Strings: A Dark Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Finding Their Muse Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Bea Paige’s Books:

  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

  Authors Note

  Strings

  Finding Their Muse – book three

  Copyright ©: Kelly Stock writing as Bea Paige

  First Published: 17th April 2019

  Publisher: Kelly Stock

  Cover by: Peryton Covers

  Kelly Stock writing as Bea Paige to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Bea Paige’s Books:

  Finding Their Muse (dark contemporary romance / reverse harem)

  #1 Steps https://books2read.com/Steps

  #2 Strokes https://books2read.com/Strokes

  #3 Strings

  #4 Symphony Coming June 2019

  The Brothers Freed Series (contemporary romance / reverse harem)

  #1 Avalanche of Desire https://books2read.com/AvalancheOfDesire

  #2 Storm of Seduction https://books2read.com/StormSeduction

  #3 Dawn of Love https://books2read.com/DawnOfLove

  The Sisters of Hex series (paranormal romance / reverse harem)

  Prequel to The Sisters of Hex series:

  Five Gold Rings: https://books2read.com/FiveGoldRings

  Sisters of Hex: Accacia

  Out Now:

  #1 Accacia’s Curse https://books2read.com/AccaciasCurse

  #2 Accacia’s Blood https://books2read.com/AccaciasBlood

  #3 Accacia’s Bite https://books2read.com/AccaciasBite

  Sisters of Hex: Fern

  Out Now:

  #1 Fern’s Decision https://books2read.com/FernsDecision

  #2 Fern’s Wings https://books2read.com/FernsWings

  #3 Fern’s Flight https://books2read.com/FernsFlight

  The Infernal Descent trilogy (co-written with Skye MacKinnon)

  Out Now:

  #1 Hell’s Calling https://books2read.com/HellsCalling

  #2 Hell’s Weeping https://books2read.com/HellsWeeping

  #3 Hell’s Burning https://books2read.com/HellsBurning

  Links to Bea Paige’s social media:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/BeaPaige/

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/beapaigeauthor/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/BeaPaigeAuthor

  Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/beapaigeauthor

  Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/bea-paige

  Web: https://www.beapaige.co.uk

  To Rumi,

  Your words inspired this story hundreds of years after they were written.

  This one’s for you.

  Prologue

  Erik.

  Five years ago - Afghanistan

  Heat shimmers in the air around me, but despite it, I’m still cold.

  It’s a feeling I’ve gotten used to, being cold to the bone even with the intense heat that pervades the swollen air.

  It’s as though my body’s senses are in disarray, my synapses firing the wrong information so that heat becomes cold and cold becomes heat. Nothing feels right anymore.

  Nothing is clear.

  My head is foggy, both from intense pain and from something else...

  My fingers reach automatically to the back of my hand and a cannula that’s inserted there. It hurts, at least I think it does. I yank at it, feeling the trickle of blood but not caring. I know it shouldn’t be there.

  It’s why I feel so wrong… so out of myself.

  She’ll only put it back in. Punish you for disobeying her again, a voice tells me.

  My only question is; who is she?

  I realise I’m listening to a voice in my head, but I don’t question it. His voice comforts me. I cling onto him, a man who seems in control, far more with it than I feel. There’s strength in his voice I lack. Groaning, I push up against the hard mattress, only to find that whilst my arms are free, my body is strapped down across my chest and thighs.

  A dull throb in my brain keeps me from understanding why that is.

  I don’t even know why I’m here, only that I am.

  I don’t even know where here is. Only that I am here.

  Hell, this is fucking Hell.

  They’ll come for you soon, survive until then.

  Who will come?

  Just survive.

  “I’m trying,” I mutter.

  The sound of my voice is raspy, unrecognisable. Is that really me speaking? I have no concept of time. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been strapped to this bed. I can barely remember my own name. Come to think of it…

  What is my name…? I have no idea. All sense of self stripped away. I’m just a body that feels, and even that isn’t going so well. Peeling my eyes open is proving difficult, and I realise that they’re swollen, so much so that when I finally force my eyelids apart real pain lashes against me.

  Now that I feel.

  I groan loudly, cutting off the sound midway through. I don’t know why I must curb the sounds of my agony, only that it’s important that I do. Lifting my hands, I gently press my fingertips against my face. It isn’t just my eyelids that are swollen, but my cheeks too.

  Pain erupts everywhere, though strangely it’s caught between hurting and nothing, as though my body feels it, but my brain refuses to acknowledge it. Still, I persevere, feathering my fingertips lightly against my skin towards my nose. It’s crooked… is that why I can’t breathe so well?

