MY PROTECTOR: The Valves MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  My insides warmed, melting all the negative energy from the previous night. “I suppose I could spare a minute to make some breakfast,” I offered, checking my watch.

  Tummies full, we carefully snuck out and stopped by my house fifteen minutes later. I needed my bag and all the papers for today. As I fumbled in my purse for the house keys, one of my neighbors passed with her tiny dog. I nodded a silent good morning, but she turned away, nose in the air, like she wouldn’t acknowledge someone like me. Blood rushed to my face, and I wanted the ground to swallow me. All I could do was run into my living room, grab what I needed hurriedly, and get back to the car to drive off.

  The humiliation of being so blatantly dismissed didn’t lessen on the way to work. It hadn’t even cooled as I stepped out of the car. I took Ginger’s hand and walked toward the school, my eyes fixed on the ground. I could barely reply to kids and colleagues greeting me.

  I dropped Ginger at the classroom and went for coffee, hoping it would bring me some strength. But my luck failed as I ran into Miss White, the school nurse, who was also the principal’s unofficial right hand. “So, are teachers at this school performing babysitter duties now, too?” she asked in an uppity, chain-smoker rasp.

  I blinked at the plump woman, struck by her over rudeness. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  She shrugged. “Oh, well, a person has to do what’s necessary in this tough economy, I guess. How much does Mr. Holt pay you?” Her tone insinuated something else entirely, and humiliation washed over me anew. She smirked. “Don’t worry, hon. You can tell me. I don’t need to steal your side job.”

  Now, the blatant innuendo pissed me off. “What are you saying? Are you insinuating that I’m sleeping with Ginger’s father for money? Prostituting myself?”

  She hissed sharply, not expecting me to voice the matter. “Oh, that’s preposterous. How could you even accuse…” she started, playing the victim.

  I cut her off. “What I do in my free time is none of your business, and it’s especially not your place to imply something so degrading. From a woman of your position, I would’ve expected better,” I threw at her venomously. I left without any coffee.

  During the morning’s first lessons, I could hardly concentrate on anything around me. I felt more and more drained, like something sucked my energy or a faulty wire shorted the circuit inside me. I fought through until recess, and I was startled as I sat at my desk by the door opening hastily, the principal sticking his head in. “Oh, I thought there was a teacher in here,” he said, shaking his head and leaving as fast as he came.

  I stared at the closed door, gaping, my brain incapable of processing the incident. Then it hit me.

  Tears burned my eyes, and I blinked to stop them as I stood, almost wobbling to the door. The frustration rising inside caused physical pain, and I I knew I couldn’t battle it long. I looked around to see if he was still watching me, but I focused too hard on not crying, causing my vision to blur. I almost bumped into some of the older kids as I ran the last few feet to the restrooms. I locked myself in a stall and let the onslaught begin, crying my sockets out.

  The tears fell on the dirty floor, an unsuccessful attempt at washing away my mortification and hopelessness. My job, the pleasure I took in it, had been tarnished in the most painful way. With one remark, the principal had marginalized me as less than a teacher in his eyes. I fumbled with the tissue paper so harshly it turned to paper snow around my feet.

  It took several minutes to settle down, and I looked around to clear my head and get presentable. I stepped out of the stall and moved to the sink. As I looked up and saw myself in the mirror, I cringed. My fair complexion was blotched with ugly red, my lips inflamed, eyes congested and swollen, and my ponytail had slipped low. I suddenly felt the need to wail, to break the glass and destroy the miserable image.

  I would’ve given in if someone hadn’t entered the restroom. I hid my face, taking advantage of the person’s rush to a stall. I quickly cleared my face and retied my hair, they best I could manage under the circumstances. I cursed myself for not bringing my purse with me.

  Before any other teachers could see me, I slipped out and back to class. I checked my watch and realized I was cutting it dangerously close to being late. I managed the rest of the day better, feeling somehow emptied after crying. I dropped Ginger off at her house and then turned back to mine.

  My neighbor across the street pulled in her driveway after shopping. I liked the old lady, always quiet and rarely getting any visitors other than her dentist son. I often imagined her as the grandma of fairytales.

  I smiled as I approached. “Hi, Ms. Randall! Let me take those bags for you.” I strode up her driveway.

  She raised her eyebrows and shattered the fairytale. “No, thank you, Miss Bennett. They aren’t heavy. And I’m a few paces from the doorstep.”

  Her tone wasn’t harsh, but I felt the bite as she emphasized my marital status, and I flushed, stepping back. “Okay, Ms. Randall. Have a nice day,” I mumbled, tears ready to flood over the dam again.

  It stung. Everyone and everything turned against me. I hurried into my house, opening the gates for my tears as I slammed the door. The weight of my despair was too much, and I slid to the floor, helpless.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  By the end of the week, I decided to take Ginger for the weekend. Maybe a cooling off period would do Dawson and me some good. I prepared the trash for collection, not wanting to deal with it while I had Ginger, and the doorbell rang. I frowned. Who could that be on a Friday evening? I went and opened the door, finding myself up to my nose in a bouquet of white lilies. I backed away, a bit shocked.

