Recover Me

by Beth D. Carter

  John.

  He was here. He was real!

  Subtle changes made this John a little different. A tad taller, which said something because he’d been tall in her dream world. Fantasy John had held a quiet strength that made people respect him. This John was so heavily muscled, with an aura of danger swirling around him, that people instinctively moved out of his path, giving him a wide berth. He had a militaristic look, with blunt-cut dark hair and a rigid posture any soldier would be envious of, but something told her he hadn’t been in any branch of service. She stared at him, unblinking, until he suddenly looked down and their gazes met.

  The saliva dried up in her mouth as her heart thundered with a mixture of excitement and happiness. Any doubts she might have had about his identity disappeared instantly as the gossamer threads between them solidified. The people, the fight … everything disappeared, leaving them the only two people in the world. Curiosity filled his face. She reached out a hand but was bumped by someone walking by, abruptly pulling her out of the dream-like trance. She blinked and he was gone.

  Evie took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her wildly beating heart as she waited for him to come to her.

  Chapter Three

  Bishop knew what an imposing figure he made as he stood in front of Groto, with his arms folded, daring anyone to fuck with him. Having people stare at him was part of the job. He’d worked many years to get the top position of enforcer slash bodyguard and whatever the boss wanted, he did without question. His reputation was worthy and more importantly, accurate.

  Something danced across his skin, raising chill bumps, and he felt a tug somewhere deep in his mind. As he glanced across the sea of people, trying to find who stared at him, a pair of wide, disbelieving eyes snagged his attention. Their gazes locked and something twisted in his gut as if he recognized her, yet he was positive he’d never seen her before. He wracked his memory to remember if he knew her, and if he did, where he’d seen her before.

  Her bones jutted a little too prominently, showing that she didn’t eat enough. He hoped it wasn’t from a misguided thought that thinness equated to beauty. The trend of skinny chicks didn’t interest him in the slightest. She wasn’t beautiful, in fact there were many other women around who would fit the bill of stunning, but she was pretty in a wholesome way. Lopsided brown hair cascaded over one shoulder to touch the tip of her sweater-clad breast while the other side was shorn short. The distance and low lighting made it impossible to determine the exact color of her eyes, but he gathered they were dark. What disturbed him the most was the urge to go to her, enfold her in his arms and not let go, but he quelled the silly notion. He had a job to do and he never deviated from his work. Yet still, the yearning pouring off her was a cord tugging fiercely at his self-control.

  “Who’s the girl?” Groto asked.

  Surprised, Bishop jerked his gaze from her to glance at his boss. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

  “You were completely lost looking at her and she seems to know you. An old fuck?”

  Bishop immediately shook his head. He could be a son-of-a-bitch to the women he fucked, but some primal instinct told him that he would’ve remembered her.

  “Interesting,” Groto murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you react like that to a woman before. Or, actually, to anyone.”

  At that moment, the first bell dinged, alerting the spectators that the Iron Fist match would start in about ten minutes. Excitement buzzed through the crowd, as if charged with electricity. This wasn’t the organized shit seen on television. These fights were down and dirty and people bet huge amounts of money on them because anything went. The referee only stopped the fight when the downed fighter’s sponsor wished to keep him alive. Usually, though, two men entered and one man dominated, and if the unlucky prick who lost happened to die of a consequence, then so be it. The prize money drew in contestants looking to make a name for themselves, and only the best survived. Watching the carnage was interesting, entertaining, and the brutality called to some latent warrior inside him. Once upon a time he’d made a name for himself in the ring, but now he made more money protecting Sherman Groto. It didn’t stop him from wanting to get back inside the cage and bust some heads as the testosterone took him into a blood-fueled high, but he’d always been a practical man.

  Yet none of it registered this time as he looked back at the girl once more. She managed to fell him with one wide-eyed glance from her big dark eyes. The lights dimmed and suddenly he couldn’t see her. She’d faded instantly and panic surged through him. His hands closed into fists and every instinct in his body urged him to go find her, protect her. Only his training to stay near Groto held him back.

  “Bring her to me,” the boss ordered.

  Bishop stiffened in surprise as suspicion streaked through his gut. The only time Groto ever wanted a girl was when he wanted to fuck her, and Bishop wasn’t sure he could stand by and let that happen. Not this time with that particular girl. He didn’t know her, and yet, his protective instinct surged immediately.

  “Did you hear me, Mr. Kain?” Groto demanded. “Bring her to me.”

  Bishop nodded and had one of the other bodyguards, Santiago, take up his position as he left the private box. Never once, in all the years he’d worked for Groto, had he ever questioned the boss’s decisions. Bishop had long ago lain to rest his conscience and morals, but now, with one command, he was ready to defy the one man who’d given him a purpose in life.

  His big body parted the crowd effortlessly. His gaze darted around as he headed for the place the girl had last been, and as he reached the back wall, he saw her. Some man had cornered her, terror evident on her face by the wide eyes and frenetic shaking of her head. Black rage immediately consumed him, and all he thought about was wrapping his hands around the man’s throat to choke the life out of him.

