Iced

ICED DEFIANT KINGS BOOK THREE BELLA MATTHEWS CONTENTS Sensitive Content Prologue 1. Jace 2. India 3. Jace 4. Jace 5. Jace 6. Jace 7. Jace 8. Jace 9. Jace 10. India 11. Jace 12. India 13. India 14. Jace 15. India 16. Jace 17. India 18. Jace 19. India 20. Jace 21. India 22. India 23. Jace 24. Jace 25. India 26. India 27. India Epilogue What’s Next? Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Bella Matthews SENSITIVE CONTENT This book contains sensitive content that could be triggering. Please see my website for a full list. WWW.AUTHORBELLAMATTHEWS.COM Copyright 2023 Bella Matthews All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in the critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is 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. This book contains mature themes and is only suitable for 18+ readers. Editor: Dena Mastrogiovanni, Red Pen Editing Cover Designer: Shannon Passmore, Shanoff Designs Photographer: Jane Ashley Converse, J Ashley Converse Photography Cover Models: Maddi Hansen & Dane Peterson Interior Formatting: Brianna Cooper To strong women. May we know them. May we raise them. May we be them. This book is dedicated to my niece, Alex, the original Dr. Esher, who is one of the strongest women I know. Thank you for always answering every single crazy medical question I have and never laughing at me for my excitement over new ways to torture and kill my characters. “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.” WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY PROLOGUE INDIA February . . . “Remind me again why I’m torturing myself?” I don’t bother hiding my sarcasm from my brother. Sarcasm is our love language. It’s been that way since we were little. Besides, something tells me he can hear my eye roll through the other end of the call and he’s smiling. Atlas is always smiling. “I swear, it’s raining. We’re short-staffed at The Bee today, and I’m already late. I should just go home and help Gramps.” I leave off that, thanks to an unfortunately placed puddle in the parking lot, my ballet flats are soaked, and I may or may not have stabbed my eyeball trying to put on mascara while I was driving here this morning. Well . . . not while actually driving. More like stopped at a red light. Not my proudest moment. But in my defense, my lashes are blonde, and not dark-blonde either. They’re pale as hell. It’s not a good look. Something that was pointed out to me on a daily basis in high school before my mom finally gave in and let me wear makeup. Teenage girls are assholes, by the way. “Breathe, Indy. Your version of late is what the rest of us call early. I know Gramps says on time is late, and five minutes early is on time, but it’s really not.” I swear Atlas was blessed with all the laid-back genes when he was born. They skipped over me completely and double-dosed him eleven months later. “I’m breathing, smart-ass. I just really want this job. I only have a few months before my student loans kick in.” Atlas groans as I hurry to a stop in front of the school. “You could always defer them.” “Yeah, I know. But the interest rate for that is sky-high, and I don’t want to set myself up to be poor for the rest of my life.” Spending the past two decades that way has been more than enough to last a lifetime. I look around for the buzzer most elementary schools have outside the office doors, then smile when I find it in exactly the same place it seems to be at every school where I’ve interviewed in the past six months. “Listen, I’m about to walk in. I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.” I end the call before he answers and force my shoulders back before I push the button. This one will be the one. I can feel it. This will be the school that hires me. * * * Two hours later, I’m rethinking every decision I’ve made over the past four years. Each one carefully deliberated and meticulously planned out. The only one that technically worked out was graduating from college in three and a half years instead of four. One less semester’s worth of student loans means less to pay back. It’s the whole getting-a-job-after-graduation that seems to be blowing up in my face. “Slow down, Indy. What did they say?” My friend Sophie hands me a salted caramel latte from across the bakery counter at Sweet Temptations and boxes up a few desserts for me while she listens to me bitch about another failed interview. Well, more like for me to take across the street to the café my grandfather owns. “He didn’t say anything,” I somehow manage to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “That’s the problem. It was another blow off. Nobody wants to hire a kindergarten teacher with no experience. But how can I get experience without having the job?” I throw my hands in the air. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. The whole myriad of emotions battling with each other. “I give up.” The bells chime over the door before I have a chance to thank her, and the shop owner’s cousin-in-law waltzes in like he owns the place. Dark suit. Darker hair. And the darkest brown eyes locked on Sophie with a laser focus which gives me chills. “How are we doing today, ladies?” Dean DeLaurentis strolls