She’s gorgeous, innocent, with the looks of a goddess. The way she looks at me makes me wish I’d lived a completely different life from the beginning. I can barely contain myself when I’m around her. All I want to do is protect her, keep her safe, and the worst part of all, I’ve been sent here to kill her.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Billie
Another day in paradise. Actually, that’s not true. It’s just another day in purgatory at the Terry Wolf Art Gallery where I work. Work is a relatively loose term. All I do is sit at the front desk waiting for people to come in. Then when they do, I smile, welcome them, and ask them if they’d like a tour. They normally don’t, so I go back to waiting around until close. Some people might think that sounds great, as you don’t really have to do anything, but in reality, most days I’m ready to die of boredom.
The only good part of this job is that it gives me a chance to work on my writing. I’m an aspiring author who writes mostly sci-fi or fantasy books with female heroines who have lost their parents and go on incredible journeys to new, magical lands to save the day. I haven’t been published just yet, but one day I will.
My laptop is on the fritz again tonight. The screen goes dark as I’m typing, so I try my special trick of closing it and opening it three times to get it to turn back on.
“What a dream machine,” I sigh. The book I’m working on is titled Jenny and the Dark World. It’s about a fifteen-year-old orphan who gets sucked through a portal in her closet into another world where it’s always storming with purple clouds, and a ruling queen thinks she has come to overthrow her and tells her servants to kill her. I’m in the middle of an exciting scene when I hear the gallery door open.
“This is the place,” I hear a male voice chuckle. “Just wait until you see the tits on this mare. She’ll give you a stiffy that’ll make it hard to walk.”
I close my laptop and sit up straight as three men stride in, all of them in black suits and ties. If this wasn’t a modern art gallery, I might think they were gangsters here to rob the place. But what would they want in an art gallery?
“See, boys?” the obvious leader says as he walks right up to me. He noshes into a peach with a wet slurp as he eyes me up and down. “What did I tell you? A nice big rack of lamb on her, am I right?”
“You’re right.” Another nods, his eyes firmly planted on my breasts. “Those are some real mommy milkers, as the kids say.”
Oh my God. I twist uncomfortably in my chair. “I—um…would you men like a tour—?”
“Listen here, girl,” their leader says, peach juice dripping down his chin. “The boys and I here run a club downtown. We’re looking for girls. I don’t know what you make here, but you’ll make a lot more working for us. And you won’t be wasting those talents God gave you either.”
The men level their eyes at me, looking at me like they already own me. Why do I get the feeling that these guys don’t hear the word “no” very often?
“I…um…” I can barely even speak. My hands are trembling so much I have to clasp them between my thighs. “No, thank you. But thank you!”
Oh God. I’m repeating myself. I sound so stupid right now.
“Come on, baby. You’d be a star—”
“She’s not interested.” An unfamiliar voice cuts through the air like the edge of a razor blade. I look up to see a tall, strapping figure standing behind the men. How did he get there? I didn’t hear the door.
He looks completely relaxed, but like a relaxed predator ready to strike at any moment, even with his hands in his pockets. He stands at least a head taller than the others. His broad shoulders fill out an olive colored T-shirt that looks ready to tear around his strapping, taut muscles. He’s devastatingly handsome, but there’s some kind of darkness behind his chocolate brown eyes. I can see instantly that this is a man who has seen the world, lived through things I can only imagine.
And why does knowing that have me suddenly feeling hot all over?
“Who asked you, pal?” the peach man growls, his eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you go enjoy the artwork before you get yourself hurt?”
What happens next is a blur.
The tall man darts forward with blinding speed. His arm cuts through the air, there’s a wet slap, and the peach hits the wall. Then he has the man in his grasp with his neck between his hands. I gasp as he turns and glares at the man’s comrades, who have yet to react.