Legion of Guardians: (Book 1-5)

by Xyla Turner

  Shay caught my eye, and then she looked down trying to signal me for something. It was too late before I realized what she was going to do.

  Her fist came up and slammed into his crotch, causing him to yell out in pain, but not before he tried to slice her throat.

  Thank God, he missed and sliced her shirt as he keeled over. I blacked the fuck out and grabbed his messy mane and began to slam his head into the brick wall.

  It had to be about the fourth time before I realized Shay was screaming and grabbing on my arms trying to get me to stop.

  Fuck.

  She hadn’t bled, but I was about to kill him.

  “Bronx, stop. Please, stop,” she begged.

  I let him go, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Seconds later, Razor and about ten guys rolled up on their bikes. Shay was crying profusely, so I went to see if she had, in fact, got hurt. Her eyes were on mine, and when I pulled on her torn shirt to inspect her, she ran into my chest and wrapped her arms around me, continuing to cry.

  Fuck.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured in her hair.

  She held tighter, so I wrapped my arms around her until Kylie showed up to take over.

  “SO, APPARENTLY SHAY’S cousin is in town, and she was hooked up with some prospect at a club over in Norristown.” Razor was informing me about why the drama hit our town.

  “Some guns went missing on his watch, and when he was confronted, he ran and they came to take it out on her. She ran here to start over.”

  That shit made me madder. Instead of using their manpower to find the actual guy, they came to confront a woman and her cousin.

  “Shay denied her cousin was here and then apparently you showed up. I talked to the club’s president. He was saying he apologizes for his rogue members. The guy with the braided beard was the one to vouch for the prospect, so he felt personally responsible when the guns went missing. As a show of good faith, I told them that we’d inform him if the guy surfaced.”

  “Hmm,” I nodded.

  “He doesn’t seem to have a handle on shit over there.”

  “He better get it.” The anger started to come back.

  “Brother, they’ll be protected until we deem it’s no longer necessary.” He was waving his finger between him and I.

  “Razorrrr,” a guttural sound escaped from my throat. “They had her.” I pushed from against the wall as the guys started to get back on their bikes. The ones that could. “They fucking had her.”

  “Yeah, man. I get it. Believe me that shit won’t happen again.” Razor nodded, “You good?”

  The look in his eye resembled the same one when Kylie had been taken. He was just as livid but as our leader, he didn’t have the luxury of losing his shit. I usually didn’t lose it, but one way to guarantee that was by touching Sharon Russell. That would bring down fire, hell and brimstone.

  “Yeah, I'm headed to take care of some business.”

  “Alright, brother.”

  We slapped hands and went our way.

  “BRONX, HUH?” GREG SNEERED.

  “Greg, got a minute?” I took a step back on the porch so he could come outside.

  “Well, I actually did want to chat with you.”

  He was a little too smug for my taste.

  “Say what you got to say.” I held out my hand.

  His arms folded over his broad chest and he inhaled.

  “I gather, Shay doesn’t know about you leaving my sister at the altar, huh?”

  Fuck.

  “No, and I’d like to be the person to break it to her,” I noted.

  He smiled brightly.

  “Ahh, and you’d like me to keep that bit of information to myself, then?” His arms unfolded, and he placed them on his hips. “Would you also like me to stop fucking her, too?”

  “Careful,” I growled.

  Greg’s laugh sounded like that of a sinister villain, causing the heat on my back to return from earlier. I had already pounded one guy’s face in, and I was game for another.

  “I should be careful?” he chuckled. “The way I see it, you’re the one that should be careful. Any fool can tell you’re in love with her, and she wants nothing to do with you. Serves you right. You don’t deserve happiness. My sister was devastated, embarrassed and humiliated when the entire wedding was planned and your punk ass decided not to show. Now you walk around here with your biker cut on and the army of the Guardians to fight your battles, and you couldn’t even stand by your commitment.”

  And there it was, in all its shameful glory.

  My cowardice was ever present before me back in a time when all that mattered was my next beat down. Shelly was sweet, kind and followed me around like a lost puppy and I was so broken that I let her. We said we’d get married and planned a small wedding to honor that. Yet, on game day, the bells started to chime, the music started to play, and I could not gather the courage to walk down the stairs and down that aisle. My groomsmen and her bridesmaids were all downstairs except Shelly and I. I left and ended up traveling for a couple of years in the underground boxing circuit and didn’t come back to Pennsylvania for some time for fear that I’d run into her or have to face that shame. The most cowardice moment of my life.

  I had heard Shelly moved and married some guy from out of town. They had a couple of kids and from what I heard, she is happy.

  “You’re right,” I nodded. “I fucked up royally, and I’ve been beating myself up ever since. I'm not here to rehash shit, I'm here to fix it. Like I should have sixteen years ago.”

  Greg seemed surprised by my admission, but he remained silent.

  “I'd like to speak with Shelly and do what I didn't do all those years ago.”

  He scoffed.

  “Oh no. She's married with kids and believe me, you're dead to her. To our whole fucking family.”

  “That's fine, but I'd still like to speak to her.”

