Brotherhood Protectors: Rough Justice (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Out of the Wild Book 1) Read online

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Twisted Page Inc.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Brotherhood Protectors remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Twisted Page Inc., or their affiliates or licensors.

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  Table of Contents

  Rough Justice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Books by Jen Talty

  About the Author

  Rough Justice

  Brotherhood Protectors Kindle World

  Out of the Wild Series, book one

  JEN TALTY

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  Dedication

  To all the men and woman who serve in our Armed Force, thank you.

  And to Elle James. Thank you for inviting me into your world! It is an honor.

  Chapter 1

  AMBER WINCHESTER tapped her pencil eraser on the notebook resting on the table at the diner in Belvoir, Virginia, not far from the Missile Defense Agency (MDA) Headquarters. She stared out the window, waiting to ambush Bud Harrington, the Chief of Operations for the Director of International Affairs. Her knee bounced up and down in time with the drumming of her fingers. Her source claimed Bud knew everything that went on at the MDA office. Her source also mentioned that Bud had been acting squirrely the last two months and was either part of the sale of top secret designs or knew about it.

  Pushing her cold cup of coffee to the side, she flipped open her notebook and began scanning over her notes. Having left what little documentation her source had provided on a flash drive tucked in her purse, with a back-up at her home outside of D.C., she had no choice. Before she prodded too far into the alleged espionage, she needed to find out who her source was since all the communication came through an email from a [email protected], and there was no Joan Smith that worked for the MDA that Amber could find. For all she knew, she was being sent on some wild goose chase.

  But why?

  Currently, she was assigned to investigate and report on the political climate for Let’s Talk Foreign Affairs, a syndicated program that ran midday on CNS Broadcasting. Occasionally, she was called up to the national news desk, but not often enough. This could be her big break.

  The bell dinged over the door as Bud strolled in. Amber checked her watch, exactly 6:15 in the evening, just like her source had said.

  The hostess led him to the booth across from hers, which couldn’t have been more convenient.

  Bud looked older than his picture. The wrinkles on his face were more pronounced, and his graying hair had started to recede. His olive eyes stood out as if everything else around him were black and white. He wore a crisp suit, though not designer, his tie loose around his neck. Chucking his sport coat on the bench, he slid behind the table, facing her direction.

  She made eye contact briefly, giving a nod and a slight smile as she lifted her coffee mug to her lips, nearly choking on the bitter, cold drink that tasted like tar with a dash of sugar.

  Once the waitress took his order, she filled her lungs with a deep breath, hoping that would give her the courage she needed. “Excuse me,” she said, waving her pencil, scooting from her booth.

  “My name is—”

  “Amanda Winchester,” he said behind tight lips.

  She opened her mouth, snapping it shut quickly, shocked he knew her name. She’d only made it on the national newscast a few times, though her coverage of voter tampering did get her a little attention. She cleared her throat. “You know who I am?”

  He lowered his chin, his thick eyelashes lifting to his brow as his emerald eyes cut like a fine diamond through her skin. “You tried to get an appointment with me, so I looked you up.”

  So, he hadn’t known who she was, which took a small bit out of her ego. “You refused to see me.” She stood at the end of the table, gesturing to the empty seat.

  “A pushy reporter, how refreshing.”

  “I just want ten minutes of your time regarding the current stand-off between Russia—”

  He held up his hand. “No comment on or off the record.”

  “I have a credible source with documentation that someone from your office has been leaking—”

  “Sit down,” he said with a stern, but low tone. He glanced over his shoulder and out the window before leaning forward. “You reporters are always poking around in places you shouldn’t, and this is one of those times where if you keep at it, you’re going to put our country and its citizens at risk.” He glared at her, both hands pressed flatly on the table.

  “Our citizens have the right to know if one of their own is giving our defense plans to known terr—”

  “Choose you words carefully.” He smiled, waving to the waitress, who scurried over to him as quick as a rabbit. “Two apple pies, clear her table, and put her check on my tab.”

  “Yes, sir.” The way she smiled and leaned over the table, baring her cleavage under his nose, told Amber she was smitten with the attractive older man, whose reputation for being a ladies’ man was all true.

  Bud eyed the room once again before folding his hands on the table. “We’re going to eat our apple pie and discuss the new missile project and what that means to our nation’s overall safety.”

  “But—”

  “Or, you can get up and leave.”

  The waitress set two plates on the table.

  “Take out your notebook and ask intelligent questions about that,” he whispered, before leaning back and digging into his pie. “Ten minutes. Ask away.”

  For the next ten minutes she rattled off a dozen intelligent, but stupid questions, and he answered with a loud voice the standard song and dance every government official vomited up over the Missile Defense Project. Not only didn’t she get her story, but the pie tasted like paste with a hint of stale cream. She jotted down his answers, hoping that later, she’d be able to decipher some secret code he was giving to her. Yeah, she watched too many spy movies.

