Her Escort (A Different Kind of Escort Service #2)

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 HER Story
We all have our stories.
I need to know hers.

USA Today Bestselling Author Kelly Gendron brings you a new and unique HEA steamy romance series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Gendron
• Release date: Sep 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215428566

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

HER ESCORT

(A Different Kind of Escort Service)

_______________________

HER ESCORT

(A Different Kind of Escort Service)

Published by Kelly Gendron

Copyright © 2022 Kelly Gendron

All rights reserved

Edited by: J Sims - Editing4Indies

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.

HER ESCORT

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 HER Story

Chapter 1

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Brett. My voice cracks as I look down at her lifeless blue eyes.

Cole, what’s wrong? I hear the concern in my brother’s voice. 

It’s Julia. She’s fucking dead.

Where are you? Brett rushes out. Are you at the escort?

Yeah. Her eyes stare back up at me. I sense the betrayal. I didn’t get here on time. 

Are you okay?

Yeah, but she’s dead.

Are you sure? Did you check her?

No. I entered the room, took one look at her, and knew she was gone. 

How do you know she’s dead?

Remember that night we came down the stairs and saw Dad lying on the couch after Mom shot him?

Yeah.

Remember his eyes?

Yeah, Cole. He pauses.

I stand in silence, aware of the life-changing, gruesome image I put in my brother’s mind. 

I remember, he replies. 

She’s dead, Brett.

Okay, he says, convinced. Is the abuser there? Is he in the house?

It’s just like Brett to get right down to the schematics.

No. My hand fists. He’s not here. The fucking coward must’ve left.

Are you sure? Did you check the place?

Yes.

Did you touch anything?

I have gloves on. 

Good. I’m glad you finally listened to me. Go out to your truck and wait for me to call you back. I’ll reach out to Willa.

I gaze down at the knife sticking out of her chest. Her pink T-shirt is soaked with blood; it pools around her small body. She has a mole on her left cheek. Her hair is blond. And she only has on one light pink fuzzy-looking sock. 

I spy something dark red—a drop of blood—near her big toe.

Her name is Emily.

Cole?

She looks young. Maybe early twenties.

Cole!

I clench my hand tighter. My chest swells with unbearable pain. I want to kill him. 

I know, Cole. Brett sighs heavily into the cell. Fuck! I know. But listen, you gotta get out of there. There’s nothing you can do for her now.

I look at the bed and venture to the floor where her other pink sock lies.

Was she in the middle of putting them on when he attacked her?

I turn back to her empty eyes. They stare up at me, poised for my return, waiting for me to fill them with something. 

Hope?

Life?

I was too late, I whisper more to myself. 

Fuck, bro. It’s not your fault.

No, I argue, unable to tear my eyes off her. I can’t look away. I owe her at least that. I was held up at the job site and got stuck in traffic. If I had been here just a few minutes earlier. If I—

Cole! Stop it.

She must’ve been so scared.

Cole. Where are you? Are you in the kitchen? The bedroom?

The bedroom.

Alright. I need you to look at the closet. What kind of door is it? Panel? Bifold? Accordion? Pocket?

I glance up and find the closet. It’s bifold.

Good. Okay. Now, what about the door to the room? Is it that cheap-ass MDF shit or real wood?

I turn to check it out. It’s the cheap stuff.

Are you looking at it now?

Yeah. I didn’t notice anything when I walked into the room. All I focused on was her.

That’s unlike me. I always take in my surroundings and photograph it in my mind, but all I could see was her lifeless, crystal-like blue eyes staring at me.

Emily.

This Julia’s name is Emily.

Cole. I want you to walk out that door and head to your truck. Don’t look back, okay?

Yeah. Okay, I agree. 

Brett’s right. Not looking back and not thinking about the what-ifs is the only way I’m getting out of here. 

I concentrate on the door and move my feet toward it. I walk through the place, snapping my eyes around the room, taking everything in, logging it into my brain. I push the front door open with the tips of my fingers. 

My foot lands on the stoop. 

Miranda’s lifeless eyes flash into my mind. 

It doesn’t matter how many times I see or experience it. When someone’s lifeless eyes stare back at you, it steals a part of you. 

Like they’re taking it away with them. 

Miranda took her piece from me over ten years ago. And my father stole his ten years before that. At ten years old, I didn’t understand it at the time. Had I known what my father was doing to me, I would’ve stopped him. I would’ve snatched it back from the fucker. He’d taken too much from me already. 

I blink away the image of Miranda lying naked on her bed, of my father on the sofa, and focus on my destination. 

My truck.

I couldn’t help Miranda, and I can’t help the girl inside the house.

Again, I was too late. 

As far as my father goes, may he forever burn in hell. 

When I get in my truck, my cell rings. I pull it out of my pocket. 

It’s Brett.

Yeah?

