Charity's Warrior
Charity's Warrior
Title Page
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Charity’s Warrior
By Maya James
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2013 Maya James
All rights reserved
Charity’s Warrior is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Acknowledgements
A special thank you for the ladies that beta read Charity’s Warrior and really helped me with my almost endless typos, mistakes, and autocorrects (I know, I know, stop writing on my phone…it’s an evil necessity). You ladies made it a better novel, and your feedback and comments have given me so much encouragement.
Thank you Warriors! You are the best!
Becky Paprota-Martindell
Natalie Rusomanno
Lynn Chambers
Another special thank you to Robin Harper at Wicked by Design for the cover work.
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PROLOGUE
The Manhattan Grill and Bar is one of my favorite places to go when I just don't want to be home, which is most every night since I’m not thrilled being alone. I come here for me. I don't need anything from anyone. I certainly don't want anything from anyone. Well, yeah, service from the staff, but no one else.
Although it's not why I come, I have met a lot of different women here. That's never been a problem for me—meeting women. I come in here to mind my own business, and somehow I’m not alone when I leave. It doesn’t seem to take much effort. Picking up a woman in a bar is a meaningless act, and meaningless is all I have time for.
Don't be insulted—it's a two-way condescension, or at best, perversion. Face it, when you see a guy like me, your first thought isn't, "Oh, I hope he's wonderful outside of the bedroom." Usually, it’s something closer to me slamming your back against a wall while one hand grips your hair and pushes your face harder against my hot mouth, while the other rips the wet panties off your hips. I get it, and I'm fine with it. If I wasn't, I'd be a victim, and I’m certainly not that. I’m just as happy leaving the bar with these women as they are when I’m finished with them a couple hours later.
I'm never disrespectful! Never misleading! A woman likes to be treated like a woman, and that's exactly what I do—I make happy, satisfied women.
It's the relationship part that doesn't suit me well. Never really had one and that is by design, not divine intervention design, but my own personal—hell F'n no—design. I've seen love absolutely destroy people that I cared for. It broke them down to nothing, and seeing that devastation, I've sworn it off. Love is something that will not happen to me, I won’t let it, and it's been easier to avoid than you would probably think—which made me question if it even existed.
This is the reason why what just happened to me defies my explanation.
My guard was up, it's always up. Maybe I'd grown too confident in my theory that love is not real, and my guard wasn’t up as far as I thought. Or maybe there is just no way to be ready, and I’ve been kidding myself all these years. Whatever it is, my life is threatening to change.
She's beautiful, perfectly stunning, I'll give her that. Her blonde hair compliments a beautiful face so attractive it's hard to keep from staring at it. And thank God, she has curves—there's too many sticks walking around pretending to be sexy. The wind blew her in looking tired and in need of a strong drink. Her day has been rough. She wears it on her as obvious as her clothes, unafraid to show her emotions. She moves through the room without noticing me. There is not a hint of city-tainting on her yet. As she passes my table, she steals my breath.
Perfection!
Suddenly, my eyes cannot open wide enough. There is not enough air in the room. My head swims, and I think I might fall off my chair. My stare keeps going back to her, and when it does my heart races.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm watching her place her order with Tricia, the waitress, as if it's something majestic to witness. At once, I feel lust and longing, the culmination of one thing and the beginning of something else, and it's as if I had no choice in the matter. Nothing I've done in my entire life up until now would have changed the course of things. I was bound to be right here, right now.
Only a fool can lie to themselves. I spin a lot of bullshit for my profession, but I won't be able to convince myself that I don't know what this is. I’ve felt lust before. I’ve had women catch my eye and fill me with desire. This was not that!
Time stopped.
My heart stopped.
My life stopped.
I just fell in love!
FUCK!
Love is a poison, and I don't like being part of some master plan that isn't my own. Okay, so love and destiny are real, and the only true reason I've successfully avoided love all this time was because my destiny hadn't arrived until now. I had it wrong. I'd spent my years avoiding love when I see now that I should have been trying to change my destiny.
All I have to do now is not meet her!
Maybe that was not going to be so easy. I feel more compelled to talk to her, the more I try not to. My heart aches at my decision. She has awakened a part of me, and now it's like I'm trying to lop it off with a meat cleaver.
I didn't think if it ever happened, it would be this quick or this strong. I’m overwhelmed.
When Tricia brings her drink to her, she smiles brightly in spite of her exhaustion. It's intoxicating. It pulls in all the light from the room and makes her glow.
Trisha takes her order while I watch and wish I was close enough to hear her voice. I'm captivated by every nuance of her, the way she moves, every expression.
