Parker (Striking Back #3)

by S. M. Shade

  “Sold.” He watches me lock the door behind him before returning to his car.

  I’m smiling as I settle into my office. Who knew I’d ever be so happy just to go back to work? The last month has been a rollercoaster of stress and embarrassment. It’s so good to step off of it and feel like I’m standing on solid ground again.

  A stack of requests from potential clients waits for me on my desk, and I dive into them. Time speeds by while I make phone calls and arrange meetings. Fortunately, most are happy to meet on Skype instead of in my office.

  Goosebumps race across my arms when I hear the ding of the front door, until I hear Janet’s peppy voice call out. “Whew! Good Lord, your bodyguard is hot! No wonder you don’t come to work.”

  Her smiling face peeks around my office door. I’m glad the bruise and split lip have healed before she saw me. “He’s security, not my bodyguard.” A mischievous grin blooms, and I point my pen at her. “And don’t start with the Whitney Houston song.”

  Giggling, she replies, “I’d always love him.”

  “I think you mean lust.”

  “Whatever. It’s good to have you back. Want to go over next month’s schedule?”

  “Absolutely.” Janet is the most organized person on the planet, and I’d be lost without her. Between chatting and catching up, we manage to square away my calendar. My stomach growls and I’m shocked to see it’s after noon.

  “Let me take you to lunch,” I offer.

  “Is that fine specimen of man coming?”

  “Yes,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

  “I’m in.” A brush and tube of lipstick appear from her purse like magic, and I laugh as she primps and grooms.

  “I’m just going to the bathroom, then we can go.” Maybe I can hook the two of them up. I don’t really know Jensen, but I imagine he has to be a pretty good guy to protect people for a living.

  All thoughts of matchmaking dissolve as the bathroom door falls shut behind me with a soft whoosh. Al stands in front of me, a sickening satisfied smile on his face. “About time, whore. You didn’t think you could hide forever, did you?”

  Vaguely, I notice the small cabinet below the sink is open. Al has always been wiry, but he must’ve really been determined to stuff himself in that small space. As soon as I draw a breath to scream, it’s knocked out of me by his fist. They fall again and again on my face and stomach until I drop to the ground.

  I try to roll away when his boot flies at me, but I’m not quick enough. A loud crack echoes through the room as he connects with my ribs and there’s never been pain like this. I never knew such agony existed. My vision goes foggy and I hope I’m passing out, anything to stop this torture.

  But the relief of unconsciousness never comes. I feel every kick to my body and face. My poor face must look like hamburger. I can’t move, can’t do anything but lie there and take it. “Stupid fucking whore! Nobody leaves me until I’m done with them!”

  His voice floats to me through a long tunnel. White hot pain streaks up my leg and I hear the snap of another bone. I try my best to scream, but a glut of blood is all that comes out and it’s getting harder to breathe.

  From a distance, I hear Janet scream followed by the wail of the fire door alarm. I’m dying, I think with disinterest, almost like it isn’t happening to me. Alone on the bathroom floor, the tile cold against my cheek, I surrender to whatever comes next.

  * * * *

  No white light or tunnel for me, only white walls and a world of pain. A sharp agony in my side makes me shriek, but I realize I can breathe again. A woman’s face with kind eyes comes into focus. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Macy Tanner,” I croak. “Where is he? He’ll kill me. Please.”

  “You’re in the hospital. Nobody is going to hurt you here.” She rattles off a few more questions before I drift away into the darkness.

  Anxious pale blue eyes are the first thing I see when I wake. “Parker?” My voice is hoarse.

  “Hey, Macy.” His hand grabs mine when I reach for my side. “Don’t touch it. You have a chest tube. Are you hurting anywhere?”

  “No. Feels numb.”

  “Good.”

  “Al…did Jensen get him?”

  Parker’s face hardens. “No, but we’ll find him. The cops are here. They want to talk to you if you’re up to it.”

  “Okay.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I’ll be right outside.” I can’t help the tears that pour down my face while I explain to the police officers what happened.

