The Thug And His Doll: Drix & Lia's Story: A single mum / Millionaire Romance (Princetown Heirs Book 1), page 1
THE THUG AND HIS DOLL
PRINCETOWN HEIRS
BOOK 1
BEA PAIGE
The Thug and His Doll
Bea Paige
Copyright © 2024 Kelly Stock writing as Bea Paige
www.beapaige.co.uk
Cover Design: Everly Yours Cover Design
Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Cole
Chapter page artwork: Samaiya Art
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, is purely coincidental.
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 author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Note to readers
Book Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
The Rogue and His Flower #2 Princetown Heirs
Prologue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Bea Paige
NOTE TO READERS
This book is a work of fiction, but with everything I write, I do delve into difficult topics.
This book contains discussions of past child abuse, domestic abuse, talk of past suicide attempts, and has some scenes of violence.
(None of the above mentioned is between the love interests)
Please be mindful when reading.
BOOK PLAYLIST
Book Playlist
As you all know I love a book playlist! I write to music always, and scenes are often inspired by the songs I choose, and a lot of thought goes into each song choice. All of the songs that inspired this story can be found on my Spotify playlist - The Thug And His Doll.
“Behind every beautiful thing, there is some kind of pain.”
Bob Dylan
PROLOGUE
DRIX
“What a fucking night," Sterling remarks, letting out an exhausted sigh from across the table, his hand raking through his unruly brown locks. Next to him his suit jacket is tossed carelessly over the vacant chair, and as he lifts his tired gaze to mine, I'm struck by the bright blue of his irises, a stark contrast to the dark circles beneath them. Every line and crease on his face tells a story of the long and eventful night we've all just experienced.
"I'm guessing you've had about as much sleep as the rest of us," I remark, glancing at my best friend Dalton, who's rubbing his hand across his neck and watching me warily, then at Ben, who's staring at the empty glass in his hand, no doubt savouring the harsh burn of the whisky he's just downed. The table is littered with empty glasses, evidence of our need to numb ourselves from the events of the past twenty-four hours. The bitter aroma of whisky lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of desperation.
"Yeah, that would be none then," Sterling states, exhaling sharply.
It's the morning after his father's lavish wedding, and we’re all gathered in the opulent bar of the only five-star hotel in town, owned by Dalton's wealthy father, Carl.
A palpable tension fills the air as we sit in brooding silence, the only sound that dares to break the stillness is the soft clink of ice cubes swirling around our glasses. My mind can't help but wander to the events that brought us together this morning: four women who have left us all feeling emotionally tangled and raw inside. Each sip of my drink brings a bittersweet taste to my tongue, mirroring the complex emotions swirling through my mind.
Waiting outside, the rabid tabloids would have a field day if they knew how the heirs of Princetown's four founding families were so easily brought to their knees.
Four sons. Four friends. Four men carrying the weight of their fathers' legacies.
There's Dalton, a self-confessed rogue and heir to the Gunn family's billion-pound fortune.
Sterling, a gifted artist and recluse set to inherit the Blade family's wealth.
Benedict, owner of Bandits Bar, with a genius IQ who is expected to carry on the Pike family legacy.
And then there's me, Hendrix, the adopted son of the late Hubert Hammer, who is bound by a debt that has forced me into a role I hate, and a life I never wanted.
Together our families own Princetown, a picturesque town nestled in the English countryside, where rich men reside in their lavish estates and hold power over the working class. It's a concept that makes me uneasy given my own humble beginnings.
My late father, Hubert Hammer, used to tell me that there are three sides to every man. The side he presents to the world, the side he wishes he could be, and the side he hides from himself.
As I look at each of my friends in turn, I can't help but wonder which side they are showing me right now.
I made my choice to be the man everyone else wanted me to be in order to secure my sister’s future. I accepted my role.
That is until Lia walked into my life and made me question everything…
ONE
DRIX
Six weeks previously
“Black coffee, four sugars… Please, Daphne,” I add, when the owner of The Rock Cafe–a sixty-something, takes no bullshit kinda woman–glares at me for momentarily forgetting my manners.
“That’s better,” she grouses, giving me a wink to let me know she gets me before placing my order on the table. I should’ve known she’d already have it ready. It’s not like I order anything else. I’m not into any of that oak milk, latte bullshit.
“Sorry, Daph,” I reply, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck and giving her a wry smile as I stretch my legs out beneath the booth I always sit at. I’m a creature of habit, and I like what I like. A black coffee with four sugars being one of them. This particular spot in the cafe, another.