  The flowers moved, and I saw Dawson sporting the handsomest smile above the crispest dress shirt and pants. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Why are you ringing the bell?” I asked, making room for him to pass.

  “I thought I’d be a gentleman tonight,” he said solemnly, handing me the flowers. I took the bouquet, and he bowed. I laughed as he added, “Not that I’m anything else most of the time. But I thought we should do something special.”

  “Oh? I’m intrigued, Mr. Holt.”

  I walked into the kitchen with him at my heels, and I arranged the flowers in a vase. He cleared his throat. “I made reservations at a nice Italian place. I think you’ll like it.”

  “What if I had plans tonight?” I asked, my back still to him.

  Met with silence, I turned to find a sheepish look on his face. “Do you?” he mumbled, eyes cast down. The news would have hit him hard, and I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. His concerned expression amused me more. “What?” he finally dared to ask. “Did I do something funny?”

  I shook my head, unable to catch my breath. “No, baby. I don’t have any plans. I wanted to bring Ginger over, but that’s tomorrow.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded, and his expression relaxed. This man would be my undoing, I just knew it. “Speaking of which, what is she doing while we’re on a date?”

  “Ginger? Uh, she’s at a friend’s house. Sleep over.”

  “Oh. We could have taken her, but if you approved, I suppose it’s all right.” But I was concerned that he’d made other plans for her to plan a night out.

  “It is, trust me. I’m not that irresponsible,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. He knew what I was thinking every time, and I feared I was becoming too obvious.

  He discreetly smelled of cologne, and it enveloped me, blending with his own scent. I leaned into his chest, and my arms found their way around his back. We stayed like that for a few minutes before he finally pushed me back and suggested I get ready before we lost our reservation. I shook my head, smiling at his attempted diplomacy. He looked confused as I left with no explanation.

  When I came back, his jaw dropped, and I felt better than I had in a long time. I wore a classic little black dress with three-quarter sleeves and a medium neckline, paired with black peep-toe heels. I clipped my hair tightly
at the back. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to bring his eyes up to mine. My legs seemed to be his distraction, and he remained in stunned silence as I laughed. God, I hadn’t been this giddy in weeks!

  I raised my arms in question. “So, are we going or what?”

  It brought him back to earth. “What? Oh, yes, we need to leave.”

  He waited while I checked my purse and then helped me into the knee-length gray wool coat I wanted to wear before holding the door for me. Not that he didn’t usually do these things, but tonight seemed truly special. He asked for the keys and locked the house, then took my hand as we walked toward a black Bentley parked in my driveway. I stared, stunned.

  “I got it for tonight. I’m not much of a car guy, you know, but you deserve the best,” he clarified at my puzzlement. I laughed, incredulous. “What?”

  I shrugged. “I did wonder if you planned on taking us on your bike.”

  Chuckling, he opened the passenger door for me, tucked me in and closed it, and then he jogged to the driver’s side to start the car. The engine purred, and I felt luxurious, like a princess. We smiled at each other as he drove off.

  His hand rested on my thigh the entire ride, and I noted the struggle in his face as he tried to remain chaste. Luckily, it was a short drive, and I was pleasantly surprised to find the new joint was just a few blocks away.

  I joked, “This place better be extraordinary, if we’re staying in the neighborhood.” But I was already impressed by the high-end atmosphere at the establishment.

  A valet took our car, and we walked hand in hand to the ornate double doors. The young hostess looked up and, hearing his name, hurried us to our table. She seated us by the window, facing each other, and I couldn’t help but stare at the expensive champagne on ice, right next to the delicate centerpiece. He wouldn’t…

  An uneasy suspicion rose and would have tormented me throughout the evening if Dawson hadn’t worked so hard at being a perfect date. He pulled out my chair, ordered for me – but not over me – and poured my drinks. I was thoroughly impressed.

  “So, what was so funny?” he finally asked.

  “What?”

  “Exactly!” he cried, pointing at me. We laughed, and my cheeks hurt from the joy written over my face all evening. “Seriously, though, when I told you about the date. Why did you laugh?”

  “Oh, poor baby! Have you been thinking about that the whole time?” He looked especially pouty as I giggled and answered, “Your face.”

  He looked confused. “Really? How?”

  I shrugged. “You looked funny. Like a little boy who’d had a play date cancelled, toeing the ground at the thought of me having other engagements. You have to admit, though, your presentation of the surprise was a bit cocky.”

  “Was it?” He seemed serious, and I lost my smile. I started to tell him I didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t hold back a smirk. “Gotcha!” He reached for his glass, and my confusion dissipated fast enough that I threatened to splash my drink in his face.

  The evening went beautifully, and we had a wonderful meal. I was admittedly surprised at his classy taste, and I told him so. Feigning offense, he asked, “What, because I’m a biker, I must be some sort of urban brute?”

  I settled in the car and waited for him to get in before replying, “No, baby. You just don’t seem to go out much, so I didn’t think you were into the whole dinner date thing. I’m glad you proved me wrong.”