  Parker returns with Everly as the officers are leaving. After telling the story again, I’m exhausted and the pain starts to seep through. I recall a nurse pointing out a button to push for morphine, and I jab it repeatedly.

  The last thing I remember is Parker’s reassuring voice. “That’s my chair until you’re discharged, honey. I’ll be right there guarding this room until you go home. If I so much as take a piss break, your door will be locked. Get used to this pretty face because you’ll be staring at it until this is over.”

  Parker is true to his word. Every time I wake, he’s there, either sitting in a chair by the door or sprawled on a cot beside my bed. I’m discharged two days later with strict orders to stay in bed. Parker arranges for a safe house and insists on staying with me, though other security guards will be on duty. Al is still nowhere to be found, and Parker isn’t taking any chances.

  The safe house is a modest sized three bedroom ranch house in an unassuming neighborhood. Parker leads me inside with his arm through mine like I’m a frail old lady. Fair enough, since I feel like one.

  A queen size sleigh bed rests in the center of the master bedroom. It’s made up with clean sheets and a dark red comforter. My laptop, phone, and kindle are on the night stand and my suitcase lies open on the dresser.

  “Ms. Den brought your things,” he says, pulling back the bedspread. “Would you like to change clothes or anything?”

  Thankfully, the nurse helped me bathe and put on fresh pajama bottoms and a tee shirt before I left the hospital. “No, I’m good.”

  I’m far from good. My ribs hurt like a bitch and every breath feels raw and dry. My ankle throbs and itches inside the sky blue cast. Parker pulls the covers up to my waist and tucks two pillows behind me as I lean back against the headboard. I fail to hide my grin at the way he’s fussing over me.

  “What?” he asks, eyebrow cocked.

  “Nothing. Thank you.”

  “No working,” he warns with a frown when I grab my laptop.

  “I won’t. Just want to play online a bit. I have to have something to do.”

  His face softens. “I know. Bed rest sucks, but you almost died, Macy. You have to take it easy. If you feel up to it later, you can move to the couch. I brought some movies.”

  “Sounds good.” My voice slurs a little. Guess the pain pills are kicking in. Wordlessly, he picks up my laptop and places it back on the table.

  “Just call out if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room.”

  “Thanks.” It only takes a few seconds for me to sink into sleep.

  Pain in my side pulls me back into consciousness. Plus, I have to pee like a race horse. The unfamiliar silence is unsettling. It must be late and I don’t want to wake Parker, so I manage to sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed.

  Thankfully, my crutches are within reach, but I’m a total klutz with them. Still, I should be able to make it to the adjoining bathroom. Getting to my feet is painful, but swinging the crutches pulls at muscles in my side which is far worse.

  First stop after the bathroom will be to find my pain pills. It feels like an eternity passes while I hobble my way to the toilet. Christ, who knew every movement affects your ribs? Getting on and off the toilet brings tears to my eyes.

  I make my way to the sink, happy to see my toiletries lying on the counter. Thank you, Ms. Den. Propping my crutches against the wall, I rest my hand on the counter to steady myself on one foot while I quickly brush
my teeth.

  I’m done in and really need to get back to bed. My fingers brush the edge of a crutch and it slides into the other, knocking them both to the floor with a loud crack. A piercing pain shoots through my chest when I try to bend over and retrieve them.

  I can’t do it. Despair edges out frustration when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A damaged pathetic woman stares back at me, tears pouring down her face. I can’t stand to look at myself, but can’t seem to look away. Purple and blue bruises cover my swollen cheeks and circle my puffy eyes.

  I’m stuck, balancing on one foot in a strange bathroom, crying my eyes out when I’m startled by a firm hand on my shoulder. My first instinct is to run or fight, but Parker’s soothing voice quickly reassures me. “I’ve got you.”

  I meet his eyes in the mirror and sob, “Look at me.”

  Compassion floods his features and he wraps an arm around my waist, steadying me. “I know, doll, but there’s no permanent damage. In a few weeks, you’ll be back to your usual beautiful self.” Even in this state, I can’t help but feel a warmth in my stomach at his words. He called me beautiful. “Why didn’t you call for me?” he scolds.

