My Brother's Protection: A Dark Romantic Thriller Page 4

  “No Trent. I don’t want to leave,” I say quietly.

  His hand comes down onto my cheek and his lips form a satisfied smile.

  “Good.” He removes his touch from my face. “Girls, you can go back to bed. Friday, you come with me.” He reaches out to take my hand, to pull me up to my feet.

  The girls swiftly exit the room, each one releasing a sigh of relief. Trent walks me through the lounge, the dining room, and stops before the basement door. I can’t breathe. I’m trembling. And that relief the other girls and I had, has diminished fast. This is the way to the dark room.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, opening the door. “You have your medicine down there.”

  “You… you don’t use this room?” I utter, as he releases my sweaty hand to open the door.

  “We both have what we need in there. After your performance last night, I require something a little harder. You have your safe word.”

  He waits for me to move. I have no choice. I’m desperate for my fix. And he’s right, he always abides by his own rules. My safe word, Lilly, has always worked in the past. But I know what is down there, the rack. It’s used by the men who like the darker BDSM.

  Without showing my aversion, I think of the purest cocaine waiting for me, and make my way down the blue lit staircase.

  It’s the first thing I see on the black glass circular table. Not the rack, or the hardcore paddles and floggers, but my lines already cut and waiting to be digested. I hurry over and lift up the straw.

  “Friday stop,” Trent snaps, just as I’m about to inhale.

  I straighten up and turn to see he has removed his shirt, so he’s standing there in just his trousers. His abs tauten and bulge as he sways a step closer to me.

  “Take off your clothes,” he orders.

  My breathing tremors, thinking about the coke on the table. I’m trying hard not to hyperventilate, as sweat beads form on my top lip. I have to do as he requests, or he’ll take my fix away.

  I kick off my white pumps, tear open the zip of my pink hoody to reveal my naked breasts, and yank down my joggers to stand to attention, bare before him. I’m waiting for the go ahead. I’m praying for it.

  His bare feet stroll around my body to inspect me. His breathing is lengthy and low.

  “Tell me about Dwayne,” he says, circling me like a shark.

  “There is nothing to tell, Sir.” My eyes glaze over and sting. “He’s not important.”

  “Who is important, Friday?” He comes to a stop before me, running his thumb and finger across the stubble on his chin.

  “You are.” I bravely gaze into his dominating glare. “Are you going to hurt him?”

  He doesn’t move, his eyes crease, and he doesn’t even take a breath.

  “If he’s not important, then why does it matter?”

  “Because… because no matter how unimportant he is, or anyone, no one should be hurt because of me.”

  His hand rises and lies on my cheek as his view angles on me. “You’re right. Sweet girl. Go and get your breakfast.”

  I sigh out as I lean over the table, snorting a line of coke up my left nostril, then my right. Wow, I don’t think the sweet dust has ever tasted so fragrant to me. I relax and blow out as the buzz engulfs me.

  “Friday,” Trent calls out as I wipe the powder off my nostrils.

  I turn to see he’s wearing the white mask. All I can see are his dark blue eyes, fixated with precision on my body. His face is now like porcelain and I don’t know whether he’s happy, cross, or pleased with me. He has only worn this mask once before. He wears it when he doesn’t want to speak to me. He doesn’t want to tell me where he wants me, I have to figure it out for myself. I should be scared, it’s a real creepy mask. But he’s just given me my medicine and I feel comfortably anaesthetized, stark naked, awaiting for a head gesture or eye movement.

  My fingers clasp before my hips nervously, wondering why he’s taking so long. He shakes a slow no, indicating he doesn’t like how I’m stood, so I move my arms back down by my sides.

  I watch his eyelids blink slow as he turns toward the rack. A steel frame with black leather cuffs attached to each corner. One slow baby step at a time, I arrive before the frame.

  “You have been a naughty girl, Friday.”

  I gasp, turning my head, shocked to hear his muffled voice. I gulp down the growing fear as he lifts my wrist to strap my arm high in the left corner. He then crouches down to my left ankle, to fasten the buckle tight.

