Guarded: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Rachel Leigh

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Published by KB Worlds LLC.

  Cover Design by: Opulent Swag & Designs

  Editing by: Lawrence Editing

  Published in the United States of America

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the Everyday Heroes World!

  I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! Guarded is a book based on the world I created in my USA Today bestselling Everyday Heroes Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.

  I truly hope you enjoy Guarded. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.

  Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.

  Happy Reading,

  K. Bromberg

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  The End

  Also Written By K. Bromberg

  Also by Rachel Leigh

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Fire paints the sky overhead. It’s a sight, for sure. One you’d see on television blanketing kids as they run through the sprinkler. Roaring belly laughs and screeching howls as the cold water hits their sunburnt skin. A couple holding hands reminiscing and finally finding a chance to catch a breath after a long day.

  My skin is hot, but it’s not credited to a kiss from the sun. It’s the thirty-pound rucksack on my back, the thick camouflage armor meant to mask me from the enemy, and the M4 Carbine tucked underneath my right arm. Howls can be heard, but they are not preceding laughter. Instead, they follow the muffled pop pop that echoes through the small desert town.

  “Get down, now!” I shout. My voice carries through my own ears but barely makes a wave through the muffled cries and shouts of panic.

  A mother runs by in a rag dress, holding tightly on to her baby, who is balled up in a cloth and pressed firmly to her chest. My stare holds tight to them as an ache burrows into the pit of my stomach. When she rounds the corner, I only pray that she is safe, but what is safe in this dead zone?

  My eyes dance around with my fingers shadowing the trigger—searching, hoping, trying like hell to see where the hits are coming from. Catching my men who are still standing, I see them do the same. Matthews looks me in the eye and it’s like he knows what’s coming before either of us knows a damn thing. In slow motion his head turns, looking up. Following the beam of his gaze, we find him. “No!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I flee across the street, my combat boots swinging up dust behind me. Setting my eyes on my scope while my feet continue to move, I bend my finger. Again. Again. “Down!” I shove hard into Matthews, his body hitting the dry sand as I collapse onto him without even giving it a second thought. Still firing shots at the sniper, I’m unaware if I’m even landing, but I don’t give up—not yet.

  When the cries smelter and the dust settles, I take in a deep breath of relief. My tense body drops aimlessly as I’m still cloaking Matthews.

  “You fucking saved my life,” he bellows beneath me, his arms wrapping around me and squeezing tight. “I still hate your dumb ass, but I hate you a little less now.”

  “Screw off.” I swat at him. Semi-joking, semi-hoping I least make him feel a shred of pain. Five minutes ago was the first time that Matthews and I have ever seen eye to eye.

  Once my heart rate returns to a somewhat normal rate, I roll off him with my back pressed against the pavement. I catch Rivers stalking towards us. “Get the fuck up. Back to the command post.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. When the dust begins to stir again, I know this isn’t over. I look down at Matthews and contemplate letting the shithead get up himself, but my conscious gets the best of me and I extend a helping hand.

  Sirens circulate the air between the stacked buildings. “Incoming. Incoming,” rings through the speakers. All eyes shoot to the sky when the beam spreads across, starting as a firefly and igniting into a display that resembles a bolt of lightning.

  “Fucking A,” I mutter under my breath. “Go!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I shove the guys forward and we all make a beeline for the command post.

  A feeling of emptiness awakens when it dawns on me that we are one man short. “Jones. Where the fuck is Jones?” I look back and see him there—helpless, motionless, lifeless.

  Slamming my footlocker shut, I plop down on the one-inch cot. The events of the day are on full replay in my mind. They thanked me for shielding Matthews. They called me a hero for gunning down the sniper. They forgot to mention that I left Jones behind. I didn’t even know he was out there. He died when I could have protected him. Someone should have fucking had his back. Shutting out the harrowing memories, I open up my phone. It’s too late back in Sunnyville to call Gemma and let her know that the tower has been down. I know she’s probably been a mess wondering why I haven’t been in touch. Then again, this isn’t the first time we’ve lost contact for a lengthy time. At least this was only five days, versus the eleven days service was interrupted last month.

  July 18

  My love,

  The days are getting longer, the nights shorter. Each moment that you are gone, my heart continues to tear apart further and further. I haven’t left the house in weeks, aside from going to see Dr. Harris. She says that it's okay. Baby steps. If only I could muster the courage to even stand on my own two feet, let alone take a step in the right direction.

