Savage Protector: Outlaw Justice

by Gayle, E. M.

His rumbling reassurance didn’t actually give me comfort. It was one thing for me to be running for my life and another for me to involve anyone else.

  “I wish it were that simple, but it isn’t. If he catches us together, I won’t survive that outcome again.”

  “Again? What does that mean?”

  Memories rushed through my mind against my will as I recalled that fateful night with my friend Tony. I didn’t want to tell the story, but he’d given me so much. And it was only fair he knew the danger that existed.

  “When my mother was ill, she often spent weeks in bed while my father used all of his time on business, often away from home. She refused to talk about her illness, but I knew it was getting worse. With depression and loneliness stealing over me I was in need of something to take my mind off it all. I should have turned to someone else. Anyone else.

  But I was forbidden from talking about anything that had to do with my family or our business with anyone. Especially anyone outside the mansion.

  Tony on the other hand, he knew what went on there because he lived there with his father in the little tiny guest house tucked into a corner of our backyard. They both worked in our house. It would be impossible for them not to see and know things.

  Plus, Tony was my friend. He’d arrived in our home on his eighteenth birthday for a visit and never left. It was impossible for us not to see each other.

  At first, he wouldn’t look at me let alone speak to me. But as the months dragged on, we’d begun to talk.

  We really were just friends until I got angry and the bright idea I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. So I hatched a plan and asked for Tony’s help.”

  That admission was met by a growl at my back. “Normally, I would not want to hear the details of you with any other man, but I feel like this needs to be said. Once.”

  I agreed. He needed to hear the truth as much as I needed to say it. “When my father came home suddenly and caught Tony and I together in bed, we did not look like friends. My insistence that it was all my fault and how I’d practically forced Tony into helping me fell on deaf ears. My father didn’t care about teenage hormones or stupid ideas. He dealt in fear and intimidation. He dragged Tony out of our house that night and I was terrified over what he would do to him. I went to my mother and begged for help. She reassured me that she could handle my father. That I had nothing to worry about.” I wiped a lone tear from my face and pressed on. “Those were the last words I heard from my mother. Her sickness stole her from me that night.”

  “Oh God, Izzy. I’m so—”

  I shook my head. I had to finish it. “That wasn’t enough for my father. He had to make sure that his daughter would follow any command he gave. Three months after my mother’s death he decreed I was to be engaged to one of his business partners the following week and as soon as possible after my twenty-first birthday we would wed. When I refused to comply, the next day he left a newspaper article on my bed and forced me to read about a young man’s body being discovered on the shores of Lake Washington. Tony’s body.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Evil,” I cried. “I don’t know how else to explain it. This is why I need to get out of Seattle as soon as possible. The longer I stay the more at risk we both are. If he finds us together—” The panic of reliving those memories had begun to set in and I was afraid a full blown anxiety attack would soon follow.

  “Take a deep breath, Princess.” Houston leaned forward and grabbed one of the water glasses and tipped it right side up. He then poured a few splashes of liquor into it and pressed it into my hands. “Drink it.”

  I didn’t need to argue. I recognized a need to stay calm. He then picked me up and carried me over to the bed and settled me into a sitting position with my back against the headboard.

  “You’re not going anywhere right now. Not without a plan.”

  “But—”

  He grabbed my empty glass and placed it on the table next to the bed. “Seriously, Izzy. This isn’t up for debate. I totally get that you need to leave. I’m not going to fight you on that. But you have to be smart. You can’t run blindly into the city and hope for the best. Let me help you with this. I have connections all over the country.”

  “Why? Why would you want to do this?” This renewed sense of fear made my voice shake and I hated it.

  “Fuck, Izzy. Because I’m a human being. And a Marine. First though, we both need to get some food and relax. Between that fucked up story and that little visit at our door, we’re both strung tight as hell. We’ll need a clear mind later to get everything ironed out, but for now, I say we get fucked up. We deserve it.”

  If he thought I was going to object, he was dead wrong.

  I also liked how he thought. I was in no condition to go anywhere quite yet. I was sore, hungry, and greedy for just a little more time—with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Houston

  Houston rounded the corner to the rooftop pool and smiled when he passed the spot he’d fucked his princess the first time. That lounge chair was going to hold a special place in his memory for some time to come.

  It was still weird to think how much she’d gotten under his skin in such a short time. He didn’t normally do anything long term. Hell, not even short term unless they were talking one night. Since joining the Corps he’d stuck to that self-imposed rule with an iron clad grip.

  However, since the moment she’d nervously walked down that pier looking scared and relieved at the same time, he’d instinctively known his life was about to change.

  And after she’d shared that story about her father, he had no intention of letting her go anywhere without him until he had some assurances she’d be safe. He’d already started placing some calls to his contacts and would soon have a network in place. But first…

  He wanted the name of her father. She’d changed the subject twice and twice he’d let her get away with it. One way or another, he’d have that information by tonight. Whoever he was, he already wanted to kill him for what he’d done to her.

