My Brother's Protection: A Dark Romantic Thriller Read online

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Copyright (©) the author, L.C White/L. Whitaker reserves all rights to this work of fiction 2017. [email protected]

  The plot, characters, names, and settings are a result of the author’s imagination and in no way to be misrepresented as otherwise. If any similarities are noted, it is purely an unintentional coincident.

  This novel is not to be copied, redistributed, or altered in any way, without contact and permission from the author.

  Prologue

  Eight Years Earlier

  Dwayne

  “Dwayne, please don’t leave me.” Amber grabs my wrist, her trembling touch begging me to protect her again.

  “I won’t.” I gaze down into her terrified innocent teary brown eyes, clenching my jaw, waiting for the heavy footsteps on the stairs to speed up.

  He’s yelling out for her; his words slurred and angry. My nasty piece of shit, Dad, though I never refer to him as such. His name is Peter Schofield. He’s never worked a day in his life, and he’s wasted ninety percent of the time. I knew the honeymoon period wouldn’t last a month after we came to live here.

  Eighteen months ago we moved in, and it was only a matter of days before he showed Amber his true colors. I’ve grown up with the beatings. But he’s moved on from me and now uses my fourteen year old step sister, Amber, as his punch bag. I’m seventeen now and I can fight back, but she can’t. And that is something that gets him off.

  “Go lock yourself in the bathroom.” My fingers grip her slender biceps, watching as she sobs. “I won’t let him get to you.”

  She sniffs up, biting her cheek, half her pretty face hidden beneath her long blonde hair.

  “What about you, Dwayne?” she whispers. “You can’t let him hurt you again,” she frets, when really there’s no need to. I’m used to his ways. It’s all I’ve ever known.

  “Amber, go and lock yourself in the bathroom… now.” I swallow down the tightness she’s created in my throat. “I’ll deal with him.”

  I can take another beating for her. I’ll do anything to keep her safe. I need a punch in the ribcage, or a bloody nose. I need it to feel something other than these lusting feelings I have for her. She’s my step sister. She’s only fourteen, and the urge to kiss and touch her is wrong, I know that. It’s been growing inside me for months. Seeing how resilient she is. The care she has for me after one of Peter’s violent outbursts. The odd time our eyes have latched with need. It’s becoming impossible to be near her.

  “Amber, you little bitch. Where are you?” Peter yells as Amber slams and locks the bathroom door. “You stole money from my fuckin wallet again.”

  I stand firm, eyes focused on him staggering down the dim damp hallway. My heart thuds and lungs fill with hate, watching the twisted dick charging toward me.

  “Where is she?” He spits and splutters his nasty breath on me.

  I blink slowly as his sweaty reeking body comes to stand only a foot before me.

  “She hasn’t stolen anything,” I say.

  “Dwayne, this has nothing to do with you.” He goes to side step by me, but I block him. “Get the fuck out of my way.” His hands land on my chest, shoving me back hard.

  I get back into position, my muscles tensing, knowing any second he’s going to throw his fist at my body.

  “She hasn’t took your money. You have no money,” I state loudly. “You probably lost it at poker last night at the bar.”

  He hisses and spits again as he grabs and grips my neck. He thrusts me up against the wall as my fingers yank at his wrist. I go to take a swing at him, but he blocks my knuckles from touching his face. He hits me in the ribs: once, twice, three times. I wheeze, still not fully healed from his last attack a week ago. Between the hip and bottom rib is his favorite spot, learnt from his boxing days before Mom died. Eventually, like I’m a human stress ball, he’ll calm down.

  “I’ve told you.” He shakes me by the collar of my shirt. “Not to get involved.” He releases me and my beaten body slides down the wall. “You see Amber at school, you tell her she owes me fifty bucks.” Grunting, he descends the dusty staircase.

  I close my eyes, breathing deeply through the sharp pain in my lungs, listening to him slamming the front door. For a week it’s been like this. Amber’s Mom is working double shifts at the diner to cater to Peter’s selfish habit. And Amber and I are left to fend for ourselves, eating packets of flavorless noodles, while Peter spends all the money on his fuckin drinking and gambling addiction. I have an escape now, I’ve been accepted to join the Marines, and in seven weeks’ time, I will be heading to boot camp in San Diego. It’s a new start for me. I can leave this house and its horrors behind. But it also means I’ll have to leave Amber here, to defend herself.

  The bathroom door opens and I’m struck in the heart by Amber’s concern. She hurries to my aid, crouching before my cringing body.

  Peter moved us in here with no warning, after he and Amber’s Mom got married in a shotgun style wedding. It was weird at first, and Amber knew how evil Peter was, just by looking at him. She was wary, but also defiant. She had to learn fast to keep her mouth shut. Initially I was looking out for myself, but that soon changed and I became her shield.

  “Dwayne, are you okay?” she asks, lifting up the bottom of my checkered shirt to look at my bruised ribs.

