Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2)

by Manda Mellett

  We start up the track at a good pace, keeping to the edges taking advantage of the shadows offered by the trees, moving silently like ghosts. A few hundred metres up, the track bends to the right, and we approach the turn cautiously. As we pause for a better view of the wooden building that’s come into view, a gut wrenching scream rips through the air. Feeling like I’ve taken a punch to the gut, I force myself to resist the urge just to run hell-for-leather to the rescue; the discipline of my training holding me still. At least we know we’re at the right spot, and that Mia is, at this moment, alive. Moving quietly and without saying anything, Ben comes alongside me. Using hand signals, I wave Ryan and Sean round to the back of the building and indicate to Ben he’s staying with me. There’s a door facing us. We wait in place. After only a couple of minutes, Ryan appears from the rear of the property gesticulating to let me know there’s a window in the back, and also another entrance. I signal back ‘one minute’, and he knows we’ll make a joint entry.

  Ben and I inch forwards, keeping low and out of sight. The building isn’t sited as a defensible position, so it’s relatively easy to sneak up unobserved. I hear Hatcher’s voice and, hoping we’re going to be taking him completely unawares, try the door handle. It’s been left unlocked. I push it open as silently as possible, and creep inside, Ben following me. We’re in a disused office area, and the heartbreaking sounds of muffled cries and struggling are coming from the room behind a rough wooden divider.

  I hear a crash from the back; the others have had to break in, taking away our element of surprise. Ben and I rush the door in front of us hoping that our joint assault will catch Hatcher out.

  A split second is all I need to take in our surroundings. We’re in a mock-up of a dungeon stocked with every piece of equipment a Dom could ever want, and then some. But what immediately strikes me is that the layout of the room is not in our favour. Mia’s strapped down on a bed on the opposite side of the area, and Hatcher’s standing over her, facing the four of us and holding a gun, his jeans loose and unfastened. It wasn’t possible for any of us to get behind him.

  For a moment, there’s complete silence, as we analyse the stand-off. Then I take a step forward, ignoring the fact he’s waving me back with his weapon. “Give it up and let her go, Hatcher,” I tell him, my voice calm and controlled, “The police will be here soon.” I keep my eyes on him and resist the urge to do more than shoot a quick glance at Mia. She naked, stretched out and open to our view, she’s wearing a dental gag which will be terrifying and uncomfortable for her, but force myself to ignore the woman and her suffering to focus all my attention on disarming her captor.

  “Let them come,” he says indifferently as if it doesn’t matter. “It’s my dungeon, and I’m playing with my sub. My sexual preferences aren’t against the law.”

  I’m incredulous; it’s as if he believes he’s acting normally. His fixation on Mia had suggested he wasn’t quite right in the head, but I’m now starting to believe he’s utterly insane. We’re dealing with a fucking madman holding a gun.

  Sean steps forwards beside me, his lean form coiled like a spring. His action draws attention immediately as Hatcher’s eyes widen in recognition. “Huh! If it’s not the chicken-bitch sub, who safeworded on me. Step back.” He pronounces the last two words in a deep, commanding voice.

  At this precise moment, Sean’s stance doesn’t show an ounce of submission. His concentration is all on Hatcher; his eyes narrowed and steady. He gives an incredulous laugh. “You trying to go Dom on me now?” He scoffs “You’re not a Dom; you’re merely a sadistic bastard.”

  Hatcher’s taut, and slightly disbelieving expression shows he doesn’t like anyone challenging him, and particularly not someone he’s dismissing as a defiant sub. He’s also stupid, underestimating Sean like so many others before him. He moves a step towards Sean, confident that he has the upper hand.

  “I’ll save you to last,” Hatcher warns. “This time, there’ll be no one to hear you bail out with a fucking safeword.” I see he’s incensed, and my muscles tense, ready to jump him while his attention is diverted. The almost imperceptible motion of Sean’s hand stops me. The gap has narrowed between the two men. Sean has enticed him forwards so Hatcher’s within reach of his lethal long legs. In a blur of movement almost too fast to see, Sean changes his pose and his right leg shoots up and out and accurately hits Hatcher’s wrist hard enough it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s broken it. The gun flies out of his hand. Ignoring his gasp of pain, Sean and Ben rush forward to restrain him.

