My Brother's Protection: A Dark Romantic Thriller Page 2

  “To the brave,” I yell through the croak in my throat.

  “To the brave,” they repeat.

  “To true friends,” I call out and their voices follow. “The girls.” Cheers and wolf whistles bounce off the walls. “And to Private O’Ryan, for introducing the unit to his more feminine side on margarita night.”

  I have to take a pause. The memories of the good times and bad, get too much. I’m supposed to be on duty. I have to make sure my men give a good impression tonight.

  I nod down at my polished boots then peer up, noting Commander Weathers hoisting his glass in the background.

  “Okay, fun’s over for now. Drink up and get back to your post.” I crouch, using my hand to drop down from the bar.

  “Any other time, I’d have you on guard duty for disobeying orders,” Commander Weathers says as he approaches. “But seeing as you’ll be enjoying the civilian life as from tomorrow, I’ll let you off.”

  “Commander, there’s a job for you if you ever want to get out of that uniform.” I smile as he glances down at his navy jacket and polished chrome buttons.

  “I retire in two years, and I don’t want to even contemplate that,” he replies. “They’ll have to bury me in this.”

  A jazz band begin rehearsals on stage, as catering staff and waiters are briefed on the vast dancefloor. I’ve been a part of this event for several years on and off, depending whether I’m on tour. I thought Commander Weathers would let me off this last assignment. I like the nitty-gritty deaf-defying kind of missions. Not the la-di-da pompous civilian charity events which drag on and on all night.

  “Is everything set?” he asks.

  “Yes Sir. Two guards to greet guests on the red carpet. Four posted on each door in the hall. And Corporal Scott will be meeting and greeting.”

  “And you?” He grins, cocking his dark brow on me.

  “I’ll be around, Sir.”

  “Okay.” He tips the rest of his beer into his mouth, and places the empty bottle on a tray a waitress carries by. “Better get ready to greet the Mayor.” He blows out, pulling up his trousers. “You look after yourself Dwayne. Anything you need, ask. It’s the least I can do for one of the best, most efficient Staff Sergeants I’ve had the pleasure of having in my squad. It’s a shame to lose you.” He pats my back firmly, before making his way into the dance hall.

  ***

  The lighting is dim and the jazz music grates on me. The ball has been in full swing for two hours, and I’ve come up onto the balcony for a five minute breather. I want to unfasten the top button of my starched shirt. But if Commander Weathers catches me not kitted for the show, he’ll have me standing outside in the freak summer rain shower.

  I lean over the limestone banister, watching the rich mingle and dance on the polished floors, drinking Champaign and eating fine food. This isn’t my kind of scene. Yes it’s for a good cause, but when I’m not on duty, I prefer a dirty biker bar, beer, pool, and rock music, any day.

  “You’re slacking Sarge.” Corporal Scott approaches me, holding out a beer. “Weathers is kissing ass down there, so you’re safe for a while.”

  I chuckle, swiping the beer from his hand as he leans over the banister to join me.

  “So, how’s the new office?” he asks.

  I purchased a small warehouse six months ago, to renovate into a base for my security business. I have a handful of good solid men lined up, ready to work for me, and three assignments coming up over the next month. Nightclubs, diplomats, and celebrities in need of security. When I came up with the idea, I didn’t think it would be so popular. But it seems good well vetted hard men, are in demand.

  “What’s it called, Safe Hands?” He sniggers. “Dude, the name sucks.”

  I turn my head slowly to glare at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

  My eyes circle and land on the red carpeted stairs of the entrance. I bite down and focus, watching a couple walking arm in arm down the steps. It’s the girl that has my attention, and it takes me a few seconds to breathe through the pain in my chest. It’s like an old distant memory that has reverted my senses back to my teen years. A dread. An emotion. A goddamn strange twist of fate. I ran away from her; from the situation we were both locked in. I left her in that house with my dick of a Dad, to fend for herself. Now she’s standing on the stairs of this prestigious event, wearing a stunning cream and golden lace gown, with some smug looking asshole whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

  “Hey,” Corporal Scott says, nudging my arm. “She’s taken.” He laughs at me.

