by Celia Aaron
Dark Protector
Celia Aaron
Contents
Free Book
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 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Counsellor
1. Sinclair
2. Stella
Also by Celia Aaron
About the Author
Celia Aaron
Copyright © 2017 Celia Aaron
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
DIRE WARNING: If you pirate this book, your soul will rot in hell.
Cover art by Perfect Pear
Cover Model Mario Skaric
Cover Photo by Alex Marshall
Content Editing by J. Brooks
Copy Editing by Spell Bound
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1
Conrad
I parked in my regular spot beneath a broken streetlight. The thumping from the trunk had finally subsided, not that I minded it too much.
A car passed, its headlights illuminating the small flurry falling along the dingy storefronts. Dingy except for the one bright spot across the street—Jesse’s Flower Pot.
The glow from the windows reflected on the wet, black pavement, and the flowers in the window promised romance to anyone who ventured inside to buy them. Charlie, the owner, stood behind her counter, her dark hair curling around her shoulders as she fussed with a ribbon on a vase of pink and yellow roses.
How many times had I watched her through the window? I couldn’t count the nights, the moments; there were far too many. Each time, I wanted to go in and say something to her. Each time, I remained just outside her warm halo. A woman like her wasn’t meant for a man like me.
Another kick from the trunk punctuated the thought.
“Give it up, Benny.” I cursed under my breath. “It’s over.”
He was taking his time bleeding out. Motherfucker.
Charlie cocked her head to the side and stepped back to study her handiwork. Not satisfied, she pulled the bow free and cut along the lengths of satiny ribbon. Then she ran her scissors down the strips. They snapped back, the tendrils curling against each other until they looked like a wild white bloom. Her fingers worked with delicate precision, each movement focused on creating beauty from nothing.
I looked down at my scarred and inked knuckles. The mottled flesh told the story of blood, pain, and a life lived in service to death. I couldn’t imagine anything different. These hands were violence and nothing more. Even so, I imagined how Charlie’s skin would feel under my rough touch. Soft, so soft.
Turning back to the window, I watched every move she made, cataloging them in my mind. She was like a pool of water, emotion rippling on her surface and telegraphing her feelings to the world. I saved each expression on her heart-shaped face, tucked them away so that I could pull them out and examine them later. I caught my reflection in my rear view—cold eyes, stern jaw, and a cruelty that lived just under the surface. I knew what I was, that anything I touched would turn to rot and death. It didn’t stop me from wanting her.
Once again, she stepped away and perused her creation, her forehead crinkling in concentration. My time spent on the outside looking in had taught me plenty about her. Perfectionist. Friendly, yet also guarded. She made small talk with her customers, but her body language remained closed. I’d dug a little deeper than I should have and found out she wasn’t married. No boyfriend, either. At twenty-six, she was seven years my junior. Not that any of it mattered. We would never meet.
A black Mercedes rolled by, its tires hissing on the glistening pavement. The window tint prevented me from seeing the driver. I tensed, my hand drawn to the cold steel inside my coat like a magnet. The car continued down the street and turned. When its red taillights disappeared from view, I relaxed and resumed my vigil. After a long day, seeing her was the only thing that could calm the sea of blood raging inside me. Vengeance oozed from my pores until the moment I got a glimpse of her. And then I knew peace. I could sit for hours and just watch her.
Finally satisfied, she took the vase and placed it in the cooler closest to the front door. She glanced out into the night, her eyes travelling over my car. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as she peered at the driver’s side window—at me. But my window tint was far too dark. All she could see was a black square of glass; the true darkness sitting behind it was hidden from view. She stared, seeking something I’d never let her find, before returning to her work.
A death rattle from my trunk told me my time was up. I needed to get Benny to the dump, take the car to the cleaner, and get some sleep. Vince already had two more jobs lined up for tomorrow. Changes in management always brought a pile of work to my door. But the new boss was the same as the old boss—and every boss needed a man like me on the payroll.
I reached for the gear shift, caught movement from the corner of my eye, and ducked as the same Mercedes from before drove up and stopped beside me. The passenger window was down this time, and a dumb fucker with a semiautomatic lit up the side of my car. The pop of the gun and the thunking sound of slugs slamming into metal cut through the night. My driver’s side window exploded. I remained still, my blood colder than the icy flakes floating around the car. Charlie would be smart enough to duck; I knew it as surely as I knew the fucker shooting at me would be dead before his barrel had a chance to cool. She was safe on the other side of the street. I only hoped she wasn’t looking out the window, because shit was about to get bloody.