  Instantly, I signal Ryan to go and release Mia. He throws me a sceptical glance; expecting me to rush to her myself. But I deliberately turn my attention to Hatcher, who’s making a poor job of resisting the men taking him down. But out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ryan removing the gag and freeing Mia from the handcuffs and straps which hold her. She needs his help to sit up. Fucking hell, I’ve failed her again. Hatcher should never have been able to get hold of her. I want to be the one holding her, comforting her, but I force myself to stay put. Fuck knows she deserves someone better than me.

  Using Ryan for support, she manages to pull herself up and swing her legs off that awful bed-like contraption. It’s Ryan who strips off his shirt and wraps it around her. With eyes full of panic, rapidly scanning the room to ensure her captor has been secured, she pulls it on, putting her arms through the sleeves. Ryan helps her button it up. It’s long on her, reaching to her mid-thighs. Suddenly her gaze becomes more purposeful, and she moves painfully and awkwardly across the room. At first, I think I’m her target and go still, not certain that my body wouldn’t betray me, hoping she’s not coming to hug me. I don’t think I’d be able to resist embracing her in return. But she slips past me, falling to her knees on the floor. When she stands, she has Hatcher’s gun in her hand. Before we can stop her, she’s in front of Hatcher, who’s now handcuffed and held between Ben and Sean. She puts the gun to his forehead.

  Now it’s Hatcher who has panic in his eyes. “Put the gun down, sub.” He tries to use a Dom's voice, but it’s not so effective with a quaver in it. Instead, Mia brings up her other hand to steady herself and, probably unknowingly, takes a shooting stance. Hatcher’s residual confidence drifts away; now he looks apprehensive. “You won’t do it,” he tells her. I think he’s optimistic. She looks very serious to me.

  “Give me a reason why not,” Mia demands. Her voice rasps, overused from screaming.

  “You owe me,” Hatcher spits the words. “I made you.”

  “You destroyed me. You stole my life so now I’ll take yours.” She sounds cold and very, very dangerous. I’ve never seen this side of her before, but then I’ve never previously seen her hurt, humiliated, and bleeding. Ben shoots me a look, which I interpret as him silently questioning whether we should disarm her, or let her just go ahead and do it. But she’s so close, I can see the safety’s off, and with her finger on the trigger, any movement could cause her to pull it.

  I need to step in; I mustn’t fail her now, “Don’t do it, Mia.” My voice is calm, deep and authoritative. I have to find a way of stopping her.

  Her body is shaking, but her hand is steady, her finger curled round the trigger. “I have to.” Her voice is chillingly calm.

  Moving closer, I put my hand on her shoulder. She starts, and I see her trigger finger fractionally tighten. Lifting my arm, I stop touching her. “You’ll have to live with it, Mia. You won’t be able to do that.”

  “I won’t be able to live knowing he’s out there somewhere, that he could come after me again.”

  “He’s going to prison for a very long time,” Ben adds his contribution.

  “It will never be long enough,” she replies.

  Assessing her carefully, I see for all her bravado she’s reluctant to pull her finger back that final couple of millimetres. There’s still a chance I can get through to her. Leaning forwards so that I can speak into her ear, I make my request, “Give the gun to me, Mia. You don’t want h
is blood on your hands. You’ll have to live with that every day of your life, seeing the bullet hitting him over and over again, having nightmares about it. Taking a man’s life isn’t for you. It’s really not. Let us deal with him.” I choose my words, carefully, “You’re strong now; you’ll get over this. But if you kill him you’ll never recover. Believe me, I know.” I don’t threaten her with the police or tell her she’ll go to prison. If she shoots him, I’ll make sure it’s only my fingerprints the police will find on the Glock.

  Her arms are shaking from holding the gun steady. Slowly, very slowly, and without taking her eyes of Hatcher, she lowers the weapon. I reach around her and take from her, quickly putting on the safety.

