Blood Brothers #4
Manda Mellett
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
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
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Other Works by Manda Mellett
Teaser: Drummer's Beat
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Published 2017 by Trish Haill Associates
Copyright © 2017 by Manda Mellett
Edited by Elizabeth Wright
Book and Cover Design by Lia Rees at Free Your Words
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.mandamellett.com
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Warning
This book is dark in places and contains content of a sexual nature. It is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.
ISBN: 978-0-9954976-6-5
Prologue
Two years ago
“Come in, Van. Sit down.” As I step into his office, I can almost feel Ben’s assessing eyes burning into me, tracking my progress across the room. When I’ve complied with his instructions I, at last, dare to look across the desk in time to see his sympathetic smile. I manage to respond with a tentative one of my own, as he continues, “How are you doing?”
Looking down to where I’m picking imaginary dirt from under my fingernails, I know I won’t be able to deter him with a shallow answer, so offer him the truth, “I’ve been better, but I’m getting there slowly.”
Glancing back up, I find Ben Carter, my boss at Grade A Security, still studying me carefully, seeming in no hurry to get to the point of the conversation. Eventually, he gives a small nod, as though satisfied with what he sees. “You sure you’re ready to return to work?”
I’ve that response prepared, “I’m fed up with wallowing in my misery. At least being here will give me something to occupy my mind.” And that’s the truth, sitting alone with nothing to do but relive my ordeal, wondering time after time whether I could have done something to prevent it, is doing me absolutely no good at all.
Now his eyes crease as if my situation pains him, and appears genuinely sorry as he shakes his head, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything more to help. I tried, Van, I did what I could. At least the smug bastard won’t be bothering you again.” He leans forward, “I put the fear of God into him and made sure he knows not to come near you in the future. But I couldn’t get him to admit to anything.”
“I know you did what you could, Ben. And thank you.” Ben had visited Simon himself. But Grade A has a reputation to maintain, and while my boss would have probably preferred to have had the conversation with his fists, he’d had to restrict himself to a verbal confrontation to stay on the right side of the law. He is the senior partner of a prestigious security company after all.
Currently used to my emotions making rapid changes from one direction to the polar opposite in just seconds, the tears that come to my eyes are not unexpected. Ben’s support when no one else had believed me is something I value. Just about managing to prevent another bout of crying, as that’s all I seem to have been doing lately, I blot my face with a tissue. “I’m just grateful that you believed me. No one else did.”
“There wasn’t any evidence. And it is an incredible story, I admit. But the bastard confessed to you, even if he didn’t to anyone else.”
I nod in agreement. He certainly hadn’t come clean with the police when I’d tried to report him.
Ben’s frown deepens, “That he told you was a crime in itself. That knowledge was meant to hurt you.” Small spots of red appear on my boss’s cheeks, “I wish there was more I could have done. He raped you, Van. Oh, not in the normal sense.” He holds up his hand as I go to correct him, “But what he did was entirely without your consent…”
He doesn’t have to spell it out. Simon had taken my baby from me. After first walking away when I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d returned a few days later, and proceeded to convince me he hadn’t meant the vitriol he’d spat at me in the heat of the moment. That, after thinking it through, he’d come to the belated realisation that he did want a child with me and did everything he could to convince me he really had changed his mind and that he loved me. And it wasn’t just words, he proceeded to demonstrate how much he’d had a change of heart, becoming the most attentive and caring man in the world. Even while feeding me the drugs which would cause an abortion. Easy for him to get hold of, his brother’s a pharmacist.
I’d have put my miscarriage down to bad luck if he hadn’t so proudly told me what he’d done before disappearing out of my life, hopefully for good. I’d have been upset in any event, but I wouldn’t have been devastated, violated, and had my trust in men destroyed. How could I have been so blind not to see through him? And the reason he’d gone to such lengths was to avoid paying child support for the next eighteen years. Money was more important to him than a life.
I put my face in my hands, and brush away yet another errant tear, then look up at Ben once again, “I didn’t think men were capable of such evil. Or that I wouldn’t be able to spot such a diabolical example a mile off.” And my poor baby was dead because of my bad judgement. Simon was a murderer and had gotten away scot-free. When he’d eventually come clean, there was no proof; all the drugs had gone from my system.
“You’re still going to therapy?”
“The doctor set that up for six weeks, so yes, I’ve got another couple of sessions left.” The doctor might have put my explanation for my miscarriage down to fantasy, but he’d grasped I needed treatment for my extreme reaction, even if he didn’t believe the cause. The psychiatrist, equally doubtful, concentrated on the resulting symptoms rather than the cause. She even had a name for it, post-traumatic stress disorder. But identifying what I was suffering from didn’t give me much comfort.
