The Guardian

by Donna Grant

“I have that right because I made sure of it!” Jeff bellowed as he pushed away from the wall. He was no longer calm. Anger contorted his features as his lined faced reddened. “You think because you’re born that you have rights? You have nothing. Nothing! The only reason you have what you have is because I’ve allowed it.”

  Maks’ finger moved to the trigger. All he had to do was squeeze. A silence fell between them, and Maks let it grow. He was utterly disgusted with the individual who called himself a person before him.

  Suddenly, a faint buzzing came from Jeff’s coat pocket.

  Maks realized it was the man’s phone. He smiled then. “The Saints are done. Over. Everything I had is now out in the world. You can take it down, but it’ll go back up again.”

  “Because your friends the Loughmans are helping you? Don’t count on them for too long. The entire ranch will be obliterated in a few days.”

  “You can kill us all. But the truth is out there now. Others have seen it. I gather that’s why your phone is ringing. They want to alert you to what’s happening. The bottom line is that you’re fucked, old man.”

  Jeff’s smile was cold, his eyes filled with hatred. “You could’ve had it all. You chose wrong, Maks. Now you’re going to die. Same with the woman helping you. And I’m going to make you watch what I do to her.”

  Maks lowered his gun. “You’ll never get to her. You’ll never even find her.”

  “The hell I won’t,” Jeff shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

  He took a step toward Maks and then froze. He blinked, his face locked in a macabre look of fear and anger. Jeff then pitched forward, his arms by his sides. He landed on his face before he rolled over, his body twitching slightly as he stared up at Maks, his eyes begging for help.

  Maks squatted beside him, unsure if it had been a stroke or heart attack that got the bastard, not that it mattered. “Karma’s a bitch, old man. May you rot in Hell.”

  He didn’t wait for Jeff to breathe his last. Maks got to his feet, his gun raised as he waited for men to come pouring out, guns blazing. But as the seconds passed, there was no one. Maks didn’t take his eyes from the space where Jeff had been. He spotted a light in the darkness. A doorway that Jeff must have come through.

  Maks wasn’t sure why Jeff had come alone. Maybe because the bastard knew Maks would have a lot to say, and Jeff didn’t want anyone else hearing anything. It didn’t matter anymore. The man was dead.

  “One Elder down,” he murmured.

  Maks turned and went to the picture of Hitler and opened the door to the room beyond. Eden was right there, a gun pointed at his head. The minute she saw him, she lowered it and ran into his arms.

  “I love you,” she said. “I love you so much.”

  Maks held her tight, marveling at the fact that he was still alive with the woman who had stolen his heart in his arms. “Jeff found me.”

  Eden leaned back to look at him. Together, the two of them walked from the room to see Jeff Sumners on the ground, dead. Maks frowned when Eden dropped to her knees and began to rummage through Jeff’s coat pockets.

  “What are you doing?”

  She glanced at him. “He’s an Elder. Don’t you think he’d have a vaccine for the virus with him?”

  Without a second’s hesitation, Maks was beside her, searching.

  Epilogue

  California

  The sounds of the cello woke Eden. She smiled as she sat up and rose from the bed to pad barefoot down the hall to where Maks sat on the porch with the morning sun shining. She stood in the doorway, listening to him for several minutes until he finished the song.

  He looked at her then and smiled. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” she said with a grin as she walked to him and gave him a kiss. “That’s the second-best way of being woken in the morning.”

  “I couldn’t resist. It was just a perfect day.”

  Eden had to agree with him. Not only were the temperatures mild with only a slight chill in the air, they were also back on American soil. Over the last few days, she found it difficult to believe that the week before had actually happened.

  A few days ago she had found a news article about an American woman who had died in Vienna of a home invasion. There was Janice’s picture in the article, which speculated the invasion had occurred because of the virus epidemic. But Eden and Maks both knew that the Saints had killed her. Eden couldn’t even bring herself to feel sorry for Janice.

  Maks stood and put the cello away before they walked into the house together. Neither turned on the news or the radio. They didn’t need to know what was going on in the world, because they had been a part of it. They had indeed found a vaccine in Jeff’s coat and had immediately taken it to the local authorities so it could be replicated.

  Once that happened, it didn’t take long for the Romanians to give it to other countries, and everyone began vaccinating against the vile strain of flu. Unfortunately, before that happened, many hundreds of thousands died—all because of the Saints.

  As for the organization, they had done what they could to stop the spread of information about them. But once it was leaked that they were the ones who had designed and spread the virus, the cry for their arrests couldn’t be drowned out by anyone—not even the Saints. The remaining four Elders were arrested. In a plea deal, they had all given up a plethora of names of those associated with them.

  It was a witch hunt, but then again, she and Maks had always known it would be. The main thing was that the world was safe again. Somewhat. There would always be danger out there. There’d always be someone who thought they were doing the right thing, when in fact, they were the villains. Thankfully, there were also men like Maks, willing to risk their lives for others.

  Maks stopped by the kitchen island and shook his head. “You look damn good in my shirt.”

  “Do I?” she asked seductively. “Do you like it better on me. Or off?”