I opened my door just enough to wedge my suppressed 9 mm in the gap. I pulled the trigger and took out the Mercedes’s back passenger side tire. The small pop from my gun was lost in the rapid fire from my attacker. Several more shots cut through the air, followed by a clicking sound. He needed to reload.
“Come on out, Conrad. This shit is over.” A higher voice with a signature squeak. Geno, one of the former boss’s top guys.
“Geno, that you?” I faked a loud groan. “I’m hurt bad, man.”
Another rain of bullets, this time from a smaller bore pistol.
I waited for the click. The second I heard the hammer hit on empty, I sat up and popped Geno right between the e
yes. His look of surprise made the corners of my lips twitch in amusement. He slumped in the passenger seat. I fired another round into the front tire, then aimed higher at the fender and put three slugs into the engine. The driver shrieked and tried to peel away. Idiot didn’t notice his blown tires.
The car limped down the street, going the same speed as an electric wheelchair. The driver was trapped. More importantly, he was dead; he just didn’t know it yet. Usually, I’d take my time with anyone who made an attempt on me, but I didn’t have the luxury of making it hurt. Not when Charlie had a front row seat to the carnage.
I spared a glance toward her shop. She was nowhere to be seen. Good. I popped the back driver’s side tire with an easy shot.
I already knew how this would go. Part of what made me a first-rate murderer was my skill at calculating ahead. Killing people was something of a logic puzzle. If asshole A sees asshole B get waxed, what is asshole A’s next move? Thing was, I always knew the next three moves, not just the one. All I had to do was wait.
I followed the car and ducked along the side as the driver fired a few more wild shots, busting out the back passenger window. The car finally creaked to a stop, the engine giving a big “fuck you” to the shredded tires. I crept to the back, the exhaust sputtering around me in a rush of steam and fumes. Then I heard what I was waiting for. Running footsteps. I stood and dropped the driver with a single shot in the back of the head. He fell and skidded along the pavement until his face crunched into the curb.
Shitty thing, shooting a man in the back, but some things—like trying to end me—couldn’t go unanswered. I walked up to him and recognized Geno’s pal, Mikey. I added one more bullet to the first. Quick. Clinical. And I didn’t feel a goddamn thing.
A car approached. No, a minivan. Behind the wheel, the soccer mom’s eyes grew wide. That was my cue. I turned and ran back to my car. It cranked despite the bullet holes.
I gave one last look at Jesse’s Flower Pot. I couldn’t come here again, not after this. I cursed Geno and the other moron for fucking up this spot for me. The one block in Philly that actually made me feel like a human being—gone.
Charlie stood in the window, a hand over her mouth as horror painted her features with a dim brush. Something inside me ached, as if a wasp had burrowed its stinger into my chest. It carried a reminder. This is what her life would be with me. Terror and blood. No life at all.
“So long, Charlie.” I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb as distant sirens promised trouble.
2
Charlie
The black BMW screeched down the street and out of view. As soon as it was gone, I rushed out of the shop and toward the Mercedes. Broken glass crunched beneath my shoes, and my breath puffed out in a white plume amidst the snowflakes.
“Hello? Are you okay?” I approached the open driver’s side door and peeked in.
My stomach lurched. A dead man, his eyes blank and glassy, stared at me from the passenger seat. Blood ran in a slender stream down the side of his nose from the hole between his eyes. I dry heaved and backed away.
Another body lay face down and lifeless next to the curb. I knew he couldn’t be alive. Not after the man in the dark suit had shot him at almost point-blank range.
But I had to check, just in case he could be saved. I edged over. “Hello?”
He didn’t move. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and took a few more steps. The back of his head was a crimson mess, the hair matted with blood and flesh. I backpedaled, then leaned over and vomited. Everything I’d had for lunch splashed on the pavement.
“Charlie?” Mr. Chan stood in the door of the drycleaners two buildings down.
“Stay inside.” I held a hand up. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“I called the police.” His ancient voice cracked as it tried to make it to me through the icy air. “Get back inside. It’s not safe.”
“I am.” I turned and hurried back to my shop, the warm windows seemingly untouched by the gore right outside.
After closing and locking the door, I walked to the counter, my legs stiff and mechanical as bile burned my throat.
Sirens grew louder and louder until the flashing blue and red lights reflected on the windows of the unoccupied shop across the way. Two police cars and an ambulance stopped near the end of the block. I warred with myself over flipping the lights off and pretending to be closed.
After all, Mr. Chan would serve as a perfectly good witness to what happened. The cops didn’t need me. I didn’t want to talk. Not about what happened, and definitely not about him. The man who’d been watching me for months. He’d taken off, his tires squealing as he rounded the block and tore off into the night. Something told me he wouldn’t be back to sit in his customary spot across the street.