“It’s a bad day already?” she asks, looking at her wrist which, by the way, has no watch adorning it. She’s cute like that.
“Bad night. I’ve yet to go to bed.”
“And you’re drinking a black coffee with four sugars at seven in the morning? You need a nice relaxing cup of chamomile tea and the arms of a good woman… or man?” She winks.
“Woman,” I grunt, swallowing a mouthful of the best coffee you’ll find this side of Princetown. “And sleeping is for the dead.”
Shaking her head, she tuts. “This is exactly why you need a good woman. Someone’s gotta take care of you.”
“Are you offering?” I ask, giving her my most devastating smile.
Her skin flushes right up into the hairline of her silvery brown hair as she wags a finger at me. “If only I were thirty years younger,” she laughs. “As it is, this woman needs her beauty sleep, and I haven’t got the energy to chase a strapping, blonde, tattooed bear of a man around town.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I reckon you’ve still got it in you,” I flirt.
“You, Hendrix Hammer, are a charmer.”
I shrug. “If the shoe fits.”
She drops her gaze to my size thirteen feet, then slowly raises her gaze up my body, letting out a peel of laughter. “Frankly, I don’t even know how it would fit.”
Now it’s my turn for my cheeks to flush. “And there’s me thinking you’re one of the innocent ones.”
Her laughter erupts as she turns her attention to the only other occupants in the cafe at this ungodly time in the morning. “I’ve had my fair share of bad boys in my time,” she throws over her shoulder.
“I’ve no doubt,” I mumble, rubbing at my temples as a headache starts to bloom. “Fuck, I really need to get some sleep.”
“Mama, he swore!” a childish voice accuses, reminding me that I’m not the only person in the cafe this morning.
“Sorry,” I mumble, eying the kid sitting at the table opposite. He eyes me right back.
“It’s fine,” the woman with him replies, her hand wrapping around her kid’s shoulder protectively.
Well, I’m assuming he’s hers given they look so damn alike in every way but the shade of their eyes and the colour of their hair. Where his are both dark brown in colour, her eyes are a pale shade of green, her hair the colour of warm honey. She’s pretty in an understated way.
My eyes flick to meet hers, and I give her a p
“Don’t mind him,” Daphne pipes up, chucking a grin over her shoulder. “He might look like someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night, but he’s one of the good ones.”
“Thanks, I think?” I mumble, catching the look of… fear scattering across the woman’s features. I guess she sees what most people do. It kind of comes with the territory.
Besides, I’m used to that kind of reaction. If I look like I could crack a person’s head open with one punch it’s because I can. I might look like a thug on the outside, and act like one when the need arises, but that’s the reputation I’m required to maintain, not want.
“May I have the bill, please?” she asks Daphne, and something about the way she draws her son closer and the skittish way she flicks her gaze away reminds me of a time I’d sooner rather forget.
“Sure thing, sweetie. Just give me a moment,” Daphne replies, heading off to the counter to ring up her bill.
“I apologise,” I say after a beat, as she quietly reminds her son not to stare. “For swearing in front of your boy.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbles, not lifting her head as she swipes a napkin across her little boy’s face, collecting the chocolate smudged around his lips from the hot chocolate he’s just guzzled down with gusto.
“You know, Mama says it’s rude to swear,” the little boy adds, pushing his mum’s hand away so he can give me a curious smile. “Why do you have so many drawings on your body?”
I chuckle, resting my tattooed hand against the counter, the word love written across my left knuckles to match hate written across the right. Original, I know. “Well, firstly, your Mama’s right. It is rude to swear.”
“Toby, that’s enough. Leave the man to drink his coffee in peace,” the woman warns, shushing him.
“It’s okay. You’re right to teach him his manners.” I give her a warm smile, hoping it makes her relax a little. I don’t like the idea of making this woman uncomfortable. I might spend some of my nights scaring the shit out of the men who fuck off the families I work for in this town, but that doesn't mean I want to do the same here. I’m not a complete arsehole.
“I also told him not to speak to strangers,” she mutters, casting me another concerned look as she drops her gaze to my thick tattooed arms, and the numerous tattoos inked into my skin.
Pulling the sleeve of my hoody down, I grin. “Well, if you know my name, I won’t be a stranger anymore, right?” I say to her son. “Toby, is it?”
“Yes,” he nods, brushing a flop of hair out of his eyes that just falls back into them seconds later.
“Well, Toby, my name is Hendrix Hammer, but everyone around here calls me Drix. Nice to meet you.”
“Except that lady, she called you Hendrix,” he points out, grinning at me.
