The Dark Prince (The Dark Prince Trilogy #1)

The Dark Prince

By Autumn Winchester

Dedication

A big thanks goes out to my husband, who has supported me to get this done and out in the world. And a huge thanks to Tee Cullen, who has helped make this novel as far as it has come.

Disclaimer

This novel contains dark themes and adult content. Please read at your own risk. Contains sex, drugs, rape, and self-harm.

© April 2016

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 1

The man was deep in thought, not sure which of the three to pick. He had his choice down to the top three that appealed to him the most out of the lot after selecting from certain abilities and personalities that he thought would suit him the best. Many of them just didn’t fit his need. Nor did they call to him.

He needed a woman who could do wife like duties and obey his orders. He wasn’t a controlling man, at least he didn’t think so, but with his line of work, it was a must for the soon to be wife to obey without question. It wouldn’t bode well to have someone to question every move he made. He also wanted to help out an unfortunate person who was put into such a position.

He didn’t really want to be here, doing this, but what choice did he have? His inheritance was on the line and his mother would be thrilled after the shock wore off, he’d bet. He would probably get a huge lecture on the tactics he had used, but it would be well worth it in the end. He hoped, at least. He tended to be a bit big headed at times.

Sometimes he saw it as a flaw, but his mother said it was the man she raised. A man that would knit the family into a tighter weave.

As he sat in his black leather chair in his office on the main floor in his large, quiet home, he took another sip of the strongest whiskey he could find. He needed some sort of courage to get this over with. His house was too quiet . . . . . too big for just him. He needed a wife - a family to call his own.

Looking at the back of each picture, he took note of what qualities he liked best and for what he had in mind. They were all the same, but yet so different in every way. Each had been forced into the life without any consideration for their well-being by some thoughtless person, and the man had great plans to bring a stop to it. But it would take time and careful planning to do so.

First, he had to pick. But it was difficult with not knowing any of them personally, or even their names really. Sure, he could find out, but he didn’t want to go off of that alone.

The first piece of paper that contained a picture and basic information laid on his desk told him that this human being was just twenty years old, fully trained in house cleaning, and obeyed commands. She was used and liked to be a tease. From the doctor notes, she had miscarried a number of times. Nothing stood out to him about her other than her knowing what was expected of her without him having to tell her otherwise. She was simple and nothing spiked his interest about her.

So why did he pick this one to begin with?
He thought to himself. Shaking the thoughts from his mind as he moved to the next.

The same went for the middle picture, younger, almost too young for his purpose, but would do well given time if needed. She was only seventeen, would be eighteen right before Christmas. She was, like the first one, used and abused, but kept to herself and stayed out of trouble. There were no doctor reports on her, as she had only been in two households unlike the other two who had been in so many places they were old news, so to speak. So at least she must be in good health. Her lack of strength would be tough to get past. How could she be able to do the cleaning and cooking with no muscle?

The third one was just the same. She was used, only slightly, but didn’t talk much, if at all. She kept to herself, doing what was demanded of her. The doctor’s notes on her were slim to none, so this could mean she was in good health or no one cared one way or the other.

But this third one tugged at the older man’s heart. Maybe it was her age, not quite being eighteen, and so withdrawn that no one wanted her because she refused to talk to anyone, even children. He wondered what could have driven her to be so withdrawn from the world. This one was the only one he truly wanted, but knew he shouldn’t. Not with her family line that she was connected to.

His glass of whiskey did nothing to help dull the burn and worry of such a huge decision, even after his fourth - no fifth glass. He wasn’t any closer to picking one as he had been a week ago. But time was running out, and he needed to pick one. He was to be married within a month, or his father would be finding him a bride.

With a groan, the man rubbed his callused hand over his face roughly, trying to clear his hazy drunk filled thoughts. Maybe drinking, getting almost drunk at a time like this, was not the best choice he had made. He knew his father, the Mafia Don, would be having words with him if he found out how his son had behaved.

His eyes stung with tiredness, his body yearning for sleep, he carried on.

Turning his attention back to the three pictures, he studied each one. They each stood against the same type of wall, wearing filthy clothes showing that they were not at all taken care of. The grayness of the pictures popped out against his dark desk.

The oldest had short hair, chopped most likely by the looks of it from the previous household, looked too much like a boy for the man’s tastes, but out of the twenty pictures he had chosen, she was one of the better-looking ones out of the bunch. Her hair would grow back if he chose that one. She wasn’t just skin and bones and would be able to do what he needed. She had worked in many different departments, so all of the man’s needs would be met.

The second had dark blond hair, tangled and limp just past her shoulder. It was clear that the child hardly had any kindness shown to her. Her face was bruised, so it was hard to tell what her natural skin color was. She was short and skinny for her age, making her look a lot younger. His heart went out for her, just because she, like all the others, was not meant for this type of life. Her dark grey eyes were filled with suffering.

