My Protector by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Two

Dillon

Charlie Sawyer looks like a guy who could clean up his act. He’s about a hundred pounds overweight, shaking a little from lack of his first drink this early in the day, and kinda gray looking from the perpetual cigar he seems to have installed at the corner of his liver-lipped mouth.

The trouble for me, and him right now is that his act seems to be doing pretty well for itself.

Better than mine, which isn’t hard right now.

I need a job and I need cash. Aside from using my body, the only thing I can think of in a pinch is to do what I do best, look big and scary.

Security.

Oh, I have my own business, doing really well too.

I mean. I had my own business.

They say never work with animals or children.

So what do you do when your business partner in a security business is a childish ape?

I should have known better, but when said partner is a friend so old, each of us with so many oaths sworn to each other since we were kids ourselves… It’s hard to beat myself up over it.

Even harder not to beat him up over it all too. Taking the rap for his fuck up’s. Too many times now, and for the last time.

That’s my oath to myself.

And the judge.

On probation for fraud and tax evasion I knew nothing about, my oldest friend and newest adversary Matt Diamond is the real reason I’m here.

Charlie Sawyer leans in over his dark wooden desk, his red-lidded eyes scanning me from head to toe.

He looks suspicious.

“It’s twenty-five an hour. Half cash, half on the books,” he drawls, leaning his bulk back in his chair which creaks.

My eyes narrow and I fight the urge to tell him to fuck off.

I don’t usually get out of bed for less than three zeros a day. Twenty-five bucks an hour is like showing me a picture of my mom and telling me he fucked her.

If I had a mom. If this guy knew how to fuck too, that is.

I feel my heels tense, my whole body turning to leave out of reflex.

It’s an insult is what it is.

But I know and he knows that I’m screwed without this job. Without his signature on that slip of paper.

He lifts the pink form, the probation office has been in touch.

For some reason shit seems to run downhill, pooling from the probation office into places like this.

A Gentleman’s Club my ass. The guy’s a fucking crook, but if I don’t have ‘gainful employment’ by the end of the month I’ll be before the judge again.

It’ll be bye-bye house and truck, hello cellmate called ‘Bubba’ who has a thing for tall tough guys that fight back because he likes it rough.

Any other month, any other year, I’d be working for myself. Running my own business, but that’s all changed now.

My best friend changed the locks on the business and the bank accounts. I don’t how he did it, but I went to work one day and was greeted by the IRS fraud division.

Matt wept, real tears I thought. He begged me to just admit to it otherwise he’d lose his house and family.

He’s married with a kid.

I never bothered with that.

I took the rap for my old friend, figuring we’d weather whatever storm he cooked up for us both, but no.

He started singing loud and strong once I was taken in, generating enough paperwork to make it look like I was stealing from him.

Fucker.

So here I am, straight from the frying pan into the fire, with a slob of a man who’s figured out how to juice the system so they actually pay him forty an hour to hire me while he pays me twenty-five.

I watch Sawyer’s lower lip flapping, brown stained shards where teeth once lived drowning in a sea of foaming spit and nicotine.

My mind shows me a movie. The one where I lift him up by the throat, my other hand crushing his tiny balls before I toss him down those fucking stairs outside.

But not today. Not ever.

Dillon Maxwell has to be a good guy from now on.

I need to eat, pay my taxes too. But most of all I need to clear my name and make sure my onetime best friend pays for the ultimate betrayal.

Pays for his lies. For breaking the trust we had.

“If I sign this,” he drawls. “You’re the employee and I’m the boss. Got it?” he clips, a single pearl of sweat forming at his temple. His eyes darting to the cabinet by his desk.

“Whatever you say, boss,” I tell him, deadpan. Glancing at the cabinet myself, seeing what it is he’s really needing.

He scratches his name at the bottom of the pink form, that handshaking worse by the second now that he’s thinking about his bottle.

“Well, that settles it,” he exclaims. “Calls for a celebration, I’d say.”

