Quiet Protector: Brandon's Story

by Shandi Boyes

  “Take my shirt off, then my bra.” He does both things in a calm, precise way that has my emotions teetering in a good way. “Now my skirt.” My hair fans against the bedding when he gently guides me onto the bed so he can slide down the zipper of my skintight pencil skirt before shimmering the rigid material down my thighs.

  When he drags his eyes up from my feet to my face, my legs scissor together. Yearning is in his eyes, but I need to get it past the doubt.

  “Now?”

  “Kiss me…” I swallow to soothe my dry throat with some of the spit pooling in the corner of my mouth before finalizing my demand. “Everywhere.”

  He starts at my neck, then drops to my collarbone before moving to my breasts. Once he has my nipples stiff enough to cut glass, he shifts his focus to my stomach. I squirm uncontrollably when his lips stop within an inch of the waistband of my panties. I can feel his breaths heavy against me, feel his eyes on me, but something is holding him back.

  I discover what when his eyes lift to my face.

  It’s me.

  “I can’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

  I grab for the blanket to cover myself when he makes a beeline for the door. Madden’s assault violated me. He took something I was unwilling to give and made me feel broken and used, but Brandon’s rejection feels even more defiling than that.

  Madden abused me, but Brandon may have very well broken me.

  27

  Brandon

  “Yes, Brandon. Keep going.”

  I shake my head, freeing it of the image of Mr. Gregg prancing with me around the boxing ring while I throw a left-right-left combination at a frail boxing bag hanging next to the ring. It’s four in the morning, and I can’t sleep, so instead of wasting the time, I’m getting in a quick workout.

  I doubt I’ll sleep for a month after my piss-poor performance last night.

  Could you imagine having the girl of your dreams right there, splayed out in front of you while play by play of her rape flashed before your eyes.

  I couldn’t get it out of my head. I could feel the heat of Melody’s skin under my hands, taste her on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how many times I yelled at my fucked-up head to get with the program, it didn’t listen. Madden kept flashing before my eyes—his sleezy grin and the gleam his eyes got any time he got away with something.

  Then the images worsened.

  Grayson was right. I shouldn’t have read the report on what had happened to Melody. I thought if I knew the exact recollection of events, I could ensure I stayed away from them if Melody and I ever reached the intimacy stage in our relationship again.

  All it did was fuck with my head more.

  Just like Mr. Gregg taunts me the longer I dispel the anger tearing me in two.

  “Focus, Brandon. Get your head in the game.”

  Sweat rolls down my back as I punish the bag as I wish I could myself. I’m so angry. So fucking angry. I hurt Melody. Me, the man who swore he wouldn’t, the man who pledged to save her from pain.

  I work the bag harder, not the least bit concerned at the blistering of my knuckles. I deserve the pain. I deserve the punishment.

  I also deserve Mr. Gregg’s taunts.

  “Protect, honor, obey, and serve. It isn’t that hard.”

  As my teeth grit, I kick and punch the bag acting as if the salty blobs sliding down my cheeks are sweat.

  “If you are making gaga eyes at her, you’re not monitoring the area. You’re not watching her back. You are not doing any of the things I trained you to do.”

  I told him he was wrong.

  I said I’d never let anything happen to her.

  I fucking failed.

  “They made me pick. They made me pick between Wren and Melody. They either raped my wife or my daughter. She was five, Brandon. Five! Do you have any idea how much that question fucked with my head?”

  I thought I did.

  I thought I understood his pain.

  I didn’t.

  I had no clue how much that would have torn him up until now.

  Now, I understand. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. He was right. I couldn’t love and protect his daughter. I got slack, I got complacent, and Melody got hurt.

  As if that isn’t bad enough, she was hurt by my brother, a man who has the same blood as me while our other brother was being murdered.

  A roar works up from my gut to my throat as I continue working the bag. I throw punch after punch after punch until exhaustion eventually knocks me on my ass.

