Protector: City of Sin

by Jenny Lynn

  I watched as the tall man slipped a black card into Beckett’s jacket pocket, his jaw clenching. “Don’t be angry,” the tall man snickered. “I’ll give you a few tips for next time. The first tip being; don’t ever bid against me.”

  “I’m not leaving without her,” Beckett’s voice was feral, rapidly losing control.

  “Nah, I’m pretty sure you are. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it you get a refund.”

  One of the security guards, a tall man with limbs and a neck as thick as a tree trunk, removed a gun and stepped into the elevator. My eyes met Beckett’s before the doors closed, his anger cracking, revealing pain, and then he was out of sight. My legs finally gave up, and I crumpled to the floor. I had been so close, I had been given hope. I should have known that hope never finds me for long.

  18

  Beckett

  I had her, and I watched her slip right through my hands. No. It was worse than that. I had her, and she was taken from my hands. Ella was stolen from me. Standing in the elevator, guarded, I tried desperately to figure out what I was going to do next. What was going to be my next move? I paced the small space, back and forth, a trapped and wild angry thing. When the doors opened in the main floor lobby, I stepped out, helplessly staring at the door as it closed behind me.

  What had gone wrong? I thought my plan had been flawless. I embedded myself into their world, and secured an invitation into their inner circle. I played by their rules, I bought what I went there to claim. My phone buzzed my pocket, and my stomach dropped when I realized the money I had spent trying to secure Ella’s freedom had been returned to my account, just as if it had never happened.

  I stared at the screen in disbelief, my frustration rising to a maddening level I'd never experienced before. I cried out, squeezing my phone in my hand until I felt the screen crack, slicing open my palm. People were whispering to each other and turning in my direction - I was starting to draw attention.

  The logical part of my brain, gasping for air as it drowned in dark waters, told me to leave the hotel. I couldn't be here, Beckett Carter could not be seen here right now. I needed to get away, I needed to think, no - thinking and planning hadn't gotten me any closer to saving Ella. If I didn't do something, and if I didn't do it quickly, she would be lost to me forever.

  I rushed from the hotel, my hands dripping droplets of fresh blood behind me like a trail of breadcrumbs through a cursed forest. A trail of blood between Ella and I; fitting, since there would be more bloodshed. This was only the start, I was sure of it. That's the way it always was in my life; blood and loss, death and despair. I was a man who had everything except peace. It was the one thing that I couldn’t purchase, the one thing that was always just out of my reach.

  As I walked around the corner towards the back of the hotel, I stood in the shadows as a group exited through doors into a waiting limousine. Four men, bodyguards, and with them were two familiar silhouettes. The tall man, dragging Ella behind him. It all happened so fast, one more glimpse of the woman I loved, and then she was swallowed up by the car.

  The muscles in my body tensed, willing me to act, but my brain shouted past all of my endorphins for me to stop. My instincts were at war with all of the tactical training I had received in my lifetime; I had no weapons, I did not have the advantage, if I acted now the only thing I would do is get myself killed. I wasn't afraid of death, I had made my peace with it a long time ago, but then who would there be to save Ella from her fate?

  I locked my eyes onto the license plate, memorizing it for what happened next. That man had taken something from me, and he was about to find out how dear of a mistake that was. In the pocket of my jacket, my fingers found his card, and I patted it reassuringly. It wouldn’t have his name or address, he wasn’t an idiot, but there would be something useful. I had something to go off of. This was not over - not by a long shot. Ella, I'm coming for you.

  I picked up my pace, rushing towards the street. There was a couple about to get into an idling cab, the only one I saw on the street. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a few hundreds, pushing the man and woman aside with my arm and handing him the cash.

  “I have somewhere I need to be, here, for your trouble,” I said.

  He opened his mouth to object, then realized the amount of money I had given him, then he nodded. “Hey, no problem buddy. It’s all yours.”