I talked to Willa. She’s going to take it from here. She’ll reach out to the cops and let them know she got a call from the girl at the Domestic Abuse Center and is worried about her. They’ll do a welfare check and send someone over. You’re good to go, bro.

Alright.

Cole, you okay?

It was bound to happen, I reply, acknowledging the reality of my world. One that offers the opportunity for situations like this one. 

It’s fucked up, but there’s nothing you could’ve done. You gotta know that.

Yeah.

Come home. I’m here. He pauses. I’ve got you, bro.

Yeah. I click off the cell, start my truck, and drive down the street, feeling the absence of the piece of me Emily took with her. 

Chapter 2

Text Description automatically generated with medium confidence

No! I extend my arms out like an umpire signaling a runner is safe. But this guy is not safe! Don’t touch that! 

The hot guy I was checking out earlier in the coffee line ignored my request. 

A muscular tattooed arm stretches out as he reaches for my ticket. Experienced, sparkling gray eyes flash up at me. 

Along with the sexiest and most dangerous of smiles. I’ve seen men like him before. I’ve learned to stay away. 

He plucks my ticket between his fingers and stands. 

Shit, I mumble under my breath.

Against my better judgment, my eyes gobble up his broad chest, tugging on a tight black T-shirt with some red logo. 

It’s no problem. He holds my ticket up. Take it, he dares with a raspy, flirtatious tone. 

I can’t! I clench and release my hands.

He looks at my ticket, twisting and turning it. 

He thrusts it at me. Sure, you can, he says with a slow-building smile. 

No. I can’t! I throw out my hands, not caring how sexy-sounding or otherwise he might be. 

He’s dirty!

Why not? He laughs, revealing the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. 

Okay. He might have good teeth hygiene, but I know better. Your hands are dirty. There! It had to be said. 

He looks at his hands, inspecting them as he had the ticket. No. They’re clean. He holds them up to me with my ticket still in his fingers. See? 

They aren’t! I drop my hands. Just a few minutes ago, I saw you heading to that bathroom. I point, frustrated I need to explain myself. I just want my morning coffee! Then a few minutes later, I went in. I sneer at his attractive yet quizzical expression. The water was cold, I explain as he stares blankly at me. That means you didn’t wash your hands when you were just in there. Otherwise, the water would’ve been warm because you were running it.

His head tilts back, and he laughs! 

Yes. Laughs!

The nerve! I just called him out on his poor hygiene, and he laughs! 

My hands are clean, he says between a charming titter. My mother always taught me to wash my hands when I go into the bathroom. You know, ’cause I’m touching my… He glances down at his crotch. I forbid my eyes to follow. No way! Not happening. And. His eyes lift to mine. When I leave the bathroom, I wash my hands for everyone else ’cause I touched my… His eyes slowly lower again to the area in question.

Oh no. I keep my eyes on his gorgeous face. 

I’m not falling for it. I’m not looking down at his… I’m not giving him the satisfaction. 

No matter how bad I want to peek. 

Then again, a man comfortable with pointing out that specific area must be comfortable with it, regardless of size or competency. 

He’s confident about it. 

Nope! I refuse to fall for his trap. 

His eyes sway back to mine. And just to clarify the cold water situation. His eyebrows flicker with his dashing smile. I got a call. So I never made it into the bathroom. 

Oh. My cheeks burn to my ears. 

His smile grows wider. So you’re safe, he says, holding out the ticket. 

Thanks. I reach for it.

He snatches it back just before I can get my fingers on it.

Who are you, anyway? He squints, crinkling a faint pink scar under his left eye. The clean hands police? He looks around.

I take the opportunity to inspect his muscular arms, the way his hair lays on his neck, and the fit of his jeans clinging to his thick thighs. 

His roaming eyes come back to me. Is that your job? Do you stand around the café and ensure people wash their hands after using it? Do they pay you for that? 

No! I don’t care if you have dirty hands. I smirk. I just don’t want them touching anything that’s mine. I lean forward, nearly making contact with his obscenely sexy body to snag my ticket from his fingers. 

Hearing my number called, I run to the counter, embarrassed to my bones, ready to get my coffee and get the hell out of here. And away from the tattooed eye-catcher who looks like he could bring any woman to her knees at his beck and call. Just not this woman, of course. 

A large man in dark blue coveralls shoves himself in front of me. I’ll have a regular with three sugars, he says to the girl behind the counter. 

How rude! The jerk just cut in front of me! 

I tap him on the shoulder. Excuse me. 

The man looks over his shoulder. Dark eyes lower to me as his lip curls. 

I hold up my ticket. I’m next!

No. She called my number, he snarls in a not to be questioned tone. 

No! I stand my ground, not letting the jerk intimidate me, which he’s trying to do. I see it in his ruthless glare. 

Listen, bitch—

Bitch! I blink. Did he really just call me a bitch?

Is this how people in Florida treat each other now in line at cafés? 

