Zeke's Rule Read online

  Zeke’s Rule

  Sam Crescent and Jenika Snow

  ZEKE’S RULE (Beautiful Torment, 1)

  Sam Crescent and Jenika Snow

  www.CrescentSnowPublishing.com

  Published by Crescent Snow Publishing

  Copyright © October 2015 by Sam Crescent and Jenika Snow

  Digital Editon

  First E-book Publication: October 2015

  Edited by Editing by Rebecca

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Zeke isn’t a hero, has never seen himself having a happily ever after. He’s been called many things: evil, twisted, sadistic, and dangerous. He is all of those things and more. He revels in it, embraces it, and uses it to make himself more powerful. He is a bad man all the way through.

  Then there is Alessandria, a woman chained, crying, frightened, who yearns for pain with her pleasure. The sadistic part of him wants her all for himself. He’ll show her that the type of pain he wants to give her will ultimately bring her the pleasure she yearns for.

  Will Alessandria be able to handle the monster inside of Zeke, or like so many others, will she run?

  Dedication

  Sam: I want to thank our lovely readers for their continued support, and love of our work. Also, thank you to the amazing Jenika for being an amazing author, and wonderful friend. I look forward to many books to come.

  Jenika: Thank you everyone for your support and cheering us one. We appreciate each and every one of you so much. Sam, you’re a wonderful author and friend, and I’m lucky to be able to create stories with you. It really is a dream. To the Crescent Snow group … you all are so amazing!

  Other titles by Crescent Snow Publishing

  The Soldiers of Wrath MC

  Book 1: Owned by the Bastard

  Book 2: Bent, Not Broken

  Book 3: Hard As Steel

  The Soldiers Bonus Story (free story available on CSP website)

  Book 4: Dead Bastard

  Boxed set (books 1-3+ bonus story)

  Book 4.5: Ruin and Rise

  Club Corruption

  Corruption

  Bound

  Coming soon

  Striker’s story (The Soldiers of Wrath MC, 5): 2015

  Owned (Club Corruption, 4): 2015

  His Darkest Secret: 2015

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Other titles by Crescent Snow Publishing

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Exclusive Teaser of The Way I Like It

  Connect with the Authors

  Chapter One

  Zeke: ten years old

  “YOU WORTHLESS PIECE of shit.”

  Zeke sat on the frayed, stained, and rotten smelling couch, staring at his drunken father who paced back and forth in front of him, high and drunk; he waited for the blows to come. His father was high and drunk. His mother sat on the chair across from Zeke, a tourniquet on her arm, blood dripping down the crease of her elbow from the needle she’d just used to shoot up. She stared at Zeke with this glazed, off her gourd expression, and he knew when his father started hitting him she’d do nothing. This was his life, had been for as long as he could remember. He might only be ten, but he felt far older, had to be strong and smart to stay alive when things got bad.

  “You little worthless piece of shit.” His father stopped and stared down at him. He clenched his hands at his sides, his anger slamming into Zeke with enough force that if he weren’t used to this, he would have felt real fear.

  “You went into my room and got into my cash, didn’t you?” Although it sounded like a question, Zeke knew it wasn’t really one. His father knew what he’d done, and Zeke would get punished severely for it.

  “I needed money for food.” Zeke didn’t bother lying.

  “What an ungrateful little shit,” his mother said now.

  Zeke looked at his mother, saw her try and sit up, but she slumped back down, too high to move more than an inch. “There wasn’t any food in the house, and I was hungry.” He looked at his father again, the man hateful, evil. But Zeke couldn’t deny that what he’d been through had made him stronger; he’d had to be to withstand all of this.

  “You never steal from your own.”

  You’re not my own.

  “There wasn’t any food in the house, and I was hungry,” Zeke said again. “It was only five dollars.” It was the only money he’d been able to find in the house, but it had been part of his parents drug and booze fund. He’d known taking the money would mean he’d get it, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but surviving, growing up, getting away from them, and being the one that threw the punches instead of taking them.

  “If I had been able to afford an abortion, your ass wouldn’t be here right now,” his mother said, slurring the words out.

  And before Zeke could prepare himself, that first blow came from the left, and he felt the darkness rush forward.

  Zeke: eighteen years old

  HE WAS DRUNK, surprised he could even get his dick hard, but he wasn’t going to stop, wasn’t going to turn down this piece of ass. He needed more than booze to make him forget about his shitty life, about how he was on the verge of losing his fucking mind.

  Zeke stared at the ass currently bouncing up and down on his cock, lifted his gaze up the wide hips and slender back, and held onto her hips, slamming her down harder on him. He didn’t even know this bitch’s name, and he assumed she didn’t know his either. They were in the back of some poor asshole’s pickup truck at a party being held by a kid he had gone to high school with. Zeke had graduated by the skin of his teeth, and the only reason he’d even continued going to school was because he wanted to be better than his old man, rise above him. One day, he’d knock his ass down, bury him, and never look back.

