Honour Bound

By Jennifer Brassel

Gwen Morgan’s orderly life is shattered when her flatmate is brutally attacked. Until the man responsible is caught, she’ll never feel safe with any man who fits the attacker’s sketchy description.

Martial arts expert, Lance DeLaker, is instantly attracted to the young woman who comes to him seeking help for her friend. But how can he get past her fears and prove he can be gentle as well as strong?

When Lance learns his best friend has already staked a claim, can he do the honourable thing and keep his distance from the only woman he has ever truly wanted?

Can they break free to and discover that true love knows no bounds?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Brassel
• Release date: Jan 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386517177

Jennifer Brassel

Jenny Brassel is passionate about a lot of things: history, mythology and romance to name but a few, and writing allows her imagination to run riot. Creative to the bone, when Jennifer isn’t writing she can be seen with a paintbrush in hand. History, especially ancient history, is her most fervent passion and recently she has spread her writing wings to pen the first in a series of historical sagas based around the lives of her favourite pharaohs. They are filled with the epic stories of life in ancient times, warts, brutality and all.  Her work has won a number of major romance writing contests including the Land of Enchantment Romance Writers’  Rebecca; From The Heart Romance Writers’ Wallflower and Missouri Romance Writers of America’s Gateway to the Best. Jenny holds an MA in Creative Writing and teaches courses and workshops for community colleges and writing centres. Jenny hails from Sydney Australia. Married to her high school sweetheart, most of her days are spent staring at her computer screen under the supervision of a very demanding bichon frisé, Cordy.

Book preview

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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter One

December

The hard, banging noise reverberated through Gwen’s brain like a series of gun-shots. So relentless was it — that it forced her mind to claw its way back toward a state of consciousness, yet once near, she was reluctant to venture that last little bit. A darkness smothered her but it comforted like a warm blanket — protecting her from the fear.

Another sound intruded; a whimpering, faint but insistent.

Eyes closed, Gwen turned her head in an effort to find the source of the sound. She was immediately sorry she’d moved. A shaft of blazing pain again threatened her with unconsciousness.

Breathing slowly and deeply, she struggled to make the pain recede.

The harsh glare stabbed at her eyelids and her eyes were slow to open. She blinked several times to clear her vision and could eventually make out her surroundings. The lounge room looked odd from the angle where she lay. She drew a hand across her eyes and squinted, staring curiously at her wet fingers. Blood.

I’m bleeding,  she whispered to herself. Strangely, she didn’t think she posessed the strength to move, to do something about the blood. Her body no longer seemed part of her, so she gazed up at the ceiling and wondered, in a detached kind of way, whether or not she might be dreaming. Or perhaps dead.

The whimpering started again and this time she knew she must respond. With great effort she raised her head, then using an elbow for leverage, pushed herself into a sitting position. The room spun. She closed her eyes and swallowed down the nausea each movement caused. When she opened them again, the scene before her made her cry out.

Sandie!

Forgetting her own distress, Gwen scrambled across the room, stumbling on hands and knees to where her flat mate lay curled into a ball.

Sandie  ... Oh ... G-god ... San—  Bile rose to choke off Gwen’s words.

Sandie’s nightgown was torn and bloodied, and her face — GOD! — her face didn’t resemble the friend Gwen knew. Dried blood encrusted her cut lower lip and her eyes were swollen shut. Matted blond curls were plastered to her head and the whole left side of her face, chin to temple, was grazed as if she’d been dragged across the slate flooring in the kitchen. And she was so pale. For one horrifying moment Gwen thought Sandie was dead, but her chest rose and fell, ever so slowly. At least she’s breathing.

Oh, Sandie—  Gwen whispered again, tears stinging her eyes as she reached out with shaking hands to comfort her friend. When Gwen’s fingers glanced across her bare shoulder Sandie flinched and groaned.

