Broad Daylight (The Veiled World Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  BROAD DAYLIGHT

  THE VEILED WORLD CHRONICLES BOOK ONE

  L.J. RIVERS

  &

  EMBLA STORM

  Copyright © 2021 by L.J. Rivers and Inspirert Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to locales, places, actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any such violation constitutes copyright infringement.

  “There are darknesses in life, and there are lights; you are one of the lights.”

  ― Bram Stoker, Dracula

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Leave a review

  More from L.J. Rivers

  Chapter One

  Berlin on a hot Friday night, two kick-ass chicks in their twenties on their way home after a night on the town.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Everything.

  And it was my job to prevent that ‘everything’ from happening. To Petra, that was. My client for the past three months. She wasn’t my actual client, since her mother paid for my services, but I had never cared much about labels.

  In my contract, it clearly stated that the safety and well-being of her—the so-called protectee—was my top priority. Well, that, and to make sure she didn’t fall into bed with anyone.

  No one said life as a female bodyguard would be a walk in the park, but no one trained me to stop the advances of amorous young men either. While I didn’t mind getting down and dirty, this wasn’t my kind of fun.

  The main problem was Petra wanted to fall. I mean, have you ever tried making a twenty-year-old do something she doesn’t want to do or keep her from the things she does? It’s a royal pain in the ass, is what it is.

  If nothing else, she made life interesting.

  Luckily, controlling Petra’s other poor life choices was not in my job description, so I kept to the letter of my assignment. I stayed close for appearances, pretending to be her friend, but not so close it got personal.

  So, looking at us from the outside, we were just a couple of girlfriends dancing on the pavement near the Landwehrkanal, singing and laughing, intoxicated by the balmy summer breeze and the outrageously high blood alcohol levels.

  As a rule, my clients tended to prefer me blending in with their environment, instead of looking like what I was—security. But while Petra donned a pair of mile-high stilettos, I usually put on sturdy boots on nights like these, which made us approximately the same height. And one of the upsides of working in Berlin was that this was in line with the current fashion trend. My long, dark strands of hair were gathered in a high ponytail, and my jeans were a little tight, but I looked the part as much as I could.

  Women here were supposed to appear like they made no effort whatsoever to look the way they did. Don’t get me wrong, they spent hours getting ready. You might be surprised at how much work goes into looking shabby chic.

  At any rate, getting to play dress-up was part of my profession, and one I enjoyed. After six years on the job, I had certainly mastered the art of disguise. My tasks included anything from posing as a nanny to a groupie. I even got to play the part of a gardener once, to a woman terrified of sitting outside her own house without protection. Life as a bodyguard had transformed me into a true chameleon, which was what my clients paid for. It also wasn’t too far from how I lived my life before all of this, except now I got paid.

  There were not enough women in this line of work, which meant less competition. And since my clients didn’t like to advertise what I was, and it was easier for women to blend in than men, there would always be a job out there for me.

  Unless I stopped doing it right, that was.

  If you had been watching us, you wouldn’t have noticed my eyes darting this way and that, up at the rooftops, into the alleys, down to the lapping water, always checking angles, shadows, and possible escape routes. You certainly wouldn’t have noticed the 9 mm Glock resting in its holster at my lower back, or the switchblade strapped to my right thigh. And no one would fault you for not noticing that the gold bracelet on my left wrist contained no less than three needles, all with enough tranquilizer in them to put a grown man to sleep for the better part of the weekend.

  This was the only adrenaline-inducing part of my job—being out in the open, protecting my client. From what, I was never told. Just that my actual client—her mother—wanted her daughter kept safe from all threats, possible and impossible. My contact at the agency, Lotte, said the mother had paid extra to get that wording in. I had shrugged and smiled since it meant more money in my pocket.

  I should have known better.

  Honestly, I had all possible threats under control, to the extent that I had planned the evening out in more detail than the world’s biggest romantic, planning the world’s most romantic proposal.

  All possible threats.

  And then there was the impossible one, which I never saw coming.

  Earlier that night, I had begged Petra to take a cab as she stumbled out of one of the popular clubs in Kreuzberg. No such luck; the princess insisted on walking home. Granted, it wasn’t that far, but on top of walking, she decided to take shortcuts.

