Blood & Rust: The New York Crime King Series, #1

By Skyla Madi

Jai Stone...

 

I met him in the shadows first. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a man walking a dangerous path of rage and revenge, barreling toward certain death.

 

The more time we spent together, the more he showed me who he was.

 

Captivating…

Charming…

Ferocious in his own way… 

 

I had no right following Jai into the abandoned industrial site, but I did, and that stupid mistake was all it took to rip me from my world of semi-normalcy and thrust me headfirst into the gritty criminal underground with Stone as my only ally.

 

Aboveground, I'm a student nurse painfully dragging herself through an unfulfilling life, but down here, where men wear tattoos on their faces and kill without remorse, I'm a fraud living on borrowed time...

 

...and not much of it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skyla Madi
• Release date: Apr 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224939640

Skyla Madi

Skyla Madi is an internation bestselling novelist of a moxed bag of romance who lives in sunny Queensland, Australia. She spends most of her time indoors, writing with one hand and raising her three youn children with the other.  Skyla lovs to hear from readers and encourages messages on her website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Goodreads.  All business related inquiries can be sent via email to [e-mail]

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Blood & Rust

Copyright © 2015 by Skyla Madi as Broken: Round One

Copyright © 2024 Second Edition by Skyla Madi

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All rights reserved.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet without the publisher’s permission and is a violation of the International copyright law, which subjects the violator to severe fines and imprisonment.

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This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Ebook copies may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share with a friend, please buy an extra copy, and thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Also by Skyla Madi...

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The Devil’s Cartel MC...

Burning Road

Burning Daylight

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The New York Crime Kings Series...

Blood & Rust

Sin & Secrets

Smoke & Metal

Rage & Bullets

Ink & Bone

Guts & Glass

Death & Dust

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The Consumed Series...

Consumed

Too Consumed

Forever Consumed

Always Consumed

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The Slammed Duet...

Slammed

Crushed

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The Unfortunate Trilogy...

The Unfortunates

The Fortunates

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The Sinful Duet...

Into Temptation

Deliver Us

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Standalones...

Beautiful Assassin

On Her Guard

ONE

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The lights in the train car flickered as we passed through another tunnel, and it pulled my attention from my e-book on nursing etiquette. I glanced around the train. I hadn’t noticed how many people had left since I first stepped on. The once full car was empty, leaving only a snoozing old lady and a hooded man with his back turned as company. 

We’d long since shot through upper and middle class New York and rode the janky, elevated track toward South Teller, another lower-class borough hidden behind an old industrial site.

As we exited the tunnel, the lights above me stabilized and I let my attention float out the window. Splashes of colors and shapes blurred past, breaking up the depressing grays and blacks that made up the outskirts of New York. I always liked graffiti. When done properly, it added personality to an otherwise stark landscape. It reminded me that the city wasn’t just a corporate rat race, or an abysmal prison for those in a lower tax bracket. Creatives lived here too, and something about that made things feel a little less hopeless. If the bud of creativity could blossom in this concrete jungle, anything was possible. 

I returned my attention to my book and read the words on the screen. I hadn’t been a nurse for long. Technically, I wasn’t a nurse at all yet, but I was on my second placement. I knew how to clean the backsides of elderly citizens. I knew how to check blood pressure, administer minor medications, and dress a wound. 

I spent the bulk of my time at the hospital watching other nurses, learning as much as I could through them. Learning by doing was my preferred method since I’d never been good at reading. Words didn’t stick in my brain. I studied nursing not only to help people, but for the thrill of not knowing what would come through the door each second. I craved suspense and adored the unknown. I lived off the flurry of excitement and nervousness that came with surprise. My ex-therapist would argue it wasn’t healthy to anticipate the cases that would come through the emergency room, that I was stuck in fight-or-flight mode because of unresolved trauma. She never told me how to fix it. She moved her practice to Manhattan, and I couldn’t afford to see her again. 

Next stop. South Teller, the crackly, automated voice blared through the speakers, announcing my destination. I fumbled with my phone, closing the flap on its screen, and reached for the large brown bag at my feet. I pulled on it. I untwisted the strap and slung it around my neck, then adjusted it between my breasts. My bag was heavy and my spine complained as it took on the weight.