  “Is that really even a question?”

  They laughed and walked into each other’s arms. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you.” He gave her a soft kiss.

  Eden then pulled back and looked into his bright blue eyes. “Are you ready for today?”

  “Yes. No.” He shook his head. “Let’s put it off another day.”

  “If you want, but it’s always going to be difficult. The Saints are finished. Jeffery is no more. There’s no longer a reason for your family to think you’re dead.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “You’re just too damn smart. I’m really glad you’re coming with me.”

  “I’ll always be by your side.”

  An hour later, they got out of the rental car in front of a San Francisco home. Eden stood on the curb and waited for Maks to walk to her. They had only gotten halfway down the walk when the front door of the house opened. An older woman with light brown hair and bright blue eyes came out on the porch.

  Her gaze was locked on Maks, her hand over her heart. “Alex? Is that you?”

  “Hi, Mom. It’s me.”

  Eden watched with tears pouring out of her eyes as Maks’ mom rushed down the steps and into Maks’ arms. It wasn’t long before his father joined them. It warmed Eden’s heart to see Maks rejoin his family. His mother was the first to call his siblings so everyone could come over. There would be a ton of questions for Maks, and Eden knew that he wouldn’t be able to answer them all. But it didn’t matter. He was home, back where he belonged.

  And they were together.

  He took her hand and pulled her with him as the four of them walked through the doorway. His mother and father embraced her as the laughter and happiness filled the house. And she knew it was just the beginning of their lives together.

  Thank You!

  Thank you for reading THE GUARDIAN. I hope you enjoyed it! If you liked this book — or any of my other releases — please consider rating the book at the online retailer of your choice. Your ratings and reviews help other readers find new favorites, and
of course there is no better or more appreciated support for an author than word of mouth recommendations from happy readers. Thanks again for your interest in my books!

  Donna Grant

  www.DonnaGrant.com

  www.MotherofDragonsBooks.com

  In case you missed it, check out book one in the Sons of Texas series, THE HERO!

  The Hero

  THE HERO’S HOMECOMING

  Owen Loughman is a highly-decorated Navy SEAL who has a thirst for action. But there’s one thing he hasn’t been able to forget: his high school sweetheart, Natalie. After more than a decade away, Owen has returned home to the ranch in Texas for a dangerous new mission that puts him face-to-face with Natalie and an outside menace that threatens everything he holds dear. He’ll risk it all to keep Natalie safe—and win her heart.

  Natalie Dixon has had a lifetime of heartache since Owen was deployed. Fourteen years and one bad marriage later, she finds herself mixed up with the Loughmans again. With her life on the line against an enemy she can’t fight alone, it’s Owen’s strong shoulders, smoldering eyes, and sensuous smile that she turns to. When danger closes in, how much will she risk to stay with the only man she’s ever loved?

  Order The Hero now!

  Read on for an excerpt from THE HERO, the first book in the Sons of Texas series that began it all…

  1

  September

  The blades of the chopper cut through the air with a whomp, whomp noise that Owen Loughman had come to find soothing. He sat back with his eyes closed in the seat of the Blackhawk helicopter, trying to figure out why he’d been pulled from his mission with his SEAL team in Afghanistan.

  Not surprisingly, he’d been told exactly nothing.

  He cracked open an eye and glanced at the cockpit. The two men piloting wore solid black. No military designation. No adornment of any kind. Obviously CIA.

  Owen had witnessed—and experienced—his fair share of craziness since becoming a SEAL. CIA agents thought they kept themselves under the radar. It was the biggest load of shit. Everyone recognized them immediately.

  It wasn’t the fact that he hadn’t gotten details of why he and his team had their mission halted after a week in the desert. It wasn’t that he’d been shoved onto a plane in the Middle East without explanation. It wasn’t even that no one had so much as looked at him since he’d landed in the States and was promptly put on the Blackhawk.

  He was a Navy SEAL. He was prepared for anything—any and all surprises. No, the unease had everything to do with the CIA. He didn’t trust the government bastards.

  The disquiet feeling that saved his life countless times began to stir. He blew out a breath and opened his eyes as he turned his head to look out the open door of the chopper.

  Texas.

  He would recognize his beloved state anywhere. He hadn’t been back in . . . he had to stop and count . . . ten years. He couldn’t believe it had been that long. Where had the time gone?

  The last time he’d seen Texas was the day he’d graduated from the University of Texas and joined the Navy. From the time he was in junior high, he’d known he would make his life in the military. It was who the Loughmans were, dating all the way back to the Revolutionary War.

  He’d been the only one to follow in his father’s footsteps and choose the Navy, though. Wyatt, his older brother, chose the Marines, along with Cullen, his younger brother.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken to his brothers. Their family wasn’t close. He blamed it on their father, because it was easy. Though in truth, the fault lay with each of them.

  The chopper began its descent. His gaze took in the rolling hills and the cattle scattering to get away from the noise. Then he spotted the two-story, white house with black trim that brought back a flood of memories.

  Home.

  He rested his hands on his thighs covered in desert-colored cammies, wishing his gun hadn’t been taken from him in Afghanistan. Just what the hell was he doing back home?

