Tate: Five Brothers Series, #3

By Melissa Bell

When Tate is assigned to protect the daughter of Australian Senator Adam Winters, he gets more than he bargained for. There's nothing he hates more than being a babysitter. 

Jasmine finds her world turned upside down and inside out when she becomes the target of a terrorist group. She's a strong independent woman, but when she meet her new bodyguard assigned to protect her, who will protect her from Tate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Bell & Jordin Thiele Inc.
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386267683

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Tate was born from military stock. His mother was military, as was his grandfather, whom he hadn’t spoken to in several years, ever since he walked away from the marines. Not that anyone ever really walked away. It invaded your blood and ingrained itself inside your bones. He was about to try out for ‘Special Operations Training’ when his life turned to shit, and he was forced to make a dramatic career change. After that, he worked hard to stay off his grandfather’s radar. The Colonel went ballistic when he heard the news of him resigning his commission. He had always treated him more like a project than a grandson. He was hard on Tate, always fearful that he would fuck up his good name and reputation or embarrass him in front of the other officers. As Tate quickly became a well-honed fighting machine, he believed the Colonel actually took pride in some of his accomplishments. No different really to that of a mentor being proud of their student, in an emotionally detached, egotistical way. It was all about ego, not love and support for the Colonel.

Tate was well aware his grandfather saw him as the end of his mother’s military career, and for that, he would always be a thorn in the Colonel’s side.

His mother, Veronica Cross, was an only child and the apple of her father’s eye - His pride and joy. She’d been on leave at the same time as Vernon Black and his band was playing at the ‘Coral Cactus’ in California. She’d had a few drinks and was letting her hair down. She got caught up in a moment of lust as the lead singer’s gaze followed every sway of her hips on the dance floor. The desire in his eyes made her feel like she was the only woman in the room. She’d never felt anything like it before. It was as though she was all woman, feminine, soft, and curvy. His eyes caressed her from across the room. Vernon Black wasted no time jumping down from the stage when the band took a fifteen-minute break halfway through their set. He held his hand out to her, and she slipped hers into his without a second thought. Tate was conceived from a thirteen-minute lusty but satisfyingly raucous romp in a back storeroom. Veronica left through a back entrance, humiliated by her actions and angry with herself for being reckless and wanton. She’d craved affection, but she knew nothing good ever came from a one-night stand.

She’d returned to base after her three days leave to discover a few weeks later that she was late. Really late! ‘Fucking Six Weeks Pregnant kind of LATE!!’ She went out on maternity leave, and after a difficult labor, she saw the most amazingly beautiful baby boy squirming in the crib beside her bed. She couldn’t see herself leaving the tiny bundle to fend for himself without his mother. So she’d promptly handed in her resignation and reassigned herself to the duties of a full-time single mother.

She’d tossed and turned for the next couple of nights before finally deciding that Vernon Black had a right to know he’d helped create a life. She’d contacted his booking agent and was told he would be informed, but she never heard a word back from the bastard. However, she did receive support payments via Blacks’ lawyer.

Her father had visited the first day after Tate was born. His grandfather had refused to hold him or even look at him, and the light in his eyes that had once shone so bright with pride had now dimmed. His perfect little girl was now tarnished. Her glowing career was over. It was now bundled up in a blue bunny rug, sucking its fist. Tate had pushed daddy’s little girl off her pedestal, and she’d landed hard in the eyes of her disappointed father.

The Colonel asked his daughter to come home. The house was big enough, and things would be easier for her. He’d promised to get a live-in nanny to help her take care of Tate. She’d declined, and he was agitated by her rejection of his offer. Veronica chose to get a little two-bedroom apartment in the suburbs. She went about her own business of being a mother while studying a series of online courses.

One afternoon, while grabbing a few things from the grocery store, she met London’ Brass.’ He’d been nicknamed ‘Brass’ by his seal team because they claimed he had brass balls the size of a Church Bells.

Veronica handed a small bunch of grapes to Tate while in the fruit and veggie section to munch on as she filled the basket. His small hand struggled to hold them, and he accidentally dropped two as he watched the enormous man walk past. The guy winked at Tate, and he tried his best to wink back. Scrunching his eyes tightly twice, he then smiled at the man. Tate’s eyes beamed with pride in himself. His mum stepped sideways, her foot pulverizing a plump juicy grape, and her foot slipped as she repositioned him on her hip. ‘Brass’ moved faster than lightning and cushioned their fall.

They married within six months, and their love created Cindy, Tate’s younger sister. Brass had insisted a boy needed a healthy mind and a healthy body because it made for a healthy soul. So from an early age, Brass had signed him up for karate lessons. He mentioned that he’d always wanted a ballerina for a daughter; it was a different kind of discipline, one that fed a young girl’s soul with beauty and grace, so Cindy was enrolled in ballet classes.

