Fractured Angel (Black Rosary Book 1), page 1
FRACTURED ANGEL
Copyright © 2022 by L. Ann.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by A.T. Cover Designs
Interior Formatting by Crow Fiction Designs
Edited by Margot Mostert
First Edition: September 2022
ASIN: B0B2PMKFYW
www.lannauthor.com
If you find any errors in this book and would like to let me know,
please feel free to email me at lann.author@gmail.com
Playlist
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
PART TWO
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
PART THREE
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Epilogue
AUTHOR NOTE
OTHER BOOKS BY L. ANN
MIDNIGHT PACK
MIDNIGHT TOUCH
MIDNIGHT TEMPTATION
MIDNIGHT TORMENT
MIDNIGHT HUNT
MIDNIGHT FURY
FORGOTTEN LEGACY
TATTOOED MEMORIES
STRAWBERRY DELIGHT - SHORT STORY
STRAWBERRY LIPSTICK - SHORT STORY
SHATTERED EXPECTATIONS
GUARDED ADDICTION
EXQUISITE SCARS
BROKEN HALO
CHAMBERS BROTHERS
ROOK
BLACK ROSARY
FRACTURED ANGEL
HUSHED RAPTURE (COMING 2023)
Dedication
To the usual suspects—you know who you are.
To my freshly minted alpha reader team—threw you in at the deep end, huh?
To my readers—old and new—thank you as always.
To Angela for letting me “borrow” Reggie.
Warning
Fractured Angel contains topics that may cause triggers for anyone who has been the victim of domestic violence, sexual assault, or drug abuse.
Playlist
America’s Sweetheart - Huddy
You’ll be Fine - Palaye Royale
What Lovers Do - Maroon 5
Do It For Me - Rosenfeld
Wild Child - Friday Pilots Club
I’m IN Love With You - The 1975
Dirty Little Secret - All American Rejects
Devil Doesn’t Bargain - -Alec Benjamin
Open My Eyes - Rival Sons
Over My Head - Girlfriends
Miss You - Corpse
Jealous Again - The Black Crowes
Beautiful Problem - Mod Sun
Bite My Tongue - You Me At Six
Sex Not Violence - Yungblud
Papercuts - Machine Gun Kelly
Off My Mind - Joe P
Hurt - Updog
Punching Bag - Palaye Royale
What Did I Do - Hayd
Barely Alive - Jack Kays
Lost It All - Black Veil Brides
PART ONE
TEN YEARS AGO
Chapter 1
Rain
The giggling was driving me crazy. I’m talking about the serious ‘I’m going to stab you in the face with the nearest sharp object’ kind of crazy. I knew what that sound meant. My sister had found someone new to flirt with. She’d giggle, pout, rub up against the poor unsuspecting victim, then drag him back to our apartment for a game or two of Plant The Parsnip. By morning, I’d be thinking about piercing my eardrums so I didn’t have to listen to her do it again.
I slid my empty glass across the bar with one finger. “Can I get another?”
The barman raised an eyebrow. “Already?”
I tapped the rim of the glass. “I’m going to need it to get through the rest of the night. Hit me.”
I’d been to so many of these corporate events over the past month. My manager said I had to prove to the record label that signed me when I was six-years-old that I could still charm and please all the music execs now that I was twenty-one. My reputation had been built upon a sweet girl-next-door personality. Now I was an adult, they wanted confirmation that wouldn’t change. Prior to my birthday, I rarely went to these events. My manager said a child had no place at them. I quickly learned that I hated them. The shallowness, the constant need to be in character, the muffling of my true personality in favor of who the record label wanted me to be.
All I wanted to do was sing.
The barman grabbed the bottle of tequila, tipped it up, and poured a shot into the glass. I scowled.
“Don’t be selfish. Fill that baby up.” I could legally drink now, and since no one was watching me—at least, I hoped they weren’t—I intended to make the most of it.
His eyes shot up to meet mine. “I’m cutting you off after this one. You’re not even supposed to be drinking.”
“Yeah, yeah. Do you want to see my ID, Mr. Bartender, sir?” I gave him an airy wave, waited for him to finish preparing my drink, then snatched it up, licked off the salt and knocked it back in one gulp. The burn as it went down was more satisfying than the last few hours of smiling and nodding at money men. My disapproving bartender shook his head and moved down the bar, taking the bottle with him.
