My Escort (A Different Kind of Escort Service, #1)

By Kelly Gendron

The Daxon Brothers all have day jobs.
At night, they’re escorts.
But a different kind of escort.
They work with a local domestic abuse center.
Like a thief in the night.
They steal battered women from their abusers.
It’s not an easy job.
And sometimes not legal.
Still, they made an oath.
Never leave a woman behind.

This is MY Story.
A year ago, he saved me.
Now, can I save him?

A Steamy Evocative Love Story

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Gendron
• Release date: May 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005136451

Kelly Gendron

USA Today Bestselling Author, Kelly Gendron is best found tucked away in a quiet suburb in upstate NY writing her steamy, blush producing contemporary romances. But, when she’s not creating HEA stories, you might find her helping out her hubby in his workshop. He’s good with his hands and great with wood! If you Google Kelly, she’ll pop up there as well. And please google her. Kelly loves to hear from her readers and to meet new people!

Book preview

MY ESCORT

(A Different Kind of Escort Service)

______________________________

Text Description automatically generated

MY ESCORT

(A Different Kind of Escort Service)

Published by Kelly Gendron

Copyright © 2022 Kelly Gendron

All rights reserved

Edited by: J Sims - Editing4Indies

Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar

Model: Clever

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.

The Daxon brothers all have day jobs.

At night, they’re escorts.

But a different kind of escort.

They work with the local domestic abuse center.

Like a thief in the night.

They steal battered women from their abusers.

It’s not an easy job.

And sometimes not legal.

Still, they made an oath.

Never leave a woman behind.

This is MY Story

Chapter One

Shape Description automatically generated with medium confidence

Hi, this is Cassie, I whisper, cupping my hand over the cell as I glance at the door. I’m calling for an escort.

Okay, Cassie, where are you? the female voice on the line calmly asks.

I’m at 1349 Miller Lane.

Got it, she says into the phone. Are you hurt? Do you need me to call an ambulance or the police?

I look in the mirror, touching the cut on my left cheek from the huge fucking ring he wears on his right hand. I think he wears it for moments like these. So the bastard can leave his mark.

I brush the blood off and raise my chin.

No. I walk over to the open door. Not seeing Glenn anywhere, I quietly push it closed. Just send the escort.

So you’re prepared to leave? You can’t take much with you.

Yes. I understand. Everything was explained to me.

When I was ready, the woman told me to make the call, and a man would show up to safely remove me from the home. She informed me that I could never talk about him or tell anyone about what happens while he’s there.

I’ve always considered myself a strong person. I never thought I’d allow someone like Glenn to hurt me. We’ve only been together for eight months. He was amazing, attentive, and didn’t seem intimidated by my independence in the first six.

I was a fool.

I moved in with him too fast.

Shortly after I did, things changed.

The sex was rough. I like it that way. At first, it was exciting. Then one night, he choked me so hard I almost died. I thought it was my fault for being so aggressive in bed. Perhaps, I pushed him too far. Still, it never escalated to the point when I feared for my life.

He let me go right before I blacked out.

Sure, he apologized and acted genuinely sorry, but the next time, he grabbed me so hard he left bruises on my arms and legs. When I tried to talk to him about it again, he was apologetic.

Things were good for a few weeks. Until I went out with some girls from work and got home late. That’s the first time he hit me. He punched me in the stomach. I puked all over the living room floor. Then the fucker stood over me with his hands on his hips while I scrubbed it clean.

I came home the next day and told him I was moving out. He knocked me around some more and threatened to kill me if I tried to leave. I fought back but quickly realized no matter how strong of a woman I am, physically, I’m no match for him.

That was when I reached out for help. I met up with a woman named Lisa on the hotline service. We’ve been talking for the past week. She encouraged me to go to a shelter or call the police. I didn’t want to get the police involved, nor was I ready to go to a shelter. I thought I had a handle on things.

I was wrong.

I’m ready now. I’ve packed a bag and hidden it in my closet. I need a clean break.

I planned to leave after work on Monday, but it’s only Friday, and from the look in his eyes, I might not make it until then.

There’s no way I’m getting out of here without help. I want to leave. I have enough money in the bank to start somewhere new.

But first, I must get out of here.

That’s when I remembered her mentioning the escort service. She gave me a number and said if I was in danger or feared for my life, and I was reluctant to call the police, I was to call it and tell them I needed an escort. The woman on the phone isn’t Lisa. I know her voice. This lady sounds older.

