Jasmine:
Kings of Guardian
Book 6
By
Kris Michaels
Jasmine King loved her chosen profession until she was assigned as Chad Nelson’s personal security officer. The sex-fueled country superstar was either a stone cold killer or the target of a deranged psychopath. Regardless, the self-absorbed bad boy was now hers to protect, and she’d be damned if she’d fail—despite the singer’s best efforts to make things difficult.
One minute Chad Nelson was the reigning king of country music and in the next, an FBI murder suspect in not one, but two murders. As if that’s not bad enough, he’s in the cross-hairs of someone who wants him dead. He’s got a front row seat to the destruction of his wildly successful and carefully constructed life.
Jasmine and Chad are plunged into a deadly situation when the race to get him to safety reveals pursuit by not only Chad’s enemies but worse, Guardian’s. Now, positions are reversed as the country star reaches back to a military past to help free Jasmine from a bloody confrontation. Thankfully, Chad’s not the shallow performer Jasmine originally suspected, and she’ll use any advantage to protect her man as Guardian scrambles to find the killer.
www.trollriverpub.com
Jasmine
Kings of Guardian (Book 6)
Copyright © 2017 Kris Michaels
ISBN: 978-1-946454-06-5
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, incidents and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Join the fun with Author Kris Michaels for giveaways, updates and new release opportunities at: http://eepurl.com/7OXdr
Chapter One
Jasmine King scanned the writhing crowd from her concealed vantage point. Seventy-four thousand overheated, drunk, high, and generally obnoxious people sang, danced, chanted, and pumped their fists in rhythm with the beat of the blaring country music anthem. Country Music’s ‘Voice of the Century,’ Demure Magazine’s ‘America’s Sexiest Man Alive,’ and for the fifth year in a row, country music’s reigning entertainer of the year, Chad Nelson, the man, the myth, and—if you believed his press—the legend, released his unending energy into the Georgia Dome crowd. The man sang, danced, and showed his skill at playing multiple instruments all while pouring his brand of music out to his faithful followers. At one point during a ballad, he stopped singing, and the crowd’s voice lifted to fill the void in the dome. The melody of thousands of voices echoed in a surreal testament to the man’s impact on literally millions of lives. It was probably a performance to remember—if not for one minor detail. At least one of the superstar’s rabidly loyal fans was off-the-deep-end, bat-shit crazy. The question was, who in the thousands in attendance wanted Nelson dead?
Jasmine assumed Nelson’s label had hired Guardian Security when the usual type of weirdness associated with the fans of the famous singer escalated from run-of-the -mill threats to stalker-psycho insane. Someone had placed a mutilated picture of Chad with a hand-scrawled note attached to it on his tour bus. According to the message she’d received when she was diverted to take this case, two things had converged to freak out the suits that handled the superstar. First, the picture of Chad wasn’t a publicity shot. It was a candid shot taken when he wasn’t touring, although the star’s people couldn’t figure out exactly where or when it had been taken. Second, the tour bus had been locked in a secure, guarded parking area. Meaning, the person who had put the picture on the bus could be someone within his inner circle.
The headliner was currently in Atlanta performing a sold-out, three-night show that culminated his Back-2-Me tour. Jasmine King glanced at the performer briefly before she scanned the crowd—again. The musical number the band was playing was the final song of the second encore and it would be the headliner’s last, at least according to the road manager who’d briefed Guardian’s security team when they’d arrived. She’d been late to arrive at the Dome and hoped the information passed on to her from the team already in place hadn’t changed.
Jazz stood just inside the right-wing entrance to the stage. She had an unobstructed view of the performer and the crowd. Nelson’s gorgeous muscled back, sans shirt most of the last encore, glistened with sweat. In the last two hours, she’d been a firsthand witness to why promoters lauded the sexy singer as the hottest act in the nation. The background she’d hurriedly read revealed that with the exception of the rock god, Lucifer Cross, Nelson outsold all artists of any genre in music sales, downloads and concert attendance.
