by Eve Langlais
Pint-Sized Protector
A Bad Boy Inc Story
Eve Langlais
Copyright © February 2017, Eve Langlais
Cover Art Razz Dazz Design © February 2017
Edited by: Devin Govaere, Literally Addicted to Detail, Amanda Pederick, Brieanna Robertson
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com
E-ISBN: 978-1-988328-59 1
Print: ISBN: 978-1988328-60 7
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Pint-Sized Protector is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email, photocopying, and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Introduction
She might be small, but she can still kick his ass.
An assignment to babysit a rich dude isn’t Kacy’s idea of a fun mission. Especially since the guy and his bodyguard are just like all the other boys she knows—thinking she’s too tiny to pack a punch.
I’ll show him.
She plans to show him that sexy things come in small packages, and he won’t be able to stop himself from falling for the pint-sized protector. Problem is, who will protect his heart?
When a gunman threatens her life, her charge wants to send her away, but her Latina pride won’t allow anyone to treat her like anything less than a pro.
But will pride also stand in the way of her happiness?
Chapter One
I have company.
The door to the balcony didn’t make a sound as it eased open, sliding in its track.
Awake in his bed, Darren sensed rather than heard the disturbance and wondered why the house alarm didn’t go off. Despite being on the second floor, all the windows and exterior doors were hooked to sensors and completely wireless, which meant nothing to snip.
Of interest, as well, was the fact someone had made it onto his property unnoticed. Between the cameras, motion detectors, guards, and dogs, someone should have noticed something.
Bribery or incompetence, it didn’t matter either way. Someone’s ass is getting fired.
Heads would roll later, though. First, he wanted to see what the intruder planned.
Darren didn’t move a muscle. Barely breathed as the filmy curtain billowed at the trespasser’s entrance, the fabric clinging for a moment to a body barely visible in the dim illumination provided by the weak lights in the yard.
Had the person come to rob him? He had plenty of wealth for those with avarice in mind. Yet, why not wait until a more opportune moment, like when Darren was away from his abode? Plus, he had plenty of things to pawn on the first floor alone, so why go through the trouble of climbing to the second?
He could think of only one reason why someone would dare penetrate his most private sanctum, a reason that probably involved deadly consequence.
I think he’s here to kill me.
Cool, and not the first time it had happened.
There was no denying that Darren had acquired his share of enemies over the years. So many people wanted to see him fail. To see the rich and mighty Thorne family fall.
Or was this person here because of his hidden life? He’d done things under other guises that would engender strong hatred and a need for deadly revenge.
As a secret part owner of an academy, inherited from his father, that trained elite specialists—assassins and hackers and thieves who stole not just items but also knowledge—he could probably name at least a half-dozen individuals who would love to see his operation shut down.
Too fucking bad.
The academy existed for a reason, money being only part of it, with justice as another piece. Darren’s father had created the academy and its specialized programs to give people a choice when it came to fighting, whether it be drug lords with a stranglehold on cities, governments with agendas, or even rich businessmen who didn’t care for their employees. People sometimes needed a champion, especially when law enforcement couldn’t help. There were instances when you needed someone who flouted the laws and could provide solutions.
After his father’s retirement, Darren continued his father’s tradition of training elite people, hand-chosen because they had the right mentality and skills to help those who needed it.
What most people didn’t know was that Darren had trained at the academy, too.
Holding still, Darren waited, hearing the soft whisper of steps on the plush carpet. Forced himself to breathe slowly as the intruder came to a halt beside his bed. Only then did he suddenly open his eyes.
A knife flashed down, but expecting it, he’d already rolled. As he did, he grabbed the wrist of the person attacking and rammed the arm sideways, slamming it into the headboard and forcing the fingers to open and drop the blade.
“Fucker!” The expletive emerged on a definitely masculine note, not that it mattered. In life-or-death situations, there was no difference between man or woman. Just survival.
The defensive moves he’d learned so long ago returned, kind of like riding a bicycle, a skill never completely forgotten. Darren twisted around, locking his legs around the torso of his attacker, feeling the wiry strength of his opponent.
A climber, he’d wager, someone nimble and adept at finding crevices on the outside of buildings and entering where they shouldn’t. A skill they taught at the academy.
In the midst of grappling, Darren couldn’t help but wonder if he would recognize the face if he pulled off the mask.
Is this one of my students come to pay some final respects?
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Despite all the screening done before admittance and the help the Secundus Academy gave to those selected for their program, there were always some who failed. If they were not deemed harmful, and understood the penalty if they talked, they were released. But resentment could come after the fact. Sometimes, those who passed and graduated the tough school, decided to find umbrage later on—mostly because they didn’t understand how to monetize the skills the academy gave them. The academy didn’t guarantee them success. The graduates had to take responsibility for that.