  Slamming the door behind me, I gave the driver my address, pulling my tie off from my neck and wrapping it tightly around my cut hand. Seems like I was collecting wounds tonight. The driver tried to make a bit of small talk, then quickly realized I wasn’t that kind of passenger, and he adjusted accordingly. I wanted a silent ride, anger swirling around me like a storm, tempting me to smash and destroy everything within reach. I needed to breathe, to shut that part of myself down. Control. That’s what Bishop had taught me so many years ago. It was a struggle then, and it was a struggle now.

  When we arrived at my building I threw cash at the driver, doubtlessly much more than the fare, but money was nothing to me. Tonight, I would have spent every dollar to my name for Ella. I would have bankrupted myself for that woman. In the elevator I was shaking; with rage or pain, I couldn’t tell. Love. I loved Ella deeply, more than I ever thought possible.

  The doors opened and I stepped out into my penthouse without her. Alone. A failure. I glanced at my reflection in the antique mirror on the wall then realized I was still wearing that damned mask. I should have been used to masks, but this one was different. I hid my identity, but it didn’t help me do what was right this time. You’re pathetic, I thought, staring at the man in the mirror. She’s gone and it’s all your fault.

  I lost control and rushed forward, my fists smashing the heavy mirror, slicing through already damaged flesh, and shattering the glass. When the glass was gone, I hit the wall with my fists, more animal than human. Suddenly I was that little boy again, lashing out in pain, hitting and breaking anything within my reach. Blinded by rage, by loss. Needing an outlet for wounds that were too deep to heal, and the only outlet that boy could find was destruction and pain - punishing a world that had stolen his parents from him so brutally. Now the world had stolen the one woman who could ever truly love me, who could see my flaws and ugliness and not turn away from me. She loved the real Beckett Carter, not the man he pretended to be.

  I dropped to the ground and started to sob, my shoulders heaving, my fists bloodied. The past and the present, bookending the two most painful moments I had experienced in my life. I worked so hard to control everything, to control this vicious side of myself, but this was too much to handle. I needed to talk to him, I needed his guidance right now.

  Patting my jacket pocket I remembered what I had done to my phone back at the hotel, then I dragged myself towards my secret room. I kept another phone in there, I know myself and my temper well enough to always have a backup available. Yanking open a drawer, I found it, turned it on, and then dialed him on speaker phone.

  “Hello?” Bishop’s voice was gruff - what time was it over there? It didn’t matter, Bishop trained himself to always be ready at a moment’s notice. He was always army-ready; the same way he trained me and all of the others.

  “Bishop-” my voice cracked and I needed to clear my throat, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve. “Bishop, I need your help. Ella, they took Ella. And I need her back. Do you understand? I need her back.” The words spilled out in a chaotic rush, like blood pouring from a bullet wound. Messy.

  “Beckett, get a hold of yourself,” he snapped at me over the phone. I blinked, startled. “You need to pull yourself together so you can think,” he added, gently this time. “Remember what I taught you. You need to control your emotions, or they will control you. Now, ground yourself Beckett. That’s an order.”

  “Yes sir,” I told my one time mentor, nodding even though he couldn’t see me. Stand tall, shoulders back, ready to follow direction. The line between that damaged boy and the damaged man was a tightrope right
now.

  Taking out a first aid kid, I started to address the various wounds on my hands to give myself something to focus on. He waited, Bishop was always patient when the situation called for it. I cleaned my cuts and scrapes, removed the glass. I winced as I disinfected, feeling a deep burn, then I used surgical glue to close my cuts tightly.

  “Alright,” I said finally, my heart still racing but my voice steady. “I’m here, Bishop. I’m ready to talk,” I wrapped my hands in a layer of bandages to support their healing. "I need to figure out my next steps," I told Bishop as I walked across the room, drawn immediately to the weapons on the wall. I wanted to load up and go in armed, to kill anyone and everyone who stood between me and Ella. That didn't necessarily mean it was the best approach.