  I continue to watch every move she makes as they descend the stairs. It’s something that still exists after all these years. The need to drink in the beauty of her. To defend her. To know exactly what she is doing, and who she is with. My Amber. The only real love I have ever felt.

  “Sarge, you okay?” Corporal Scott nudges me again, causing my mind to leap out of the trance I’m in.

  “Yeah… yeah.” I exhale through my tight chest. “Who is that?” I ask, referring to the guy Amber is with.

  “That there is Trent Moore. He’s a jackass with billions under his belt. He deals in property. Has made a fortune in Dubai. The girl, I don’t know,” he says as I peer over the bannister, watching Trent mingle with the other suits, leaving Amber alone in the background. “He’s here every year. Last year it was a different girl. You know what money does, attracts pussy.”

  A switch flicks inside my head, and my fingers grip Corporal Scott’s jacket. I can’t stop it. Any insult aimed at Amber, and I’ll retaliate.

  “Woah.” His eyes expand in shock. “What the hell!”

  I release him, nodding my head. He doesn’t know Amber is connected to me on a different level than anyone I have ever known. I’ve had many women and James presumes I’m a player, like himself. He knows nothing of my past. No one does. To him I’m tough and don’t put up with shit. He has no idea of the memories I have fought to forget.

  “Sorry,” I utter.

  “You know her?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “Well, sorry to say, but it looks as though she has landed on her feet.” He pats my back. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea. You should forget old flames, and after this shit is over, come downtown with the guys. Farewell drinks.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybes, you’re coming.” He dips his head with a warning look, before walking away.

  I remain on the balcony, watching Amber run her fingers through her wavy glossy locks; her brown eyes shying away from anyone who greets her. She’s standing alone, hugging a Champaign flute to her dress. How can I show my face after all these years, to the one I promised to protect?

  Chapter Three

  Amber

  It’s so wonderful, like a ball from an old fashioned fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hang below an oil painted ceiling of the sky. Huge round tables decorated with silver and white center pieces. The music formally dressed couples dance to, lulls me as I gape around in awe. I’m out of that house, at a ball, with my version of prince charming. A dark prince.

  I finish the bubbles left at the bottom of my glass, being invisible while Trent talks shop with a guy I’ve seen before. Layton Masters visits the house. He uses the dark room. A room I’m glad to have never been requested in. I’ve seen it once beneath the house. A cellar converted into a hardcore BDSM room. I purse my lips as I lower my head, remembering old Tuesday’s screams. Shortly after, she left, and was replaced by another Tuesday, who seems much quieter. That should bother me, but it doesn’t. I’m looking out for myself. I have to. The past has taught me that you can’t rely on anyone. I do this to survive, and don’t allow myself to think of the other girls I barely see.

  Layton returns to his wife (who is oblivious to her husband’s dark hobby) as Trent turns with a sly smile on me.

  “Amber,” he says, walking toward me. I swoon a little at my real name parting his lips. “Do not.” He grips my bicep hard and I
gasp, shocked by his sudden aggressive touch. “Embarrass me,” he growls in my ear.

  My head turns reluctantly so we’re face to face, our noses nearly touching.

  “I…I’m not.” I’m thinking hard of what I could have possibly done to upset him, but draw a blank.

  “You know our story. You met me at college and we have been recently reunited. You’re in love with me. Happy. So stop standing there like a frightened little child,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “People will notice. Remember, you are mine, Friday. I will not tolerate disobedience.”

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” I utter as he acknowledges a gentleman passing by.

  He takes my waist in his hands and sways, making it look as though we are dancing. His lips rustle through my hair to reach my earlobe.

  “How many lines did you take before the car picked you up?” he asks.

  I shut my eyes in dread, knowing he can’t see my face over his shoulder. I had a fix mid-afternoon, and disobeyed his command to save it for tonight. I couldn’t wait. I was sweating and shaking. I needed to escape.

  “I did as you asked. One line,” I try to sound convincing. “Before… before the stylist did my hair.”

