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  GUARDING HER BOOK 2

  ANNA BROOKS

  Nobody gets in their way and nothing will stop them.

  These are the men of Royal Ace Security.

  Copyright © 2018 Anna Brooks

  Published by Anna Brooks

  Cover design by Cover Couture

  Editing by Editing4Indies

  Proofreading by Kimberly Holm

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Notes and stuff.

  Other Books

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  For Kacey.

  You are one of the absolute sweetest, kindest, most giving women I know. I admire you and love you so much.

  Prologue

  Billie, 3 years ago

  “Run, baby. Now is the time. Run and don’t look behind you. And please, Billie, never come back.”

  “Mom?” I ask her as I sit up, sleep making me groggy and confused.

  She thrusts a backpack at me and begins pulling the covers off. “Get up, dear girl. You need to leave.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have much time.”

  I don’t question her again as I slide my feet in a pair of tennis shoes that she throws at me.; the fear in her voice and the determination shining through her glossy eyes won’t let me. Besides, I trust her implicitly.

  Before she pulls me out of my room, she puts a finger over her lips, and I see a cut on the top one. I nod because I know what will happen if I make any noise. As we tiptoe past my father, who is passed out at the kitchen table, I hold my breath. The door to the trailer squeaks, but Mom pushes it open anyway. She ushers me out to the street and runs with me down the gravel road to the entrance of the trailer park, where she reaches behind the dumpster and pulls out a tattered suitcase.

  Before she can tell me what’s going on, a car pulls up. She throws the suitcase in the trunk, then pulls me tight to her. “I love you, baby girl. Go do something big with your life. Make me proud and don’t come back.”

  I know what she’s doing. It was something she always promised me. From the time I was a little girl, she told me I was meant for better things. Bigger things. Even though my father is a drunk, he provides a roof and food, but he also delivers punishments with his fists and forces me to see things I can’t unsee.

  “I always promised you I’d get you out of here.”

  “Are you coming with me?” I naturally assumed it would be us two, but by the way her shoulders slump, I know I’m wrong.

  She shakes her head and holds me at arms’ length. “No, baby.”

  “You comin’ or what?” the cab driver shouts from the front seat.

  “Mom, you can’t make me go. I don’t want to go alone.”

  Her head shakes again. “Everything you need is in that bag and the suitcase. You take care of yourself now.”

  “But Mom, I—”

  “Run, baby. Now is the time. Run and don’t look behind you. And please, Billie, never come back.”

  She opens the door to the back seat and practically shoves me in. I don’t even get to say goodbye before she closes the door and runs back to the trailer. The cabbie takes off, and I don’t think to ask where he’s taking me as I peer out the window until my mom is nothing but a dot.

  Coming up with a plan is impossible because I can’t even think, period. So when he pulls up in front of the bus station two towns over, I bristle in my seat, thinking I’m not far enough away.

  “This is your stop.”

  “But—”

  “But what? Your mom already paid. Get out.”

  His eyes linger on my chest, just like almost every other man in my shithole of a town has since I turned fourteen and developed breasts four years ago. I push the door open and then grab my suitcase. I dart into the building and wince at the bright lights. As soon as I find the bathroom, I go into the handicapped stall and sit on the toilet, then dig through the backpack.

  “Holy crap.”

  Rolls and rolls of cash. A copy of my birth certificate and my social security card. A couple of photos of me and my mom. And a bus ticket. To California.

  Chapter 1

  Carter, present day.

  “Tap out.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit as I jab an elbow into Gio’s stomach. Using the momentum, I flip us over so I can stand. I fucking love it when we spar. Gio used to be a professional fighter, so I jump on any chance I get to train with him.

  He smiles around his mouthpiece. “Had enough?”

  I drop my hands. “Yeah, I wanna hit the bag and get some cardio in.”

  We bump knuckles, and I lift my chin at Damien as he steps into the ring to spar next.

  Heading over to the wall of punching bags, I spit my mouthpiece out on top of my duffel and then readjust my wraps. The gym at Royal Ace Security where I work is one big ass open room. A couple of TVs play ESPN all day, and it contains everything we need from free weights to speed bags.

  Some kind of cushiony black shit covers the floor, and the walls are a dark gray. Along the wall of free weights are floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and I’m able to glance over to check my form.

  I get into a rhythm, absentmindedly listening to the sports highlights.

  “Hey, man,” Royce greets as he walks into the gym.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying home for another couple of weeks.” He and his girl, Paisley, just had a baby, who’s the cutest damn kid I’ve ever seen.

  “Paisley kicked me out.” He laughs. “Said I was hovering too much.”

