The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 2 Read online

  THE TROUBLE WITH BODYGUARDS

  Part Two

  KRISTINA BLAKE

  Copyright © 2015

  Published by: Rascal Hearts

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact us at [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  The rain pattered gently on the glass, the world through her window becoming an unrecognizable landscape, a dark, underwater place that she felt as if she had no place in. Alex rolled over in bed, turning her back to the window, wincing as stinging pain shot up her arm, the bruises on her wrists darkening, blossoming, reminding her that only a few hours before she had woken to find herself bound, strapped to a dingy bed in a decrepit building downtown.

  Her head swam, aching from the ordeal of being tossed into the trunk, knocked unconscious when the car came to an abrupt stop, slamming her into the unyielding steel wall. Gingerly she touched the side of her head, sucking air between clenched teeth as screaming pain resonated inside her skull. She felt overwhelmed, betrayed and confused. Unable to process all that had taken place in the last twenty-four hours, she chose to stay in her bed, safe and warm, the chaos that was her life locked away on the other side of flimsy, hollow, wooden door.

  “You’re going to be okay…”

  That’s what he had been saying to her, stroking her hair as she fought to drag herself back to consciousness, the pain in her head agonizing, blurring her vision and making her head swim with dizziness as she willed her eyes to open. She had found herself in a strange bed, the room small and dark, illuminated only by the antique lamp on the bedside table. A huge stain crawled across the ceiling, water damage eating through the drywall, threatening to fall at any moment, crushing them both where they sat. She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion as she tried to process the situation. She was bound, her ankles and wrists tied to the rusted iron bed frame with dirty white cloth ripped into strips. Her fingertips throbbed, the pressure of her bindings restricting the blood flow to them, and she tugged, frantically trying to free herself, to no avail.

  “Here, let me help you,” Rick said, reaching behind his back, pulling a black utility knife from some hidden pocket. He slid the cool blade between her skin and the strips wrapped tightly around her wrists, slicing through them and freeing her from her bondage. As he reached across her, releasing the other hand, she sat up quickly, her ears ringing, her heart pounding in her chest, and struck him, slapping him roughly across the face.

  She screamed, fighting him, clawing at his face as he pushed against her chest, forcing her back down onto the filthy mattress. “Let me go,” she howled, her voice cracking in fear as she thrashed, using everything in her power to fight him off. “Help,” she called, “somebody help!”

  “That's what I'm trying to do,” he yelled, laying on top of her now, using the weight of his body to stop her from clawing at him. He held her arms down at her sides, pressing her already bruised wrists into the ragged surface of the uncovered mattress. “If you would just calm the fuck down,” he said, breathing roughly, the exertion of trying to calm her affecting him. His cheeks had reddened from the effort, and his jaw was clenched as he held her.

  Alex stilled, her eyes wide, her breath blowing from her nose, fury raging through her. She needed to escape, to get away from here, away from him. Frantic, she threw back her head, lashing out at him with the only part of her body that was not immobile with his weight heavy upon her. Her forehead connected with his nose, crunching the delicate cartilage there, and blood poured from it, raining warm and viscous on her cheek.

  He howled, sitting up, his hands going instinctually to his face. “You bitch,” he cried, inspecting his hands, now slick with his own blood. “I fucking come to rescue you, and you fucking break my fucking nose!”

  “You what?” Alex said, shock cooling the fires of rage that were boiling in her blood. She couldn't have heard him right. Come to rescue her? She panted, the chaotic fear in her mind calming, the reality of the situation coming clearer as the pounding of her heart quieted in her chest. She had been taken, yes. Having stayed late at the office, working on the photos from the session at the pier earlier that day, she had gone to the parking garage by herself and been gagged and shoved into the trunk of her own car. Rick had not been there with her; she had abandoned him at the shoot, choosing to go off on her own, freedom from fear too great, blinding her to the fact that leaving him also stole her protection from those that she was afraid of in the first place. She had hit her head, getting knocked out as her kidnapper slammed on the breaks, forcing her suddenly into the steel wall of the trunk.

  She didn't know how she had gotten to this place. She didn't know how or why she was bound to this bed. All she knew was that when she opened her eyes, Rick's was the first face that she had seen.

  “You broke my fucking nose,” Rick said again, pulling the t-shirt over his head, holding it to his bleeding nose.

  “I did?” Alex asked, sitting up. Her ankles were still bound to the frame of the bed, and she tugged at the bindings, wanting to be fully free of her restraints.

  Rick tossed the knife on the bed next to her, and she cut herself free from the bindings, folding her legs beneath her and wrapping her arms tightly around herself, suddenly cold, shivering violently. She looked up at him, her eyes pooling with tears, filled with confusion and fear. “Where are we?”

  He sat down heavily on the mattress next to her, his voice muffled by the t-shirt wadded up over his nose, now stained a dark red where the blood was soaking through the fabric. “In an abandoned building,” he said. “By the railway station downtown.”