  “I have to teach you some respect,” his stifled deep voice says as he tugs on my right wrist. “No gag; no rules. One punishment; one lesson learnt.”

  He crouches down to my right ankle, pulling the buckle tight so my whole naked body is stretched into a star position.

  “I’m… I’m not allowed to use my safe word?” I clench my teeth together, trying to stop my lips shivering.

  “No.”

  I hear him walk across to the paddle and flogger stand. I could turn my head, but I’m afraid of what his punishment of choice is going to be. He lied to me before we entered this room. He told me I’d be safe. I’ve had my fix, but it’s not pacifying me anymore. For the first time in a long time, I’m frightened.

  “I’m your Master. I need you in my life. And you deceived me.”

  “I… I didn’t. I haven’t seen Dwayne…”

  He cuts me off and says, “Shush.” He brushes his fingers down my bicep. “That name is forbidden. I am your guardian now. You understand this don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say through a slight sob.

  “I took you in off the streets. Gave you warmth, food, and fine clothes. I have given you my soul. Tell me you understand that this needs to be done.” I hear his feet move back.

  “I do.” I lower my chin to my chest for a second, taking a breath.

  “You consent to your punishment?”

  “I do.”

  I strain my neck to look as he runs not a flogger or a paddle, but his own belt from his trousers through his hand. Tears take over my vision, knowing how much this is going to hurt. But I have to show willing. This is only what I deserve.

  “Brace yourself, Friday. Seven strikes to your buttocks.”

  I squeeze my fingers into my hands, grit my teeth, and close my eyes.

  The first whip of the stiff leather comes down on my butt. I hiss and flinch. It hurts much more than I expected. Again he hits me while grunting at the same time. He’s using every muscle in his body to fling that belt. I’m not used to this. The pleasant sting I grew used to. But this, it’s taking me back to when Dwayne’s Dad would thrust his fist into my body, or pull at my hair. I’m sobbing silently, so raw and scared.

  He’s now on his sixth whip, and my skin is becoming numb. This is all my fault. If I’d have told him about Dwayne, that he exists to start with, then I wouldn’t be chained up right now. He trusted me, and I let him down.

  I cringe and squeal out as the last strike reverberates through my body. I take a breath, weeping with my eyes closed.

  “Okay Friday, I’m finished,” he says in a disappointed tone. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

  I sniff up the tears. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  He releases a long outbreath, coming to stand at my side. He removes the mask and gently wraps his fingers around my face. He has real tears making his blue eyes glassy, and I’ve never seen such emotion on his face.

  “Now.” He gulps down. “Now you understand what will happen if you lie to me again.” His hand sweeps the tears from my left cheek. “No one will ever have you. You belong here, for me.”

  I snivel and nod, knowing full well I will always be his.

  Chapter Six

  Dwayne

  “Hey man, where the hell were you? Who has a sendoff party, and doesn’t show. You do know you missed O’Ryan’s Beyoncé impression. It was a classic moment,” James Scott says, walking up to the desk of my new office. “Feeling the pain today though.”

 
I take my boots off my desk, not really listening to him. I haven’t been able to focus on fuck all since seeing Amber again. I came here to get some work done. I was supposed to be organizing my armory for the guys starting work for me next week. But all I’ve done is sit here with my feet up, looking through the damn window blinds.

  “You do know we’re heading out to Cyprus next week?” he says. “You not going to miss your troop?”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll all live without me.”

  “What gives with this sulk you’re in? You’re out. Got your own business. Was it the girl in the robe? Did she blow you off or something?”

  Well she kind of did, but not in the way he’s implying.

  “Trent Moore.” I lean back in my chair, watching his brow cock on me.

  “What about him?”

  “You were brown nosing the guests last night. What do you know?”

  “Nothing much. Just what I already told you. Why?”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “How the hell should I know? Did you get into a fight last night?” His tone has gone all squeaky.

  “The girl in the robe, I know her. And I think, no I know, she’s in trouble.” I thrust out my chair and stand. “Apparently, I’m in some sort of danger for speaking to her.”