The last, but not least, was almost perfect, other than the fact that she was filthy. She had long dark brown hair with auburn highlights, limp from lack of nutrients, a few bruises on her face and neck, and deep sorrow filled eyes. There was no life there. No hope to keep living.

While the other two pictures, the girls had a little color and depth to their looks; this girl didn’t. There was no life left in the light blue eyes, and the man wondered why. What would cause this one to give up, besides the reason she was there?

In the picture, it almost seemed like she was begging someone to just end her life right then and there. And the man was drawn to do something, anything, to save her.

Making up a plan, he picked up the discarded phone from the table, quickly speed dialing the person who could help.

“I want to see numbers ten, twenty, and twelve,” he stated before the person could answer with ‘hello’.

“See you at eight sharp,” he rasped before hanging up. The man that would get the girls in place for him to look at was a man of few words. Plus, the tired man wasn’t the type to deal with little pretty talk.

With a grunt, the tired, tipsy man pushed himself up, bracing his hands on the desk to keep his balance. Instantly, he regretted the hard drinks he had thought would help as his head spun. Black lights danced behind his closed eyes. He was tempted to sleep at his desk. Again.

Slowly, he took slow measured steps to the stairs, going straight to his room, keeping a hand on the smooth painted wall to keep upright. Good thing the stairs were wide, so he didn’t fear too much about falling down. He didn’t need to kill himself until after his big move was made. Not bothering to change, he fell into his queen bed face first in the pillow, with already steady breathing.

The following morning, the loud alarm would have woken an entire house, causing the man to groan and grab his pounding head. The weak sunlight made its way through the thin, dusty curtains of the east side window, which didn’t help his hangover. His stomach twisted on itself, but somehow, the man was able to hold it together.

He mumbled, shutting off the stupid screeching alarm and made his way out of bed. He was already pushing his time limit, but the girls he wanted to view would be there when he got there.

By the time the man had showered and tossed on some clothes that would fit his needs for the day, he was running late. He could use a haircut, but that wasn’t on his top to do list with everything else that he wanted - no needed - to do. He probably should have picked different clothes, but the black slacks and a nice gray shirt was the only items that were clean, and throwing on the black leather jacket gave him that appeal that he desired.

He quickly downed a few pain relievers, hoping that his pounding head would stop as he rushed out the door, setting the alarm before locking it behind him. No one would dare break into his house, or they would surely not live to see the next sunrise.

Pulling his blue Audi RS 7 out of the six car garage, he made sure to stay under the speed limit. The cops in this town always seemed to know the exact moment he brought his baby out.

It had soft black leather seats, matching steering wheel, and it always ran smooth, never jousting with the bumps in the road. Plus, if needed, it sped like a charm. It was the first car he bought himself, and no one was allowed to drive it. Not even his cousin that was like a brother to him.

Living in the middle of dead’s man land was a blessing and a curse at the same time. While the town he did business in was a good half hour’s drive away, making the journey a long one at times, it was pleasant to not be bothered by the city noises. He still, to this day even after three years, had a love/hate relationship with the land he picked to build his house on. The large house that his mother helped to plan with even bigger ideas on what it should be filled with.

The long dirt road turned into pavement as the sun broke through the fall clouds. It was going to be a warmer day one, once again. The summer had long past, but winter was already on its way. The chill of the nights was a good indication that it could possibly be a wet winter in Michigan once again.

He left the radio off, not wanting to aggravate his headache worse than it already was. His cousin loved to have the radio blasting loud to where one could hear their thoughts as it was.

Finally, after a few unanswered calls on his part, he parked in front of a non-distinguishable building that was on the edge of the poor part of town. He hated this place with a vengeance, and would be one of the first places he’d give away to the FBI when the time came. With another tired sigh, hand running over his face, he pocketed his phone, keys, and belted his pistol on his back and out of sight. One could never be too careful.

The man also had a knife or two hidden on his body, knowing that anything could happen at any given moment.

Exiting the car, he took his time walking to the gray door with peeling paint. The cold fear that consumed this building was felt instantly, having the man on high alert. He knew he wasn’t followed, but that didn’t stop his instincts. Almost everyone in his line of work knew of this place by word of mouth only. It moved every few weeks to keep the feds off their tail.

“’Bout time,” a younger man with messy black hair mumbled as he stood up to meet the newcomer. His timber colored eyes took him in from head to toe. “I can’t be kept waiting all day for your lazy ass.” His look was filled with hatred. Hatred at life, or at him, the man wasn’t sure.

“I’m your boss,” the man nearly growled out, glaring with sharp basil green colored eyes at the little drug dealer. “You best remember that.” His voice was dark with threats and commands that went unsaid. Being the second in command, and the Mafia Don’s son, gave the man the ability to make threats, and follow through with them when he saw fit.