  She was a whore. He’d seen her fucking plenty of other guys around town. That’s what he wanted: a slut, one that just wanted dick and nothing else.

  “God, you are really stretching me with that big dick of yours.”

  Zeke didn’t respond, not because he had nothing to say, but because he didn’t give a shit about what this female talked about. He just looked down at where her cunt sucked at his dick, where the condom was slicked with her pussy juice.

  He had big plans with his life, ones that had him above all others, had him never having to answer to anyone. The truck was uncomfortable as hell, but Zeke didn’t care. He was just trying to get off, and that was easier said than done since she was loose as fuck and he had whiskey dick going on.


  Zeke flipped her over so she was on her belly now, her arms and knees slamming against the metal of the truck bed. He gripped the root of his dick, held the too small condom in pace, and told himself he’d be bringing the Magnums next time. He lined his cockhead at the opening of her sloppy pussy again and thrust in, focused on getting off.

  He plunged inside of her, over and over again, until his balls drew up and he finally felt his orgasm rush forward. He came hard, not caring if she got off, because right now he only worried about himself.

  Yeah, he knew he was a bastard, but Zeke didn’t care; he embraced the title. Being the way he was, strong, fierce, not giving a shit about beating someone down, gave him the reputation, even at only eighteen, for having balls of steel. But he didn’t do what he did just for a reputation. He did what he did because he’d told himself long ago he would be stronger than all others. It was the only way to survive.

  When he was finished, he pulled out of her, pulled his jeans up, tucked his dick in his pants, and sat on the edge of the truck. The party was in the house right beside them, the truck they sat on parked in the alley next to it. Zeke grabbed the joint in his pocket, lit the end with the lighter he’d found earlier, and blazed up.

  The girl he’d just fucked got off the edge of the truck, adjusting her skirt as she stumbled toward the party. Zeke was sick of this shitty town, sick of having to work for some asshole, and he knew his time would come. He just had to be patient, had to focus on his goals, and in the end, he’d be the one laying down the law.

  Zeke: twenty years old

  “DO IT. FUCKING do it, already, you worthless asshole,” Zeke said and grinned, tasting the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He turned his head and spit it out all over the stained carpet. Zeke looked at his useless father again, the man that had made him the monster he was today. Zeke hated the fucker, hated everything he represented. His mother had died of a drug overdose just a year before, and against all odds, this piece of shit that called himself a father was still alive.

  “I should have ended your life back when you couldn’t even defend yourself.”

  “You should have, because I’ve come back to make sure this shit ends now and that you understand what it means to get what’s coming to you.” Zeke hadn’t been living in the same house with his dad since he was eighteen years old. He’d worked his ass off at a shitty job, paying his bills, and fucking random sluts. At the end of the day, he’d lay in bed and picture the man right in front of him, the one he wanted to kill. For years, Zeke had thought about nothing but killing his father, the man that had given him life. The same man that had beaten him daily, abused him emotionally and verbally, and made Zeke the apathetic and heartless bastard he was today.

  He couldn’t have any kind of relationship with a female, not one that didn’t involve his dick in their bodies, and no talking afterward. He’d become a person that feasted on hatred and kept his emotions buried deep inside. He knew that one day they’d explode and whoever was in the crosshairs would be destroyed.

  So, he’d come back to his father’s home, the crappy little one story house, to finish it. He’d waited long enough, thought about what he wanted to do and how he would do it, and finally saved enough money to get the fuck out of here and never look back. Even if they linked this to him, Zeke would be long gone.

  Zeke stared at the inside of the house that he’d cried in when he was younger, prayed to whoever would listen to help him escape, and where he’d realized nothing would change. No one came for him, and no one helped him; so he decided he’d just have to rely on himself if he wanted to survive.

  He’d walked into this dump just five minutes earlier, saw his dad on the couch with a whore giving him a blow job, and the memories of all those things he’d witnessed at a young age had come crashing back to him. The whore then left, his father punched Zeke on sheer principle alone, and right now, was in the process of shooting up his dinner. Now was the time to end this. He had to end this, because if he didn’t, he’d be living with this destruction inside of him forever.

  His old man was slow, high, and getting more detached with each passing second. His movements were sloppy, sluggish, and Zeke was able to anticipate what was coming. Zeke had let him get that first punch in, reveled in the pain it caused. Staring at the man that had tormented him as a young boy, and had created the monster Zeke was today, it was like looking into a mirror. He was his father, in all senses of the depraved, evil word.

