Zero a protective hero r.., p.1
Zero: A protective hero romantic suspense, page 1
ZERO
A SCARRED HEARTS NOVEL
S.M. WEST
CONTENTS
Playlist
1. Morgan
2. Zero
3. Morgan
4. Zero
5. Morgan
6. Zero
7. Morgan
8. Morgan
9. Zero
10. Morgan
11. Zero
12. Morgan
13. Zero
14. Morgan
15. Morgan
16. Zero
17. Morgan
18. Zero
19. Morgan
20. Zero
21. Morgan
22. Zero
23. Morgan
24. Zero
25. Morgan
26. Morgan
27. Zero
28. Zero
29. Morgan
30. Morgan
31. Epilogue
Also by S.M. West
About the Author
Zero Copyright © 2022 by SM West
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, storylines, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
This book is for your personal enjoyment only. Please respect the author’s work by not contributing to piracy and purchasing a copy for those you wish to share it with.
Cover Design: KiWi Cover Design Co.
Edited: Happily Editing Anns
Cover Photo: Wander Photography
Cover Model: Lucas L.
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“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” —Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
PLAYLIST
Listen on Spotify
“Town Called Malice” – The Jam
“She Sells Sanctuary” – The Cult
“Queen of the Night” – Hey Violet
“Naked” – Ella Mai
“My Strange Addiction” – Billie Eilish
“Half A Man” – Dean Lewis
“No Sweat” – Jesse Reyez
“First Class” – Jack Harlow
“Waking Up” – MJ Cole, Freya Ridings
“Everything is Alright” – The Glorious Sons
“First Day of My Life” – Gnash, Goody Grace
1
MORGAN
“Given your poor taste in candy, I’m rethinking my decision to watch a movie with you.” Lips pursed, I point at the bag dangling from his fingers filled with the offensively bright orange-and-white candy. “Maybe we should just call it a night. Dinner was delicious, the company entertaining, and leave it at that.”
Cary staggers back as if I’ve hit him. “Oh, boy, you’re brutal on a guy’s ego.”
Maybe I took the joke too far? I was only kidding, and I open my mouth to say just that when he dramatically clutches the candy bag to his chest like Gollum did the ring.
“I can’t watch a movie without candy corn, and let’s be truthful, the dinner company was more than entertaining.” His free hand waves down his Adonis physique while he straightens to his full height, somewhere over six feet. “C’mon, Morgan, have a heart. I’m feeling judged.”
Chuckling, I tilt my head back, eyes squinting at the harsh glare of the fluorescent ceiling lights in the gas station convenience store.
“I was only kidding, especially about the company.” My tone softens for a second before I’m back to ribbing him. “But I just can’t let it go. How can you like candy corn? It’s disgusting.” My nose wrinkles like I’ve smelled a rotten egg.
He drags in a breath, mouth parting, aghast. “Like? Nuh-uh. This guy loves candy corn. I eat it year round. My mom had our kitchen stocked with this stuff because she knew how to keep her baby boy happy.”
My ears perk up at the mention of his family. As an only child, I’m fascinated and a little envious of people who have siblings. Growing up, I had my cousin, Zach, and while we were close—both of us only children—I wondered what it would have been like to have had a brother or sister, or both.
“Baby boy? Are you the baby of the family?”
During our dinner—a blind date—Cary hasn’t said much about his family. Only that he was from Los Angeles and had moved to Destin, Florida, about three years ago.
“Nah. I’m the oldest of three, but the only boy, so I’m spoiled.” He winks and rakes a hand through his golden head of hair.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” As we pass the air conditioning vent, cold air rushes at us, and I tuck a few loose strands of my burnt-auburn hair behind my ear. He glances at me, brow quirked in a way that prompts me to explain. “That you’re spoiled. Your sisters must have hated you.”
“Not a chance. Elizabeth Taylor and Grace Kelly adore me.” He spins on his heel and leads us down another aisle of candy.
I almost trip over my feet. “Come again. Your sisters are Elizabeth Taylor and Grace Kelly.” I must have heard him wrong.
“Uh-huh. Though not the OGs, of course.” A wide, easy grin softens his chiseled jawline.
“Of course.” My sarcasm is barely contained, desperately waiting for him to go on.
Our first date is going way better than I’d have guessed when Lorna, my friend and colleague, set me up with him. Right out of the gate, he gained major points with his text to meet him at Boshamps for dinner, a popular and yummy local seafood and oyster restaurant.
Cary suggested picking me up, but no way—not on a first date even if we shared a mutual friend. Then when I first laid eyes on him, I nearly turned right around and slipped back into my car. Not sure if a fabulous restaurant could make it worthwhile.
