Going In Blind_Brotherhood Protectors World Read online

  Going In Blind

  Brotherhood Protectors World

  Kris Norris

  Contents

  Other Books By Kris Norris

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Midnight Ranger

  Chapter 1

  Other Books By Kris Norris

  About Kris Norris

  Original Brotherhood Protectors Series

  About Elle James

  Copyright © 2018, Kris Norris

  Edited by Chris Allen-Riley and Jessica Bimberg

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 Twisted Page Press, LLC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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, please purchase your own copy.

  Brotherhood Protectors

  Original Series by Elle James

  Brotherhood Protectors Series

  Montana SEAL (#1)

  Bride Protector SEAL (#2)

  Montana D-Force (#3)

  Cowboy D-Force (#4)

  Montana Ranger (#5)

  Montana Dog Soldier (#6)

  Montana SEAL Daddy (#7)

  Montana Ranger’s Wedding Vow (#8)

  Montana SEAL Undercover Daddy (#9)

  Cape Cod SEAL Rescue (#10)

  Montana SEAL Friendly Fire (#11)

  Montana SEAL’s Bride (#12)

  Montana Rescue

  Hot SEAL, Salty Dog

  Other Books By Kris Norris

  SINGLES

  Centerfold

  Keeping Faith

  My Soul to Keep

  Ricochet

  Rope’s End

  SERIES

  ‘TIL DEATH

  1 - Deadly Vision

  2 - Deadly Obsession

  3 - Deadly Deception

  BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS ~ Elle James

  1 - Midnight Ranger

  2 – Carved in Ice

  COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  1 - Force of Nature

  DARK PROPHECY

  1 - Sacred Talisman

  2 - Twice Bitten

  3 - Blood of the Wolf

  ENCHANTED LOVERS

  1 - Healing Hands

  FROM GRACE

  1 - Gabriel

  2 – Michael

  GRIZZLY ENCOUNTERS

  1 – Iron Will

  THRESHOLD

  1 - Grave Measures

  COLLECTIONS

  Blue Collar Collection

  Into the Spirit, Boxed Set

  RE-RELEASING SOON

  TOMBSTONE

  1 - Marshal Law

  2 – Forgotten

  3 – Last Stand

  WHAT REMAINS

  1 - Untainted

  2 - Wasteland

  3 - Mutation

  4 - Reckoning

  Going in Blind

  He’s spent his life preparing for every form of warfare—except the one against his heart.

  When in doubt, blow it up, has been Kent “Rigs” Walker’s motto—words he’s used to carve out a life. Until an encounter with an IED takes more than just his military career. Left to forge a new life—scarred and beaten—he’s accepted an offer to join Hank Patterson’s company, Brotherhood Protectors, on the premise Hank will keep Rigs right where he wants to be—deep in the trenches and away from society.

  Until he finds himself at a high-class charity auction with all of his failures on display. Exposed. He didn’t plan on bumping into Addison Bailey. Or having her affect him on a level that feels etched into his DNA. And for the first time in two years, he’s considering stepping back into the light.

  When things go sideways, coming to Addison’s aid is natural—a part of his genetic makeup. Wanting to kiss her, touch her, take her to bed? That’s new. And scarier than any mission he survived in the Marines. But failure has never been an option. With Addison’s life on the line? Even less. He doesn’t have any intel. Doesn’t know what forces he’ll face. But he’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and at his side. Even if it means, going in blind.

  For my mum.

  For loving without prejudice and always seeing beyond the scars—whether visible or hidden.

  I miss you.

  Chapter 1

  Bainbridge Foundation, Seattle, Washington.

  Kent “Rigs” Walker was going to kill Hank Patterson. Not quickly. No, Rigs was going to draw it out. Nice and slow. Make the man suffer, just like Rigs was suffering, now. He’d made a deal with the ex-veteran. He’d join Hank’s company—Brotherhood Protectors. Do his best to work his way out of the funk he’d been in since being cast out of his MARSOC unit with the Marines. Left to reassemble the shattered pieces of his soul—the ones the IED had missed when it had taken just about everything else. His career. His honor. Half his fucking face. All Rigs had asked was that Hank, known as Montana to his men, kept Rigs in the shadows. Any dirty job no one else wanted—Montana gave it to him.

  Rigs wanted the security details that didn’t involve Hollywood starlets or influential CEOs. He didn’t want hotel rooms with posh interiors. Dinners in five-star restaurants. Backwoods cabins? Hiding out from the mafia in places so ugly no one would ever think to venture there? Rigs was there.

  And for six months, Montana had kept his word. He’d given Rigs every questionable job that had come across his desk—ones Rigs knew the man might have otherwise turned down. Not the usual honorable missions. In fact, some of the people Rigs had shadowed were no better than the people hunting them. But it had kept him off the grid. Out of the limelight, and best of all, isolated.

