The Protector

by Stormi Lewis

  The Protector

  Book Two of the Sophie Lee Trilogy

  by Stormi Lewis

  The Protector

  Book Two of the Sophie Lee Trilogy

  Copyright © 2021 by Stormi Lewis. All rights reserved.

  This book is a self-published creation.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  ASIN: B08L9X4KFC

  For information, contact Stormi Lewis

  chasingstormillc@gmail.com

  To Shyera McCollugh Thomas, who convinced me to go back to my roots, and gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Pure happiness, pandemic and all.

  To my parents, who became the perfect writing team, gave me the bones for this part of Sophie’s journey, and helped me get unstuck with plot holes. Letting me call countless times a day and celebrated every win and loss with me.

  To Megan, who kept bugging me to finish this for her, and let me bounce ideas off of her to make sure I stayed true to Sophie and her journey.

  To my Instagram Support Team, who let me reach out for the good, the bad, and the breakdowns to help build me back up and get me back on track.

  To Victoria McCombs, who was the perfect book coach a girl could ever ask for, and a friend when I needed it the most.

  To the reviewers of The Key, who gave me feedback, and let me know what I needed to improve on for this part of Sophie’s journey.

  To my beta readers, that gave me valuable feedback to make this book the best version of itself for you.

  Lastly, to my Storm Chasers, who never stop conquering their personal storms while supporting my passions and personal growth. I would not be here without you.

  Chapter 1

  A s a mother, you take great pride in being able to produce life. To have a part of you that will live on long after you are gone. Someone that you can instill your morals, values, and traditions into. Someone you can help shape into representing what you stand for, and to continue the fight to make the world a better place.

  At least, that’s how Angie viewed motherhood. She had married her high school sweetheart, and life couldn’t be better. Jim was even more excited than Angie when they found out she was pregnant. Even though they had both come from simple families, they were determined to give their first born son as much as possible to help him succeed in life.

  They named him Nicholas, after Jim’s father. Jim had lost his father unexpectedly to a heart attack in high school, and it had left a mark on his heart that Angie was eager to help heal.

  Nicholas was a quiet and well behaved baby. He slept often, hardly cried, and was a blessing of a first child. He was such a good child, that it made Angie and Jim eager for a second one. Jim had been an only child growing up, and wanted his son to experience brotherhood. Angie agreed wholeheartedly, because she was very close to her brother and two sisters. They would name their second child, Peter, after Angie’s grandfather.

  Nicholas was excited to be a big brother. He pointed to Angie’s belly often and said, “Mine!” They assumed that despite not fully understanding the concept of pregnancy, Nicholas knew he would be Peter’s protector. They didn’t realize that Nicholas had other plans at his age.

  Angie was getting closer to her due date. She stayed at home with Nicholas while Jim worked for a local insurance agency in their small town. They had a simple home which they were quickly outgrowing. Jim was pulling extra hours before the second baby came.

  Angie had put Nicholas on the floor in front of an educational tv show with their trusty black lab, Sam, before going into the kitchen to grab some water and a second of peace and quiet.

  It would be Nicholas’ excessive glee and giggling that would catch her ear. She didn’t hear him express a lot of emotion, so Angie was eager to see what had caused such an emotional outburst out of her son.

  She stood in the doorway to the living room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Sam was curled up around Nicholas as a protective barrier as usual, and Nicholas was giggling and clapping as he stared at Sam. Yet, something was not right. Angie felt it in her bones.

  Shortly after, she dropped her glass of water and glass shattered across the living room floor. Sam’s eyes never blinked. His chest never rose. What was even more frightening was the look of pride that Nicholas gave when he looked back at her as he continued to giggle and clap his hands at his greatest accomplishment.

  Angie told herself she had been in the kitchen longer than she realized, and it was only an accident. She told Jim that Sam had passed unexpectedly, and they would have to deal with the body. Jim came home and took the dog to be disposed of by the vet.

  When he returned, Jim looked at his wife with curiosity. “How did you say you found him?”

  “He was just in the living room. Why?” Angie had asked.

  “The vet had said his windpipe had been crushed,” Jim said deep in thought.

  Flashes of her constantly telling Nicholas to be gentler around the dog came before her eyes, but Angie simply shook her head before saying, “What a weird thing to conclude.” She held her hands protectively over their unborn child. “It was just an accident,” Angie whispered under her breath.

  However, it wasn’t an accident. That would not be the only life Nicholas would take, including her own. Angie stared at her oversized belly in the mirror, not knowing what she had ended up creating with her first child. Or that the baby inside her would be sacrificed for nothing more than pure fascination.

  Nicholas now sat in a large red leather chair, rubbing the symbol etched on his gold ring deep in thought. It turned out rather easy to have your name legally changed when there were no parents to declare otherwise. Nicholas never suited him anyway. He was as far from any kind of saint as humanly possible, so he chose his own name. A name that truly represented him and what he stood for. A name no one would suspect until it was too late. But for now, Sophie only knew him as “the man with the cane.”