My eyes are on her the entire night. I watch her eat her food when it comes. Her lips and mouth entice me. The curve of her thigh makes me boil. I would watch her forever if I could.
But I know I shouldn't even be watching her now.
It will all be over soon. She will finish her meal, and eventually her drink. Then she will leave, blowing out the same way she came in.
My heart will hurt, but it won't be nearly as bad as it could be. Imagine the pain if I met her, knew her, and then let her walk out the door. People leave, and when you love them, sometimes there is no recovery. Better this way, better to lose her before I have her.
"She is pretty," Trisha says, startling me. "Are you going to put her on the list of conquests?"
She's always busting my balls—it's our thing. I don't think there's any reason to pretend I don't know what she's talking about. Clearly, she has caught me staring.
"No. She scares me a little," I say through a smile to hide how serious I am.
Trisha points at my glass. "Another?"
I nod a yes and find my eyes back on this mysterious woman. "What's she like?" I ask while Tricia grabs my empty class off the table.
"Gorgeous as hell, like you," she teases. "But she may be way too sweet for you."
"Oh yeah?" I laugh.
She was right. We both laughed, and she went to get my drink.
That was all the more reason to stay away from her. Not only would she break my heart, but I would probably end up breaking hers, and that I don't think I could live with. I don't think I could stand to see an ounce of pain in her eyes.
Trisha brought my drink and went to clear her table. That smile again! I need this to be over soon.
As if on cue, she stands up. My heart gallops, both grateful and heartbroken. My hands fist the corners of the table to keep myself down and let her walk out. It may be the only way I have the strength to let her go.
Only, she wasn't leaving yet. She turned to the hall heading for the restrooms. Damn it! It still shouldn’t be much longer.
Beside me, the front door opens, and a man in a hoodie steps in. I see him from the corner of my eye as I watch my missed destiny dip into the hallway. He’s moving unusually fast, almost running, actually. He passes me in a breeze, ignoring the bar, and in just a few large strides he's in the hallway blocking my view.
Something is wrong. I'm up out of my chair before I know what I'm doing.
His arms go around her head, around her neck, and he's dragging her deeper into the hall.
I'm going to fucking kill him!
It's not an expression! I know I don't know her, but that changes nothing. My protective instincts explode. Doing nothing is not an option, and I'm angrier than I've ever been.
Furious!
A few other people see what's happening, but they are slow to react. I'm already running at full charge. My hands ache to rip him into pieces.
He has no right—she's mine! SHE'S MINE!
He puts her in front of him, using her as a shield as he strangles and drags her. Her eyes have already begun to roll up into her head. I don't really think. I hit them at full speed.
She tumbles from his arms and lands on the floor—hard! He reels back, and catches his balance, and then he is running through the back door.
It's not right that he gets away. Trisha and the cook are in the hall now, so I decide they can take care of the girl while I go kill this bastard.
As quick as I can, I jump over her and burst through the back door after him.
CHAPTER I
The hand over my mouth and nose is as infuriating and terrifying as the arm around my neck. Maybe it was even worse that I have no idea where it came from, or that I now have no control, like a puppet on strings. A powerful scream was stifled into nothing more than a short, muffled whimper with no escape against the stronghold. My hands grab and rip at the arms around me, but their masculine strength is intense and unyielding. Somewhere beneath me, I feel my heels sliding along the floor as I am dragged towards the back, further into the quiet, away from everyone.
My head swims and my hands fail me. The arm around my neck is stopping more than my breath, and all my senses, sight, sound, are lost into a shrinking tunnel. Everything was lost with the blood supply cut. I give into the emptiness, letting it pour around me, filling up the spaces. It was easier to surrender, better.
Nothing was left but a pinpoint, and it had only been seconds ago that I was a world away from here, sitting by myself eating dinner, having a drink after a long, wasted day. Now it was all just a dot after a trip to the bathroom, a trip that I didn't even get to make. The hands had grabbed me from behind in the dim hallway just as I pushed the bathroom door open to go in.
The pinpoint disappears.
There was a hard, sudden thud that ruined the peaceful quiet. I'm not able to decipher if I had heard the thud, or felt it, but the world shook from it. It made a crack in the blackness, a sliver of color and sound that was growing quickly.
Shouting voices banged into my throbbing head, which seemed to swell and shrink with my pulse. They are deep and thundering, as if the gods are arguing over me. And they seem so far above me, until I realize that I am on the floor, and it suddenly makes a little sense. All types of feet had surrounded me, and several pairs of hands scoop me off the floor.
Lights and faces bobble in front of me as I am clumsily carried into an office and laid out on a short couch. Softer, but no less panicked, their voices came into me.
"Are you okay?"
"Did you know him?"
"Does anything hurt?"