  Her warm soft fingers gently run over my injuries. It’s supposed to be tender and painful. I’m supposed to wince in discomfort. But the pain I’m suffering with is something silent and dark. My secret desires for her. It’s wrong on all levels. But Amber Jefferson is not the normal teeny bopping fourteen year old. She’s been through the shit, just like me. She’s older, wise, and can spot an asshole a mile away. She’s took comfort in me being here, and I in her. We deal together, but I want so much more from her. I want the taboo. The forbidden.

  I take the bottom of my shirt from her fingers, and cover my bare skin as our eyes catch each other, becoming lost in a gaze.

  “I’m fine, Amber.” I grunt, pushing my back up against the wall. “You should get ready for school.” I do everything to avoid looking at her.

  “You’re not fine,” she utters in upset and guilt.

  “Hey, I’m fine I said.”

  “You didn’t need to do that for me again.” Her lips press together to stop a sweet timid quiver.

  “I did. Look, I’m okay.”

  I bring up my knees and push myself up to stand, hiding the ache. But no matter how strong I try to be, my body keels over and I growl out. She gasps and fusses around me, once again lifting my shirt.

  “You’re not Dwayne. You need to go to ER.”

  Her fingers glide over my hip, and this time I allow her to touch me. I want her to.

  Her hand stops and her eyes water, peering up to mine. She leans so her nose is only a millimeter from my
cheek. I close my eyes as her touch on my waist becomes more sensual. Her head moves against my cheek softly, and I’m fuckin struggling not to take her.

  “I’m sorry.” Her breathy words arouse me as she moves so we’re face to face.

  She has one hand on my waist and the other against my cheek. I know what she’s trying to do, and this isn’t the first time she’s wanted comfort this way.

  I fill my lungs, lowering my eyes from hers as she tiptoes, then kisses my lips tenderly. I want this kiss real bad, but I can’t take it. I stagger back a step, watching as tears spill over her cheeks.

  “I’m late for school.”

  Biting down, I quickly jog down the stairs away from my temptation.

  Chapter One

  Eight Years Later

  Amber

  “Lie still,” he says into my ear; his mouth smells minty fresh and feels warm like always.

  I do exactly what I’m ordered as he pulls the double coin knot tight around my wrists. Breathing through the slight burn against my skin, I remain still for him.

  This is his favorite place to position me at first: on my knees, bent over the beige padded suede knee-high horse. Blindfolded with my hands bound behind my back, naked as the day I was born.

  He’s my provider.

  He’s my master.

  He’s the one who saved me.

  “You have come a long way, girl Friday. You are my perfect girl,” he says, running the tip of his leather shoe, hard up and down my backside.

  I know I’m his chosen pet, that’s why he doesn’t share me with the others. My name is no longer Amber, now I’m known in the elite BDSM circle as, Friday. Though he will often come into my room when he chooses. Do to me what he desires.

  The tip of his hard shoe squeezes in-between my butt cheeks. It’s uncomfortable, but I know I have to remain loose and be quiet for him. He likes me obedient. He likes me to like what he does to my body, so I wiggle a little to accommodate his shoe to please him.

  “You’re a good girl,” he says, removing his shoes, to then come and kneel behind me.

  His nose breathes me in and holds my scent. I’ve used the soap and shampoo he has me wash with for his satisfaction. The sweet moisturizing lotion which costs a small fortune, to make my skin soft and supple for his hands, and the toys he wants to use on me. And the perfume that turns him on the most.

  “You may speak to me, Friday. Tell me what you would like me to do to you tonight.”

  It is rare he asks me for my input. Usually he likes me silent. This yearning for me to speak tonight, isn’t about me, it’s about him. Everything is about him.

  My eyes crease beneath the black leather blindfold. I know exactly what he wants. He wants me to tell him to fuck me, and for that I will be punished for my impatience. He wants me to beg him for his cock.

  “Friday, don’t be coy,” he says deep, running his finger up and down my backbone.

  “I… I want you to… to fuck me.”

  His finger stops on the middle of my spine. He pushes it down hard on a pressure point that makes me flinch.

  “Friday.” He slowly pulls my hair braid so my neck tilts back. “Fucking is a reward. Impatience is a sin. A punishable sin.”

  “I’m sorry.” I swallow down the knot of nerves, because I know what’s coming.

  “Sorry what?” He releases my braid.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. Do you want me to go to bed for you?”

  “Hmmm.” He pushes his erection into my butt, hard. “Yes Friday.” His body leaves mine and I hear him stand. “I’m beginning to think you like my punishments. Do you?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  His fingers coil around my bicep and he guides me up to stand. I wait silently, sensing his eyes all over my flesh. He takes several seconds, breathing heavy, then he escorts me to the silk dressed bed.

  My breasts and torso are bent over the bottom half of the bed, and my straight legs are tense. I’m ready. My ass is ready to be spanked.

  “I’m going to use the paddle to punish you, Friday. Four strikes. Take a breath and hold.” The paddle comes down on my right cheek with a slap, and the vibration echoes up through my body, making my sensitive nipples rub against the sheets. “Same again.” I breathe out, feeling the sensory sting, then inhale once more as the paddle comes down on my left cheek. “Again.” He repeats his action. “And again.” I bite my bottom lip as his feet shuffle away, leaving my backside stinging with heat.