  “I can’t believe you lost her, AGAIN!” screamed Clarice, holding Eddie by his shirt and preventing his feet from touching the ground. For an anorexic looking thing, she had some serious strength in her. Sophie had been MIA for over a week.

  “Stand down!” she heard her father yell from the shadows.

  “Edward, here, has lost your ‘pet’, AGAIN!” Clarice said through her clenched jaw.

  “Stand down,” the old man repeated, giving a final warning from the shadows. Clarice resentfully put Eddie down.

  “Maybe if you stopped sending incompetent people in to get Sophie, we’d have her by now,” Eddie snapped, while massaging his chest.

  “You think you can do better?” Clarice hissed, glaring down over him.

  “Edward is correct,” the old man said annoyed. “You really must find better help.”

  “You always take his side!” Clarice shouted at the darkness.

  “Watch your tone, Child,” the old man threatened. “And if you didn’t let him always be right, I wouldn’t have to point it out constantly.”

  “UGH!” she screamed and stormed off to her quarters. Clarice slammed the door shut behind her. Her room was simple with a steel desk and a basic twin-sized bedframe. The mattress was worn and hard, just the way she liked it. Thin black sheets, a military hunter green fleece blanket, and a feathered pillow made for her bed. There were no posters, no pictures of Clarice with family or friends, no sign of personal affects. Just a single reading lamp on top of the desk with a folding chair for her seat.


  “Little twerp!” Clarice screamed to no one as she bent down, grabbed the knife hiding on the outside of her ankle, and threw it at the door behind her. It landed square in the middle of Sophie’s head. It was a picture of Sophie with her parents at her fifth birthday party. Right before Clarice tried to drown Sophie in the pool, per her father’s request to get Jess’ attention.

  “You’re no better,” she muttered to the figure with a knife sticking out of her forehead. Clarice sighed heavily before going to the door and retrieving her knife. She paused to look at Sophie’s mother before stomping over to her bed and lying down. She stared at the ceiling and thought about the first time she had met Jess.

  Clarice hadn’t minded her in the beginning. She even thought they could be friends one day. Jess was kind to everyone, but her heart would be her greatest downfall. Clarice’s father made a point to show more interest in Jess, even back then, and made sure Clarice knew her work never could measure up. He always said healthy competition was good for the soul, however, it would forever be one-sided with Clarice on the losing end every time. She grunted and rolled on her side.

  Clarice remembered the day Jess came in on cloud nine. She was going on and on about some nerd scientist she had met and declared in front of everyone that she, Jessica, was “in love.” Clarice made the same face of disgust that she had made the day she found out. She never understood what Jess saw in Jack. However, it made her father furious, and for that Clarice was glad.

  Things grew even worse once Sophie was born and Jess demanded to quit. It was music to Clarice’s ears, but her father wouldn’t stand for it. He even ordered Clarice to kill the little girl on her fifth birthday. The sooner the better.

  Clarice was excited to accept the challenge. Sophie was too smart for her own good, and Clarice was tired of being second best. However, Jess had interfered before she could take the child’s last breath, forcing her father to re-evaluate. If Jess wasn’t willing to be his number one team member, then her daughter, Sophie, would take her place. Clarice would never cross his mind. She never had, so why start now?

  A tear rolled down her cheek as Clarice remembered the day, she, herself, had announced she was walking away from his business. Clarice gathered the courage to enter his office unannounced. He laughed in her face as if she were a clown performing for the king.

  “Who would take you?” the old man sneered at her.

  “Some people find my skills extremely helpful,” Clarice said, putting her hands on her hips in defiance as he sat in his large red leather chair behind his redwood desk.

  “Your mother thought the same thing and look where that got her?” he said giving a hard laugh, and waving his hand dismissively in the air before going back to writing on whatever he had been working on.

  The image of her father strangling her mother up against the kitchen wall, simply because for the first time in her life, Clarice’s mother demanded that he be a father to his children, played clearly in her head.

  The old man held her high as her feet dangled beneath her, and her hands desperately clawed at the hand that held her neck so tightly. Her mother’s eyes were wide and full of fear as they became blood shot. Her lips swelled up, and she gasped for air.

  “Got something to say, Child?” the old man had growled at Clarice, as she stood in the living room at the age of nine, watching the life of her mother be drained right before her eyes.

  “No, Sir,” Clarice responded knowing if she did, she would be next. Then her mother began to jerk convulsively before going limp under her father’s out-stretched arm. He let go, letting the body slide down the kitchen wall, falling face first onto the hard tile floor. Her mother’s eyes were still open, but no life left in them.

  Clarice swallowed, waiting to see if she would be next. Her father just stepped over the dead body and got a beer from the fridge. He eyed Clarice with suspicion as he continued to sip his beer.

  Clarice had stared at her mother’s blank expression. She tilted her head to study it before mimicking it and walking away.