Suddenly the horror of it all crashed in on Gwen. Her wide eyes searched the room. She listened, stomach clenched, in case whoever had done this still lurked in the flat. Everything seemed so quiet. The front door swung with the breeze. It slammed — but bounced back open in an instant, echoing the same jarring noise which woke her. Did that mean he’d gone, or had the door remained ajar since she’d arrived home? Her keyring still dangled from the lock.

Gwen hadn’t seen it coming. She remembered hearing an odd sound as she pushed the door open, then the blackness took over. How long she’d been unconscious, she didn’t know.

Glazed eyes scanned the room again as she listened intently, but the silence was almost deafening. For several long seconds the only thing she heard was the rapid pounding of her own heart. The mundane sounds of the everyday world were missing as if she was cocooned within her fear.

Again Sandie began to whimper and this time it galvanised Gwen into action. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the wave of vertigo that washed over her. Uncertain whether to go for the phone, or lock the door, time stopped as she stared from one to the other and back again. She blinked rapidly to stave off the threatening tears.

I’m a nurse! I should know what to do!

Help, she thought. Get help for Sandie. Keeping her eyes trained on the open doorway, Gwen fumbled with the phone, punched in the number with quivering fingers and waited till she heard a familiar voice.

Elizabeth ... I need Elizabeth.  Tears filled her eyes as she looked down at her friend, It’s Gwen.

Elizabeth will know what to do,  she murmured to reassure herself as she waited.

Less than a minute later she laid the receiver back in its cradle and let out a long, shuddering sigh. Help was coming.

This time, when she lifted the receiver, Gwen hit just three numbers — Elizabeth had made her promise.

What service, please?

Ambulance ... and police, I guess,  Gwen answered in an emotionless monotone. The voice asked another question.

Her address? She couldn’t think. She tilted her head to the side as if the movement might wake her sleeping memory, but even the canted viewpoint seemed both real and surreal. The voice from the phone repeated the question.

Uh ... I’m sorry ... my friend has been attacked ... I can’t rem— her lower lip began to quiver and she clenched her fist in frustration. She couldn’t fall apart — she didn’t have time to cry. Nurses were trained to deal with something like this — yet it was so hard to focus — this was her best friend! The voice spoke again. The address? Her brows drew together in a fierce frown — how could she forget her own address? The front door slammed. The sound cut through the daze which thralled her and suddenly the words were there. 6/227 Second Avenue, Five Dock ...

The voice asked another unanswerable question, a sound without meaning.

Pardon?  Gwen asked automatically.

The voice spoke again, and Gwen looked down at her friend lying on the floor. Sandie still whimpered, but the sound was faint, like a mewling, new-born kitten.

Yes ... she’s semi-conscious, but she’s been beaten badly ... in a lot of pain. Tears began to stream unheeded down Gwen’s cheeks. Please — please, tell them to hurry. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and pushed back a renewed wave of fear with the reassurance that an ambulance was on its way.

After placing the phone down, she hurried into her bedroom and ripped the blanket from her bed. Shock,  she muttered to herself. Sandie’ll be in shock.

With utter gentleness, Gwen spread the blanket over her friend, taking great care not to disturb her too much — who knew what kind of internal injuries she’d sustained? All the blood and torn clothes could only mean one thing, and she didn’t want to think about it. Nor did she want to think about what else might have happened.

The police and ambulance arrived scant moments apart and what followed passed in a haze of sirens and uniforms, questions and antiseptic smells. Elizabeth helped, running interference with both the hospital staff and the police.

Gwen’s head was stitched, but she barely registered her own discomfort, choosing to stay with Sandie throughout the ordeal. An ordeal which, though handled gently by the professionals involved, left Sandie completely changed. And, if Gwen had taken the time to consider her own feelings, she’d have seen that it changed her too. She trusted slowly, if at all, and until they caught the man responsible she knew she’d forever be looking over her shoulder, waiting for his return.

Why he’d left her alone she’d never understand.