  “Yeah, that's not going happen.” Greg’s jeering stopped, and he continued, “You're going to stay away from Shay. I'll keep fucking her till I make her mine, and I'll keep that bit of news about Shelly to myself.” He smiled. “Well, on the other hand, it might be worth my while to just tell Shay, and then another woman will know just what a coward you are.”

  My heat levels were at an orange, and all I wanted to do was bash his face in. I was in his space now and though he physically stayed in place, his eyes betrayed him, showing the well-placed fear that should have been there.

  “You’d do best not to give me idle threats, Greg. Let me be clear, wearing this cut does not make me tough. My brothers will have my back, but if I strike you down right now, they'll have my back while I sit in jail. If anything, Greg, this cut limits me from unleashing all holy hell on people who cross me, like now.”

  I got closer to him, our noses practically touching as I hovered over the lanky man. “I am not that guy from sixteen years ago. I’m worse.”

  That was all I had to say so I turned around and left. I had a foyer to fix and some shit to figure out.

  5 - A Gun?

  SHAY:

  “She's just in there pacing, honey,” Kylie whispered. “I'm telling you, I know her. She freaks out differently. She'll stew over it and then attack. Shay does not let shit go. I told you she would go after Bronx. You saw how she went after Apollo when he said that shit to Lori.”

  “Fuck. Believe me, I know,” Razor replied. “She's tough, but she's goin to crash with all of those things bottled up like that.”

  “Right. Should we call...” she let it hang.

  Razor must have made a gesture because I could no longer hear them.

  “Why? Maybe he could help?” Kylie followed up.

  At that moment, I went to their guest room and stopped eavesdropping on them in the kitchen. I had no idea who they were talking about, but it was one of the men. My father, Greg or Bronx and I did not want to see either of them.

  My father would get into his protect my daughter mode. Greg was useless and Bron
x, well, I couldn't deal with him now. I was angry, pissed and my blood felt like it was about to explode out of my skin at any moment.

  There had been a violation, in my hometown and Bronx, of all people, had to save me because he was in the fucking neighborhood.

  My neighborhood.

  Only God knows what those fuckers were going to do. I had never felt so unsafe in my entire life. It was a disconcerting feeling. As if I was on autopilot, watching my life transpire before my eyes.

  I was helpless and on top of all of that, I had froze. My parents didn't raise me to be some weak-willed woman. I could change a tire, fire a gun, ride a horse, hold my own in a fight and slice a man from navel to chin if necessary. My dad called it survival for his only girl.

  He never wanted me to be a victim, and that's what I felt like.

  A victim.

  WHEN MONDAY ROLLED around, I was beyond tired, since I hadn't slept much and was still fuming over what happened on Saturday. Kylie and Razor even tried to get me to laugh by having her talk about the new book she started reading by some author who writes about weird stuff like country guys falling in love with city women. They lived in two different states, and when she stopped talking to him, he flew there and nursed her back to health. Some real romantic shit, I guess. Razor was trying to act like he wasn’t into it, but he knew the story better than Kylie. When I was in a better mood, I’d pick it up. Kylie had everyone using their e-Readers with her and her damn books. The book was called By Chance, No Choice by Xyla Turner or was it, Twyla? No, Twyla Turner wrote that book from the hot Damaged Souls series called Scarred. People probably always mixed their names up.

  Anyway.

  The only way I was able to go home was because I semi-convinced them that I was okay. They were both skeptical, but Kylie drove me home Sunday, in the early afternoon. Neither of them needed to know where I was headed after work on Monday afternoon and especially that I’d be talking to Ed at Manor Guns.

  “Shay, what brings you here?” Ed asked.

  He had to be around six foot and five inches. His legs were skinny, but his top was hefty like he only worked out that half. His sun-beat skin was reddish, and his long brown and gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Clear goggles hung from around his neck, and his holster was tight around his jean-covered waist.

  Ed had been here ever since my dad brought me as a teenager. He was the one that taught me everything about guns.

  “Hey Ed, I’d like to purchase a gun.”

  One of his hairy eyebrows raised on his long face, then he said, “That so?”

  “Yeah. My dad taught me for a reason. He brought me to you, so I think it’s time.”

  I tried to keep my voice measured and not sound anxious or angry.

  “Okay, were you looking for anything specific?” he asked.

  “Well, I’m open to recommendations. Something that fits my hand, and doesn’t need a lot of strength to pull or have a strong kickback.”

  His head nodded, then he said, “Okay, you know there’s a fairly short process but it does include an application, background check and if the gun needs any customizations, then I’ll have to order it.” He slid me a thick packet and said, “Fill this out, sit tight and I’ll get the paperwork started for you.”

  They asked questions about my mental state, criminal records including abuse and any DUI’s. Bronx saved me from going to jail that day with Apollo because the abuse would have definitely occurred. The man actually slapped me on the ass to shut me up. To this day, I wasn’t sure why that worked, but I had felt compelled to keep my mouth shut.

  I shook my head at the memory and finished answering all of the questions.

  “Thanks so much Ed, I appreciate your help with this.” I handed him the paperwork and took a seat.

  Wow.