  I drop my hands and shake my arms. “You? Overbearing?”

  He flips me off. “Fuck off.”

  “How is the baby?”

  “Anderson’s great. Perfect little dude.”

  “That’s good. I’m happy for you guys.”

  “This is one for the books, ladies and gentlemen. The last man to ride in these conditions was the world record holder, California’s own Carter Cane. Since the tragic death of his longtime girlfriend, model and actress Zoe Sanders, he’s retired.” I can’t help but stare at the TV; the picture flashes even brighter as the camera zooms in on the waves. My blood pressure rises, and my hand shakes. “Shut that fucking off!”

  “Shit.” Royce drops his bag.

  “Nearly six years after the unfortunate accident and fracture of his leg, fans have yet to see the world-famous surfer in ac
tion. Calls were left unansw—”

  The TV goes black, and the gym is dead silent. My jaw is so tight it won’t allow any air out of my mouth, and my nostrils flare as I try to fill my lungs. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  This can’t happen now. I can’t lose it in front of the guys.

  I’ve done a fantastic job of only losing my shit in private. Like this morning before I came in, I got pissed at myself for waking up with a hangover, and instead of tossing the empty beer bottles in the trash, I decided to throw one across the room. It collided with my TV, which was the perfect way to start my day.

  Now this.

  I haven’t had it thrown in my face like this in such a blatant way in a while. I try to keep it under control. I really try.

  But then it hits me. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that makes it worse because the accident replays in my mind. Her terrified scream and the way she begged me to help her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fucking help her. I couldn’t do anything.

  Fury tears through me so fast my blood catches fire and I turn around and pound the shit out of the first bag my eyes fall on. My hands fly, so fast and so goddamned angry. I hit the bag wrong, and a searing pain slices up my arm. Good. Fucking let it.

  It’s the least I deserve.

  A hand settles on my shoulder, and I swing out, clipping Gio on his chin, but he doesn’t even budge. “Settle the fuck down.”

  “Fuck you,” I scream at him.

  “Carter, man.” Royce approaches me from the other side, and I can see what they’re doing.

  Closing in on me. Well, fuck this shit. Everything’s been closing in on me for six goddamned years. “Back up.”

  “Chill out.”

  I clench my fists. “Back the hell up!” With every word I growl, my foot collides with the bench.

  “That make you feel better?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Instead of backing away, Gio steps closer. I swing out with my left, but he easily avoids the sloppy attempt at a hit. “Better?”

  I don’t answer him, but before I can get another shot in, he jabs me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

  My back collides with the wall and I gasp as I try to catch my breath. “Dammit,” I grunt under my breath.

  “You done, asshole?”

  “Yeah.” I wheeze. “I’m done.”

  Without another word, he walks away, and I tip my head back. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Six years. Six years and it still hits me like it was yesterday.

  I try to tell myself I won’t relive that day.

  Not again.

  Not anymore.

  But every single time, it’s a lie.

  Billie

  Never come back.

  Suffocation consumes me, and I claw at my throat as I shoot up in bed, gasping for air. My legs are shaking, my neck is sweating, and my heart bangs around in my chest like a pinball. I swing my legs over the bed and put my feet on the fuzzy purple rug.

  Never come back.

  Those were the last words my mom said to me. When she came to my room that night and woke me from a dead sleep with a fresh cut to her already scabbed lip and another bruise on her battered face, I knew something was wrong. Worse than normal, at least.

  That was three years ago.

  I didn’t make anything of myself. No, that’s not true. I’m definitely in a better position than I was before I left. I’m just lonely. I had my mom back then, and I have nobody now. I’m not a punching bag to my father, but because I can’t get an audition, I feel like just as much of a failure as he used to make me feel.

  I’ve worked multiple jobs to pay the bills until I found the one that paid well enough for me to survive. I work my ass off and spend too much money to live in a safe neighborhood, but it’s the only luxury I afford myself. After growing up in a trailer with holes in the floor and broken windows, I promised myself I’d never live like that again.

  The only other promise I ever made myself was that I would go back and get my mom. I haven’t broken that one yet; I just haven’t had the opportunity or the resources. And if I’m being honest, I’m too afraid that I’m going to go there and discover things are worse than when I left or that she’s dead. Or when I get down there, he’ll be waiting for me, and I won’t be able to leave. I don’t want to… No, I can’t get stuck there again.

  To the end of the earth, I love my mother, but I can’t live like she did.

  I get up and walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, then lean on the counter. I keep a picture I have of my mom and me in a macaroni frame I made her in kindergarten that she packed in my suitcase the night I left. I glance at the photo, and my heart bottoms out. Every time I look at that happy memory, I want to cry.