  “I just had to use the bathroom. I didn’t think it’d be such a journey.”

  “If you aren’t comfortable with me helping you, we can get a nurse until you’re better.”

  “No, really, I’ll be okay.” They’ve done too much for me already.

  “Okay.” Before I can protest, he scoops me up, cradling me against his chest, and carries me to bed. “What?” he asks, when I start to giggle.

  “Sorry, it’s just…I don’t think anyone has ever carried me to bed and now you’ve done it twice.”

  His eyes light with amusement. “Someday, you can repay me when I’m too drunk to walk.” My snort of laughter sends a spike of pain through my chest. The man is twice my size. “It’s time for your pain meds. You really should eat something first. Do you think you can?”

  “I don’t want to keep you up. I’ll eat in the morning.”

  “It’s only nine o’clock,” he replies, laughing. Wow, my internal clock is way off. “Come on.” I’m back in his arms again and deposited on the couch. Rushing off, he returns with pillows, a blanket, a bottle of water and my pain pills.

  As he turns to walk away, I see a large shadow cross the front window. “Parker.” My grip on his arm is ironclad, and I jump a mile when someone taps on the door. “Don’t answer it!”

  “Easy. It’s just Jensen.”

  He peers out the peephole and says, “Jensen?”

  “Five-by,” Jensen replies, and Parker opens the door. “Hey man, Devon just left. I’ll be right outside.” Jensen spots me huddled on the couch and his face falls. Kneeling in front of me, he takes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Macy. This should never have happened. I was supposed to protect you.”

  A lump rises in my throat at the sight of this barrel of a man on his knees. “It’s not your fault. No way anyone would’ve thought he’d fit his ass in that cabinet.”

  “We still don’t know how he got in. No windows were broken or pried. Is there any way he could’ve made a copy of your key?”

  Shit. “I guess it’s possible. He could’ve taken it before we were fighting.”

  He sighs, getting to his feet. “We may never know how he did it, but he’ll pay. I promise you that.”

  “Thank you.” All these men. They don’t even know me, but will do anything to keep me safe. I never knew men like these existed.

  Parker

  Guilt weighs me down as it has from the moment I heard Macy was assaulted. I was supposed to be the one guarding her at work, but when Mason called me, I had him ask Jensen instead. I let this happen and all because I’m attracted to her. After our run, I decided to steer clear of her, but she never left my mind. I don’t know why I’m so intrigued by her, but I need to pull my head out of my ass and do my job.

  A teasing smile lifts her lips as I bring her a plate. “You cook?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at the lasagna and garlic bread. The sight of her battered face tears a strip from my heart. I should’ve been there.

  “What? You doubt my abilities?”

  “Never,” she says, wincing as she laughs.

  “Ms. Den prepared a few meals for you, but I can make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “Please thank her for me.”

  “Sure.”

  We eat in comfortable silence, and I’m glad to see she has an appetite. “I hate being waited on like this,” she grumbles, handing me her empty plate.

  “Suck it up. You’re hurt. I’m going to take care of you, so don’t be stubborn.”

  The dirty look she tries to throw my way would be a lot more effective if she wasn’t trying not to smile. “Now, would you like to watch a movie with me or are you tired?”

  “I’m not tired, but you don’t have to entertain me. I have a manuscript to work on.”

  “Nope,” I reply, popping in a DVD. “You’re going to rest. Besides, I’ve heard good things about this movie.”

  A smile stretches her injured lips as One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest starts to play. “You remembered.”

  Yeah, I was kind of surprised too. I’m not the best listener when a woman talks. I mean, they go on and on over little things I can’t give a shit about. Usually, I just nod and smile until she shuts up, then kiss her. It’s not the same with Macy. Our conversations are interesting even if it’s only small talk. I want to hear what she has to say. “You still have to finish watching Fight Club,” I tease.

  “Deal.”

