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  Disruption

  Victoria Johns

  All rights reserved.

  The rights of Victoria Johns as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright and Related Rights Act 2020. All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, by an approved book reviewer. No circulation in any form or binding or cover that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people for resale. Please purchase this book from a recognized retailer. Thank you for supporting the hard work of this author

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental. Many are products of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design – Kirsty-Anne Still – The Pretty Little Design Co

  Formatting Services – Tammy Clarke

  Editing Services – Nikki Ashton – Bubble Books Ltd

  Proofreading – Nikki Groom – The Indie Hub

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Disruption

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Victoria Johns

  Disruption

  Dis-ruhp-shuh n

  Forcible separation or division into parts.

  A disrupted condition.

  A radical change, business strategy. Rapid advance are major causes of business disruption.

  Chapter One

  Zane Teague

  Aged Eighteen

  “I’m ready.”

  I stood in my father’s office, surrounded by his necessities. The props he used to create the illusion of being a respectable businessman. A desk, chair, laptop and whisky decanter. None of it was basic or simple in design, all of it ostentatious, even down to the rich smell of the mahogany and leather.

  He squinted before pursing his lips. “You are not fucking ready.” A hint of John Teague’s Irish heritage always presented itself when his temper was gaining pace.

  He had no idea what I was capable of.

  Every step I took through life I made sure I owned it. Like I was royalty, like I could part the seas, turn lead into gold and broken glass became diamonds with a click of my fingers.

  My jaw tightened, something I’d picked up from him. “I’ve been preparing.”

  “And that’s why you’re not fucking ready. You’re deluded if you think you can prepare. It needs to come from somewhere deep inside, and, son, you don’t have it. Not yet.”

  If he kept talking to me like this, I’d pick up his fucking laptop and batter him with it, I reckoned that would show him I was ready. He always used the element of surprise and if anyone dared look sideways at him, without justification, he’d cut their eyes out. Simple.

  He leaned forward and pulled a cigar from his desk drawer, picked up the clipper and nipped the end. The top of his dress shirt was open, and I could see the family ink curled from side to side around his collar bone, taunting me. I’d never get mine unless I proved myself and the only thing that I ever seemed to prove to him was what an epic failure I could be.

  Dad lit the end and disappeared behind a cloud of cigar smoke. “It has to be natural, guttural. It takes—”

  “I know what it takes… guts, relentless spirit and balls to be a Teague.” With the words, I threw my own inherited accent back, and I knew it irritated the fuck out of him. “Let me prove I can do that.”

  He was completely quiet, the only thing I could hear were his lips smacking against the cigar as he sucked in and out. I jumped a touch and he sighed when the cigar hit the glass ashtray beside the half-poured glass of whisky.

  “Be back here at nine, but when tonight is over, remember I fucking warned you, son. I fucking warned you.”

  “You won’t regret it.” I wanted to fist pump the air and roar.

  When I turned to leave the study, my mother was stood in the doorway, her face like thunder. Ellena Teague knew what this meant, after all, she’d lived through this shit long enough. I kissed her on the cheek as I passed, she entered and closed the door behind her. I heard them getting into it, fighting over my father’s easy acceptance that tonight I would try and jump into the family business. I knew where that was going, my father could get physical if she defied him too much and defended me, and the older I got, the more time she seemed to spend doing just that.

  Defending me, defying him.

  How she stayed married to him was anyone’s guess, but one thing I learned pretty quickly growing up was that it wasn’t just the men who were tied to this shit for life, their significant others gave just as much, only no one really appreciated their sacrifice.

  We travelled south for an hour, away from the house to an old abandoned warehouse, and adrenaline buzzed inside me. This was it; I was finally going to claim my birthright. Had my mother have had her way I wouldn’t be here, but she didn’t because my father ruled our world and up until now, I’d been content with that. Happy creating trouble with my own crew, Jameson Roach and his twin sister Bailey. Thinking about Bailey sent a signal from my brain straight to my cock. She’d been teasing me since I could remember, only for the last four or five years, that teasing took on a different form. Every time I looked at her, or she smiled at me, I knew I wanted her. I couldn’t quite pinpoint when that changed, but I did remember rubbing one off most nights during a particularly hot summer break. A summer where she grew tits and a variety of two-piece swimsuits featured heavily in my wank-bank material. She knew I was going tonight, her kiss for good luck didn’t last long before her brother called it to a stop, but once I was part of the family, once I’d made it tonight, Bailey Roach would see me differently, and I couldn’t fucking wait.

