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

  Rylan © 2024 Jackie Keswick.

  Cover Art © 2024 Jackie Keswick

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

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  Contents

  Title

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Luca

  Series and Books

  Meet Jackie

  Blurb

  Rylan Jeffers has silent and dangerous down to an art form, even though it’s nothing more than a ruse to keep the world at arm’s length and protect his big, soft heart.

  Then nightclub owner Kris Hillyard turns up in hospital, badly beaten, and Rylan can’t stay away, even as Kris and his entourage turn his life upside down.

  Rylan can handle the danger that comes with protecting Kris. He can even handle Kris’s particular brand of stubborn. But can Rylan stop protecting his heart and find the courage to ask Kris to stay?

  Prologue

  “Come in, come in.” Spencer Corel signed his name to the last report and slumped in his chair. He’d been on call for a day and a night and felt every one of those hours. Grant’s appearance, while unexpected, was more than welcome. Especially since Grant hadn’t come empty-handed. “Please tell me that’s coffee or I won’t make it home with my eyes still open.”

  “Oh, go me!” Grant fished a thermos flask from the bag and set it on the corner of Spencer’s desk. “I brought a gallon of hot, sweet coffee. Also, cream horns and chocolate croissants. That should hold you for a while.”

  “Life saver. Why are you even awake at this hour?”

  Grant shrugged, as if turning up in Spencer’s office at four in the morning was normal. “I couldn’t sleep without you there. Weird, eh?”

  Spencer’s smile softened at the admission. He’d moved into Grant’s place four days ago. Being together hadn’t yet become routine. It hadn’t even reached the ‘normal’ stage. He washed down his yawn with a mouthful of coffee. “It’s just new. And my first night shift since I moved into your house.”

  “Our house. If it was that bad a shift, maybe I should drive us home.”

  “It’s been non-stop. Multi-vehicle on the M40—that was nasty. Then another on the A41.” He pulled the box of pastries closer. “Plus the usual emergencies.”

  “Good thing I’m here, right?”

  Spencer licked sweet cream from his upper lip. “Very good thing. I have one more patient to check before I can leave. Would you come with me when I do?”

  “Of course.” Grant sat up straight. “Is he trouble?”

  “What? No. Not at all.”

  “Right. Then what’s the reason you need my oh-so-charming company?”

  “His injuries.”

  “Oh?”

  “Impact trauma to head and torso. I’ve seen patterns like that before. Punishment beatings, you know?”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “He was unconscious when he arrived, but… I know him. Or rather, I know who he is.”

  “You do?”

  “Kris Hillyard. He owns Gloss.” He registered Grant’s blank look and shrugged. “Nightclub in High Wycombe.”

  “And you think he’s in trouble.”

  “With those injuries?”

  Grant, co-owner of White Knight Security, put his phone to his ear. “Hi, Ry. Sorry to wake you. Can I pick your brain? Nightclub in High Wycombe, name of Gloss. Heard of it? Any issues you’re aware of? Spencer has the owner on his ward. Badly beaten. Kris Hillyard, yes. That’s the name. You know him?” He listened for a moment longer, and then his grin went feral. “Am I hearing interest there? Someone got under your armour. Really?” He held the phone away from his ear while he waited out the swearing. “Don’t give me that. You pull that mind-reading crap on us all the time. The one time I do it to you—” Grant’s voice took on a conciliatory note as he continued the conversation. “Don’t break the laws of physics, Rylan. I’ll watch over him until you get here. I promise, bro.”

  When he turned back to Spencer, he wore a wide, delighted smile. “Seems Rylan has had his eye on your patient for a while now. For not entirely professional reasons, I think. He’s coming over.”

  Chapter One

  Rylan drove as if his car was equipped with flashing lights. His friends would have words for him if he landed in a ditch, but Rylan didn’t care. The concentration needed to drive this fast kept his anxiety in check.

  He skidded around corners, flew down the straight sections, and tried to keep thoughts of Kris Hillyard out of his head.

  It was an exercise in futility.

  Anyone involved with the Rebel Retreat was on Rylan’s radar, and Kris was a regular amongst those volunteering at the halfway house.

  Not that he and Kris had ever spoken.

  Rylan had joined the volunteer staff at the beginning of the year, hoping to do something constructive while he and his friends negotiated mortgages and business licenses, and defined operating procedures for a myriad of eventualities. He stayed in the background, taught some of his skills to the teens at the retreat, and ran background checks on backers and supporters.

  Kris was a genuine, long-standing supporter, who used the glamour clinging to him as a nightclub owner to teach business skills and money management. He was a delight to watch, too. With his serene Asian features, dark eyes, and choppy black hair he could have starred in a samurai tale or Chinese costume drama, but for Rylan, Kris’s allure went way deeper than his looks. He loved the way Kris listened to questions without judging or making the asker feel uncomfortable, and how he used his hands to emphasise a point when a subject intrigued him.