  "What do you think you should do?" Bishop asked. He was testing me, trying to gauge my state of mind.

  "If I tell you, you're just going to tell me that my plan is the wrong one," I grumbled into the phone.

  "Probably," he said. "But it's more effective if you figure that out for yourself, so we don't have to waste time arguing over it. So, Beckett, I'll ask you again. What do you think you should do?"

  My fingers caressed the smooth, cold length of a sniper rifle. I could figure out where they were. I could find a vantage point, get a line of sight, pick them off one by one, then move inside to finish off the rest.

  I sighed, dropping my hand to my side. "I think that where Ella is concerned, I don’t think clearly. I just want her back safely, whatever it takes. Can you help me, Bishop?"

  Silence. "You can't fight your way in," Bishop said.

  I felt the anger inside me rising, those familiar dark waters threatening to drown me. I was ready to argue, just like he had predicted, but I resisted the urge. He was right, as always, and I didn't have time to waste. I didn't even want to think about what that smug asshole might be doing with Ella right now. My Ella. Mine.

  "Big picture, Beckett," Bishop continued after he had given me a moment to collect myself. "What circumstances changed recently for them? The girl. You go in and attack, it's not hard to put two and two together. They'll figure out it's because of her, and then they'll use it against you. Remember what I taught you; use your enemies' weaknesses against them, and don't let them use yours against you."

  Fuck. He was right. Ella was my weakness, she had been from the start, and I needed to protect that information. But what was that prick's weakness, the one who bought her? I took out his card, flipped it over in my hands. Heavy cardstock, black matte with embossed gold numbers - a phone number. That was it. Why did he even give this to me? To stay in touch? It's not like our conversation had been all that stimulating, at least, for me it wasn’t. I was focused on her, only her. What was I to that man?

  "He's competitive," I said finally, trying to get into his mind. "He likes to win, to be challenged. Ella wasn't a quiet wallflower, that piqued his interest. But then I bid against him for her, aggressively. It brought out his inner monster, I could see it in his eyes. We were like two jackals fighting over prey, and he genuinely enjoyed it. He gave me a card with a phone number, he wants me to stay in touch with him - because I amused him."

  “Good,” Bishop said. “That’s something you can use. The question is, what are you going to do with this insight, Beckett?”

  I flipped the card between my fingers, rotating it over and over again. “I’m going to engage his interest enough to get closer, and then I’m going to take her back. Probably by force.”

  “You’ll only have one shot at this,” my mentor’s voice, a warning in my ear. “You understand what I’m saying, Beckett?”

  I placed the card down on the table, staring at those gold numbers, gleaming up from the matte black card. “I understand,” I told him. “I’m going to get Ella back, and if I fail, then I’m willing to die trying. I’ve risked my life so many times over the years for nothing. She made my life worth living, and she is worth dying for.”

  This was going to have an ending.

  Whether it would be a happy one, only time would reveal.

  19

  Ella

  A groggy, disorienting sensation; being torn between dream and reality. That’s the only way I could describe being dragged from the hotel where I had just been sold and into a waiting car. We drove, the familiar sights and sounds of Vegas suddenly confusing to me in my drugged state. We drove through the city, for minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell. Finally, we stopped and I was dragged against my will some more. I realized that we were on a runway, and I was being pushed towards a private plane.

  I felt powerless, like I was watching a nightmare play out, only I was aware that this was all really happening to me. There was no chance of waking up safe in my bed. I knew that if I got onto that plane, my chances of escape drastically decreased. I had covered enough crime and abductions to know that much.

  “No, stop,” I said softly, my voice trying to escape from my throat. There was too much noise, no one heard me. Or more likely - no one cared.“Stop,” I said again, louder this time, dropping down onto the hard asphalt and refusing to move any further.

  The man who bought me looked down at my act of defiance with a patronizing, bored expression on his angular face. Without the mask, I had been able to get a better look at his face. Dark hair, slightly long and pushed back. His skin was light, clean shaven, high cheekbones and an angular jaw. Dressed in a suit he looked elegant, tall and towering over me, but his polished exterior was a deception - that much I was sure of. There was something in his eyes, in his body language, that terrified me.