I don’t care who she is. I just know that I need her.

I’ll make the call, she says. Is your abuser in the house?

Yes.

Is it just you and the abuser?

Yes. I glance at the door.

Okay, so there are no children in the house?

No. Thank God! What if I had children? It must be terrifying for those poor women who do. I’m not even married to Glenn or anything. I couldn’t imagine if we owned things together or had children. It’d make this entire situation much harder.

I must get out of here.

Are there any guns in the house?

No. Not that I know of, I say, unsure. Until a month ago, I thought I knew the man I was living with, but now, anything is possible.

Alright, the woman says. Send me a photo of you and your abuser, then delete this call from your phone.

Okay.

It could take up to an hour for your escort to get there. Will you be okay until then?

I hope so. Yes. Just tell him to hurry.

I will, Cassie. I’ll stay by the phone. Reach out if you need me to call the police or anything, okay?

Yes. I hear footsteps. I have to go. I end the call and toss my phone into my top dresser drawer. The footsteps stop at the door.

I hold my breath, praying he goes away.

My prayers are answered when I hear his footsteps drift off.

I grab my cell, send the pictures, and check the time.

An hour. I got this. I can survive for an hour. I delete the history of the call and squeeze the phone in my hand.

I just need to stay clear of him for an hour.

I’m halfway there, still sitting on the bed, waiting.

The bedroom door swings open. Glenn's eyes dart to my hands, clenching my cell. His head tilts.

Who were you talking to?

No one. I grip it tighter.

He walks over and rips the phone from me.

He glares down, making me feel smaller than I already do in my position.

I’m not going to lie.

I was attracted to his body. His muscular, works out every day, massive body.

What’s your password?

I lift my chin and meet his dark, threatening eyes. I’m not giving you my password. I grip the comforter, preparing for the hit.

It’s coming. I see it twitching in his fingers.

He doesn’t like when I stand up to him.

Not anymore.

Not since the fucker showed me the real him.

His hand lifts.

My body tenses.

He strikes me across the face. Hard. I hold on tight to the comforter. My head snaps to the side. The cut on my cheek busts open, and blood drips down my face.

Now. He lifts my cell and glowers at me. Give me the fucking password.

Fuck you! I haul my arm back and punch him in the balls.

He bends over with a loud yell. Not waiting around, I jump up from the bed and head for the living room. I see the front door ten feet away. I dart for it. Almost there! I reach out for the knob…

He yanks me back by my hair.

Let go! I reach behind, struggling to get his hands off me.

It’s impossible. He’s got a good hold.

Fuck it. He can have every strand on my head. I’m not giving up!

I spin around and slam my heel into the top of his barefoot.

He throws me against the counter. My side hits the edge. Pain ricochets through me.

I can’t breathe. Did he crack a rib?

He slams my head against the top of the counter. Everything gets fuzzy.

He drags me by my hair and hits the other side of my face against the fridge. Blood smears the stainless steel.

Grabbing his face, I dig my nails into his skin. I hold on, refusing to let go.

You fucking bitch! His eyes match mine as he spits each word into my face.

I’m not letting go. This is all I have! He’s stronger than me. He’s hurting me. I’m not letting go of his flesh. I grip harder.

He’ll have to kill me first. I’ll never let go!

His fist flashes in front of me. Instant pain vibrates from my left eye to the rest of my body.

Everything goes black.

Chapter Two

Shape Description automatically generated with medium confidence

My cell rings. I glance at the dashboard. Cole’s name lights up. I click the green answer button.

What’s up?

Where are you? My brother’s voice blasts through the speakers, canceling the music I was listening to before his interruption.

I just left that meeting for the Wilson job.

That’s in Sarasota, right?

Yeah. I stop at the red light.

I’m still at the Belling’s job in Miami. Julia called, he says.

The code name switches my mode. What’s the address?

Miller Lane. You’re closer. You got it?

Be there in ten. Send me the shit.

I hear a ding. Just did.

I’ll text when it’s done. I click my cell off.

I pull over to the side of the road and pop the glove box open. I grab the burner and check the message: Cassie. Two. Abuser and Victim. Address 1349 Miller Lane. No known guns.

