Chapter 1
The large, British billionaire carried a sleeping Gillian into his personal master suite. Reaching the king-sized bed, John motioned for Stewart to pull back the covers before he gently laid her down in the center. Bending over her, he caressed one porcelain cheek before placing a kiss on her lips. John then pulled the cover up over her body before he cracked his thick neck and rolled his tired shoulders. Taking another look at the woman lying in his bed, John felt the tears sting the back of his eyes. Gillian could have died today. The thought made his stomach clench and twist in pain and the bile rise in his throat. John had completely underestimated Pandora and Galen and put Gillian in danger. Due to this careless mistake and lack of judgement on his part, Gillian had suffered, and John could not forgive himself. How could she ever look at him the same again?
"This poor creature," Stewart said softly, wiping a fallen tear from his own cheek as he stared at the sleeping American. The bruising that was already forming around her neck and face was horrendous to look at. When he raised his eyes to look at John, the breath caught in his throat. The Brit was fighting back his own tears, and in all the years Stewart had known him, he had never seen John so emotional. Approaching John, Stewart put a hand on his employer's shoulder. "John, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?"
Shrugging his shoulders and pulling away from Stewart, John quickly wiped at his eyes and cleared his own throat. "Whiskey, Stewart. All I need is a bottle of whiskey."
"John, I don't think whiskey will help."
"I'm not paying you to think, Stewart," John replied hatefully, his brown eyes blackening as he turned toward the smaller man. "Just get the fucking bottle and leave. Send Pat in the moment he gets here. No one else is allowed in."
Straightening his back indignantly, Stewart did as John directed. When he came back, John was sitting on the edge of the bed removing his boots. Placing the bottle on the nightstand, the butler softly said. "Sometimes you have to let others help you, John. You don't always have to carry the weight of the burden on your own."
John responded to the butler's words by opening the bottle of whiskey and taking a long drink. Hearing Stewart leave the room, he made his way around the bed while taking another swig of the warm, brown liquor. He set the bottle down long enough to pull up a chair and plop his tired frame down. The Brit desperately wanted to lie beside Gillian and wrap her up in his arms, but he didn't want to disturb her. His own personal physician had given Gillian medicine to keep her sedated so she could rest and begin to heal. John not only had Bennet examine her on the plane, but Dr. Dutch Williams had reexamined his kitten the moment they'd touched down in London. Both doctors had concluded that Gillian had physical trauma to her neck and face, but that there was no sign of anything sexual. They had also reassured John that there were no broken bones and that Gillian, after a few days of rest, would be fine. John's guard, Luther, had stayed behind in Paris to clean up the Galen mess.
Throwing the bottle back again to take another drink, John's eyes rested on Gillian's angelic, beautiful face. The tears sprang to his eyes once again as he noticed the bruising around her slender neck. He silently thanked his creator for keeping Gillian alive. Why had he agreed to let her go to the meeting without him? John had made sure she had guards with her but not his most experienced. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Now that kitten was back in his home and under his control, John would see to it personally that Gillian was always safe and protected, whether she liked it or not.
Hearing a soft gasp escape her lips, John saw her brow knitting together in pain and fear. Crawling into the bed, he reclined his massive, muscular frame beside hers as he again kissed her lips. Stroking one porcelain cheek lightly, John said, "Shh kitten. You're safe, sweetheart. I'll never let anything happen to you again." He felt a knot form in his throat and a tear roll down his cheek when he heard his name escape her lips in a sigh. "I love you too, kitten. Now sleep for me. I promise I won't leave you."
When he felt as though Gillian had drifted back to sleep, John carefully climbed out of the bed and sat back in the chair. His eyes drifted to the door of his bedroom as he heard the latch. The Brit then watched his best mate walk into the room wearing only a pair of jeans and a navy shirt. Before John could even open his mouth to speak, the Irishman lifted him up and embraced him in a loving, warm embrace. Pulling back, Patrick cupped the back of John's head. "I got here as soon as I could, mate. How is she doing?"
"No change from earlier," John responded quietly as he embraced the Irishman once more before he pulled away and sat back in his chair. He had called Patrick the moment the plane took off and told him what had happened. The Irishman, who had been in Greece on business, had immediately flown back to London. "Dutch examined her and came to the same conclusion as Bennet. He gave her something to keep her sedated, at least for tonight."
"So, she wasn't raped?" Patrick asked, the breath caught in his throat as he waited for John's response. The Irishman had been absolutely sickened to learn what had happened to Gillian. Patrick had physically ached for his brother when he had heard the pain in the Brit's voice. He could tell that John had been crying, and that greatly worried him. John Kenric simply didn't cry or show emotion.
"No, she wasn't," John replied before taking another long drink of whiskey. "She was choked severely and hit in the face but no sexual trauma. I was lucky to find her when I did, Pat. Galen was going to rape her. I have no doubts about that."
Patrick walked around the bed so he could get a closer look at Gillian. Just like John, the Irishman was glad that the American was alive. He was not a religious man, but he had stopped by a Catholic church to thank God for protecting Gillian. Reaching out his hand, Patrick began to lightly stroke her face. It was warm and petal soft to touch. The woman was stunning to look at, with her porcelain skin and ebony hair. Because he was grateful that Gillian was alive, the Irishman leaned down and placed a kiss on her lips. At her ear, he whispered, "Don't tell Johnny, but I missed you, sweetheart. Glad the bastard finally came to his senses and brought you back."
"It was my fault kitten almost died," John announced softly, not taking his eyes off Gillian's lovely face. The guilt he felt was eating him up inside.
"What?" Patrick exclaimed as he stood up and looked at John. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this, boyo! Galen and Pandora are the sick fucks who kidnapped and tortured her, not you!"
"Pandora's dead," John said, his voice void of emotion as he took another drink of whiskey. Before Patrick could ask the question, the Brit said, "Galen killed her before we arrived; he stabbed her in the heart."
"Good," Patrick replied coldly. "The bitch betrayed you, John, and she put her hands on Gillian. Pandora deserved what she got. Gillian never would have gone with her if Pandora had not lied about you being shot. You watched the same footage from the hospital that I did. Pandora was more than a willing participant. She was even able to manipulate Simon to do her bidding! Don't tell me you feel bad for the Greek bitch?"
"Fuck Pandora, and fuck Simon!" John said through clenched teeth as he glared at his brother. He didn't need Patrick reminding him that the guard he had with kitten had betrayed him as well. "If Galen hadn't killed Pandora and Simon, then I would have. No one hurts kitten and lives to see another day. Don't you see, Pat? Pandora never should have made it to France! I underestimated her and let her not only hurt kitten once, but twice!"