King's Horses: Savage Fall Duet Book 2 (The Savage Fall Duet) Read online

  King’s Men

  Copyright © 2019 by Lana Sky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design and Interior Formatting by The Illustrated Author Design Services

  Editing by Erica Russikoff at Erica’s Editing Services and Mickey Reed Editing

  Formatting by Charity Chimni

  Proofreading by Charity Chimni

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  WARNING

  PROLOGUE - BLAKE

  ONE - SNOWY

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR - BLAKE

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN - BLAKE

  EIGHT

  NINE - BLAKE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN - BLAKE

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN - BLAKE

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN - ONE MONTH LATER...

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  NEWSLETTER

  OTHER NOVELS DRAIN ME

  DIRTY LYRICS

  DRAGONFLY

  PRETTY PERFECT

  LEARN MORE ABOUT HER

  Acknowledgements

  Erica and Mickey, thank you so very much for taking the time to help me perfect this draft. As always, your feedback and expertise have been invaluable. Thanks to Melissa Stevens for such beautiful covers. Thank you, Charity for applying the final touches on this draft, and the many beta readers who provided encouragement along the way.

  This story is a dark, twisted romance that contains subject matter that may not be appropriate for some readers including mentions of sexual abuse, child abuse, violence, and mentions of eating disorders.

  Prologue

  Blake

  Numbers. That’s all these corporate bastards give a damn about. Shares, figures, dividends—goddamn numbers.

  How they stack up.

  How they fall apart.

  Their investments are a house of cards, ripe for one bad shake to send it all crashing down. They make it too easy in the end. Disrupting the entire game with the stroke of a pen is almost child’s play.

  And with four new companies under my belt this week alone, I’ve bought the entire goddamn game board.

  Even so…

  I’m still running out of fucking time.

  “Gentlemen.” Looking up, I face the four men dispersed around the round table. Some of them scowl while the others sport stoic expressions—for good reason. Unlike them, I’m not clinging to the prestige a few shares can buy me.

  The entire company is in the palm of my hand.

  And they fucking know it.

  “Don’t begrudge my shares too much,” I say, my mouth quirked, “think of me as merely a new investor, under your wing. After all, I don’t intend to impose myself.”

  Not yet, anyway. When all is said and done, I’ll burn this fucking corporation to the ground.

  I don’t have a choice. Even if she gets caught in the middle of the blaze.

  Snow. My jaw clenches as the boardroom fades. I can still see her: bloodshot eyes, pale skin. Fiery red hair. Still so beautiful. Fuck.

  My fingers curl into fists, crushing her memory into the depths of my psyche—where she belongs. But, like always, she claws her way back to the forefront of my thoughts, haunting me. Always.

  In retrospect, she was never meant to get caught in the middle. I had it all planned down to the last detail. Takeover the company and then crush it, liquidating its shares—I just didn’t expect her to fight me for it.

  Though, to be fair I shouldn’t have been so fucking surprised. For years, I’ve heard rumors of the lengths the Hollings have sunk to. ‘Favors’ the eldest son would grant to someone he wished to manipulate. Hunter would gladly suck cock to climb up the corporate ladder.

  But never her. Not Snowy. She was always my naive, selfish, spiteful fool—but never desperate.

  Until now.

  That frail little creature’s all grown up. These days there isn’t an ounce of fat on her body but the loss puts her bone structure in sharp contrast. The last time I saw her, she looked more like her mother than ever. Haughty. Spoiled. But even underneath the polish and shine lurks hints of the girl she used to be.

  Her hair is just as red.

  Her face just as round.

  Her lips just as pink.

  Snowy Gale Hollings, the girl I once loved more than life itself…

  And now, knowing her deception was based on a stupid, childish fantasy?

  I shouldn’t feel a damn thing.

  “Mr. Lorenz?” I grit my teeth and fixate my attention on the man across from me. “Frankly, if you don’t mean to impose yourself, then I have to ask. What is the point of this?”

  He gestures around him at my impromptu board meeting.

  “My plans mirror yours, gentleman,” I insist, employing the suave tone that my so-called father did best. Prevent any ounce of emotion from seeping into your voice. Never smile too hard. Blink at random intervals. Harrison Lloyd—the bastard had deception down to an artform.

  “It’s Blake, is it?” The man directly across from me cocks his head. His hands are braced against the table’s polished wood, displaying the gold watch on his wrist and the signet ring on his left hand. He smiles in that way only men like him can. As though everyone with less than a million to his name isn’t worth the time on his diamond-studded clock face. “Frankly, I won’t question how you happened upon this newest company,” he says, staring down his hooked nose. “But now that you have other enterprises under your belt, my associates and I will gladly buy you out of the Hollings shares.”

  “I think I’ll hold onto my seat for now,” I reply, matching his smirk—another trick Harrison taught me. Like wild animals, these men communicate in nonverbal cues more than speech. They piss on their holdings and snarl at interlopers, no better than a mangy mutt.

