His to Protect (The Guard Book 3)

by Em Petrova

  She knew from her daddy that drunks were mean, and she couldn’t risk him waking, so she tiptoed past the room. The low ceilings and tight walls of the hallway pressed down on her from all angles, leaving her sweaty and anxious.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d experienced a spike in adrenaline. She felt plenty of them from various roles in action movies. While she didn’t perform all her own stunts, she did as much as she was capable of, pushing herself further each time. On numerous occasions, she found herself in the tight spots that made her feel this jump in her internal panic meter. But she knew what to do.

  She sucked in a slow, deep breath and carefully released it. She hurried past a doorway. The bathroom reeked of piss and worse, and she held her breath on the way. By her count, she had a few more minutes where the dogs were silenced, which meant no time to spare. She had to find this girl—fast.

  Heart tripping faster, she peeked around the next doorway. There on the bare mattress in the middle of the room sat a young girl, knees to her chest, hair dirty and lank around her bleak features.

  She looked up and spotted Sloane, mouth open on a scream, but Sloane rushed in, fingers to her lips to indicate she needed to remain silent. The girl clamped her jaw shut and stared at her, eyes wide.

  Sloane waved to her to come with her.

  For a horrifying heartbeat, she didn’t know if the girl would move. She sat there, frozen, as if chained to the bed. But she isn’t, Sloane reminded herself. Only her mind is chained here.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” she whispered to the girl, who Sloane knew from her research, had just topped fifteen years old. She’d spent her birthday in this hovel, serving that sick fuck in the other room who’d purchased her off an even worse man, at least in Sloane’s opinion.

  Frantic that they’d be discovered, that the dogs would kick up a fuss, that the bastard who’d married this underage baby girl would wake, Sloane waved again. “Hurry!” she mouthed.

  The girl slowly unfolded her legs from her chest and slipped off the bed. When Sloane spotted the sores on her legs that looked suspiciously like cigarette burns, her stomach twisted.

  No more.

  She moved forward, grabbed the girl by the hand, and took off with her in tow. She dug in her heels a little as they reached the end of the hall, but Sloane continued to pull her on. They reached the door, and the girl wrenched her hand from Sloane’s grasp.

  Spinning to face her, Sloane looked into her fear-filled eyes. “I’m going to take you someplace safe. But we have to go now.”

  The boundaries this man had placed on the adolescent sickened her. She’d seen it before, in the five other girls she’d managed to free from such circumstances.

  She registered a low growl emitting from the yard. Anxiety pulsing to the surface, she realized she had to leave this place, with or without the girl.

  Molly Bains. High school student and cheerleader. At least she had been before her own sick family member had sold her to the likes of John Flint, who’d then married her off to the highest bidder.

  Holding out her palm to Molly, she allowed her to make the choice. Go or stay.

  When she placed her warm hand in Sloane’s, relief surged through her. She opened the door and they slipped out. The dogs stood at attention and then lay down in the too-high grass, stomachs full from Sloane’s offering.

  Setting a determined pace, Sloane took off walking, past the dogs, out of the yard and to the lane. The girl came with her, silent and as biddable as a child.

  Which she fucking is.

  Goddammit, these girls didn’t deserve this life, and Sloane wouldn’t stop until she took John Flint and all his cronies down, one by one. And she wouldn’t stop until she found her own sister, who’d been missing the past four years.

  They reached Sloane’s car, and she motioned for the girl to get inside. She hesitated only a second before jumping into the passenger seat. Sloane leaped behind the wheel and reversed out of the lane and onto the road. The crunch of tires on gravel set her teeth on edge, and she reminded herself that they were close to getting away with it.

  She slammed the car into drive and stomped the gas. The girl gripped on to the dash while they sped down the road. Dust kicked up around the vehicle, but luckily the high beams cut through the worst of it. Sloane reached the highway and punched the gas, determined to put miles between them and that fucker who abused this poor young woman.

  She threw Molly a look. “You okay?”

  Hair in her eyes, she nodded.

  “There’s a small cooler bag with drinks and snacks on the floor at your feet. You should have something.” A glance over her revealed what she’d seen in other girls she freed—they were either starved or couldn’t hold anything down due to their high levels of fear.

  Slowly, the girl reached between her legs and pulled the bag into her lap. She unzipped it and withdrew a soda and candy bar.

  “I’ll stop and get you something better to eat as soon as I can.”

  “I-I’m…not going back?” Molly’s voice came out faint.

  “No. You’re never going back to that…” She broke off, battling the lump choking off her words. Each time she freed a girl, she hoped the next would be her sister. Scarlett had vanished from Sloane’s life, but she didn’t forget the sisterly bond they shared, and she would be damned if she’d let that go without a fight.

  She used all her money and influence to find Scarlett. So far, she’d only located other girls like Molly.

  “Where are we going?” Molly asked.

  Sloane shot her a soft look. “Somewhere safe where you’ll be cared for and protected.”

  “You…” She paused.

  Sloane gave her an encouraging smile to continue.

  “You’re that actress, aren’t you? Sloane Sailor. I heard you grew up in Georgia.”