Her earpiece and radio were rendered useless by the deafening thrum of the amplified music and screaming crowd. She hadn’t heard a single transmission since the headliner’s performance started. She systematically scanned the crowd looking for possible threats. The ground-level stage security was in full force beneath Chad and his band. There were barriers keeping the crowd out of a cleared buffer zone in front of the stage. Venue security stood shoulder to shoulder in the area, keeping people from rushing the performer. Guardian had a small presence strategically placed in various locations. They weren’t here to control the crowd. Guardian assets were looking for a needle in a drunk, surging, swaying haystack. That was something she was going to talk to Jared about. Nothing about this detail was normal, from her last-second diversion to Atlanta, the lack of time and coordination on the venue security, to the caliber of Guardian’s high-profile private security officers who currently dotted the Dome. Two and two didn’t equal four, but she’d get to her brother and ask her questions after the job was done.
The music peaked, and pyrotechnics flamed, erupting in twenty-foot spews of sparks and smoke that dramatically ended the show. Thank God they warned us about the fireworks. Jazz purposely looked away from the flames and focused on the crowd. She glanced momentarily at an interlinked mesh of neon-yellow-clad event staff as they stopped fans from rushing the stage to get closer to the superstar. The faces smiled, screamed and looked adoringly towards the media and the fan-appointed demigod who bowed to his fanatical, surging audience.
The house lights came up, and she identified her subject just as the realization that the concert was over rippled through the crowd. He was a big, burly man with a wild mop of brown hair and a long, thick beard. He had his eyes focused on the stage like everyone else, but he wasn’t partying, laughing or reacting like the crowd around him. A quick glance toward the front of the stage confirmed that assistance from the ground-level security detail or other Guardian personal security officers was out of the question. Feral fans pushed forward in a vain attempt at getting to their idol. The Georgia Dome’s security team had their hands full, and other Guardian assets weren’t close enough to help. The deafening roar of the audience negated any chance of radio communication.
Jasmine could see both men, her charge and her target, in her peripheral vision. The performer started walking towards her at the same time the man in the crowd made his move. The front-line security didn’t see her suspect effortlessly vault the barrier near the right wing of the stage. He launched up onto the platform in two bounding steps.
Jazz moved from the shadows and bolted between the country singer and the crazed bear of a man heading his way. The performer, some of his band, and one or two stage crew stopped short as she bolted in front of him.
“Get out of here. Now!” Pushing the startled star backward, she turned on her heel. Luckily, the focused rage of the man charging the stage blinded him to all
but his intended target. With the man’s size, that would be her only edge. She assessed and acted. Concentrating every ounce of athleticism she could muster—she clotheslined the bastard.
The hit to the man’s throat did absolutely nothing except spin him toward Jasmine and deflect his rage to her, which, hey, worked for her. Protect the client at all costs. Mission accomplished. The man hunched forward. His reactionary jab deflected, Jazz countered his move. She didn’t anticipate the curved hunting knife in his hand, but countless hours of training had formed muscle memory patterns. She reacted, instinctively grabbed the man’s wrist as he lunged, and used his momentum against him. The movement controlled the knife and allowed his body to go forward while she twisted his arm, swinging it behind his back. Her speed and his weight worked in her favor. He flipped forward and landed on his face. Jazz followed the man down and landed with her elbow in his kidneys. The blow would have taken out most normal men. But it didn’t faze the crazed behemoth. Whatever extreme emotion or mind-altering drug the man was flying high on kept him going and blinded him to the pain Jasmine knew she had inflicted. He threw her off and launched forward.
Jazz followed him up, positioning herself between where Nelson had been and the lunatic. She shifted to the balls of her feet. The psycho still grasped the knife in his hand and brandished it at her. He sliced using quick, unpredictable thrusts. Shifting her weight, she feigned to his left, dodging the knife as it passed her arm. Grabbing his wrist with both hands, she pulled him into her body. The knife and his arm shot past her. Jasmine once again used his momentum and her speed to pull him off balance. She stomped on the arch of his foot with all of her might, grinding her boot heel into his foot. He bellowed out an enraged cry and loosened his grip slightly as he opened his stance to try to get to her.
