Her Three Protectors [The Hot Millionaires #3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (3 page)

“We’re here now,” he said aloud, answering their unspoken question.

With a deep sigh, he lifted Porcha from her chair, sat in it himself, and lowered her onto his lap.

“It’s okay, babe,” he said, stroking her shaking back. “We’ll sort something.”

“Not Sal Gonzalez’s wife, we won’t. Not if we wanna keep hold of our important bits and pieces,” Adam warned. “He’s been known to chop a man’s dick off just for looking at his wife the wrong way.”

Troy shrugged, aware now why Georgio hadn’t told them who the client was. None of them would have come willingly if they’d known. They weren’t in the business of protecting drug barons and their families, particularly not vicious bastards like Gonzalez. Georgio, the wily old fox, must have known they’d take one look at Porcha and be unable to walk away.

“Yeah, we’re here,” Adam said tersely in response to Troy’s earlier comment. “Thing is, what are we doing here?”

“We’ll get some answers before we leave,” Troy said. “We owe that much to Georgio, the sneaky bastard.”

“She’s totally out of it,” Beck said softly. “Little wonder if she’s been on the run for days.”

“Especially if it’s Gonzalez,” Adam pointed out. “Even if half of what I’ve heard about him is true, he’ll never let her leave him.”

“Well, at least we know why the place is being watched,” Troy said, speaking over her loud sobs.

“Yeah, but if it’s Gonzalez she’s running from and he knows she’s here, why not just come in and get her?”

“Good question, Beck.” Troy flexed his jaw. “Once she gets it together again, I’m sure she’ll feel the need to enlighten us.”

“Wonder when she last slept properly,” Beck mused.

“Or ate.” Adam headed for the kitchen. “I’ll see if there’s soup or anything. Then I suggest we let her sleep for a while. We won’t get any sense out of her until she can think more coherently.”

“Good plan. Hey, welcome back.” Troy smiled at Porcha as she sat up, wiped her nose rather inelegantly on her sleeve, and offered him a watery smile. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t usually cry over nothing.”

“Seems to me your problems add up to a bit more than nothing,” Beck remarked casually.

“Adam’s heating up some soup for you,” Troy told her. “Then you’re gonna sleep.”

“I can’t. I need to—”

“You don’t need to do anything except sleep,” Beck said, serious for once. “We’ll be here, and no one will get anywhere near you, I can promise you that.”

“You can’t be sure.”

Beck flexed a brow. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. Do we look like pussycats?”

She actually giggled at that. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I guess I got used to taking care of myself the past couple of weeks.”

The men shared a glance. She’d been on the run, all alone, for two whole weeks? No wonder she was flat out of gas.

“Food up,” Adam called from the kitchen.

They made her sit at the kitchen bar, watching her until she’d spooned up every last drop of Adam’s chicken soup and soaked it up with the crusty bread he’d obviously found in the freezer and reheated. When she was done there was actually a little colour in her face.

“Okay. Off to bed with you.”

“But don’t you want to know—”

“Yeah, we do, but we need you to get some rest first.”

Troy took her arm and frog-marched her down the corridor to the master bedroom. He opened the door, propelled her inside, and made sure the blinds were securely closed.

“There’s no way anyone can see this window from outside,” Adam said from behind him. “I already checked it out.”

“Good. Okay, babe, get some rest. Yell if you need us. One of us will be right outside the door all the time.”

“It doesn’t seem right.” She shook her head. “It’s not fair—”

“Just do as you’re told,” Adam said. “Take it from Beck and me, when Troy makes up his mind about something, there’s no point arguing with him.”

When she still looked inclined to do just that, Troy laid it on the line. “You’re scared silly, and there are two golden rules when you find yourself in that situation. Eat when you can and sleep when you can.” Troy ticked them off on his fingers to emphasise his point. “You never know when you’ll get the chance again.”

“And chances don’t come better wrapped than with us three to look out for you,” Beck said, blowing her a kiss.

“Beck has issues with modesty,” Adam told her.

Porcha smiled, her enormous eyes encompassing all three of them as she did so. “Well, all right then, perhaps I’ll try and get some rest. Thank you.” She briefly touched Troy’s arm. “You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

“Wouldn’t mind finding out,” Beck remarked as they closed the door on her.

“You realize she’s a player,” Adam said.

“Yeah, I got that.” Troy frowned. “Gonzalez has a reputation for using her like a possession, flaunting her to help him get what he needs out of others.”

Beck frowned. “He made her a slave?”

“Not sure. Perhaps she’s had enough of him controlling her and is trying to get away from him.”

“Then I vote that we help her,” Beck said without hesitation.

“She’s obviously completely traumatised by whatever’s happened to her,” Adam said, grimacing. “I don’t like seeing her so upset, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough what she’s running from.”

“You think if we sort out her problems, she might be persuaded to play with us?” Beck grabbed his groin and groaned at the possibility. “If you knew what thoughts—”

“We know,” Troy and Adam said together.

“Check out the rest of the place,” Troy said.

“Already done,” Adam replied. “Two more bedrooms, another bathroom, and that’s about it.”

“Okay.” Troy consulted his watch. “It’s nine o’clock. It’ll be getting dark soon. We still got company outside?”

Beck took a peek. “Yep. Same guy. He hasn’t moved.”

“Good.” Adam stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “At least we know where he is.”

“I’ll take first shift,” Troy said. “We’ll go three hours a piece. Let her get a decent rest.”

“Fair enough.” Beck headed for one of the spare rooms. All three of them practised what Troy had just preached to Porcha and slept wherever they happened to be, whenever an opportunity arose. An actual bed was a rare luxury. “I shall go and dream about the lovely Mrs. Gonzalez.” Beck patted the bulge in his pants and sauntered off. “Do you reckon she’s a screamer?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at them. “Please tell me you think she is. I do like a woman who expresses herself freely in bed.”

