ROTTEN APPLE
BENNETT DYNASTY
BOOK 1
Kate Allenton
Copyright © 2019 Kate Allenton
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Published by Coastal Escape Publishing
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
Chapter 1
I huddled on the bench outside the restaurant, pulling the holey trench coat tighter against my chest to combat the fifty-degree wind seeping into my filthy clothes. My ratted-up hair and dirty face made me unnoticeable to passing pedestrians. I looked homeless to an untrained eye. My gun lay nestled inside a broken cardboard box on my lap, my finger on the trigger.
The client’s brother, Richie Stewart, sat within easy view, near one of the restaurant windows. Intel suggested he was trying to hire a hit to take his brother out before the wedding. His feeble attempt to gain an empire and his brother’s girl at the same time. Greed would be his downfall.
“Hold your position, Bennett,” Donaldson’s voice filled her earpiece. His presence hidden from sight. He was the head of security for my client and a thorn in my side. He’d wanted to handle my client’s safety one way while I’d planned on another. Feelings always got hurt every time someone bigger than me thought they knew the right way to deal with the threats. This time was no different.
Richie Stewart slid a bulging manila envelope across the table to the hit man he was trying to hire.
“The package was delivered,” I whispered into the microphone taped inside the jacket. “It’s now or never.”
“Don’t move, Bennett. Wait until he’s clear of civilians.”
I didn’t listen. I never did. Standing, I placed my cardboard box on top of the old blankets inside the grocery cart and started pushing it across the street to where the hit man’s driver waited in an SUV in the alleyway next to the restaurant’s kitchen entrance.
“Bennett,” Donaldson growled.
I wasn’t going to let the target get away. If I did, my client would be dead.
“Relax, Donaldson; I’ve got this.” I pulled out my gun and hid it beneath the trench coat as I approached the SUV. I picked up the plastic jug that had a few quarters inside. The sign taped on the outside said, Will work for food. It was a nice last-minute touch.
I tapped on the driver’s side window and held up my jar.
The driver shook his head without another look.
I tapped again and knew my persistence would eventually pay off. I could be annoying like that.
The driver lowered his window. Big mistake.
“Beat it.”
“Please,” I begged as I tightened my hold on the gun.
“I said beat it, lady.”
As he turned to look away, I slammed the butt of my gun into the side of the driver’s head.
He slumped forward and was out like I would be after a night bingeing on ice cream and a season of my favorite TV show.
“They’ve completed the exchange,” Donaldson said happily into my ear. It was sad that the schmuck who’d ordered the hit would probably be out of jail in less time than it had taken for me to figure out what was going on. Being filthy rich had a way of making people turn a blind eye.
I opened the SUV’s door and yanked the driver from the seat, easing him onto the ground just as the restaurant door flew open. After crossing the street, the contract killer hopped inside the SUV.
I pointed my gun at him and grinned. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I can pay.”
“Sorry. I’ve already got a job,” I said, smirking. I pulled off the ratted wig and tossed it into the guy’s lap. His fingers flexed, and I cocked my trigger. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
He slowly lifted his hands as other security agents surrounded the car and yanked him out, cuffing him on the spot.
Donaldson pulled Richie out of the restaurant in cuffs.
He was screaming, with spit flying from his mouth. “He doesn’t deserve her. He stole her from me.”
“We have the hit exchange on tape. You won’t be ruining their wedding. I’ve made sure of it.” I smiled in the most annoying way possible, a cheesy grin that bordered on giving him the middle finger without so much as lifting my hand.
“You’re a dead woman,” Richie growled.
“And you’re going to jail,” a detective announced as he approached, carrying the envelope full of cash.
Donaldson handed off Richie and the hitman to another cop before turning his glare on me. “I told you to hold your position.”
I shrugged. “There are only two people I take orders from, and you didn’t make the cut.”
Donaldson crossed his arms over his chest. “My employer paid for your services.”
“And I’ve provided them. I’ve saved the wedding, the groom is still alive, and you’ve caught the threat. You’re welcome.”
I grabbed the gym bag holding my clothes from under the blankets in the grocery cart and walked away. I was good at that. I never got too attached to clients or their problems. I did my job and left. Some might call me cold and calculating. The truth was I wasn’t like most girls who thrived on drama. I hated it. Did that make me weird?
I glanced down at my watch and let a string of cuss words fly from my lips. I was going to be late.