  Hatcher gives a nasty smile. “That’s a good sub,” he sneers.

  I grab Mia and pull her back as an incensed Sean leaps for Hatcher, pulling back his arm and swinging for his jaw. His solid right hook catches Hatcher hard on the chin, causing him to fly backwards emitting a loud animalistic scream. He’s fallen on the old circular saw used for cutting wood, his body, which had twisted with the force of Sean’s blow, landing neck first onto the rusty metal; the saw still sharp enough to have cut through his jugular. It’s a nasty wound and, from the amount of blood flowing freely, he is going to bleed out in front of us. There would be nothing we could do, even if any of us had any inclination to help.

  I hold Mia tight, turning her head into my body, keeping her away from the sight of Hatcher’s body flailing and twitching like an automaton. My eyes stay on him as his life blood flows away, satisfied he knows he’s dying. This man who had tortured God knows how many here, in this dungeon and elsewhere, in the name of BDSM. This man, who robbed Mia of so much in her life, is now losing his. None of us make any effort to try to save him. It is only a short while before his body is still.

  “Sean, go get the car.” He nods, and makes a good catch as I throw him my keys. As he leaves the building, I bend my head down, “It’s over,” I murmur to Mia. She gives a loud sob and buries her head in my shirt. I look around at the others. “The police will be here soon. Ben, can you get Mia out of here before they arrive? She’s in no state for them to question her now.”

  “You’re not going with her?” Ben raises his eyebrows, his tone bewildered.

  I try to come up with a plausible excuse. “My fingerprints are on the gun, Ben, as well as Mia’s. They’ll soon find that out, so best they know the truth of what happened sooner rather than later.” It sounds flimsy even to me.

  Ryan throws me a strange look, and Ben just stares at me. After a moment’s hesitation, he steps forward and puts his hand on Mia’s arm. I have to physically prise open her fingers before she lets go of me. She looks up, hurt so plain to see in her eyes, but I remain resolute. My mind’s made up. I force myself to stay cold as I return her gaze. I’m no good for her.

  It’s only a moment, but it feels like a lifetime before, with a little disbelieving shake of her head, she steps back and allows Ben to lead her out. I hear Sean arrive with the car, hear the doors open and slam shut, and then hear the wheels spinning as they get a grip on the unmade track and hear them taking my brave girl away. I close my eyes briefly. I’m no good for her, I repeat in my head, desperately trying to believe it.

  Chapter 29

  Mia

  Five years ago

  For the third time, that morning my fingers landed on the home keys of my laptop, and I started to type. A few letters in I faltered, and pressed the delete key. Again. No, this was wrong! Standing up, I paced around the room, not that there was much distance to travel in the tiny student bedroom; just three steps forward, turn, then three back. But it was enough to feed my determination. With a resolute huff, I returned to my desk and took my seat again. This time, I ignored the angry voice in my head that had the same, rather annoying, pitch my mother would have used. Instead, I listened to the other softer, but more insistent tones, those of my characters, who were demanding I told their stories. Placing my hands back on the keyboard I took a deep breath and started to type.

  The words tumbled out of my head, my emotions, long held at bay, spewed out onto the pages. Each sentence I wrote, each paragraph, cathartic and cleansing until at last I reached the culmination of the story where my characters found their HEAs and put down my metaphorical pen. As I re-read the final page tears fell, blurring my vision and my head slumped down on my arms as I sobbed the grief of the last three years out of my system.

  Extract from the first novel by Mia Fable aka Dexie Sanders

  Sandwiched between the two men, Della felt safer and more loved than she ever had before. It felt so right to have Damian caressing her bare breasts, sucking on her nipples while Riley, her soldier boy, rubbed his cock against her arse, promising all types of wicked rewards if she submitted to them. Society might condemn their relationship, but here, right now, in the BDSM club her men had brought her to; their actions were condoned and even celebrated. Wriggling, she tried to encourage her Doms, which only earned her a sharp spank showing they, not she, were in charge, and she would receive their cocks only when they were ready. As the warmth spread through her, her cunt oozing her arousal, she smiled a contented smile. This is where she belonged. This was home.

