Defensive Instructor - Debra Parmley Read online

  Defensive Instructor

  Brotherhood Protectors World

  Debra Parmley

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Afterword

  Original Brotherhood Protectors Series

  About Elle James

  Copyright © 2018, Debra Parmley

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 Twisted Page Press, LLC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

  Brotherhood Protectors

  Original Series by Elle James

  Brotherhood Protectors Series

  Montana SEAL (#1)

  Bride Protector SEAL (#2)

  Montana D-Force (#3)

  Cowboy D-Force (#4)

  Montana Ranger (#5)

  Montana Dog Soldier (#6)

  Montana SEAL Daddy (#7)

  Montana Ranger’s Wedding Vow (#8)

  Montana SEAL Undercover Daddy (#9)

  Cape Cod SEAL Rescue (#10)

  Montana SEAL Friendly Fire (#11)

  Montana SEAL’s Bride (#12)

  Montana Rescue

  Hot SEAL, Salty Dog

  To all the men and women who teach others how to stand up for, and to defend themselves, in every way great, or small.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Elle James for welcoming me to write in the Brotherhood Protectors World, for your friendship and support, and for opening Twisted Pages Press LLC to create a home for our books. This is a book of my heart and I’m thrilled it will be included in the first new book launch.

  Thank you to my family, for your continuing love and support - Especially to my husband Mike, for being patient while I wrote, for grocery shopping and cooking, for the lively discussion and advice about the action scene, for taking a day off work and rearranging travel so I could finish this one. Thirty-seven years of marriage and you’ve amazed me this time with how you’ve gone above and beyond. It’s not always easy living with a romance novelist, especially one on deadline.

  A special thank you to Francesca Anastasi aka Sabeya, founder of the annual, international event Shimmy Mob. You inspire women all over the world and I’m blessed and honored to have been a small part of your work. Thank you to all my belly dance sisters who helped with Shimmy Mob Memphis over the years and who continue the fundraising work. Thank you to all who donate to Shimmy Mob. Thank you to Dawn Meadows of the Memphis YMCA shelter, for allowing me to tour the building before our first fundraising event and trusting me with the location.

  Special thanks to all who’ve trained me in great and small ways - to the men of White Rabbit Protection: Jacob, Bobby, JonThom, Phil, Rivers, and Dylan, for working with me on self defense. Thank you to Bobby, for teaching me to shoot long guns and handguns, for taking me to my first Situational Awareness class taught by Jacob and for fight scene choreography. Thank you to The Box in Memphis for the free week of Kickboxing and Krav Maga classes and to Cymbeline, my Shimmy Mob sister, for inviting me to try the classes with her. Thank you to Barb for the SCA intro to self-defense class. Special thanks to Charles “Tazz” Welshans, for advice on guns, fight scenes, self-defense, security and many years of support and encouragement.

  Thank you to my editor, Karen Boston for editing that first draft on a pressing deadline; to my cover artist Sheri L. McGathy; and to my sister and PA, Kimberly Lear, for tasks too numerous to mention and for all the love and support.

  To my readers, my infinite love and gratitude. I hope you love this one.

  Chapter 1

  “Learn and burn.”

  Chyna Taylor kept these words in her mind. She boarded the bus in Cincinnati, disguised and hoping no one would recognize her. It was a long, slow way to Eagle Rock, Montana, which would give her time to think.

  Sadie Patterson smiled at her husband, Hank “Montana” Patterson. The excitement and news she had to share gave her an extra serving of pep. “I met Leah White Crane, our new neighbor from the Triple C, down at the hardware store this morning.”

  Waiting for the rest of the Intel on the Triple C Ranch to come pouring out from his excited wife, while he waited on her to pour him another cup of coffee, Hank grinned back at her, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes.

  The Triple C was the newest ranch in Eagle Rock. Construction was completed, and speculation was rampant about what kind of business or ranching operation was moving in. But Hank liked facts, which always trumped speculation in his book.

  “The Triple C stands for Courage and Confidence Center. It’s a retreat center for women who’ve escaped domestic abuse situations or other attacks. They’ll come to the ranch and gain new self-confidence, along with skills to help them in their new lives when they relocate.”

  “Awesome.” Hank’s grin went deeper. “I can tell you’re just itching to ask me something.”

  “Oh, am I that easy to read?” Sadie laughed.

  “Yes. I know you.” He laughed. “The only guess is what you have to tell. Out with it.”

  “Okay.” She clasped her hands together, and her eyes lit even more. “I was hoping you’d offer to teach the women self-defense. You and the other protectors.”

  “Sure. I’d be happy to.”

  “I knew you’d say yes. I’m going over there today to offer our support. This is wonderful!”

