathe out, Lara told herself.

  “Honey?” the hairdresser repeated, touching one shoulder.

  She jumped in her seat by reflex, still distrustful of anyone touching her. The hairdresser looked concerned, his gaze softening. Lara cleared her throat and saw her cheeks and neck turning red in the mirror.

  “Until here, chin level,” she said, then thought about it. “No, I want it as short as a boy’s.”

  “You sure? You have such pretty hair. Such a waste,” the hairdresser murmured.

  Her hair was the only part of herself she used to love. Used to, until she met Skip.

  “I don’t,” she began, unable to continue. Lara clutched at the armrests of her seat, digging her nails into the leather.

  She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing only herself. Pathetic. A victim. Lara didn’t want to be that anymore. She’d spent way too many weeks, locked inside her apartment, gorging on takeout. Days would pass. Her shields would weaken. She’d start to consider patching up with Skip. So weak, Lara, her mother would have said if she were alive.

  “I don’t want any asshole using my hair to drag me down the stairs anymore,” she whispered softly, not looking at anyone’s eyes.

  One step at a time, Lara told herself. She’d dig herself out of this miserable hole she put herself in since she met Skip and convince herself that she could do better.

  “Wait here,” the hairdresser said. “I’ll get you some magazines to look at.”

  Lara lifted her head. He wore a sympathetic smile, patting her arm.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  ****

  An hour later, Lara emerged from the salon, the weight on her shoulders gone. She felt like an entirely different person. She touched the turfs of carefully styled hair on her head. Who knew short hair would make her feel so incredibly light on her feet?

  “Honey, the front door’s on the other side,” came Dan, the hairdresser’s, voice from inside. “But you can walk past that alleyway and be back on the street.”

  How could she be so ditzy she’d forget where she was going? She could head back inside the salon, but she didn’t relish seeing the pitying looks of the other stylists and customers. Lara swore she didn’t blurt out the reason why she wanted short hair to everyone there.

  Lara looked around. She found herself in a small alleyway, the building walls sprayed with crass graffiti typical of neighborhoods in this part of the city. Her mother had taught her better, to be more aware of her surroundings.

  Sighing, she shoved her hands into her pockets and began walking out of the alleyway only to see a black, dinged up Mustang blocking her path. The driver must have decided he’d use this space as his personal parking lot.

  “Hey,” she shouted, waving at the car. “Can you back your car out?”

  The driver didn’t listen, only came out. She squinted at the figure, heart racing as she glimpsed the largest man she’d ever laid eyes on: a titan in a world of men, one who sported a hoodie and a torn pair of jeans.

  The hood hid his features, but Lara saw a flash of a wicked and curved scar over one cheek. Eyes black as coal looked back at her. There was something unnerving about them, and it took her a second to realize why. They lacked any trace of emotion.

  This felt surreal, like Lara had been thrust into one of those horrible horror survival shows.

  Danger bells rang in her head. She shoved one hand into her purse and curled her fingers over the pepper spray. Her mother taught her to bring one with her always, too, since they’d moved into a rougher neighborhood after her dad left them.

  She looked back at the end of the alleyway. Dead end. The salon. She could run back there.

  The huge, scary figure hadn’t moved an inch, didn’t speak a single word either.

  “Um, it's fine. You can park your ugly-ass car here,” she muttered under her breath, slowly backing away, toward the salon’s back door. Her right foot got caught in something. She looked down, seeing the discarded beer can. Too late.

  Lara stumbled, and the stranger moved, far faster than she imagined a man his size could move. She cried out, except big callused fingers closed over her mouth, muffling her screams. He broke her fall, his massive body impossibly dwarfing hers. He wrapped one steel-hard arm around her waist. Refusing to give up, she managed to pull out the spray, only for him to knock it from her fingers. The can made a startling noise as it hit the ground. She tried to kick at him, punch and claw at him. It felt like hitting a solid brick wall, like he didn’t even feel the pain.

  Please, Lara thought, eyes filling with ears. Someone, please help me!

  Merciless, pitch-black eyes bored into hers. Then the stranger spoke for the first time, his voice harsh, raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken to a living soul in a long time. “Why did you cut your hair? I liked it long.”

  Those words chilled her, paralyzed every bone in her body.

  He liked it long? What the hell? What did that mean? So many questions buzzed in her head.

  The back door of the salon opened. Relief filled her at seeing Dan.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing, man? I’m calling the cops,” Dan began.

  Her kidnapper transferred her to one arm. God. Was this entire man’s body made of metal? Lara froze, seeing the revolver her kidnapper took out.

