My Brother's Protection: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by L. C White

  He shows me into a bedroom. My eyes examine everything. There’s a queen size bed dressed in white cotton sheets, and folded on the pillow is a white silk lace nightgown. The floor beneath my pumps is red wood. The walls are a bright cream, and there’s a huge bi-folding glass door, which looks out onto the ocean. It’s dark outside, but I can just make out the shadow of a guard passing by on the wooden porch, and see the white wave tips sweeping over the beach.

  Trent walks to the doors and closes the thick cream drape across the only way out of here. He then approaches me with a hunger in his eyes. Oh god. He’s going to kiss me. I could whip out the knife and do it now, but I’m trembling, and his presence near me has weakened my spirit.

  His hand comes down over my cheek. I blink slowly, keeping my hand over the handle of the knife.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, his lips planting a kiss on my hair. “Shower and change into your nightwear. I’ll be back shortly.”

  He backs away and I begin to silently pant as he leaves me in the room alone.

  I linger in a state of panic, gawping at the door. I don’t know what move to make next. I don’t want to shower here, or dress in the silk he wants me to wear. I need to find a way out.

  I hurry to the long drape and tweak it aside a little to see if the coast is clear. I squint, watching a guard sitting on the porch steps, smoking a cigarette. Slowly, I slip my hand behind the drape and using my fingers, push down gradual on the handle. Shit, it’s locked.

  Just as I’m about to give up hope, a slight draft of sea air drifts over my arm. I angle my head closer to the glass, to see an inch wide section open. Keeping my eyes on the guard, I shuffle behind the drape to get a better look.

  I pull on the edge, but the door remains locked into place. Then I see that there’s a latch on the outside which is keeping it in position. I quickly slide the knife out from my waistband and holding my breath, I slip the tip between the door and frame. I tilt the knife upward, cringing at the scraping noise it makes. The guard tosses the butt of his cigarette in the sand and stands, still with his back to the doors. In one panicked swift flick, I manage to free the latch just in time. I step out from the drape, slam my back against the wall, gasping for air. I’m still unsure whether the door will open or not. But I’m praying for a miracle, because right now, it’s the only thing I have.

  My eyes scan the room and stop on the nightdress. I hurry across to the bed and tuck the knife underneath the pillow, then my reluctant fingers grab the silk. I growl at myself. I have to wear it. If I don’t, he’ll know I’m up to something. I kick off my pumps, tear my vest and bra over my head, quickly wiggle out of my leggings, and thread the soft silk over my head.

  I pace back and forth, flicking my fingers through my hair, waiting. My mind is going over and over my rough-and-ready plan to escape. Trent is going to want me in bed, and as he begins to take my body, I’m going to reach for the knife, plunge it into his back, and run.

  “Amber,” Trent says as he opens the door, making me stop in my tracks. “I didn’t hear the shower.”

  Oh fuck. I fold my fingers into my hands and squeeze tightly.

  “I… I did wash,” I utter in a shaky breath.

  “Never mind.” He smiles sinfully as he makes his move toward me. “I like it dirty.”

  I breathe in as his fingers slink around my waist, to pull me up hard against his groin. His horny breathing rumbles on my shoulder as he kisses my neck. I hold in the disgusted tears, knowing I have to follow the plan. I’m not going to let him take me all again. I push off his chest and smile at him, running my hand down his arm to take his hand. His brow crinkles on me as he beams a pleased slanted grin.

  “Amber, you really know how to work me.”

  I turn to the bed, closing my eyes as he runs his hand over my butt. Tugging him gently, I make it to the side of the bed, just before the pillow where the knife is hidden. Using all the courage, the hatred, the repulsion, I turn and continue to seduce him with my eyes.

  This is hell. He’s kissing me hard, his wet lips nearly devouring me. He takes my hand and slams it down onto his erection, and rubs.

  “See what you do to me,” he growls in my hair.

  Now I can’t stop them, tears forming on the side of each eyelid. I have to do this, and soon.

