The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)

The frown remained on her face. Chappy grasped the back of her neck and encouraged her to lean against him. She collapsed onto his chest, her arms between them, curled up as she let him take her body weight.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me change my mind about having you here. About making love to you. About anything.”

“I will. But not tonight. Is that okay? Tonight, I just want to sit here and try to pretend that everything in my life is happy and fine.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Chappy said. He was disappointed, but if she needed more time, he’d give it to her. Because she’d finally confirmed that there was something going on in her life that wasn’t good. And she’d said she’d share with him. He just needed to be patient.

“Thank you. Riggs?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Please don’t hurt me. I don’t think I could handle it. Not after everything else.”

“I won’t. Not physically, mentally, or emotionally. I promise.”

She sighed, then shifted so she was even closer. Her arms came out from between them, and she pushed one behind his back. The other went to the nape of his neck, where she caressed the hair there.

Goose bumps rose on his arms at her touch. This woman could break him, but he somehow knew she wouldn’t. She’d treat him with care, just as he’d treat her. He’d slay all her dragons, simply for the right to end each day exactly like this. With her in his arms, warm and trusting.



Clothes went flying across the room as they were flung out of dresser drawers. Next, the dresses and shirts hanging in Carlise’s closet were ripped off their hangers.

“Where are you, bitch? Where are you?”

Each word was accompanied by the thrust of a knife as Carlise’s clothes and bedding were slashed over and over again in frustration and rage.

Every nook and cranny in the apartment had been searched. All the mail opened, the papers in Carlise’s desk rifled through . . . and yet there was still no sign of where the cunt had gone! She’d truly up and disappeared without a trace.

Panting with exertion, the intruder stood in the middle of Carlise’s bedroom and stared at the dozens of ripped shirts and panties, broken pictures and knickknacks, mind racing to figure out what to do next. How to figure out where she might have gone.

This was unacceptable! Carlise obviously assumed leaving would make everything go away, but she was wrong. Dead wrong. When her location was discovered, she’d pay for vanishing without a word. Pay for getting that fucking restraining order. Pay for everything!

Then—a thought occurred.

Her mother.

Of course! She was the key.

Carlise had to have told her mom where she was going or, at the very least, called her by now. Her mother would know exactly where she went. And she’d spill the beans, especially if a little . . . persuasion was used to coax out the information. The old loser was weak. Just like her daughter.

The intruder smirked and headed for the front door of the apartment, ignoring all the destruction left behind.

“I’m gonna find you, bitch. And when I do, you’ll regret all the lies . . . all the pain you’ve caused. Mark my damn words.”





Chapter Ten


Thirty-six hours had passed since Riggs’s admission about the cameras, and Carlise was more than surprised that she wasn’t bothered by knowing he was taping every single thing they did or said inside the cabin.

If it had been Tommy, she would’ve completely freaked. It would’ve felt like a huge invasion of privacy, and she wouldn’t have been able to trust he’d keep the footage to himself. But since she and Riggs were together every minute of every day, both being filmed at all times—not to mention the important fact that she trusted him in a way she could never trust her ex—she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Another surprise in the last day and a half—Baxter had taken to being an inside dog super easily. It confirmed Carlise’s thought that he’d once been someone’s pet. He hadn’t had an accident in the house and even went to the door and scratched at it, letting her and Riggs know he wanted to go outside. He didn’t get close enough to be petted, preferring his spot near the fire in his blankets, but Carlise was confident that with time, he’d relax even more. He kept his gaze on them no matter where they went in the cabin, always on alert.

Carlise and Riggs had slept together almost every night since she’d arrived, and she had never felt safer or more content. When she and Tommy slept together, she was always tense. On alert, and therefore never fully able to rest.

She should’ve left him long before she did. She’d stayed partly because she was ashamed that she’d somehow found herself in the kind of relationship she swore she’d never get into after growing up in an abusive household. But also because she’d made excuses for him for so long. He worked too hard, he was stressed out, was worried about providing for her . . .

She’d kept what was happening from Susie and especially from her mom, not wanting them to worry. But when Tommy had finally gone from merely cruel or threatening to shoving her so hard she’d hit that counter and hurt herself, she’d finally opened her eyes.

Having no inkling of Carlise’s unhappiness, both her mom and Susie had asked why she’d suddenly decided to leave him. When she’d fessed up, it prompted Susie to wonder if the abuse was a one-time thing . . . if maybe Carlise should give him another chance. Not surprising, since he excelled at charming anyone who didn’t know him well. From the outside looking in, Tommy was a catch, and their relationship was great. Carlise knew that was all on her.

She didn’t bother trying to explain that men like Tommy didn’t change, that their apologies were hollow, and it wouldn’t be long before he fell into a pattern of beatings and false regret. Carlise knew Susie would never fully understand. She’d never been in an abusive relationship. Hadn’t grown up wondering what kind of mood her dad would be in when he got home. If he’d be happy, or if he’d immediately start swinging his fists, not caring who he hurt.

Her mom understood all too well, of course.

Her best friend had been more supportive after Carlise started receiving threats. She’d been outraged, in fact . . . even as she’d tentatively questioned whether it could be someone other than Tommy. And she had a point. Slashing tires, painting her door, leaving notes . . . none of that was really his style. He was more the in-your-face, confrontational type. The type who’d come right up to her door and ring the bell and tell her in person that she was a bitch.

But if it wasn’t Tommy harassing her, she had no idea who else it could be. She couldn’t think of anyone who hated her enough to want to make her life as miserable as it had been before she’d left Cleveland.

There was that woman at the grocery store who’d gone over-the-top crazy when Carlise had taken the last pint of Thin Mint ice cream, following her to the register, then all the way out to her car, screeching the entire time. Despite the woman’s irrational display, Carlise couldn’t imagine anyone stalking her over ice cream.

Maybe it was the author who’d claimed her translation was terrible. It wasn’t; the woman just didn’t want to pay for the work Carlise had done.

The possibility that it could be her dad was always in the back of her mind. He’d seemed relieved enough to wash his hands of both his wife and daughter . . . but then again, maybe when he’d learned how well they were both doing, his ego couldn’t handle it. And Carlise had been the one who’d continually begged her mom to leave the man.

“What time is it?” Riggs mumbled from next to her.

It was still dark outside. She was snuggled against Riggs the same way she went to sleep every night. One of her legs between his, her head on his chest, her arm across his body, and holding him almost as tightly as he held her. She wore one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties, but the shirt had ridden up in the night.

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