by Serena Lyons
Serena Lyons
Brutal Protector
Copyright © 2020 by Serena Lyons
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
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Contents
Please Note…
Prologue: Faith - Recap
1: Callum
2: Faith
3: Faith
4: Callum
5: Faith
6: Callum
35: Faith
36: Faith
37: Callum
38: Faith
39: Callum
40: Faith
41: Faith
42: Faith
43: Callum
44: Faith
45: Callum
46: Faith
47: Callum
48: Faith
49: Callum
50: Faith
51: Callum
52: Faith
53: Callum
54: Faith
55: Faith
56: Faith
Penultimate:
Epilogue: Faith
Please Note…
This book is written in British English. It is the sequel to Wicked Heartbreaker and is not a standalone.
THIS IS NOT THE FINAL VERSION. IT HAS NOT BEEN EDITED. EMAIL [email protected] if you receive this version of the book.
Prologue: Faith - Recap
I push my bedroom door shut behind me, so tired that I don’t notice the unfamiliar smell in my room until it’s too late. The scent of expensive cologne and cigar smoke makes my nerves stand on end just a half-second before a leather-gloved hand clamps over my mouth.
Adrenalin floods my body. I struggle as my attacker clamps down harder. I’m determined to get free. This is the same person who chased me earlier. The one who put me in the hospital the other week. I won’t be so lucky to escape alive this third time.
I jerk harder, determined to get free, but my attacker’s other arm grabs my body and pins me firmly against him. His hand is pressing so hard on my mouth that I’m sure my teeth are puncturing it. That doesn’t matter now, my lips could be torn into shreds for all I care, as long as I get out of here alive. I need to get free or raise the alarm. I twist and turn, using all my strength to try to break free.
“Faith, Faith, Faith,” a low voice sing-songs in my ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” The hand around my front loosens, seems to drop away.
My heart leaps. This is my chance. I’m just about to make another play for freedom when something cold and firm replaces the missing arm.
My breath catches and ice floods my veins as I look down. There is a knife pressing against my torso. A deadly sharp knife.
“As you can see, I came prepared this time.” My captor giggles and goosebumps erupt all over me. “Got to be a Boy Scout, you know.”
I freeze, my mind racing. How the hell am I going to get free? The door is shut, the whole staircase is asleep in the dead of the night, and he’ll knife me as soon as I try to wake anyone.
“That’s better. You need to learn that silence pays. If you hadn’t started shouting about Millie’s death on that stupid website, I wouldn’t need to be here now.”
I gasp without meaning to. This man—Millie’s killer, presumably—has linked the website to me? “I don’t—” I’m silenced by increased pressure from the blade against my belly.
“Shut up! Your makeover might have fooled some idiots, but I’m not stupid. What are the chances that feisty little Faith from Millie’s past starts Westforde at the precise moment all the rumours start up about Millie’s death here? Please.” He snaps, his knife pressing harder into my stomach every time he emphasises a point.
I don’t say anything. He sounds too angry to placate, and he’s right, there’s no use denying what I’m up to. I need to buy time. And I need to know who the hell he is.
“Quiet for once?” He sneers. “That’s a nice change, but I’m going to have to make sure you stay that way. Now don’t say a word, or I’ll slice you open.” He presses harder against my belly, enough that his knife cuts into my sports top and my legs begin to shake. He’s not messing around. “Clever girl,” he says as his grip on my mouth loosens.
I gulp in the fresh air, trying to calm myself, to think about how I’m going to escape, but before I latch on to anything sensible, he’s pressing something into my mouth.
“No—” I try to yell, but my voice is muffled by the soft fabric he’s silenced me with. My heart jolts and I start hyperventilating. I can’t breathe. He’s going to suffocate me. Did Millie feel like this? Was she this scared at the end? I feel sick.
“I said be quiet.” He presses the knife against me and this time I feel the edge press through my clothes to the swell of my belly. Then a sharp, stinging sensation like a bee has just bitten me.
He’s nicked my skin. I can smell my blood, feel a warm trickle down my belly. He’s not joking around.
“Oopsie daisy,” he laughs, sounding more pleased than upset. “I did tell you to be quiet.”
I turn to ice. He’s not playing; he wants to hurt me.
“Now move your hands behind your back.” He orders. There’s something so familiar about his voice, I’m sure he’s someone I know, but I’m too amped up to work out who he is. All I can hear is generic posh. All I know is he most definitely isn’t Callum. Not that I needed that proving to me anymore.
Fuck, why didn’t I stay at his house tonight? Why was I so stubborn that I insisted on coming back here? Tears sting my eyes. This is going to destroy Gran. My mam dying nearly killed her, there’s no way she’ll get through—
“I said behind your back!” My attacker’s voice is cold and cruel.
