Protecting You: A Small Town Romance Origin Story (The Bailey Brothers Book 1)

by Claire Kingsley

  “If that was supposed to be a pickup line, it sucked.”

  His friends moved, fanning out around the pool table. They acted casual, but I didn’t like the way they made me feel penned in. I glanced toward the bar, but I couldn’t see Asher from where I was standing.

  “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, princess.” He took a step closer. “Give me another chance.”

  “I’m not your princess. And I’m engaged, so you’re wasting your time.”

  “Oh shit, is he here?” the guy asked. “Hey, you guys, wanna watch me take some dude’s fiancée out from under him?”

  One of his friends sat on the edge of the table. “Yeah, right.”

  “You don’t think I can do it?”

  Warnings were going off in my head like a fire alarm. I needed to get away. The guy had me backed up against the pool table, so I tried to move past him, shoving him aside with my arm.

  His hand clamped around my wrist. I twisted, shouting for him to let go, and an instant later chaos erupted around me.

  I stumbled a few steps before regaining my feet and whipping around. A knot of men had formed next to the pool table—shoving each other, voices raised. Asher was in the middle of it.

  An arm hooked around my waist and pulled me back, whoever it was telling me to get clear. Matt, Randy, and Christian were in the thick of the fray with Asher. The group seemed to swell, people pouring in around the pool tables. I couldn’t tell what was happening, or if the asshole who’d grabbed me was even still in there. Someone moved in front of me, pointing their phone, ready to record.

  “Asher, don’t,” I shouted, but I had no idea if he could hear me. I certainly couldn’t see anything.

  It looked like shoving broke out in the middle. More yelling. My stomach knotted. I kept getting pushed further back by the crowd.

  Someone grabbed my arm. It was Tamara.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Some dicks were harassing me.” I got up on my tiptoes, trying to see. “The guys came back, but I can’t tell what’s happening in there.”

  “I think the bar staff is breaking it up,” she said. “I just saw the bouncer muscle his way in.”

  That was a relief. Tamara and I pushed through the crowd to get closer. It didn’t seem like things were calming down, but it didn’t sound like anyone was throwing punches, either.

  Except… oh no.

  I stepped around a guy in a baseball cap in time to see Asher taking slow steps backward, his hands up as if to indicate he wasn’t a threat. Matt, Christian, and Randy were with him, and the bouncers were herding all four of them toward the front.

  Great. They were getting kicked out of the bar.

  Why the fuck were they getting kicked out? Where was the asshole who’d been harassing me?

  At least some of his dickhead buddies were getting kicked out too. Another bouncer was ushering several of them out the door.

  “Asher,” I called, although I knew he wouldn’t hear me over all the noise. I waved and he met my eyes, his expression apologetic. I mouthed that I’d be right there.

  “Do you think they’re going to get in trouble?” Tamara asked.

  “I don’t know, but we better get out there. I just need to get my purse.”

  “Okay,” Tamara said. “We’ll meet you out front.”

  God, what a mess.

  The crowd inside was already dispersing now that the show was over, although a group still bunched around the pool table. I didn’t see my purse where I’d left it, but maybe it had gotten knocked over in the commotion. I circled around, back toward the restrooms. More yelling broke out near the front door. One of the asshole’s buddies was shouting at the bouncer.

  Dumbass.

  An arm grabbed me from behind and a hand clamped over my mouth before I could so much as gasp. I tried to break free, but my feet dragged across the floor and a second later I was in the dark hallway outside the men’s room. Another set of arms grabbed my legs, hoisting them up.

  What the fuck was happening? And how could they be so strong?

  I thrashed as hard as I could, but there was nothing I could do against the force of all that muscle, bone, and sinew. They hauled me through a door and cool night air hit my face. My heart raced and I could feel the flood of panic trying to take hold. Where were they taking me?

  Someone grunted. Another guy laughed, a harsh snicker that sent a sharp stab of fear down my spine.