  “It’s been a pleasure,” Bud said, extending his hand. “That’s your cue to leave,” he whispered.

  “The pleasure was all mine,” she muttered, tossing her purse over her shoulder. The second her feet hit the sidewalk, she dug her hand into her bag and pulled out her keys.

  “Miss Winchester,” Bud called from the door of the diner. “I believe you left this behind.” He held up a small accordion folder.

  She was about to shake her head, but thought better of it.

  “Thanks.” Taking the folder, she tucked it under her arm and headed for her car, her fingers trembling. Something told her she should wait until she got to her hotel before she checked out the contents. She’d booked a place between Belvoir and northern D.C., since she had no idea how late she’d be, hoping Bud had turned out to be a talker.

  Unable to wait, she peeked inside the fol
der and on top of a paper stamped with confidential and top secret, a pink post-it note with a handwritten note caught her attention.

  Get as far away as you can. They are on to me, and they are going to kill me. You stick around, they will kill you, too. Run. Hide. Protect these papers. And find the real traitor before he finds you.

  Yanking her hand from the folder as if it were pure fire, she scanned her surroundings. People milled about the streets, bustling to get home for the evening. Her heart hammered in her chest.

  Navigating the streets, she kept glancing at the folder on her passenger seat. God, she hoped this was the story of the century. Her stomach growled for some real food, but all she found was one fast food joint after the other. She opted for drive-through, figuring a chicken sandwich and fries was better than nothing.

  She pulled into the dingy motel on the outskirts of town. Her mother had told her on the day she took off for college across the country, never to stay in a hotel where the doors to the rooms were on the outside. Always, always, stay where there was a lobby, especially when travelling alone. A tickle of a tear wedged in the corner of her eye. Her mother, despite what her father had done, had been the strongest woman Amber had ever known. It broke her heart when her mother had to sell the ranch and file for bankruptcy, but what devastated her even more, had been watching her mother’s mind slowly disappear as Alzheimer’s destroyed her very essence. Deep down, Amber knew her mother’s passing had been a blessing in disguise.

  She pulled into the spot not too far from the office, glancing nervously around the parking lot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The motel looked like those you saw in movies on the outskirts of town where people checked in, but they never checked out. A mile down the road were a convenience store, a pawn shop, and an adult bookstore. In the other direction were a small trailer park and a grocery store. Grabbing her belongings, she made a beeline for her room, locking herself inside and closing all the drapes.

  The room smelled of mold and five-day-old hard-boiled eggs. Normally, she’d stay in something a million times better, but she was on her own time and her own dime, searching out a story her boss told her five times to stay the fuck away from. This was the best she could do on short notice. It was one night. She’d be out of there by five in the morning, and hopefully she’d have something, and her boss would have to listen to her and put her on the story.

  Needing background noise, she flipped on the television, expecting some talk show or even a soap opera, but instead, the regular scheduled program had been interrupted. Bile seared the back of her throat as she stared at the professional photo of Bud Harrington. Quickly, she turned up the volume.

  “…was gunned down a half hour ago outside his home.”

  “Fuck,” Amber muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Earlier this afternoon, the FBI began making inquisitions into a potential leak in the Missile Defense Agency, naming Harrington as a person of interest.”

  Her phone buzzed, and her boss’ number flashed across the screen.

  She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “Hello?”

  “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” she asked.

  “That you were one of the last people to see Harrington alive. Jesus Christ, Amber, I told you to stay off that story.”

  “At least now you agree there’s a story.” She turned the volume down, hearing an engine roll to a stop. Pulling the curtain back a smidgen with the tips of her fingers, she gasped. Two men got out of a non-descript van, and if she wasn’t mistaken, one of them tucked a pistol in his pocket. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch.”

  Grabbing the paperwork, she peeked her head out her door just as both men stepped into the lobby. If those men were there for her, now was her only chance to make a run for it. Holding her breath, she bolted from her room. Jumping into her car, she peeled out of the parking lot, her heart thumping in her throat. In the rearview mirror, she saw the two men race to their car.

  The only person that could help her now was the man who’d helped her sell the ranch in her hometown of Eagle Rock, Montana, and when her mother got sick, helped her pay for the care her mom had needed.

  He had been there for her when she had no one else. “Hey, Siri, call Hank Patterson.”

  She gripped the steering wheel, making turn after turn, hoping the men had long lost her, but she doubted it.

  “Brotherhood Protectors,” a male voice boomed.

  “Hey, Hank,” she said.

  “Pigtails, is that you?”

  Spotting headlights approaching, she wasted no time. “I’m in trouble, Hank. Real trouble.”

  “How can I help?”

