by Alexa Blue
SECURITY NEEDS
A Steamy Older Alpha and Younger BBW Romance
His Curvy Craving Book 2
Alexa Blue
Copyright © 2019 Alexa Blue
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, websites, and names are the product of the author’s imagination. Nothing in the text reference any real people, places, or entities. All similarities are purely coincidental.
Book and Cover design by Alexa Blue
Editing by Kasi Alexander
First Edition: 2019
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
MORE FROM ALEXA
AFTERWORD
Chapter One
Britney
“Ma’am?” My eyes shoot open at the sound of my name, straining to adapt to the light.
“We’ve landed,” the air hostess says, tapping me on the shoulder.
Shit. How long have I been asleep? I scan around the plane for a few moments. The other five passengers that flew in with me from New York have left already. I let out a massive yawn, stretching my arms and kicking my legs against the seat in front of me. It feels so good being back home.
“Shit. What time is it, Jenny?” I ask the hostess after scanning her name tag.
“We landed ten minutes ago, ma’am,” she says with a hint of impatience in her voice.
I stretch again and make my way out of the plane. I wobble into the airport; my calves still throbbing. After protesting on my feet all day yesterday, I could do with a warm bath and maybe a glass of wine, or four.
In New York, I led a protest outside Chaleur Model House, one of the largest modeling houses in the country. Chaleur charges an arm and a leg for the use of their models on runways, or professional photoshoots. But all the top designers are willing to pay their insane prices because they know that Chaleur’s girls are willing to put in crazy hours to get the job done. Magazines and designers are happy, the models make a killing for every job, and Chaleur benefits the most. It’s a vicious cycle that hard to escape once entered.
We stood outside the head office, holding signs like ‘Free the girls.’ Some protestors got a little creative with their anger and held up signs that said, ‘Shut down druglords.’
These modeling agencies have insane expectations for girls to look a certain way, to be a certain weight, and to work until it kills them. With all the pressure they’re faced with, you cannot blame the girls for eventually resorting to drugs to try to meet these insane ‘standards.’
Chaleur Model House is the go-to agency when looking for runway models, but they are also no stranger to bad publicity. The article I posted was not the first time they’ve been exposed for their shady dealings like providing the girls with crystal meth so that they can stay awake, work long hours, and ignore the need to eat.
With my social media reach and influence, it is my mission to increase awareness and expose the harm done to these girls.
Lana holds out a sign that’s twice as big as her, with the words ‘Britney, welcome home’ painted on the board. She even went as far as making the dot on the ‘i’ a little pink heart. A smile sneaks its way onto my lips. God, she knows me so well. Lana and I have been best friends for the last two years now.
“Oh my God, babe, how are you?” She drops the sign and leans in for a hug. Once we pull away, she slaps me on my arm. “Gosh, you had me worried there. For a second, I thought you might have missed your flight, or they sent the mafia after you.”
“Still with the dramatics, I see. No, I’m fine, except I fell asleep on the flight. It was so freaking embarrassing.”
Lana wrinkles her brow and shakes her head. It’s the same look she gives me whenever she’s about to start her lecture on me working too hard.
“I’m not even going to ask,” she says after a moment of contemplation.
Lana is four years older than me and never fails to remind me that makes her the ‘wiser one.’
“Anyway,” she says when I ignore her concerns, “how was the trip? Give me all the details.”
“It was amazing,” I say absently and switch my phone back on. “If they still don’t know how serious I am about getting my message out there, they sure as hell will now after our little spectacle outside their office park yesterday. Hopefully, those fuckers will stop thinking they can just get away with anything.”
My phone vibrates and beeps like crazy as soon as I switch it back on. Messages and notifications from the followers I have across my different social media platforms light up on my screen.
When I’m not working as a plus-sized model, I’m building my social media platforms or working on my blog. With close to a million followers on Instagram, many would even consider me a digital influencer.
“Britney, you need to start being more careful when going up against the big dogs. Remember, you don’t have the resources they do,” Lana says in a voice that sounds uncomfortably like my mother’s.
“Yes, yes. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
Chaleur Models first heard about me after a published post on my body positive blog, You’re Beautiful, went viral. I published an article about drug use in the modeling industry, and I made specific reference to Chaleur Models. Ex-employees helped leak all the details, providing me with proof of their shady dealings.
It only took a few days after the post was published for Andrew Stanford, the founding owner of Chaleur Models, to ring me up and ‘ask’ me to remove the post. Of course I refused, not only because I feel they need to be exposed, but because it’s something very close to me. Besides, I didn’t like the attitude he gave me.
