Fragile Wings: Broken Beginnings Prequel Read online

  Contents

  Fragile Wings

  1. Lucca

  2. Claire

  3. Lucca

  4. Claire

  5. Lucca

  6. Claire

  7. Lucca

  8. Claire

  About the Authors

  Also by the Authors

  Savage Beginnings Sneak Peek

  Fragile Wings

  I thought the world of him. Then he showed the dark monster lurking beneath.

  He says he’ll protect me from anything. He doesn’t know the only thing I need protection from is him.

  1

  Lucca

  I look at the four bare walls of my two-bedroom house and smile. It’s fucking stupid to smile over something as simple as barren walls, but I can’t help it. When you grow up with nothing of your own, nothing that has ever truly been yours, a pair of shoes, or even a bed, you smile at the stupid things, like getting your own place.

  The neighborhood is shitty, and since moving in two days ago, I’ve heard police sirens and fighting out in the halls, all hours of the day.

  It’s not the best fucking place in town, but it’s good enough for me. At eighteen, there isn’t much I care about. Pussy and money are the most important things in my life.

  I walk into what would be the living room if I had a couch or something to sit on. When I moved in, I got the bare minimum, a bed, some pots and pans, even though I don’t cook, and a few other odds and ends. Working for the Moretti crime family doesn’t leave much downtime, but when I’m not working, this will be my go-to place.

  The best thing about this place, if you could find a silver lining in a piece of shit hell hole like this, is the back porch. The houses are close together, but I’ve been out in the backyard twice now and have yet to see another person.

  Walking through the living room, I stop when I reach the back door. My fingers graze the cold copper doorknob as I look through the dirty glass. I’m not sure why, but I’m shocked to find a little girl sitting outside in the grass, her eyes glued on my door.

  The door creaks loudly as I open it, and the cool autumn breeze slaps me in the face. The little girl doesn’t even move, or blink. She just remains sitting, staring at me with big green eyes as if she is in awe.

  As I step out onto the porch, I get a better look at her and find she can’t be much older than ten. Her hair is red, bright red, the kind that would get you made fun of in school. I’m tempted to walk across the grass to get a better look at her features but realize a moment later that would probably scare her.

  Still, my feet move without thought, and I stop just a few feet from her. She cranes her neck back to continue staring at me, and I notice the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I can tell she is poor, just as most people in this neighborhood are, the purple sweater she is wearing is ripped at the cuff, and the colors on the printed butterfly on her chest are faded.

  She keeps staring at me, like she can’t believe I’m standing here.

  “My name’s Lucca, and your what’s name?” I pause for a fraction of a second, “Butterfly?” I point to her shirt and smile.

  She looks down at the butterfly on her shirt, and then back up at me. Her gaze never wavers. In fact, the intensity of her stare grows, becoming two weights that press down on my shoulders.

  Even though she is a little girl, I can only imagine all that she’s been through in such a small amount of time. If she’s living here, she’s seen things, probably experienced things. There are far worse hardships in life than being poor.

  “Do you speak, butterfly?” I ask, even though I should turn around and walk my ass back inside.

  Her green eyes glisten like small emeralds in the afternoon sun. All she does is nod her head, no words passing her lips—annoyance tugs at the back of my mind.

  Why hasn’t she spoken?

  Maybe because you’re a stranger, idiot?

  “I just moved in next door. I saw you through the window staring at me.” I sigh and scratch at the back of my head with one of my hands. “You know, this is a bad neighborhood. You shouldn’t be sitting outside by yourself.”

  It’s a statement, not a question.

  She shrugs, unfazed by my words. Obviously, she knows the type of people that lurk around these places. So why sit here? Does she not care? Or does she think no one will hurt her because she is a girl? Either way, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her out here alone.

  “Where are your parents?” Maybe if I give them a scolding and scare them a little bit, they won’t just let their daughter sit outside by herself.

  At the mere mention of her parents, fear flashes across her face, lighting up her features like a lightning bolt zinging across the stormy night sky. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. As soon as the look appears, it’s gone, and I wonder, for a millisecond, if I imagined seeing it.

  My lips part and the next question I plan to ask her is hanging on the tip of my tongue. It’s then that the loud creak of a door meets my ears, and I look up and over the girl’s head to find a large man about as tall as me, stepping out onto the porch. That must be her father.

  His gaze is murderous as it lands on me, and I can tell in an instant that there is something else about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  Butterfly turns and peers over her shoulder at him.

  “Get your little ass back in the house right now!” The man glowers at her, and like an obedient doll, butterfly pushes off the ground and strides through the grass.

  I clench my hands into tight fists, unsure why I feel a protective pull toward this girl. My eyes remain on her the entire time, and I catch the way her body stiffens just the slightest as she slips past the man and into the house.

