Protecting His Asset

By SA Welsh

Float like a butterfly. Kill like a swallowtail.

Scott knows his boring day is over the second a bloody and scared George Kelvin crashes into his office, claiming people are trying to kill him. He knows he should pass the case over to one of his brothers, but he can't seem to do it. The strength and resilience of the man mixed with a quirky sense of humor fascinate him. He may be a human in the company of powerful shifters, but he's just as deadly and well trained as the rest of his brothers.

With devious CIA agents, foreign forces gunning for what George possesses and George's power-hungry father, who is also Deputy Director of the FBI, Scott begins to wonder if he's bitten off more than he can chew.

George always knew his father was dangerous and cruel. However, he never thought that those titles would inadequately sum up the lengths his father is willing to go to, to get what he wants. The only chance he has is using whatever is on file against his father. Staying alive to do that is another challenge. When he runs into the Shifter Protection Specialists, Inc. office, he's desperate, but isn't convinced anyone can protect him from his father. Risking more than he'd thought possible, he discovers that maybe he is more than he's always been taught to believe.

One thing is for certain—his father is not going to give up easily.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781784308681

SA Welsh

I'm SA Welsh and I write because the voices in my head keep making me. I love reading and I love letting the characters and stories in my head come to life in a book. I can't function in the morning without a cup of tea and when I'm not writing I'm reading. I have enough books to last me through an apocalypse but don’t ask me to share them unless you are a fellow book worm and know how to treat and appreciate a good book. It is thanks to the writers that inspired me to put myself out there that I became an author and the editors that make sense of my chaos that I keep writing.

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Protecting his Asset

ISBN # 978-1-78430-868-1

©Copyright SA Welsh 2015

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2015

Edited by Faith Bicknell-Brown

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Shifter Protection Specialists Inc.

PROTECTING HIS ASSET

SA Welsh

Book two in the Shifter Protection Specialists Inc. series

Float like a butterfly. Kill like a swallowtail.

Scott knows his boring day is over the second a bloody and scared George Kelvin crashes into his office, claiming people are trying to kill him. He knows he should pass the case over to one of his brothers, but he can’t seem to do it. The strength and resilience of the man mixed with a quirky sense of humor fascinate him. He may be a human in the company of powerful shifters, but he’s just as deadly and well trained as the rest of his brothers.

With devious CIA agents, foreign forces gunning for what George possesses and George’s power-hungry father, who is also Deputy Director of the FBI, Scott begins to wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

George always knew his father was dangerous and cruel. However, he never thought that those titles would inadequately sum up the lengths his father is willing to go to, to get what he wants. The only chance he has is using whatever is on file against his father. Staying alive to do that is another challenge. When he runs into the Shifter Protection Specialists, Inc. office, he’s desperate, but isn’t convinced anyone can protect him from his father. Risking more than he’d thought possible, he discovers that maybe he is more than he’s always been taught to believe.

One thing is for certain—his father is not going to give up easily.

Dedication

For those who discover they are stronger than they believed.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Barbie: Mattel, Inc.

Rolodex: Berol Corporation

NCIS LA: CBS Studios, Inc.

Hogwart’s Express: The Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling; Publisher, Bloomsbury Publishing (UK) and Arthur A. Levine Books (US)

The Twilight Zone: CBS Broadcasting, Inc.

NCIS: CBS Studios, Inc.

Jurassic Park: Universal Studios, LLC and Amblin Entertainment, Inc.

The Cheshire cat: Lewis Carroll, Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Olympics: United States Olympic Committee

Spidey senses: Spider-Man, Marvel Characters, Inc.

Klingon: CBS Studios, Inc.

The Matrix: Warner Bros.

Mini Me: Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me; Austin Powers: Goldmember; Created by Mike Myers; Portrayed by Verne Troyer

Prince Charming: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Rolex: Rolex Watch U.S.A., Inc.

Mack: Mack Trucks, Inc.

Die Hard: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Winnie the Pooh: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

LifeSavers: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

FN: FN Herstal SA

SIG: Sig Sauer, Inc.

Cinderella: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Ghosts of Christmas Past and Future: A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Prologue

Thundering footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up to his tiny studio apartment.

What the hell have you done now, Burden?

George flinched both at the sound of his father’s voice booming through thin walls and at the name the man used to refer to him. He barely had enough time to close his laptop and hide the machine under the sofa cushions he was sitting on before the flimsy door splintered open with a crash. The handle gouged a hole in the drywall, and he swallowed a wince. His landlord was going to be pissed. As long as he didn’t eat for a couple of days, he should have enough to cover the repair.