Jazz moved instinctively, jerking her knee up and forward with as much force as she could gather. She felt his cock and balls compressed into nothing under the impact of her blow. Though she winced in pain, Jasmine felt nothing but relief when her knee connected with his pubic bone. That dropped the son of a bitch to his knees and then to his side, where he curled into a fetal position, retching. Using her body weight to slam him forward onto his face, she ground her knee into his neck and braced her shin on his lower back while she handcuffed the beast of a man. When she released him, his body once again curled instinctively in on itself in agony.
The man wheezed a high-pitched, “Fucking cu—”
Jasmine dropped down and slammed her hand against his chin, stilling his venomous words, and hissed, “This was supposed to be an easy assignment. You have no idea the day I’ve had. Shut up and save us all some pain.” Jazz dropped her hand from the man’s face and lifted his arm about two inches. The shoulder joint hinged just at the popping point. “Give me a reason to dislocate your shoulder. Just one. That’s all I need. It has been a really bad day.”
The fucker still struggled, but she’d done her job. Her cuffs secured his meaty wrists behind his back. With each breath, his insults got louder, stronger and more inventive. Whatever, at least the bastard was in custody. Barely.
The entire confrontation had taken mere seconds. Personal security was ninety-nine percent preparation and one percent ‘oh shit’. Tonight that one percent of effort had taken everything she had to give. Jazz pulled in ragged breaths as her chest heaved. Looking down at the bear squirming on the ground, she saw a widening pool of blood on the man’s back. Her mind and body chose that moment to sync up, and she felt a sharp burn along her forearm.
A quick glance confirmed a cut on her arm dripped blood onto the man’s shirt. “Honestly? This is just what I didn’t need.” She lifted her gaze and swept the immediate area. A swarm of neon-yellow t-shirts was headed her way. It took less than twenty seconds for the stadium’s security detail, along with two Guardian personal security officers, to respond and take control of the bull of a man. Jasmine stood as they grabbed him and carried the maniac away.
Her body thrummed from the adrenaline rush that amped her system. The throb radiating from her arm drew her attention downward and she caught her first good look at the slash on her forearm.
“Awesome.” Blood dripped down through her fingers and pooled on the stage.
She raised her injured forearm higher than her heart. Holding the cut closed with her other hand, she headed away from the stage area, looking for something to stem the blood loss. At least ten roadies scurried around pulling cables and moving equipment. She wondered if they even realized their meal ticket had been in danger. Probably not. In her experience, people mimicked sheep. Most of the time they were blissfully ignorant of the wolves in their midst.
Jazz cast a quick look at the expanse of the backstage. With the house lights up everything seemed smaller. Less impressive. What would impress her would be a way to stop the slice in her arm from bleeding. Was it too much to ask for a bathroom? Where had she seen it? The map she’d burned into her mind seemed to be misfiled, because, for the life of her, she had no idea which way to turn. Lord, the non-public area of this facility could be used as a Halloween maze. The feel of blood leaving a warm trail down her arm pulled her eyes toward her injury again. Dark crimson slowly pulsed from the slice on her forearm down to her elbow and dripped onto the floor. Yep. Awesome. Jazz cast around looking for an ad hoc bandage. A few paper napkins left on a stack of chairs in the outer wing of the stage caught her attention.
She took two steps toward the chairs and yelled, “What in the hell!” Unable to keep her balance, she stumbled backward. White cloth blocked her vision for a second, then her elbow was grabbed and material wrapped around her arm. Jazz pulled back violently, dropped to the balls of her feet and crouched, ready to fight.
“Hey, hey… it’s alright. You need to apply pressure to the wound.” A man bent down slowly, cradled her arm, and tightened the material around her cut. Her medic slash attacker was quick, she’d give him that, and he wasn’t gentle.