The only description Sandie could give the police was that the man had worn a green medic’s mask and cap. He was tall, incredibly strong, and had dark eyes. She remembered little else except his parting words which she could barely bring herself to repeat. And when she did, her whole body began to heave as if to purge the memory from her being.

Soon, my sweet.

Anything more remained locked away in her subconscious, where she could shut it out.

Tall, strong and dark-eyed ... tall, strong and dark-eyed ... soon, my sweet ... tall ... strong ... dark-eyed ...

~.~

Harvey’s lanky frame filled the doorway. He stood behind the plastic orange tape and looked about, a combination of concern and bewilderment etched on his boyish face.

What’s happened?

Gwen turned with a start, then relaxed the instant she recognised him.

His face paled. What did you do to your head?

Oh Harvey — it was so awful. She covered her face with her hands. Sandie ... Sandie was ... Gwen began to crumple where she stood and Harvey pushed past the flimsy barrier to catch her before she fell.

Lifting her carefully, he strode across the room and placed her on the couch. He sat alongside and caressed her shoulder lightly while she composed herself. Gwen looked up into his familiar face and wished all men were as gentle and unassuming as Harvey. Wiry and blonde, he had soft eyes the colour of rich chocolate and right now she felt thankful for his caring and friendship.

Sandie was attacked last night ... r—raped. Whoever did it knocked me out me as I came through the door.

Harvey’s hand tightened on her shoulder and his expression said he’d readily do battle to save Gwen and her friend.

Did he ... ? He glanced down at her breasts as he brushed his fingertips across her bandaged forehead.

No — thank God! He just hit me as I came in. I woke up after he’d gone.

Is Sandie okay? Does she know who did it?

Gwen shook her head and tried to smile. She doesn’t remember much at all. The man wore a surgical mask and cap. She only saw his eyes — she’s in shock and has blocked out the rest. Elizabeth says she’ll be fine, given time.

Harvey leaned back and sighed.

What about the cops — do they have any idea who’s responsible for this?

Again Gwen shook her head. By the sounds of things — not a clue. They’ll be questioning all the neighbours over the next few days, so I expect they’ll be calling in on you. Were you home last night? Did you hear anything?

Harvey let his head roll onto the back of the couch. Nah. I went out at about four. Didn’t get in till just now.

Pushing her chestnut fringe out of her eyes, she raised a brow in query.

He shrugged. All night party. You know Friday night is party night for me.

Actually, she didn’t know — but it wasn’t important.

Standing, Harvey circled the room to check out the damage. The coffee table and its contents were thrown over and there were patches of dried blood on both the carpet and the kitchen floor. Do want help cleaning up?

Gwen smiled grimly as she followed him, wishing she could hide the discarded scraps of Sandie’s underwear which remained scattered about the room. Thanks anyway, but I’m not supposed to touch anything. I only came to pick up some clothes for Sandie. The police have to test for fingerprints and such. They took mine earlier. She looked at her fingertips, then wiped at the ink that stained them. You’ll probably need to give them a sample so they can rule you out — I told them you’re a regular visitor.

Harvey nodded and let out a long tired breath.

Well, I’d better get out of here then. Call me if you want anything. He started toward the door but turned when he reached it. Where is Sandie? Is she still in hospital?

"No. They let her go home with Elizabeth. Being a doctor, she can help Sandie to get over this. I’ll be staying there for a week or so, too. We’ll both feel a lot safer there.

Sandie will probably go home to Bowral for a while once it’s okay for her to travel. Her mother is on her way to Sydney now.

Again, he nodded. Well, he reached down to kiss her lightly on the cheek, take care, huh? Get the locks changed as soon as the cops let you. I reckon I’ll see you next week some time.

Yeah, I guess. She watched him stroll down the hall to the stairs and out of sight. His flat was two floors below.

Leaning against the lintel she let out a long weary sigh. Whatever Elizabeth had given her was beginning to work. She wished she could curl up on the couch and sleep for weeks — that’s how long it felt since she’d last laid down.