  The car pulled to a stop between a row of freight containers in the shadows of monstrous cranes, towering above us like futuristic guard dogs.

  “Last chance to wait in the car…” Dad said, pausing before he climbed out.

  I slicked back my hair and smoothed my growing beard as I shook my head, tasting what was coming; the chance to be involved, to learn the ropes, and to take my place at his side. When I climbed out and stood beside him, he knew I’d made my decision.

  “Remember, our ink is earned, and it will be the same for you.”.

  I nodded, knowing that I was within reach of proving myself to him and all the other men whose bodies were adorned with the brand I coveted.

  Inside of the warehouse was a hive of activity, yet every man my father walked past paused and nodded respectfully. This was his domain and everyone inside the place was there because he said so. They were on the inside. Some acknowledged me, but I knew it was only because I was with him, had I have been on the streets or alone, I’d have been ignored.

  Tonight, I would earn their respect; theirs and my father’s.

  We moved through the crowd and the echo of voices bounced off the brick walls and th
e glass windows above us, so thick with the grime of the docks that moonlight struggled to penetrate them. The industrial lights hanging off the walls were the only real illumination and they were barely better than candles in the huge space.

  “Mr. Teague, are we ready?” The words came from one of my father’s trusted generals and when he glanced my way, there was no hiding his disdain for me.

  My father nodded and everyone gathered around in a large circle, I looked at the faces and saw many of them were associates by business, rival gangs and families. But the docks were ours, the closest to Tijuana, and we controlled them. If you wanted something shipping into the west coast of America it didn’t happen without my father’s approval. What we had was an alliance, an understanding. Everyone knew their place, and no one strayed outside of their lane, the system wouldn’t work if you did, if you got greedy. Greed equaled war. Simple as that.

  I stood to the side of my father and watched as the quietening crowd parted to the left of him and a man walked into the center of the circle. The next thing we heard was the clanking of chains, and the sobs and cries of those wearing them—twenty-five naked girls all strung together, bound by the left leg and just over a meter apart. Their hands were shackled in front of them like slaves of old, and just for extra security a dog collar with a retractable leash that locked under too much tension. I could see that if one decided to pull too tight or run, she’d strangle the two either side of her. I’d heard about this part of my father’s operation, but in truth it was a sight to behold, no one would ever believe that we were capable of such inhumane acts and I was in awe of it. I could smell the power and fear in the room, battling it out for supremacy and it proved we didn’t just own the docks, we owned the whole coastline too and for every girl sold tonight, we’d take the biggest cut of the sale.

  The noise then started as men talked to others who stood close beside them, all casually eying up the goods, figuring out which were the ones to bid for. Some of these girls would earn them more money than others, the trick was to make sure you got a good selection. A girl fell to her knees and the queue halted. The one before and after the fallen girl squealed like stuck pigs as she struggled to get back on her feet before one of the minders could deal with her. I winced as he pulled her up by her hair and righted her while the others cowered in fear.

  “Time to inspect the offering,” the man who had called my father ‘sir’ announced.

  A handful of men stepped out of the confines of their conversations and walked to the line. The girls, mostly Mexican and Asian, all wide eyed and just about to hit puberty, shrunk and shuffled like it would make them disappear. One guy palmed the breasts of a small-titted girl, grabbing more than she had to offer causing her to cry out. That scream of pain pleased him and I knew in my gut he’d pay handsomely for her. He wanted girls he could intimidate, market as underage.

  “I need them to bend,” a voice of Eastern European descent requested.

  My father nodded, agreeing that this was acceptable, and again I felt thrilled, almost turned on by the power he wielded. Another one of my father’s men strolled down the line forcing them all to bend forward. But still, I wasn’t expecting to see an assistant of the guy with the accent spread the girls’ ass cheeks and check their puckered holes.

  “What the fuck?” I mumbled under my breath, causing my father to turn and raise his brows at me. Like always, he found everything I did painful, a disruption to his calm and orderly existence. I was the disappointment in his world.

  My dad leaned over, his irritation clear, and muttered, “He’s checking that we’re not short-changing him. He has clients with specific requirements. Never forget, in business you keep your word or pay the price later.”

  The potential buyers retreated to their respective huddles and one of my father’s oldest friends stepped into the circle and started the bidding. The speed of his voice and his enthusiasm only served to heighten the fever of the crowd and scare the girls who could sense that the journey they’d been forced into was far from over. The sums of money called out were obscene, but then, I had no idea the going rate of flesh. And amidst all the animation, before any sale was agreed, the auctioneer looked to my father for his approval.