  “Get her down.”

  It was all happening so fast. Rough hands shoved me to the ground. A weight slammed over my hips—someone straddling me. I managed a strangled yell before the hand gripped my face harder, making it hard to breathe.

  “Hold her.”

  Someone jerked my arms over my head and the weight on top of me made it impossible to move. Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. Tears of fear and rage.

  A face moved down, close to mine. It was him. “Hey, princess. Told you I was going to take you.”

  I tried to struggle, but his weight held me down.

  “Go ahead, princess.” His breath smelled like beer. “I like it when they fight back. Makes me hard.”

  Someone laughed. I couldn’t see how many guys were here, but he had help.

  “I go second.”

  “You’ll wait your fucking turn,” the guy on top of me said.

  “Come on, fucking do it. There’s people right out there.”

  Oh god. No. Please, no.

  I thrashed harder, but I could barely move. Blood pounded in my ears and my vision blurred.

  Footsteps. Were those footsteps? Shouting started again. Male voices yelling. Swearing. A woman’s shriek. The weight on top of me lifted and air rushed into my lungs. I scrambled to my feet, gasping for breath, and there were hands, then arms around me. Ushering me toward a streetlight. Friendly arms. Women’s arms. My eyes still blurred with tears, fear and anger making me shake.

  “What’s happening?”

  I spun around. Alex and Jess had me. They’d pulled me out to the street, around the corner in front of the bar. I couldn’t see into the alley.

  Matt and Christian shoved two of the asshole’s buddies away from the bar, near the entrance to the alley. They were shouting. Pushing. Randy had another one up against the wall.

  Where was Asher?

  “No.” I lurched for the alley, but Alex and Jess held me back.

  Red and blue lights flashed behind me, the light reflecting off the bar’s darkened windows. My stomach turned over and I was afraid I’d throw up.

  My ears felt muffled, like I’d been plunged underwater. Cops ran past, into the alley. Alex was trying to talk to me—ask me what happened and if I was okay. Or maybe it was Jess. I didn’t know.

  For a long, sickening moment, it seemed as if everything was caught in stasis. No one moving. Just the red and blue lights, blinding in the night.

  “Miss? Miss?”

  Someone was trying to get my attention, but all I could do was stare in horror as a figure emerged from the alley. Asher. His arms were behind his back, his wrists secured in handcuffs.

  Handcuffs.

  “Asher!”

  His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes on the ground. Was that blood on his shirt? Was he hurt? The cops led him out to the street, one on each side, holding him by the elbows.

  “Miss?”

  “What?” I asked, barely registering that a deputy was trying to talk to me. A siren rang out and more lights flashed. I was dimly aware of paramedics. More cops.

  “No! Asher!”

  All I could do was stare. He looked over his shoulder, and for the space of a heartbeat, he met my gaze. His eyes were wild and afraid, like a bear being shoved into a cage.

  They put him in the backseat. Shut the door. And drove away.

  14

  Asher

  I should have felt something. My knuckles were battered and raw. When I flexed my hands, a part of my brain registered the pain. But I didn’t reall
y feel it. It was like I’d been dosed with anesthesia, only I was awake and able to move. It wasn’t natural.

  The gnawing ache in my chest and the heavy knot of dread in my gut were another story. Those were acute and painful—and unavoidable. Like the image of Grace on the ground, pinned down in that alley, surrounded. Asleep or awake, it haunted me. As did the truth of what I’d done.

  A guy was fucking dead because of me.

  The last seventy-two hours had been a never-ending nightmare. The kind that leaves you gasping for breath and grabbing your chest until you’re flooded with relief because you realize you were dreaming.

  Except there was no relief. I wasn’t asleep. The nightmare was real.

  And every day it got worse.

  I sat in an interview room in the sheriff’s office with my defense attorney, Sean Nelson. He was young, wearing a suit. He carried a leather briefcase that matched the color of his shoes and I had no idea why I noticed that.