Spoilsport.
“Don’t you have a date tonight?” The exec on my right asked, and I inwardly groaned. He’d been asking me questions on and off for the past half hour. Each question had been slightly more personal than the last. I knew what he was leading toward and I was trying very hard not to stand up and walk away. My manager had warned me flirting would happen, and I was to smile and enjoy the compliment, but not accept any offers to leave.
“No, I came with Maxim Florentino.” Hopefully dropping my manager’s name would make him back off.
My sister giggled again, high-pitched and fake. I ground my teeth. How difficult would it be to take her somewhere quiet and kill her?
“Sororicide is illegal. Although, if that’s how she acts all the time, you might get away with a claim of temporary insanity.”
The deep drawl came from my left, and I twisted on my bar stool and came face to face with … a God? Eros made flesh? A hallucination? No one looked that good in reality, right?
I rubbed my eyes and blinked. Nope, he was still there. Maybe the barman was right, and I had passed my limit. No one could be that good-looking. Was this my first experience with the beer-goggles phenomenon?
“You’re staring,” Eros pointed out, with a slight curl of his lips.
“I am.” I nodded, regretted the action and stopped, waiting for the
Broad shoulders shrugged, under a white silk shirt that, in my opinion, was way too tight or maybe not tight enough.. “You often hallucinate company?”
I jabbed at his bicep with one finger, and my eyes widened when the muscle didn’t even move. “You’re actually real.” My whisper was awed.
“And you’re drunk. But that’s still no defense against murder.”
“I am not as think as you drunk I am!” I slid from the stool and aimed another jab at his arm, swaying.
His lips gave a suspicious twitch. “Riiight.” He caught my arm, stopping me from crashing into him. “Shame, really.” He rose to his feet and … just … kept … rising.
“Holy shit.” My tone was reverent. “Just how tall are you?”
“Taller than you, Tinkerbell.” He flicked one long finger against the lacy frills on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you into a cab and out of here before someone takes advantage of your inebriated state.” His fingers curled around my wrist and tugged me through the crowd.
“No. Wait. I’m not going with you. Who says you’re not going to take advantage of my ineb … inem …” I gave up trying to form the word, and threw out a hand, slapping it against his chest. The firmness of it distracted me for a second. “Do you work out?” I patted the front of his shirt, fascinated by the way it molded itself to his body.
He laughed, readjusted his grip on my wrist and tugged me away from the bar. I stumbled along with him for a few steps before sanity returned.
“No, stop. You could be a … a murder-erer!” I dug my heels into the floor and resisted his attempts to keep me moving. And by resisted, I mean he ignored my pitiful protest and kept going, dragging me along with him. “Seriously, stop! I need to tell my sister I’m leaving so they don’t send out a search party.”
Wait! When had I agreed to leave? Hadn’t I just told him I wasn’t?
“I think she already knows.” Warm fingers cupped my jaw and turned my head so I could see where my sister leaned against the wall, near the exit, arms folded, watching us.
I blew out a breath. “Oh.”
“Yeah … oh. C’mon, Tinkerbell.” He moved back into motion, taking us both closer to my sister, who raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow as she watched our approach.
Wait, you didn’t manicure eyebrows. What the fuck did you do to eyebrows?
I searched my tequila-soaked brain for the information and came up with nothing.
“It’s called micro-blading,” the God beside me said.
“What? Oh. Wait. How did you know I was trying to remember?” I peered at him. “Are you telepathetic?”
He snorted. “It’s telepathic, and no. You were arguing out loud with yourself over it.”
“Rain!” My sister’s sharp voice reached me seconds before the woman herself did. “Excuse me a second,” she said to the man beside her in a softer tone, one hand resting on his arm, and looked at the god with me. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”
My eyes swung from my sister to Eros and back again. “I think I’d rather go home with him. I bet he doesn’t screech like a banshee when he comes.”
My sister gaped at me. “You’re not sober enough to make that decision.”
“I can guarantee I don’t make any banshee noises.” The God looming beside me agreed with me. I sent my sister a triumphant smile. “But I’m not going home. I’m going to a hotel.”
“Perfect!” I threw out a hand. “Lead the way, Eros!”
