Pleasure, Montana 8
Bodyguards of Pleasure
Overweight computer nerd Brooke Armstrong lives her dream of store ownership. When she witnesses a drug deal gone bad, the killer is intent on seeing her dead. Scared for her life and that of her family’s, she reluctantly accepts protection from two hot bodyguards, Gavin Kirkwood and Riley Landon.
Gavin can’t believe how much Brooke entices him. He’s drawn to her lush curves and intelligent mind. He knows she will make the perfect submissive for him and Riley.
Never in her wildest dreams did Brooke think the muscular former military man would find her attractive, but when he ties her up and demands her obedience, she’s in heaven.
Too bad the killer won’t let them revel in their passion. After a kidnapping gone wrong that ends in a do or die battle, the killer is brought to justice. How can the men convince Brooke they want her in a permanent ménage relationship?
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 63,954 words
BODYGUARDS OF PLEASURE
Pleasure, Montana 8
Melody Snow Monroe
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
BODYGUARDS OF PLEASURE
Copyright © 2013 by Melody Snow Monroe
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-855-7
First E-book Publication: May 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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www.SirenPublishing.com
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BODYGUARDS OF PLEASURE
Pleasure, Montana 8
MELODY SNOW MONROE
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
In the cold, dark alley, Brooke Armstrong stilled to the harsh sounds of fists meeting bone and flesh. She whipped around to find the sickening source, and adrenaline rushed through her veins. Two men were brutally duking it out behind the Pleasure Hotel a half block away, causing her heart to drop to her stomach. Her breath caught.
On instinct, she inched closer to get a better look in the dim light. Too bad the lamp over the door wasn’t enough to identify who they were. She’d seen her share of friendly, drunken fistfights. This wasn’t one.
You need to leave.
More deadly pounding echoed down the narrow passageway. Her common sense told her to rush inside and call the cops, but her feet refused to respond. She wanted to see what happened next.
The taller man, wearing a gray hoodie, landed a huge blow to the shorter one’s gut then smashed his face with a right hook. Holy crap. Brooke squinted and held her breath. The injured man staggered backward and tumbled on his ass. Her body jerked as if she’d been hit.
Get up, mister. Please.
Before the downed man could recover, Mr. Hoodie sprang forward and placed a foot on the man’s chest. Her pulse raced. The attacker’s head bobbed as he shouted something, but she couldn’t make out the words.
Mr. Hoodie shifted slightly and light glinted off his knife. Oh, shit. Her body trembled, forcing her to glance down the alley to see if anyone else was near. She strained to hear sirens blaring, hoping someone had already contacted the authorities, but there were no sounds other than her ragged breaths and the victim’s cries.
Get out of here.
Morbid curiosity held her captive. Just one more second then I’ll leave.
The tall man dropped to his knees and held the man down while he stabbed him in the belly over and over again. Bile rolled into her throat.
Holy fuck.
Brooke dragged her hands down her sides. She wanted to help the victim, but she was no match against a man with a knife.
Do something.
Cold air streaked up her nostrils. Panic and anxiety had a death grip on her and she couldn’t move.
The attacker ripped open the man’s gut with one stroke and stuck his hand inside the guy’s belly. This can’t be happening. The bizarre scene looked like it came straight from a horror flick. Things like this didn’t happen in Pleasure, Montana.
Reality finally crashed in on her and she screamed. The killer jerked his head up and lasered her with a glare. Without hesitating, he shot to his feet and charged, bloody knife waving.
Go!
The back door to her store sat between her and the killer. She’d never make it in time. You have to. Her mind muddied and all sounds disappeared except for blood pounding in her ears.
Finally, her mind cleared enough for her to react. Pulse in overdrive, she sprinted the thirty feet to the back door of her store and grabbed the handle. Her fingers slipped on the metal latch. Even though it was a brutally cold February night, sweat beaded on her palms. She tugged again, but the door refused to open.
I can’t get enough air. Breathe. “Open, you fucker.”
Feet pounded down the alley. He shouted at her, but her brain refused to understand his words. The meaning, however, was clear.
She was next to die.