I take a quick, deep breath, scream, and pass out.
I WAS ONLY OUT for a few seconds. I don't even know why it happened, I mean, Christ, I was safe now! Maybe that's just what your body does, gives you enough to get through the moment. But now I can feel the embarrassment seeping into my face.
A woman kneeling in front of me, my waitress I think, has a single tear hanging on her right eye. That pisses me off because now my eyes are swelling and I didn't want to do that, not right now, not in front of people I don't know.
I sit up and adjust myself. "What happened?" I ask, doing everything I can to stop the quivering in my voice.
The other two in the room are men. One of them is definitely the cook, judging by his white, stained apron, but I'm not sure about the other.
"Some guy grabbed you, tried to drag you out the back door," the cook said through a heavy Spanish accent.
The other guy spoke up. "The police are on their way. I called them right away." He seemed very nervous and jerky. I think his voice cracked more than mine. He fixed his inexpensive tie, making sure it was lying flat across his blue dress shirt. There is something so fragile about him that it's hard to believe he may have helped.
"Did all of you stop him? Did one of you save me?"
"No," the cook said, swinging his black hair away from his slightly wrinkled forehead, "it was so fast it was over before we knew. One of the other customers stopped him."
"Justin," the waitress said, her dark, pretty eyes now tear free and dry. "Justin helped you. He knocked him so hard he dropped you. I swear I thought he was going to kill the guy."
"He just might be," the cook said.
I didn't know what he meant by that, but the other faces told me they did, they knew exactly what he meant.
"Where is he?" I asked. "I'd like to meet him, to thank him." I tried to push myself up.
"You need to just sit," the man in the tie said.
The waitress agreed, nodding and holding me down gently by my arms.
"He's not here," the cook said sharply.
My eyes snapped in his direction, capturing his face in my view.
"He ran out the back after him," he finished.
"Did you know him, the one that grabbed you, do you know who he was?" the waitress asked.
"I didn't even see him. I have no idea," I answered flatly.
"That was some crazy shit," the cook said.
Yeah, that about summed up my thoughts too.
We all suddenly seemed to notice an odd murmur coming down the hall. It had been loud before when I was eating, lots of voices and laughter. Now it was so quiet the overhead music seemed loud. I had brought the night to a screeching halt.
Great! They were all going to be staring at me like some freak.
"I'm going to go and take care of the front and wait for the cops," the other man said, obviously the manager of the place.
We can hear him as soon as he left the room, telling everyone things were ok, that I was ok. He told them all to go back to their business. I can picture him ushering people back to the bar and their tables, asking who needed their food warmed or remade, anything to get their focus off the hallway.
"Your neck is pretty red, are you hurt?" the waitress asked, concerned.
Just as I tell her I am fine, a door creaks open from the back end of the hall. My skin tenses, hoping it is only the police, or the guy that helped me. We can't see from the office, so the cook leans his head out.
"You find him?" he asked.
"No, the bastard ran too fast. I lost him after a few blocks. Is she okay?"
Oh my god, his voice sounded sexy. My embarras
sment tripled. I can only hope he doesn't look as good as he sounds. This was not my finest hour. My nerves are shot and have me shaking like an addict, and my eyes are still swollen and trying to hold back tears. And apparently my neck is a red mess.
"Yeah," the cook said, "she's right in here."
He steps into the office and the waitress instinctively moves over out of his way, as if he'd commanded it. My hand is in his, not sure when that happened.
"Are you alright, does anything hurt at all?" Justin asked.
"Just my pride," I answer.
Christ! I had trouble looking at him, into his eyes. They are such a bright green they seem to have specs of gold in them. It should be the furthest thing from my mind. I should just be concerned about me and what had happened tonight, but I can't stop myself. His face had been chiseled in granite and so the artist had been forced to do the same with his body. You could see how thin but solid he was right through his black Gucci shirt. All I can really think about at the moment is wanting to be wrapped up in his strong arms, to have my face touching that small area of flesh above his collar.
The heat was back in my face again. This time it was worse because it started with a twinge between my legs that I felt everyone in the room knew about.
"You mind?" he asked, motioning at the empty cushion beside me.
I nodded yes for him to sit just as I realized he was still a little short of breath, and I remembered that he had run out after the guy for me. He slid himself beside me on the couch. Heat radiates off him, at least it seems like it does.
"Listen," I said, "I can't thank you enough for helping me. He had me, and if it wasn't for you I'd be gone now. Maybe—"
"Don't think about the maybe," he interrupted. "Don't worry about any of it. I'm glad I could help. When I saw him grab you, I got so god damn mad I had to do something. I didn't even think. I don't think I even breathed."