by Brook Wilder
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Protector copyright @ 2019 by Brook Wilder and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROTECTOR
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
Epilogue
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PROTECTOR
Chapter 1
Nataliya
I looked at myself in the mirror, turning this way and that to see every inch of the dress in the reflection. I had personally flown to New York to pick out the dress, not trusting anyone else to do so. This dress was meant to make a statement tonight, and by the looks of it, it was going to do just that.
Smoothing my hands over the sleek fabric, I turned to look at the back, the row of crisscrossing rhinestones catching the light. The nearly sheer skirt felt like a gentle caress as it grazed my legs, and I sighed happily. Everything about the dress, about me, was perfect tonight, from the perfect curl of my hair, swept up on one side in cascading curls, to my makeup. The beautiful row of diamonds hugged my neck, a present from my papa to celebrate my engagement. I was certain it cost a small fortune, and the jealous glint in my mom’s eye had told me that she hadn’t been in on the purchase.
A sharp rap on the door broke my thoughts, and I frowned.
“Yes?”
“Nataliya? Whatever are you doing in there? Your guests are waiting.”
Crossing the room, I opened the door to see my mom’s own frown. “I’m admiring my dress.”
Her shrewd eyes gave me a once over, the frown deepening.
“Have you not been following the diet I laid out for you? You look like a stuffed sausage in that dress.”
Her words bit into me and I forced myself to breathe. This was no different from what I’d had to deal with my whole life. Yelena Zebrovskaya thought of herself as the very essence of what a woman should look like. Her rose-colored gown clung to her tall, thin frame, showing off the miniscule curves that my mother possessed. As a former ballerina, she believed that thin was beautiful and had reminded me of that every day for the last twenty-five years of my life.
I drew in another deep breath, flashing a false smile.
“Of course I do, Mother. Why would you say anything different?”
She stared at me before waving a hand in front of my face.
“Pah! You are so sensitive. Must come from your father’s side of the family. Come on, it’s time for you to show your face.”
I kept my smile on my face as I exited the room behind her, my shoulders thrown back as she had taught me. I was never going to live up to her expectations and had long ago realized that. My mother wanted the perfect daughter, a vision of herself, but instead she had me.
And now… Now, I was so close to being free of her that I could hardly stand the wait.
But for the present, I did as she asked, biding my time. It was harsh to think of my own engagement, my soon-to-be marriage as an escape, but that was precisely what it was going to be for me.
“Ah, there are my beautiful girls,” my father said in his booming voice as we walked down the curved staircase together, my stiletto heels barely making a sound on the marble stairs.
He stood near the bottom, dressed in his usual dark dress shirt and slacks, his hair slicked back on his head. A heavy gold chain, one that I knew had been his grandfather’s, hung around his neck, the lion’s head medallion glittering in the dim lighting. My father was from old Russian money, wealthy since before he had even been born. For half of his life he had lived in Russia, enjoying the fruits of the hard-working generations before him.
But then he had met my mother, a prima ballerina with her own fame, and they had made the move to America with several of their relatives and friends. They settled in Greenwood, Nevada – why, I had still failed to figure out – and now my family was part of the Greenwood Heights elite.
Actually, we were the Greenwood Heights. Everyone who was gathered in my family’s home wished to be us, or to be affiliated with us, because of our money. The shallow women of my age who were in attendance pretended to be my friend, so they could be considered to be in my inner circle, though I knew the real reason they even deigned to speak to me.
I was used to the fakeness, even from my own parents. My father pretended to care, and I believed that, somewhere deep down, he held an ounce of affection for me. My mother only cared about her appearance, which in turn meant she cared about mine.
And my fiancé.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, and Bryan Beaumont stepped into my direct line of vision, a charming smile on his handsome face. He had outdone himself tonight; he was dressed sharply, like he had stepped out of a GQ magazine, and I waited for the flutter of my heart against my chest.
When it didn’t happen, I sighed inwardly. Well, it had been worth a shot anyway.
“Darling.”
“My love,” he answered, the glint in his eye telling me that it wasn’t from his undying love for me.
