Wild Cards
R.C. Stephens
Wild Cards
Copyright 2015 R.C. Stephens (Irene Cohen)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or distributed in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
Edited by Ellie May McLove of LoveNBooks.com
Proofreading by Karen Hrdlicka of Barren Acres Editing
Formatted by Polgarus Studio
Author’s Note
This is a standalone novel and does not need to be read with books one and two of the Twisted Series.
***Warning-For mature audiences only.
As a reader myself, I know how important it is to be aware of 'hot button' issues that could trigger painful memories for some. Wild Cards is a love story of the greatest and most epic proportions. However, this love story faced many bumps in the road to love. In order to tell Luc and Vicky's story I needed to touch on the scene of aggravated sexual assault. I feel it is my job to advise the reader of this violent episode. This aspect does not define the whole story. The novel is not about violence, rather about two dark souls saving each other while finding true love.
Thank-you
R.C. Stephens
DEDICATION
To all the readers who have loved and supported my stories and to all the bloggers who so selflessly promote the books of authors. Thank-you for welcoming me into this beautiful book world!
Prologue:
Luc
“Luc, it’s time.” My father snuck up behind me and gave my shoulder a strong squeeze. It wasn’t an endearing gesture by a parent that loves you. It was more of a get-off-that-fucking-computer-now-and-do-what-I-say-or-else-you-will-pay-for-it kind of squeeze. I caved under the pain he was inflicting and shut my laptop immediately, standing to his attention the way he expected me to. I wasn’t stupid, I knew my father was a mean bastard, and I knew he got off on feeling powerful. He wasn’t a man you wanted to upset. I followed him out of my bedroom, past the small room that my mother sat in day in and day out, staring out the window with such vacant eyes that if you didn’t know better you would think she had died. If it weren’t for the slow movement of her shoulders lifting up and down with each troubled breath she took that is exactly what you would think.
My mother hadn’t always been like this. She was once a beautiful and vibrant person that loved life, but as my father’s power grew so did his cruelty. I heard how he yelled at her. How he put her down and worst of all, I heard how he smacked her around. At first my brothers and I would run to her aid. I even threw a punch at the bastard, but I learned quickly that he delivered more than he got. My small punch got me a set of broken ribs, a black eye, and a swollen lip. My father wanted to make sure that my brothers and I understood that he was in charge, that no one defied him and if they did, well then there would be consequences. Sometimes consequences far beyond what we could ever dream.
I knew this because I went to my father two days ago and told him that I didn’t think the training was for me. At eighteen I was interested in school and girls, I had no need to train to be a mob boss. My father was involved in bad things. I knew this because our estate was filled with goons holding guns. It was a problem that I didn’t want to know more than that. My unfortunate circumstance was that I was the eldest son of Maurice Blanchard, the head of the Blanchard crime family in France, although his ties to crime were worldwide. My father summoned me and I learned to follow. I followed him down the stairs while my stomach began to sink. He warned me after the last conversation that I had with him that there were no outs, that I might as well face the music and accept my destiny, being respected and feared like him. The thought made my skin crawl.
As we made our way toward the front door my two younger brothers moved like silent mice out of the way, scattering into the shadows of the large vacant rooms in the mansion. I was used to seeing the fear in their light eyes, it was only a matter of years before they would need to endure the training that I had succumbed to. For now they weren’t needed and therefore insignificant. I wished I could be insignificant to my father.
We walked out the main doors and into a long black limousine that awaited us. I knew better than to ask questions. I would know what my father wanted when the time was right. Today was a test for sure. The question was would I pass it, or would my father put a bullet in his own son’s head like I had seen him do to too many men. The limousine left the grounds of the Blanchard estate and drove for a long while. It felt like an eternity, but it may have only been thirty minutes. My throat went dry and I wanted to run. It was the fear of the unexpected. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down the side of my face, and as I glanced at my father from the corner of my eye, I noticed the wicked grin splayed across his face that looked similar to mine, only aged and cruel. We finally pulled up in front of an abandoned warehouse.
I unfortunately recognized this place. I had been here before when I had defied my father, when I asked him to let me leave the last time. I had a girlfriend; she got pregnant and I panicked. There was no way I could have or bring a baby around this cruelty. I never gave my father the reason I wanted to leave, but with my luck he knew about the girl and threw me into a hole in the ground inside that warehouse. The hole was dark and maybe six feet wide by six feet long. There was no light and the cement was cold. The place smelt like stale urine and something else that I couldn’t identify. There was no bed and no washroom. I was left there for a full twenty-four hours, while one of his goons dropped only a small amount of water. My father wanted to show me who was boss. He wanted to make sure I understood what happened when people defy him. He said I should consider myself lucky because I was his son, if I were someone else I wouldn’t have gotten the hole, I would have gotten a bullet to the head.
What he didn’t understand was that when he put me down there, something happened. I broke and I hated my life more than I ever hated it. I began to suffer from nightmares of being locked up. I began to feel like my throat was closing in on me and I had no air. I was only seventeen and this life wasn’t fair. Luckily, my girlfriend had a miscarriage and lost the baby. I then broke up with her. I knew it was cruel, but it would have been worse to stay with her, being with her put her in danger and I would not have her blood on my hands. My father’s cruelty was too much. I vowed that one day I would walk away. I knew the only way was to kill him. In my mind that day would come, and I would pull the trigger. I just had to be patient and I had to persevere.
Seeing the warehouse felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me. I felt frozen, only I knew my father didn’t expect me to sit in the limousine. I was there to serve a purpose.