  When you said it would be hard, I didn’t realize how hard it would truly be. Don’t get me wrong, I have no regrets. Marrying you was the best decision I have ever made. I long to feel your arms wrapped around me. Your kisses on my cheek. Until then, I dream about you. Your big brown eyes, your sandy-blond hair, and the way you bite the corner of your lip when I walk into a room.

  I miss you so much, Nash.

  I miss us.

  Stay safe.

  Until tomorrow,

  Gemma xoxo

  Hugging my phone to my chest, my heart swells. Gemma knew who I was and what I did when we said
our vows. When I proposed, I told her, “It’s going to be really fucking hard, but we’ve got this, babe.” From the moment I first laid eyes on her at Blue Skies, I knew she was the one for me. I boarded the plane, sat in my seat, and watched her step on. Her jet-black hair scattered across her face from the gust of wind that hit her directly before getting on. She was pushing the mess away and pulling stray strands from her mouth when she caught me staring. A smile spread across my face and I let out a chuckle as her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. It was her first day on the job and she didn’t know me from Adam. Not a clue that I was a regular and that most days I’d go dive just because I liked the rush. I let her give me the pep talk she was hired to give, strap on my pack like I had no fucking clue what I was doing. All the while, watching her every move because she was the most ungraceful little thing I’d ever laid eyes on. At one point, I was worried she’d fall out with me. Her quirkiness is one of the many things I love about her. My mind hasn’t stopped thinking about her since that day. When my eyes are open, I see her. When my lids are shut, I dream of her. It’s like our hearts were meant to connect to beat life back into them. With her history of depression, I knew it was going to be a struggle to leave her so soon after the wedding.

  I open the next email.

  July 19

  My love,

  I went and got groceries today. You’d be so proud. I even put on makeup and wore that baby blue sundress that you love.

  Just the thought of her in that dress has my cock throbbing. What I wouldn’t do to lift it up over her waist and take her from behind. Fuck, I miss her and her ass so damn much.

  I’ve even thought about signing back up for that pottery class I skipped out on a couple of weeks ago. Dr. Harris seems to think I’m making progress, but I’m not so sure. I was daydreaming yesterday on the porch swing and I decided on names. Willow for a girl, and Parker for a boy. What do you think? You’ll probably hate them, just like all of the other names. I’m starting to doubt babies are even in my future.

  Stay safe.

  Until tomorrow,

  Gemma xoxo

  Of course we will have babies. Lots of them. I hope Dr. Harris is right in thinking she’s making progress. She gets so close, then slides back down. I hate that I’m not there to catch her when she does. To give her that extra boost she needs. Gemma hasn’t had it easy. Her parents were in a fatal car accident when she was only nineteen years old, and the only family she has left is her sister, who is estranged and reckless, and an aunt who lives in Arizona.

  I open the next email.

  July 20

  My love,

  It’s been three days since I’ve heard from you. My mind began to wander to the worst possible scenario until I reached out to Rivers’ wife and she said she hasn’t heard from him either. We assume the towers are down again and that all is well. As soon as you read this, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I need to know that you are safe.

  On another note, I took that pottery class today. Wait until you see our new fancy centerpiece. You will die of laughter. Damn, I miss you, Nash.

  Stay safe,

  Until next time,

  Gemma xoxo

  Forever.

  It’s what keeps me going. Forever with Gemma is the reason I open my eyes each morning and face another day.

  Chapter Two

  Waking up, I throw my arms over my head in hopes of five more minutes. I can hear everyone scrambling around to get breakfast and head to the range.

  A nudge against my shoulder has my eyes shooting open. “Sergeant’s waiting for you outside. Wake your ass up.” Lifting my head with a growl, I see Rivers standing at the end of the cot.

  I take a deep breath of the dry air and force myself up. “What’s he want?” I holler, but he’s already out of the tent before the words hit his ears.

  Once I’m suited up, I push through the thick fabric opening of the fifteen-square-foot tent. Stepping out into the sandy abyss of the desert landscape, I expect to find Sergeant Jacobs waiting for me. Instead, I see him standing with the chaplain and Captain Riggs, who all carry the same mask of concern on their faces.

  Stopping in my tracks, I salute Captain Riggs when he looks over in my direction. Sheer displeasure accompanies each step he makes toward me.

  “Private Whitmore, there has been an unfortunate event back home that requires your attention. Your time here has been cut short.”

  “Unfortunate event? What’s that supposed to mean? Am I needed at the US base?”