  And like any feral beast, they require an alpha’s bite to bring them to heel.

  “And while my percentage of shares allots me not only a seat at the table, but a right to demand a vote on the chairman, I’ll refrain from that choice. For now. Let me cut to the chase. I know you’re all aware of the donation I’d like to make in the corporation’s name,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Donation,” one of the men retorts. “You mean the very generous bribe you’ve promised to that cuck Antonio Sebastián? I hear he already found another sap to parade around that gala of his. My vote is a no. I say we focus on other matters.”

  “Oh,” I say, nodding. “You mistook me. I’m merely informing the board. I’m not asking for permission.”

  The man sputters, redness blossoming over his hollow cheeks. “Y-You—”

  “Enough.” One of the men seated beside him scoffs. “Get a hold of yourself, Ramsey,” he mutters before turning to me and extending his hand. “Welcome to the board, Blake. I trust you’ll fit right in. Only the shrewdest of backstabbing cucks could manage to claim a majority of Hollings shares overnight.”

  His laugh suggests his words are in jest. But I know that look glinting in his dark eyes. It takes a backstabbing cuck to know a backstabbing cuck.

  “I prefer Lorenz,” I tell him while shaking his hand. “Blake Lorenz.”

  “Ah…” His eyes narrow, intensifying their stealthy scrutiny. “You wouldn’t happen to be of the Frankfurt Lorenz’s?”

  “That’s the one.” I force a cold smile. “My father would be pleased to know that his humble reputation has reached all the way to the States.”

  “Humble?” The man guffaws so hard he damn near falls off his chair. “Given the way your family has overtaken Europe I’m not surprised Hollings enterprises were your next conquest.”

  He’s equal parts impressed and alarmed. As he should be.

  “But there is the question of that messy merger situation back in your country. What’s the company again?” He pretends to mull it over, but his eyes are too sharp for true ignorance. “H.E.T.Z Corp? Run by Hanz Zipler, I think? Now there is a ruthless son of a bitch. Wasn’t he married to your—”

  “Are we bringing gossip to the boardroom now?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “N-No.” The man’s cheeks redden, but like a dog with a bone, he digs in. “Though Zipler, he had a big share of your family’s company, didn’t he? Nearly half.”

  I flash a smile that makes the bastard gulp. “In my experience, a businessman’s fortunes can change at the snap of an even more ruthless man’s fingers.”

  And Zipler’s is already between my thumb and fucking forefinger. Case and point: we’re at the top of the Hollings building. My building. The entire world is
exposed below from beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything from the waterlogged harbor to the endless jungle of skyscrapers clawing at the sky. The entire world: that’s how people like the Hollings view this lone city. Any other destination is a mere detour, a pretty spot on the map. This place is where their heart lies; the proverbial nest of the snake.

  “I thought it was time to try my hand at entering the American markets.” I deliberately copy the man’s callous tone.

  He nods. “I can see that. Jacob Marshall, at your service.”

  The other men take turns introducing themselves not that I give a damn to remember them all. They sit at this table, in these chairs and dare to look at me like an outsider.

  While they dallied in corporate offices, I cut my milk teeth on the walls of this building. Harrison Lloyd may not have been my biological father, but his blood, sweat and tears formed its very foundation. The layout may have changed and the furniture more modern, but at its core this entire fucking complex is the same.

  Minus the name: I bet that motherfucker couldn’t wait to drop the Lloyd surname from it.

  “Blake?”

  I flinch at the voice. It’s not Emily’s, my usual assistant. Fuck. Lurching forward, I hone my gaze on the figure at the door and bite down a curse.

  Sure enough, Masha has her head stuck through a small crack in the door, her cheeks flushed pink. The other men watch on, barely concealing their amusement and curiosity. I catch one of them eyeing her bare legs and I have to remind myself of one thing: still need his signature. Can’t kill him.

  “What is it?” I demand, fighting to keep my tone level.

  She lowers her head contritely, her voice so faint I have to strain to hear her, “I need to speak with you.”

  “Oh.” Any irritation I felt instantly dies. Masha knows better than to interrupt me for anything other than matters concerning two people.

  The first has avoided me for two damn months, ignoring every call and letter sent her way.

  And the second…

  “Well gentlemen,” I say, flexing my fingers against the table, hard enough so each knuckle cracks, “I think we should cut this meeting short. I’ll be expecting your approval of the donation however.”

  A second’s pause gives any fucker the chance to argue.

  No one does.

  Standing, I lead the way to the door as they scramble behind me. Masha is the only one who follows me wordlessly into my office across the hall.

  “What is it?” I ask, approaching the large oak desk dominating the center of the room.

  Facing me, she lowers her gaze, her lips pursed. She’s practically swimming in the dress I bought her, wringing her hands nervously over the navy, businesslike frock. With her blond hair scraped into a bun and little makeup, the average onlooker might peg her at sixteen—at the most. Not nearly twenty-one.