  He leaned in for a kiss. “It’s all right. I was joking. How would you like to see the city from a Bentley?”

  I nodded, and we spent a couple of hours perusing the streets as I cuddled comfortably into the warm seat and he watched me with desire in his eyes. His hungry gaze warmed me, and I didn’t have to look at him to grow eager. I suggested we head home, and he took me to his place.

  Inside, he pushed me against the wall and kissed me until lack of oxygen left me lightheaded. I pulled back for a breath, then sought his lips again. His hands were on my thighs, lifting my dress and kneading my flesh with strong fingers. I loved how he squeezed my ass, almost lifting me off my feet.

  I fumbled with his buttons until the only barrier between us was his undershirt. He took his tie off and lost the shirt. Slamming against me once more, he caught my inflamed lips but cut it short as his landline rang.

  “Who still has a landline?” I grumbled to myself as he went to answer.

  “Hi, Mom,” I heard him say, especially loud.

  I wondered why he felt the need to indicate who called as an answer to my question as the conversation ensued at a volume I could no longer hear. I thought of following him, but listening in wasn’t polite, so I stayed in the living room.

  I took in the room and noted for the first time how organized he was. Everything was neatly placed in a simple design, giving the entire room an illusion of greater space. I liked him more and more, feeling he was made for me. The last few weeks almost disappeared in a fog of daydreams.

  Looking out the window, I saw it had started to rain, and I wondered if Ginger was all right at her friend’s. I hoped they didn’t sleep in a treehouse or tent. Crazy concern, but I worried. My thoughts were interrupted as the front door opened. I jumped, seeing a man enter, bringing the violent rain with him, and I realized suddenly my dress was still in disarray. One look at the stranger, and I remembered him as the man Dawson had words with some time ago. I shivered and got a terrible feeling this wouldn’t end well.

  Still puzzled by his presence, I noted I hadn’t heard a motorcycle arriving. I glanced at the door and saw he’d come by car, the black sedan parked right on Dawson’s lawn. I didn’t see anyone else inside. My eyes fell back on the man. He sported a dirty smile that promised nothing good for its target, and I cowered.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” he asked, walking toward me. He left the door open, and the loud rain must’ve covered his voice because Dawson continued talking to his mother.

  I backed up and hit the wall, still trying to make the connection between the danger I sensed and the man before me.

  “A present. And she’s even quiet. Good find, Dawson, good find,” he went on, just inches from me now. He drew a hand up my thigh, and I bolted to one side. I found my path blocked by furniture in Dawson’s direction and had to run the other way. “Now, now, jumpy, let me have a taste, would you…”

  His menacing glare and leering grin turned my stomach, tying it in knots. I moved for the door, but he caught me by the waist and pinned me, face to the wall. I struggled against his weight to no avail, and I tried to scream, but my dry throat failed, mute with my shock.

  Only a whimper escaped, and he laughed at my attempt, whispering, “Just the way I like my women, putting up a fight.”

  I felt his erection pushing against my back, and I broke into a cold sweat. Disgust and fear pumped my adrenaline, and I finally screamed for Dawson. “Help! Please!” I managed before he jerked me back and covered my mouth and nose. I panicked, couldn’t breathe, and I writhed against him.

  “What the…” I heard the man say before letting me go.

  I ran to the door and stopped. Turning, I saw Dawson and the man facing each other in the living room, both poised for a violent confrontation. I’d never seen Dawson this way, pure rage burning in his eyes. Terrifying.

  “Don’t touch my woman, Neil. I’ll kill you, and nobody will know you ever existed. I’ll. Wipe. You. Out.” The last words came through clenched teeth, and I saw fear in the other man’s eyes. He looked at me, then at Dawson, like he wanted to assure what he heard was real.

  He scoffed. “You can’t do that, man,” he tried.

  “Watch me!” Dawson barked, and the man shrunk against the wall.

  “You’d threaten me for a woman, Holt? Hos over bros?” Despite Dawson’s authority, I saw the man could really turn into a problem for me.

  Dawson and I stepped closer, intent on controlling the situation. But before I could take his hand, Dawson growled, “I’m not y
our brother; I’m your fucking boss. So get the fuck out of here before I rip you apart!”

  I froze. Boss? I grew lightheaded at the implication, and my vision closed in as I fell into darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When I came to, I was cold. A hand slid over my shoulder, and I bucked, horrifying thoughts of what the stranger must have done to me swirling through my mind. I had to get away! I elbowed aimlessly and tried to get up, unsure of my surroundings. But a strong arm wrapped around me, and I relaxed at the voice in my ear.

  “Calm down, baby. You’re fine. I’m here,” he whispered, warm breath dancing on my neck.

  My body went limp, and I would have drifted back to sleep if not for the wave of nausea that came over me. I stood automatically and reached to grab something. I needed to get to a bathroom, fast.

  “Shh, you’re fine! It’s me,” Dawson tried to comfort me again, but I shook my head.