  The howl that escapes my mouth isn’t from the hard impact of my backside hitting the ground, it’s from the sob it arrived with. I’m broken. Fucking wrecked, certain I don’t deserve to live, even more so when Liam’s last words to me ring through my ears.

  “I trusted you with her. I don’t anymore.”

  “I fucked up. I’m sorry! I didn’t protect her as I said I would.” I scream at the pitch-black sky. “I didn’t keep her safe. It’s my fault. I’m to blame.”

  Dust kicks up around me when my fist lands on the ground dotted with my tears. I punch the rock-hard dirt on repeat until the pain ripping through my chest radiates through my hand, then I collapse, giving in as I should have when Liam advised me to.

  I’m done. So fucking done.

  28

  Brandon

  I don’t know how much time passes before I wake up groggy and confused. Since my head is pounding as much as my knuckles, I doubt I’ve been out for long.

  I scrub a red dirt-stained hand across my tired eyes before pricking my ears. A car engine is breaking through the chirps of birds enjoying the early morning sun. My muscles scream in disgust when I head in the direction the noise is coming from. I’m aching all over, but it has nothing on the pain that rockets through me when I discover the reason for the early morning visitor. A cab is in the driveway. The driver is loading Melody’s suitcases we gathered from the hotel into the trunk.

  I can tell the exact moment Melody spots my gawk. Her breathing slows as her hands dart down to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. After exhaling a chest-deflating breath, she hands the driver a bundle of cash, then moves to the back-passenger side door. Her eyes only lift to mine once she has one foot inside the cab. She stares at me for several long seconds, begging for me to run, to fight for her like I did when we were kids.

  She swipes at the tears falling from her eyes when my feet remain planted on the ground before she signs, “Goodbye, BJ.”

  When the closure of her door is quickly followed by the taxi rolling down the driveway of her family ranch, my heart screams for me to chase her down, to fight, not to let Madden win, but no matter how loud it yells, my feet refuse to budge. I saw the pain that flashed in Melody’s eyes last night. I can’t be responsible for that level of hurt again. I love her too much to gut her like I did when I bolted out of her room like a coward. So, as much as this will kill me, I have to let her go.

  She deserves a level of happiness I can no longer give her.

  I stand halfway between Melody’s family ranch and the old shed her father and I worked out in every day he wasn’t on assignment for the next twenty minutes. I’m shirtless and shoeless, and my sleeping pants aren’t capable of keeping out the cold winds whipping in from the west. With my determination building, I don’t feel cold.

  I can’t feel anything.

  I’m dead on the inside.

  Needing to distract myself before I put my mother through the pain of losing another child, I sprint into the house as fast as I fled it last night. Within ten minutes, I’ve showered, dressed, and brushed my teeth. I don’t touch the stubble on my chin. The smell of Melody’s perfume in the fine hairs is the only reminder I have that last night did occur. Even if I can’t have her, the knowledge that she wanted me will keep the fire in my gut blazing when I bury myself in the trenches.

  As I make my way to my BMW, the quickest flash of silver slows my steps. The morning winds weren
’t just freezing, they were brutal enough to whip off half of the car cover keeping the 1969 Hellcat Mr. Gregg and I restored before his death hidden.

  This time, I listen to the pleas of my heart instead of ignoring them. After tossing the keys for my BMW onto the driver’s seat, I hotfoot it to the Hellcat. Its battery will most likely be dead, and its fuel will be old, but I can’t help but check. If Kwan is in love with classic cars as much as he is with old horses, there’s a possibility she’ll have enough spark to get me to town. Any half-decent mechanic will get me the rest of the way.

  The hollow feeling in my chest fills in by a microdot when I pull off the rest of the car cover. The effort Mr. Gregg and I put into the Hellcat’s rebuild is undeniable. Every detail of her restoration has been meticulously done. Just peering at her, you wouldn’t know she’s spent the last seven years in storage. She’s a real beauty.