  So, what the hell was he doing at a star-studded charity auction, dressed in a fucking tux, complete with a tie, vest, and what Montana had called a pocket square—was Rigs supposed to blow his nose with it? Because he had visions of using the stupid folded cloth to wipe up Montana’s blood. The blood he was going to spill just as soon as he could head back to Eagle Rock and murder the bastard in the very office where he’d shook his hand.

  Rigs grinned to himself. Oh yeah. He could get behind that. Or even better, set a few charges around the man’s home. Get him when he least expected it. Of course, Rigs wouldn’t. Hank had a wife, a pretty little girl. No way, Rigs would ever harm either of them. And he couldn’t rightly kill Montana when the guy had tossed him a lifeline. A Hail Mary when Rigs had been just about ready to wire himself up.

  But fuck, he wanted to. He hated this. Hated the feel of the starch white shirt against his skin. The way it caught on the raised scars across his chest whenever he turned. How he knew you could see the
long keloids through the fabric, which is why he’d kept on the vest and jacket, despite the warm temperatures. It was bad enough his face was in full view—right out there. On display like a freak at a sideshow. If the guests had been able to see how the scars continued down his torso—yeah, the auction would have been a bust because everyone would have turned and run.

  Instead, they only turned and ran from him. Okay, they walked extremely fast in another direction. It didn’t matter. Their reactions hurt, even if he had braced himself against it. Known from the start how it would all play out. Rigs was good at tactics, at strategizing. And he’d known the moment he’d received the assignment that it was going to turn ugly.

  “Christ, Rigs, I swear if you tug on that tie one more time, I’m going to use it as a noose.”

  Rigs glared at his buddy, or should he say traitor. The next guy on his list he was going to murder then wipe up with his tiny square of cloth. Of course, Sam Montgomery, aka Midnight, didn’t mind wearing a tux. The guy looked like a million bucks in his. Suave. Professional. He fit in, along with the rich businessmen and CEOs. He didn’t have a hair out of place. His damn shoes reflected the overhead lights. He could have walked in straight off the pages of GQ.

  Looks weren’t something Rigs had really wasted much time worrying about. He’d never had any issues finding a willing bed partner. Had even dated several pretty women for a few months, once upon a time. But now…

  Between the scars and the stress, Rigs looked like a thug. One that had seen hard times and come out the other end tired and beaten. Like the kind of people he and his buddies were supposed to keep out of the auction. Shaggy hair, stubble, and a scowl he’d perfected over the past several months, people stared at him, shuddered, then looked at Midnight, as if needing the other man to cleanse their visual palate. Rigs had lost count of the number of times women had gasped, lifted their hands to their mouths before politely trying to talk it off as seeing a spider.

  Well, the entire room must be full of fucking tarantulas because that was the only explanation that fit their reactions.

  He glanced across the room. Russel or Ice, as he was affectionately known, was married to one of the few woman who hadn’t flinched, cringed or screamed when she’d first taken in Rigs’ battle-worn face. Harlequin James, or Foster, now, had managed to look Rigs in the eyes and talk as if the scars weren’t there—weren’t glaring at her like a damn beacon of his greatest failure. He’d been sweet on her ever since. Not in a romantic way—she was devoted to Ice, and they’d gotten hitched in Vegas only a month after Ice had popped the question. More like a sister. One he’d already taken a few bullets for—that he’d kill to protect.

  Rigs gave Midnight a shove. “I don’t see why we had to get dressed up. I look out of place. Any tango with half a brain will make me with just a glance.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? You look fine—when you’re not yanking on that tie.”

  “You look fine. I look like I killed the guy who owns this tux then took his place so I could blend in. Which I don’t.”

  Midnight sighed. To his credit, he didn’t call Rigs out—lecture him on how his scars weren’t nearly as bad as Rigs made them out to be, and that most people hardly noticed them. He would have given good money to know who these “people” were Midnight seemed to think looked beyond the marks because they sure as hell weren’t in this building.

  Rigs fisted his hands to keep them by his side instead of around Midnight’s throat, casually scanning the room. “Hell of a turnout. Bridgette’s clinic is going to receive some serious funding if this crowd is half as rich as it looks. Did you see some of the items up for sale?” He whistled. “More money than I make in a year.”

  “You and me both, brother.” Midnight turned when Bridgette walked over and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Everything all right, darling?”

  She nodded, smiling at Rigs. Bridgette was another one who hadn’t been fazed by his looks. Who always made eye contact whenever they spoke—which wasn’t often. Rigs went out of his way to avoid any kind of contact beyond his ex-military brothers—men who’d bled as much as he had. And, now, here he was, standing beneath the crystal chandeliers, exposed.