  Something is off about him and about her, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. His gaze narrows, and he stares at me, for another second, before walking into the house. The door closes with a creak, and then he is gone, right along with butterfly. I shake off the bad feeling and head back into my house, leaving the nameless girl in the back of my mind.

  2

  Claire

  I know it’s rude to watch people. To stare at them. I don’t like it when people stare at me, but I can’t help myself. Ever since he moved in a few weeks ago, I’m fascinated by the man that calls himself Lucca. I wonder if he would like to be my friend. I know he is older, but a friend can be anyone, and I want Lucca to be mine.

  A frown forms on my face at the reminder of my lack of friends. I have no one to talk to, no one that likes me. My father only lets me leave the house for school, and the kids at school all think I’m weird because my clothes are old and stained. I wouldn’t dare embarrass myself further by explaining to them that my mother left and that my father, even though he works, likes to drink most of our money away.

  “I don’t want you outside. Stay in the house, Claire. If I come home and find out you’ve been outside, I’ll lock you up.” The vein on the side of his head bulges, and his fists tighten. My entire body tenses, and my heart thunders in my chest.

  Is he going to hit me again?

  The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I keep it a secret, mainly because no one would care anyway, and also because I’m more afraid of losing my father than I am of his fists.

  “I’ll stay inside. I promise.” I let the lie roll off my tongue. He has no way of knowing if I go out, I just have to be careful.

  The disapproving look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply heads for the door and walks out, slamming it closed behind him.

  I’m bouncing on the heels of my feet
with excitement when I rush toward the back porch and press my face against the cold window to look outside. As soon as I spot Lucca sitting on his porch, I unlock the door and pull it open. Happiness bubbles up in my belly, and it feels like Christmas morning back when Momma and Daddy were both home, and Daddy wasn’t drinking or raising his fists to momma or me.

  Taking a deep breath, I stare at the man. I should be scared of him. I don’t know him. He is a stranger to me, and yet he doesn’t seem like a stranger.

  The moment he hears the creak of the door, his gaze lifts, and our eyes collide. I’m suspended in time for a second, and my chest hurts, my heart galloping like a racehorse inside of it. I told myself that if I got the chance to talk to him this time, I would be better prepared, but it seems once again, I’m not.

  He has the ability to leave me speechless, and I don’t understand why. He makes me nervous, but not in a scary way.

  “Hey, butterfly.” He gives me a small wave.

  “Hi.”

  “She speaks!” His lips curl into a smile, and the tension eases from my stomach.

  “Claire… My name is Claire,” I introduce myself.

  “Nice to meet you, Claire.” He holds out his hand like he wants me to shake it.

  I look at it for a moment before deciding to close the distance between us and put my hand in his. That’s when our size difference really hits me. My hand looks so small and dainty as I place it in his ginormous one. For a second, I think he is going to crush my bones, but when his grip closes around mine, it’s gentle and soft.

  As soon as I let go, I take a step back, feeling like I need to put some space between us. I take a seat on the edge of his patio and watch him take a sip of his beer.

  “Where did you live before you moved here?” I ask curiously.

  “A lot of different places. I moved from one foster family to the next until I aged out. Now I work and got my own place,” he explains.

  “What do you do for work?”

  “Something different every day. Odd jobs, I guess.” His answer is vague.

  “What happened to your parents? Why were you in foster care?”

  He chuckles. “First, you don’t talk at all, and now you come at me with all these questions.”

  “Sorry.” My cheeks heat. “You don’t have to answer.”

  “Nah, it’s fine. I never met my dad, and my mom died when I was little. Car accident.”

  “I’m sorry your mom died. Mine left when I was eight.” On my eighth birthday, to be exact, but I don’t mention that part. “It’s my fault she left.”

  “I don’t believe that, for a second. Why would you think it was your fault?”

  Because my dad tells me it is all the time.

  I shrug. “I just know.”

  He looks off into the distance and takes another drink of his beer. Usually, when my father drinks, I’m tense and stay hidden in my room until the morning. I’m not scared of this man, even though I know I should be.

  “Well, you’re wrong. You’re just a kid; if your mom’s gone, it’s because she chose to leave. Not because you did anything.”

  All I can do is shake my head and look away. “Maybe, but that’s not what my dad says.”

  “Your dad’s stupid,” he growls, and I jump, startled by the sound that comes from his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He adds.

  “It’s okay.” My voice comes out squeaky.

  Turning the conversation around, he asks, “What do you do for fun?” I cock my head to the side and stare at him. If there was anyone I could’ve pictured as prince charming, it would be him. I feel safe with him, protected.

  “Usually, I just read or sit outside. That’s when I’m not at school. I’m usually pretty bored, though, especially when my dad is at work.”

  “Does he work a lot?” Lucca asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, but when he isn’t at work, he’s sleeping or drinking so…” I realize I’ve said too much and press my lips together to stop myself from saying anything more.