But…the ways of the human mind were intricate, and those taught to kill even more complex. Sometimes, teaching someone to fight and defend caused a person to revert to more primitive actions and ways of thinking.
Was his attacker an idiot who’d decided to blame his own shortcomings on Darren?
It would be the last stupid thing he did.
Darren struggled with his assailant, giving thanks that he worked out daily to keep in shape, unlike other guys his age—just shy of fo
rty—who let work get in the way. But strength and skill against someone younger didn’t help in this case.
His assailant wasn’t a novice or a guy without skill. Darren would need an advantage.
Throwing himself sideways, Darren reached for a bedside lamp. Every bedroom should have one. It provided the perfect weapon in plain sight. His hand curled around the base, and he yanked it toward him, using it to club the fellow on the side of the head.
Whack.
“Motherfucker,” hissed the guy, his language skills seemingly rather limited. All Darren could see of him through the mask was the whites of his eyes. Of more interest were the intruder’s hands reaching for and squeezing Darren’s neck.
Wrong move. Choking took too long.
Still holding the lamp, Darren swung again.
Thud.
The hard blow caused his opponent to loosen his grip and reel away from Darren.
Rising from the bed, Darren noted, via the pale light filtering through the drapes, his intruder beating a retreat but only so he could regroup. With his knife lost, the guy reached for his thigh and the holster strapped there.
Dressed only in sleep pants, Darren wore no protection against a bullet.
Time to end this.
Before the guy could aim, Darren charged and yelled. The noise served as a distraction as he abruptly halted and pivoted on one foot, his other arcing high and hard into the air, kicking the gun from the man’s hand. Darren immediately followed with a quick left hook and then a right uppercut to the face.
His assailant staggered, but Darren didn’t relent. Thrust. Jab. Kick. The guy couldn’t handle the flurry of blows and hit the floor with a hard thump.
Darren pounced.
By the time the door to his room slammed open, bouncing off the wall, Darren had kneeled on his attacker, pressing his face into the plush carpet while twisting his intruder’s arms behind his back.
“What the fuck is going on?” bellowed Marcus.
“About time you showed up, sleeping beauty. Not that I needed you, it seems.” Darren wrenched a limb far enough to cause the intruder to yelp.
“Where did he come from?” Marcus snapped.
“The window. Seems someone likes to climb.”
Darren’s bodyguard, gun in hand, headed to the window and took a peek outside while asking, “Why didn’t the alarm go off?”
“Good question, and one we’ll have to find an answer to. But, right now, what do you say we take care of our guest?”
Sliding the gun into his waistband and cracking his knuckles, Marcus approached. “I’ll dispose of him.”
“Later.” The gators living in the swamp bordering the back end of his property would appreciate the fresh meat.
In Darren’s public life as a businessman, he killed his opponents with paperwork, but when it came to his other line of work, that of a rogue CIA for hire, he operated under a veil of secrecy.
This guy had tried to kill him, and unfortunately for him, Darren didn’t believe in second chances.
The intruder’s failure to eliminate Darren would cost him his life and send a message to whoever had hired him. Because there was no doubt someone had sent the guy to eliminate Darren.
He planned to return the favor.
First, though, Darren wanted answers.
“Grab me a chair and some restraints,” Darren barked as he hauled the fellow to his feet. He hung quite passively in Darren’s grip, head hanging, body limp. A man defeated.
More like an opossum playing dead. The masked intruder jerked out of his hold and managed only one step before he met Marcus’s very firm fist.
The fellow hit the floor, out cold.
A sigh left Darren. “So much for a quick Q&A.”
“Don’t blame the mighty fist.” Marcus waggled it.
“So mighty that our visitor could be napping for a while. Might as well order up some food since we need to wait for our nocturnal friend to wake up.”
Rubbing his belly, his giant of a bodyguard grinned. “I won’t say no to a midnight snack.”
The chef didn’t grumble about the late-night order because that was his job, to feed Darren and his gang on demand. Given their sometimes erratic hours, Darren kept a pair of cooks on staff, one for the day, and one for the night. Never knew when a man might need sustenance. Not all business happened during normal office hours. Plus, guests had a tendency to drop by unannounced.
A few toasted paninis layered with shaved chicken breast, crisp, salty bacon, a slice of provolone, lettuce, and tomato with a smear of garlic aioli and lemon iced teas—because only morons drank alcohol during serious business— later, the fellow, now tied to a chair with a belt around each wrist and leg, woke up.