  The room felt hollow, like there wasn’t enough air. It was hard to breathe.

  It had been less than seventy-two hours since my arrest, and I’d already been in front of the judge twice. I’d listened while he denied bail, citing my previous record—the assault charge when I was seventeen.

  And I’d stood in court this morning to receive the formal charges. Second-degree murder.

  I was fucked.

  “I know today probably seemed like bad news,” Sean said. “And I’ll be honest, I’m a little surprised the prosecutor decided to be a hardass and charge you with murder, rather than manslaughter.”

  I nodded to show I was listening, but my eyes were locked on the table.

  “We knew they’d factor in your prior assault charge and bring up your martial arts training, so that wasn’t a surprise. But don’t panic. The state will often start with a more serious charge to leave some room to negotiate it down with a plea bargain.”

  “Negotiate it down to what?”

  “If they won’t drop the charges entirely, I’m going to push for manslaughter in the second degree. The sentencing for first-degree manslaughter is harsher, but both are better than murder. Obviously I can’t promise anything, but given the circumstances, and the state of mind you were in, I don’t think you’re ultimately going to face murder charges for this.”

  I nodded again, but clenched my fists as rage spread through my gut. I could still see it. Feel it. That sickening moment when I’d realized they had her.

  He shuffled some paperwork. “Now, the vast majority of cases don’t go to trial, but I’ll know more when I meet with the prosecutor.”

  “If it went to trial, it would be for murder?”

  “Yes. Considering that your actions were in the defense of your fiancée, and that we have witnesses who can testify to what the victim and his friends were about to do to her, we’d have a case. But unless the prosecutor won’t budge on the murder charge, I’m going to highly recommend we take the plea deal.”

  I scrubbed my hands through my hair. A plea bargain would mean accepting whatever my attorney could negotiate with the prosecutor. A couple of people in business suits with law degrees were supposed to decide my future?

  But I didn’t want to subject my family—Gram, my brothers, Grace—to a trial. And what were the chances a trial would go in my favor? Would a jury let me walk after what I’d done?

  I had a feeling I knew the answer to that.

  “Let’s assume we reach a plea agreement,” he continued. “What happens after that is a plea hearing. It’s not a full-blown trial, but it’s more involved than the arraignment today. The judge hears the charges and sentencing recommendations that we’ve agreed to. And both sides have an opportunity to make statements. Ultimately, sentencing is up to the judge, but they usually go by the recommendation in the agreement.”

  “And then?”

  He paused. “Even if we get the charges reduced, it will still mean prison time.”

  “When would I go?”

  “To prison?”

  I nodded.

  “You’d be transferred into the custody of the state at the end of the plea hearing. From there, you’d be transported directly to the prison facility.”

  I let that sink in for a moment. “People can attend the hearing?”

  “Yes, it’s a public proceeding.”

  They were going to be there. Grace was going to be there.

  Fuck.

  She’d come with Gram and my brothers to the arraignment today. It had been fucking torture, knowing she was so close. Knowing she was hurting and there was nothing I could do for her. I couldn’t hold her, kiss her, touch her. I couldn’t fix this.

  Everything was fucked to hell. And there was nothing I could do. I’d never felt so out of control.

  “Hang in there, Asher,” he said. “I’m going to do everything I can.”

  Deputy Spangler came in to escort me back to my cell. Gave me a sympathetic look. He’d been a senior when I was a freshman, and I’d been at his wedding last year.

  One night, and everything was different.

  He led me to the cell block. I was the only one back here. The first night, they’d been holding another guy, but he was gone now. I went in and Deputy Spangler shut the bars behind me.

  “She tried to come see you, by the way,” he said. “Grace did. We wanted to let her, but we couldn’t. It’s policy. But now that the arraignment’s over, I think we’ll be able to allow a visitor.”

  “Thanks.” I sank down onto the edge of the narrow bed.

  “Your brothers came down here too.”

  “Oh shit, what’d they do?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Just asked to see you.”