  She nodded. “I did. Not far from here.” She gazed at the road again, northbound out of asshole country and as far from John Flint’s reach as she could possible take Molly.

  “Why would a person like you help me? Shouldn’t you be filming a movie or something?”

  “This is between us, okay? You can’t tell anyone that I saved you from that…terrible man.”

  Molly sniffled and buried her face in her hand, the soda still gripped in her other. Sloane’s heart tugged, and she reached out to rest a hand on her arm.

  “It’s going to be all right, Molly. You’re safe now. And in time, you’ll be all right. I promise.”

  She drove for another hour before coming to a rest stop. After she went inside to buy the girl a couple slices of convenience store pizza and some other goodies, Sloane returned to the car and passed the bag to her.

  “Thank you,” Molly said quietly.

  She turned to the girl. She had to ask. Before they went further, she had to know.

  “Molly, can I ask you something?”

  Fear lit in her blue eyes, but she nodded.

  Sloane reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a photo of Scarlett as she’d last seen her at age thirteen. As she held it out to Molly, she could hardly look at her sister’s smiling face in the image.

  “Have you ever seen this girl?”

  Molly’s eyes wandered over the photo and returned to Sloane’s face. They bore the same coloring of dark auburn hair and deep brown eyes. Their mother’s coloring, and something Sloane cursed every day she looked into the mirror and saw her mother staring back at her. She’d never forgive the woman for taking off on them and leaving them in the care of a father who only had greed on the brain, and who finally sold off his younger daughter to buy, of all things, a new trailer to use as his hunting camp.

  None of this was public knowledge, of course. Sloane had paid a lot of money to keep her past under wraps, and luckily, her modeling, and then movies, had erased all cares about her family. The interest stories were focused on her makeup, hair, style…and on her controversial role of late.

  As she waited for Molly’s repl
y, she fought her nausea. “Have you seen her? Her name is Scarlett.” It took her two tries to force the name past her lips.

  Molly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen her or heard that name.”

  Hopes falling, Sloane tucked the photo away again and started the car. They drove on into the morning hours. When they arrived at a large brick building, Molly dug her fingers into the dashboard again.

  “This is a hospital,” she said.

  “Not exactly. It’s a mental care facility. Molly, you’re going to stay here and be well taken care of. They’ll help you begin on your healing journey, and then I’ll help you find a place for yourself in this world where you’re safe and watched over, far away from harm.”

  Panic crossed her face. “Not with my family.”

  “No.” She gulped down the hate that coincided with the betrayal of one’s family, which Sloane knew well. “Not with your family.” She touched Molly’s hand. “Are you ready to go inside?”

  She nodded, a tear rolling down her face. “You’re an angel, Miss Sailor. I’ll never be able to thank you for saving me from my…from that…”

  Knowing Molly couldn’t get the words out, she patted her arm. “No thanks are needed. I did it for you, because you’re worth it.”

  After she ensured Molly was settled and signed some paperwork to pay for the girl’s care and stay, she drove to Atlanta. Just seeing her lavish high-rise apartment building gave Sloane a feeling of relief. Exhaustion settled over her, and she couldn’t wait to find her big, comfy bed and sleep.

  For once, she didn’t see paparazzi lingering around the entrance, as usual. They must not have gotten wind that she was in town—yet. In her experience, they crawled out of the woodwork when you least expected them.

  As soon as the door guard greeted her in his usual jovial manner and admitted her to the building, her cellphone rang. Alone, she stepped into the elevator and fished the phone out of her Gucci purse.

  “Angela, I’m tired. Is this important?” Sloane pushed her floor’s button and leaned against the elevator wall.

  Her agent’s voice projected into her ear, high-pitched and filled with the fear that had Sloane’s adrenaline peaking all over again.

  “Pack a bag, Sloane. I have a car coming for you.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a threat against your life.”

  Sloane’s heart slammed, and her mind shot to John Flint and then the man who forced Molly into marriage.

  “A threat? Why? From who?”

  “The movie, Sloane. It hit too close to home, and all the workers walked off a rig in the Gulf of Mexico. You set the world on fire with that movie, and now someone wants you to suffer for it.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  What the hell was going on? She fought her rising panic. “It’s just a movie. I’m only an actor who read from the script.”

  “We all know that, but these people are making you their ringleader. And the owner of the rig is taking it personal.”

  “So he wants me…dead for it?”

  “God, Sloane. I don’t even know what to say to you. It’s insane. Everything is going haywire. All we know for certain is there’s a threat against you, and we need to get you into hiding—now. Pack a bag. The car will be there in twenty minutes. Don’t open your door to anyone but a man by the name of North.”

  Her heart trilled, leaving her weak enough that when the elevator stopped, she could hardly wobble onto her private floor and into her suite. Just inside, she sat down hard in a chair and stared at her surroundings. This couldn’t be real. While she was off on her own pursuits, how could things have become so twisted, all from a movie?

  After the night she just had, how could anything be worse?

  She knew this country better than anyone. She could disappear, take off into the back woods of Georgia and wait—

  She cut off that thought. Running deeper into the South would also put her within Flint’s reach again. She couldn’t afford for that to happen, especially since she’d pulled six women out from under his nose. He already wanted her dead—or worse.