Bryan lifted his arm and I placed my hand on his sleeve, allowing him to escort me into the middle of the foyer, from where the table had been moved. The foyer was very large, big enough to hold nearly all of the guests comfortably. Someone pressed a glass of champagne into my hand as Bryan held up his own glass toward my father.
“Thank you, friends – thank you, family – for coming to celebrate tonight. Nataliya and I are blessed to have so many who care enough to be here tonight.”
I held back a snort of laughter as sighs filled the room, wondering if anyone else saw through Bryan’s false front. Bryan was a cunning liar and a charming one all in the same breath. We were well suited, I supposed, given I was known for my bitchiness and self-absorbed nature. To everyone, we were the golden couple.
Except to me.
And probably Bryan.
He turned toward me, and I gave him a blinding smile, hoping that my eyes were soft and full of love.
“And to you, my love… May you never question my love for you.”
“Never,” I said softly, deliberately dropping my voice down a notch as we clinked glasses.
He grinned before taking a sip, and I turned toward my parents, giving them a nod with my glass before draining half of the bubbly liquid. It was a fine champagne, one that had been imported from Paris. In fact, the entire night was full of undisguised wealth. The flowers had come from Hawaii, the cake imported from mother Russia along with the caviar. I had spared no expense to make this night perfect, and neither had papa.
The music began again, as Bryan squeezed my hand before walking off, disappearing into the crowd, as he
always did. It was quite strange, our relationship. I had met Bryan on a whim, attending a party one night when I was in college, and there he had been, charming the crowd with his smile. I had played coy, of course, because that was what women did: allowed the man to pretend that he was winning when, in reality, the woman always held the upper hand.
We had sex that night, and for a while I had held an affection for Bryan. He was charming and treated me like the princess I was. Fancy dinners, expensive gifts, weekends away; he had done all of it. I couldn’t lie; I had been impressed.
And when he proposed, I had accepted, even though I knew I didn’t love him.
Now the huge diamond twinkled on my finger, a sign of how close I was to being free.
“Don’t slouch. It makes you look old.”
I turned and gave my mother a petty smile.
“Forgive me. I’m sure your friends are whispering at how I can’t maintain the slightest decorum in public.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“One day, you will be where I am standing and understand why I have been so hard on you, Nataliya.”
I calmly took a sip of my champagne.
“I hope that day never comes.”
Before she could react, I turned away, taking my measure of winning with me. I would pay for that comment later, likely with an hour-long lecture on how I was a complete disgrace to her, but I didn’t care. In five short months, I would be a married woman and in control of my own life and my own fortune.
My dear grandmother, the matriarch of the family, had been my favorite person growing up. She was old Russian and enjoyed riling her daughter-in-law, which had in turn made me very happy. But not only that, she was the only one around whom I could be me. She didn’t make me wear certain things or walk a certain way just to show off. No, she had been my hero, and when she died I had felt her loss immensely.
But the old woman hadn’t given up on me or a happy future. She had left me a fortune, even if it was tied to me being married and having a husband before I could get it. The news had been quite a shock to me, that all that money was sitting in the bank, waiting on my marriage license. Of course, being the smart woman that she was, my grandmother had added stipulations galore. It couldn’t be a quickie wedding. Nor could I get a divorce within a year of the marriage date itself or I would forfeit all the money to the church.
No, I had to get genuinely married. My grandmother believed in love and having a soulmate, and she wanted that for me.
I, on the other hand, wanted my damn money. I wanted to be free to move away from this gilded cage, where I was under my mother’s thumb, and to be myself.
My rich self.
Smiling and waving at a few guests, I walked through the house like I owned the damn place.
“Oh, my god! That dress. It’s an original, isn’t it? God, you are so lucky!”
I turned, keeping the smile on my face as a gaggle of women surrounded me, my bridesmaids. All were handpicked for a reason. Either they were part of affluent families around Greenwood or long-lost relatives that my mother had forced me to put in the wedding to appease someone. There wasn’t one of them that I actually liked out of the ten that were part of the bridal party.
But I could pretend like the best of them.
“Darlings!”
They all cooed and ahhed over my dress, complimenting me on my hair and flawless complexion. And I let them, wishing to be anywhere else but here. I was doing this for a damn good reason, and that was the only thing that was keeping me rooted on the spot, pretending to like those bitches.
“Can I steal her away for a sec?”