  “Please, stay close,” I said under my breath. I extended my arm to Petra, an offer to link hers with mine.

  I sometimes found myself wondering if a slight gust of wind would snap her tall, slender frame in half, but I was admittedly impressed by her ability to hold her liquor. Despite her height and non-existent body density, she stayed on her feet, strutting through the streets with all the elegance of a gazelle bounding across an open field.

  Petra gave me a sideways glance, as if annoyed by my presence, and turned her nose up, striding forward with intent.

  I sighed, keeping my eyes on our surroundings. The sound of lapping water from the Landwehrkanal was soothing during the day, but at three in the morning and on the job, I could have done without the added noise.

  “Should we maybe take another route? Or a cab?” It was probably the fifth time I asked her about the cab, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Without slowing down, she headed into the narrow pathway ahead, her fiery red hair swooshing around her hips. “I walk through here all the time, Camryn. Stop stressing about it. Besides, this is quicker.”

  And a lot less public, I thought.

  I have never liked small spaces, especially where my vision was compromised. I preferred staying in more crowded, well-lit areas rather than on a quiet pathway with dark corners. But while Petra bounded onward, there was no time to secure the surroundings. I mentally slapped myself. This was what I got for taking a job guarding a rebellious twenty-year-old.

  It’s good
money, Camryn, I reminded myself, hurrying to catch up with the drunken gazelle.

  The air stirred, and I screwed my head up.

  A dark figure swooped down from the rooftop like some kind of Batman-wannabe. He thumped down easily on the path in front of us and raised his head to meet my eyes. Maybe it was the dim light messing with me, but his eyes appeared to be dark, colorless pools, as though his pupils were dilated past his irises.

  Petra unleashed a loud shriek and came to a stop only a few feet away from him. The man cocked his head and sneered, displaying the sharpest canines I had ever seen. He pounced forward, knocking Petra into the wall, then swung his arm out.

  I ducked, spinning in a crouch, and rose to my feet.

  His breath came in a rapid expulsion of air, before he lunged for me again. Short and slim, he moved unnaturally fast, dodging every single one of my punches. He shouldn’t have been able to avoid me like this. My training had put me up against masters at martial arts, and I had beaten the best of them. Not this guy. Before I could turn around again, his hands ensnared my arms, pinning me to him. He might be a man, and he might be both bigger and stronger than me, but he had no idea who he was up against.

  Or so I thought. Not for the first time, my pride got the better of me.

  I wriggled and looked for a weak spot, my body firmly locked in place. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t slip out of his hold or wrench free, my years of training rendered worthless in the space of seconds. Trying to escape his strong grasp proved futile. I attempted to kick him, but the proximity of his body to mine restricted my movements. My adrenaline spiked, my heart all but pounding through my chest. I gritted my teeth at the intensity of his grip and the feel of his fingers digging into my skin.

  When he forced my arms behind my back, my hand slid to the hem of my jacket, grasping for my Glock. It was a last resort, especially in a country where guns were not something any ordinary person had. It was, however, more accessible than my switchblade at the moment. I had obtained my Waffenschein—my permit—to carry my gun because of my job, but shooting someone would draw unwanted attention. My fingers traced the belt hoops and seams on my pants, inching toward the holster when his mouth latched onto my neck. I screamed at the jolt of pain.

  What the hell? My eyelids fluttered. Did he just bite me?

  His lips closed around my skin, sucking hard. The pain was excruciating until it suddenly vanished. My attacker unlatched and dropped to the ground. Behind him, Petra was standing with a thick branch in her hands, shaking violently. The man groaned, squirming to find his footing again.

  I inclined my head in thanks. “Go, Petra. Run!” She looked between me and our attacker, a conflicted expression on her face. “I’ve got this.”

  She nodded reluctantly, tears leaking down her face.

  The sound of gravel scraping underfoot made my pulse quicken. Taking Petra by the waist, I swung her behind me and planted my feet defensively.

  The man lunged for us. I raised my arm, but couldn’t get the needle with the tranquilizer ready before his fist connected with my jaw. Petra’s body cushioned me as I fell, and I quickly scrambled to my feet, touching my face, and cringing at the stab of pain.

  “Run,” I yelled to Petra, shoving her backward while placing myself as a fragile barrier between her and the creep. I briefly registered her dying scream and the sound of heels against asphalt as I kept my eyes on the man.