  “Are you there, Sloane? Are you listening?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I heard you. Pack a bag.” She ended the call with her agent and blinked in shock. What choice did she have but to wait for this man, North, to come and rescue her?

  Chapter Two

  North slammed to a stop in front of the high-rise and gazed up at the top floor where he knew the actor’s apartment was located. Then in one glance, he took in all the obstacles of getting a celebrity out of the place.

  However, first, he had to get in, which would involve slipping past the paparazzi hanging out in the bushes as well as a couple bodyguards he could only guess belonged to Sloane Sailor, and lastly, he would need to get past building security.

  Drawing a deep breath, he prepared himself for an argument.

  He climbed from the sportscar. Automatically, he reached underneath his jacket to touch the concealed weapon along his spine. He was prepared for anything, and even if Oz and Madeline didn’t believe in his abilities, his own confidence bypassed that.

  As he strode to the front, he stared down the men guarding the entrance. One look and he assessed the level of security this cheap crew provided. They consisted of a single doorman who sported a nice uniform that didn’t fool North as to his abilities, and a motley crew of men who called themselves bodyguards, but who looked like pups against the wolves making up The Guard.

  North swept a glare at the men closing in around him. “I’m here to move the ward.”

  One man straightened. “We need to see some proof. We can’t allow just anybody to go in there.”

  Impressed he’d even asked, North pulled out his phone and showed him the directive. The guy read it and then stepped aside, allowing him room to pass, and the man held the door for him.

  North entered the main lobby and headed straight for the elevator. On the ride up, he thought of how he’d greet his ward. Usually he stuck with “come with me” or “I’m taking you to safety.” But for some reason, he thought this particular ward might be more of the sensitive type. He could deal with women who cried—he did it all the time in this business—but he didn’t want to see Sloane Sailor cry.

  The elevator stopped, and he stepped out on the top floor to face a pair of pale cream doors with topiaries flanking them. He stepped up and knocked once.

  The door cracked immediately, and a pair of dark eyes met his.

  Putting a hand on the wood, he pushed it gently inward, forcing his new ward to step back. He glanced around to make sure she was alone before settling his stare on her. “First rule is never open a door to anyone.”

  She blinked but said nothing. Hell, he stared at the top of her head. She was smaller than she looked on the big screen, but he supposed camera angles helped boost her presence.

  Hollows stood out beneath her eyes, as if she’d been out partying all night long, and she looked pale, but he could handle anything, even if he had to toss her over his shoulder after she fainted.

  He noted her duffel bag on the floor. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  She blanched even more, and he reached out to steady her in the event she collapsed. However, she only bent to retrieve her bag and slung the long strap over her shoulder. “You’re North?”

  “A little late to be asking for my ID, isn’t it? Rule number one is—”

  “Don’t open the door to anyone. I get it—I’m a quick study,” she cut across him.

  A lock of hair with hints of auburn fell across her eye, and she brushed it away. He was shocked to see she wore no fancy rings and her clothing consisted of jeans that looked like she stole them from her boyfriend and a boxy white T-shirt which swallowed the figure he saw in the movies. But she clearly was a woman, and the minute they stepped out the front door, her photo would be snapped a dozen times.

  H
e gave her a once-over. “Before we go, we’ve got a problem.”

  Her perfect brow crinkled. “What is it?”

  “I need to get you past the paparazzi outside the building.”

  “Oh crap.”

  He reached into his inside coat jacket. When he withdrew the short spiky black wig, she jumped.

  “What’s that?” she burst out.

  He un-balled the wig. “Can you put this on?”

  “On my head?” Her eyes widened.

  He nodded, but he glanced at her thick mass of long hair. “It’s going to be difficult to get all your hair in here, but a hat’s no good. They’ll see right through that disguise. Do you have pantyhose?”

  She gaped at him as though he was a pervert out to sniff the crotch of them. “Why?”

  “To stuff over your hair and hold it down enough to fit the wig.”

  She eyed him. “I have pantyhose, but isn’t it easier to go out the back door?”

  “They’re expecting a famous person to sneak out the back. My bet is there are double the cameras waiting there. Our best chance is to leave by the front, and you’ll be hiding in plain sight. Let’s get the pantyhose.”

  She reluctantly set her bag and purse down on the floor and moved through the apartment. North trailed her, automatically positioning his body to guard her from any harm. The windows up here were high enough that the only thing gunning for them would be a high-flying bird, though he still threw a look at the tall expanses of glass as they passed.

  At the entrance of her bedroom, he drew up at the scent of wildflowers. In shades of pale pink, white and gold, it definitely reflected the suite of a diva, but he didn’t see any of the flowers he smelled.

  Lining the top of her long white dresser stood several jars and bottles, and he guessed the alluring scent stemmed from those. As Sloane opened a drawer, she tossed him a look over her shoulder and then turned and slowly tugged a pair of hose from the depths.

  Damn if his gut didn’t clench. What the fuck? The sight of pantyhose sure as hell didn’t thrill a man like him, unless he planned to tie a woman up with them, and he’d never thought of it. Until now.