“We know,” Troy and Adam said together, giving him the finger.

“You go, too, Adam. I’ll wake you in three.”

Not wanting to disturb Porcha when he patrolled between the window and her door to check on the guy outside, Troy removed his boots and wriggled his liberated toes. Then he settled down in a comfortable chair, trying to figure out what this could be all about. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good news. Anything to do with drug dealers never was, which was why Georgio never got his operatives involved in assignments that even hinted at narcotics. Troy was tempted to contact Georgio and find out what his connection to the lovely Porcha actually was but dismissed the idea. If their wily employer—purveyor of elite security services to those who could afford the best—wasn’t saying, then nothing they did or said would change his mind.

An hour ticked by with no activity at all. Hopefully, Porcha was asleep. The guy in the street had been replaced by the night shift, but other than that nothing had changed.

An earth-shattering scream from Porcha’s room had Troy hoisting a hand gun and hitting her door at a run. The other two emerged from their rooms a fraction of a second later, wearing boxers and also toting guns. Troy’s mind whirled. He had been vigilant. No one had entered the apartment through the main door, and no one could access her room through a window twelve stories up with no fire escape close at hand. What the fuck had happened?

He barged through the door, weapon held in front of him, just as Porcha rolled from her bed and came up in a professional crouch, pointing a gun directly at him.

“Porcha, don’t!”

She didn’t appear to hear him. Her expression was stone-cold, her eyes glazed with determination as her finger tightened on the trigger.

“Stay where you are or I’ll shoot.”

“Sure.”

Troy raised a nonthreatening hand—the one not holding his own gun—whilst he assessed the situation. She was going to shoot anyway. He’d seen that look in the eyes of a gunman too often to misinterpret. Unless he did something, he was seconds away from death, and Troy wasn’t ready to die quite yet.

There was only one thing he could do. Without hesitation, he leapt forward, grabbed her wrist, and forced the gun free from her fingers just as she pulled the trigger. It discharged against the wall with a soft pop.

“Porcha!”

“What’s the matter with her?” Adam asked.

“She’s catatonic.”

“That means in a trance,” Adam told Beck.

“Smart-ass!”

Porcha had gone limp in Troy’s arms, her eyes wide and staring at something only she could see.

“Hey, Porcha. Come back to us.”

“He’s here.” She suddenly sprang to life, struggling to get free of Troy’s grasp. “I’ve got to get away. He’ll hurt me.”

The guys shared a look, none of them knowing quite what to do. Troy shook her by the shoulders, gently at first and then more firmly when she didn’t respond. Suddenly, her eyes focused again, as though she’d just woken up. She blinked several times at the three concerned faces watching her.

“What happened?”

“You almost blasted Troy’s head off,” Beck told her, grinning. “We owe you one. We’ve been trying to get someone to do that for years.”

“I didn’t, did I?” A hand flew to her mouth. “I can’t have. I’d remember if I had?”

“It’s okay, I think.”

Troy extended a hand and helped her to her feet. She was wearing a tank top, with nothing beneath it, and silk boxers. All three of them gaped at the sight of her heavy nipples pushing against the thin fabric. Beck actually groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have heard something in my sleep and reacted instinctively.”

“How long have you been doing that?” Troy asked.

She shrugged. “Long enough.”

“You always sleep with a gun under your pillow?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Go back to bed, guys,” Troy said. “I’ve got this.”

“We’re good.” Adam folded his arms across his chest. Beck was the talker, but Adam enjoyed the sight of a half-dressed, beautiful woman as much as the rest of them.

“Go!”

Beck picked up Porcha’s gun, slipped the safety catch on, and the two of them backed out of the room, taking the weapon with them. They could be heard bitching and complaining about Troy getting all the best jobs as they made their way back to their rooms.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep.” She sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head, sending tangled hair cascading all over the place. “Every time I close my eyes I think I hear something.” She levelled a tormented gaze on his face. “I could have shot you!”

“Not a chance.”

“But I could have. I know how.”

Yeah, Troy knew she did—now. “Come on.” He pulled the coverlet back. “You need your rest.”

“Stay with me.”

“What!”

“I can’t sleep. Not on my own. I get these terrible images inside my head and—”

“Darling, don’t think I don’t appreciate the invitation, but I really don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Troy rolled his eyes. No one could possibly be that dense, especially when they looked the way she did. “If I get into bed with you, we won’t be doing any sleeping, and that’s a guarantee.”

She offered him a full-on smile. “What makes you think it’s sleep I had in mind?”

“Porcha, I—” Troy stood in the middle of the room, shaking his head, feeling downright awkward. “You’re married. You’re scared. You want to do this for all the wrong reasons.”

Her gazed travelled the length of his body, making no effort to disguise that she liked what she saw. She hadn’t slept for more than an hour, but she was different now from the petrified shell of a woman who’d reluctantly let them into the apartment. There was obviously a hell of a lot more to her than met the eye. He kept thinking about the gun she’d had under the pillow and the professional way in which she sprang into action when she thought she was in danger. Even so, she was married.

To a drugs baron.

“He’s dead,” she said, as though reading his mind.

A thousand questions tumbled through Troy’s head, but the expression in her eyes made them all disappear into the ether. It wasn’t in Troy’s nature to talk his way
out
of a beautiful woman’s bed. She was a client, but that hadn’t stopped him in the past, and it didn’t look as though it would now. Call it part of the service, he told himself, coming to the only decision that had been a serious option since she’d made her request.