He was close, so close. Sharp pains streaked across her body. She depressed the handle five more times. Finally, the door sprung open, and she shot inside.
Close the door. Lock it. Now!
She turned around to flip the deadbolt closed. Her hands were trembling so hard, she fumbled to get the bolt through the metal loop. Heart hammering against her ribs, she inhaled deeply and finally succeeded.
The horrible man pounded on the door, and every muscle froze. Her mind tried to sort through what she needed to do. Her gaze shot to the storefront door to make sure she’d locked it.
Call 911.
Need phone.
She ran to her office in the back, knocking against the doorjamb, and bruising her thigh. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Clutter covered her desk, and she tossed the papers on the floor looking for her freaking cell. “Where are you? Come on. Come on.”
There. She lifted it, pressed a button to turn it on, and dialed 911.
It rang. Answer, Connie. The sheriff’s office had one dispatcher.
“This is 911, what is the nature of your emergency?” Connie said, as calm as could be.
“Connie, it’s me, Brooke.” Her tongue tripped over itself trying to tell her all that had happened. “Someone is trying to break into the back of my store right now. He killed a man. He saw me.” Glass shattered. “Oh, shit. He’s here.”
“Stay on—”
With no time to think, she dropped the phone and charged into the store. That hooded man was climbing through a broken window causing more adrenaline to slam through her veins. She froze and stared.
He waved a knife. “You!”
Run!
Exiting out the back was her only chance. She groped the handle to unlock the deadbolt and struggled to drag the latch back. Once open, she sprinted outside. Brooke looked left then right, trying to determine where to go. The dead man was still in the alley by the hotel, but so was the back entrance. It was the nearest escape route. If she could get through the lobby to Main Street, someone would be there to help.
Except for a few lights on the back of the establishments, the dirt alley was dark. She prayed she didn’t step in a pothole. No one would hear her if she screamed, so she saved her breath. Pumping her arms, she focused on her destination. A door behind her banged closed.
Please, please, don’t let him get me.
Her glasses slid down her nose. She tilted her head back to keep them from falling. The cold air slid down her throat as a sharp pain grabbed her side.
Finally she reached the hotel door, but she refused to look down at the prone man, not wanting to see all that blood and relive his horrible death. She yanked the handle. It opened. Yes! Needing to get to the front, Brooke ran down the long corridor leading to the lobby. One couple standing at the checkout counter turned to watch her sprint.
“There’s a murderer behind me,” she panted. Brooke pushed open the hotel front door and almost knocked down a woman entering. “Sorry.”
Her only hope was to cross the street and reach the sheriff’s office before that horrid man nabbed her. Fearing she might stumble, she didn’t dare look behind her.
She darted across the street. A horn blew and brakes screeched. She shot a glance to her left. The car had stopped inches from her body, and the man in the car pumped a fist.
She held up a hand. “Sorry!”
Her breaths came out quick. You can do it. After stopping once more for a car to pass, she made it across the street. The damn movie must have gotten out because a crowd filled the sidewalk, blocking her quick escape.
She slowed. The man wouldn’t dare harm her with a lot of people around, right? Brooke stepped into the street and, holding her side, she jogged toward her destination. Several people glared at her. She couldn’t blame them. She wore a thin shirt and jeans, which was stupid attire for winter.
When she reached the sheriff’s office, sirens sounded in the background. She rushed up the three steps and pushed open the door. Relief swamped her. Connie, the 911 operator, rushed over to her.
“Brooke, are you okay?”
“No.”
* * * *
Gavin Kirkwood shot to his feet. His natural protective nature went into overdrive. Connie gathered the newcomer in her arms and led her over to a set of chairs along the side wall.
Deputy Tom Carnes strode over to her and squatted in front. “Brooke, tell me what happened. We got your call. Justin and the ambulance are on their way to the scene.”
Gavin had gone to the station to shoot the breeze with his cousin, Justin, who happened to be the sheriff. When the call came in, Justin went into cop mode. Gavin had only arrived in Pleasure from Denver a month ago, but when he heard who’d called, he wanted to make sure Brooke was okay. He’d purchased some computer equipment from her the first week he’d gotten to town, and while both he and his roommate found her attractive and interesting, they’d been too busy setting up their business to even think about asking her out.