As the brakes screeched and the sound of the slowing wheels became more prominent, I moved from my seat and into the aisle by the exit. I kept my attention downcast to my black runners, mentally ticking off my checklist, making sure I got everything. 

I gripped the pole in the middle and waited patiently as the screeching sound of the train’s brakes echoed through the carriage. The vibrations seized my shoes and tingled up my legs, like a million tiny spiders, as metal clung to metal in a desperate attempt to stop the train. 

The train slowed, then ground to a halt. To my left, the hooded man moved his large body into the space beside me, but I kept my attention on the door. Living in this part of the city, I learned to keep to myself. Something as simple as a glance in the wrong direction could get you in trouble, and trouble was the last thing I needed this time of night. 

The man gripped the pole right below me, our hands less than an inch apart. The proximity made my skin prickle, like it knew something I didn’t, and a loose tendril of excitement twisted around my spine.

He smelled nice, like ambrette and rosewood, which was unexpected. Most men on this train smelled of cigarettes and Nyx body spray. I chanced a side glance at the enormous man, but I couldn’t see past his hoodie. 

Two distinct chimes rang through the train car and a recording of a robotic woman reminded us to watch our step. I moved forward before the doors fully opened, and conveniently, so did the hooded stranger. His shoulder clashed with mine, and he was unmovable. I squeaked as I bounced off him and into the edge of the door. The door shuddered as I collided with it. My phone slipped from my grasp and I cursed, swinging for it. It crashed to the dirty concrete platform, and I stumbled forward.

I leaned awkwardly over my phone as the train doors closed behind me. The train’s brakes released the tracks, and it droned, picking up in its speed as it left the platform. I stared at my phone. No. A long crack in the glass spread like a spider’s web. I picked it up and tapped the screen. Nothing. No. No. No. I let out a squeak of horror. It was broken, and I didn’t have the money to fix it. Or replace it. 

I stared daggers at the back of the man who barged into me. He trudged forward, oblivious, his head lowered and his backpack slung over one shoulder as he receded into the urban landscape. A surge of fury bubbled in me. The audacity of him fueled the heat that radiated up my spine, its fiery tendrils reaching my ears, setting them ablaze.

Hey! I shouted after him. He didn’t turn around. What happened to common courtesy? Ladies before gentlemen?

Still nothing. Asshole.

I clasped my phone against my chest and looked east, in the direction of my apartment, but the stranger headed west. A choice loomed. Did I let the offense disperse like mist in the wind? Or should I confront the disrespect that lingered in the air like an unwelcome scent? Common sense dictated I forget about it, that I didn’t follow the large stranger into the shadows, but my empty, moth-eaten wallet demanded he replace what he broke.

It was stupid to risk my life for a phone that could be replaced, but these were dark times. I couldn’t afford it on my tiny salary. Despite my better judgment, I marched after the stranger, leaving my sanity and an empty platform behind me.

TWO

Heavy, gray clouds blocked the glow of the moon and a cold thread of regret slithered down my spine as I followed the man in the hood further into the dim, industrial abyss.

Rundown warehouses and abandoned machinery littered the space, forgotten by the ever-modernizing world, and coppery hints of rust tickled my nostrils as I stalked him into the unknown. 

The deeper I followed, the less of the sky I could see as enormous shipping containers towered over me, stacked three to four high. We moved into the narrow passageway between the rectangular slabs of metal, and I gulped. What was in them? Were they empty? Or was I meandering about a mass grave site? I shuddered at the thought and pursed my lips, worried the rapid pulse of my heart would awaken whatever was hiding in the rusted corners of the rusting wasteland. I shuffled closer to the dying emergency lampposts that lined the containers, clinging desperately to what little light they gave off. Most weren’t working. Some flickered. The rest had died out.

Hello! I tried again. This time, my voice came out less confident as a fresh bout of fear flared through me. Excuse me?

Something clanged, a rat screeched, and I bit down on the inside of my lower lip to keep from shrieking. Blood. I hated the taste of it. Even so, I bit harder, letting the metallic tang trickle over my tongue.