  Setting his now empty coffee cup down on the table, he said, “It would be good for children too. Is the center for women and children, or just women?” The wheels in his mind were already turning. “I wonder what kind of security measures they have in place.”

  She poured him another cup of coffee. “I’ll know more after I go over there. I told them you’d give them a free consult and advise them on security.”

  “Security needs to be tight so it would be hard for anyone to walk in off the street. They’d need a vetting system.” He took a sip of the hot brew and then said, “How did they respond?”

  “Leah is thrilled. She even brought up the necessity for women to learn a few self-defense moves before I mentioned Brotherhood Protectors. I thought some of the guys wouldn’t mind volunteering their time. It’s a nonprofit center, so I doubt they have the budget for us.”

  “You know my guys would be glad to help and I’ll do pro bono work for something like this.”

  “These women have experienced violence, so this is different than teaching the average civilian. There might’ve been mental abuse. Leah said she’d go over that with you. You might need to modify for them.”

  “Of course.” His tone indicated he didn’t see a problem. “I’ll run it by the guys tonight and see who’s interested.”

  “Thanks, Hank,” she smiled and bent to kiss his lips.

  He kissed her back and then said, “Coffee breath.”


  “I like coffee.” She laughed and kissed him again. His hand went around the back of her neck, pulling her closer until she was on his lap for another kiss. When they came up for air, she said, “I don’t want to wait to tell Leah the good news, so I’ll go over there now. And I’ll take that plate of cookies I made last night as a welcome gift.”

  “Wait. You’re taking all the cookies?”

  “Not all. There’s another plate full, for us.”

  He laughed. “Well, okay then. Go on. Have fun.”

  Soon it was settled. Brotherhood Protectors would train the women and keep an eye out for the Three Cs Ranch, should they need help.

  Six months after Chyna Taylor walked through the door of Cincinnati’s domestic abuse shelter, she sat on the bus, wearing a long black wig, watching out the window and waiting to ride away from her past. The bus route would deliver her almost all the way to the Courage and Confidence Center’s western branch, affectionately known as the Three Cs Ranch. Chyna had a long, long way to go and a long time to think about things. A last conversation with her counselor came back to her.

  “Sometimes the past belongs in the past. Learn and burn,” Anita said.

  “Learn and burn. I like that.” Chyna smiled. “I’m going to remember that one.” And she had.

  Learn and burn. That’s exactly what she’d done. She ought to have it tattooed on her body so she’d never forget. But that would be hanging on to a piece of her past, as it reminded her of everything. She wanted to move beyond everything. She was now headed for her future and the Three Cs Ranch. She wanted to be in that new life as soon as she possibly could.

  More passengers were boarding the bus, and she took out her book and pretended to read as the seats were being filled.

  A matronly black woman with short hair and wearing a purple dress sat down on the seat next to her. Chyna didn’t look up, remembering the cautions to say little to anyone, avoiding anything that might be used to trace her later.

  Her thoughts switched to the limo that would pick her up at her final bus station to take her to the ranch. She’d never ridden in a limo. The limo service donated rides for all who went to the center, forming another layer of protection. If followed, the limo would go in another direction, not the ranch.

  That was a relief to Chyna, as she didn’t know when or how Phineas would come after her. She only knew he or his family would. Soon she’d change her name, going back to Chyna Lacey. Any legal connection to Phineas Taylor would be severed.

  The woman on the seat beside her interrupted her direction of thought. “You reading that book upside down,” she commented, her voice sounding like she came from somewhere down south as she spoke slow and as if she had all the time in the world. “Unless you some kind of alien.”

  “Not an alien,” Chyna said with a laugh. “Thanks.” She turned the book around the right way. The dog-eared paperback was now a prop. She couldn’t get into the story, and she was already past chapter three. Her experience was that they never got any better after the third chapter. “I picked the wrong book,” she said. “I thought it was going to be a good romance. But I don’t like the hero.” She held it out to the woman. “You can have it if you’d like.”

  “Don’t read romance,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Now, if it was mystery, I’d take it. Leave it in the next bus terminal. Someone will be happy to find it.”

  “Good idea,” Chyna said. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, sugar,” the woman said. “I’m Bertha. Bertha Smith.”

  Chyna hesitated. She’d give the fake name she’d purchased the ticket under. “I’m Alice. Alice Adams.”

  “Going far?”

  Chyna nodded but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t share much that was real. It would all have to be made up, and she wasn’t feeling like jumping through mental gymnastic hoops today. She went back to looking out the window and returned to her thoughts.