Ben leans forward, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. “What can I do to help?”
So ashamed of what I’d let happen, I hadn’t wanted anyone to know that didn’t need to. Especially when, with the exception of my boss, all the people I had told thought I was making it up. But I hadn’t been able to keep the reason why I wasn’t coming into work from Ben; he saw my sick certif
icates after all. I’d broken down in tears when I’d given him the full story, expecting him to dismiss it like everyone else. But being used to working with the underworld and the bottom dwellers that feed there, Ben was the first person who didn’t question my allegation, taking it upon himself to try to get justice for me. But even his proficient interrogation techniques failed to elicit an admission of guilt. But he did help in other ways, spreading the rumour I’d had my appendix out, hence explaining my absence from work. And now he is offering more support. And I know exactly what I’m going to ask for.
Inhaling a deep breath, I take the plunge, “I need something new to focus on. I need a new challenge.” If I’m going to convince him to agree to my request, I’ve got to appear strong even while I’m wilting inside. So, putting as much strength into my voice as I can, I state my case. “I want to train to be a Close Protection Officer. I want to work in the field as a bodyguard, Ben.”
His eyes widen, though it’s the only part of him that moves, and he takes a moment before he clears his throat and finally speaks. “All our current CPOs have a military background. And there’s a reason for that.” It might sound dismissive, but from his thoughtful expression that he’s not rejecting the idea out of hand. “I know you, Van, you’ll have looked into this already and wouldn’t be suggesting it if you weren’t serious.” At my nod of confirmation, he continues, “We need people at the highest level of fitness.” Now one finger of his hand points toward me, “I’m not sure you appreciate what will be required simply to achieve that.”
Four weeks languishing on the couch feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t help show you’re in peak condition, but I’m prepared for this. “I’ll work with a personal trainer; work on my strength and endurance training.”
A slow bob of his head shows me he appreciates I’ve thought it through.
“And self-defence, martial arts training. Hand to hand combat,” I continue. In fact, when the idea first came to me, it had been this part which attracted me the most. Taking control of my body after the way I’d been debased. And hopefully, it would help improve my mental state too.
“Then there’s the training for your licence. You’ll need a Level 3 Certificate in Close Protection, and there’s a lot involved in that.”
To show him I’m taking this seriously and know what’s involved, I pick up from where he left off. “I understand, Ben. It will involve courses on evasive driving, firearms, anti-ambush. Then there’s all the law and legislation, reconnaissance, journey planning and route selection, threat and risk assessment. Oh, and I’ll need to be qualified as a first responder through a first aid course as well.”
“You have given a lot of thought to it. There are other things involved, but that’s the gist of it.” Sounding impressed Ben gives me a smile of encouragement, “You really want to do this, don’t you?”
My head bobs up and down eagerly.
“Well,” his eyes seem to penetrate into mine, “You’ve got some of the right skill set; you’ve proven that in the office. You’ve shown excellent communication abilities, and you resolve conflict well.” He laughs, “I saw you step in when Ryan and Nat were arguing the other day. Fuck knows what that was about, but you soon shut them up,” he chuckles softly at the memory. “And you stay calm whatever the crisis and can focus until the job’s done. But whether you can apply that outside the office remains to be seen. We haven’t tested your ability to adapt and react out in the real world when different things are thrown at you from all directions at the same time.”
“I know I’ll have to prove myself, Ben. This is something I want, need, to do. I want something to get my teeth into.”
Tapping his fingers on his desk, I notice while Ben’s not saying no, he’s not being too enthusiastic about the idea either. The observation makes me sit up straighter, wondering what else I can say to persuade him.
“Van, let me be honest here. And this is something I’d warn anyone about. While there’s nothing to keep a CPO from being married or having a family, it’s not a job that lends itself to that. For a man or a woman. It can be hard to have any kind of personal life when you might be sent God knows where at any time. And, let’s not forget the risks involved. While your training will endeavour to minimise any personal risk, every bodyguard accepts they might be facing a bullet or a knife as part of their day to day job.”
“I realise that. Look, how can I put this? I’ve just come out of the most damaging relationship it’s probably possible to have. I assure you, the very last thing I want to do is jump straight into another one. I’m only twenty-five, I can put a good few years into this job before my biological clock starts running down. If I’m ever prepared to start thinking about a family, it will be a long way into the future, but to be quite honest, after what happened to me, I don’t think I’ll ever want to go there again.”