I slid into my sports car and sped across town, fighting against the minutes. No way was I going to be the last one to show. Uh-uh. I knew those consequences, and it was never fun. I slammed on the brakes in front of Fairy Damn Godmother headquarters and ran inside, bypassing the elevators that took forever and using the emergency stairs instead.
I tossed my gym bag into my office, not bothering to change out of my ratty clothes. Jogging down the hall, I slowed as I approached the conference room. I was late for the weekly company meeting. Ms. Delany hate
d when her girls were late, and I knew better. Losing track of time was going to cost me…big.
Laughter erupted from behind the closed door. I took a second to calm my breath before I pushed the door open.
A man in a suit stood at the front of the room.
“You’re late, Gwen,” Ms. Delany announced.
“Sorry. It couldn’t be avoided.” I gave her a polite nod and moved to sit in one of the empty chairs in the back of the room. Fairy Damn Godmother went by many names, as did the girls who worked for it. We were ghosts when we needed to be. We were security when lives were threatened, and we, like cleaners, tried to rid the world of all its evil. James Bond was a spy, and we were the female version, only working on a less grand scale. We didn’t save the world from mass destruction; we protected our clients from any and all threats. And even then, they had to be vetted and deemed worthy before we took them on as clients. Each girl that FDG brought in under its wing earned the right to be there. Individually, all of us had our own unique talents and qualities that were used to get the jobs done. Mine was my ability to blend into any situation necessary—not only that but also my ability to think on my feet.
The man standing at the head of the table held my gaze.
“Please continue,” Ms. Delany prompted.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head while still holding my gaze. “Do you mind me asking what you were doing dressed like that?”
“I was stopping a hit from being ordered on a groom by his own brother, and I needed to blend in.”
“This is Gwen Bennett. Gwen is our resident chameleon. There isn’t a situation she can’t fit into. She’s played everyone from a royal heiress to a homeless bag lady. She’s fluent in seven languages, has a Ph.D. in psychology and a minor in criminal justice, and she’s a weapons expert.”
I should be mad that Delany was telling my life story to a potential client. I always only told them enough to get in to do my job, and get out. She was the boss.
He raised a brow and rubbed at his chin. “I’ll take her.”
“Wait. What?” I said, tilting my head. “What’s the job? I might not be the most qualified. You might want to choose someone else.”
The girls at the table gasped, each turning to look at me as if I’d grown an extra head.
“What?”
Rose came to my rescue and leaned in. “No one says no to Carter Pierce.”
“I thought you said she was smart,” Pierce said, crossing his arms over his chest.
I rose from my chair, bored with this meeting. I didn’t normally walk out, especially on a client, but I’d heard more than enough. I glanced at Ms. Delany. “Is he the only client on the roster?”
She nodded.
“Perfect, assign him someone else. I need a shower.” I clicked my tongue and pointed to the suit. “Tell your mechanics and design team great job on the X3, although there’s a problem with the timing belt. I’ve fixed mine, but you might want to mention it to your production line.”
I winked and walked out.
“She knows cars?” I heard him ask and grinned all the way back to my office, where I grabbed my gym bag and headed for the showers on the second floor. I had a full day’s grit and grime to wash away.
****
I grabbed a soul-warming coffee before heading back into my under-utilized office. The strawberry scent of my shampoo made me sigh contentedly. I had a month’s worth of unfinished work and reports to finish from my time out in the field. I turned the corner into my office to find Carter Pierce sitting in the plush visitor’s chair.
He rose, extending his manicured hand. “We weren’t formally introduced. I’m Carter Pierce.”
“I know,” I said, ignoring his outstretched hand and rounding the untidy oversized desk. I shrugged my gym bag off my shoulders and it landed with a thud onto the carpeted floor behind the desk. “Did you need help finding the exit?”
“I sense a bit of hostility in your voice.”
I grinned as I took my seat. Leaning back in my leather chair, I clasped my hands together. “You’re observant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“May I ask what I did to deserve your hostility?”
“You really want me to tell you?” I asked, leaning forward and holding his baby-blue gaze. He was a fine specimen. Beautiful and sexy by society standards. I didn’t usually go for sandy blonds, but I could see how many women might have fallen under his spell.
“I don’t make a habit of asking questions without wanting to know the truth.”
“When I walked into the conference room, I recognized your face, and it wasn’t from the tabloids. We’ve met.”
“I would have remembered,” he said.
“When I was eighteen, a friend of mine and I applied for a job at your father’s company. We met you in the elevator. You were arrogant.”
“You aren’t the first to say so.”
“Fair enough, but you told my friend and me that women didn’t belong on the production line.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I’m not that same punk kid.”