He hoped. If not, Mr. Harper was going to want to take the cost out in trade. George had managed to fight him off so far with hints of his father being in law enforcement. But that excuse wouldn’t hold up forever, and certainly not after his father had come here. It would be clear George had no protection at all.

Hello, Father. George ducked his head and tried to become as small and insignificant a target as possible. Hopefully this wouldn’t be one of the times when he served as his father’s punching bag.

"Don’t Father me, boy," the old man snarled, stomping over then coming to a stop in front of him.

He’d thought renting a place so far away from his father’s haunts and anyone who might know him would give him a reprieve. How foolish of him. When his father was who he was, there was no hiding anything. George literally had no escape.

Franklin George Kelvin Senior was a dangerous man.

I’ve been hearing things about you. Your brother told me that you have a file that went missing from my PC. Now, I know that cannot be true because it’s an electronic file. You’re not allowed to have a computer, are you, boy?

That two-faced jerk. His brother was insane and just as cruel as their father. He knew Frank Jr. had been up to something when he’d appeared on the doorstep of his old apartment a few weeks ago with a thumb drive and a creepy smile. That was why he’d moved to this hellhole. He’d copied the information onto his hard drive, then hidden the thumb device inside the laptop casing.

He stood to offer the colonel a drink while he tried to cover his fear and the need to check to see if the laptop was fully hidden by brushing his hair back behind his ears. It had gotten long again. He’d have to cut it using the kitchen scissors and the bathroom mirror soon. Otherwise, it would brush his shoulders before long.

What have I told you about having girly hair?

Not to, sir. I’m cutting it this afternoon, sir. The automatic response left his lips before he’d registered the particular.

The backhand caught him off guard and he hit the thin, stained carpet so hard that it knocked the wind out of him for a second.

It left him vulnerable long enough that his father had time to get hold of his ear. You’re coming home right now so I can retrain you. Clearly, the lessons I took care to teach you have been forgotten while you were prancing around making a mockery of my name, boy.

A cell phone rang, and George mentally crossed his fingers. It wasn’t his phone. He didn’t have one. He just had to hope it was someone important calling, or else his father would let the call go and George wouldn’t have any exit plan.

The colonel grunted and sounded like he was rummaging in his coat. Unfortunately, whoever was calling must have been an underling because his father quickly clicked off the call and the ringing cut out.

Silence descended, and George’s heart began to race as sweat beaded on his brow. This was going to be bad. The colonel was never quiet unless he was on the verge of losing control. The last time it had happened, George had ended up sneaking out of school to take himself to the hospital using one of his friend’s IDs so the doctor could set his arm. Colonel Kelvin knew exactly how to avoid leaving marks during his lessons. The broken arm had been the result of him being blamed for his brother’s antics. This time would be worse.

He had to get out of here—now.

Scrambling across the floor, he headed for the couch. George then stuck his hand between the sofa bottom and the cushion to grab his laptop. Before he could do anything else, a big, booted foot stamped on his other hand, crushing his fingers.

But he refused to let go. He needed his laptop.

His life was on that machine. And possibly his death if his father realized what he’d been doing for the last few years.

What have you got there? Who the hell gave you permission to have a laptop?

Frank Senior ground George’s hand into the hard floor, and George whimpered as his fingers cracked.

Please, sir. Usually a good amount of reverence was enough to put the colonel at ease. This, however, wasn’t a usual circumstance.

Please what? Give me that laptop, you little piss ant.

Trying to pull his fingers free from the boot crushing them, George dared to answer back. If his father took his laptop, he was dead. No, please.

I’m going to ask you one more time, maggot. Where is that file?

Grunting, the colonel took his phone out of his suit pocket again and tapped the screen before bellowing into the device. Kelvin. What?

He couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but whatever it was stole the blood from the colonel’s face. No. There cannot be any trail. I want his visitor logs scrubbed. What do you mean he’s here? That wasn’t our deal—are you kidding me? Get me a location. One hour or you’re out on your pathetic ass.

For the first time ever, the older military man had nothing to say and actually looked human. At least for a moment before a scowl of utter hatred came over his face.

Recognizing the signs, George knew he had to get out of there or else he wouldn’t be leaving except in the back of an ambulance—if he was awake enough at the end of it to call one, anyway.

The colonel hated any kind of weakness and was disgusted when he pleaded for him to stop hurting him during a beating. A real man never begged for mercy. A real man didn’t get beaten. Only a weak-hearted worm let another man break him. He’d heard it all. It didn’t matter that his father was over a foot taller than he was, almost fifty pounds of muscle heavier and with thirty years’ military training under his belt. It also didn’t matter to the man that George had experienced that lesson for the first time when he’d been five years old.