He sits back and folds his arms, and now’s the time for me to keep quiet and let him think about my request. The clock above us ticks off the seconds while he deliberates. Finally, he reaches a decision, and sits forward again, “Okay. You can do the course to get your Security Industry Authority licence under day release. The firm will pay for that. We’ll pay for your gym membership, and I’ll get you on the martial arts and firearms training that we approve. Likewise, with the first aid requirements. But you’ll need to keep up with your day job here. Van, you’re one of our best analysts, and we need you to focus on that in the meantime.”
“Ben.” Again, I have to brush away a tear but, this time it’s not one of sadness, “I can’t thank you enough…”
As he waves his hand to dismiss my appreciation, he has one final warning for me, “I’m not going to be sending you out until I know you’re one hundred percent ready Van, and that will be my decision. You might not ever be sufficiently prepared for me to risk a client to your care. You have a long way to go to get up to speed and reach the point where the others even started. But to help, Jon and I will give you our support and assistance with your training, and we’ll be assessing you ourselves.”
That’s a great offer, both Ben and Jon used to conduct close protection training for the SAS, the elite of the British Armed forces.
“It could take two years or more before we’re satisfied with your progress.”
“I don’t mind that. It gives me something to focus on and work for.” I’m so excited, it’s hard not to start bouncing in my seat.
Another careful examination, and then his face breaks into a smile as he stands and reaches his hand over the table, “Good luck then, Van. And I look forward to having you on the team.”
Chapter 1
Sean
“Hi Master Sean, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while. How the fuck are you doing?” The Master Dom, who’s doing his stint as bartender, holds his beefy hand over the bar and vigorously shakes mine. I manage not to grimace, and successfully resist the impulse to rub my bruised fingers as he pulls back and asks, “Your usual?”
Shaking my head, I place my order, “Just water, please, Ralph.” As I don my orange Dungeon Monitor vest over my black T-shirt, he nods, recognising that I’ll have to keep a clear head for at least the next couple of hours.
After passing me the requested bottle of water, he does what everyone else has been doing over the last few months and enquires after my injuries, “How are the legs coming along? Are you healed up now?”
Patting my leathers, I offer up my standard response, “Left one’s completely healed now, that was only a flesh wound. Still getting physio on the right, but it’s getting there. At least I’ve ditched the darn crutches now!” I’d been shot in both legs during my last overseas mission―something I wouldn’t recommend and personally hope never to repeat. Although my left leg only required stitches, the injury leaving me with a nasty scar; the bullet that entered my right tibia had smashed the bone to smithereens, and it’s only down to the great skill of the surgeons and copious amounts of nuts, bolts, and plates that six months later I’m
now able to walk with only a slight limp.
Recuperation hasn’t been fun. The amount of metal they used to screw me together is going to make going through airport security interesting in the future. Luckily for him, the bastard who shot me is already dead, though sometimes I’d like to be able to dig him up and kill him all over again. Slowly. St John-Davies had died far too fast for all the havoc he’d wrought.
Ralph’s innocent question seems to have triggered a dull ache in my right leg. Leaning with my back against the bar, I realise I might have overdone it today, pushing myself too hard. I’m determined to get full movement back, hence the intensive physio and exercise regimen I’m putting myself through. And there’s a reason I’m trying so hard. If I don’t get back to full fitness, I won’t be able to do my job. As one of the lead CPOs for Grade A security, if I can’t run or fight, I won’t be able to protect anyone. And, as a black belt in a variety of martial arts, for me, my legs are my secret weapons.
My hand automatically rubs my aching limb to try to erase the throbbing as I turn away from Ralph, leaving him to serve the other patrons. I stand scanning the main room of the club in front of me. Club Tiacapan, named, rather appropriately, after the Aztec Goddess of Love and Passion, is an exclusive BDSM club with strict membership rules, located in South London. Were it not for the fact I worked for Grade A, and hence for two of the club’s owners, I wouldn’t be able to afford the astronomical joining fees in a lifetime. Luckily Grade A employees get membership rights as a perk of our employment, though only a number of us with certain proclivities take up the offer. It’s not exactly in the same league as a subscription to the local gym.
But it suits me and my appetites right down to the ground. I took up the opportunity shortly after I was hired on at Grade A and, having played in similar clubs previously, it wasn’t long before I’d earned Master rights and privileges. Along with those come responsibilities. Master Ralph chooses to take his shifts tending the busy bar; I prefer to take my turn at monitoring the dungeon, making sure all play is conducted as per the strict rules of the club. Of course, due to the intense vetting before allowing members to join, the duties are not onerous, and it’s rare I have a need to interrupt a scene.
Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4) Page 1