I whip my hands behind me and feel something thin fasten around them. Something plastic. Bile works up my throat as I realise what it is; wrist ties, just like Millie’s autopsy hinted at.
I try to gather all the air in my lungs, to scream as loud as the gag in my mouth will let me, but then he pushes me without warning. My heart jolts like I’m in a nightmare—which I guess I am—and my face snaps against my bed. I try to use my legs to struggle up, my arms useless, but he jumps on my back, pinning me to the bed. My cut stomach flares with pain as my wound splits further open, but it’s nothing compared to the fear in my mind. Are these my last few minutes alive?
Thank God I stepped out of that gate and kissed Callum. My thought surprises me, but it eases me too. At least that’s something good to hold on to right now.
My captor presses a knee into my back, bringing me back to my nightmare. “I knew you wouldn’t make this easy. Millie definitely got all the genes for cooperation.” He hisses.
His words make no sense. I try to turn over, but something sharp presses into my neck. Something finer than the knife. Cold liquid seeps into my neck, into my veins, and I start to understand what’s happening.
He’s drugged me.
; I’d bet my life that he drugged Millie too, but I’m not sure anyone would consider my life an interesting wager anymore. The poison that will kill me could already be floating through my veins. Hot tears blind my vision and drip on to my bedspread. I twist my head to the side, towards the window, trying to focus on anything other than my inevitable doom.
“We just need to wait five minutes.” My captor sing-songs above me. “Then you’ll be out for the count and I can get you out of here and somewhere less suspicious.” I can hear the pride in his voice, know that if I could see his face it would be smiling—I picture a horror movie-like grin of wickedness.
Less suspicious for what? My brain screams as I try to fight the drugs making me weaker and weaker. What have I done? Is this what happened to Millie? Did she feel as powerless as I do, and as vulnerable? Did she know what was happening to her too?
I want to move, to scream and thrash, but I can’t. I’m too tied up and my body doesn’t seem to want to follow my orders anymore. God knows what he injected into me.
I move my eyes back to the window. The moon is visible between a gap in the clouds, and it feels like a small victory. I can look at that, focus on it instead of him, I can choose my own exit. As I stare at the shining orb, the night seems to seep from the window into my brain.
Darker, darker, darker.
Clouding the edges of my view until my vision is a tiny slit in front of me.
“Say goodbye.” The cruel voice chuckles behind me.
And then I don’t see anything.
1: Callum
My legs are heavy like I’ve just finished the hardest training session my coach could ever dream up as I walk through the quiet streets to home. What the fuck was I thinking, kissing Faith?
She doesn’t deserve my kisses. She thought I was a murderer until two hours ago. Believed that I hurt Millie. That I hurt her and that I enjoyed it. The girl I thought could love me, actually thinks me capable of the most heinous evil.
“Idiot,” I mutter and kick an empty can, but it doesn’t do anything to quell the self-hate inside me.
Fuck, I need a distraction
I go to my back pocket to grab my mobile. Some music will stop this incessant regret. Something chill and relaxing, I’ll be home before the first track—The other half of my brain kicks in. There’s no familiar cool rectangle where it should be.
Heart-thumping, I pat down my other pocket, and the front of my jeans. Fuck, I don’t have my phone. Or my house keys. I stop walking and whip around, looking for the culprit. The streetlights cast an orange glow over the black tarmac, stone buildings and parked cars, but there’s no sign of anyone moving but me.
I check my Rolex. Four eleven am, even the clubbers are already home. I haven’t been pick-pocketed, I’ve just been an idiot. They’re in the jacket I stupidly gave to Faith to keep her warm.
Fuck. She never gave me my jacket back. She shrugged it off like she was going to, but then we started kissing and things like returning clothing became irrelevant as I pressed her against the wall. Felt her body melt under mine.
“Stop it.” I shake my head to force the memories of Faith kisses out of my mind. That’s never going to happen again, no matter how good it felt. She’s shown me what she thinks of me. We’re going to work together to figure out who really hurt Millie, and then I’m going to forget all about Faith bloody Davies.
I can’t forget about her right now though, I need to go and get my damn keys from her. If it was just my phone in the jacket, I’d leave it until tomorrow—it’s not like she’d be able to snoop given the face recognition—but I locked the house when we left and Nina sleeps like the dead. I could hammer down the door until the entire terrace woke up, but Nina would sleep on.
Faith should still be awake though, at least if I move quickly enough. I spin around and speed up to a jog, the exercise helping me ward off the cold November air. It’s only when I get to the gate to college that I remember; I don’t have my bloody keys to get in.
“Fuck.” This night needs to be over already.
I walk down the street to the porter’s lodge. Luckily every knows me, so it won’t be a problem getting a spare key. I know her room’s in the same staircase as Nina, on the top floor, so it should be simple once I’m on college grounds.