“Very observant, kid. And whilst that’s true, most people call me Drix.” I lean across the aisle, holding my hand out to him. He takes it instantly, his tiny hand slipping into mine as I gently shake it. Behind him, his mother stiffens.
“Toby,” she warns.
I let the kid’s hand go. “And your name?” I ask, resting back in my seat, curious who this woman is, and why I’ve never seen her before. I know everyone in this town.
“That’s none of your–” she begins, but her son cuts her off.
“It’s Amelia Pearson, but everyone calls her Lia,” Toby replies proudly, oblivious to the stuttered way his mother draws in a breath. For a small kid, he sure has impressive vocabulary. I’m guessing he’s around four or five, but I could be wrong.
“Well, Lia, pleasure to meet you,” I say, curiosity getting the better of me as I ask another probing question. “Are you just passing through or visiting family?”
“Like I said that’s none of your–”
“We’re on an adventure!” Toby pipes up. “We left my Papa sleeping, and this place is as good as any place to stop, right Mama?”
Lia’s skin pales as she flicks her gaze from her son to me, and back again. “That’s enough, Toby. We should get going. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“So you’re just passing through then?” I question, feeling the tension rolling off her.
This woman is spooked, and I don’t think it’s just me who’s doing the spooking. Given what the kid just said, she’s running scared. That knowledge triggers me in a way that I wished it wouldn’t.
“Yes. Exactly,” she replies tightly, casting her gaze over her shoulder to Daphne who seems to be taking her merry time fetching the bill.
“I thought you said we could stay this time? I wanted to go on the swing, Mama. You promised me.”
“Maybe it’s best if we just kept going, sweetie,” she says. “They’ll be other playgrounds.”
“Not with a huge caterpillar slide!”
“We’ll find another playground just as good.”
“But you promised,” he whines. “You said this would be the last time. I want to stay here. I don’t want to sleep in the car again. It’s cold, Mama.”
“I–”
“Wait, you’re sleeping in a car?” I interrupt, knowing it’s none of my damn business, but asking anyway. Why is she sleeping in her car with her kid? It’s fucking winter, and soon the snow will drop and the temperature will plummet even further. It’s only then that I notice that she’s not as well turned out as the majority of the women in Princetown are, and whilst her kid is as clean as a whistle, as much as any kid at such a young age can be, on closer inspection Lia looks a little… dishevelled, for lack of a better word.
“Toby, please,” she whispers, refusing to meet my gaze and searching in her handbag for her purse, presumably.
“Hey, is everything–” I begin, but Daphne appears, laying the bill on the table, cutting me off before I can finish my sentence.
“There we go, darling,” she says, casting a look over at me, frowning at the look on my face no doubt. “Everything okay?”
“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Lia insists, grabbing the bill and quickly casting her gaze over it. She opens up her purse, her cheeks colouring a deeper shade of pink as panic scatters across her face.
“Sorry. I erm… Just give me a moment,” she mumbles, unzipping her purse, upending the contents as she counts through the coins that have tumbled onto the formica table.
“Take your time,” Daphne replies kindly, giving me one of her looks as she passes by.
Pretty sure she’s thinking the same as me. Pushing up from my seat, I follow Daphne to the back of the cafe, out of earshot of Lia and her son.
“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Daphne asks as she steps behind the counter and busies herself sorting through the freshly washed cups and plates, stacking them onto the shelf behind her.
“How much does she owe?” I ask, ignoring her question and flicking my gaze to Lia as she counts out the cost of the bill, piling up the coins onto the small silver dish Daphne left to collect the money.
“Six pounds, eighty pence,” Daphne replies. “Why?”
“I got this,” I say, throwing down a twenty to cover her bill and mine, then adding another fifty on top. I’d leave more, but it’s all the cash I have in my wallet. “When I’m gone, give that to the lady. Looks like she could use it.”
Daphne raises a brow, her look one of curiosity. “When I said you needed a woman, I didn’t mean the first one you came across, and especially not one who’s as jumpy as a jack rabbit.”
“You noticed that too, huh?” I ask, ignoring her other remark.
“A lot of people pass through these doors. After a while, you get good at figuring out their situation.”
“And what’s their situation?” I ask, curious to know if her thoughts match my own as I stare at Lia and her kid.
“One to avoid, I’d say.”
“Daph, that’s not what I asked.”
She sighs, following my gaze. “I’d say she’s a woman on the run.”
“From what?”
“Well, I’m guessing someone bad enough to run from.”
“Yeah, I think you might be right,” I agree, feeling a surge of protectiveness barrel out of nowhere as I swipe a hand through my hair. “Ah, fuck.”