  I feel his lungs swell in disappointment. I don’t want to displease him. I never get to touch him like this, and now he hates me. He knows I’m lying.

  “Oh Amber.” He breathes into my neck. “Lying to me is not going to work.”

  He continues to fluctuate with my body in his arms. I’m smiling away the tears that want to emerge. If I cry, he will be furious with me. The one job I have, is to do as I’m told, and I can’t even do that right.

  “No tears,” he says.

  I feel his hand brushing across my back to come meet our joined fingers. He tucks a small wrap into the palm of my hand and pulls away, pecking my cheek.

  “Go freshen up Amber. You have ten minutes.”

  I swallow away the nerves, smiling exclusively for him, and quickly trot toward the stone staircase.

  I set my compact mirror on top of the porcelain toilet cistern, and begin to organize the fine powder from the wrap into two lines. It takes me only seconds. I’m now a pro at the cut. I arch over with the tiny disposable straw to my nostril, and I ingest one line with one swift snort. I do the same again on the other side, and slam my back against the partition wall with a gasp. The pleasant buzz surges through my body. My muscles relax. I loosen up, opening my eyes, feeling some control over my emotions now. Trent provides me with the purest form of coke. The special untainted stuff he sells to the rich. It proves how important I am to him.

  I peer at my reflection, tucking the small gold compact mirror back into my cream clutch bag. My fingers brush away any evidence of drug use from my nose, noticing my cheeks have gained a healthy glow. I practice the smile I’ll offer to Trent when I return, and head for the door.

  I walk across the red carpet on the balcony, smiling at an elderly couple passing by, fastening the magnetic clasp on my bag. I’m only feet from the top step when I’m touched delicately on the bare skin of my back. I inhale and turn, prepared to greet one of the guests. But my confidence, my placid mind, my body, are completely taken over by the sight of who stands before me. Dwayne.

  I’m speechless, my eyes looking down at his military uniform. He’s changed so much. He’s broader and taller, but his soft deep green eyes remain the same. It’s been eight years. I never thought I’d see him again. He left me alone in hell. Now the boy I knew, loved, and trusted, stands before me smiling, as a strong handsome man.

  “Amber,” is all he says, bringing out his hand then lowering it.

  He was family to me, and there’s a part of me that wants to wrap my arms around him. But the other part of me, the part that contains the pain and shame, says no. I’m with Trent. He’s my savior. He’s the one who was there.

  “How are you?” He tilts his head.

  “I’m good. You?”

  My eyes look down to the dancefloor for Trent. I can’t allow him to see me speaking to Dwayne. For one, he doesn’t like me talking to men he doesn’t know. And secondly, he doesn’t think I have any family ties left. I told him I have no one.

  “Well, nice to see you again.” I lower my head and go to pass by him.

  “Amber wait.” His fingers take hold of my arm. “I’ve missed you.”

  I want to weep. I’ve missed him also. And since he left, I’ve never had the kind of feelings he gave to me. But I’ve changed, and I don’t need those feelings anymore. Eight years ago I was a kid who fell in love with a boy I thought to be my knight in shining armor. But it turns out he wasn’t.

  “Dwayne,” I utter, peering down at his fingers. “I… I can’t do this.”

  He doesn’t release me and takes a step closer, his soft eyes glimmering down on mine. He’s different, good-looking, but also has a firm aura about him. Like he won’t put up with anyone’s shit. Like what happened when we were kids, strengthened him.

  “Your eyes Amber,” he says with a frown creasing his brow. “You’re using?”

  “No!” I pull my arm away from his grip.

  “Amber, I’m sorry I left you.” His strong jaw clamps down.

  “You don’t need to be. I’m… I’m okay.”

  Dwayne’s eyes rise to look over my shoulder. I squint up at him, realizing I’ve seen that same look before, on the hallway when we were kids, when his dad was on the warpath. The hatred, the aggression, the need to defend me.

  “Amber,” Trent’s curious voice calls out behind me. I exhale, my heart pounding as I turn to him. “Where on earth have you been?” he asks, not taking his eyes off Dwayne.