  His next step has my heart sinking deep into the black pit of my stomach. A dark cloud descends over me. Only, it’s an illusion. Only I can see it, feel it. Something is very wrong.

  “You’ll be accompanying Private Herein back to the States proceeding the ramp ceremony for Private Jones at approximately 0900.” He places a comforting hand on my shoulder. The look on his face is solace. As if he’s expecting a mountain of grief to pour out of me when I have no fucking clue what is even going on.

  Waving over the chaplain, Sergeant Jacobs drops his head, unable to make eye contact.

  “Private Whitmore,” he begins, shifting his focus to the card in his hand. “I regret to inform you that we’ve received an official notice from the American Red Cross that your wife, Mrs. Gemma Whitmore, was pronounced dead on the twenty-fifth day of July—” He continues on, but the words don’t register.

  “What? No, there has to be some sort of mistake.” Did I say the words out loud, or were they only in my head?

  His words keep on as he looks at the notecard, but I don’t hear them. All I can hear is the thoughts going rampant through my mind.

  No. Gemma was getting better. She started a pottery class. She wore the blue dress. It’s not possible. They have to be mistaken.

  Holding up a hand, I stop him. “You have the wrong person. Gemma isn’t dead. Gimme that.” I snatch the card out of his hand.

  My eyes skim over the writing. Her aunt Lori contacted the American Red Cross last night. Gemma Whitmore, wife of Private Nash Whitmore, was found dead on July 25.

  In this moment, everyone disappears. The sun has set. The sand has settled. My heart has completely broken in half, fallen out of my chest. My breath—lost. My legs buckle beneath me as I collapse to the ground.

  There are no tears, there are no words.

  Minutes feel like hours.

  Hours feel like an eternity.

  Time continues to move as I stay grounded to the dirt beneath me.

  “How?” I manage to choke out the word. Lifting my head, I look at the chaplain.

  “We do not have that information. This note is all we have received.” He kneels down beside me. “Would you like me to pray with you?”

  I snarl, “Pray for what? For my wife to get better? She’s already gone. What’s the point?” I can feel myself getting angry. She’s gone. She’s not coming back.

  “For you. I’d like to pray for you, Private Nash.”

  In a swift motion, I’m on my feet. “Don’t waste your time. I’m a lost cause.”

  Walking away, I feel any ounce of happiness inside of me drift away. Any sense of compassion, hope, faith. It’s gone. It’s gone with Gemma. It’s gone with Jones. What’s the point anymore? Where do I go from here?

  Over the past three hours, I have lost everything, including my memory of the time between then and now. I’m sitting in a fog of my own thoughts. Nothing makes sense anymore. One moment, I’m convincing myself that this isn’t real. The next moment, I’m wondering how and why—when and where. I’ve received hugs, condolences, pats on the back. I’ve heard people say that time heals all wounds. What if I don’t want to fucking heal? What if I want to die with her? We just met a year ago, wed three months ago, but I can’t even imagine a life without her. My future is bleak and narrow. A tunnel of darkness ahead with no ending in sight.

  When we hit the ground, I swallow my pride and thank the pilot. I haven’t even attempted to make a call to Gemma’s a
unt. Yet, walking down the boarding bridge, I see her waiting.

  “Oh, Nash.” She throws herself into my arms. A lady I’ve met once, who baked me the best apple pie I’ve ever had. That’s all I know of her. “I’m so sorry. Our sweet Gemma was just—” She pauses. “She’s in a better place now.”

  I don’t even respond. I nod with the fake smile plastered on my face. In a better place? She should be here with me. She should be throwing herself in my arms, while I shower her with kisses. Whisking her away and taking her home to make love to her while we try for a baby.

  We walk together to the luggage belt. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I prepare for answers. “Where is she?”

  Lori places a calming hand on my tattoo-covered arm. Coincidentally enough, it’s the one I had done right before I left, the one I had done for Gemma of our own special paradise. We’d often talk about escaping to a private island, shutting out the world, and living—really living. A life where you actually enjoy life. The tattoo is the shape of Bora Bora filled with Polynesian waves. We never got there. We never will get there. “She’s at the morgue. We have plenty of time to talk about that. Tell me how you are doing?”

  “Listen, Lori. I’d prefer not to beat around the bush. I need to know what happened. Please, don’t try and spare me any details. Was she in an accident? Was she sick? I need answers,” I say, as we continue to walk. Each step feels like I’m walking into my new personal hell.

  The doors open and the fresh air smacks me in the face full force. Reality hits me.