  But it also gives me the strength I need to continue fighting. I might not have made anything of myself yet, but I will. And when I get enough courage, I’m going back to get my mom.

  After another hour of tossing and turning, I climb out of bed to get ready for the day. The tightness in my chest from my nightmare lingers, so after I’ve eaten breakfast, I decide to go for a walk before I take a shower.

  I’ve just closed and locked my door when a loud crash comes from the apartment across from mine. Glass definitely breaks; I know the sound all too well. Yelling or screaming usually followed in my world, but right now, there’s nothing but silence, so I continue down the hall and to the stairs so I can get some fresh air and hope it’ll help clear my head before I have to go into work for the evening.

  * * *

  “Can I get you anything else to drink, sir?”

  The elderly man turns in his seat, his already wrinkled face getting even deeper lines when he smiles. “No, thank you, dear. We’re finished here.”

  “Okay. I’ll just leave the bill. You can pay whenever you’re ready, no—”

  He slides something into my hand, and when I make a fist, the familiar material tells me it’s cash. “You keep the change, you hear?”

  “Thank you, sir. Have a wonderful evening.”

  He pats my hand, and I offer a smile before I walk to the register and finish his transaction. “Seriously?” I whisper under my breath.

  “Seriously, what?” Noah, one of the other servers, asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “Girl, you’ve worked here for almost two years now. You can talk to us every once in a while.”

  As I lean on the wall, I sigh, blowing a stray hair from my face. “I talk to you guys.”

  “Billie. You don’t.”

  “I’m not trying to be rude. I just want to do a good job, and Paxton is always watching. I need this job.”

  He rolls his sky blue eyes. “We know. You’re quiet, but we all think you’re sweet as hell. Now, tell me, what’s wrong?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, I make sure nobody is watching me. “Old man Spooner left me like seven percent tonight.”

  Noah winces. “Damn, girl. That sucks. At least you won’t have him for a few more weeks.”

  Everyone knows he is the worst tipper ever, which is ironic. He owns like six banks or something, but somehow can’t calculate a twenty percent tip. I certainly don’t want handouts, but he could stand to throw an extra ten in with his hundred-dollar bill. The hostess rotates which section he’s in when he comes in every Thursday night so we all get to share in his cheapness.

  “Yeah, I know. And I don’t mind, really. It just confuses me that nobody in his family has said anything to him about it.”

  “It is strange. Hey, you live by that bar, right?”

  “Which one?”

  “The House one.”

  A muscle in my neck twitches, and my head tilts to the side. “How do you know that?”

  “Savannah gave you a ride one night. Anyway. We were thinking of heading there after work tonight. Do you want to come with us?”

  His question holds more weight than I’m sure he realizes. Of course, I want to, but since I won’t make as much money as I normally do tonigh
t, I can’t. It’s work, then home. I go grocery shopping and to the farmers market on my days off, but that’s about it because that’s all I have money for. I’ll hit up the occasional thrift shop or outlet store, but since I wear a uniform of black tights, a black skirt, and a white button-down shirt to work, I don’t need much along the lines of clothes.

  And as far as friends, I’ll go to the occasional movie with a couple of the girls I work with, but I’m pretty content to be on my own when I’m not at work. At least I used to be. But lately, I’ve really been feeling lonely.

  And because of that, I should take him up on the offer. I will next time.

  “Thank you for the invite, but I’m gonna have to pass.”

  “Aww, come on.” He sticks his bottom lip out and then flashes me a smile, his bright white teeth shining against his dark skin. “Please.”

  “If you give me more notice, I will try to go next time. But… it needs to be on a night when they have half off cover.”

  He waves me off. “I’ll pay for your cover.”

  “No,” I insist. “I can pay my own way. I just need to plan is all.”

  “You’re a confusing girl, Billie Jean.”

  “I’m actually pretty simple, Noah Riley.”

  He shakes his head as he walks backward. “You’re the opposite of simple, girl. But that’s not a bad thing.”

  I giggle as he almost runs into a busboy, and then I continue with the rest of my tables. Before long, the shift is over, and my feet tell me I’ve been here longer than needed. Our boss makes the girls wear at least a little bit of a heel, so I yank mine off and set them in my metal locker. Dropping my favorite white tennis shoes on the tiled floor of the employee lounge, I slide them on. Then I take my time walking across the paisley pattern on the dark blue carpet as I leave through the side entrance.

  “Whoa.” I stumble and stick my arms out, prepared to cushion my fall, when I’m yanked back up and pulled into a strong chest. What should jostle me sends a jolt of warmth through my skin, the hairs on the back of my neck rising when his breath falls against them. “Are you okay?”