Quite predictably, he thrashed and tried to rock the seat over. The chair was made of sturdy wood and didn’t even wobble. Realizing this, the guy didn’t struggle long. The face, still covered in its fabric hood, lifted and turned toward them, brown eyes peering out through the slits. “What are you going to do with me?”
Darren, who’d taken a seat across from the intruder, arched a brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking that question? After all, you’re the one who rudely interrupted my sleep—”
“Which was rather shitty of you, considering the boss needs all the beauty rest he can get,” Marcus interjected.
“—and tried to kill me. And all this without even introducing yourself first. Quite ill-mannered, I might say.”
“Fuck you.”
Darren shook his head. “I see you lack language skills, too. But that won’t be a problem for long. Shall we start with introductions? As you probably already know, I’m Darren Thorne. And this is my friend—”
“Friend? I work for you,” Marcus snorted. “And, I will add, I only stick around because of the benefits.”
“Don’t forget the awesome retirement pension. I reward those who serve me well.” Darren chattered, knowing the discourse with his bodyguard would throw off the intruder. “Anyhow, as I was saying, this is my bodyguard, Marcus Rutledge. Say hi, Marcus.”
“We already met.” Marcus held up his fist.
Darren snickered. “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten. You really should thank Marcus for that lovely nap you enjoyed.”
“Fuck you.”
A tsking noise left Darren. “Did you never learn any expletives past the letter F? I have to say, your lack of cooperation really isn’t to your advantage. But, then again, what can one expect from a cheap thug?”
“I’m not cheap.”
“Maybe not, but you’re certainly stupid if you thought you could come into my house and get away with murder.” Darren’s words emerged low and cold. “I can guarantee right now that whatever price you were offered wasn’t enough.” He clapped his hands, and the intruder visibly startled. “But we’ll discuss that more in a moment. Marcus, would you please reveal our guest.”
Now, it should be noted that Darren had already taken a peek while the fellow lay comatose. Marcus, too. The pictures they’d taken were currently being run through a secure computer. The software they had access to took measurements of facial features and then compared them against a massive database. If this guy had so much as a parking ticket, they’d know.
However, the fellow didn’t know they’d already taken a peek because Darren had replaced the mask. When it came to getting answers and settling positions of power, actions counted. The more intimidating, the better.
With no pretense at gentleness, Marcus tore off the mask, dragging the intruder’s head back hard, snagging the fabric on the man’s nose. A rather unremarkable face glared at them, unshaven and sallow, topped by sparse strands of hair.
“Well, I think we can all see why you wear a mask. Not a pretty fellow, are you?” Darren wrinkled his features in disgust. “And your face is about to get even uglier courtesy of Marcus here unless you want to save us all some time, and yourself a lot of misery, by telling me who hired you.”
“Fuck off.”
Whac
k. The fist came from the side and rocked the guy’s face.
The intruder shook his head. “Fucking cheap shot. Listen here—”
“No, you listen.” Darren leaned forward. “I don’t think you quite grasp the trouble you are in—”
“Clem,” Marcus interrupted.
“Clem?” Darren turned to look at his bodyguard. “That’s his name? What is it short for, Clementine? Did your parents love oranges?” Darren kept their prisoner off guard as Marcus swiped at his watch, reading a report. It would seem the computer had gotten a hit on their guest.
“I ain’t saying shit. Call the cops. I’ll be out by morning.” Clem smirked.
He still didn’t get it.
Darren’s lips pulled into a slow yet very cold smile. “About the local law enforcement, they’re not coming. No one knows you’re here but Marcus and me. And Marcus isn’t going to tell, are you?”
Hands tucked behind his back, his bodyguard smiled. “I saw nothing.”
“You can’t—”
Interrupting him, Darren laughed. “I can do whatever the fuck I like, Clem. Didn’t your employer tell you about my reputation?”
Clem’s lips remained tight, so Marcus answered for him. “Of course he didn’t hear, because you have no reputation, boss, other than that you pay your staff well.”
“Exactly, Marcus. Hear that, Clem? No one talks shit about me, and do you know why that is?” Darren leaned close. “Because the people who fuck with me die.”
At that, Clem’s eyes widened. “You won’t murder me.”
“Me, waste my time killing you? You think highly of yourself, Clem. Even Marcus has better things to do with his time, such as taking care of his pets. Did you know he tends to some gators on my property? And they are always hungry. Why, you no sooner drop in a chunk of meat than…poof.” He exploded his hands. “It’s gone. How long do you think it would take them to eat you, Clem?”