Dixon
Alone, isolated from the vast resources of Guardian, Dixon Simmons reentered a world that had left him impossibly damaged as a child. He stepped back into that evil by choice. To protect all he’d come to love, he was willing to pay whatever price was demanded—even if the price was his soul.
She went by many names. Her true identity was as dead as her heart. Until him. The man was every bit as lethal as she was and deliciously sexy. Dixon Simmons piqued her interest, and what started as lust turned into another “L” word. She gave a “forever after” with him no hope. They’d have to stay alive for that to happen.
Caught in a violent abyss of ultimate malevolence and ominous threats, two damned souls find in each other a redemptive love that defies reason. However, redemption comes at a high cost. They must first save the world from a merciless force known only as Stratus.
Dixon
The Kings of Guardian - Book Twelve
Kris Michaels
Copyright © 2019 by Kris Michaels
Cover Art: Digitally Imagined
www.digitallyimagined.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permission Coordinator,” at the email address below.
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Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model. This book is fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any resemblance of any actual persons, living or dead, events or locations are entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
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
Also by Kris Michaels
Chapter 1
Aruba, eighteen months ago–
Dixon Simmons sauntered into one of the upstairs rooms of Joseph King’s palatial beachfront home in Aruba. The sound of the post-wedding festivities on the beach filtered through the open windows, accompanied by the ever-present sound of the Caribbean surf. Zane Reynolds and Jewell King had finally taken off enough time to say “I do” in front of a preacher. He was very happy for them. He was also very happy it was them, not him. He didn’t see marriage happening for him—ever. “What did you need to see me about, boss man?”
Jason King, his boss, and CEO of Guardian Security dropped into a huge wingback chair and loosened his tie. The man dwarfed the chair, and Dixon was surprised the thing didn’t shatter on impact.
“Take a seat, D.” Jason pointed to the matching chair across from him.
A sense of foreboding soured his gut. Two things were wrong with this scenario. One, Drake wasn’t here, so this wasn’t a training complex issue, and two, the look in Jason’s eyes told him shit was about to get serious.
He planted his ass in the chair. “What’s up?”
“I’m not going to beat around the bush on this.” Jason nodded his head as if he agreed with himself.
“Well, I appreciate that.” Dixon had no stomach for bullshit. Never had.
“What do you know about Stratus?” Jason leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees, staring straight at him.
Dixon chuckled. “You mean the folklore? They’re some kind of ultra-badass bullshit organization bent on total domination of the world. Shades of James-fucking-Bond. Why?”
Jason took off his glasses and folded them neatly before he set them precisely in the middle of a glass-topped, white wicker side table. He looked back at Dixon.
Fuck him standing. “No.” His denial was out before his brain caught up.
Jason sighed and glanced at the door. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room.”
“All right.”
“No, I mean it is between you and me only. Drake is not part of this conversation, and he can never know what I’m about to say without my express consent.”
Dixon narrowed his eyes and stared intently at his boss. The man had never prefaced any conversation with the demand he keep secrets from his twin. It was like asking the right hand to keep a secret from the left hand. “Why?”
“Because it involves your father.”
Ice cold hatred crystalized in his veins, and each burr of frozen hate carried a lifetime of memories back from the obscurity where he'd pushed them. He ground out words through a clenched jaw, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Do I have your word that nothing I say leaves this room?”
Dixon jerked his head in a nod because talking right now was too fucking much to ask of him. “Within the last two years, nuggets of substance have emerged from some of the interrogations we have conducted. We’ve intercepted several coded messages—the likes of which we've never seen—glimpses of data, human intelligence, and other random incidents that have confirmed our suspicions.” Jason steepled his fingers together. His focus drifted to his hands as he spoke. “Stratus is real, and it is global. From what we can determine, they have viable monetary resources, although we have yet to identify the source.”
Dixon stood and ran his hands through his hair. “What does Stratus have to do with my fucking sperm donor?”
“The FBI asked for our help in an operation. Long story short, while several of our domestic operations investigators were working a case in New York, they stumbled across certain intelligence we were able to piece into the information we had already acquired. During the course of the subsequent investigation, we confirmed what we believe to be Stratus connections to the underbelly of crime in New York.”
“And?” Dixon glared at Jason.
Jason lifted an eyebrow and restated his words, “Stratus exists and is linked to illegal activities in New York.”
Dixon put his hands on his hips and glared at his boss. He. Would. Not. Go. There.