  She was lucky to be going to one of the centers. Not every woman got in. First, she’d had to meet certain goals. A doctor had to certify she was clear of alcohol and drugs and fit to travel, swim, ride horses and take self-defense classes. Her finances had to be in order, and there could be no upcoming court appearances. Once at the center, you’d stay until your time was done. You couldn’t come and go. If you had to leave for any reason, you couldn’t go back. And there was a waiting list. While the centers were nonprofit with generous donors, there was a sliding fee scale based on income. Women were expected to contribute something. Breaking a dependent cycle was part of the center's work with women who’d been attacked or abused, so they were nudged out of the nest like baby birds just as soon as they appeared able to fly independently.

  Chyna wasn’t broke, thanks to two things. First, the house had been in her name. And second, her employer held her paycheck while she was in the hospital. Her ex had drained their accounts. She’d put the house on the market and closed last week. Now she had a nest egg to help her start over and the job skills she’d always had to help her find a new job.

  She’d always thought poor, downtrodden women were the ones who ended up in situations like hers, but her counselor said abuse could happen to any woman in any income bracket. Often, men had powerful connections and could make things happen the way they wanted, making it harder for the women to get help and get away.

  Neither she nor Phineas was well off, but they weren’t poor either. They fell smack dab in the middle class. He just couldn’t keep money in his pocket, and he’d been after hers. Their marriage hadn’t stood a chance.

  Bertha dug into her large shopping bag, drawing Chyna’s attention with her fussing. Finally, she pulled out a large Ziploc bag with pieces of friend chicken inside. Opening it, she took out a chicken breast for herself and offered the bag to Chyna.

  “Chicken? You know they ain’t anything to eat on a bus. Not like flying.”

  “Oh, I can’t,” Chyna shook her head.

  “Can’t? You missing your teeth?” Bertha gave her a look. “I don’t think so. Now, you might not be hungry, or you might be one of them veeegans don’t eat meat people, or you might be afraid of my cooking, but 'can’t' ain’t an answer. Try again. Door number two. You want to try some of this here chicken?”

  Chyna laughed. The way Bertha pronounced 'vegan' had her forgetting all about the hot, itchy wig she had to wear till she got to Eagle Rock. She had a feeling it would just be easier to take a piece of chicken. And she was hungry. Her stomach growled, confirming that.

  “Well, your stomach done answered for you,” Bertha said. “Take one.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” Chyna reached in and took the smallest leg. “I appreciate it.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you ain’t no veeegan.” Bertha sat the bag on her lap. “What kinda name is that? Veeegan.”

  Chyna laughed again.

  “Sounds like some alien race. I don’t understand them people. Now, just imagine no one ate chickens. Them birds be squawking’ around all over the place. And let me tell you, them birds are nasty. Birds leavin’ their messes everywhere. Why you think they call them fowls? You know? 'Cause they foul. Tsk.” She shook her head. “Foul indeed. But they sure tasty cooked.” She nodded and then looked expectantly at Chyna. “What you think?”

  Chyna, who’d finished the chicken leg, said, “I think this is very good chicken.”

  “Have another,” Bertha said. “Go on and take one. No wonder you so thin. You got to eat!”

  She handed her the bag, and Chyna took another piece, a breast this time. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  After they’d shared the chicken and finished eating, Bertha said, “Best thing I know for man troubles is some sortin’ time.”

  “Sortin’ time?”

  “Time alone while you is thinkin.’”

  “Oh, yes. " Chyna nodded.

  “I’ll leave you be, then,” Bertha said. “Now you done eatin’. If you need somthin’, you jus’ wake me.”

 
“Okay. Thank you.”

  “Welcome.” The older woman closed her eyes and leaned back on her seat to take a nap.

  How did she know I’ve had man troubles? Or was she referring to herself?

  Worrying there might be something about her disguise that wasn’t good enough at concealing who she was and what her problems were, Chyna rummaged through all the instructions she’d been given. No, there’s nothing I forgot. I did everything I was supposed to, so it can’t be that.

  Turning to watch out the window as the bus rolled down the highway, her thoughts turned to her man trouble, which could be summed up in one word: Phineas.

  The first time he’d beaten her, she’d ended up in the hospital and then asked for the police. There was no way he’d ever lay a hand on her again. She wouldn’t be caught in the revolving door of going back to him when he sweet-talked her so he could turn around and do it again. She wouldn’t judge other women though. She was still shocked this had happened to her and how different he was once the mask came off.

  With therapy, she’d learned Phineas Taylor had been her rebound guy. He’d also been a big, big mistake. Her former fiancé, Doug, after three years decided he didn’t want to get married. Commitment-phobic, her friends called him. So, she’d swung the other way and married a guy who couldn’t wait to get married, which should’ve been a red flag.

  Why would a man be in such a hurry? What was the rush?

  She’d been fine with a one-year, even a two-year engagement. Year three was when she’d started to push for a date and the event planning. The planning had gone well until it was time to put down deposits. That’s when Doug started backing away.