  He lifted his gaze to seek out the woman in question to find her chair empty. Probably in the ladies head.

  Up until now he’d forced himself to put the rest of his questions on ice and give her the time she requested. Now, however, it was time to get down to business. The knot in his stomach was continuing to grow the longer they waited. He was a man of action and this waiting was killing him.

  She was trying to bury her head in the proverbial sand over her situation, which he now believed was more serious than he’d first thought. At first her sleepy comment about not wanting to die seemed over dramatic, but after all the chunks of information she’d shared over the last couple of days he now suspected she underestimated the danger she faced.

  But he couldn’t decide what else he needed to do to get her to safety, if she didn’t give him all the information she possessed.

  As he neared their space he noticed Izzy’s drink glass shattered on the ground by her chair. The small white purse she seemed reluctant to let out of her sight also on the ground.

  He jerked around and searched the area. No sign of Izzy or anyone else. Houston's heart raced. He backtracked to the head and stormed into the ladies room.

  “Izzy,” His voice echoed through the small room as he pounded on each of the empty stalls. “Shit.”

  Panic squeezed his heart. Something was very wrong.

  He returned to their chairs and collected her purse. It seemed unlikely she’d wander off without this. Women guarded these idiotic things like their lives depended on it and she’d been no exception.

  When one of the pool attendants walked by, he stopped him and asked, “Have you seen the woman I was with?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, man. We just had a shift change and I just came on duty.”

  His bad feeling grew.

  With his gut telling him that something bad had happened driving him, Houston slipped open the zipper and pawed through her meager belongings.
His hand wrapped around a thick roll of bills and pulled them out.

  What the hell?

  He flipped through the money, counting as he went. For some reason she was carrying over ten thousand dollars in cash.

  The knot in his gut tightened some more.

  Digging deeper he pulled out a drivers license that read Isabelle Martin with a local Seattle address listed on it. He slid the card into his back pocket in case he needed it later and searched for anything else that might give him a clue about what was going on. Pocket after pocket he found nothing of consequence. A tube of lip gloss, the business card from a local cab company and a pair of nail clippers. He crumpled the little bag in his fist.

  Think.

  He shoved the money back in her bag, scraping his finger across a tiny zipper he’d not noticed the first time he searched. He slid it open and fished out another Washington State drivers license. A more recent photo of Izzy greeted him this time that made him curious about the age of the one in his pocket. But it was the rest of the information presented that made his blood run cold. Particularly her name.

  Isabella Mazzeo.

  Ten years away didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the name as soon as he saw it. There were some things too powerful to ever be forgotten. And the name Mazzeo was one of them.

  As a young teenager, Houston hero-worshipped his father, following him around and trying to learn everything he could from him about Wrath. One of the most important lessons he remembered was what his father did to people who betrayed him or the club. He’d witnessed more than one ruthless death and he'd fought his way through more than one gunfight. So he easily remembered his father’s number one enemy. Frank Mazzeo, the purported mob king of Seattle. Purveyor of drugs, porn and pussy in a city that refused to believe the mob had any real control.

  Was Izzy his…

  What the fuck was going on?

  Houston tucked the purse under his arm and sprinted back to his room. Maybe she’d gone down there for some reason. Either way he needed to find her and get some answers. He didn’t believe in coincidences and it was way too coincidental for his comfort that he’d walked into a sex filled week with Frank Mazzeo’s daughter on accident.

  He slammed into the room and called out, "Izzy!"

  Only silence met him. Still, he ran into the bathroom on the slim chance she was in there and didn't hear him. Nothing. He was breathing heavy now and it had nothing to do with running. He turned a few times hoping against hope for some sign of something.

  When that got him nowhere, Houston grabbed his backpack and shoved his crap inside along with her purse. He also picked up the knife from the nightstand and shoved it in his boot. With one last sweep of the room to make sure he had everything, he headed downstairs.

  Normally, if some chick were to sneak out on him, he’d let her go and simply find another. But her situation was beyond complicated and he couldn’t turn his back on it. He’d have to investigate further. She also didn’t feel like just some chick.

  His stomach churned with increased anxiety as he located the security office, just off the lobby, and strode toward it. Before he knocked on the door he pulled out the dog tags he still wore from underneath his shirt and laid them in full view. He’d learned from experience that any kind of military uniform had a way of opening otherwise closed doors and, considering what he was about to do, it seemed like a good idea.

  A tall, pasty guy with thinning hair answered the door. “Yeah?”

  Before he could answer the guy zeroed in on the tags. His spine straightened and he sucked in his gut while opening the door wider.

  Happy that his plan seemed to work thus far, he cut right to the chase. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but there was a guy out by the rooftop pool hassling my girlfriend and before I could get a good look at him he ran off. I think it might have been her stalker. But I’d like to be sure before I have to call the cops.”