I didn’t know who he was, didn’t know a thing about him. But for some reason, whenever I noticed his car under the broken street light, I felt safe. It was ridiculous, especially given that the guy was a complete stranger. He could have been waiting there to hurt me. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But that wasn’t his purpose. I could feel it. Instead, he simply watched.
I’d never seen his face, not until he stalked across the street with murder in his eyes. He’d finished off the driver with a sure shot. At that moment, the killer’s image was seared into my brain. Dark hair, fair skin, square jaw covered in stubble, and light eyes. I couldn’t tell if they were green or blue, but I was certain they were intense. He moved with aggression, every part of him dripping calculated vengeance. Even his predatory walk screamed danger. Yet he was eerily beautiful for a man who killed without remorse.
I shivered and darted toward the door. With a flick of my wrist, the shop went dark. I only hoped the cops hadn’t noticed the lights on when they got onto the block. The shadows around me gave a measure of comfort as I sank into them, backing away from the window and melding into the darkness.
The compressor on the case of lilies to my right kicked on, the low hum familiar and reassuring. From that angle, I could still see the Mercedes, but not the dead man in the street. Two police officers approached the vehicle with their guns drawn. Soon, they realized the dead man inside wasn’t a threat and holstered their weapons. One checked inside the car while the other looked up and down the street as the snow began falling heavier, the flakes fat and slushy.
More officers arrived and began to spread, knocking on doors as they canvassed the block. Two officers passed in front of my window and stopped. I pressed hard against the wall as a series of knocks sounded at the shop door.
“Ms. Fairbanks. Come on out, ma’am.” A young man’s voice, complete with unsure warble. “Your neighbors said you were out in the street after it happened. We’d like to know what you saw.”
I saw a killer in a dark suit with haunting eyes and a lust for murder. I wasn’t a fan of talking to the police. They were trouble, and that’s the last thing I needed.
Another set of knocks, these harder than the last.
“Come on, open up.” A gruffer voice forced its way to my ears. I supposed he was the bad cop to the kid’s good.
I eased away and passed through the door to the back of my shop. The officers spoke to each other in low voices.
“We’re talking to your neighbors, then we’re coming back here, and you’re letting us in. You wouldn’t want us to think you interfered with the crime scene or are trying to obstruct our investigation, now would you?” Bad cop won the hushed discussion, apparently. “That’s plenty of reason to take you down to the station.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Be ready to talk when we get back.”
When the air remained silent for a few beats, I let out my breath on a noisy exhale. I needed to find my bag and sneak out the back entrance. I wouldn’t speak with the cops. Shadows from my past tried to encroach in my mind, their skeletal fingers invading the gray matter. I pushed the thoughts away. I wasn’t a victim anymore. Not this time. If the police wanted to force the issue, I’d
call my lawyer.
I scooped my bag off the counter next to the wide sink, but didn’t get a chance to go any farther. A hand slapped over my mouth, and a voice in my ear carried a low warning, “Say a fucking word and you’ll be a dead bitch.”
A vicious pain in the side of my head started with sparks and ended with darkness.
3
Charlie
A sharp sting across my left cheek woke me. The dim room came into focus, as did the large man standing in front of me. His balding pate shone in the light from a bare bulb hanging a few feet over his head. I couldn’t feel my hands. They were tied behind me, and my legs were tied to the wooden chair I sat in.
“Berty, she’s awake!” He grinned at me, his missing front teeth leaving a dark hole behind his upper lip.
A stabbing pain shot through my head and radiated down my spine. I groaned as footsteps echoed from across the room. The bulb lit the bottom of a set of wooden stairs, but no further. I didn’t know where I was, but it was cold. A bone deep sort of chill, one that made my teeth chatter. The smell of mold tainted each of my breaths.
“Cold?” Shiny black shoes came into view. One step, then the next. Dark gray pants appeared as the man approached the pool of light.
The bald man stepped to the side, making room for the newcomer. “Berty” entered the light. He looked to be in his mid-thirties with black hair, dark eyes, and a scar running along his jaw. His clothes were neat, the jacket perfectly fitted to his smaller frame.
“Charlie, isn’t it?” He spun a gold ring on his left index finger as he leveled his onyx gaze at me.
My teeth chattered even more violently. “L-let me go.”
He laughed and spread his hands wide. “Don’t like the hospitality?”
I flinched back from the sound of his voice. Something in it hinted at a darkness I’d seen before, one that made my skin crawl.
