Protect Me

Protect MeDamaged Goods Book 2Scarlet Blackwell Copyright © 2023 Scarlet BlackwellThis is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons living, dead or undead, events, places or names is purely coincidental.No part of this book may be reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.All rights reservedCover design by B4Jay Contents Title PageCopyrightProtect MeChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenAuthor's NoteAbout The AuthorOut NowOut NowOut NowOut NowOther Books By Scarlet Blackwell Protect MeHe was supposed to be a man from a tough world of crime and danger. But he’d never fitted that image he was supposed to portray. He’d always felt lost and out of his depth, like he was forever treading water.Kayden Cole – ex-junkie, one-time gangster’s toy and…birdwatcherMason Pearce – the Miami narcotics detective assigned to protect Kayden while he turns state’s evidenceNever had he wanted to protect and cherish someone the way he did Kayden.Mason likes his men big, brawny and brainless. Kayden’s ten years younger, short and slight. He’s also cerebral, introverted, and haunted by his past. Mason can’t understand his instant attraction, but it’s like being struck by a thunderbolt. Closeted alone in a hotel room with Kayden for twelve hours every night, Mason is driven beyond the edge of his control, but he’ll lose his job and compromise Kayden’s safety if he tangles with him.He was back to the lowest place he had ever been—alone with nothing and nobody—and if someone wanted to put him out of his misery, that was just fine.Kayden’s damaged and scarred and in fear of his life. He lost the only man who ever meant anything to him and he’s suspicious of the cop’s motives. But Mason burrows beneath his skin, opens Kayden up, and even though he’s scared, he wants to hope that finally, life will give him a break.Possible Spoilers:Themes: hurt/comfort, age gap, forced proximity, drama, angst, crimeGenre: Dark, gritty contemporary romanceWarnings: Violence and strong language. Sexual scenes. Rape (off page). Drug abuse. Chapter OneAs Mason Pearce crawled along the road in his car squinting at hotel signs on the never-ending residential street, his phone shrilled. He snatched it up. “Yeah?”“Where are you?”“Two minutes away. Still looking.”“Christ, I already told you, it’s a blue sign with birds on. Sparrows or something.”A second voice piped up in the background. “They’re barn swallows, you ignoramus. Hirundo rustica.”Mason laughed. “That your witness?”“Yeah, it’s him,” his partner drawled. “He’s got a big mouth. How about you get over here before I strangle him? And, oh”—he lowered his voice—“he’s kind of cute. Might be just your type.”Mason stiffened. “Mickey, don’t push it.” He hung up, shaking his head. Really, how unprofessional did his partner think he was?He slammed on his brakes as he saw the distinctive swallows on the blue sign. Even he recognized the steel-blue back and forked tail combined with the red throat. Mickey really was an ignoramus.Mason climbed from the car and retrieved a bag filled with food, drinks and reading material. Night shifts in narcotics were not his thing. Especially night shifts spent looking after a junkie about to turn state’s evidence against a drug lord, when the US Marshals should have been watching him. It was co-operation all the way this time, manpower shortage and all that jazz, and Mason had drawn the short straw.He glanced up at the bed and breakfast as he locked his car. It was a Victorian-style building with ivy climbing to the eaves and hanging baskets loaded with blooms. It didn’t look like a safe house hiding the chief prosecution witness in an ongoing trial—all power to the person who had thought it up.He already had a key to the front door, which had been locked on police instructions. Letting himself in, he nodded politely at an elderly couple just leaving and headed up the stairs to the third floor.Mickey took his time answering the door of room sixty-one. Probably drawing his gun, gesturing to the witness to get out of sight, checking the spy-hole.“It’s me,” Mason said, and stuck out his tongue.Bolts rasped back. A key turned. The door swung open and Sergeant Mickey Saldana, six-feet-five of intimidating Italian, blocked out the meagre light from the room beyond.“Come on,” Mason grumbled, pushing past him. “Either you want to get home to Maria, or you don’t.”“Yeah, okay, who got out of the wrong side of bed today?” Mickey cuffed him over the head as Mason glanced around.It was a small room with twin beds separated by a nightstand. It featured a pine wardrobe, a dresser—complete with an electric kettle, two cups and a sugar bowl crammed with tea bags and instant coffee sachets—and a door leading to an en suite. The thin curtains were drawn. Sitting on the bed facing the window was a slight, narrow-shouldered man with short, dark hair.He stood up and turned, and Mason’s glance became a stare.It wasn’t like the guy was even his type. Mason liked them big, well-hung, and brainless. He wasn’t interested in conversation and picked men based on looks alone. He preferred blonds to brunets and muscle to bone. He liked to dominate—and even better if there was a fight for domination with a guy bigger than him.The witness was a little on the short side—barely five-feet-six—and in his late twenties, probably ten years younger than Mason. Lean and delicate in a clinging T-shirt too small for him and skinny jeans, he looked as though he needed a good meal, or he’d stolen his younger brother’s clothes. His short hair—chestnut with copper highlights, shiny and poker-straight—fell into his eyes in a dense fringe. His eyes were virtually black and wary, mistrustful. A rosebud mouth was drawn into a sulky pout.Mason swallowed on heart-stopping lust.