I narrow one eye instead of rolling both, watching him pour three fingers of vodka into a coffee cup and downing it without even looking up at me.

“I don’t drink,” I inform him, noting the relieved look in his bloodshot eyes.

“Good. Means you’ll keep your mind on the job.” He gasps briefly, rolling his lips over themselves. Getting his first taste of what he’s been craving all morning.

He pours another, and then a third before wiping half his face with the back of his sweaty, fat hand.

“Good,” he repeats to himself, belching quietly with a little wince. His pet ulcer saying hi and thank you.

“You’ll be front of the house, the official club,” he announces, sounding more like a boss now that he’s had his medicine.

“One of the girls, Becky will fill you in on how we do things. But your main job is to make sure it’s members only. No shit off the streets,” he says with sudden determination, his eyes widening. Daring me to defy him, but I shrug lightly.

“And cops?” I ask, deciding to tear the band-aid straight off instead of picking at it.

He snorts to himself.

“Worst case scenario? I have guys in the back who handle the rest of the security. Your job is to make sure it’s members only and that nobody rubs their dick against my girls,” he sneers. His eyes shift from his empty vodka mug to the large leather couch opposite.

I don’t have to guess too hard to know how a girl can get ahead by working for Charlie Sawyer.

He starts to explain his version of how he runs his business, but I’m not listening.

There’s something else. Someone outside his office door, I can sense it.

I cock my head ever so slightly, and stifle a low groan.

It’s not a threat.

It’s…

Something I’ve never sensed before.

Someone.

A girl.

After twenty years of security, I know my own instincts, but there’s a new element to this situation. It’s not just any girl.

A part of my primal brain is lit up, and I can feel my cock starting to swell hard against my tight pants.

Sawyer’s an idiot, couldn’t tell me what day it was let alone who is standing outside his office door.

While he blabbers on, I turn, and in a single movement, I swing the door wide open, making her almost scream.

I look down, her voluptuous chest, blond hair and then childbearing hips catching my eye in that order.

All filed away for later, along with her scent.

It’s not a girlish, vanilla-cupcake scent that younger girls wear.

It’s her scent. The smell of her essence. Her readiness to be claimed.

I’ll make you scream. But not from fear. I’ll make you scream my fucking name as I fill you with my thick cock until you’re drowning in my seed.

Figuring our little interview is over, Sawyer grows tired of hearing himself talk too, calling out loudly to me what time to be back for my first shift.

But I’m only half listening.

Seeing her for the first time. It’s like rattling the door to the caged beast inside me.

That wild, half-man half-beast in me that’s longed for a mate but been dormant for so long.

Busy working instead of breeding.

The bars and locks on the cage are so old, so rusted I’d actually forgotten any of it could even exist.

Forgot what it feels like to know an urge intimately instead of just feeling it.

She’s tiny, but everyone in my world is. Six eight is tall, and I’m about two thirds that again wide up top.

But that chest.

Those hips.

Her tiny hands and feet. I take in as much of her as I can before her hands grip my front. Only coming up to my lower abs really, they’ve shot out from the shock I gave her and now she can’t let go.

Sawyer’s harping on, telling her to get out of the damned way and reminding me when I start, but I don’t want her moving a muscle, not just yet.

Her blue eyes shift up to meet mine, and I know in a second that I’m done.

Finished before I’ve even started, but I can’t turn to mush here, not right now.

My heart races in my chest, pounding against my ribs as I hear my voice introduce me.

So she’s Becky.

She’s the one who’s gonna show me the ropes?

I’ve got a sack full of ropes of my own I wanna cover you with, Becky. Lace those full tits of yours with them once I’ve filled you with more than you can hold in your tight, sweet pussy.

As much as I want to stay like this all day, I use the chance to brush my raging hard on against her as I leave.

Make sure the club members don’t rub their dicks against the girls, he said.

Never said anything about me not being able to do that. She’s the only girl now, the only girl in the world as far as I’m concerned.

Suddenly this new job isn’t looking so bad after all.

Not too bad at all.