  “Why are we here?” she asked. Had he taken her, brought her here to this horrible place? The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. If Rick were her stalker all along, then he would want to be close to her and the many opportune times that he had shown up in her life would be more than coincidence.

  “I don't exactly know,” he said, pulling the shirt away from his face, the bleeding having slowed, and sniffed. “He brought you here, but I don't know what he planned to do with you once he got you all to himself.”

  “Who?” Alex asked. “Who brought me here?”

  “My brother,” said Rick, not looking at her, shame evident in his expression, his body language, as he hung his head. “My brother brought you here.”

  Chapter Two

  The police had arrived, storming into the room, their shouted commands echoing off every surface in the small space. Paramedics swarmed Alex, scooping her up off the filthy mattress, leading her out of the building, into the cool night air and into a waiting ambulance. Sirens wailed as they pulled away from the curb, carrying her to a warm, sterile bed at the hospital. She caught a glimpse of Rick, st
anding with the detectives they had met at the station, the ones who were hunting the man that had taken her, that had tried to keep her. He had come to rescue her. From the very beginning, she thought he had been there to protect her, from his own brother.

  Not being able to make any sense of the situation, Alex let herself be lulled by the gentle rocking of the ambulance, the coddling attentions of the paramedics beside her. They wiped her face clean with a damp, clean-smelling cloth, ridding her skin of the splattered blood from Rick's bursting nose. She watched as they slid the soiled cloth into a receptacle on the wall, her stomach sick that she had wounded him while he was doing everything in his power to protect her.

  Rushing her into the exam room at the hospital, the nurses had removed her clothes, slipping a sterile gown over her head after checking her body for injuries from her ordeal. They cleaned her, rinsing away the motor oil stains, the dirt and detritus from being trapped in the trunk of the car. Her hair was washed, the nurse gingerly avoiding the wound on that she had suffered from hitting her head. Once she was clean and dry, her injuries deemed not life-threatening, they had given her medication for pain and left her to rest, the doctors wanting to keep her overnight for observation.

  Once the chaos of the night was over, and she was alone in the dim hospital room, Alex wept. Her strength, her power left her body in great waves as she sobbed, her tears dampening the thin hospital pillow beneath her hair, her breath hitching in her chest. She felt hopeless, weak and afraid. She could not handle this, this fear, this doubt in herself. She needed help. She wished that Rick would come to her, put his arms around her and comfort her, like he had done before. But she doubted that would happen now, or ever again. Now that the truth was out, that he knew who her stalker was, his own brother. She doubted that she would ever see him again.

  She slept, exhaustion washing over her like a rip tide, pulling her into the warm darkness of dreams, and she awoke in the night to find her father seated in a chair by her bedside, his hand cradling her own.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling weakly. She could see the worried expression on his face, even in the dim light of the room; the wrinkles in his aged skin seemed deeper, his eyes tired.

  “Hi,” he said, attempting to return her weak smile, and gently squeezed her fingers.

  “Are you all right?” Alex asked, attempting to sit up in her bed, the lump on her head screaming in pain as she did so.

  Her father chuckled softly, “I should be the one asking you that, don't you think?”

  “Well,” she said, resigning to continue to lay on her back, the pain too great when she tried to move. “I guess you're right. But I know how I'm doing.”

  “How are you doing?” her father asked, rubbing the back of her knuckles with his thumb.

  “Head hurts,” she said, putting her hand to the lump, gently measuring the size of it, judging the tenderness with the tips of her fingers. She winced in pain, sucking in a sharp breath, deciding that touching that particular part of her body would not be something that she wanted to do again in the near future.

  “You might have a concussion,” her father said. “The doctors told me that you need to have supervision for the next few days, to make sure that you're all right. I'm going to stay here until they release you, and then I'm going to take you home. You can rest in your old room until you are well.”

  “Dad,” she said, disapproval in her tone. “I can go back to my apartment. Rick can keep an eye on me. I don't want you to have to take care of me like I am a sick child.”

  “I will have no arguments from you, young lady,” he chided, scolding her as only a father could. “Mr. Andrews is going to be,” he hesitated looking to the window, the stars twinkling in the clear night sky, “very busy.”

  She wondered if he knew, if he had had a chance to discuss the situation with Rick, if Rick had revealed the fact that he was a blood relative of the man that had kidnapped his daughter and thrown her into the trunk of a car. Somehow she doubted it, looking into the concerned eyes of her father, as he gazed out the window of her hospital room.

  “Okay, Dad,” she said, “I guess I could come spend the night at your house, if it will make you feel better.”

  “Good,” he said, “and it will. Now, get some rest. I'll be here, by your side.”

  Chapter Three

  Resting in the porch swing, her feet tucked beneath her as the afternoon sun warmed her bruised and battered face, Alex watched as the dark town car crawled down the drive to the house. It was Rick, coming to talk to her father about the incident, the kidnapping, she assumed. He hadn’t come to hospital to check on her well-being, leaving her alone in the darkness to fend for herself. She yearned to have the comfort of his arms around her, holding her tight. Since the night that they had spent together, their passions running high, he had been cold and distant, emotionally shut off from her to the point of rudeness.