  I let out a relieved breath. The last thing we needed was my brothers doing something stupid.

  “What about the Havens?” I asked. “They must be all over this.”

  “Not really. Far as I know, they’ve been quiet about it.”

  That was good. If any of them tried to use this as an excuse to fuck with my family—

  What would I do? Nothing. I was locked in a cage. The world could be burning down, and there’d be nothing I could do about it.

  “We’ve been getting a ton of phone calls, though. Whole town’s in an uproar.”

  I could only imagine. No doubt my great aunt Tillie had already called the mayor—she loved to remind people she’d given him piano lessons—and my cousin Chuck, Tilikum’s resident conspiracy theorist, was probably busy creating a Free Asher campaign.

  Not that it would do any good. Hell, my entire family could camp out around the courthouse and it wouldn’t make a difference. It wasn’t like they could change the justice system.

  And they couldn’t change what I’d done.

  Neither could I. I couldn’t go back in time. Couldn’t take it back.

  And the really fucked-up thing? I didn’t know if I would.

  15

  Grace

  I’d never been so exhausted in my entire life. It was only mid-afternoon, but I lay on Gram’s couch, feeling like a wrung-out washrag—dingy and tattered. I hadn’t slept much since Asher’s arrest, and none of it in my own bed. I’d been staying here since Saturday night.

  My mom had brought me clean clothes before the arraignment this morning. She seemed to understand without me explaining that I had to be here, with his family. She hadn’t told Elijah yet, but he knew something was wrong.

  Except it wasn’t just something. Everything was wrong.

  The words ran through my mind over and over. Murder in the second degree.

  Gavin sat on the floor near my feet with his back against the couch. His face was buried in his hoodie while he played a game on his phone. It was like the boys were taking shifts; at least one of them was always with me. Levi had started it, sleeping on the floor next to me the first night. Logan had taken over Sunday morning, lingering nearby—talking if I wanted to, remaining silent if I didn’t. They hadn’t left me alone since.

&nbs
p; I was so grateful.

  Shifting on the couch, I tried to get comfortable. My back was bruised from the assault, making me wince every time I turned over. Still, I’d been lucky. It could have been so much worse. A part of me knew that at some point, I’d have to deal with what had happened to me. But right now, I didn’t care about any of that.

  All I cared about was Asher.

  Gavin leaned his head back on the couch cushion and turned his face toward me. “Need anything?”

  “Not right now. But thanks.”

  He nodded and went back to his phone.

  Knowing how grateful I felt to not be alone made me hurt for Asher even more. Because he wasn’t just alone, he was in jail. The stupid judge had denied bail. Everyone had seemed surprised by that, and I still didn’t understand why. Because he’d gotten in a fight in high school? Someone had mentioned the concern that Asher would try to retaliate against the guy’s friends. The ones who’d been involved were facing charges, but they’d all been released from jail for the time being.

  Could the judge really think Asher was the kind of man who’d hurt someone—or worse—in cold blood? God, I hoped not. If he did, we didn’t have much hope he’d be lenient.

  Evan came downstairs and settled into an armchair next to the couch. His beard was getting thick. He’d come home Sunday, dropping everything on a moment’s notice to be here for his family.

  Of course he had. He was a Bailey. That was what they did.

  The fridge and freezer were stuffed with food, dropped off by a steady stream of family members and neighbors. They were rallying around Asher’s family, offering what support they could. We’d had offers to picket the sheriff’s office or the courthouse, promises to organize a letter-writing campaign, and heartfelt assurances of calling in favors to make sure Asher went free.

  I appreciated the gestures, but I knew ultimately none of it would help.

  Levi and Logan wandered into the living room. Trying not to wince, I sat up to make room. Logan wedged himself between me and the couch’s arm, even though there wasn’t really enough space. I gratefully leaned against him. Levi was more subtle in his support, sitting in the other corner but giving my foot a gentle squeeze.