He’s a bit too pretty for me.
I don’t have a type, but I do go through phases and right now, I’m into the beanpole, artsy type, whereas this guy is all-American. Clean and wholesome and stupidly handsome. Everything I’d walked away from.
“Well, like I said, we’re from Los Angeles. My family rubs elbows with Hollywood.”
He doesn’t have to say it, but my guess is they’re wealthy. I can spot the one percent a mile away, and I should know; I’m one of them even if I ignore my inheritance and choose to live paycheck to paycheck.
His smile wanes and tone sobers. “My mother picked our names. I just…I don’t really understand it.”
“She’s a fan of Hollywood legends.” I shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of it though internally I’m losing the battle.
Sardonic cackles prick at the back of my throat like porcupine quills, and as if sensing the hilarity that I’m unable to contain, his features brighten.
“Guess my middle name.”
“Cary… No.” I fidget from one foot to the other, rejecting the obvious movie star name, and try not to burst out laughing. “You’re shitting me, right?”
He better be pulling my leg or forget it, I’m peeing my pants.
Shaking his head, he unleashes a cheeky grin. “Say it.”
“Not Cary Grant.” My laughter trips over the famous movie star name.
He dons a deep, showbiz kind of voice and stretches his arms out in a welcoming gesture. “Why Morgan Rothwell, it is my pleasure to introduce myself to you, Cary Grant Buchanan.” He dips at the waist into a bow and that does it, I’m a goner.
Howling with glee, I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle some of the less than attractive noises escaping my lips. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
A teenage girl stares at us. Her dark kohl-rimmed eyes narrow, and the disdain written on her face is easy to read. She thinks we’re crazy, or at the very least, I am, and disappears down an aisle.
I wipe my tears away. “That was so inappropriate of me.”
“It’s okay. Go ahead, make fun. I’m used to it.” He drums his fingers on the edge of a shelf, clearly amused at my unraveling.
“I’ve heard of people like you but never actually met one.”
He stiffens, dropping his arm to his side. “What does that mean, people like me?”
“You know, parents that name their kids with the same letter or something just as quirky.”
He crinkles his nose, features hardening in confusion, and I’m compelled to go on. “Like Allison, Adam, and Aurora. Or they name their kids in the order of the alphabet. Anne, Ben, Cary.” I point at him, hoping he gets it. “David, Erica… It’s cute and different, but I’ve only ever read about it in books or seen it in a movie. It’s cool to see these people actually exist. You’re kind of like a unicorn.”
I’m rambling and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m truly shocked and awed, or
He’s silent, studying me with a blank expression. It’s the first time all night he’s hard to read, and I can’t tell if I’ve gone and done it now. Really and truly offended him.
On one hand, I no longer have to worry about whether I want a second date or not; I’ve clearly made that decision for him. My laughter dies and I ready for Cary to dash out of the store, never to look back or call again.
“Now I can say I went on a date with Cary Grant.”
Why can’t I shut up? Stop my mouth from opening and spewing more garbage?
It’s as if I want him to go. And truthfully, I’m not sure if we’ve got a connection beyond friends, but I don’t want to insult him, and I’m looking forward to hanging out and watching a movie. Unless I’ve ruined the night. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“No, you can’t say that.” Voice deadpan, he doesn’t move a muscle, and my stomach clenches before loosening at the small smile springing to his lips. “It’s Cary Grant Buchanan.”
Laughter spills from me and with that, I release all the tension of the past few minutes. “Absolutely.”
“Come on, I see your hands are empty.” He grabs my hand. “Let’s get you some goodies.”
Tonight was only supposed to be dinner, but Cary and I hit it off. I hardly know him but sense we have a lot more in common than we think. Like me, I get the feeling he left his family for some of the same reasons I did.
After he paid the bill and suggested continuing the night with a movie, the word no never entered my mind. I’m not nervous or excited at the idea of a kiss or anything like that, but I didn’t want the night to end either.
I like Cary and agreed to a movie, at my place. This way if things go sideways, I know how to get help, where the knives are. Although something tells me I won’t need to worry about any of that.
We saunter down the rest of the aisle, looking at the boundless selection of candy and chocolate.
I stop midway, waiting for him to make eye contact. “I just want it on record that I warned you.”
“About what?”
“You know that stuff will destroy your teeth, right?”
My date chuckles, lips parting to reveal his all-too white and near-perfect row of movie star teeth.
Gently, I tug at the bag of candy he’s got in a death grip. “It would be a crying shame to wreck that million-dollar smile.”