I click on the photo and look at the picture of the happy couple, likely before the abuser showed his more sinister side. The woman, Cassie, is beautiful. Her photo portrays a strong person, but it’s a picture. Perception is a fucker. I’m sure when she started dating the guy in the photo, she never imagined he’d hurt her. They never do.

I put the burner back, grab my arsenal, and turn the car around.

It’s ten o’clock. Streetlights lead my way to the address in the quiet residential area. I park a house down and get out.

Cracking my neck, I clench my fists.

I never know what I’m about to walk into, but I make sure I walk into it every time. If I don’t, she could get hurt or worse.

If she made the call, then I’m her last resort.

Some abused women are too afraid to call the police, or they don’t want to get family or friends involved. Some have children.

I’m here for those women.

Walking up the steps, I stop at the door and look around for any witnesses.

All clear.

I rap my knuckles on the door. Wait. And do it again. Harder. Louder.

The door opens. I’m met with dark eyes. I take a quick note of the blood and cut marks on the fucker’s face.

We have a fighter. Good for her. Sometimes, it’s worse for the fighters, though.

I need to get inside.

I scan his visible hand on the doorjamb for any weapons.

All clear.

Confident I can take the fucker, I smile. Is Cassie here?

The man’s face scrunches into its natural ugliness. Who the fuck are you?

Shoving my foot against the door, I match his threatening glare. I’m here to pick up Cassie.

I push the door open. He stumbles back, and I step inside.

My eyes snap to the stool on the floor, the blood on the fridge, and the small hand sticking out from the bottom of the counter on the floor.

My fists retain their ready position.

I turn to the asshole. He’s staring at me like he’s trying to figure out what to do.

Most abusers are cowards when it comes to other men. What this fucker doesn’t know is I’m not his equal.

Now… I lower my voice, maneuvering my body in his direction. This can go two ways. You can walk out that door. I grin, hoping he picks option number two. Or you can wish you had.

Choosing number two, he hauls his arm back and takes a swing at me. I veer to the left. Missing his target, my face, he falls forward. I grab him around the neck. My fist meets his side. Yeah, a couple more times than needed, but he deserves every punch.

Years of wrestling have taught me how to subdue my opponent. Grabbing his arm, I twist it around his back and slam him into the counter.

I want to crush him and make him hurt for days.

But I don’t know what shape she’s in, so I must get to her as soon as possible.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my Taser and shove it into his side. I push the button allowing the two small dart-like electrodes to do what my fists so desperately long to.

He convulses for a few seconds. I flip him around and drop the piece of shit on the floor. Lifting his arms, I zip-tie his hands above his head to one of the stools. It’s not a permanent fix, but he won’t get far tied to a stool.

It’ll give me some time to check on his victim.

I move around the counter—dark-blond hair fans out on the white ceramic tile. She’s bruised everywhere, lip fat and blood smeared on her unrecognizable face. And she’s out cold.

Crouching down, I check for a pulse. I release my breath.

All good there.

I grab the smelling salt from my pocket, crack it, and wave the stick a few inches below her nose.

Her head jolts back from the strong smell. Large blue eyes shoot open at me. Her body lifts from the floor, and nails come for my face.

Cassie! I catch her flying arms. It’s okay. I firmly hold her back, lowering my tone. You’re safe.

Breaths heavy, she shrugs her arms.

I’m going to get you out of here. Are you alright?

She stares up at me from her right eye. The left is swollen shut. Who are you?

I’m your escort.

Her muscles relax beneath my hold. Her head pops up with a look of terror. She turns left then right. Where is he?

He’s over there on the floor. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. I scan her body. Will you be okay here for a minute?

She nods. Her body relaxes in my arms, so I ease her back onto the floor.

Do you have a bag packed?

Yes. She nods. A single tear drops from her battered eye. Last room on the right. It’s in the closet.

Okay. Stay here. I get up. Check on the fucker on the floor. He’s coming around but still somewhat disoriented.

I move down the hall, get her bag, and come back into the kitchen.

What about a purse?

Still lying on the floor, she points at the table. I walk over to it, glancing at the motionless piece of shit on the floor. I get her purse, swing it over my shoulder along with her bag, and move back to Cassie.

I lean down. Can you get up?

I-I… She blinks. I think so. She presses her palm onto the floor.

I assist her into a standing position, give her a few seconds to regain her balance, and we start for the door.

She