But he’d lived with one goal in mind since he was old enough to understand what hatred was, and he was so close—close enough that he could taste it. Colonel Kelvin wasn’t untouchable. And George was near being able to expose every little dirty secret with proof to back it up.

All he needed was time to piece it all together.

Sending up a silent prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, he gripped the edge of his laptop and brought the machine up hard and fast so it connected with his father’s jaw.

Someone must have heard his plea and taken pity on him because the hit struck true and the colonel went down, hard, his head smacking the floor with enough force to knock the much bigger man out cold.

George kissed his laptop, grabbed his go-bag and ran from the apartment. The computer was an older model that he’d bought from a pawn shop. Even then, it had taken two months of skipping meals, scrimping tips from a few shifts picked up from the café down the street and careful saving to afford it. The outside was old, but the inside was custom built with parts he’d salvaged from scrap machines during the short time he’d worked as a repairer for a well-known computer manufacturer.

Mr. Harper was fumbling up the stairs as he rounded the corner and when the man saw George coming toward him, he stopped to leer at George in a way that made George want to shower, lather, rinse and repeat.

"George, your rent is due. I know you haven’t got it. How about we take a walk back to your rental and discuss terms for how exactly you can pay what you owe?"

Sorry, no time today, he answered, twisting his body to the side in order to slide past the wide girth of Mr. Harper’s beer gut. Even getting that close, the stench of old cigarettes and sweat almost suffocated him.

Yep, unless that prospective shower involved bleach, it just wasn’t going to be enough.

Hey! Mr. Harper’s loud, offended tone traveled with him as he jumped the last lot of metal stairs and landed hard on the street.

His escape was almost thwarted by his own feet as he stumbled in his loose-fitting and battered sneakers. As soon as he caught his balance, he started running as fast as he could and didn’t let himself slow down.

A knock to the head wouldn’t keep his father down for long, and George needed to stash his computer somewhere safe before the old man came after him, or, worse, sent one of his dogs to do the job. The men working for his father were ruthless and merciless. Getting on the wrong side of them could be dangerous. He hadn’t seen them since he’d left the family estate, but he doubted they were gone. They enjoyed the money and power the colonel could give them too much.

Ignoring the cold wind lashing at him through his thin shirt, George gritted his teeth and headed in the direction of his old high school. He needed to stash the laptop.

Now.

Chapter One

Cradling his injured hand to his chest, he clutched the strap of his go-bag with the other. His boots were a little big, clumping slightly as he walked, and they were starting to rub up one hell of a blister. But it had been worth it.

His laptop was safely tucked away under a loose tile in the ceiling of his old music room. Thank God the school staff hadn’t found the secret way in and fixed the broken fence bar and window. Of course, none of the students at the prestigious boarding school were the sort to sneak out, especially since it would involve going into a supply closet. That would be beneath them and more suited for the glorified servants of the janitorial staff. This escape route probably hadn’t been used since George had been there learning violin as a means to avoid going home. It had been either learn an instrument or join a sport team.

He’d traveled for hours to his old school, careful to keep his collar up and his baseball cap down. Every time he got off one bus, he ducked into a store and changed his appearance in the restroom. It had really confused the store security guards.

So far, he’d gone through a blue zipper jacket, an orange hoody, a Christmas jumper and a thick second-hand winter coat as well as one pair of black shoes, flip-flops, trainers and the scruffy gray boots he was wearing now with his skin-tight gray jeans and winter coat. He’d also swapped out two caps, one beanie, a pair of mirror shades and a fairly convincing brown curly wig. He’d used makeup from the free sample shelf in the beauty aisle to cover the birthmark on his left cheekbone.

There could be no trail from him to his laptop.

Ducking into yet another café, he used the last of his emergency money to buy a small coffee. The server must have been only about seventeen, but as she poured the dark, delicious liquid into a cup, she looked him up and down, popping her gum. Her name tag read ‘Milly’.

I get off at six, you know, if you want to do something, Milly said with a grin wide enough to scare off a shark.

I’m too old for you, he answered with a kind smile. Hopefully this wouldn’t turn into some sort of scene.

Frowning, Milly’s sultry body language changed to confusion as she hesitated in holding out his coffee. I’m old enough. I could show you a good time.

I have no doubt. You’d chew me up and spit me out. George was very aware of the small queue of angry office workers trying to get their caffeine fix on their short breaks that had formed behind him. Their collection of stares and glowers was beginning to drill a hole in the back of his skull.

Milly laughed at his hushed words, and he sighed in relief. His mouth had spat the words out before his brain could vet them. Sometimes he just had no filter.

On the house, hon. Milly waved off his offer of money and winked at him. You could just have said you weren’t batting for my team, hot stuff. Dom, the chef, is single, though, if you fancied a go ‘round with him. He used to be a model and he’s ripped.