She looked up at him, but he saw no signs of recognition. He stepped over to her. “I’m Gavin Kirkwood. I stopped in your store a while back.”
She nodded then looked down as if trying to remember the name. “Brooke Armstrong.” She held out her hand and her cold palm pissed him off.
Brooke shivered, and Gavin turned to Connie. “You got a blanket or something?” Poor thing was freezing. It was no wonder, given she only wore a thin shirt.
“Where’s my mind?” Connie raced into the back room and returned with a warm-looking throw. “Here ya go, honey.” Connie wrapped it around Brooke’s shoulders.
She straightened. From what he could glean from her call to Connie, there was a dead man behind the hotel and a murderer who seemed intent on making sure Brooke didn’t identify him. Despite witnessing the murder, she’d managed to escape this guy. Gavin admired her spunk.
Tom dragged one of the chairs from the wall and placed it in front of her. “Whenever you’re ready, Brooke.”
She sniffled, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and then pulled the blanket closer. “I was emptying my garbage in the back alley when I heard a fight.”
Gavin walked over to the coffeemaker, listening intently to her tale as he fixed her a warm drink. When she mentioned the detail of the murderer slicing open the victim’s gut, his attention shot to high alert. He’d had a similar case last year. He faced her.
Her eyes were red and her cheeks pale, but she was still a pretty woman. When she pushed her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear, it sprung back to its same position. He inwardly smiled. His sister had curly hair like that. No matter what she did, it remained the same.
The coffee finished brewing. “Brooke?”
She glanced up and studied him as if she hadn’t noticed he’d left her side. “Yes?”
“Cream or sugar?”
“I’d like both, please.”
He poured in the cream and brought over three packets to let her decide how sweet she wanted it. “Hope this helps.”
She looked up and smiled. When she removed the cup from his hands, their fingers brushed again. Maybe it was the slightly askew glasses, her full lips, or her intelligent eyes, but his cock hardened. Whoa. He loved women, but he never succumbed to instant lust. It must be the whole adrenaline rush of a potential case.
She blew on the hot coffee as if the drink would fix everything. His heart cracked at her vulnerability, and he feared her life might never be the same.
Tom leaned forward. “Can you describe this man?”
She blew out a breath and shook her head. “I realize he was only fifteen feet from me, and while I did see his face in the store light, even if you brought in a sketch artist, I probably wouldn’t get anything right.”
Tom rubbed her shoulder. “I bet you know more than you think. Was he Caucasian?”
“Yes.”
“How old would you say he was?”
Her lips pinched. “Late thirties, early fort
ies.”
“You said he wore a hoodie, but could you see any of his hair?”
“It was brown.” She touched her forehead above her right eye. “A lock had fallen over his face.”
“You’re doing good. How tall was he?”
She shrugged. “Everyone’s taller than me.” Brooke glanced up at him. “Maybe his height?”
His military training kicked in and he stood up tall. “I’m a little over six feet.”
She nodded. “Like Gavin then.”
Good thing he’d been here when the call came through or she might have identified him as the killer. Without thinking, he pushed back the lock of brown hair that had decided to explore his forehead.
When the front door banged open and Justin rushed in, Brooke jumped, and some of her coffee leapt out of the cup. Fortunately, the hot liquid only landed on the blanket. He stepped over to the machine and picked up a few napkins. Instead of handing them to her, he blotted the stain, pressing on her leg.
Being close to her jammed his thoughts. He stepped back and faced Justin. “Learn anything?”
“Victim’s wallet says he’s Chris Culver from Bozeman.” Justin turned to Brooke. “Does that name ring a bell?”
“No. Should it?”
Justin shrugged. “Thought maybe hearing his name might jog your memory.”
“No.” She glanced down at her lap. “He’s dead, right?” Her chin trembled, and she fisted the hand not holding the coffee.
“Afraid so. He died on the way to the hospital.”
She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and then slapped a hand over her heart. “If only I had stopped—”
Monroe, Melody Snow - Bodyguards of Pleasure [Pleasure, Montana 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 1