“She was an orphan looking for her first job. She was a young, eager woman, looking for stability in a rotten world. That job could have changed her life. One chance was all she needed, and you killed her spirit. I don’t work for spirit killers.”
“How did I kill her spirit? That wasn’t my father’s opinion or policy.”
“Maybe not, but it was evident that you’d assume the throne one day. You took away the promise of future job security.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” I really wasn’t, but Ms. Delany would frown on me being less than cordial to a potential client, even if I wasn’t going to take his case. “I couldn’t help if I wanted to. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to fill out. Ms. Delany hates it when we don’t turn in our reports.”
“What if I pay you a bonus?”
“I don’t want your money, Mr. Pierce.” I rose from my chair, crossed the room, and rested my hand on the doorknob, giving him a not-so-subtle hint that the meeting was over. I’d let the pieces fall where they might.
My cell phone broke the awkward silence. The muffled sound of the assigned ring tone made me pause. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I grabbed the cell as Carter walked out and answered. “Hey, Grams.”
“Oh, Gwennie…the…la…he...took…me.” Her incoherent slurred words and choked sobs washed dread down my spine.
Chapter 2
Blue and red flashing lights bounced off the retirement home’s concrete outer walls. The cop car in question hadn’t been in my rearview mirror, which was most often the case. This patrol vehicle haphazardly blocked the retirement building’s front door. Several times I’d seen lights like those on this building but normally from ambulances in a hurry to try and save a life. They never ended up being useful in a place like this when hours later a van from the morgue would show up to pick up the deceased. This facility promised to protect its residents from crime. The presence of the cop car told another story.
My mind raced as I jogged inside the building. When the frantic phone call had turned into wails, I dropped everything. When tears fell, that meant one thing. The apocalypse must be near.
The Bennett women weren’t criers. We were doers. When people needed help, like my Grams, we catapulted into action. Some might say we were heartless. It was a family trait. Emotions weren’t expressed, even if we felt them. Tears could mean only one thing… something terrible had happened. The flashing blue lights confirmed my grave suspicions.
I jogged down the sterile hallways, passing open doors and ignoring the geriatric smell. I slowed at the nurses’ station, signing in on the visitor form. Their smiling faces were grim today, not a single chipper person greeted me. Jerry, the janitor, normally smiles and has a joke ready to tell, yet the rhythmic sweep of his broom didn’t skip a beat. The fine lines of his frown deepened when he met my gaze. This wasn’t the Regent Towers
that I visited once a week. This was the twilight zone.
I rounded the corner into my grandmother’s room. She was lying on her bed with a washcloth draped over her eyebrows. Her green eyes were closed, and her face was red and blotchy. She looked beaten, as if she’d lost her heirloom diamonds in a round of poker. “Grams?”
“It’s gone, all of it,” she answered, removing the towel from her damp bluish-white permed hair. Grams pressed the rag against her forehead. Her frazzled hair and smeared mascara momentarily stunned me. The skewed appearance was more than unusual for the matriarch who wouldn’t walk to the mailbox without looking her best. Grams’ wrinkles were more profound now than when I’d visited her the day before.
“What’s gone?” I asked, glancing around the barren room as I closed the distance between us. I took her hand in mine. “Whatever it is, we can replace it.”
Grams squeezed my hand. Her strength had seemed to have vanished. Sheer panic riddled her tear-stained face. “He took all of our money. They’re going to kick us out if we can’t pay the bill. You have to do something.”
She wasn’t making any sense. I sat next to her on the bed. “You aren’t dying?”
“Heavens no.” Grams gave a dismissal wave of her hands like my question was preposterous. “What gave you that impression?”
“You were sobbing. I thought the world was ending.”
“Dear, didn’t you hear a word I said? He took our money. We’re all broke. We trusted him.” She moved the rag covering her face again. “How could I be such a fool?”
I poured Grams a glass of water and handed it to her. “Drink and tell me what happened. I’m a fixer, Grams. I can fix whatever this is.”
“He promised a return on our investment. He promised we’d get our money back in a week at triple the amount.”
“I never pegged you for gullible, Grams.”
“Bite your tongue. I checked his references. I’m not some naïve girl.”
“You’re right.” I sighed. Grams was as hard as they came. She didn’t trust easily, and in all of her life, she’d treated business with a keen eye. Whoever had duped her must have been better than good; he must have been exceptional. “Who was he?”
Rotten Apple (Bennett Dynasty Book 1) Page 1