  I keep my hand on his hard arousal, and use the other to pull him down onto the bed with me. He’s now pressed against my body, grunting, trying to yank down the lace hemline to get to my nipple. My fingers dig into the mattress and scrape up the sheets to reach for the knife, as he bites my breast. Sobbing silently, I grab the knife and gasp out. It’s now or never. I lift up my arm, holding the tip of the blade only inches from his shoulder blade. But as I go to plunge it down, his torso shoots upright, and the knife drops to the floor with a loud echoing clatter.

  He scowls at me, watching me panting for air. I’ve failed. I now have to either fight or suffer.

  My knees come up and I kick him in the face as hard as I can. I’m not only fighting off Trent Moore, but reliving the abuse of Peter Schofield. I can feel her returning. The girl who once didn’t give a shit. The girl who would say exactly how it is. The girl who wouldn’t lie back and take it, she’d fight like she’d never fought before.

  I clamber off the bed, aiming to make it to the door, but he’s now got hold of my hair.

  “You fuckin little slut!” He shakes and yanks my hair down so my face is at his knee.

  I scream out, determined not to back down. I grab his thigh and sink my teeth through the fabric of his trousers, feeling his warm blood seeping.

  “FUCKIN BITCH.” He struggles to get me off.

  I hit and kick at him. I can’t even see. My body is doing this spontaneously, defending myself with eight years of pain encouraging me.

  He grasps at my arms, pulling me close to his red furious face.

  “You can go fuck yourself!” I hiss and spit at him. “Kill me like you did Tuesday. Sick asshole!” I flick out my fingers and claw down into his eyes and face, hard.

  He releases me to cover the blood pouring from his eye, howling out in pain. I make my move, yank the drape aside, and pull open the door just enough for my body to get through.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dwayne

  “This is it man. You ready?”

  James pats and grips my bicep with that same impending death look, I’ve seen a hundred times before. We all have it. A certain muscle twitch, the disconcerted eyes, and a tilt of the head before battle is about to commence. It’s not so much fear, but the absolute acknowledgement a life, or lives will be taken, including our own. It’s a silent way of saying good luck, and try not to fuckin die.

  I told him he didn’t need to do this. I told them all. But Jimmy is still extremely pissed about the Russians knowing about his daughter, and has pulled out all the stops to get us here. James is James, always willing to take one for the team. And the Commander has a bee up his ass, and won’t be able to rest until this is done, and I’m off the radar. He’s even planned ahead for if we get out of this alive. I’m to disappear, and Amber is going to a special rehab facility close to Jackson State Forest, owned by Jimmy’s Sister in California.

  “Yeah,” I say calmly, sliding my combat blade into my belt.

  “We have company,” the Commander calls out, levelling out a building plan of Trent’s house on the hood of the van.

  I look over James’s shoulder to see the headlights of a black Merc. The door opens and out steps that Russian who beat the hell out of me, when I was chained up in the city’s shit tunnels, Vadik. Asshole. I’m not fuckin chained up now. I go to take a run at him, but both Jimmy and James hold me back.

  “Not a good idea, Mr. Schofield.” Another Russian man says, stepping out of the vehicle.

  I stop fighting and eyeball him as he approaches. “Gustave?” I enquire.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing here?” the Commander queries in a pissed-off tone
. “We’re doing this, but don’t need criminal scum breathing down our goddamn necks.”

  Vadik goes to take a step toward the Commander, but Gustave holds his arm out across Vadik’s chest to stop him.

  “We all need to calm down,” Gustave says, coolly.

  I watch his every move, evaluating what kind of guy we’re dealing with. He’s stocky and short. His dark crewcut reveals the snake of the Cobra tattooed on the side of his neck, and above his ear. He looks like a lower level thug; in a different caliber than the corrupt suits who have control of the city now.

  “My sister explained things to you, did she not?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Well you have nothing to fear.” He smiles, throwing out his arms indifferently.

  San Francisco is fucked if these guys are planning to take over. But I can’t allow myself to care about that. It’s a different world, and I plan on never encountering it again after this. The only thing that matters is Amber.