  Lucca’s features darken, and he leans in, his eyes zeroing in on my face, making me feel like I’m being inspected. “If you need anything, butterfly, you can come to me. I will help you. Day or night.”

  I swallow around the knot in my throat. That’s what the counselor at the school told me when she saw the bruises, and I told her I fell. She said I could trust her, that she would make sure I was taken care of. I didn’t believe her. I’m used to hiding my pain, used to hiding things, putting on a mask, and pushing through the day.

  “I should probably get back.” I look over my shoulder and back to the door, worrying that my father might come walking out the door at any second to yell at me.

  “Before you go…” Lucca stands, placing his bottle of beer down, “I have something for you.” He walks over to the door and disappears inside his house.

  I stand, staring at the door, wondering what he could possibly have for me. A second later, I’m given an answer when the door creaks, and he comes back out with what looks like a notebook. I’m further puzzled until he hands the notebook to me, and I see a blue and black glitter butterfly on the cover.

  It’s beautiful. “Thank you,” I choke out, shocked that he would get me something. No one has ever gotten me anything, not even my father.

  Lucca’s eyes dart away, and he picks his beer back up. “It’s nothing. I just saw it, and I figured you would like it. I guessed right.”

  “Yes, you did.” I smile and hold the notebook to my chest.

  Hope blooms inside right over the spot the notebook rests. “Thank you,” I say again, taking small steps backward.

  “You’re welcome… and remember if you need anything, let me know.”

  I nod and turn, walking back toward my porch with a wide smile on my face, never looking back even though I’m tempted to.

  For the first time in a long time, I feel good about tomorrow. That maybe things will be better? This has to be a sign. It has to be.

  3

  Lucca

  Days blur into months, and I fall into a new routine. Julian has me working almost every day, but I don’t mind it. In fact, I’m glad. The money is good, and the work is… violent, to say the least, but it is exactly what I need.

  I’ve never felt so balanced in my life. Working for Julian gives me a purpose, and being able to physically hurt people—to have them fear me—makes me feel powerful and in control, something I’ve never had before.

  When I’m not working, I’m home. Usually, I hang out on the back porch, sipping a beer, and enjoying the fresh air.

  Claire comes out and sits with me whenever her dad isn’t home. At first, I thought he didn’t like her being outside because he was worried about her, but the more I learn about him, the more I wonder if he’s just a prick who likes to control his daughter.

  My gut churns. I know plenty about adults who treat their kids like shit, and I really hope I’m wrong about Claire’s father. Shit, I don’t even know his name. I need to find out more about him and make sure Claire is safe with him.

  I could always ask Julian for help. Have him do a background check on the guy, or I could talk to Claire’s dad myself.

  The girl has really grown on me, and I feel protective of her. Slowly, she’s become like the little sister I never had. Talking to her gives me a sense of normalcy in between all the chaos.

  As if she can hear me thinking about her, she appears in front of me.

  “Hi.” She beams, pressing up onto her tiptoes.

  “Hey, butterfly, how was school?”

  “Boring.” She frowns, holding her notebook tightly to her chest. I paid three dollars for it at the Dollar Store, but she treats it like it’s worth a million bucks.

  “Yeah, school sucks, but keeping up your grades will help you get a good job later.”

  She blinks slowly. “Did you have good grades in school?”

  Fuck, no. I didn’t even graduate.

  “They could have been be
tter.”

  “But you got a good job. I mean, you drive a nice car now, and you always buy me stuff.”

  I withhold a laugh. She has no idea about the things I have to do, the blood spilled, or the broken bones. It’s not my job that is good, it’s me that’s good at my job, and there is a difference.

  “My work is hard, and I would never want you to do what I do. Speaking of buying you stuff. I got you that chocolate bar you like.”

  I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the candy bar I grabbed at the gas station. I try to bring her stuff I know she likes because I know what it feels like to have nothing. I know how something as simple as a chocolate bar can brighten your entire day.

  Her emerald green eyes light up, and she reaches for it eagerly. As she grabs it from my hand, her sleeve rides up above her wrist. My blood runs cold as I take in the black and blue marks along her pale skin.

  “What the fuck?” I reach to grab her arm but stop myself, not wanting to hurt her more. Claire pulls her hand away as if I just burned her. The candy bar falls to the floor, but neither one of us reaches to pick it up.

  “I-It’s nothing. I fell,” she stutters and stumbles back.

  “Claire, don’t lie to me. What happened?” I take a step toward her, but she only retreats more. For the first time since we met, she is looking at me with fear flickering in her eyes, and that look feels like a sucker punch to the chest.

  “Nothing happened! I just fell. It was my own fault,” she tells me, but her voice breaks at the end. She spins around and heads for her house.

  “Claire…” I call after her, but she is already running through her back door, slamming it shut behind her.