  When the movie is over, her eyes are glassy and she’s fighting to keep them open. She’s a lightweight and those pain pills are no joke. This time she doesn’t argue when I carry her back to bed. “Call me if you need anything.” I pinch her chin lightly between my thumb and forefinger making her look at me. “I mean it.”

  “I will,” she murmurs. “Go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later, she’s sound asleep, and I text Jensen to let him know I’m going to sleep. Usually, we’d have two guards alternating on twelve hour shifts. I don’t have to stay here, but there’s no way I’m leaving her, not even in the care of a nurse. I failed her once. It won’t happen again.

  I’m a light sleeper, and her low cries wake me a few hours later. Instantly awake, I rush to her room to find her flailing and fighting in her sleep. Shit. She’s going to hurt herself.

  A light sheen of sweat covers her body and she bolts upright, her eyes wide when I call her name. Frantic, she tries to get out of bed, but I catch her just in time. “No. You can’t stand on your ankle, Macy. Calm down. It was just a dream. You’re okay.”

  Slowly, recognition fills her eyes and she relaxes a bit. “Al…kicking me,” she says, a hitch in her voice.

  “It was a nightmare. You’re safe.”

  Her chest heaves and she gasps, breathing fast and shallow. All color drains from her face as she presses a shaky hand to her chest. “Can’t breathe…oh god…my lung must’ve…”

  “No, doll,” I murmur, the nickname slipping out as I try to comfort her. This isn’t a lung problem. It’s a panic attack. I should know. I had my share of them as a teenager. Her body stiffens when I move to sit behind her. Drawing her back to my chest, I try to talk her down. “Your lung is fine. You’re having a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’ll pass.”

  “Air,” she gasps. “I can’t get any air.”

  Slipping my arm around her, I lay a hand on her chest, gently coaxing her back so she can feel me breathe. “Listen to me. Breathe with me. You feel that?” I ask, taking a long slow breath.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good. Breathe when I do. In.” Her small chest expands slowly. “And out. That’s it. Good girl. See, there’s plenty of air.”

  Long even breaths eventually give way to heartbreaking sobs. “I’m sorry. I hate this. This isn’t who I am. I’m never afraid.”

  Hatred and ra
ge at the man who did this surge through me. She’s such a tiny thing. And so sweet. How could anyone hurt her? I’m pissed because I realize, even if she doesn’t yet, that this experience will change her, harden her.

  Already I can tell she’s not the same woman who teased me in Striking Back’s kitchen. She’s broken. Gently turning her in my arms, I whisper, “Shh.” Hot tears soak my shirt as she cries. “It’s okay to be afraid. We’re all afraid sometimes. You’ve been through hell. It’s traumatic and your emotions will take time to heal as well as your body.” What I don’t tell her is it takes a hell of a lot longer to let go of that pain, if you ever do. Some things hurt forever.

  Sunlight gradually fills the room and she peeks up at me, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I think I can go back to sleep now. Do you think you could stay with me just a few more minutes?”

  Finally, she’s reaching out for the comfort she needs. “I’m staying right here.” With a grimace, she moves to lie down, and I scoot down beside her. Before I can ask if she wants me to put a few pillows between us, her head lands on my chest.

  This is not the way I’m supposed to handle this, but the hell with it. She needs me. “I’m safe with you,” she murmurs.

  “You’re safe with me.”

  The next week passes much the same way. We watch movies, play cards and a monster of a Monopoly game that lasts three days. Macy learns to get around on the crutches and grudgingly allows me to help.

  Physically, she’s healing, but the panic attacks persist. As stubborn as always, she resists seeing a therapist or taking medication for her anxiety. I do my best to get her through her attacks, holding her until she regains control, and plotting the violent death of Allen Pearson.

  The setting sun paints the sky a vibrant red while we sit on the back patio, as we do most evenings. My eyes are drawn to her. Relaxing in a lounge chair, her ankle propped on a pillow, she reads a book, completely oblivious to my perusal.

  I shouldn’t be tracing her curves with my gaze, imagining her soft skin beneath my fingers. A little pink tongue darts out, licking her lips and I’m hard again, damn it. I haven’t spent this much time beating off since I was sixteen.