  I thought I’d have to do some more convincing, or he’d threaten to call my dad to see what was going on or something.

  Nope. He simply trusted me as an adult and respected that fact. I’d have my gun before the end of the month if all went well. I needed to add Ed to my official Christmas list because his faith in my ...

  What the fuck?

  No need to finish that thought, because Ed just got put on my shit list.

  “Shay, what ya doing here?” Bronx asked as he walked in with a purpose.

  I was his purpose.

  “Ed, call you?” I looked towards the office. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Looking out for you,” he nodded.

  “I can look out for myself,” I said rather loudly. “Thank you very much.”

  “You need a gun to do that?” he asked.

  “Maybe?” I stood and folded my arms over my chest.

  Bronx nodded his head.

  “Alright, so you know how to shoot one, but the question is, do you need one?”

  Who the fuck did he think he was trying to analyze and question me?

  I stepped to him and said, “It’s for my safety.”

  “You in some danger I need to know about?” He looked down at me with concerned eyes.

  The last thing I needed was ‘Bronx pity.’

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” I looked another way. “You’ve done more than enough and I never said thank you for the other day.”

  “No need to thank me, Shay.” He turned my chin back around towards him. “It was you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You were in danger.”

  “But you could have gotten hurt. What if one of them would have pulled something on you or grabbed a gun or some shit?”

  The side of his lip turned up, then he said, “I would have dealt with it.”

  “Well, I should have dealt with it and not involved anyone else.” I looked at the side of his bruised lip and raised my hand to touch it, but stopped myself.

  “I’m fine.” Bronx grabbed my wrist and placed my fingers on his lip. “See.”

  I snatched it away from his smooth face and said, “Well, good. But you or no one else is going to persuade me not to get a gun.”

  Bronx nodded his head and said, “Okay, fine. But first, can I show you something and then by that time Ed will be finished typing all of that paperwork in his old system, and the background check should be complete as well?”

  My eyebrow rose as I contemplated him. What was his deal?

  “Look, just come with me and until you get your gun, I’ll even let you hold one of mine.”

  Well, this was a no-brainer.

  “Fine.”

  I led the way towards the door and headed for his truck. Bronx had that truck since I had known him. It was a beat-up piece of shit, but I guess it got him from point A to point B.

  He didn’t say much on the short ride over to the gym that was renamed to RIGOR, but when I refused to get out of the car, he opened my door and said, “Come on. I just want you to try something out.”

  Mentally, I was shaking my head. Since when did Bronx and I travel together to try anything out?

  What the fuck was going on?

  We entered the gym, where everyone greeted him. A few guys asked, “Is that you?”

  He didn’t respond, but each nodded their heads like he did. It smelled like sweaty, stinky men and not the type that was sexy.

  More like repulsive.

  Bronx walked into a room, pulled a pair of gloves and tape from a locker, then he went to another locker and pulled out a pink pair. He turned to look at me, probably to see if what I was wearing would work.

  “Can you put your hair in a ponytail?” he asked.

  “Yeah, why?” I had gone along so far, but I wasn’t sure what he was trying to do.

  He turned to face me fully and said, “You’re angry, upset, and feeling vulnerable. You go and want to get a gun, but a scared person with a gun is not someone who should have one.”

  “I’m not scared,” I snapped back at him. “I’m trying to protect myself.”

  “Fine,” he moved towards m
e. “I’m about to show you how to do that another way.”

  “I do know how to defend myself,” I countered.

  “Then, show me.” He held up the gloves.

  He grabbed an overly huge tank top and gave it to me and threw some shorts from the folded list of shorts towards me.

  “Those should fit,” he said.

  “Whose stuff is this?”

  “The clubs. We buy extra stuff and keep in here in storage.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” His eyes met mine. “I own the place.”

  “How did I not know that?”

  Bronx shook his head and said, “Get dressed and meet me in room five.”

  What the fuck was I doing?

  Oh well, I did not back down from a challenge, so I put those clothes on and walked swiftly to room five. The smell on the way there was so wretched, that I had to cover my nose.

  When I entered, Bronx had changed into sweats and a tank top with no shoes or socks. I wanted to see his feet, which was stupid, but he kept moving around and clearing the floor of blue squares, long poles, and mats.

  “Since you own this place, you should get an automatic air freshener. This place smells.” I closed the door.

  “Noted. I'll get on that,” Bronx nodded. “Why did you want to buy a gun?”

  His voice projected around the small room.

  “To protect myself,” I said as I walked to the center where he was.

  “Why a gun?” he asked.

  “Because, Bronx. I want to ensure that I’ve hit my target, okay.” My agitation level rose. “You want me to beat them up like you did? I don’t have your fucking strength.”

  “Shay, I’m not saying that. I’m saying, what happened to you on Saturday was traumatic, and I probably added to that trauma. I want you to deal with it and not let it consume you.”

  “The fuck?” I moved towards him. “Are you my goddamn psychologist?”

  “Nope.” He held up the tape. “Give me your wrist.”

  “Fuck this! I’m outta here.”

  I’d had enough.

  Bronx was on some pyscho babbling shit, and I did not have time to be analyzed.