White: Black, #3

By T.L. Smith

Everything changes, in seconds, minutes, hours. 
I know, it happened to me. 
It wasn’t for the better, it was for the worst. 
I am broken, no that doesn’t sound right, I am chipped. Pieces of me have been chipped so bad that it’s impossible to claim them back. Even if I want to, even if its for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.L Smith
• Release date: Jul 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533794901

T.L. Smith

T.L. Smith is a USA Today bestselling author who loves to write about characters with flaws so beautiful and dark they’re hard to turn away from. Her books have been translated into several languages. She can be found in her home state of Queensland, Australia, or off traveling the world—sitting on a beach in Bali or exploring Alcatraz in San Francisco or walking the streets of New York.

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Sasha's Dilemma (Dilemma #1)

Adam’s Heaven (Dilemma #1.5)

Sasha’s Demons (Dilemma #2)

Krinos (Take Over #1)

Kalon (Take Over #2)

Kratos (Take Over #3)

Pure Punishment (Standalone)

Antagonize Me (Standalone)

Degrade (Flawed #1)

Twisted Perception (Flawed #2)

Black (Black #1)

Red (Black #2)

To Lila Rose—my Bitch to my Hooker. Yes you, who wanted me to write Jake. You can all thank her.

Everything changes, in seconds, minutes, hours.

I know, it happened to me.

It wasn’t for the better, it was for the worst.

I am broken, no that doesn’t sound right, I am chipped. Pieces of me have been chipped so bad that it’s impossible to claim them back. Even if I want to, even if it's for her.

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 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

EPILOGUE

It was as if something ate at him, and that something was drowning him, taking away everything he was. And here he sat, doing just that, letting it drown him. He never noticed anyone or anything around him. Women would come up and sit next to him, but he would ignore everything around him, lost in his own miserable head. He didn’t even pay me any attention unless it was to slam the glass on the bar so I could hand him another drink. Ignorant prick is what he was. He wiped at his scarred face, and I watched as it contoured, the edges coming up in pain, or sadness, I wasn’t sure which. I didn’t know him well enough. Though from what I had seen, he was clearly damaged.

His hands, always fisted, like he held it all there in the tips of his fingers, trying to not let it escape. He wanted to hold it I realized, the pain, or whatever it was that was eating at him. He relished in it and kept the pain his prisoner. Only someone very twisted would want that. Someone very fucked up. So I intended to not want to know, or to talk to this dangerous man who sat there every day, day after day, drinking himself into oblivion. I had my own demons, and I wanted to escape them, not hold onto them so tightly as if it was like my lifeline.

The heart, it’s a funny thing really. We rely on it so much without even realizing we need it—realizing how important that small red pump actually is. The life force that flows throughout our body. If you lay still enough, you can feel it, hear it pump and pump.

One beat...

To too many losses.

Two beats...

To too many broken hearts.

Three beats...

To those that suffer.

Four beats...

To those that lose their way.

A beat, a pump. You could sit there and imagine what each beat means, what each pump explains.

When in reality, you have no fucking idea. None. Zilch.

You’ll never know, you just have to trust what it does. What makes it beat, or pump faster.

But can you trust it? Can you trust that beat? That pump that takes over your body?

I’ve been in many situations where all I have left is to listen to my own dark and twisted heart. Too many nights to wonder what the fuck it’s saying. What it wants.

When in actuality, it just wants me to live. To beat and pump that bit longer, even if I’m not sure I want it to sometimes.

Even I think it’s smarter to shut it up, to stop tormenting myself when the silence takes over, and I know it’s there. That it beats for me, and only me.

What a fucked up heart I have. Why would it choose to still beat, to pump?

At times, I’ve tried to will it to stop—times I have contemplated ridding the beating within my body.

Would that be the smart thing to do?

Or the stupidest?

Who the fuck knows, I sure as shit don’t.

So I sit here and listen to it beat. Let it pump everything through my body, through all the cracks, the splits, and let it do its job of trying to keep me alive.

Because that’s the only thing I have going, even if it’s beating fast for the wrong person.

I was raised to not be a kind or caring person. My father was not gentle, he was cruel and vindictive. All my life I was a pawn, someone who he invested in, for the club. He never treated me better than his club members. No, sometimes it was worse. I worked my way up—despite what was stacked against me—and earned a sliver of his trust. He made me Vice President of his club, then he used me even more.

In some ways, I didn’t even know he did so because he was sly, cunning. A fucked up man, to say the least. I remember the day I worked it out, the day that I realized I was the pawn, and he was the master.

He wanted Black—Black was what they all wanted. It never made me bitter toward Black, no, not at all. Instead, it made me bitter towards those that used me to get to him. Like he was the prize. He wasn’t a prize at all. Black was loyal, he didn’t take orders, he was who he is, no questions asked. Then he heard about her, Black’s first ever weak link. Apart from me. I remember the day he found out about her, it drowns me in sorrow.

He seems to be with a woman, all the time. He speaks to her, he doesn’t ignore her. I was watching through the cracked door, listening to one of my father’s men speak of Black. Watching while my father ran his hand over his chin in deep thought.

A woman? Someone he cares for? The man shrugged his shoulders. Do you even know if he cares? My father slammed his fists on his desk with a thud. When he stood, his face scrunched in anger, fists opening and closing at his sides.