  Rylan had a lot in common with the teenagers who sought help at the Rebel Retreat, and he’d have loved to have someone like Kris Hillyard in his corner when he was growing up.

  He slowed his mad dash as he neared the town and pulled into the hospital car park at an appropriate speed. Then he ruined the sedate impression by sprinting to the entrance.

  He found Grant and Spencer in the doctor’s office, with an empty pastry box on the table between them.

  “How are you two not in a sugar coma? Or the size of a house each?”

  Grant shrugged. “Busy days and clean living? Sorry I dragged you out of bed.”

  “It’s my fault, actually.” Spencer’s voice had an edge. “I recognised a patient coming in last night and didn’t like the look of his injuries.”

  “No apologies needed. You said he’s been beaten?”

  “Yes. And not the random bruises you’d get in a mugging. This was methodical, maximising hurt while limiting actual damage.”

  “Punishment,” Rylan said.

  “That’s what I think, yes.”

  “What has he said?”

  “Nothing. I was going to check on him before I went home.” Spencer’s gaze settled on Rylan.

  “Don’t worry, Doc. I wouldn’t have come out if I wasn’t ready to step up.” He folded his arms over his chest to make himself look broader and more intimidating. “I’ll keep him safe.”

  Kris Hillyard knew how to lipread. A handy skill for a nightclub owner, which proved just as useful in a busy hospital where the treatment rooms had small windows facing the corridor. Knowing that nobody would bother him until breakfast time gave him the chance to slip out.

  They’d plied him with painkillers until the world lacked substance and gravity, but getting out of bed still hurt like blazes and exchanging the hospital gown for his jeans and blood-spattered, sweat-soaked T-shirt was sharp-toothed agony.

  Kris persevered. Took breaks and breathed through the pain until he’d slipped his feet into his plimsolls, grateful he hadn’t worn trainers. Stooping to lace them wasn’t on the cards.

  Desperate to leave, Kris shuffled to the door. Even drugged, his body protested every step, and beads of sweat had gathered along his hairline by the time he’d reached the corridor.

  Where a mountain barred his way.

  Panic scorched through him, a wash of adrenaline that blunted more of the pain. Then his flight reflex took over, and he tried to squirrel his way past t he obstruction.

  Only for gentle hands to catch his upper arms and hold him still. “Shhhh. Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself more. You’re safe.”

  The murmured words smoothed the jagged edges of his fear. Kris took a deep breath, winced when even that sent pain shooting through him, and finally looked up.

  Wavy hair the colour of hazelnuts. Bright blue eyes. A hint of a smile. “I’m no danger to you, Mr Hillyard. My name’s Rylan Jeffers and I’m with White Knight Security. Your doctor asked me to keep an eye on you.”

  “Gorgeous strangers don’t turn up to ‘keep an eye’ on me.”

  The giant chuckled, and Kris felt his face turn scarlet. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  “You’re drugged. You get a pass for that.”

  “Still embarrassing. If the doctor called you, why didn’t you come in with him and introduce yourself?”

  Rylan shrugged. “You’ve had plenty of weird shit in your day already, and having Spencer fuss over you is bad enough.”

  This wasn’t the real reason. Kris was sure of it, though asking was out of the question. “You’ve been standing out here the whole time.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “That must be boring.”

  The tiny smile on Rylan’s face bloomed into an expression that sent warmth into Kris’s belly. Built like a gorgeous god and sweet with it. It wasn’t fair.

  “I need to go home,” he said.

  “I’m sure I heard Spencer say he wanted to check on you again tonight.”

  The doctor had said that. “I can’t wait that long. I need to go home now. Let me through.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise? Right after an attack? You could have internal injuries.”

  “The scan they did said otherwise. I’m just sore. Bruised. Not the first person to get mugged, either.”

  “This was no mugging. Muggers wouldn’t have left you your wallet or your phone.”

  Since he was holding his phone, Kris had no way of arguing.

  “Whoever ambushed you did so on your way home from Gloss, right? That suggests they know where you live.”

  “They could have followed me from Gloss.”

  “Maybe. But going home is—“

  “Not negotiable.” Kris curled his fists and straightened. His slim, five-foot-seven frame made no impression on Rylan, who had to be six-three in socks, but the posturing helped contain Kris’s panic. “I really, really have to go home. Even if someone’s there waiting for me.”

  Rylan took a tiny step back. Not enough for Kris to slip past.

  “Mr Jeffers, please. Can’t you just … stuff me in a taxi? I must go home.” He breathed out, the pain in his chest nothing to do with his bruises. “I have cats,” he blurted.