  “How can we be sure you’re going to stick to your end of the deal?” the Commander asks aloud, folding up the building plans for Trent’s house.

  “The Cobra never back down, and we keep our word,” Gustave replies, glaring at the Commander. “I’m here, because I have to give the order for my men to back away. Eleven p.m., you will be free to enter the building.”

  Fuck it. I don’t need to know the finer details. I just need to get to the goddamn house, which is half a mile through the trees. I run my hand over my Glock 22, my blade, and my extra clips.

  “We move out now,” I state, ignoring Gustave and his mammoth ape, Vadik. “Sir,” I call out to the Commander. “You and Jimmy, stay at the rear. James, you’re with me at the front. Radio in when position is set.”

  “You need to take this.” Gustave holds a radio out to me. “I want to be kept in the loop.”

  I snatch the radio out of his hand, and with James by my side, head into the area of woodland.

  I jog up a steep incline, dodging trees and rocks. The smell of the salty sea air tells me we’re close. I stop to breathe, checking the time on my watch. Fifteen more minutes, and we’re still not in position.

  “Dwayne.” James arrives at my side. “The aerial image of this place, didn’t show this much coverage. I need a location with full view, for a clear shot.”

  James is an expert, and one of the best sharpshooters the Marines have. He can take the enemy out at a distance of 2000yds, even with distraction.

  “Yeah, I know that. Come on.” I trek down a muddy incline then stop, hearing a faint whimper in the air.

  “What is it?” James asks, the noise of him adjusting his rifle, puts me off.

  “Nothing.” I set off again.

  Soon we come out to a small clearing to see the ocean and the house. We’re on higher ground, around two hundred meters away. I check my watch. We have eight minutes to wait before the Russians vacate the premises. Eight minutes to analyze exactly what we are dealing with, and go over the details of the plan.

  “Here,” I indicate to James.

  “Yeah, this is good.”

  He begins to set up his tripod, getting down into a sniper position. I pull out my radio, tossing the one Gustave gave me into the bushes. The Russians can go screw themselves right now. I’ll give them Trent’s body, but I’ll do it my way.

  “Come in Commander,” I call into the radio.

  “Yep, we’re in position,” he responds. “Real good view of five hostiles out the back. Two are definitely Cobra. They should be out of the picture in five.”

  “Is Jimmy in position?” I ask.

  “Yep, heading down to lower ground now.”

  “Okay, no more radio contact until this is over,” I say.

  “Wait,” his voice hisses through the receiver. “We’re here for Trent, remember. Let’s keep the death to a minimum.”

  “Sure.” My pupils revolve. “Over and out.” I flick the knob off, and tuck the radio back into my belt.

  I crouch down next to James, squinting at the house, when I hear that eerie whimper in the air again. I peer to James, who is now laid out on his front, looking down through the night vision scope on his rifle.

  “What the fuck is that?” I utter.

  He shuffles on his front shushing me, and moves the scope slowly toward the ocean.

  I hear him breathe out then stop, as he moves the scope a sharp right toward the house. He’s seen something, and I can tell it’s something that could mess this all up.

  “Let me see.” I grab the rifle, but he yanks it back.

  “There’s a Russian guard still down there,” he hisses.

  I hear the whimper again. This time it was louder, and has my heart losing its unruffled rhythm.

  “Give me the fuckin rifle!”

  I manage to take the rifle from his hold, dropping to my knees as I squint through the scope. I move the night vision from right to left slowly and stop, picking up movement on the beach. A dark figure, and a figure in white. I twist the lens to focus in, my jaw biting down, and the air no longer entering my lungs. Amber is dragging her body across the sand, and Trent is right behind her. I jump up, dropping the rifle, pulling out my Glock 22.

  “Take him out,” I yell at James.

  “Just give it sixty seconds,” he growls.

  “Fuck this!”

  I jump down onto the rocks and boulders below, moving as quickly as I can, stumbling across the damp sand. I don’t breathe or blink because even those things take up energy. I see Trent pulling at her hair as she kicks and screams, trying to get away, heaving her body into the sea.