  He laughs out loudly in disbelief. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.” I walk to the window and tweak the blinds so a beam of warm sunlight hits my face.

  “Well, all I can say is, Trent Moore better watch his back. I can do a little digging if you want. I know a guy he plays golf with, Layton Masters.”

  “Nah. I don’t need you getting involved if this means trouble.”

  I turn to see him smirking at me. “I’m your wing-man. Just because you’ve retired, doesn’t mean you can go all Rambo on your own. The guys and I owe you for Afghan. We’d have lost half of the unit if you didn’t disarm that landmine.” He makes his way to the door.

  “Jimbo,” I call out his nickname. “Be subtle.”

  “And you, cheer the fuck up. Call you later.”

  I’ve been in the armory for several hours going through the documentation for every single gun Safe Hands owns. We have fourteen altogether: the basic Glock 19, the Glock 22, and the Remington 870 Shotgun. There’s body armor, helmets, and pepper spray. I’ve got signing in and out sheets. The room is windowless, with a reinforced steel door. And bullets are in the safe, which only I know the combination to. It’s secure, and no one walks out of here with even a pen without my knowledge.

  I slide the license for a Remington shotgun back into the sleeve, when my cell phone vibrates and moves so it’s teetering on the edge of the filing cabinet. I jump up and catch it, as it drops off the surface. I squint down at the screen to see Jimbo’s mugshot, from when we were on tour in Iraq. I swipe and place it against my ear, sitting back down in the chair.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Okay buddy, you’re going to need to take a seat for this.”

  “I’m sitting.” I press the receiver firmer against my ear, not liking the tone of his voice.

  “You need to drop the whole issue you have with Trent Moore.”

  “Because?”

  “He’s not someone you fuck around with. It took half a bottle of whisky, but finally Layton dropped his guard and gave me some crumbs. But I’ve got the feeling there’s more… much more.”

  I lean over and place my elbows down on the desk, rubbing my eyes. I was kind of hoping I was just paranoid, maybe even a little jealous.

  “You were right to be suspicious. Trent Moore is a one hundred percent nasty piece of work. I don’t know all the ins and outs, but what I do know is that he’s at the top of the chain, and there’s no dirt on him because others will take the fall. He’s like this mafia king. He’s a fuckin pimp, Dwayne. Layton told me he owns pussy from each corner of the planet.”

  I jump up and thrust out my chair, knocking it on the concrete floor behind me. I’m squeezing my cell tight, envisioning Trent’s neck. What the fuck has Amber got herself involved in?

  “You have any locations for me?” I ask, with a strong urge to retch my stomach lining up.

  “No. Layton shut his trap the moment he realized he had given too much away. Sorry pal.”

  “Fuck!” I stride toward the gun locker, then back to my desk.

  “Look Dwayne, it pains me to say, but maybe the girl is in on all this. If she’s with Trent she’s as good as gone to you. Don’t get yourself killed over some old flame.”

  “She isn’t.” I have to bring my cell down for a second because I’m fuckin fuming.

  “Dwayne,” I hear his voice echo in my hand.

  I lift my cell back to my ear. “She isn’t just some old chick I used to bang.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says in a high tone. “Look, I don’t like this. I’m flying out next week, and I’ll be in no fit state to give orders, knowing you’re running around San Francisco like fuckin Wolverine, trying to take on the mafia. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  My jaw grinds a few times. “I can’t do that. The reason she’s with Trent is because of me.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Dwayne.”

  “None of this makes sense.”

  “Okay.” I hear him breathe heavy through the receiver. “Then promise me you will not make any rash decisions until you run them by me.”

  “Sure.”

  I hang-up, not wanting any more useless advice. I need to find Amber. I need to talk to her. I won’t be able to function until I know she’s safe.

  I swipe my black jacket from the coat hook and make my way into the garage.

  My brand new black Audi SUV, beeps as I open the garage door. I open the driver’s side, when something catches my eye. Two boots. Some fucker is outside my building at midnight, unaware I’ve spotted them.