  God, how I would welcome that power. I could almost feel it, taste it.

  The auctioneer shouted, “Done, delivery before dawn,” and some of the bidders left, leaving around half the crowd.

  “It’s time.” My father turned and looked at me. His voice was low, yet a hush descended. “Take your shirt off, son, and earn your place in the ranks.”

  Adrenaline buzzed again causing my fingers to shake as I tried to open the buttons on my shirt. With my back to the crowd, I breathed in, willing calm to come to my aid and when I turned back around, I looked to my father and handed him my shirt, running my fingers through my hair.

  “It’s not a fucking fashion show,” he hissed, “move yourself.” It was only then that I looked to the center of the circle.

  My opponent waited for me.

  A man who looked at least fifteen years my senior—toned, lithe, and already bouncing on his feet, bobbing his head from side to side—stood and smiled with intimidation. This was a great honor for him, he was going to be the one I beat, he was going to be remembered for elevating the boss’s son into the family business.

  I walked in to face him, and returned his vibe, glaring at him. The circling began, he was my focus, my only focus and as I flexed my muscles, he grinned at me, taunting me. I jabbed out once, twice and he swerved each attempt, never letting me make contact. With each miss, his smile grew along with his confidence. The crowd, impatient, jeered, wanting blood. It didn’t matter that they were dressed in suits and silks, because at their basest levels, built into them like DNA, each of them wanted blood to spill. Throwing my fist out again, I connected with his cheek and the pleasure inside me grew. While my opponent staggered back a pace or two, it was evident he saw me as nothing more than an irritation; a fly who had glanced off his skin.

  An annoyance.

  And that worried me. The recurring thought of what would it take to beat this man slipped into my head.

  He saw the briefest flash of my hesitancy, my disappointment, and the lack of belief in my capabilities, and it was my undoing. He paced up to me and unleashed his fists. He beat my face repeatedly and then the body blows came. A coppery saltiness flooded my mouth and the blood dripping near my eyes made it harder to see him.

  “Come on, boy, fight back!” he taunted.

  The crowd laughed and I could sense my father’s displeasure. It beat around the room as powerful as my opponent’s fists.

  What the fuck was happening here?

  I was supposed to be the ruler here, a king in waiting, and this fucker was making a mockery out of me.

  We circled some more, and I managed to get a few more blows in as the blood dribbled through my stubble, off my chin and hit my chest; the place where my tattoo would go for enduring this.

  As we did another rotation, I caught my father’s glance through my hazy eyes, I was right, he was not happy. If looks could kill this bout would be over and I’d already be on the floor. The look of disgust as he shook his head, knocked my confidence completely and that lapse of concentration was all it took to convince him that he was right, while giving the monster pummeling me another opportunity.

  I heard Dad bellow, “Enough! End it!” and the next thing I felt was my brain rattle in my skull, my legs buckle, and the cold concrete slam against my cheek.

  “You knew he wasn’t ready.” I heard my mother’s voice crack through the haze of pain. Rousing sharply, my body begged me to stay put as I struggled to sit up. “Calm down, stay still and take it easy,” she urged.

  Stay still… Fuck that. There was only one thing I needed to see, but when I looked down my heart seized.

  It wasn’t there, it was missing.

  My family ink.

  The brand that said I belonged.

&nb
sp; The words that told the world I was worthy of taking my place by my father’s side.

  “Where the fuck is it?” I winced, my lips cut and crusty, my head pounding.

  “You didn’t earn it.” I heard his voice come from somewhere behind me, as my mom skewered me with a look, imploring me to go careful.

  I strained to see him, but my body had other ideas. I gave up and went back to lying down, letting my her tend to my wounds.

  “Just like now. Just like the pussy you are, letting mommy bandage up her little soldier. you wanna suckle her titties too?’” he snarled. The disdain in his voice worse than anything my body had endured.

  I watched as he turned to my mother. “This is your fucking fault, bitch. From the minute you pushed him out of your slack cunt, you let him disrupt our lives. Every time I tried to slap some fucking sense into him, you’d protect him.” Mom didn’t answer him back, she knew better than to take him on straight from the bat. “Kids should be seen and not heard, but oh no, not ours,” he sneered.

  Mom opened her mouth, the need to defend me becoming too much to hold back. “Don’t,” he spat, “or I’ll slap the fucking stupid out of you too.”

  I’d heard enough. “I earned it! I went in the ring. I took my beating. I fucking earned my ink.”