  The Blackhawk landed a hundred yards from the house. The pilot turned in his seat and looked at Owen through the tinted screen of his helmet. “We’ve reached your destination, Lieutenant Commander.”

  He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his pack before jumping out of the open doors, his gaze perusing the area as memories flooded back. No sooner had his feet hit the ground than the Blackhawk was airborne again.

  He glanced up, watching the chopper disappear. Then his gaze slid to the house. It looked . . . empty, desolate. Which couldn’t be right since his aunt and uncle lived there.

  Owen took a deep breath of the fresh Texas air. And stilled. He smelled death.

  He hurried to the side of the house and squatted, flattening his back against the porch railing. Quietly, he lowered his pack to the ground before he cautiously looked around the corner.

  Aunt Charlotte’s numerous hanging plants that she lovingly cultivated still dotted the wrap-around porch, swinging in the breeze. An empty rocker teetered.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  He silently crept to the front steps. If anybody was there, they were inside the house. He glanced behind him. The open landscape allowed him to see anyone coming. The scattered trees were large enough to hide a foe, but even they were too far away for someone to surprise him.

  Except for the oak out back. He would have to tread carefully there.

  He hurried up the five steps to the porch and flattened himself against the house beside the front entryway. Slowly, he opened the screen door. Just in time, he recalled the squeak if opened all the way.

  Keeping away from the glass inset into the wood, he rested the frame of the screen on his forearm as he put his hand on the knob. Then, with a deep breath, he twisted and gave a slight push.

  The heavy door opened noiselessly. When no gunfire erupted, he peeked inside the house. When he saw nothing, he quickly entered, his hand catching the screen to close it without a sound behind him. He moved to the side of the foyer and listened for any noise.

  The house remained as soundless and still as before. On silent feet, he walked to his left. He glanced up the stairs but chose to look around the ground floor first. The front room, the one his mother had used as a music room, had been turned into a formal living area by his aunt.

  His gaze searched the space. As if pulled to them, he spotted two holes in the wall. Bullet holes. A sinking feeling filled him.

  For long seconds, he stared at the marred drywall, hoping it was his mind playing tricks on him. But there was no denying the truth that was before him. Had his father’s work once more followed him home? It infuriated him that Orrin hadn’t taken precautions to keep his family safe as he’d promised.

  Moving to the wall, he touched the holes. The bullets had been removed, but by the size of the openings, he surmised they were 7.62mm. Military grade.

  His eyes slid to the next room. He knew what he would find. His mind screamed for him to turn and walk away. The house had seen so much death, and as always, he was the one to find it.

  He hadn’t run away when he was a boy. He wouldn’t do it now. Though his years with the SEALs had shown him unbelievable ways a person could kill—and be killed—nothing could compare to knowing it had struck your family.

  Again.

  Owen swallowed and walked through the doorway to the large living area with the eight-foot-wide stone fireplace. The first thing he saw was the blood. It coated the recliner, which was also riddled with bullet holes.

  He clenched his jaw, anger kindling in his gut. His fears were confirmed. Uncle Virgil and Aunt Charlotte were dead. As he stood in the living room where he and his brothers had watched TV, opened Christmas gifts, fought, and played, the primal side of him—the beast the Navy had shaped and trained—demanded justice.

  Justice his mother hadn’t gotten.

  He slowly turned the haze of rage and anguish into cold fury that could be directed with reprisal so horrible the screams of the men who had killed his f
amily would reverberate in Hell.

  Pulling his eyes away from the recliner, he slowly moved around the living area. Debris from the gun battle littered the floor, making it so he had to carefully choose where to set his feet so as not to make noise.

  He reached the arched double entry into the kitchen and felt his chest squeeze in fury. The shooters had found Aunt Charlotte there. By the dough still on the counter, she’d been making her famous bread. The blood pool on the floor was large, as was the pattern of splatter on the walls.

  A floorboard creaked behind him. He whirled around, his arm jerking up and back to hit the intruder. At the last minute, he recognized the dark gold eyes and stopped his assault.

  “Wyatt.”

  His elder brother gave a firm nod in greeting. “Owen.”

  He frowned as he looked at Wyatt’s face covered with a thick beard. His dark hair was unkempt and long. Wyatt stood still as stone, his gaze moving from one place to the next.

  Having gone undercover enough times himself, Owen recognized the reason for Wyatt’s appearance. His brother had always been quiet. A loner. Only the Loughmans knew the cause.

  And no one spoke of it.

  Now, Wyatt appeared even more serious, if that were possible. He was leaner than Owen remembered, more lethal and vicious. Wyatt wore black camo with no insignia. So that’s where his brother had disappeared to. Delta Force.

  Despite Wyatt’s icy demeanor, not even he could hide the anger that sizzled in his eyes or the way his hands clenched at his sides.

  Men like he and Wyatt knew only one way to seek vengeance—blood. Whoever had done this to their family was about to see just what the Loughman brothers were capable of.

  Wyatt stepped around him into the kitchen and stopped next to the pool of blood. His gaze remained on it for a moment before he met Owen’s gaze. “There’s nothing upstairs.”