  “Bring her along,” he instructed, walking past me towards the steps leading up into the aircraft.

  On command one of his bodyguards stepped forward, his bulky arms reaching down towards me. When I slapped him away, he laughed then easily yanked me to my feet as if I was a ragdoll. It pissed me off. I dug my nails into his forearm - hard enough to draw blood. He screamed, jumping back and dropping me. I guess he didn’t find that as funny.

  “Fucking bitch scratched me,” he snapped. The man who bought me looked down at the scene unfolding from atop the steps.

  “Are you telling me that you’re incapable of doing your job?” he scolded. “Bring her, whatever you need to do. Just try not to break my new toy.” He disappeared inside the waiting plane, leaving me alone on the ground surrounded by his goons. This was my last chance. If I went without a fight, I’d regret it for the rest of my life - however long that would be.

  I pushed myself to my legs and turned to run. I didn’t get far, I was grabbed by the hair and pulled back by the man I had just injured. I whipped around ready to bite, scratch, slap, defend myself by any means that I could. It didn’t help, before I could draw any more blood he landed a punch square in my abdomen.

  I felt the air leave my lungs in a powerful rush and I doubled over, my eyes watering. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak - I couldn’t do anything but feel an unbelievable pain radiating from my core, my vision dark around the edges. The man picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, then headed up the steps of the waiting plane. He dropped me onto a plush chair across from the man, I glared at him through tears, gasping while cradling my sides, hating him. Hating, but powerless to do anything about it. The tears fell and I hated him even more.

  “Fuck you,” I leaned forward and spat in his face, as soon as I had just enough stregnth.

  Calmly he took a handkerchief from the front pocket of his tailored black suit and wiped his face, watching me as he did it. Then before I could react, his arm darted forward and he slapped me across the face. “Stop making this harder than it has to be,” he snapped at me.

  I laughed, quietly at first, but then louder. I sounded deranged, maybe I was now. It was the kind of laugh that becomes impossible to contain, even though you know it’s an inappropriate time for it. The same laugh I couldn’t control during the auction. I placed my hands over my mouth, stifling it somewhat while he glared at me.


  “And may I ask what’s so funny?” he arched a thin eyebrow at me. Angles, everything about this man was angular. He wasn’t unattractive, but he absolutely looked evil. Some people wear it like a stain that you can see on them at a glance.

  “You are, this situation,” I said. “You can hit me, threaten me, it won’t matter. Until the moment you kill me, I’ll keep being a giant pain in your ass.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He reached into a bucket of ice at his side and poured a glass of champagne. He held it out to me, then paused, his hand mid-air. “A warning, Ella,” he said. “You have two choices at this moment, and it’s one of the rare times I’ll give you a choice, that is until you earn my trust.”

  “And that choice being?” I asked, arms crossed.

  “I’ve had a long day,” he sighed, pushing back his hair. “I would prefer a relaxing flight without your theatrics. So you can sit here with me, like two civilized people, and we can enjoy a drink. We can talk, get to know one another a bit better. Who knows, maybe you’ll find something about me you like - or that you can at least tolerate, for now.”

  “What’s my other option?” There was nothing about this man I could ever like.

  He lifted a long rectangular box from under his seat, smooth black metal. He opened the box and turned it to face me. Inside was a long, thin needle.

  “Your other option is I have my associates hold you down, and I shove this deep into your pretty little neck. I press down on the lever, releasing the chemical concoction that’s inside into your bloodstream, and you go to sleep for the duration of the flight.”

  He watched me for a reaction, holding both items in front of me; in one hand the glass of champagne, in the other was the needle. Even if I managed to get it from him, jam it into his leg and inject him, the door of the plane was closed. His guards were on board, watching me. What choice did I have?