  Present day

  “More tea?” I pick up my empty mug and wave it at Ben.

  He shakes his head and gestures no with his hands, “I’m okay, thanks.”

  I don’t particularly want another drink myself, but need to take a break to try to assimilate everything he’s told me. It’s been a long, long week since Hatcher died, and my emotions have been shot to hell. Sky high one day, rock bottom the next. There have been hours of talking to the police, hours of talking to the therapist Ben insisted I see and hours of missing Jon. I thought he’d come back to me; I thought he’d have been the one to hold me, to comfort me, to support me through the aftermath of my ordeal. I never thought my last view of him would be him standing over a dead bloody body.

  Waiting for the kettle to boil I roll my head back, then straighten and stretch my back. Physically, I’m practically healed now except for a few residual aches and pains, and there’ll be no lasting damage. But my heart? Jon stole that from me, and that hurts worse than anything Hatcher ever did. Taking in a deep breath, I let it out on as a long sigh. I’ve got my life back now, no more looking over my shoulder. I just need to move on and live it. Without Jon. If only I didn’t think that would be so difficult.

  I fish the tea bag out of my cup, add some milk, and take the mug back into the sitting room of the safe house that Grade A is kindly letting to me rent free until I decide what I want to do. It’s nice to have the breathing space to consider whether I want to rebuild the cottage, or sell the plot and move somewhere else. I think Ben and his partners feel guilty for the way they handled the case, but I don’t attach any blame to them at all. The fact I’m safe and alive, and that the nightmare is over is all that matters. Everybody makes mistakes, but in the end, they came through for me.

  Taking the seat opposite Ben again, my action a little awkward, betraying there’s still a lingering stiffness in my back. A week on, and most of the bruises are fading, but one or two of the worst welts still give me a bit of pain, particularly when sitting. Ben watches and grimaces, but doesn’t comment, for which I’m grateful. I’ve had it up to the back teeth with sympathy.

  I pick up the conversation where we’d left it, the point where it was getting hard to take. “Two graves?”

  He nods. “That’s what they’ve discovered so far, just outside the old sawmill. They’ve called in the cadaver dogs to see if there are any more.” The police have kept Grade A informed; the officials have only provided me with the briefest details as if it wasn’t my business to know them. Ben reaches over and takes my hand, running his fingers gently across the back of it. “The first one was very recent and easy to find, and we had no problems with the identification. It’s a man called Kevin Grower, and he used to run about with Hatcher a lot. A
pparently, they were inseparable in their teens. We’ve traced Hatcher’s parents, and they said there was always something about their friendship that they found concerning. It makes sense to think h was probably the sub Hatcher had around when they first took you.”

  “But why would Hatcher kill him? Do they know the cause of death?” I try to keep my voice level, shocked at what he’s telling me.

  Again he nods in confirmation and grasps my hand tighter. “Strangulation. His hands were still bound. It’s not clear whether it was deliberate or accidental.”

  I shudder, and shake my head, remembering what Hatcher had put me through. That could have been me. I pull myself together. It wasn’t, and I’m here, alive.

  Ben gives me time to compose myself, before continuing, “Kevin Grower‘s little finger was missing on his left hand..”

  Throwing him a quick glance, I let out a long breath, “Blue hoodie.” It was a statement, not a question, but Ben nods his answer.

  “Has to be,” he confirms.

  I think what that means. I’m not sure what I feel about his murder; it’s a loose end that I no longer have to worry about, but should I be pleased that someone else is dead? I no longer have to worry that the person Hatcher employed/forced to deliver that first message was going to come after me now his Dom is gone. But part of me is sad; I don’t wish any more people dead. Jon had been so right to stop me pulling that trigger; a week on and I realise that I couldn’t have lived with taking a life, however much it was deserved. Witnessing his accidental death was bad enough. I look back up at Ben again and continue our discussion. “And the other body?” I have to know.