Bryan’s arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me toward him, away from the giggling bunch who were eyeing my fiancé like he was their next catch. I was half-tempted to give him up to the attention, knowing he would bask in it.
Bryan plucked the champagne glass out of my hand and set it on the nearby table, before whirling me into his arms, his eyes alight with laughter.
“What are you doing?” I asked, keeping my smile on his face as he clasped our hands together.
“Dancing with my fiancée,” he grinned, spinning me around. “It was your mother’s idea.”
“Of course it was,” I muttered.
She controlled this night, not me.
“Chin up, Nat,” he said softly as we swept around the room. “Every woman in this room wants to be you right now.”
Oh, there was no doubt about that. Giving him a winning smile, I squeezed his hand. “And every man in the room wants to be you.”
He chuckled, and I joined in, counting the hours until I would be done with this party.
**
A little after one in the morning, I climbed the steps to the second story, my heels in my hand. I didn’t care if my mother saw me barefooted. My feet were fucking killing me, and my head was splitting in two. All I wanted to do was shed this dress and crawl into bed, knowing the night was behind me.
Sighing, I walked down the silent second-floor hall. Thank God Bryan hadn’t asked me to go to his place. While the sex was good, I was starting to wonder how I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I knew he wasn’t marrying me for love, and it would be a cold day in hell before I let him get his hands on my money.
But marrying him was the only way I would get my money and out of that house.
Reaching my suite, I pushed open the doors, dropping the shoes on the floor.
I could do this. I could co-exist with Bryan as my husband. He was cunning, and I clearly had the brains in the relationship. We could start our own empire, far surpassing those of our families.
The thought perked me up as I entered my bedroom, the lights dimmed and the climate already at the perfect sleeping temperature. One thing was for sure: I was going to choose our house, especially if it was going to be purchased with my money.
Locating the clasp on my dress, I slid out of the slinky material. The dress wasn’t made for a bra, and I had gone commando tonight, enjoying the feel of the dress on my skin. After all, I wouldn’t be wearing it again, despite its price-tag.
It just did not happen that way.
Pulling down my hair, I ran my hands through my thick curls as I crossed over to the bed, feeling the exhaustion in my bones. Five months. I just had to make it through five months.
I pulled back the covers on my bed and froze, seeing the matted fur laying on my pillow. At first, I thought it was one of my articles of clothing. But as I touched it, I felt the warm stickiness on my fingers. I pulled them back abruptly.
Shit!
Wasting no time, I reached for the call-button on the wall and pressed it.
“Get someone up here now!” I shouted, smearing the blood on the white button.
Someone had been in my room. Someone had left a message for me.
I barely had time to pull my robe on before my father burst into the door, his face red with exertion. Behind him, our head of security had his gun drawn, waiting for the moment to shoot something.
“What is it?” my father barked out, looking around the room wildly.
“That,” I answered, pointing toward the bed.
He approached the bed and swore viciously, barking out orders to the others who were starting to fill the room.
I shrank in the corner, controlling my tremble, as I watched the situation unfold.
This was not how I had anticipated my night ending.
Chapter 2
Fox
I maneuvered my bike slowly down the paved drive, whistling softly as I passed the immaculately cut bushes and the marble statues. I had passed by this mansion before, once, when I was in the neighborhood, before I had been run out like the help. The entire neighborhood screamed money; the mansions were bigger than the entire block I grew up on.
I couldn’t help but wonder how long it took someone to clean the damn place.
Jack Carry pulled his bike right up front and cut the engine, clearly unfazed at the ridiculous amount
of wealth that was around him. I did the same and cut my engine, adjusting the ball cap on my head.
“What the hell are we doing out here?”
He climbed off the bike, stretching his back as he did so.
Jack Carry was a man of few words and even fewer complaints. The president of the Grim Legion Motorcycle Club was known for his gruff exterior, and there were very few people who saw him in any other light.
But I had, once or twice, and lived to remember the moment. As his second-in-command, Jack trusted me enough to show his other side.
Like now. His back had been bothering him for months now, but he was too stubborn to go to the damn doctor and get it checked out.
“Don’t look at me like that, boy,” Jack grumbled, dropping his hands. “I’m fine.”