  Her lips tremble, fighting to coax out words, but she doesn’t even have to fucking say it.

  “He contacted you again.” My hands curl into fists and the closest victim is the wall. Bang! My knuckles sear as they meet the polished wood. Once. Twice. Again. Blood streaks my fingers when I finally unclench them. “That son of a bitch—”

  “He wants me back,” she says, almost in a whisper. Her tormentor needs no introduction. Only one bastard can make her sound this hollow. This empty. “He said… Blake, he’d forgive the debt if I come back.”

  “That same old lie,” I remind her. “And I told you. I would handle it.”

  “You shouldn’t have to!” Her voice is too flat to hold any real emotion so she raises her shaking hands instead. Unsteady, they claw at her neatly arranged hair, ripping strands from the coif. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Enough!” Irritation makes my tone harsher than I intend. “He was my goddamn father too.”

  The original Blake Lorenz: a man I barely knew, who both saved my life and shackled me to his in the same fell swoop. As a Lorenz, I’m freed from the taint of the Lloyd name.

  But my real father had his own demons—a crushing load of silent debt so vast it was basically a death sentence. A burden he gladly shouldered, right to the grave. Anything to save his only daughter.

  I could only hope to match his selfless devotion.

  But I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.

  “No,” I hiss, meeting Masha’s gaze directly. “You’re not going back to him. I already have Hollings enterprises and this week alone we’ve incorporated four smaller corporations.”

  “But it isn’t enough,” she says, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Unless you consume every company in the whole city it will never be enough.”

  “I told you not to worry yourself about that. You leave the business to me.” Gritting my teeth, I add, “Want me to make it easier? You don’t have a choice—”

  “Don’t I?” She’s jutting her chin into the air, her jaw tight. “You’ve already lost so much because of me.”

  “Lost?” I nod to the windows and survey the view, shutting out the grim reality for a thundering heartbeat. The world of the Hollingses lies outstretched before me, kissed by the pinkish glow of mid-morning. “It looks like we’ve gained to me,” I say. “You need a city? I’ll buy this one, and then another. However many it fucking takes.”

  “And what about Snowy Hollings?”

  Her name is like a fucking switch. One flick of it and my entire perspective on the world changes. For the worse—power is a simple goal, easily obtained.

  But Snow? What I want from her can’t be granted via a simple board meeting. Or with money, apparently, considering that in two months she has yet to accept the amount I offered her.

  Suddenly drained, I collapse into the leather chair behind my desk. There’s a stack of envelopes lying there, along with messy piles of paper.

  The irony is a bitter pill to swallow. Once, she claimed to have given me her truth through her letters.

  And I can’t write a single goddamn one to explain mine. “Don’t mention her,” I finally muster the energy to reply. “Don’t—”

  “What happened to her family… It’s my fault. You did that because of me—”

  “No.” I turn to my desk and swipe my hand over the surface, knocking everything on it to the floor. “It was never about you.”

  Always her. Beautiful, fiery princess Snow. Once, before Masha, I would have given her the world. I promised it to her.

  “One day I’m going to live in the heart of Mayfield,” she used to boast. “Right in the center! And I’d want a throne, of course. Red, placed perfectly to take in my servants.”

  “Stop worrying.” I banish Snow with a shake of my head and stand. Masha trembles when I cross over to her, wrapping her in my arms. Mouth against her hair, I swear, “I won’t ever let him hurt you again. Ever—”

  “It would be easier if you sent me back,” she insists, her face buried against my chest. “It would.”

  “But I won’t,” I say, gripping her tighter. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Just promise me one thing.” Her small hands find mine and pry them from her waist, intertwining our fingers. “Just one thing.”

  I nod. “Anything.”

  “Promise me you won’t hurt her again. Snowy. Please—”

  “I promise.” A part of me twinges, knowing deep down that it’s a lie.

  Snow can run for now. Hide away. Ignore me.

  But her company was just the start. Child’s play.

  She was always the real prize—and some way, some goddamn how I’ll make her see reason. I’ll get her back, as easily as another fucking business.

  Only this time, I won’t ever let her go.

  One

  Snowy

  A flawless veneer can make anything seem shiny and new again. All it takes is the perfect shade of red lipstick and a smile. But buyer beware: One peek beneath the hood betrays the sad truth.

  The poor thing isn’t even worth owning for free.

  “You look beautiful, Snowy,” Ronan insists. He started using this soothing, careful tone after my discharge from the hospital nearly eight weeks ago. “Beautiful. But if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”

  “I’m fine,” I croak, forcing a smile. “Besides, it’s just the Sebastiáns’ benefit gala. We’ve gone a million times.” Damn. My voice cracks despite my best efforts, and Ronan’s grimace conveys what I can’t say out loud.