  With a snarl of rage, he grabbed hold of the man, spun him, and punched him so hard Bishop felt the bones of his nose crunch under his fist. Blood spurted out as the man dropped like a stone, but he didn’t even bother looking at the unconscious man. Instead, he clamped a hand around the girl’s arm and dragged her away.

  She went willingly, even meekly. As he strode through the crowd, her small hand slid into his and the gesture shocked him so much he came to a halt. Several people grumbled as they had to maneuver around them, but he didn’t give a shit. Tingles danced across every nerve ending in his hand where she touched him as his world narrowed down to this one tiny girl, holding on to him and staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached up with her free hand and her fingertips lightly traced over his cheek. Fire shot through him from the innocent, delicate exploration and he couldn’t help himself from backing her up until she hit the wall. It was much the same position he’d rescued her from not more than a few minutes earlier, but this time her body language was completely different. Her lips parted, her nipples beaded, and she arched her back toward him. Bishop fitted himself against her, sliding his thigh between her legs to hold her firmly against his body. Every bit of him thrummed to life and he’d never ached so desperately to possess a woman. He wanted to sink his hard cock into her womanly depths and ride her until she screamed his name. The arena, the fight, his job … all of it faded as he stared into her dark, fathomless eyes.

  He let go of her arm to sink his fingers into her hair. He tilted her face up to his so he could study her face in an effort to determine why she felt so familiar.

  “I didn’t think you were real,” she whispered. “I thought you were only a fantasy.”

  “Who are you?” he demanded once more.

  “Don’t you remember me?”

  Slowly, he shook his head. The urge to kiss her was an overwhelming battle he lost. He bent his head. Her hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders.

  “John,” she breathed.

  The name jolted him out of whatever euphoria the girl
had cast around him. He pulled back from her and grabbed her forearms to prevent her from hugging him.

  “My name isn’t John,” he said harshly. Hearing another man’s name drop from her lips had twisted a spike in his gut, and damned if he wanted to analyze that too closely. “It’s Bishop Kain. Now come on. Mr. Groto wants to see you.”

  Her mouth dropped open but he didn’t give her a chance to say anything. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and dragged her toward the stairway.

  Chapter Four

  Evie stumbled after him, unable to stabilize her world that now tilted off its axis. John, or Bishop, yanked her along, almost uncaring how he treated her, and she couldn’t seem to reconcile that in her mind. Her John had always been gentle with her, had always respected her, and to see the harshness on his face now scared her.

  At the top of the stairs he suddenly spun her around and kicked her legs open. She tried to turn, to maybe talk to him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He prevented her from facing him.

  “Place your hands against the wall,” he barked.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He bent and patted around her ankles, running his hands up her leg to pat her jeans pockets.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” He slapped against the sleeping pills she’d put there before leaving the apartment, and knew he felt them when he took a second inspection. “What is this?”

  “Wait—”

  He knocked her hands away and reached into her pocket, pulling out the baggie of red capsules a second later.

  “What are these?” he demanded, shaking the bag in her face. “Are you dealing here?”

  “No, they’re my sleeping pills,” she said, trying to grab them out of her hands. “They’re mine.”

  “Why are you carrying sleeping pills around?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you purchase them here? Tell me! Mr. Groto doesn’t harbor drugs at his venues unless they’re sold by his dealers.”

  “No! I didn’t purchase them here. They’re for my insomnia. Please, give them back.”

  Everything was spinning out of control and Evie felt helpless. She wanted to snatch the drugs away from him, but at the same time, she couldn’t look at him because he was too much like her fantasy man.

  “I don’t think so,” he said just before he took her by the arm once more and practically hauled her into the room. Several big-muscled men stood around the perimeter, and they turned as a collective when Bishop entered. No expression marred their faces, and each man seemed like a cookie cutter from the last. As she shot a quick look at Bishop, she realized even he had the same monochromatic look. Black hair, black pants, black shirt. They all blended together in a very creepy undertone of what was happening and it was enough to cause her anxiety to spike as a flash of pain rumbled through her head.

  A lone man rose from the seat near the railing, catching her attention. As with Bishop, recognition dawned on her, even though she knew she’d never seen him before. However, he looked nothing like any of the others in her fantasy world. A stranger in the true sense of the word, except for the part where she shrank back from him and trembled with fear at his nearness.

  “Ah,” he said, smiling. His tone might have been pleasant but it only made her want to run in the opposite direction. “The mystery girl who captured your attention, Mr. Kain.”

  Bishop didn’t say anything.

  “My name is Sherman Groto, m’dear. And you are?”

  She didn’t want to answer him, didn’t even want to get close to him, but he took that option away when he stepped in front of her and took her chin between his fingers to tilt her head up. Their gazes locked, and she swore she saw the blackness of his soul swimming through the depths.

  “What is your name?”

  It was a demand she knew she couldn’t ignore.

  “Evelyn,” she whispered. “Evelyn Duncan.”