“You’re one to talk.” He scoffs and shakes his head as I pluck a bag of gummy bears from the shelf. “Those aren’t any better and I’d hate for your beautiful teeth to rot.”
I shrink somewhat at my hypocrisy as the bag of candy burns a hole in my hand. I deserve his scorn, albeit playful, and shove the bag at him. He adds it to our growing haul of snacks.
“Fine. We’ll both have bad teeth.” I haughtily lift my chin in the air and prance away from him, intent on gathering more dye and sugar-loaded junk for our bodies.
He follows me into the next aisle and scans the rows upon rows of potato chips before stopping to look at a bag. “Do you have a preference?”
“It doesn’t matter to me.” I watch him pick through the endless choices, finally settling on popcorn, salt and vinegar chips, and chili cheese Fritos.
“We need something to wash this down with.” I swing toward the back of the store where the fridges are but pause at his voice.
“Soft drinks are on sale. There’s a big display of bottles up front by the checkout.”
“But are they cold?”
“Good point.” He holds up the junk food and motions to the other end of the store. “How about I take these to the checkout, unless you want something else, and meet you there? I’d like a Coke, please.”
“Sounds good.” I traipse toward the drinks, smiling at how well things are going.
A cold blast of air smacks me in the face when I open the fridge door, and I shudder, quickly grabbing two Cokes. I’m still full from dinner and doubt I’ll eat more than a handful of the gummies, but this outing was fun, a good way to get to know more about each other.
Music from the store’s surround sound dwindles and the song ends, leaving a beat of silence that someone’s quick to fill with a bark of harsh words and a raised voice. I can’t make out what’s actually said.
The catchy tune “Town Called Malice” starts to play, eating any voices and I’m quickly swept away by the beat as my hips start to sway.
Goose bumps pop along my bare arms, still chilled from the fridge, and I stroll to the cash register with the cold soft drink bottles tucked in the crook of my arm.
Near subzero in here, it’s hard to believe the outside is a soupy mess of heat and humidity. Although, this summer dress does nothing to keep the icy air from freezing my flesh. Right about now, I’m looking forward to the inferno, if only to warm up.
I sing along to the song’s chorus, “Bah-bah-bah-ba-baba-bah,” now dancing to warm up and just because. The catchy rhythm is too hard to ignore.
Everything changes from one beat to another. The night flips upside down.
Cold to hot.
Light to dark.
Fun and breezy to hellish as I near the front of the store, eyes on Cary standing at the cash register. Worry lines carve deep grooves in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Our gazes lock, his turbulent, and his hand shoots out in the universal sign for me to stop.
A tall, skinny guy with greasy, shoulder-length black hair stands in front of the door, wielding a handgun. “Don’t fucking move.”
My name is a whisper on Cary’s lips, “Morgan.”
Every part of my body locks and I halt. And my date, despite his frown, remains calm and his voice even as he talks to the man with the gun. “She’s with me. She’ll do what you say.”
Cary inches toward me while motioning me forward. My feet barely shuffle, feeling heavy and clunky as if encased in cement. Cary’s now in front of me, and the warmth of his hand, wrapping around mine, thaws the biting fear coursing through my veins. What the hell? Is this a robbery?
An older South Asian man stands behind the counter, shaky fingers punching on the keys of the cash register. “Easy. I said I’d give you the money. Then get out.”
Ding.
The drawer slides open and the clerk plunks a pile of cash onto the counter. The gunman, no older than twenty-five, pupils blown wide and movements jerky, thrusts a plastic bag at him. “Put it in there.”
A girl, the same teenager from only minutes ago, enters the fray, oblivious like I was to what’s going on, and shrieks at seeing the gun.
“Fuck, no.” She whirls on her heels, scrambling back the way she came, but it’s too late.
The robber’s quick as a whip and lunges for her. His hand shoots out, palm smacking against her skull at the same time that his fingers snare a clump of her stringy blonde hair. Her neck and head snap back and she wails as he drags her body to his chest.
“Shut the fuck up.” He pushes the gun into her face and her fear chokes on the threat. Suddenly all is silent. “Where the fuck did you come from?” His beady eyes, angry and anxious, dart around the store and land on the clerk. “Who else is here? You said it was only these two.”
He waves the gun at Cary and me, and the girl whimpers in his arms, trembling like a mouse. The clerk, pausing his task of putting the money into the bag, glances to something behind the counter, maybe security cameras.
“That’s it. There’s no one else in the store.”
The gunman sweeps his panicky gaze over the space as if expecting more people to magically appear. While he’s preoccupied, the clerk drops one of his hands below the counter, out of sight. His movements are near imperceptible but he’s doing something.