  Her father always brought up her mother as a reminder of what he was capable of, but Clarice was already well aware. She had killed, tortured, and hunted for him with the hope to one day be accepted. That was never going to be the result. Clarice knew that at twenty-one, and she wanted to be free and find the love that Jess had claimed existed for everyone…even Clarice.

  “So, go then,” the old man had said flatly to her face. “It’s not like you’re any good here,” he shrugged.

  Clarice sighed heavily in defeat and turned to leave the office.

  “Of course,” the old man had teased. Clarice froze immediately.

  “Of course, what?” she had regrettably asked him.

  “Of course, someone will have to train the child properly,” he had stated, tapping the pen on his chin.

  “Isn’t that what your ‘pet’ is for?” Clarice chided, keeping her back hazardously exposed to her father.

  “If Jess wants out, I will give her an out,” the old man had shrugged, but Clarice knew that meant he was going to murder Jess. “Her daughter can take her place, and who better to teach her than you,” he had taunted.

  Clarice knew it was bait. She knew if she didn’t leave then, she would never have a life to call her own. This opportunity would never exist again. However, her desperate need for her father’s approval engulfed her, and Clarice found herself giving him her heart to crush, yet again.

  It was Clarice’s sole mission to bring the child in and make Sophie into the soldier her father desired. Jess had other plans, though, and the mission was becoming more of a pain than Clarice thought it was worth. Nonetheless, her father would never accept the reality of the situation. His obsession grew with each team’s failure. Sophie was already in her early twenties, and Clarice was tired and over it. No one was worth chasing for over ten years. Not even this brat.

  Sophie evaded every team Clarice had ever sent, and she did it with a sickening smile. Although, Clarice couldn’t blame the girl. She would be doing the same if she was on the winning side of the fight, too.

  However, Sophie wasn’t the average girl, either. You didn’t need a big fancy doctor degree to notice Sophie had lightning speed, genius level intelligence, and God knows whatever else they hadn’t uncovered yet. The girl was trouble with a capital T, and Sophie would be her father’s downfall. Clarice wondered if given the chance, which side she would take. She sighed heavily and rolled back onto her back.

  Her father never gave her an opportunity to dream of what she wanted to be when she grew up. Only that it would be by his side, like a loyal dog, constantly seeking her master’s approval.

  Her mother had been murdered. Her brother’s neck snapped like a twig, without any sign of remorse because he became too “difficult”. A dog that was kicked to death, because it barked too loud one day. A sister, gone, for simply wanting something different. Clarice gave her father everything he demanded, but he still couldn’t give her any respect or something remotely symbolizing love.

  Someone like Jess had a husband who adored her and died for her. A daughter that was her world, and would survive it all, while Clarice had no one at all.

  Her own father still had a soft spot for Jess, even after she demanded to be set free. Blood meant nothing to him, especially if Clarice’s was spilled in the process of achieving his plans. She closed her eyes and tried to get some rest. All she found was darkness and a heart that desperately wanted to be loved.

  Clarice fell into darkness quickly. When she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by emptiness. Minus the wooden door that seemed to stand randomly in the middle of nothingness.

  “What the hell?” Clarice said out loud to no one.

  “Open it,” whispered a forgotten voice.

  “What the hell for?” Clarice demanded.

  “Stop being such a chicken and open it,” said the forgotten voice a little more sternly.

  “There’s nothing behind it,�
�� Clarice scuffed, but curiosity took over as she reached out to turn the handle. Light filled the room as a force pushed Clarice through to the other side.

  “Hey!” Clarice yelled. No one answered. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the light.

  She was standing in the middle of the old training room at the bunker. A large black mat consumed a majority of the floor and tables with various fighting equipment lined the back wall. The century sparring BOB boxing bag sat in the far corner, and punching bags were spread out between the various support columns.

  “About time,” laughed Jess as she came out of nowhere from behind Clarice.

  “This isn’t real,” Clarice whispered to herself.

  “No,” Jess said calmly. “But it’s a good substitute when needed.”

  “When needed?” Clarice asked confused and forgetting her anger.

  Jess began pulling her hair up into a messy bun. “Come on, Clare Bear. For old time’s sake,” she said with a mischievous smile as she took stance.

  Jess put her left foot forward, carefully balancing on the ball of her foot, and put her right foot directly under her right hip. She held her left hand out at waist level, preparing to block any strikes, and placed her right palm facing up in front of her chest.

  “Seriously?” Clarice asked the ghost from her past.

  “Scared?” Jess taunted.

  “Never,” Clarice said with her own wicked smile, mimicking Jess’ stance.

  “That’s my girl,” Jess murmured. She waved at Clarice to come.

  Clarice tilted her head and assessed her dead friend before her. She never seemed to beat Jess in combat during training, but a lot had taken place since Jess had been alive. Clarice started with the usual kick jab combo they had used in training as kids. Jess spun and blocked every attack.