  I quickly flick off the lights, and stand with my back against the wall as the garage door rises. As soon as there’s enough height for my body to fit through, I bend and propel myself outside, grabbing hold of a man the same build as I.

  The sound of a silenced shot being fired has me fighting for my life. I grapple with the man, grabbing the gun in his hand while elbowing his face over and over. My fingers clutch at the handle of his gun, and with another elbow to the face, he’s falling backward.

  I manage to take his gun and aim it down to his body. My lungs fill and empty erratically as the adrenalin surges through my system. I frown down at the guy as he backs away, using his hands and feet against the tarmac. He’s wearing a white mask and has a black hood over his head.

  I charge to his face and tear the mask off. Blood drips from his nose and lip. He’s struggling to breathe, wiping the blood on his sleeve.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I yell down at him. “And what do you want?”

  He smirks and sniffs up the blood. “I’m not here to rob you.”

  “Then.” I kick him hard in the ribcage. “What are you doing here?”

  He writhes around the wet tarmac, curling up in a ball, clutching his midriff.

  “Obviously,” he growls. “To kill you.”

  “You work for Trent?”

  He doesn’t talk, so my boot pounds into his side again.

  “You.” He howls out in pain. “You can go fuck yourself.”

  “Right.” I charge to his head and drag his ass up by his collar. “You’re going to tell me everything you know.”

  He fights against my hold, but I’m stronger. I’m the one in control. I yank his body into the garage, still aiming the gun. I slam my hand down on the shutter button, and push his body so he falls to the ground.

  He was going to kill me. He’s now on my property, so I have every right to defend what I have, using deadly force.

  I move over his body and aim the gun at his right kneecap.

  “If I have to, I will shoot every joint in your body and watch you bleed out. I have all the fuckin time in the world to watch your time o
n this earth end very fuckin painfully. Now, did Trent Moore send you here?”

  He doesn’t answer, and he was warned. He clearly has no idea I’m clued up on all forms of torture. It’s an essential part of military combat. I don’t bluff. I follow through with my threats. I pull the trigger and his entire body jolts in pain, as the bullet goes through the center of his kneecap.

  “SHIT,” he screams.

  “Are we ready to talk?” I point the gun at his left kneecap.

  “YES, YES, YES. FUCK,” he hisses. “Trent Moore sent me… FUCK!”

  “Why?”

  “Dude… please,” he begs with tears streaming down his face. “Don’t do this man.”

  “Why?” I hover the gun over his leg.

  “Okay,” he yells. “Because you know his girl.”

  “Amber?”

  “I don’t fuckin know her name. She’s his play thing. Lives in a big shiny house with the others.” He flinches, pressing his hand down on the bullet wound.

  “Where?”

  “Oh god,” he cries out. “He’ll kill me.” He splutters, his breathing shallow and raspy.

  “I’m the one standing here with the gun.”

  “Please, you have to understand. You can’t just show up there. There are guards, and this Amber girl, she belongs to Trent. She won’t leave him. You are in way over your head. Believe me, I know.”

  I crouch down to his body and grip his throat, pushing the silencer against his temple.

  “Address,” I growl down to his red sweaty face.

  “He’ll kill us both.” He chokes as I press my fingers into his windpipe harder.

  “You can run and hide. All I want is the goddamn address,” I yell.

  “Okay,” he croaks out, and I release his throat. “Four-nine-five, Willow Heights, over Oak Mount Ridge.”

  I tap the barrel of the silencer against his head and straighten up. “And that’s the truth is it?”

  “Yes man!”

  I glare into his eyes, looking for the telltale signs of a liar. His pupils are pulsing as fast as a heartbeat, but remain on me. His pores are seeping sweat, but it’s not due to a lie, it’s real fear. He’s not only scared I may pull the trigger again, but he’s also fucked up this job, and Trent’s punishment will probably be far worse than another shattered kneecap. He’s given me everything I need, and I now have an idea of what kind of man Trent Moore really is.