Maybe he’s hard of hearing? I thought, and it made sense. No New Yorker was patient enough to allow someone to shout at them and follow them home.

The stranger walked with purpose. Each step he took was calculated and quiet. While he barely scuffed against the crunchy rubble under his white sneakers, I made no attempt to quieten my steps. Under my worn black shoes, debris crumbled as small pieces of rock, metal, and glass ground against each other.

I marched until we broke free of the container maze and arrived in the clearing in front of tall, rundown warehouses. They loomed like a warning, and I heard it loud and clear.

Faint laughter blew through the clearing, and I froze, clenching my phone to my chest. This isn’t worth it. Abandoning my quest, I whirled on my heel and headed back the way we came. My breath left me in quick bouts and I sipped at the polluted air, tasting dirt and rust at the back of my throat. I rushed down an aisle, then met a crossroads in the form of a diagonally placed container, and I couldn’t remember which way I came. I turned left, then right, then went straight. There were no emergency lampposts, so I turned around and started again. My heart was in my throat, my stomach twisted painfully, as I made a left turn, then two more. I saw lampposts, so I ran to them and followed, confident in their dimming light. Up ahead, I saw an opening, so I ran to it, only to end up in the same clearing I just left. I gasped and stared at the warehouses, their shattered wire-laced windows, and their failing exteriors. More distant laughter echoed. They mocked me.

How the hell do I get out of here? I backed up. I shuffled through the gravel, and away from the warehouses, but I couldn’t take my eyes off them, as if they’d dive on me the moment I turned my back.

I kept shuffling, clenching my broken phone to my chest, until my heels hit a ledge and my backside pressed into something. No, not something. Someone.

Panic surged through me. I couldn’t turn my head. Couldn’t run. I parted my lips and let out a shaky breath. A loud clang echoed, the sound of metal being dropped against metal, and I was grabbed from behind. The stranger wrapped a powerful arm around my waist and clamped his free hand over my mouth. I screamed into his salty palm and dropped my phone to the gravel. I clawed at him, raked my blunt nails along his forearm, and cursed myself for being a nail-biter. My throat burned and bled with my muted scream as I thrashed in his hold. Containing me wasn’t a struggle for him. He lifted me like I weighed nothing. 

He spun me in his hold and slammed me against a dilapidated warehouse. It banged as the back of my skull hit it, and he tightened his hand on my face as he pressed his other arm along my collarbone, holding me to the rigid metal. 

Tears rushed my waterline, and I gritted my teeth. I made a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have followed him. I shouldn’t have—

Are you out of your mind? he whispered with a harsh bite. 

I opened my eyes one at a time and took in his dark, shadowed features, each curved in anger. It was the man from the train. The one who broke my phone. He pursed his full lips over his gritted teeth and his nostrils flared.

I remained frozen with fear. I didn’t know this man. I didn’t know his triggers or his intent. One wrong move could end my life and no authorities would find me in this decaying site.

The man’s irises, their color indistinguishable in this light, flicked over my face. He glanced at my chest and I was hyper-aware of the speed at which it rose and fell. He was dangerous. That much was clear.

Don’t scream, he murmured, his gaze flicking between mine. Nod if you understand.

I nodded, and he pulled his hand from my face. Cool air blew across my lips, chasing away the warmth left by his palm. It moved his cologne into my nostrils. Ambrette and rosewood. I found it strangely comforting as it floated through my system like a balm.  

The man took three steps backward, with his palms exposed, and I let out a shaky exhale, ignoring the tremors that threatened to shake me to my foundations. He reached to his ears and pulled out a pair of wireless earbuds.

You were on the train, he stated, putting the earbuds in his hoodie pocket. Why did you follow me?

Even without his pressure, I remained glued to the metal wall, my heart pounding in my throat. I swallowed hard. You broke my phone.

He frowned, then peered over his shoulder at my fallen phone. He looked back to me with an arched brow. "I broke your phone?" 

When we were getting off the train. You bumped into me and I dropped it.

"You bumped into me. I was a step ahead of