Andrew probably didn’t expect me to be so stubborn; he thought I’d be like the rest of the world and quiver at the sound of his voice, caving in to his demands. Fuck that.
I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.
This fight is bigger than the poor models affected. It stretches out to everyone affected by drugs.
When I was thirteen, my brother lost his battle against drug addiction. Since then, I cannot recall the last time we gathered around the table as a family and celebrated… hell, anything. From an early age, I learned that drugs do not just affect the person using them.
“Please, take care of yourself. I’m just saying.” Lana drives up to my apartment block, DC Apartments.
The building is actually owned by her and her husband, Declan.
“Thanks for fetching me today. You’re a lifesaver,” I tell my best friend and lean across the seat for a hug. “You coming up for a drink?”
“I’d love to. But we just secured this massive client, so I need to meet up with them in the next half hour. Raincheck?”
I let out a silent sigh of relief. Thank God. After my last few days in New York, I’m in no mood to play host.
“Sure thing.” I step out of her car, grab my luggage from the trunk, and drag it behind me to my apartment.
Home sweet home.
I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and dial my d
ad. The man is a walking stress machine. I swear I can feel his heart thumping on the other end of the line whenever I tell him that I’m off to another protest. The unspoken rule is that he ‘lets’ me go on condition that I phone him and let him know I’m okay the moment I land back in Eastwood.
“Yello!”
I pull the phone away from my ear and bite down on a smile at the sound of his voice.
“Hello, Daddy.”
“Boy, I am happy to hear your voice,” my dad chirps.
That’s the thing about my dad; no matter how crap my day is, hearing his voice leaves me feeling happy as a clam.
“Dad, guess what? It turns out you were stressing for nothing. I’m home and alive.”
My dad lets out a grunt. “I wasn’t stressing for nothing. If anything were to happen my baby girl, I would die. Anyway, how was the protest?”
I open my mouth to speak, but stop when I hear my mother’s voice in the near distance.
“Dennis,” my mother shouts in the background, loud enough for me to hear her every word. “Please, speak to that child. Perhaps she’d listen to you since she clearly doesn’t care about what I say.”
Just hearing my mom’s voice has me flaring my nostrils and rolling my eyes. Let’s just say, you need five aspirins before you even start talking to my mom.
Daddy has always been the one to have my back. He’s stood by my side since I was small, regardless of what I wanted to do. My mom is the critical one. God, I swear I have never met anyone more cynical than her. She finds problems with every little thing I do. My dad was the one who’d protect me from ‘Hitler,’ as I affectionately call her at times, even if that meant keeping certain things a secret and not telling Mom about it.
“Dad, please ask Mom if she’s taken her happy pills yet.”
My dad chuckles in the background. “Yeah, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Poor guy, it’s a wonder he hasn’t landed up in the madhouse by now with her constant complaining.
I push my apartment door open and enter. It feels good being back home in my own space, with that fresh whiff of potpourri as I walk in. I take a step forward when my foot slips. I topple backward and land flat on my ass.
“Awwww, fuck!” I cry and lean to the side to rub my hand on the back of my bum. As I plummeted to the ground, my cell phone slipped out of my hand, but I can still hear my dad’s voice, freaking out in the background. “Britney!”
I crawl on all fours to pick up my iPhone.
I scan the room with dazed vision as I slowly come back to my senses. “Ouch! Dad, you won’t guess what just happened.” I snort as my laughter grows louder. “Oh my goodness, I am so clumsy.”
“What?! Britney, are you okay?” he persists.
“Oh, my God. Dennis, what is happening?” Mom’s high-pitched voice echoes in the background. “Dennis, give me the damn phone, let me speak to her.”
There’s shuffling in my phone’s speaker. “Let it go!” Mom barks.
“Everyone, relax. I just slipped.”
I narrow my gaze and discover the source of my fall. A folded piece of paper catches my attention. I lift the paper and study it curiously.
For Attention: Britney Darcy.
You have been causing a lot of havoc lately. Let this serve as a warning to STOP what you’re doing.
We know where you live, and next time you try pulling one of your stunts, we will be forced to take matters into our own hands.
You have been warned.
My heart races at a million miles an hour as I scan over the letter. My parents continue fighting over the phone, but none of that matters.
The only thing I think about is that I’m being threatened for standing up for something I believe in. Hell, I’ve seen this type of shit in movies, but you never think something like this will actually happen to you. Surely this some sort of sick prank?
My eyes widen, and my heart continues pulsating violently inside my chest.
“Dad, something’s wrong.” My voice stammers as my phone slips out of my hand, and the screen shatters on impact.