  The salon manager, Lisa, appeared, turning pale at the sight of her kidnapper.

  “Mind your own business unless you want the Familia knocking on your doors,” the stranger said in that same harsh voice.

  “We saw nothing,” Lisa said, much to Lara’s horror.

  Dan began to protest, but Lisa grabbed his arm and dragged him back inside. The door closed.

  Despair filled Lara as her captor began dragging her back to the car. What just happened? Dan and Lisa were about to call the cops, right?

  Why are you doing this? She wanted to yell if she could, but he still had a hand over her mouth.

  “You won’t behave?”

  Was he kidding?

  She stubbor
nly shook her head, pissed. She tried kicking at him again, to no avail.

  “Feisty little firecracker. I need to you fall asleep for a while.”

  Like hell she’d do that, but she didn’t expect him to pull out a handkerchief from his jeans. The soaked fabric made her queasy, as did the chemical smell that came from it. He placed it over her mouth. Lara buckled and tried fighting him off again, but all of her senses began to dull. Her vision swayed. Her entire body felt weightless.

  She tried to remain conscious, but it was too hard.

  “Sleep, my sweet Lara,” he whispered against her ear, breath warm. “When you wake, I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter Two

  “Skip’s bitch is downstairs then?” Marco Severin asked.

  Matthias listened with half an ear to Marco, now the head of the Severin Familia. It felt like an entire lifetime ago since they’d both squabbled for Giovanni’s position.

  Both of the suits standing next to his twin brother looked uneasy around him. Matthias didn’t miss the fact one puppy kept sliding his hand to the gun tucked to his belt. They’d heard of him then. Matthias knew what they called him behind his back.

  Beast. Monster. Bogeyman. Matthias might have stopped appearing in public thanks to his happy little accident, but he continued operating from the shadows as the Familia’s best information extractor.

  Matthias loved his family, lived for them, would do anything for them, but these puppies? They were fodder to him. Disposable. Easily replaceable. Part of him hoped that nervous one would pull a gun on him so he could rip it from his hand. Teach him a lesson to toughen him up.

  So soft.

  These new unblooded recruits were easy prey to him. Some violence would help distract him from the sweet, curvy temptation chained in his basement. She would probably wake up soon. By then, he wanted his brother and his men gone. He bet her skin would feel creamy soft, her luscious, curvy body ripe for the taking.

  Unlike these obedient puppies, she had a kick to her. Matthias couldn’t wait to see the fire in those chocolate brown eyes. To unearth the hidden steel in her spine. Would she claw at him again like some wild animal?

  “Matthias,” Marco said impatiently.

  His brother gritted his teeth, clenching his fists by his side. Marco continued, “Skip owes the Familia fifty grand plus interest. We don’t take lightly to fuckers who think they can get away with shit like that. Our reputation will take a hit when word gets out. Find out if his bitch knows anything.”

  Matthias didn’t buy his brother’s bullshit completely. For Marco to involve himself personally in a case like this, with a small fry like Skip, was interesting. What did this scum do to rile up his brother so much?

  “What else are you not telling me?” he asked.

  Matthias pulled his hood down. Both of the puppies tensed, horrified expressions on their faces. Matthias didn’t miss Marco’s grimace, but at least his brother had the guts to look at the ruin that had become his face. The reminder that it could, should have been him who became this monster.

  “Leave the room,” Marco told his guards.

  “But, Boss, your safety is our number one concern,” the puppy who kept touching his gun said.

  “You fuckers, show him more respect. He’s the boss’s brother,” a new and familiar voice said with a growl.

  It was Ryker, his only friend, someone he’d shed blood with, who had his back and was a lieutenant for the Familia. Matthias considered Ryker his brother, even more so than his own brother.

  “Leave,” Marco repeated to the two suits, who wisely didn’t question him this time around.

  Matthias noticed the tiredness around Marco’s eyes and decided to quit being a dick. He glanced at the wall clock above his brother. Close to midnight. He’d taken Lara eight hours ago. Matthias intended to be the first person she’d see. He lifted his left sleeve, thumbing the rough skin where she’d dug her fingernails not long ago.

  Would she buckle and fight him again? Most of the men the Familia handed to his care wound up singing for him like larks sooner or later. With Lara, a different approach was necessary.

  Observing her the past few days didn’t show him much. He didn’t think she knew a damn thing about her shady ex, but people often surprised him. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he initially thought.

  “So?” Marco asked, turning to Ryker.

  “Skip made contact. He’s threatening to go to the cops if we don’t wire him a million dollars,” Ryker said, then provided Matthias the information Marco neglected to tell him. “Skip Diaz used to work under Ray, as one of our bookies. Skip wormed his way up to Ray’s good graces. Somehow got the bastard drunk and swiped information from Ray’s hard drive. He has valuable information. Names. Locations. Accounts,” Ryker said.