Her watch beeped. Seven. The policeman said he’d arrive around seven. She pushed off the wall and went back inside to collect the case she’d put together for Sandie. Her own clothes were already stowed in the car.

~.~

Late February

DeLaker. Gym hours are nine till two, squash courts reopen March three.

The man’s tone sounded gruff and angry, Gwen thought. Hard edged and arrogant. Still, his disposition made absolutely no difference. She was on an important mission.

She drew a deep, calming breath. Be strong. Hello? I hope I’ve called the right number, I wanted to book in for the women's self-defence classes.

Yep, you've got the right number,  the man returned coldly. Classes don't start till the semester does.

I know, but I was also told that they fill up very fast and I wanted to get our names down early, she persisted.

A long pause at the other end of the line was followed by a muffled expletive. Hang on a minute and I'll find the book.

Gwen waited, wondering for perhaps the fiftieth time, how the heck she’d talked herself into doing this. The idea of learning to fist fight was repugnant, but then again, so was being attacked. And she now understood what that could do to a woman. Oh, she knew very well why — Sandie needed her help and Gwen would never let her friend down.

A noise came through the phone line as if someone slapped something down next to the receiver. Name? His voice seemed to seethe with impatience.

Well there’s two of us, I’m Gwynneth Morgan, and my friend’s name is Sandie Wallace.

After a moment, he asked, Student numbers?

Mine is 9466066. Gwen recited the number mechanically, after more than six years she knew it better than her own phone number.

And Ms. Wallace?

Oh ... well ... Sandie isn’t a student, she—

He cut her off instantly. I’m sorry Ms. — what is it? — Morgan? Students only.

Gwen found herself staring at the mouthpiece in disbelief.

Of all the rude, arrogant, lumps of brawn! she muttered to herself as she dropped the receiver. He hung up on me!

Gwen glanced at her watch. 12.40 p.m. If she tidied up these last few files and filled out all the Medicare slips straight away, she might make it to the gym before it closed. With practiced efficiency she pulled together the pathology reports and correspondence that littered the desk in front of her, carefully placing the pages in order and then securing them inside a green manila folder. Taking three similar folders from her filing cabinet, she sorted those, one on top of the other and then took the bundle into the other room.

I know it’s short notice Dr. Caswell, but would you mind if I left the surgery for a couple of hours during lunch? I’ve got to sort out some business at the university.

The balding man grinned openly. Of course, Gwen, you know I’m always happy to help where your studies are concerned.

Although she knew her mission wasn’t really because of her studies — she felt compelled to remain silent. Now wasn’t the time to get bogged down in explanations.

Leaving a note for Julie, the other nurse, she grabbed her handbag and headed for the carpark.

~.~

Lance DeLaker glanced up at the clock on the wall and frowned. He had more than forty minutes to kill before he could close up.

Looking around the well-appointed gym, he rubbed his temple thoughtfully. He still didn't understand how he'd been manoeuvred into taking over the gym classes. He’d been appointed by the university as a lecturer, not a Martial Arts instructor.

When the previous instructor left without a word, Artie, a close friend and college room mate, begged Lance to step in to fill the void. And, as usual, Lance stupidly replied, Sure, why not? without asking what he’d actually said yes to. He'd been under the false impression he’d teach one or two classes of Karate per week. As it turned out, there were three Karate classes. That was okay. But there were also two women's self-defence classes, a men's, two mixed aerobics groups and a 'step' class, whatever that was!

So far, he'd managed to find an instructor to take the aerobics and step classes for him. Besides knowing nothing about either, training to music interfered with his concentration. He had yet to find someone to cover the self-defence classes and the last thing he wanted was to waste three hours of his precious time teaching uncoordinated amateurs how to duck a punch. When he taught Martial Arts, Lance did so because his students had a commitment to the mental and physical discipline it demanded.

Still, he'd promised Artie he’d fill in, at least until the university could employ someone qualified. So he'd just have