  “A stalker, really?" His whole demeanor picked up. This guy was probably so bored he'd jump at any chance of some action. "I’ve got some video footage I could check. How long ago?” The guard moved over to the small bank of screens.

  Bingo.

  Houston followed him into the room. “Less than an hour ago.”

  “Okay, have a seat while I check. If you can identify him, I can provide a copy of this tape to the local police.” The guard walked over to the control panel and hit a few buttons.

  Houston dragged the offered chair next to the screen now rewinding at triple speed. “Thanks, man. I really don’t want to get the cops involved if I don’t have to. It could just be a false alarm.” Before the guard could say something else some dark blurry figures rushed across the screen and his temper flared. Once again his gut had been right.

  “What’s that?” He pointed at the screen.

  The guard stopped the footage and hit play. Izzy was laid out in a lounge chair looking sexy as hell in a pair of his baggy shorts and one of his USMC shirts. His body tightened with the need to touch her again. Nothing in her body language looked off. She was relaxed.

  When two figures walked into the screen and leaned over her, his temper flared and he jumped from the chair. At least one of them was packing. He could see the bulge at the dude’s side.

  “Is that them? Is one of those guys your girl’s stalker?”

  Houston couldn’t speak. In the next second one of the fuckers grabbed her arm in a too tight grip and hauled her out of the chair. He didn’t need sound to know that asshole had hurt her. Something snapped inside him as rage tore through his gut.

  “What the hell?” The security guard leaned closer to the monitor, looking as alarmed as he felt.

  They dragged her off the screen, but not before he got a good look at the sheer terror stamped across her face as she fought like a crazed wildcat.

  “I’m calling the cops now.” The guard picked up his phone and started to dial.

  Houston disconnected the call, glaring at the security guard. His self control was unraveling fast. “Not yet. Let's see what else you have before we do anything rash.” He pointed at the screens. “You have footage of the street? I need to see if they took her off property.”

  The guard was so flustered he turned to another screen and repeated the rewind process. To his horror the video showed Izzy was shoved into a nondescript white van and driven away from the hotel going south on Alaskan Way. He checked the time stamp. Twenty-six minutes ago. They were in the wind.

  Fuck.

  He turned and punched the wall. Bits of plaster and paint broke under the force.

  Fuck.

  The soul chilling look of Izzy's fear now burned into his brain terrorized him.

  “We gotta call the cops, dude. They just took her. I have to report this.”

  Houston methodically locked down his rising panic, shutting it behind the cold wall that made him such an effective killer. He pasted a convincing smile on his face and turned to the guard. “Nah, I was wrong. Not her stalker after all. As it turns out one of those guys was her brother and I’m guessing her family disagrees with her choice of groom.”

  “No shit? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. She’ll be back. Right after she tears him a new one.”

  “Oh, thank God. I thought she was kidnapped. That would have been some shit.”

  That was shit all right.

  Epic FUCKING shit.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Houston

  Houston ran to his bike, ignoring the emotion tearing through his gut. He needed to stop thinking about Izzy as his missing princess and start working methodically through the problem like he would a mission.

  He was trained to acquire and take down these kind of people before shit went bad. That's exactly what he'd do here. First he needed some intel and there was only one way he knew how to get it. Or make that one place.

  By the time he made it to the hotel’s garage, he had his gear strapped to his back and his shit somewhat together. He straddled the b
ike and stabbed his key into the ignition. The bike roared to life and he raced out onto the street, forcing himself to turn in the opposite direction the van had taken. Too much time had passed. Searching blind in a city this size would be a waste at this point. Without eyes in the sky and a concrete description of the van he didn't have a chance in hell.

  Not that reason made him any less frustrated. Even in warrior mode his muscles coiled tight and the frustration of losing her from right under his nose still rattled him. He had to forcibly fight the urge to do something violent. The whole thing was stupid. The initial attraction made sense, and there was no denying the sex was off the charts hot. But it should have ended there. It certainly would have the minute she told him she was really Isabella Mazzeo.

  So why couldn’t he get these possessive thoughts of her belonging to him out of his head?

  Images of her sitting on his bed, listening to him tell his story, filled his head. The way her eyes lit up when something excited her or the compassion she'd shown over the not so good parts he’d never shared with any other woman.

  He didn't know how to connect that with the fact she was a Mazzeo, a member of one of the most dangerous organized crime families on the west coast.

  He rode faster, the urge to protect her from her own family gripping him. Tonight there would be no comfort from the open road. He had to find her, whatever the cost. Then whatever other secrets she harbored would be laid out on the table and dealt with. Whatever it was.

  As long as she was safe.

  Less than two hours later and after a shit ton of traffic laws had been broken, Houston rode into the Wrath compound. Back in Seattle he made the split second decision to turn to the only people he knew who would have the kind of info on her family he needed and spent the entire ride home cursing life for putting him in this situation.

  Getting Wrath into Mazzeo family business would require a huge payment on his part or no go. He didn’t have enough money in the bank for that kind of service, but he did have something they wanted.