  “So you want me to find out if the woman knows where he is?” he asked in understanding.

  Matthias refused to call Lara Skip’s woman. She was about to become his, and even as a kid, Matthias never really learned to share his possessions.

  “Do whatever it takes to find to get the answers out of the bitch,” Marco said. “You have a tight deadline.”

  Marco turned to walk away, conversation over. Matthias couldn’t suppress the growl that emerged from his lips. He didn’t like Marco calling Lara that, not when Lara meant so much to him. Lara didn’t even know he existed until today. The small glimpses he caught of her during his initial surveillance were enough to convince him she was born for one purpose. To become his.

  “What’s this chick to you?”

  Fuck. Matthias had forgotten Ryker had remained in his living room. He regarded one of the few men in the Familia he respected. His infatuation with Lara was one secret he’d keep. For now.

  “She’s no one.”

  “Lie.”

  “I heard you finally tied the knot with Sky.” Sky, Ryker’s wife, was one of the few souls who didn’t flinch whenever she looked his way. She always smiled whenever she saw him. Genuine, not the pitying or a fake one that hid disgust. Lucky bastard.

  The Familia usually didn’t involve their women in the violence of their work, but Sky had been a special case. Ryker had found Sky’s near-dead body ten years ago in a garbage bag and decided to keep her, take care of her. He heard Ryker had let her go, told her to try to forge a life away from the Familia. In the end, it didn’t work out, and she ran back to him, to the Familia.

  “She sent you a wedding invitation,” Ryker said, not commenting on his abrupt change of topic.

  “Sounds like her,” he said, scratching at the scars on his cheek. “Too bad I’m not fit to be seen in public.”

  “Matthias,” Ryker began, but he raised a finger.

  “Don’t. I’ve learned to live with what I’ve become. She screamed, you know, when she saw me.”

  Ryker frowned. “Skip’s bitch?”

  “Her name is Lara.”

  “Ryker, Marco wants you,” called a voice by his front door.

  “Don’t get too sentimental. What makes her so different from the others you’ve worked your knife on?” Ryker asked.

  He glowered, but didn’t care for Ryker’s opinion. Ryker still answered to his brother. In a way, they all did. Right now, Ryker asked that question not as a friend and brother, but one of the boss’s lieutenants.

  “Tell Marco he doesn’t need to worry. Once I’m done with her, she won’t be a problem.”

  “That’s all I need to hear. You take care of yourself, Matthias.” Ryker paused, hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers. Since he started operating in the dark, thrived in it, he stopped caring about appearances. “Have dinner with Sky and me sometime. She’d like to see you.”

  With those parting words, Ryker finally left the living room. The door shut a moment later. Matthias locked it and peered out his curtains. Two cars, including Ryker’s, tailed after Marco’s black Jaguar.

  Marco always did like to be loud.

  The scars on his cheek started to twitch. Th
e lock he put on the door in his mind, sealing the memories of the torture, rattled. Matthias’s breathing turned harsh. Time to get to work. He checked the security system in his house and grabbed a beer, before heading down his basement to greet his pretty captive.

  Chapter Three

  Lara woke, feeling like someone stuffed her mouth with cotton. She had fuzzy memories of what happened to her hours—was it hours ago now? Lara remembered emerging from the salon, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Those inhuman black eyes, lacking any emotion, staring at her. That giant who felt like a brick wall, grip like steel.

  She shivered, rubbing at her arms. Why was it so dark?

  She reached out with her hands, touching her strange new surroundings. Lara felt a wall, some kind of blanket next to her. Something rattled. She swallowed and with trembling fingers found the chain connected to her ankle.

  A scream threatened to claw its way out of her, but she shut her mouth, not wanting that titan to come back.

  Oh God. The two words played repeatedly in her head. This couldn’t be happening, not to her. She was no one special, merely a waitress who barely made ends meet. There were thousands of girls in the city just like her. Why did that monster take her?

  A light flickered on, and this time, she let out a shrill scream. She was in some kind of basement, except it was so much more than that. Lara saw the large hook first, glinting silver in the dim light, hanging in the middle of the room. The chains at the bottom.

  Lara nearly had a heart attack. She breathed hard, digging her nails into the concrete floor. Lara nearly reached for the blanket but angrily shoved it away instead. She forced herself to study the room.

  At the end of the wall stood a table, on which were lined knives of varying sizes, to wicked-looking torture implements she didn’t know the names of.