“Your father is our way into Stratus.”
“Fuck. You.” Dixon walked away from Jason so he wouldn’t hit the man. Drake wasn’t here to keep him from committing careeracide.
“The threat of this organization is global. It is real, and if we can get a fingerhold, just a fucking fingerhold, Dix, it could save us years of work and potentially thousands of lives.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dixon spun around.
“Intelligence we have indicates Stratus is building assets through organizations like your father’s.”
“But you don’t know that son of a bitch is involved.”
Jason lifted his eyes. “Your father is as dirty as they come. He hasn’t been charged or prosecuted because he owns people. He’s climbing the ladder, gaining power and influence, two of the things Stratus wants. Since he lost the city councilman seat, he's been maneuvering to find fav
or in his party's camp. He is the perfect candidate for Stratus. If they aren’t involved with him, they are watching him.”
“What do you think I can do? He knows I’m with Guardian. We haven’t hidden that.” Both he and Drake would flaunt it in the fucker’s face if they could.
“We can craft an exit for you. Of the two of you, he’d take you back.”
At Jason’s words bile rolled and surged in his gut. His father would take him back because the sadistic bastard swore Dixon was just like him. He Was. Not. He couldn’t be. He didn’t know how to respond. The shit his father had made him do. The things he’d unknowingly done. “I…”
“You're not that damaged child anymore, Dixon. You’ve been working with Doctor Wheeler for years, and he thinks you can handle this.” At the comment, his eyes leveled on Jason. The man continued, “Do you think I’d ask you to go back there without full knowledge of your mental state?”
Dixon turned his back and walked to the window. White fairy lights illuminated the wood deck where his friends and family gathered to celebrate Jewell and Zane’s wedding. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I do know. I’m asking you to go back to the monster who forced you into impossible choices—choices no child should ever have to make. But I’m going to arm you with everything you need to take your vengeance on that motherfucker. In conjunction with the Council, we’ve worked up a list of coded targets within your father’s realm of illegal businesses—all are sanctioned hits. He’ll require proof of your allegiance. He’ll demand you pay. The names are your way back in, should you need them. Until this mission is over, you are the only asset who will have access to those names.”
“I’m not a Shadow.”
“No, but if necessary, you will use the sanctioned list as a means of showing your loyalty to your father.”
“What, exactly, do you need me to do?”
“Find us a way into Stratus.’
“It could take…years.”
“It could.”
“What do I tell Drake? I have to give him an exceptional reason for my severing all contact. If I just disappear, he will leave Guardian and hunt me down. You know he will.”
“He cannot go with you. He will kill the bastard for what he did to you.”
That was the truth. “What makes you think I won’t?”
“I don’t doubt you would, but imagine the satisfaction in taking him down. Making his life’s work, his ambition…void. Making him impotent before that happens. It’s payback time, Dixon. Do you want in? Do you want to take back the life that bastard took from you, or do you want to continue allowing Drake to be your life support while his life passes him by?”
Dixon stifled the ‘fuck you’ on his lips. He watched his brother through the window as he mingled with their friends below.
“He’s protected you since the day your uncle took you away from your father.”
Which was true. He didn’t know exactly how it had happened, but it had. At first, it was just them. Drake had held him through the nightmares and the terror that followed. He held him when the darkness knocked him to his knees, and the memories made him vomit the contents of his stomach. It had always been his brother who’d pulled him out of those horrific times, and Dixon had hung on to Drake with all that was in him. Drake had saved him from drowning in evil, and he basked in the normalcy his brother literally forced into his life.
He hadn’t realized until this moment he was still doing that—letting Drake sacrifice his life. Jason’s words shined a spotlight onto an ugliness he’d chosen not to look at, but the truth was undeniable. There wasn’t an instance he could recall where Drake hadn’t left something he wanted to ensure whatever Dixon wanted was the priority. Hell, the man even shared women with him, and Dixon knew, deep down, a threesome wasn’t his brother’s thing. Did that make him a selfish bastard? Yeah, it did.
Drake’s presence held the manic side that lived inside Dixon at bay. Dixon’s large personality rolled over Drake’s more quiet nature, but they had found a balance. The anger that burned deep inside of him wasn’t the same as the anger Drake lived with. Drake’s anger was for Dixon’s sake, for what Dixon had gone through. Had Drake suffered? Yes, but Dixon knew his brother had worked through his shit with Doctor Wheeler.