“Ouch! Stop it! That hurts, you freaking gorilla…”
Jasmine yelled at the chest and shoulders in front of her and pushed against the solid wall of muscle that had plastered itself all up inside her personal space.
“Sorry, darlin’ but you have to get that bleeding stopped.”
Jasmine stilled instantly. She recognized that voice. She’d heard it for the last two hours. She tipped her head back and her gaze traveled up from a gorgeous chest and shoulders to the chiseled chin, high cheekbones, strong straight nose and vivid blue eyes of country superstar Chad Nelson. His black hair was wet with sweat from the physical exertion of his show. He was still standing in the wings of the stage. And that fact pissed her off.
“Didn’t I tell you to get out of here? What were you thinking other than, ‘Oh, hey! I’ll be an idiot today?’”
His famous and well-documented sexy smile made an appearance. White teeth flashed as his dimples deepened. “Well, let’s see, in the scant one minute since you pushed me backward into a stack of chairs, my band came off stage, formed a human shield around me and almost prevented me from watching you kick some serious ass. Impressive, by the way. You’ve got some moves. I saw your arm and knew you needed to stop the bleeding. I was in the Army for six years, and I know a thing or two about treating wounds. Now, we could stand here while you bleed, or we could go to my dressing room and get you some medical attention. If you haven’t noticed, blood has already soaked through my shirt.”
Jasmine dropped her eyes to her arm and grimaced at the drenched fabric. No, she hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it. But she could tell her adrenaline rush was starting to subside. The dull throb of her heartbeat in her forearm and the ache from the wound were becoming pronounced. She took a deep breath, counted to five and exhaled. This day just wouldn’t end.
She shook her head, turned to look down the black-painted hallways behind the stage, and sighed. “This probably needs stitches. My people are busy with your psycho stalker. Event security is busy with your rabid fans. I ne
ed to call in and get a ride to the emergency room.” That wasn’t a call she relished making. Getting injured on the job meant paperwork that her brothers would see. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she assumed. She glanced down at the soaked t-shirt. Yeah. Right.
The man put his hands on his hips, catching Jasmine’s eyes with the movement. So her gaze happened to linger over the prominent lines of his Adonis belt formed by the very well defined abdominal muscles he flaunted. It wasn’t her fault. She was hyper-aware after the fight. That was her alibi, and she planned on using it.
“The stadium has a doctor on staff. Come with me and we’ll get him to take a look at that for you.”
Well, that would eliminate the paperwork. One less thing for her brothers to fuss about, right? She could hear Jason going on and on and on in her mind. She loved her brothers, but they smothered both her and her sister Jewell. No, definitely best they don’t find out. Jazz nodded to herself and pulled her shoulders back. His soft chuckle brought her gaze back up to his amused expression. She lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“Sorry, watching the wheels turn in your head just now was interesting. You have very expressive eyes.” He turned on his heel and started down one of the hallways. His jeans clung to his muscled thighs and hugged his perfect ass. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. He cocked his head in question.
The pain in her arm had dulled her senses. Yep, that was it. Muddled senses. Fractured thinking kept her following those massive shoulders. Brain damage forced her down the stage’s access ramp to the labyrinth of the stadium’s belly. Shock. She was in shock, and it had nothing to do with that man—not a thing.
Jazz caught up with him and glanced around. It was an involuntary habit carved into her everyday existence from years of training and working security. She cast a quick look around the facility, taking in the door positions, and located adjacent hallways while sweeping the area for threats. She was still on the clock, and the job always came first. Jared had sent her down here to play bodyguard to Mr. Howdy Doody. What she’d done to piss off her brother enough to be assigned to this grunt detail escaped her. She’d checked in the day she left Italy to communicate that her assignment with a world-famous opera singer had ended. There’d been no hiccups or problems with the principal, but at the last minute she was detoured from the final leg of her flight home and instructed to board the first plane to Atlanta. Of course, her luggage didn’t get the message to deviate. Last time she’d checked, the bags were flying to Dulles. Naturally.
Jasmine (Kings of Guardian Book 6) Page 1