He remembered the joke well, how his mother had fallen for Brass before knowing what hit her. It was the story she told at his funeral. His dedication to serving his nation had taken the only father he would ever know when he was only six. Every time Brass left for battle, he would say to Tate, You’re the man of the house now, big guy. You have to take care of our girls while I’m gone. He died in the field when a child cried out from a nearby foxhole in the middle of a combat zone. He’d gone to help the boy, but as Brass picked the kid up, he was hit with the full force of detonated explosives that were strapped to his small body. The man with a heart of gold was killed instantly.

His mother was never the same after losing Brass. She was so desperate to keep some part of him alive that he sometimes thought it was the only reason she continued taking him to the karate classes. He was quietly grateful that she honored the memory of her dead husband that he learned to protect himself. When he started high school, he decided to be just like his stepfather and went out of his way to protect the underdogs, the kids who got bullied and picked on. He was always large for his age, a good foot taller than the tallest in his class. So when he saw someone being targeted, he’d step in and take on the bully. That’s how he’d met his two best friends at the time, Connor and Steven. For a short while, they’d been inseparable until Connor’s family moved interstate; and because of Stevens home life, he’d run away. Tate learned later on that his friend had died from a drug overdose. In that light, he realized you couldn’t help everybody.

As he got older, he began to focus more on keeping to himself because friends came and went, but the library full of books was a constant companion for him. He’d begged his mother to drop him at the library on that day in Spring. When he’d kissed her cheek before getting out of the car, he turned to his sister, sitting in the back seat dressed in her fluffy pink tutu, and said, Knock ’em dead ‘Cindy Doll’. He shut the door, waved, then turned and ran up the steps into the library. At fourteen, there was no way he was going to a ballet recital, no matter how much he loved his sister.

So he used the excuse of an assignment to avoid attending. It wasn’t a lie per se. He did have an assignment due on Tuesday. He might have looked like a jock, but he wasn’t. He’d maintained a high-grade point average by reading everything he could get his hands on.

Later that evening, he’d walked home from the library to find a police car parked outside his house. The officers standing on the front porch were out of the ordinary. He figured they would be dressed in different uniforms if his grandfather had been killed in service; that’s most likely how they’d tell his mum. So he wondered what they wanted.

Both officers turned to face him as he walked through the gate and up the path. He stopped mid-stride, trying to work out if he’d done anything to warrant a visit from the cops. ‘Nope,’ nothing came to mind.

One of the officers descended the stairs. Tate lifted an eyebrow, Can I help you, officer?

Officer Perkins asked, Are you Tate Cross?

Yes sir, he responded.

Officer Perkins began in an official tone, I’m sorry son but you need to come with us to the station. Your mother and sister have been involved in a car accident. Your grandfather has asked that you wait for him there.

Tate felt the color drain from his face, Why can’t you take me to the hospital? I wanna see my mum, I wanna see Cindy.

He started to turn, his entire body preparing to run, all the way to the damn hospital if he had to. He didn’t see the other officer move from the porch, but all of a sudden, his path was blocked. The power of realization took his strength, and he dropped to his knees. They’re both dead, aren’t they? He whispered, knowing now the reason for the solemn looks on the officer’s faces. Their expressions were those of bearers of bad news, of a death. He knew it was true even before they answered.

As unshed tears stung his eyes, his entire body began to sob, his soul split in two, and a part of him died that day with them.

He couldn’t remember how he got from the ground to the car or from the car into the police station. He was so numb he struggled to breathe.

His grandfather walked in and signed some paperwork; he later concluded they must have been custody-related. Then he was shuffled out into the cold night air. He’d lost hours in his paralyzed state, sitting there on a plastic chair with his right knee bobbing up and down like a jackhammer. No matter how hard he’d try to collect himself and focus on stopping it, it had just gotten faster.

His grandfather closed the door behind him then rounded the truck to the driver’s side. As he climbed in, he ordered, Seat belt.

Tate tried three times unsuccessfully to click the fucker into place, but his hands shook so badly it made it impossible to make the connection. Finally, a large hand closed over his hand and the buckle, and then with a precise click, the buckle was engaged. His grandfather paused for a second but then quickly released Tate’s hand, obviously remembering that even though the boy was his only living relative now, he still hated him.

The Colonel took him back to the house. The house where he would never again see his mum sit and read a book on the porch with a cup of coffee. He’d never again see his sister twirl in her latest costume, showing it off in the family room. He couldn’t stay here. There were too many memories. He hated the idea of going to live with the Colonel, but maybe his grandfather wouldn’t be around much anyway, seeing as he was still on active duty.

So he packed up his personal things and loaded them into a couple of suitcases. Once the last zipper was closed, his grandfather carried them out and loaded