Dixon’s anger ran through his veins and lived inside him because of what he’d done, what he’d lived and what he’d witnessed. He and Drake had an understanding, and they had each other. Drake gave, and Dixon took. That was a constant. It worked, at least for him. He watched Drake laughing as he and Jacob headed to the poolside bar. “I’m one selfish son of a bitch.”
“No, you’re existing. Maybe it’s time to take control of your life and start living.” Jason stood, walked to the window, and stood beside him.
“This is going to hurt him.” Dixon nodded at the gathering below them.
“He’s already hurting, Dix. It’s time to start the process of healing. For both of you.”
“How long do I have?”
“For?”
“New York?”
“When you’re ready.”
Dixon nodded and headed toward the door.
“Dix?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got your back man. Whatever it takes.”
Dixon nodded. He knew Jason wasn’t blowing smoke up his ass, but the words he spoke in return almost choked him. “As long as it takes, Jace. As long as it fucking takes.”
Chapter 2
Present Day:
“Operator Two-seven-four.”
“Sunset clearance, zero operative.”
“Standby, zero operative.”
“Archangel.”
“The asset is still doing grunt work. His talent is being wasted.”
“Meaning?” Archangel’s voice held an edge of irritation.
“Meaning he’s spent the last two weeks collecting money from pimps, and roughing up a moron drug dealer that tried to skim money off the top. That one is lucky to be alive. The fool pulled a knife on him. Our asset has impressive skills.”
“It has only been three months. We didn’t think he’d be welcomed with open arms.”
“Hmmm.”
“Can you get closer?”
“Depends. Do you need me closer?”
“If the opportunity presents itself. Check in as scheduled unless something happens.”
“Of course.”
Dixon rolled his shoulders and checked his anger at the door. It was a conscious decision, and an act that got harder to perform with each passing day. His hand lifted to the ornate gold knobs that opened the rich mahogany doors to his father’s study. The bastard’s opulent brownstone was built off the proceeds from the prostitution and drugs that built the man’s empire. Of course, the bastard had invested in legitimate businesses, and they were the only items on the income sheet his potential constituents and business partners saw. A deadly viper in a mirage of respectability. His immoral hypocrisy oozed out of his pores, and the stench of it made Dixon’s gut roll.
He’d stepped three feet inside the viper’s den and the man snapped, “Well, did you get the money?”
“Yeah.”
“What?” The word whipped forward like a rattler's strike.
Fuuuck… Dixon cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
The man glared at him. Dead eyes. There was never any emotion in those eyes—just death.
“Sit.”
Dixon unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down. The bespoke suit he wore was another layer of his father’s propaganda. When he was on the streets kicking ass and collecting Daddy-dearest’s blood money, he wore jeans, shitkickers, t-shirts and leather coats. But he wouldn’t dare come to his father’s house in anything but a suit.
“How long have you been back?”
Four months, three days and five hours, you motherfucker. “About four months.”
His father spat, “Four months since you showed up in my territ
ory. Four months since you turned your back on your brother and his way of life. Four months.”
“Four months of freedom. Of not being held down by those assholes anymore. Four months of showing you I can be what you wanted me to be. It took a hell of a long time for me to figure life out, but I am where I need to be.” The lies tasted bitter on his tongue.
“So you say.” His father examined him.
Dixon shrugged. It was all he could do. Either the man believed him, or he didn’t. Only time would tell. Four months of kowtowing to the monster that had permanently scarred him and Drake. Yeah, the motherfucker had taken his ten pounds of flesh over the last four months, and Dixon had given him additional blood, sweat, and tears on top of what the fucker wanted, just to prove himself.
His father stood and turned around, pulling the picture behind his desk away from the wall. Dixon gave a mental chuff of laughter at the small safe located behind it. How very gangsterish of his old man. However, the retinal scanner on the damn thing was impressive. He wondered how long it would take Justin to break into something like that. Guardian’s resident cat burglar had mad skills.
His father punched in a code after the scan that switched the light to green. Dixon didn’t attempt to see what his father was doing. He knew the old man had the house wired. Every move he made when he was here was recorded. Jason had told him the system was on a closed loop, hardwired and inaccessible unless the hacker was on site. Dixon could do basic shit, but his forte wasn’t hacking or coding, so he was careful to be exactly what he wanted his father to believe he was, no more, no less.
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