  The tires screeched as she turned down another side street, barely taking her foot off the gas. “I’m being chased by two men…with guns.”

  “Tell me where you are exactly. Better yet, is your find my iPhone on?”

  “It is,” she punched the gas, making another turn.

  “Shamus,” Hank yelled. “Track this number, then find me someone who can cut off a tail and get her to the ranch.”

  A wave of nervousness blurred her vision, and she nearly took out a mailbox. She hadn’t forgotten Shamus O’Neil had gone to work for Hank. She’d watched his hero return on television. At one time, he’d been her best friend. The one person she could count on for everything, until her father had to go fuck that up.

  “Got the location,” Shamus said, his voice a little deeper than she’d remembered.

  Hank must have put their call on speaker.

  “I’ve sent out a mass SOS to everyone we know in the area, along with a few of my buddies,” Shamus said.

  “Hang tough, Pigtails,” Hank’s calming voice echoed through the phone.

  “I’m trying, but they are still about a mile behind.” Her knuckles turned white, and she suspected her face had drained of all color. She’d been in the middle of war torn countries, and that wasn’t as scary as this.

  “Amber, in about two minutes you’re going to come to a fork in the road, go left,” Shamus said. Of course, he knew she was on the other end of the line since everyone from her hometown had called her pigtails.

  “You’ll have five miles of straight road,” Shamus continued. “Put the pedal to the metal.”

  “They’ve got a much faster car than me.”

  “Trust me,” the timbre of his voice calmed her nerves, just like when she’d gotten on the backside of a live bull for the first time, and the last time. “Stay on the line with me. An extraction team will be in place to bring you to the ranch in ten minutes.”

  She took the left at the fork and hit the gas as hard as she could. The speedometer rolled past sixty…seventy…eighty…ninety…

  In the distance, a chopper hovered low.

  “You’re going to come up on a hard-right curve, take it as hot as you can. Three miles from there is a dirt road on the right. The chopper will be there waiting.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror again. “Shamus, they are closing in on me.”

  “You’ll be fine, babe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Shamus said.

  Trying not to focus on the car behind her, she kept her focus ahead. She eased up on the gas, down-shifting the manual transmission as she hugged the corner, feeling the tires tip. Anyone who thought driving a car at high speeds was exhilarating hadn’t done it with two armed men chasing them.

  When she turned down the dirt road, the helicopter floated ten feet from the ground. Just as she skidded to a stop, the skids of the bird hit the ground. Two men with assault weapons jumped out, waving at her. “I’m here,” she said.

  “Get out of the car and run,” Shamus said. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  She grabbed the file and her purse and made a dash for the aircraft, covering her ears as her body jerked with the eruption of gunfire. She took the hand of the military man leaning over the opening, hoisting her effortlessly onto the platform. Seconds later, they
were in the air, zooming across the countryside.

  Putting on the helmet the man offered, she strapped herself into a side harness, landing her butt on the cold, hard floor.

  “Ma’am, I’ve got a message from Shamus,” a voice echoed in the earphones.

  “What’s that?”

  “Actually, a question. He wants to know if that was as fun as bull riding?”

  “You tell him the babe flying in the bird, is giving him the bird.”

  She closed her eyes, clutching the papers she’d barely had a chance to look at, biting back the tears. A man was dead. Even if he was guilty of something, no one deserved to be gunned down in front of their home.

  And now she was headed back to Montana, a place she vowed never to return and to come face to face with the boy who stole her heart.

  Chapter 2

  SHAMUS TOSSED a saddle over Bourbon, his newest mustang, named for his rich-brown coat, while Sparky nudged him from behind, scraping his hoof on the hard, dry ground. Bourbon shook his head, snarling in the direction of Sparky, the most impatient horse Shamus had ever seen. However, Sparky had a uniqu look with the sharp contrast between his creamy, white coat and near-black mane. He also liked to show off every chance he got, prancing around and rearing his hind legs. Only skilled riders could handle that horse and even then, Sparky liked to mess around, hence the name.

  “Relax,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t stay in the main house,” his mother called from the front porch. “Your father and I have no ill will toward Amber.”

  No one could blame Amber for his half-sister, Colleen’s, death, and no one did. Amber’s father had been the town drunk for as long anyone could remember. His farm was always on the brink of bankruptcy. He’d been picked up for three DWIs, but that hadn’t kept him off the road the night that changed everything.

  “You saw the news. She was the last person to see that man alive and is wanted for questioning as a person of interest. Not only would I be putting you and Pop in a sticky situation, I’d also be putting you in danger if whoever chased her last night came looking for her here.” He tightened the belt on the saddle, securing it under Bourbon’s belly before turning toward his mother, who leaned against the north fence, arms folded across her chest, and her long, blonde hair, with streaks of grey, bouncing over her shoulders. The morning sun streaked bright orange and red across the sky.