“Rainbow!” My sister, exasperation clear in her voice, caught my arm. “We’re not here to hook up. We’re here to network.”
“You’re hooking up.” I gave the man beside her a pointed look, then cast my eyes over the God beside me. He really was inhumanly handsome. I’d always denied that jawlines like his existed outside of romance novels. The quirk of his eyebrow suggested I’d said that thought out loud. I shrugged, the tequila in my system removing any ounce of embarrassment. “I’m not wrong, though, am I?”
He inclined his head gravely. “God graced me with a book boyfriend jawline and cheekbones to match.” He dipped his head and rested his lips against my ear. “I also match up to the other things book boyfriends own and use them just as well, or so I’m told.”
I blinked, my cheeks heating at the innuendo dripping from his tone.
“You told me to grab hold of opportunities presented to me, Piper. And this is one I’d be a fool to ignore. Look at him. He’s obviously a book boyfriend come to life … and a God. That suit is worshiping his Godlike status the same way I’d like to do.” I squinted. Were those dark lines beneath his shirt sleeves tattoos? “We can call it networking if you like?” I offered as a compromise, tracing a finger over the dark lines weaving down his arm. “Those are tattoos, right?”
His laugh was soft, and I felt it like a caress over my skin.
“You’re drunk. Why are you even drinking?” My sister, as always, ruined the moment. “You know that’s against your contract. Don’t let anyone from Remarkable see you like this.”
“I’m twenty-one, a perfectly legal age,” I informed Eros. “Also over the age of consent, which is all the more reason for me to leave with the God of Love here tonight, before the media circus starts again when the new album is released.” I pouted. “Drinking was the only way to get through the evening. Have you any idea what it’s like to be leered over by men who’ve known you since you were six? Anyway, you would rather have the apartment to yourself so you can fuck whoever you had lined up without me there to cramp your style. Eros here will look after me.” I batted my eyelashes at him, hopefully in a sexy manner. “Won’t you?” I curled a hand around his bicep and leaned closer.
He patted my hand. “Sure.” Amusement dripped from his tone.
I angled a triumphant grin at my sister. “See!”
She gave me a dubious look, then sighed, her expression softening. “Fine. Just don’t let anyone see you. I don’t want you to get into trouble. If somebody asks, I’ll tell them you felt sick and went back to the apartment.” She gave the God beside me an unreadable look. “I know who you are, Mr. Stone. I’m asking you not to take advantage of her. This isn’t who she is.”
“Onward, Eros!” I tightened my grip on his arm and tried to move him toward the door.
He resisted, resting his hand over mine and leaning close to my sister to say something I couldn’t hear. She nodded, looking tired for a second, and my new friend turned toward the exit.
“And, Rainbow?” My sister said as we stepped past her. I looked over my shoulder. “You need to be home before noon. We have a meeting with Remarkable.”
Chapter 2
Marley
Black Rosary hit the big time a couple of months after my nineteenth birthday. We went from a small-town band playing the music for hymns in my father’s church, evolved into a rock band during our rebellious teen years, and then turned into a worldwide phenomenon.
For a group of boys from Spirit Gorge, California, it was like living a dream. One that, for a long time, we were convinced was going to end abruptly, meaning we’d wake up back in our sleepy little town and have to get proper jobs. Yet, here we were, ten years later, having gone through experiences that the son of a pastor should never have known, and come out the other side—still popular, still rich, and still hungry.
The hunger for something more, something beyond just playing music, was part of the reason I’d let Karl Daniels, Black Rosary’s manager and one of my closest friends, talk me into starting a record label with him. Our contract with Despicable Records was ending, and we didn’t want to renew it. We were thankful for the opportunities the label had given us. They believed in us when other labels had refused to even listen to our demos, but the entire band felt it was time to move on. We wanted more control than the contracts we were offered gave us, and having our own label would definitely achieve that.
It had taken two years to figure out all the fine details but, at twenty-nine years old, I was officially the co-owner of NFG Records. And the label was finally ready to sign its first band, not counting Black Rosary. Karl had earmarked three or four he’d heard about and was planning to travel back to L.A. to see a couple of them perform while Black Rosary toured. First though, he insisted I attend a label event in New York with him, where we—or mostly him—could wine and dine record execs from various labels and court some freelancers to see if any could be enticed in coming to work for NFG.