His massive body twists to face me. He’s enormous—way over six feet. Okay, perhaps I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.

Yeah, bitch, he emphasizes the last word spoken from his curling lips. What’s your fucking problem? 

They called my number, and you cut in front of me. I lift my chin. That’s my problem. 

Asshole!

The man’s hand curls and starts to lift. 

Oh! My! God! Is he going to hit me? 

Really?

Right here in the café? 

Dirty-hands man slips in front of me and grabs the jerk’s wrist. Hey, asshole. You have a problem? 

While he addressed the jerk appropriately, I don’t need to be saved. I can handle myself. I’ve dealt with assholes like this guy before.

I got a problem with that bitch. Not you. The jerk sneers at Dirty-hands. 

Well, it seems you have a problem with me, then.

Dirty-hands’s shoulders roll and lift. Damn, he’s hot! 

No! Don’t think that. You know what happens when that shit gets going in your head. Bad things. Like losing your virginity to Nick Bailey kind of things. 

I can’t see Dirty-hands, but whatever he’s doing, the jerk’s face changes like he just saw a bear or got a diagnosis of testicular cancer. He looks terrified. He backs down when Dirty-hands releases his wrist.

It was just a misunderstanding. Dirty-hands turns around and grabs my elbow. The lady thought they called number eleven.

Didn’t they? My eyes flash to Dirty-hands as I try to dismiss the heat soaring through me from his touch. 

No. His glitter-speckled gray eyes look down at me as he escorts my stunned and humiliated body out of the café by the elbow. They called seven, he informs me. 

Oh! My cheeks heat again when we get out to the sidewalk. 

Seven. Eleven. Okay, to be fair, they kind of sound the same.

Well. I yank my elbow from his grip. I didn’t need you to rescue me. I was fine in there.

He leans in, bringing his ripe and kissable lips closer to mine. It wasn’t you I was worried about, he rasps. 

His hooded view lowers to my mouth. 

My lips tingle.

Oh no. It’s back. I want to lean forward, touch his mouth to mine, and find out what he might feel like there.

I flicker to his eyes. Not that they’re any safer. 

Bad things linger in them. The kind that could get me into another situation like Nick Bailey that I’d later regret. 

Now, he says, leveling back to his full height and shoving the tips of his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. There’s a coffee shop the next block up. He nudges his head in the direction. I’d suggest you go there and try to stay out of trouble.

I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble—

He laughs.

What? I slam my hands on my hips.

Lady, I bet you’re nothing but trouble. He shakes his head and walks away toward a black truck. 

Shit!

Even his ass is fine. 

I watch him—and it—swagger across the street. 

Chapter 3

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I bring the miter saw down onto the wood. 

Hey! Brett walks in. It’s Saturday. What are you doing here? He drops his tools on the table. 

I could ask you the same thing. I measure the piece of wood to double-check the size. 

I can’t get the coffee shop woman off my mind. Her overly large brown eyes but not just any brown, light amber on the inside and near black on the outside. Her witty curved mouth and full reddish-brown lips. The color looked natural, like her chestnut hair.

To remove her from my mind, I decided to come to get a head start on our latest job. I thought it might help. 

It’s not.

Wait. I put down the wood. Isn’t it your week to see Mom?

Cassie went in my place.

Cassie? My head jerks back. Your girlfriend went to prison to meet your mom for the first time, alone? I whistle. She’s something. I arch a brow. 

Don’t worry. You’ll find a good woman of your own.

Ah. I laugh, waving a finger at him. One must first be looking for something in order to find it. The coffee shop girl flashes in my mind. 

What the fuck?

Brett grins at me like he knows what’s going on in my head. 

You’re the one who pushed me to be with Cassie. Admit it. You’re a romantic, brother.

I only wanted you to be happy. And look at you. I toss out my hands and lean back. I’ve never seen you happier. 

He stares off for a second. Yeah. His eyes snap back to me. I didn’t know how to be happy until I met her.

And we are all for the better because of it, and now she’s off meeting our mom. I tilt my head, squinting at him. And Mom agreed to it?

It took some convincing, but yeah. He chuckles. 

I guess it’s better than waiting eight years for Mom to be released.

We’re going to get her out before then. He scowls at me for insinuating otherwise. Sofia is looking into things. Thinks there might be some new evidence.

Yeah?

He nods. Nothing concrete, but I’ll keep you in the loop when I know for sure.

His cell rings, and he answers it. Yeah… Where…? Okay, send it to me. I should be there in thirty. He shoves his cell into his back pocket. I gotta head out, he says, not making eye contact. 

Was that a Julia call? 

Don’t worry about it. He waves me off. 

Brett. I sigh. I’ll go. It’s been two months. My brothers have been skipping my turn for the escorts. They haven’t even told me when we get a call. I’m good.

He stares at me for a few seconds. I don’t know. He shakes his head. "Finding Emily dead