Chapter Two
Carter
“Oh, come on, Dan! Get your feet off my desk,” I bark at my brother and slap them off the table. I shoot him a glare, hoping that will serve as a warning. I get the feeling he just came here today to see how long it would take me to throw him out.
I’ve seen that look on his face before. It’s the same look he has when he’s out to make my life hell by playing pranks on me or annoying me until I chuck the item closest to me. Usually, I don’t mind too much, but with everything I’ve got going on I’m not in the mood for his games today.
“Somebody’s grumpy,” Dan chirps. “When last have you taken a break, big bro? Or even gotten laid? You’re going to blow a gasket if you don’t relax soon.” He’s not wrong about that. I work my ass off and can’t remember the last time I actually did ‘nothing’ for the day. I try to find some time for golf over the weekends, but other than that, it’s right back to work. The weekdays are brutal. My work day starts at seven in the morning, and it usually isn’t until nine or ten that I get to leave my office.
The doorbell sounds, echoing inside my apartment. “I need to get that,” I tell Dan. “Please, for God’s sake, don’t break anything while I’m away.” I leave my brother behind and my footsteps echo inside my house as I head off to open the door.
“Would I ever break anything?” Dan shouts out moments later in a mocking tone.
I open the door and see a man dressed in black, with streaks of green across his shirt. Most of his face is covered with black fabric, with only his eyes exposed. He looks like a lost ninja trapped in the US.
It’s one of Gambit’s men.
He places his foot at the entrance of my door, stopping the door from closing as I try shutting it. “I’m here to collect your payment,” he says, affirming what I already know.
“Yes, dickhead. I’m aware of that. Sorry, no more payments.”
This harassment is really starting to piss me the hell off. For God’s sake, I own a security company, I shouldn’t have to put up with idiots collecting paychecks every week. Gambit sends one of his goons faithfully each week to collect money for a debt I paid up years ago. “I need you to tell Gambit I said there is no way in fucking hell I will pay him a cent more than I already have. I’ve paid my dues.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” he snarls. “Gambit’s offering you protection, but you need to pay up and you’re three weeks overdue.”
My fist clenches tight. “Protection from who?”
“Protection from Gambit.”
I kick his foot out so that it’s no longer an obstacle. “Gambit can go fuck himself. I told you and the one before you I will not pay him. Now get the fuck off my property,” I snap and slam the door in his face.
Fucking assholes.
Four years back, I had a successful business buying, fixing, and reselling cars, but I was a little reckless with my spending, and the business went bust. I was forced to file for bankruptcy, and when no one else was willing to assist me build up my business again, I approached Gambit. He offered me ‘assistance’ when no one else would look at me and loaned me $500,000. That money helped me start up my security company. There’s no way I’m making the same mistakes twice, and business has been good. The only problem is that Gambit’s help comes at a price.
Business has never been better, and I’m now in the process of expanding my security empire. Life is finally going well, except that Gambit is stuck to me like herpes. Despite agreeing to the repayment terms and paying him three times the amount he lent me. According to him, I may have paid up my debt, but the monthly ‘protection’ payments must continue.
He keeps sending his goons to threaten me, telling me that if I don’t pay up money, he cannot ‘assure’ my safety.
Nobody knows what the fuck Gambit looks like, or where the fucker even lives. From what I understand, even his runners have no idea how to get to
him. There’s a long line of people an instruction must go through before it reaches the people whose job is to come and nag us for money every week.
But you don’t need to know Gambit personally to know he’s not one to be fucked with. I’d say ask anyone that has tried crossing him, but I doubt they’re still around.
What Gambit doesn’t know is that I have started digging up dirt on him as well. And I plan on using that information if he dares to cross me.
“Who was that?”
I take in a gulp of air and press against my chest. For a moment, I forgot Dan is still here, set on annoying me.
“No one important,” I grumble. “Just some asshole looking for money.”
He’s leaning back in my chair and swivels around to face me. Dan stares at me with a wide grin. “You deal with a lot of assholes. I still have no idea why you’re still in security. Why don’t you leave and come work for me? That way, I’ll force you to take that much-needed break.”
Although I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or if the idea of me reporting to him is what he finds exciting.
My brother owns chains of successful businesses, but he really made his fortune with his doughnut business. He has around 800 Dan-nut stores nationwide and is continuously expanding. Yes, that’s the actual name of his doughnut chain.
I’m happy to see my little brother doing so well, but there is no way in hell I’d work with him. He initially offered me a high up position in his company when I first filed for bankruptcy, but I declined. He would probably have driven me to the point where I could see myself landing in prison. Besides, I’m happy for Dan and all his success, but I wanted to accomplish something of my own.