  Groto cocked his head as he studied her. “You look very familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. Have we?”

  “No.”

  “These were in her pocket,” Bishop said as held out the plastic bag of red capsules he’d confiscated from her.

  “Drugs?” Groto asked, piercing her with a cold stare.

  Evie shook her head. “My sleeping medication. I have … I suffer from insomnia.”

  He didn’t believe her. She saw it flash through his eyes before a neutral blanket wiped them clean. Her brother was right, this wasn’t a man she should have ever met. The pain in her head grew a little sharper. It had been a long time since she had a migraine and she desperately hoped this wasn’t one starting. She didn’t think Sherman Groto would appreciate her throwing up in his presence.

  “Please,” she said, and she winced a little at the desperation threading her voice. “May I have them back?”

  He gave a small nod of his head, so imperceptible that she almost missed it, but apparently Bishop didn’t because a heartbeat later he shoved them into her hand. Thankful, Evie stuffed them back into her front pocket.

  “Why are you here, Miss Duncan?” Groto asked. He folded his arms across his chest.

  “Jo—Bishop brought me here,” she replied.

  He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Why are you at this fight?”

  “I, uh, I came with a friend.”

  Again, she knew he didn’t believe her. His demeanor became colder, more rigid.

  “I know a lie when I hear one, Miss Duncan.”

  The spot where she’d had a craniotomy throbbed and she knew it was just a matter of time before pain took over. She had to get away.

  “My brother works for you,” she said, rubbing the spot that was hurting. “He likes to keep an eye on me. Please, if you don’t mind, I have a migraine starting. Sleep is the only thing that keeps them away.”

  The suspicion eased from his eyes.

  “And thus the reason why you have a bag filled with sleeping medication.” Groto nodded. “Very well. You can go. I’ll be in touch, Miss Duncan.”

  He’d be in touch? She hoped not but daren’t ask him why he had said that. There were too many questions swimming around in her head, but the pain was settling in and she couldn’t think anymore. She was going to throw up and she’d be damned if she would upchuck in front of Sherman Groto. Turning, she rushed out to the tense atmosphere and back into the staircase. Racing down, she barely made it to a trash bin before the meager contents of her stomach emptied. The pain was in full force now, obliterating everything. Her shaking knees were ready to collapse and Chris had no way to find her. Just as she began to slink to the ground, strong hands caught her.

  “Jesus,” Bishop muttered. She wanted to reassure him she would be okay, but the migraine stole her words. “Fuck!”

  There was a sensation of flying, of being carried on clouds, and she wished she could enjoy being in Bishop’s arms.

  “Hold on, Evelyn,” he said. “Let me get you your pills.”

  Too late.

  He didn’t know that of course as moments later she felt something at her lips.

  “Swallow, sweetheart. Come on. That’s right. Swallow.”

  She swallowed the capsule he’d placed on her tongue with a sip of warm beer that almost made her gag again. Moments later, the medicine took effect and darkness descended.

  ****

  “Evie!”

  Bishop looked up to see a young man rushing toward them, wearing the standard uniform that Groto dictated to his employees. Black pants, white button-down shirt and yellow-pocketed aprons to designate they were the cashiers. He realized this man must be the brother Evelyn had mentioned, but his protective instinct took over and scooped her up to half-shield her body with his as he waited for the man to approach.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Bishop looked him up and down. “Who’re you?”

  “Her brother Chris.” Recognition dawned in her brother’s eyes and he took a few steps back. “What happened to her?”

  “Migr
aine.”

  “Shit. I thought those were done with.” Chris shook his head. “She hasn’t had one in a couple of months.”

  “I gave her one of her pills.”

  “Pills?”

  Bishop shifted her weight a little so he could hold up the plastic baggie that still contained a few red capsules.

  “Oh hell, throw those away.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They’re sleeping pills.”

  Bishop nodded. “Yeah, she said that before she upchucked in the trash can. Figured sleeping was the best way to wear off the pain.”

  “I guess so. Trouble is she’s addicted to those fucking things. I thought I got rid of them all but I guess I need to explore her room a little more thoroughly.” Chris sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I can take her if you want to hand her over.”

  Bishop opened his mouth to order her brother back to work, but it disturbed him to realize that he didn’t want to hand her over. In his world he didn’t get attached to things or people and the emotions that this one lone girl invoked scared him on a level he didn’t want to analyze too closely. He snapped his mouth shut and stepped closer to her brother. A bit of maneuvering and she slid out of his arms to lay like a broken rag doll against her brother, seemingly dead to the world.

  “Why does she get migraines?”

  “About fourteen months ago she had an accident,” Chris said. “She fell and hit her head. A few hours later she had a migraine so bad she passed out and I ended up taking her to the hospital. Turns out that migraine saved her life. Doctors found she had bleeding on the brain and massive swelling, so they put her in a medically induced coma for a week. Gave her a craniotomy to relieve the pressure. She almost didn’t make it.”

  Bishop’s blood ran cold at the thought. “Jesus. She’s better?”