  When I slide into the driver’s seat, it feels like I’m going home. This is exactly how I felt last night when I cupped Melody’s breast in my hand. The blood pumping through my body was scorching hot, but it wasn’t the reason for the warmth of my veins. It was the person I was caressing and how she still responded to my touch even after years of absence.

  After shaking my head, endeavoring to keep my focus on track, I peer up at the sky, praying Mr. Gregg will grant me one final wish. It appears as if not all my luck has run out when the engine cranks to life on the first turn of the keys.

  As I roll down the window to suffocate the stuffy conditions with fresh air, I glide my cell phone out of my pocket. The number I dial isn’t one I anticipated calling anytime soon, but it will be good for me.

  “Hey, BJ,” Phillipa greets, her voice both shocked and pleased. “I thought you had lost my number.”

  After licking my dry lips, I ask, “Where do you need me?”

  She cups her phone to advise the people I hear mingling in the background that she’ll be back in a minute before she devotes all her attention to me. “You want to join forces?” She sounds shocked. Justly so. I was less than polite when I found out she was a CIA officer.

  I scrub at my jaw, shocked by its rough feeling. I usually shave before every mission. “I can’t technically join forces since I’m not with the Bureau anymore, but that frees up plenty of time for me to be a consultant.”

  Phillipa waits a beat before asking, “Is Melody okay with that?”

  She can’t see me, but I nod my head, words above me.

  Seemingly having a direct link to my inner psyche, Phillipa asks, “And you, Brandon? Are you ready for this?”

  I nod again. “I want justice for Joey.” When Phillipa remains quiet, knowing there’s more, I push out, “Then perhaps I can lose the guilt I feel for what happened to Melody.”

  She sighs. It sounds as antagonized as the pain stretched across my chest. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  “If Joey wasn’t dealing with the people looking for me, he could have stopped Madden.”

  “You don’t know that, Brandon.”

  “I do,” I argue with the utmost certainty. “Joey was good like that. He would have protected Melody.” I stop just before I say, unlike me.

  Phillipa sighs again. This one is more from her struggle not to get in an argument with me over the phone. She’d rather save her drilling until we’re face to face. “Where are you?”

  “At Saugerties, but I can be anywhere you need me to be within hours.”

  My interests overtake my heartache when she mutters, “Even Ravenshoe?”

  “Even Ravenshoe,” I reply after forcefully swallowing.

  I was hoping since Phillipa is based in New York, she’d keep me a little closer to Melody, but I guess I can’t add stipulations to a game I have no control over.

  “Once you’re back, reach out. I have a few leads I need you to chase up.”

  Stealing my chance to reply, she disconnects our call, freeing me to commence my long journey back to the town that switched me from being a morally upstanding citizen to that of a vigilante.

  29

  Melody

  “Believe me, you’re not the only one who wants that prick sent away for life, but we need to do this right. We can’t have any holes in our evidence.” After standing from my seat, I roam my eyes over my colleagues gathered around the boardroom table at the District Attorney’s Office in New York. “Have a second forensic team run over the results. If the defense discredits our first expert, we’ll hit them with a second and third.”

  “Great,” Leo jumps in, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get the evidence in this case wrapped up tight.”

  Smiling to thank him for his backup, I commence packing away the stacks of evidence I’ve trawled over for sixteen plus hours a day for the past week. This is my version of heartbreak—work and more work. To others, it seems like a pathetic way to ease the heartache, but it works well for me. My father’s training ensured I’d never be an ice-cream-and-sappy-movies type of girl. If my hurt can help someone else, why not put it to good use?

  “Before you go, Melody,” Leo mutters, stopping my brisk exit. “Can I have a quick word?”

  My throat works hard to swallow when he asks a newly appointed intern to close the conference room door on his way out. I’m not scared to be alone with Leo, he’s a gentle giant. It’s seeing the cause of his meeting request in his eyes that has my heart stuttering.

  Think of the worst conversation you’ve ever had. Now double the awkwardness. That will give you an idea of how my conversation went with Leo when my presence popped back onto his radar late last week.