  Despite the white pinpricks of light that threaten to draw me under I continue to check my wounds, somehow knowing there are more even when I know nothing else.

  I lift my hands up to the top of my head, wincing when I reach a deep wound that stretches from my hairline back to the centre of my skull. When I pull my fingers away there is blood. A lot of blood.

  A vague memory of being punched in the face dances across my thoughts, followed by something hard smashing across my skull before it’s ripped back and locked behind a door inside my head.

  Not now. She’ll be back soon
, and you need to be strong, the voice tells me.

  I know he’s right. I’m happy with not remembering. Not remembering is good.

  So, instead, I mentally assess all my injuries. I know now my face is a pulpy mess, that I can breathe better if I open my mouth, but if I draw in too deep a breath it hurts, a lot. My hands press against my torso delicately, and I wince when I feel the strange pain of several cracked ribs. I can’t sit up to check the rest of my body, but I move the lower half of my legs as much as I can. Nothing broken, I don’t think. Though it’s hard to tell for sure beneath the dense fog within my mind.

  Turning my head from side to side, I try to take in my surroundings. There’s no artificial light, nothing but the tiniest crack that must be coming through the bottom of a door. I’m not sure how to explain how there is light in that spot otherwise. Definitely a door in that area.

  A memory tries to sneak back in, but it’s forced away, almost involuntarily, given I don’t seem to have any control over it. I have the sudden urge to call out. To ask where the fuck I am. But that voice inside my head stops me once again.

  Better they think you’re still passed out. You need more time. She’ll only come if you shout. You don’t want her here. Take a few minutes more of peace.

  “Peace? You call this peace?” I ask myself quietly, the faint stirrings of madness not far from my mind.

  But I don’t call out. I heed the warning, allowing myself the silence of this tomb.

  Tomb…

  Fuck!

  Like a missile splintering my heart, everything comes back in one vicious attack. I’m a prisoner of war. I’m at the mercy of a sadistic fuck, a woman with beauty beyond compare but a heart made of stone. She intends to kill me, but not before she’s tortured enough information out of me.

  The thing is, I won’t talk. Ever.

  I will die before I betray my country.

  She can go to fucking Hell…

  As though hearing my internal thoughts, the door to my cell slams open and in my torturer walks. She is dressed in the clothes of a businesswoman and has a steel glint in her eyes to match the knife she holds up. Nothing about her appearance is any less than perfect. Her shirt is crisp, her suit tailored and sharp. Even her hair is pristine, long black curls fall way past her shoulders. She’s stunning and fucking deadly.

  All of this I see between the slits of my eyes. Better to pretend I’m out cold, it may give me the precious time I need to barricade myself against her and her wicked hands.

  “Do not pretend to sleep, darling. I know you too well by now,” her voice drawls. The heavy thickness of her accent dragging over my skin.

  There was a time when that voice felt different. I’m pretty sure we’ve fucked. In fact, as she approaches, the gentle sway of her hips reminds me of a time they were unclothed and alluring. A glimpse of a memory skitters across my mind, but I lose it before I’m able to grasp hold of it.

  It’s better that way.

  She laughs, the sound is unforgiving. “You men are all the same, so enamoured by beauty you cannot see what lies within. Why is it always so easy?” she asks, grabbing hold of my flaccid cock. She squeezes and I flinch, bile rising up my throat.

  Don’t fucking touch me.

  Anger ripples in the tenseness of my muscles. I’ve never hurt a woman. But right now, I would kill her if I had the chance.

  Laughter erupts from her perfect lips, before she lets me go.

  “Why was it so easy?” she muses, a light laugh bursting from her lips.

  I’m not fool enough to answer.

  Instead, I begin to lock myself away in the dark recesses of my mind, shutting off feeling and emotions like I’ve been taught to do. Like I’ve had to do since she brought me here drugged and helpless. What a fool I was to be captured by her. With my job there was always this risk. I can only hope she kills me soon, or my comrades extract me without getting us all killed in the process.

  Then I remember, they’re all dead too.

  Hope sinks beneath the bottomless ocean of my despair.

  She sidles up beside me, flicking her wrist. I know what comes next…

  Music, my music. My heart fucking cracks.

  The notes filter into the room through speakers I cannot see.

  It should soothe me. It doesn’t.

  I’d played for her, making the mistake of trusting someone I thought was an ally… how fucking foolish. I’d given her a piece of myself and now she’s using it against me. She’s been doing that for a while now.