Dear God, why couldn’t the ground swallow George up right now?

Umm, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the coffee. He mustered a smile and quickly scuttled over to take one of the empty tables and a seat facing the door. He’d be able to kill some time here and keep an eye on everyone going by. Breaking up the timeline of his journey would make it even harder for him to be tracked by anyone looking for him.

Taking off like he had would not only have infuriated his father, but also, his fleeing would have been taken as an admission of guilt. Yes, George did have the file. No, he hadn’t stolen it. Frank Jr. had, actually. But that truth was never going to fly with good ol’ Colonel Kelvin.

No one could bad mouth the golden child without reprisal.

Now, his brother could be psychopathic, but there was usually a reason for his schemes, some end goal that eluded everyone until whatever master plan had been completed. It was more than a little twisted.

That was another thing he had to worry about. How was he suddenly mixed up in whatever Frank Jr. wanted? It could just be that his brother wanted to get him into trouble with their father. That had been a favorite pastime of his over the years.

Picking up his cup, George blew over the hot liquid to cool it enough so that he could take a sip. It soothed his nerves as it warmed his throat, and he could almost imagine the glorious caffeine hitting his blood and perking up all his cells.

I adore you, coffee. Our affair will never last, though. You’re way out of my league. An expensive high for a morning of love. He ignored the strange looks he was getting from the people around him and drank again. They clearly didn’t understand. Coffee was a luxury George allowed himself only once in a blue moon. He shouldn’t really. But damn, it was good.

All too soon, he swallowed the last of the glorious elixir and the small cup was empty. It was time for him to change clothes again before moving on.

Getting up from the table, he grabbed his bag then made a beeline straight for the bathroom. He was almost there when a businessman reading a newspaper caught his eye, making him slow down. The man appeared to be in his late forties and wore a simple, plain suit, had his hair cut in a nondescript short style and wore a large-faced silver wristwatch. He wasn’t sure what it was that set him on edge…until he noticed the front page of the newspaper.

MODEL ATTACKED BY DISGUISED VILLIAN INTERVIEWS

His heart pounding hard and fast, he came to a stop next to the bathroom and squinted to read the smaller print below the headline. The story was about some male model who had been stalked and kidnapped. According to the interview, the model was now back to work after a hospitalization in Italy with his brother and shifter boyfriend.

That wasn’t what chilled his blood, though. It was the description of the events leading up to the attack and the stalker’s MO—the traps, the chasing and being an expert at disguising himself and assuming identities. It all screamed Frank Jr., and when the man reading the paper adjusted his grip, and the paper lifted, George caught sight of the model’s photo—dark hair, cheekbones to die for and an innocent temptation written in the stunning eyes.

The model would be like catnip for Frank Jr. It had to be Frank’s work.

Can I help you?

The annoyed tone snapped him back to the here and now, and he glanced up to see that the person reading the paper was now glaring at him with suspicion.

Sorry, sir, I was just reading the article on the front. He did his best to smile and portray light interest. Telling the man the truth would only freak him out. Hell, it was freaking George out.

Oh. Call me Edgar. Terrible business, all these pyschos running about. Edgar looked him up and down before obviously deciding that he wasn’t a threat. There’s another article about it in today’s. This is yesterday’s. I’m just checking the sports result. I put a bet on without the missus knowing. I wanted to know if I need to buy her flowers or not, Edgar said, tapping a finger to his nose and winking.

Pretending to understand, George chuckled and nodded with a wink back. May I ask whether you’re in the dog house?

Smirking and closing the paper, Edgar grinned widely. No, in fact I may just have to buy my wife something shiny to celebrate.

A win-win situation for your lovely wife, then. Wetting his lips, George finally asked the question he wanted to. Did you say there was another article about this story?

Yes. I have today’s, I’ve gone through that already. Here you go, have them both. I need to get to the office anyway.

Accepting the folded paper, George smiled and waved Edgar off as he got up and left. George ran into the bathroom and closed himself away in one of the empty stalls. As soon as he slid the lock into place, he then turned to put the lid down on the toilet and sat, dropping his bag at his feet then opening the newspaper and searching for the story Edgar had referred to.

He didn’t need to search for long. It was the second page in. The front page was taken up with another sex tape scandal from some waste of space Barbie doll.

DISGUISED KILLER SLAIN BY SNIPER

Oh, fuck.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Reading the four plump paragraphs left him cold and nauseated. By the end, he was certain the article was talking about his brother.

No names were listed, yet it reported that Frank Jr. had been about to be released from the Italian prison with all charges dropped—no doubt his father’s doing—when he was killed with a single shot. The police had no idea who, what, where, why or how the shooter had done