  She just wanted to understand. To know why all of this was happening to her, and what his involvement in the whole thing was. As the car came to a stop in front of the house, Alex slowly stood from the swing, her body aches complaining at the movement, and walked into the dimness of the main hall. The doorbell chimed, ringing softly through the house, and Alex made her way to the door, her bare feet making no sound on the tile floor of the hall as she crossed the room.

  A momentary look of surprise crossed his face when she opened the door, followed by the serious expression that was his professional mask. She leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms around her chest, an act of protection from whatever dangers this man would bring into her life.

  “Hi,” she said. “Are you here to see my dad?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pulling the sunglasses from his face. He wore his usual uniform, form-fitting black t-shirt and jeans, and he looked magnificent with the sun behind him, his skin glowing with the heat of the day. “But,” he said, hesitating, “I think I should explain things to you first.”

  She gasped, her fingertips going instinctually to her lips, as she saw the bruise across the bridge of his nose, its darkness spreading, pooling under his right eye. Guilt overwhelmed her: she had done that to him, she had broken his nose while she struggled with him last night in her panic. “Oh Rick,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” he asked, concern in his dark eyes. “Oh, the nose. It’s all good, you were freaked out. I would have done the same, or worse, if I were you.”

  “But doesn’t it hurt?” she asked, reaching out her fingertips, as if to pluck the tenderness from his wound. She would take his pain away, into herself, if she could. He didn’t deserve to suffer after trying to rescue her.

  “I’ll survive,” he said, taking a step back, avoiding her touch. “Is there somewhere that we can talk?”

  “Sure,” she said, tucking her hand into her pocket, her attempt to touch him rejected. She held the door open for him, stepping to the side to allow him to slip past her into the spacious hall. “Let’s go out on the veranda,” she said, leading the way to the French doors leading onto the wide porch facing the river to the east of the house. She slid into one of the deck chairs, pulling her legs up beneath her, and gestured for him to sit beside her.

  He sat, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked off into the distance, toward the river, the blazing color of the setting sun reflecting in his dark eyes. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, as if unsure as to where he should start.

  He cleared his throat, not turning to her as he began, but telling his story to the shadows lengthening on the lawn. “We didn't always know that my brother was,” he paused, searching for the right words, “troubled. He grew up just like any other kid, playing baseball in the park, riding his bike through the neighborhood, watching cartoons on Saturday morning. I was right there with him, doing all those things. We grew up normal, you know?”

  Alex could only picture what normal meant to him. Having grown up the way she did, she was sure that her idea of a normal chil
dhood was vastly different than his own. In her mind’s eye, she saw two young boys, lying on a braided rug in front of the television, spooning sugared cereal into their mouths, poking each other as they enjoyed their weekend animated ritual together.

  “Nothing really changed until he started high school. I always thought that it was the pressure, going through puberty, while dealing with the academic and social struggles of being a teenage boy. It was just too much for him, I think.” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustration apparent in the creases around his eyes as he continued, “He started spending more and more time by himself. He would lock himself away in his room, heading right in there as soon as we were home from school, shutting everyone out. On weekends, we sometimes wouldn't see him for an entire day; he just never came out. Mom worried about him, but Dad just excused it as teenage angst, saying that this was his form of rebellion, not spending time the family, and that he would grow up and get over it. But he didn't.”

  He turned to Alex for the first time, and she could see the horror and anguish in his eyes. Something terrible had become of this man's little brother, the boy that he had spent more time with, been closer to than any other human being on this earth. She was not sure that she wanted to hear the rest of the story, to see the suffering in Rick's eyes, but she held her tongue, tightening her arms around herself as a cool breeze blew over them both, raising gooseflesh on her skin.

  “The house that I grew up in had really thin walls, like paper,” he said, looking away from her again, lost back in the world of his past. “Late at night, when the house was quiet, I could hear him in his room, mumbling to himself. He didn't sleep, just sat up at night, talking. It was like he was having a conversation with someone, someone who wasn't there. I tried to listen, but could only pick up bits and pieces, and it scared me. I went to my parents, told them about the things that I had heard. My dad tried to brush it off again, making light of the situation, but I saw in my mother's eyes that she had seen the changes in him too, and that she was worried. She tried to talk to him about it, the next morning at breakfast, and he exploded. He shoved all the breakfast dishes, the food, the coffee, to the floor, screaming in rage. Said he felt violated, that we were conspiring against him, that no one loved him. Then he ran out of the house, crying, and didn't come home for two days. We looked everywhere for him, called all of our friends from school. Not like he had many friends left; he had alienated all of the boys that he had known from before, preferring to spend time in seclusion then socialize with anyone else. I walked the woods for hours, calling his name, my voice echoing back at me from the emptiness. To this day, I still don't know where he went when he left that day.