  “You are so very talented, Erik. It’s a shame you’ll never be able to play again, hmm,” she says, nodding to a man who walks into the room holding a syringe. With a sharp nod of her head, he strides over, stabbing the needle into my thigh.

  Within seconds I’m unable to move.

  But I’m sure as hell able to feel as she runs the tip of the blade over my right hip. Pain lances through me as she slices open my skin.

  “Get out,” she says, not bothering to make eye contact with the nameless man as he exits the cell. She leans over, her perfume repugnant now to me. I try not to flinch as she brushes her lips against my swollen and bruised cheek.

  “You were such a good fuck. Shame I’m going to have to kill you…”

  Her voice trails off as her lips lower against my mouth and she pushes her tongue between the barrier of my lips. Chuckling she withdraws.

  “I must say, I like this Erik. It’s been so much fun breaking you.”

  As my rendition of Mazurka in A Minor reaches its crescendo, I realise something I wish I didn’t; my love for playing the violin has been twisted into something hateful, dark, something to fear.

  And that, that’s what finally breaks me.

  Chapter 1

  Rose.

  Present Day. Kirkwall, Orkney.

  The hotel is tiny, quaint. In fact, I’m not even sure a three bedroomed cottage can be classed as a hotel, but here we are anyway. It’s way past midnight. Ivan paid good money to ensure the hotelier stayed awake for our arrival. I’m pretty sure Douglas would’ve stayed up without being paid to do so. He seems like a genuinely nice man. Kind.

  In fact, everyone we’ve met so far has been nothing but welcoming. It’s a little surprising that this is where Ms Hadley comes from. I’m tempted to ask him about her. I’m pretty sure he’d answer all my questions. Well, perhaps not all. I’m not sure he’d appreciate me asking him why she’s such a bitch…

  “Thank you, Douglas. We appreciate you staying up,” Ivan continues. He bends down to pick up his weekend bag, grabbing mine too.

  “Ach, it’s no bother,” he responds with a warm smile, wafting his hand in the air. His watery blue eyes sparkle a little. I think he quite likes the company.

  “Regardless, we’re grateful,” Ivan persists, casting his gaze at Anton who’s staring out at the marina, a frown drawing his eyebrows together.

  “Your friend, he seems troubled. He okay?” Douglas whispers, nodding his head towards Anton.

  “We’re all pretty tired, it’s been a long day,” I respond, smiling.

  “Then I won’t keep you awake any longer. Please, let me show you to your rooms,” he says, bending down to pick up Anton’s bag.

  “Hey, you don’t need to do that,” Anton says, stepping towards Douglas, attempting to take the bag from him.

  Douglas grins, showing a set of perfect false teeth. “I might be a fair few years older than you are, laddie, but I can still manage to carry a bag.”

  “Sure, no offense meant,” Anton responds, holding his hands up.

  He glances at me, a smile creeping into his eyes. I breathe out a sigh of relief, it’s the first time since we realised Erik was gone that he’s smiled, albeit briefly.

  “None taken. Come, follow me,” he says, twisting on his feet and striding towards a door at the back of the small reception area. “You’re lucky we’re out of season, all three rooms are free. Not many people head up this way this time of year. Much too cold fo
r most folks.”

  “I bet,” I agree, shivering a little still despite being inside. Though, to be fair, I think it has more to do with the fact that for the last twenty-four hours my thoughts have been filled with nothing but Erik. Finally arriving here in Kirkwall knowing he’s close by is doing strange things to me. I try not to think too much about what that means.

  Douglas stops at the first door at the top of the stairs. Turning the knob, he pushes it open. “Either one of you gents can take this room. I’m saving the best room for this beautiful young lady here. It’s smack in the middle of both of yours,” he says, giving me a cheeky wink.

  I grin, but the smile fades when I glance at Ivan, then at Anton. He may have forgiven Anton for locking me up, but he sure as hell hasn’t forgotten.

  “I’ll take this one,” Anton says, schooling his emotions behind an expressionless face. Grabbing the bag from Douglas, he glances at us both. “Goodnight then,” he responds, after a moment of awkwardness.

  “Goodnight, Anton,” I whisper, swallowing down the feeling that despite what happened between us, we are still in uncharted waters. We’ve not discussed what happened in that locked room beyond his studio. There hasn’t really been the right moment. We left Browlace the moment we had our bags packed. Travelling here wasn’t exactly filled with conversation either, each one of us unable to broach the subject of Erik’s disappearance and what’s happening between us all. Anton steps inside the room, closing it gently. I can feel Ivan’s gaze on me.