“Mr Carter-Wright,” the middle-aged receptionist smiles at me. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised it’s one of your lot again.” He raises an eyebrow like he’s in on some sort of secret.
I’m too tired to bother working out what he means. “Can I grab one of the spare keys? I left my keys in…” I pause. “My sister’s room in the first-year quad.”
“Hmm, hanging out with your sister until four am, you must think I was born yesterday.” The receptionist says archly, but he’s standing up to the board of keys above his head, so I don’t really care what he thinks. “Here you go, bring them back before you head home for the night.”
“Of course.” I nod, snatching the keys from him and running back into the street at a jog.
The road is silent, a mist of fog starting to blur my view of it, and I shiver despite myself. I just want to be home and in bed, damn my stupidity for lending Faith my jacket.
I glance up to the top floor of the building as I let myself into the quad. There’s a light on up there, that should be Faith’s room, I doubt anyone else is awake right now. I race across the quad, then sprint up the stairs, taking two at a time. The staircase is in darkness, so I swot at a light switch on the first landing, but the flights don’t come on. Of course, there’s a dead lightbulb, it’s just that kind of night.
The upper floor room with the light on was on the East side of the building, so I turn that way when I reach the top of the stairs. There are two doors right next to each other—apparently these used to be the servant’s quarters when the building was first built three hundred years ago—Faith and a neighbour who should know better than to complain if I wake them up in the middle of the night. I knock on them both, taking out some of my frustration on the door.
The door on the right isn’t locked properly though, it must have just been ajar. My knock is enough to nudge it open, showing it’s lit up. Bingo, it must be Faith’s room.
I push the door—not too hard, she could be getting undressed and I don’t want to open that can of worms—and it gradually swings open.
“You bastard.” The yell escapes my throat before I even fully understand what I’m seeing. A figure decked out in black—gloves, hat, a shapeless coat that hides their form—bending over a blindfolded and unmoving body on the bed.
Not a body; Faith. Fury makes me move across the room as the figure turns to face me. It’s obvious from his shoulders that it’s a man, but I can’t tell who it is. He’s wearing a balaclava, but the menacing impression is diminished by his nervous jerk as he realizes he’s not alone to do whatever evil he was planning to do to Faith.
“You make me sick.” I yell as I barrel towards him, my fist connecting with the side of his face. I ball my hand again as I hear him grunt in pain. I’m going to smash this bastard up until he can’t breathe. No one hurts Faith.
I hit him again, hard enough that he falls to the floor with a thud. With any luck, I’ve knocked the bastard clean out. I rush to the head of the bed, I need to check Faith’s okay. She hasn’t moved or made a sound since I got into the room. She’s still wearing my jacket and her running leggings; he must have been lying in wait for her. Why the fuck didn’t I insist she stay at mine? Or at least escort her up to her room? If he’s hurt her, I’ll never forgive myself. It’ll be like Millie all over again.
I lean into her, she looks all floppy and her eyes are closed, but now I’m closer I can see the gentle rhythm of her chest as she breathes. Thank fuck, I’m not too late—
“Fuck.” I yell as the masked man kicks angrily at my legs. I snap my attention away from Faith. He’s shuffling back away from me on all fours, leaning over towards a backpack.
Idiot. He should have ru
n while he had the chance. I lunge for him as his hand disappears into the bag. The glint of long, sharp metal he pulls out is enough to stop me reaching down to punch him again. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
“Don’t take another step,” he says, breathing heavily, waving a carving knife through the air and righting himself on to his haunches. “That bit of trash isn’t worth getting knifed for.”
“You’re the only trash in this room.” I say as I step back, positioning myself in the best place to stop him lunging for Faith.
“I guess I shouldn’t expect the son of Britain’s biggest philanderer to understand class.” The knifeman sneers, sounding like every stuck-up member of the aristocracy I’ve ever played rugby against. I’ve heard this insult too many times for it to even register.
“I don’t need lessons in class from a psychopath.” I snap, before realizing that insulting the man with the weapon mightn’t be the smartest idea.
“You little—” He jumps up, and starts to move towards me, the knife glimmering seductively in the lamplight.
It’s like time slows, the knife is almost seductive in its power. It could kill me.
Or Faith.
My breath catches in my throat and I step nearer to her and closer to the blade. My body is the only shield I can use to protect her if he tries to move closer.
Even though the knifeman is better equipped—a deadly weapon against my bare arms—I see his eyes flicker in confusion as I move closer to him. He clearly expected me to cower at the sight of his blade, but I haven’t spent ten years honing my body to withstand even the most brutal tackle on a rugby pitch just to hide the moment I need to fight in real life.
He stops moving and laughs a high-pitched kind of cackle. “You’d get hurt for her? That pussy really must be something.” He sneers.
“Shut the fuck up.” I yell, forgetting he’s the one with the weapon. “You—” I stop speaking as a light rap on the door startles me.
