Rylan

By Jackie Keswick

Rylan Jeffers has silent and dangerous down to an art form, even though it’s just a ruse to keep him away from people and protect his big, soft heart.

Then nightclub owner Kris Hillyard turns up in hospital, badly beaten, and Rylan can’t stay away, even as Kris and his entourage turn his life upside down.

Rylan can handle the danger that comes with protecting Kris. He can even handle Kris’s particular brand of stubborn. But can he drop his shield and find the courage to ask Kris to stay?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Keswick
• Release date: Jan 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215327616

Jackie Keswick

Jackie writes a mix of suspense, action adventure, fantasy and history, loves stories with layers, plots with twists and characters with hidden depths. She adores friends to lovers stories, and tales of unexpected reunions, second chances, and men who write their own rules. She blogs about English history and food, has a thing for green eyes, and is a great believer in making up soundtracks for everything, including her characters and the cat.

Book preview

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Prologue

Come in, come in. Spencer Corel signed his name to the last report and slumped in his chair. He’d been on call for a day and a night and felt every one of those hours. Grant’s appearance, while unexpected, was more than welcome. Especially since Grant hadn’t come empty-handed. Please tell me that’s coffee or I won’t make it home with my eyes still open.

Oh, go me! Grant fished a thermos flask from the bag and set it on the corner of Spencer’s desk. I brought a gallon of hot, sweet coffee. Also, cream horns and chocolate croissants. That should hold you for a while.

Life saver. Why are you even awake at this hour?

Grant shrugged, as if turning up in Spencer’s office at four in the morning was normal. I couldn’t sleep without you there. Weird, eh?

Spencer’s smile softened at the admission. He’d moved into Grant’s place four days ago. Being together hadn’t yet become routine. It hadn’t even reached the ‘normal’ stage. He washed down his yawn with a mouthful of coffee. It’s just new. And my first night shift since I moved into your house.

"Our house. If it was that bad a shift, maybe I should drive us home."

It’s been non-stop. Multi-vehicle on the M40—that was nasty. Then another on the A41. He pulled the box of pastries closer. Plus the usual emergencies.

Good thing I’m here, right?

Spencer licked sweet cream from his upper lip. Very good thing. I have one more patient to check before I can leave. Would you come with me when I do?

Of course. Grant sat up straight. Is he trouble?

What? No. Not at all.

Right. Then what’s the reason you need my oh-so-charming company?

His injuries.

Oh?

Impact trauma to head and torso. I’ve seen patterns like that before. Punishment beatings, you know?

Has he said anything?

He was unconscious when he arrived, but… I know him. Or rather, I know who he is.

You do?

Kris Hillyard. He owns Gloss. He registered Grant’s blank look and shrugged. Nightclub in High Wycombe.

And you think he’s in trouble.

With those injuries?

Grant, co-owner of White Knight Security, put his phone to his ear. Hi, Ry. Sorry to wake you. Can I pick your brain? Nightclub in High Wycombe, name of Gloss. Heard of it? Any issues you’re aware of? Spencer has the owner on his ward. Badly beaten. Kris Hillyard, yes. That’s the name. You know him? He listened for a moment longer, and then his grin went feral. Am I hearing interest there? Someone got under your armour. Really? He held the phone away from his ear while he waited out the swearing. Don’t give me that. You pull that mind-reading crap on us all the time. The one time I do it to you— Grant’s voice took on a conciliatory note as he continued the conversation. Don’t break the laws of physics, Rylan. I’ll watch over him until you get here. I promise, bro.

When he turned back to Spencer, he wore a wide, delighted smile. Seems Rylan has had his eye on your patient for a while now. For not entirely professional reasons, I think. He’s coming over.

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Chapter One

Rylan drove as if his car was equipped with flashing lights. His friends would have words for him if he landed in a ditch, but Rylan didn’t care. The concentration needed to drive this fast kept his anxiety in check.

He skidded around corners, flew down the straight sections, and tried to keep thoughts of Kris Hillyard out of his head.

It was an exercise in futility.

Anyone involved with the Rebel Retreat was on Rylan’s radar, and Kris was a regular amongst those volunteering at the halfway house.

Not that he and Kris had ever spoken.

Rylan had joined the volunteer staff at the beginning of the year, hoping to do something constructive while he and his friends negotiated mortgages and business licenses, and defined operating procedures for a myriad of eventualities. He stayed in the background, taught some of his skills to the teens at the retreat, and ran background checks on backers and supporters.

Kris was a genuine, long-standing supporter, who used the glamour clinging to him as a nightclub owner to teach business skills and money management. He was a delight to watch, too. With his serene Asian features, dark eyes, and choppy black hair he could have starred in a samurai tale or Chinese costume drama, but for Rylan, Kris’s allure went way deeper than his looks. He loved the way Kris listened to questions without judging or making the asker feel uncomfortable, and how he used his hands to emphasise a point when a subject intrigued him.

Rylan had a lot in common with the teenagers who sought help at the Rebel Retreat, and he’d have loved to have someone like Kris Hillyard in his corner when he was growing up.

He slowed his mad dash as he neared the town and pulled into the hospital car park at an appropriate speed. Then he ruined the sedate impression by sprinting to the entrance.

He found Grant and Spencer in the doctor’s office, with an empty pastry box on the table between them.

How are you two not in a sugar coma? Or the size of a house each?

Grant shrugged. Busy days and clean living? Sorry I dragged you out of bed.

It’s my fault, actually. Spencer’s voice had an edge. I recognised a patient coming in last night and didn’t like the look of his injuries.

No apologies needed. You said he’s been beaten?

Yes. And not the random bruises you’d get in a mugging. This was methodical, maximising hurt while limiting actual damage.

Punishment, Rylan said.

That’s what I think, yes.

What has he said?

Nothing. I was going to check on him before I went home. Spencer’s gaze settled on Rylan.

Don’t worry, Doc. I wouldn’t have come out if I wasn’t ready to step up. He folded his arms over his chest to make himself look broader and more intimidating. I’ll keep him safe.

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Kris Hillyard knew how to lipread. A handy skill for a nightclub owner, which proved just as useful in a busy hospital where the treatment rooms had small windows facing the corridor. Knowing that nobody would bother him until breakfast time gave him the chance to slip out.

They’d plied him with painkillers until the world lacked substance and gravity, but getting out of bed still hurt like blazes and exchanging the hospital gown for his jeans and blood-spattered, sweat-soaked T-shirt was sharp-toothed agony.

Kris persevered. Took breaks and breathed through the