  Nichole had kept her word, she didn’t pass on news of my case to anyone outside of her division, but Leo knew there was more to my absence than my run-in with Mr. McGee the week earlier.

  I never said I hid my heartache well. I just put it to good use.

  I don’t know who Leo was pissed with more, Madden for what he had done or Mr. McGee for dusting off his old defense lawyer skills to represent his son.

  I kind of hate them both the same.

  After propping his hip on the glass desk separating us, Leo folds his arms in front of his broad chest. “I was talking to Julian earlier—”

  “How is he?” I ask before I can stop myself. We haven’t had contact since he left two weeks ago.

  The unease in Leo’s eyes softens when he nods. “He’s good. Enjoying the weather in California.”

  “It has to be better than here.”

  “Anywhere is better than here,” he replies with a laugh.

  Once his chuckles settle, he gets to the point of our conversation. “He told me you two aren’t together anymore. Is that true?”

  My mouth falls open, then I close it again. Leo has been friends with Julian for years, so I’m shocked he doesn’t believe his recollection of events.

  I’m reminded of Leo’s mindreading powers when he says, “I’m not discrediting him. I’m just stunned. That man was head over heels in love with you. I didn’t think he’d let you go for anything or anyone.”

  His words are like a knife to the chest, but I pull through his maiming—regretfully. “I know.” I restack the files in my briefcase like they fell as well as Leo’s words dropped my heart from my chest. “But sometimes that isn’t enough.”

  My failed attempt to seduce Brandon is proof of this.

  Once I have the folders in order as they were before I started fussing, I ask, “Is that all? I’ve got a ton of backdated work to catch up on.”

  “Just one last thing.” He rounds the desk to join me on the other side. “He also told me you repaid the 1.5 million-dollar ransom he paid Rimi Castro.”

  Lying will never be my forte, but I give it a whirl. “It was returned from evidence—”

  My eyes snap up to Leo’s when he interrupts, “The sequence numbers didn’t match. They weren’t close to the ones they recorded before the drop.”

  “They?” I interrogate, unsure about the possessiveness in his reply.

&
nbsp; A dash of hesitation flares through his eyes when he says, “The CIA coordinated the drop with Julian. That’s why he couldn’t accompany you to the fundraising gala straight away. He was waiting for confirmation the drop had taken place, and that the sting it instigated went ahead.”

  My heart drops from my stomach to my shoes when all the evidence slots into place. I kissed Brandon while Julian was paying an arm and a leg to keep me safe.

  My God, could I be any worse of a person?

  Sickened at the evil woman I’ve become, I confess my sins. “The money didn’t come from the sting. It was given to me by Henry Gottle.”

  Leo tries to tuck away the shock my confession slapped him with, but he isn’t quite quick enough for me to miss it. “Why would Henry Gottle give you 1.5 million dollars?”

  “He gave me 2.4 million dollars. I figured it would look a little suspicious if Julian received back more than he had put in, so I removed nine hundred thousand from the suitcase before handing it to Fetu.” Thinking back, it was pretty reckless of me to entrust so much money to a no-longer employed security detail, but Fetu hasn’t given me any reason to distrust him, so I don’t. “I donated the remaining nine hundred thousand to numerous charity organizations.”

  “Please tell me you were given a receipt for each donation?” When I shake my head, Leo curses under his breath. “You do realize you could be prosecuted for bribery?”

  “I didn’t take any of the money for myself. Furthermore, I would have given it back to Henry, but he refused to take it.”

  Leo’s words fan my cheeks with coffee-scented air when he shouts, “So you not only accepted over two million dollars from a mafia kingpin, you visited him as well?”

  I forcefully swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “My visit wasn’t witnessed.”

  “Of course it was, Melody. Henry has more law enforcement personnel on him than any other man in the country.” As he rakes his fingers through his dark locks, his eyes lift to the ceiling. He thought we were going to have a simple conversation about me coming into a small windfall. He had no inkling how murky the waters I’ve been swimming in are.