  Bridgette rested her hand on Midnight’s arm—a visual show of affection. They had finally set a date. October. When they’d attended Ice’s impromptu wedding, she’d suggested following suite—finding a chapel right then and making it official. But Midnight had kissed her and calmly told her he wanted her to have the wedding of her dreams because he was going to personally see to it that it was the only one she’d ever get. She’d teared up—Rigs hadn’t really understood why. She’d seemed happy, but there had been tears dotting her face. Women. Who really understood why they did anything? Not him. She’d kissed Midnight and casually said October.

  Bridgette brushed back some hair that had pulled free from her complicated knot, glancing at the people seated off to their right. “There’re just about to start the second half. I can’t believe how much money we’ve raised, already. Do you know how many women I’ll be able to help?”

  Midnight smiled. “All of them. And you deserve it. What you’ve been doing these past months—couldn’t be prouder. I’m just glad Jeremy called—got you to accept this offer. You tend to be a bit…stubborn when it comes to help.”

  She laughed. “Just because I busted your ass when you showed up to be my bodyguard doesn’t mean I shun everyone.”

  Somehow, Midnight held back from rolling his eyes. “Right. It’s just me.”

  Her eyes glassed over. “Yeah. Only you. Forever.”

  And fuck if Midnight didn’t do something Rigs had never seen the hardcore Army Ranger do. Ever. Midnight’s expression softened, and he kissed her. Right there. In the middle of an op. No concern for his surroundings. A group of tangos could have picked that exact moment to bust in, guns blazing, and Midnight would have been busy losing himself in his fiancée’s mouth.

  Rigs averted his gaze. Bad enough he seemed to be the only one not blindsided by love. Completely focused on the mission. Watching them kiss—seeing their obvious happiness—it stung. Especially, when he knew he’d never find that. Never have someone look at him with complete and utter adoration. Sure, he could probably find someone to have sex with. Not every woman cared about anything above a man’s waist. But love. Actual love that involved more than just genitals grinding—that involved his fucking soul? Yeah, not in the cards.

  “Kent?”

  It took Rigs a moment to realize Bridgette was addressing him—no one called him Kent except her. He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to thank you for coming. I know this isn’t really your scene. But even though Jeremy hired security, I just feel better knowing you, Russel, and Sam are here. My own secret Black Ops force.”

  Rigs snorted. “A Marine, a Ranger, and a PJ. Not exactly your typical Spec Op squad. And you didn’t even let me bring any explosives. I feel…naked.”

  This time, Midnight rolled his eyes. “There were bomb sniffing dogs at the entrances. The last thing we needed was to have one of them attack you. You’re just lucky that’s a rented tux, or there’d most likely be some residual powder on it.” He cracked a smile. “Though, seeing you try to outrun a German shepherd might have been worth it.”

  “You know, you’re all pretty cocky for people who have to live knowing I could wire your damn toothbrush to explode.”

  “You’re one of the good guys. I’ll take my chances.” He turned to Bridgette. “I was just going to do a round of the room. Why don’t you walk with me? It’ll make me look less obvious, and I get to know you’re safe. A double win in my books.”

  Bridgette’s face lit up. Just beamed with joy. She took his arm, said something that sounded like goodbye to Rigs then walked off with Midnight.

  Fuck. Rigs was definitely going to kill Hank.

  Rigs looked over at Ice. He swore the man sensed when someone needed him—probably a PJ thing becau
se he hadn’t met a pararescue tech, yet, who didn’t have the sixth sense—because the man stopped talking to one of the guests and glanced over at him, eyebrow arched. Rigs nodded then made a twirling motion with his hand—signaling he was going to do a perimeter check. Ice gave him a thumb’s up.

  The announcer’s voice sounded, again, as Rigs walked toward the east side of the building. He’d do a circle—check out the front entrance then go for a brief walk through the rear gardens. Though there was security at the main entrance accessible from outside the gated grounds, and another couple guys walking the perimeter, he felt better doing his own recon. Getting away from the crowds didn’t hurt, either. For a huge place, he’d found it next to impossible to isolate himself where he could still be effective.

  Rigs gave the area one last scan—noting both Ice and Midnight’s positions—then headed for the foyer. The Bainbridge Foundation was an impressive building with enormous, arched ceilings and large columns. It sat two stories high and covered half an acre of the beautiful estate. He’d only been upstairs a couple of times, choosing to focus on the lower levels—where he could keep a closer eye on the auction.

  The main floor had multiple open areas along an interconnecting hallway, all fanning out from a central sweeping staircase. There were nooks located along every wall, some with chairs, others with plants. Hanging fixtures bathed the interior in bright light, though half had been dimmed to create a cozier atmosphere.