  I aim my gun, but I have no clear shot as he and Amber begin to thrash in the water. He’s holding her under. FUCK!

  Pops of gunfire sound from the house, but I can’t look. I have to get that fucker off Amber before he drowns her.

  My boots thud down into the waves, salty water exploding up from each stride. I dive in as the sound of Amber’s water filled gasps send me into a rage. I grab Trent’s neck so tight I hear it click. But it’s not hard enough to force him to release her. My eyes widen in horror, watching her white face draining of life, spluttering water in shallow snorts of air.

  I keep my hand on Trent’s neck, hitting him over the head with the handle of my Glock, hard. I strike him again and again, and Amber’s body is released into the sea.

  Wheezing, I go to dive in after her, but Trent has hold of my shirt. My lungs ingest water and I’m choking, but this bastard isn’t going to kill me. I’m a fuckin man of the sea.

  I struggle and fight, spinning around to grab his neck and face. I hit him again with the gun and growl, as he smiles, trying to get the gun off me.

  “You’ll never have her,” he sneers.

  I close my eyes, thinking back to eight years ago, as gun fire from the house dies out. The images of Peter beating on her, and me. If I’d have killed my own Father back then, maybe I wouldn’t be here fighting for her life right now.

  My eyes fix on him, my grip on the handle of the gun tightens, and in one sharp yank, I snatch it from his hand. I see it in his face. He knows this is how it ends. He knows he’ll never have a hold on Amber again. I push the barrel against the center of his head, between his eyes.

  “Neither will you, you sick fuck.” I grit my teeth, enjoying the fear on his face. “Go to hell!” I pull the trigger.

  BANG!

  Warm blood spatters and bone shatters from his skull.

  I quickly release him as James wades into the water beside me. There are no ways to describe what is happening in my body, other than I feel like if I don’t find Amber, I’ll die also.

  I dive beneath the surface after James, using years of training to find her. My legs work hard as my hands reach out in every possible direction. The pressure on my chest tightens and I need to go up for air, but I can’t, I have to use everything I have to find her.

  A hand grabs me, pulling me to the surface. I fight against it, but fail, and now I’m howl
ing and heaving for oxygen.

  I thrust James in the chest aggressively, and dive back under. I go deeper, feeling the ocean floor, searching frantically. We have no light, nothing to help us. I swim around in a circle, touching everything, then my fingers brush over floating fabric, coming to a stop around a cold thigh. It’s Amber. My Amber. I grab her fast, and push myself up to the surface with her in my arms.

  James swims to me as I brush her hair from her face. She’s not fuckin breathing.

  “Dwayne… Dwayne!” James yells, as I shake her limp body in my arms desperately.

  “Amber, wake up dammit!”

  I open her mouth and seal my lips around hers. I blow all the air I have left in me into her body, as the Commander arrives beside me in a small speed boat. He angles over the edge, and James and I both lift up her body. Once she’s in the boat, I pull myself up with a heightened adrenalin fueling my heart.

  I kneel over her body as the Commander sets off back to shore. I tilt her head, blow into her mouth, and then begin chest compressions. Everything ceases to exist around me. The only one thing on earth that is essential right now, is bringing her back to life. She has to live. For it to end like this is wrong. It’s so fuckin wrong.

  Tears fall from my eyes as I pump on her chest, growling. It’s been too long. The water in her lungs should be coming up by now.

  “She’s gone,” James says, gripping my shoulder.

  “No she fuckin hasn’t!” I continue chest compressions to the point my wrists crack. “COME ON AMBER. NOT NOW!”

  I can sense them all standing on the shore, watching me like I have lost my mind. But I can bring her back. I know I can.

  “Dwayne,” the Commander calls out. “It’s time, Dwayne.”

  “Oh god… no!” I grab her body and bring her up against my chest. I weep into her wet hair, squeezing her tight.

  “Dwayne, I’m so fuckin…”

  James stops mid-sentence as Amber’s body chokes and jolts back to life. I push her out to an arms-length as she vomits the water out from her lungs, violently.