  I wait quietly, listening as he removes his clothing. I can visualize everything. His shoes set by the stand of floggers, canes, and paddles. I can see him loosening and removing his tie and shirt. Trent Moore, the billionaire, the owner of the most renowned BDSM club in the States, the human trafficker, the drug lord, is teasing me. I shouldn’t want this, but over the last two years I’ve been here, I find myself craving his dominant touch. He gives me my Achilles heel, cocaine. I was living on the streets, and couldn’t afford my next fix. I was taken to Trent and told I could have everything I wanted, but he would own me. Desperate, alone, and cold, I agreed.

  At first I fought against it. I was locked in my luxurious bedroom as a prisoner. I was fed well. Given clothing and fine jewels. Gifts we’re sent to me daily, signed by Trent’s hand. The only time I saw him, was on a Friday. He would enter my bedroom week-in and week-out, to see if I was ready to be his submissive. He ground me down, and it worked. I began to appreciate seeing him on a Friday. I needed human contact. I needed something to replace the hole in my heart, left by Dwayne years ago. I needed another protector.

  “Friday, stand up,” Trent says, my senses picking up the brush of his feet over the hard floor; the chafing of his muscular naked thighs rubbing against each other as he nears me.

  I do as I’m told as gracefully as possible, rolling my shoulders and wiggling my fingers a few times, to stop the pins and needles setting in. Over the months, my wrists and ankles have hardened to the ropes, cuffs, and chains. They used to burn and irritate for days after, but now I find it rather pleasant. It’s a normality now, and I know he won’t fuck me without restraints. Not once have my fingers caressed his skin.

  “Friday, yours is the best tight little body I own. But tonight, I’d like to see those big brown eyes of yours.” His fingers untie the leather blindfold, and he pulls it away from my braid.

  I blink fast, hoping my mascara hasn’t run down my face with the sweat. Trent likes this room hot; nearly sauna hot. You could compare this room to a dungeon. A very classy dungeon as hot as hell. It’s gothic, with deep red damask wallpaper. There are two antique oak cabinets full of outfits, from sexy lace corsets, to full latex bodysuits. Thankfully, Trent prefers me fully naked. This room is one of seven. Seven rooms for seven girls. Monday to Sunday. This house is where we live. Though we are not allowed to speak with each other. We are kept in separate wings which are monitored and guarded. I have one maid, Jenny, who cleans and cooks for me, and I have a small garden. Outsiders would presume I’m a prisoner, but I’m not. I’m now here of my own freewill. I have everything I need, apart from contact with the outside world. After years of crime and hardship on the streets, here at least I know where I stand.

  “Friday, I’m going to take you out.” I have to stop the excitement bursting from my bare body. “Would you like that?”

  “Yes Sir… when?” I shouldn’t have asked. He’s now frowning at me. He’s cross.

  Trent is a handsome man. He’s slender and athletic, and when he has took me out before, he shows me a different side to him. He calls me Amber. He showers me with attention. I see his respectful side; what he is like outside this room. I don’t love him, but I need him, like he needs me. He looks after me, and in return I submit to his every command.

  His thumb sweeps across my smile. “I’ll let you off with that.” He sighs. “Next Saturday, to a military ball.” My eyes spark wide open. “I will have a stylist here with a gown of my choosing, to do your hair and make-up. You make sure you have a line befo
rehand. I need you calm and to remember our background. You will also have to pack an overnight bag. We will be staying at the High Mont Spa.” I nod in agreement, secret bubbles of excitement bursting in my chest. “Now, kneel. I want you to use your mouth tonight. I want you to suck me slow and hard.”

  I drop to my knees, not thinking about pleasuring Trent, but about getting out of this house and having a good night’s sleep. Not having to listen to the comings and goings of Trent’s circle of friends, here to be serviced. I’m going to feel like an ordinary woman for the first time in months.

  Chapter Two

  Dwayne

  “For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s…”

  “Guys… guys,” I yell out at my unit, holding my beer over my head. “Enough.”

  They all quieten down, as I clear my throat to make my departing speech at my final military function. I’ve been here helping organize my men to stand on guard, at tonight’s event to raise money for injured war veterans at the High Mont Spa. But for me, this is also a goodbye. After eight years’ service, two tours of Iraq, and four in Afghan, I’m retiring to start up my own security business in San Francisco. It’s been intense, but I’ve loved every second. These guys I’m with right now, will never leave me.

  “Come on Staff Sergeant Schofield, make the goddamn speech!” Corporal James Scott bellows. “You’re never usually shy with words!”

  “Right.” I blow out.

  I slam my beer bottle down on the table and jump up onto the bar. I can see the twenty strong group looking up to me.

  “And now, the end is near, and so I face, the final curtain.” I sing the good old Frankie number we used to sing every time we had to go out on patrol, then stop. “No, seriously guys, it’s been a fuckin pleasure to serve alongside each and every one of you,” I say, waving my hand across the crowd all dressed in formal uniform, like myself. “To the fallen.”

  Corporal Scott hands me my beer and we all raise our drinks.

  “To the fallen,” a choir of men’s voices toast.