  “To the bathroom.” I silently pant, praying that Dwayne doesn’t speak.

  “And who might this be.” Trent holds his hand out to Dwayne, but Dwayne doesn’t take it.

  “I’m Amber’s step brother. Well, I was,” Dwayne replies in an ice-cold tone.

  Trent lowers his hand and looks at me. He’s smiling, but I know what kind of smile it is. He’s livid with me.

  “Oh, Amber didn’t mention she had family.” Trent sighs as I watch the back of his neck redden.

  “I’ve been busy.” Dwayne looks down at his uniform. “But I’m back now.”

  Oh god, I can’t do a thing to stop this aggressive stare-off. Trent doesn’t like women to speak their mind. I can’t just cut in to try and stop this. I can’t make any excuses to cool Trent down, because then I'd be lying right in front of Dwayne also.

  “Well, Dwayne,” Trent says, threading his arm through mine. “Amber and I are going to retire this evening. It was nice to meet you.” Trent tugs and guides me to the stairs.

  “Yeah,” Dwayne calls out. “See you around.”

  I peer over my shoulder to see Dwayne’s narrow eyes following our every step.

  ***

  I clasp my hands together before my waist, watching as Trent paces back and forth in our luxury hotel room. He hasn’t spoken a word since we left Dwayne, and I’m too frightened to say a thing to him. He’s now on his sixth stride, running his hands down his face.

  “I…I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Sorry… sorry,” he barks, stopping to eyeball me. “I have done everything for you, Friday. I’ve made you mine. I asked you if you had any family, and you said no.”

  “I never thought I’d see him again.”

  “Well you have. You know I run a tight ship and hate loose ends. The last thing I need is some stupid soldier sticking his nose into my business.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Really, because he looked pretty damn interested to me. Now I’m going to have to make some calls and get this mess cleared up,” he says.

  My chest empties of all air. The coke I took has worn off, and I’m finding it difficult to stop my hands from trembling. I know what Trent is capable of. I know he has many people willing to pull the trigger for him. I shouldn’t care after eight years, but I do. Trent will have Dwayne executed, just for c
rossing my path.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” my shaky voice begs.

  He walks up to me with a livid grin. His eyes widen on my tears as his hand comes up to rest on the side of my cheek.

  “You are a stupid girl aren’t you,” he says and I nod in agreement. “You know I can’t let you off with this.” His fingers run under my chin to grip my face hard. “It’s no good sniveling, Friday. Those tears do not hide your treachery. You have dishonored our ways. Turn around.”

  He takes hold of my biceps, and spins me to face the wall. Tears and snot prevent me breathing fluidly. He slips his fingers over the hem of my dress, and rips it open aggressively as a squeal leaves my mouth.

  “Go to my case Friday, and take out your gag,” he demands, yanking the torn dress down to my ankles.

  I close my eyes. It’s the only tool I hate, and he knows it.

  “Please,” I plead, turning to him in only my lace underwear. “Don’t make me wear that.”

  His hand comes up to grip my throat. He squeezes just hard enough so he can hear me choke, but I’m still able to breathe. He cracks his neck side to side, getting off on hearing and seeing me fighting for air.

  “You’re going to wear the gag.” He pushes me toward his suitcase.

  My shaking fingers rifle to the bottom of his case, beneath his black loafers.

  “I have allowed you to accompany me, and this is how you repay me. I will take one of the other girls next time,” he says in a scornful tone.

  I straighten up to face him, placing the ball of the gag in my mouth. Every muscle in my body cramps with dread as he walks to my back, and pulls tight on the buckle so the leather cuts into my cheeks. He fastens it so tight I cry out, as saliva dribbles from the side of my mouth.

  “Now you can’t beg, you are going to listen as I clear this mess up. Then I may take it off you. Go sit on the bed, Friday.”

  Weeping, I do as he asks as he takes out his cell phone. As he turns his back briefly, I quickly sweep away my tears. He places his cell phone against his ear, his eyes fixed on me.