  He expected scorn, or a lecture on frivolity. Instead, that gorgeous, delighted smile reappeared on Rylan’s face. “Cats? Really? I’ve always wanted a cat.” His smile dimmed, turned a touch sad.

  “Then you’ll understand, right? That I can’t stay here when I’m fine and—“

  “Will your cats object to being moved?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The men who ambushed you … did you give them what they wanted?”

  Kris focussed on Rylan’s sturdy ankle-high lace-ups. Tracing every scuff and stitch was easier than talking. Safer, too.

  Rylan didn’t push. When he spoke again, he sounded amused. “Let’s assume not. That means they might try again, so your home’s not safe. Your cats are… They’re another means to hurt you. Until we’ve neutralised your attackers, you—and your cats—mustn’t be where they can find you.”

  “You’re insane.” Kris was trembling, the mix of physical effort, drugs, pain, and fear taking a toll on his body. “I have nowhere else to go. Not with the cats and in a hurry.”

  Rylan cupped his chin and lifted his head until their gazes met. Sincerity warmed the bright blue eyes. “White Knight Security, remember? We have a safe house where you can stay with your cats. I won’t even insist you tell me what really happened to you.”

  Thinking past the panic was difficult until Rylan took a step to the side and slid an arm around Kris’s shoulders, taking his weight. Kris felt instantly protected, strange as that was. He’d made a life looking out for others. He wasn’t used to someone looking out for him.

  Kris sucked in another stinging breath and then met Rylan’s gaze. “I’m going to trust you. Get me out of here.”

  Kris winced when a corner of the stiff plastic chair dug into a bruise, and wondered why he hadn’t stayed in the bed in his tiny room while Rylan worked out how to spring him from the hospital.

  The answer was obvious: Rylan.

  Given his size, the speed and silence with which he moved, and his forbidding expression, Kris would have crossed the road had he met him on his way home from Gloss after closing. Yet here, Rylan’s presence didn’t feel at all intimidating. The nurses smiled when they saw him and even the doctor in charge of the ward finally agreed to release Kris into Rylan’s care.

  Kris had been so fascinated watching him, he’d almost forgotten about his bruises.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Kris tilted his head to catch Rylan’s gaze. He was gorgeous, no two ways about it. “Satan himself designed these chairs.”

  “Good thing we’re done, then.” Rylan held out a hand. “Up you come.”

  “You mean we can leave?”

  “As soon as you’ve signed this form.” He offered a pen along with the paper.

  Kris scribbled his signature at the bottom of the sheet.

  “You didn’t read it.”

  “I don’t really care what it says as long as I get out of here.”

  “Impatient.” Rylan shook his head, but he kept his arm around Kris’s shoulders as he led him out of the hospital. “I’ve assured them you’ll rest and take it easy until you’re healed. So, please don’t make a liar of me.”

  Chapter Two

  Kris’s home was a tiny one-up-one-down, in a street of similar houses. Not the neighbourhood Rylan had expected a wealthy nightclub owner to live in. He himself wasn’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, and he’d barely need a mortgage to afford one of these houses. Though with his height and stature, he’d feel claustrophobic once he got inside.

  “Do we need to find you more painkillers?” he asked as he turned off the engine. He hadn’t missed that Kris had been struggling to get comfortable in the car.

  “Maybe when we’re where you’re taking me? I don’t feel comfortable being loopy when—“

  “You can’t lock the door,” Rylan finished. “Don’t apologise. I get it.” He was asking Kris to trust a stranger. “Take an aspirin?”

  Kris moved like an old man, but he got the car door open and his feet on the tarmac. “I might do that.”

  “We’ll get you something better as soon as. The doctor insisted on a prescription because being in pain will slow your healing.” Kris was steady on his feet, but Rylan stayed beside him for the short walk to his front door. Helping Kris leave the hospital had no doubt put him on Spencer’s shit list. No need to risk the surgeon’s temper further by letting Kris trip and fall.

  Soft thumps and a chorus of meows greeted them as Kris opened the door. Rylan stood frozen in the tiny hallway—he’d been right about the interior dimensions—unsure where to step while cats twined around his ankles before darting this way and that.

  “How many cats do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “Are you sure?”

  For the first time that day, Kris chuckled. “Quite sure.” He made little chirruping sounds, and the fur balls slowed their darting and spinning. Rylan distinguished two kittens—one black, the other a dusky blue grey with tabby stripes on its forehead—in the doorway to the kitchen. They had their eyes on Rylan while their thick, fluffy tails swished back and forth. “Rylan, meet my girls. Night and Shade,” Kris said.

  Rylan knelt and held out a hand. He prepared himself for disappointment, but both kittens came to check him out. They had large, curious eyes—green and gold—and cute little button noses. Rylan picked up one in each hand, found them to be smaller than he’d thought, and almost dropped them in his surprise.

 

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