Of course you know. Black doesn’t care for anyone apart from that son of mine. He spat son out like it was a curse instead of a blessing. Follow them. And get me everything you know about her.

I have a picture. The man stood there, staring at my father.

What are you waiting for? Show me the fucking picture. My father’s man pulled a photograph of Rose from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He stood there looking at it, and after a few seconds, a smile formed on his face. Luck. Luck is what this is. This bitch is mine. The laugh that echoed around the room was evil.

He got what he deserved, nothing short of it. He took away my friend for five years. In that time, I fell for a blonde, one I shouldn’t have fallen for. I didn’t want her, I knew it. I just couldn’t turn it off. She was there—all the time. She was caring, and she was beautiful. The feelings didn’t happen straight away, they built up over a period of time. Until one day, I knew I wanted her for more than friendship. Except, I knew she wouldn’t want that. She didn’t even look at other men after Black. She wasn’t interested. No matter how many times men tried, she backed away. It was like she knew he was alive, and waiting, except she didn’t know at all. So that made matters worse. How could I have fallen for someone who could never return that feeling? It seemed just my luck that would happen.

Trying to better myself, I kept the dark things I needed to do away. She didn’t like the dark things—the guns, the drugs, the women. She lived it once, so it was not something she ever wanted to go back to. And I understood, that’s why it had to be secret. I was good at secrets, always have been. You had to be with a father like mine. He could tell a lie a million miles away.

When she saw him again, I knew then that I’d lost whatever I thought I could have with her, and that it was never going to happen. No matter how bad Black was, or who he was, he was it for her. And once he pulled his head out of his ass, he realized the exact same thing.

So I had to leave, I couldn’t stay any longer. I loved them both, but on different levels. I couldn’t put myself through watching their happily ever after. Because they deserved it. And if anyone did, it was them.

I didn’t deserve a happily ever after. I have too many ghosts in my closet. Monsters. And they need to stay locked away.

I don’t know how it happened. The alcohol could have had something to do with it I guess, but fucked if I knew. However, it happened, and I didn’t expect it. I was far enough away from home for anyone to have known where I was, let alone who I was. I was drinking at the same bar I’d been for the last several nights. Drinking, trying to clutch my demons. The alcohol helped, it served its purpose. The silence does too. The silence was different. It wasn’t your average silence, it was my silence. The one where people talked, and music played. But all you saw was white, you drank it in, it was invigorating.

I remember walking out, the sky was dark, but the sun was slowly rising. It was late, or was it early? I had no idea. I got lost in the dark, it captured me. Locked me in its grasp like a trap. I rented a small apartment within walking distance, the neighborhood wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t the worst either. So my guard wasn’t up, and my defenses were down. That’s when it happened, a searing pain slashed through my head. My hand flew up on instinct, then everything went white. It doesn’t go black, it never does, and that was the issue that troubled me the most.

To say I was surprised to see him, was an understatement. I never thought I would have seen him again, let alone a living breathing copy of him.

I can see your mind working. Wondering how? he mocked me. I tried to move, but nothing happened. He had misled me, used my deceptive techniques and tied me down. Not smart, by his standards.

Believe it or not, it's not you who I want the most. Robbie stepped closer, leaning down so his face was in mine. His breath stank, a mixture of stale tobacco and too much whiskey. It’s Black. It’s always Black. Does that make you feel like shit? That you always come in second best, in everyone’s eyes? Including hers?

I closed my eyes, he was trying to provoke me, and it wasn’t working. I may have been second best in some people’s eyes, but Black and Rose always put me first. He just hadn’t realized that yet.

And it wouldn’t matter if I was last on Black’s list, because with Black, his lists were small. Though, if you did happen to make it onto one of his lists—someone he considered worthy enough not to kill—you wouldn’t want to cross him. I know I wouldn’t want to.

He stabbed me, the knife sliced straight through my leg, missing any major arteries by a minuscule measure. I didn’t think he realized it, as he went in for a second attempt. Leaving the first knife in place, I could feel the blood, it was running heavy and fast, pooling around my legs. He looked down, watching it trail its way down with a smile. Then he stepped back, leaving the knives in place while he walked to a camera.

The pain didn’t reach my brain straight away. I’d been through worse, far worse. Plus, I had a shit load of alcohol in my system, so I was half numb. When I looked down, I saw the knives locked in position, the blood still moving like paint spilled on its canvas, attempting to find the end of the picture. To stop the movement I tried to shift, even slightly, to see if I could and that was when I felt the burn. The knives searing into me, it churned my stomach causing me to wince. His back was to me, his hands flicking the switches. He wasn’t worried about me moving, he was more interested in whatever was on that screen.

I stared at his back, wondering what was to come, what are his plans? I should be worried, I should be scared, that’s the problem. I’m not, though. Yes, the pain hurt. It hurt so much that I wanted to drink it away. That was my escape now, the alcohol. It helps me disappear, hide away from the world.

He walked across to me, his head hung low in concentration. A needle appeared in his hand, he squirted the clear liquid up through the small hole at the tip. He didn’t look me in the eyes. His vision was trained on anything and everything but me. I felt the sting of the needle as it was pushed into my neck. Thoughts ran rampant through my mind.

Reviews for White

[zoe · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What can I say ‘ah jake’ xx
I loved all three books but jake ahhh x