  However, Zeke wasn’t going to make this man suffer, wasn’t going to torment him as he’d done to Zeke for so many years. No, Zeke was going to make this the first death of many in his lifetime, the first execution of anyone that tried to bring him down, tried to make him feel inferior. No more would he be the victim.

  He reached in his pocket, grabbed the syringe filled with a lethal dose of heroin, and when his father came forward, ready to hit Zeke again, he pushed him back hard enough that he fell to the floor. He was too high to know what was going on right now, but soon, he’d not have to worry about being the piece of shit human he’d always been.

  Zeke bent down, pushed his head to the side, and saw the slightly protruding jugular. He injected the needle right into the vein, depressed the shaft, and pulled it back out once it was empty. He could have easily overpowered him now. Zeke wasn’t a scrawny little kid any longer, he’d fought his way to where he was now, but that wasn’t how he wanted this going down. He didn’t need the details of his past linked to the empire he would rule.

  He took a step back as he watched the drugs take effect, watched his father slump to the floor, and knew he’d overdose from this. It had been the plan, and everything had gone down quickly. Good, that’s how his past should have ended.

  Now he was looking out for himself, for his future, and anyone that got in his way would meet a far worse and less humane fate than this.

  Chapter Two

  Zeke: twenty-five years old

  “YOU’RE IN CHARGE of your own fate. You either live life in fear, or be the ones others are afraid of.”

  Zeke recalled hearing the words in prison. He did a small stint for possession. Some bogus charge landed on his head not long after he’d killed his father, but it still pissed him off. Zeke had learned from his mistakes, listened to the hard timers in prison, which was why he was now standing in the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, staring at the lowlife who thought he could steal.

  He’d gotten out of prison and spent the last few years becoming unstoppable. Zeke made allies in men who had his back, but also made sure they were rewarded for that loyalty. The men who were his enemies, he dealt with swiftly, without fear or thought.

  “Do you think you can steal from me, you piece of shit?” he asked, taking a knife from the table of tools, and plunging the blade into the bastard’s thigh.

  The fucker screamed, begging for the pain to stop. Taking out the knife, he slammed it in again, relishing not only the feeling of power that he held, but the pain as well.

  Twisting the knife left then right, Zeke smiled, and pulled the knife out. Staring at the blade, he smiled at the blood that dripped from the tip.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  The darkness inside him wouldn’t disappear. It had begun when he was a young boy—after the first dozen or so beatings from his father. He’d begun to notice the little things. Like if there was someone hurt in the school playground, Zeke didn’t feel a thing. He didn’t care if another felt pain. He was more interested in seeing what kind of pain he could inflict on the bullies in school.

  Zeke despised bullies more than anything else. What he did wasn’t bullying; it was business. He took his business seriously. If he let one fucker off with stealing, people would start to think that he’d gone soft. Now, he was building up his reputation; he was responsible for half the coke, guns, and women in the city. His competitors didn’t have a fucking clue that he intended to take it all.

  As he’d gotten older, the dar
kness inside him manifested. Even now, his men watched him, and he saw some of them were a little too squeamish, but he didn’t care. He loved what he was about to do. If he was being honest with himself, punishing scum, like the guy in the chair, was a pleasure all of its own. There would come a time when no one would dare threaten him. He had a plan, a plan to control the whole city and even more. There would not be part of the world who didn’t think of his name without trembling in fear.

  Wiping the blood on the bastard’s chest, he heard someone gag. Glancing behind him, he saw one of the guys he paid good money for cover his mouth.

  “Do you have a problem?” Zeke asked.

  The guy dropped his hand, and for the life of him, Zeke couldn’t recall the fucker’s name. That didn’t bode well for the guy. If he didn’t remember his name, it meant the fucker hadn’t made an impression.

  “He stole a grand worth of coke.”

  Zeke gave him his full attention. “Really?”

  “You can afford a grand to go missing.”

  “What’s your name?” Zeke asked.

  “Sean.”

  “Sean.” Glancing around at his men, he watched them all tense up. “Does anyone else agree with what Sean says? Do you think I should cut this fucker some slack? It’s just a grand, right?”

  No one moved. The only sound echoing around the room was from the thief in the chair.

  With a nod of his head, he watched as the three men closest to Sean grabbed him and started to hold him down.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Now, it’s time to send a bigger message. You see, Sean, being a disloyal bastard starts with stealing a grand of coke. Then it’s taking a couple of girls, followed by those girls being forced to hook, and beaten to fuck some disease-riddled bastard when they try to be independent. It all adds up. Before long, it’s assholes like you stealing everything from me. And then I’m wiped off the face of the street because I look like a pussy that can’t handle the fuckers that steal from me.” Flipping the knife over, he ran the blood soaked tip across Sean’s face, smearing the blood across his lips. “Will that money I lose come out of your pocket? Would you be willing to sit in his place?”