  “You should walk away.” I meant what I said, although I was hardly a convincing threat, having already received a punch to the face and a rather unpleasant bite.

  He stayed where he was, surveying me with empty eyes.

  Not wanting to appear weak—like a victim or prey—I stood my ground. “I’ll kick you seven ways from Sunday.” My voice came out a little less confident than I had aimed for. I wasn’t sure why, but something about him unnerved me. Maybe it was the fact my neck was bleeding. Or maybe it was the way his pupils were completely dilated, despite a single spear of light from a street lamp shining straight on them.

  “Can’t,” he snarled, his grin turning into a sneer again.

  I undid the safety on the holster and finally got a hold of my beloved Glock when a bright cone of light stung my eyes.

  “Hey, bloodsucker,” another man’s voice bellowed, and I blinked to look past my attacker’s shoulder and into the glare, instinctively averting my eyes again. “Over here,” the newcomer continued as he drew nearer, and what appeared to be a small sun lit the surrounding space. My attacker craned his head and flinched, looking back and forth between the gun now pointed at his head and the man approaching.

  The creep was bathed in the light now, his ashen skin smooth, but eerily ghost-like and thin, as if made of wet paper. Shying away from the glare, he snapped his teeth at me like a defensive dog.

  He was trapped.

  As he angled toward me, I cocked my gun. “Don’t. I swear I’ll shoot.”

  His eyes settled on the gun that now aimed for his heart, and he gave me a brief nod. I found myself relaxing just a little.

  “Call the police,” I said to the man with the portable sun.

  “Don’t—” he started, but it was too late.

  My attacker seized the opportunity when I had momentarily been distracted and spun out of the line of fire. I quickly steered my Glock in his direction. Damn, he was fast. Before I could catch up with my aim, he pushed off from the ground in a weirdly animalistic leap and threw himself at the wall. Without missing a step, he continued to climb upward as though he had eight limbs instead of four, replacing my first impression of him as a bat with a spider. The other stranger and I stared after him until he swung himself onto the roof and disappeared.

  Still wary, I kept my gun at the ready.

  “He didn’t bite you, did he?” the man in front of me asked while dimming the light and pointing it to the ground.

  I narrowed my gaze at him, taking a careful step backward. He looked at me with syrup-brown eyes, which were many shades lighter than his cocoa-colored skin. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but his angular cheekbones and proud posture made him extremely attractive. I couldn’t decide if he was a threat or not.

  I shook myself. What had he asked me? If that creep bit me? That was weird.

  My attacker had in fact sunk his teeth in my neck, but it wasn’t usually the first thing that came to mind when someone had been assaulted. At the thought of the bite, however, the pain returned in a rush, and I teetered for a moment. Determined not to show this stranger my weakness, I kept my attention on him and whatever that intense light device was.

  “Nothing a bar of soap and some water won’t fix,” I mumbled and rubbed at my neck with my free hand. It would make it more difficult to aim, but it hurt so much I couldn’t help myself.

  “You’re sure?” His gaze lowered to where I was holding my hand, his brows furrowing slightly. Was he surprised? “I’m ... uh ... would you allow me to take a look?” He erased the distance between us, lifting his arm as if to touch me.

  I took another step back, waving my gun in a warning. “Thanks, but I don’t know you any more than I know Spidey up there,” I tilted my chin up at the roof, “so, I’ll just be on my way now.” Apart from not wanting to stay a second longer, alone with a stranger on this dark path, I had to find Petra. What if that other guy was still after her?

  “I can’t let you leave.” The supposed nice guy took a step forward. I say supposed because something about this entire event felt staged, including him. Was the circus in town or something? “I mean, you’re injured.”

  I scrunched my lips together, allowing my finger to rest just next to the trigger. It gave me a small but necessary sense of comfort. “So, what? You’re picking up another man’s leftovers, is that it? I have no money on me, but I have a mean left hook, not to mention a gun, so this is not your lucky day.”

  He smiled wryly. “Not it at all.” He moved forward, as if he knew I wouldn’t shoot, and put his hand on my shou
lder.

  I froze. I wasn’t going to shoot a man for trying to help me, of course not, but I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, either.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Protected.”

  My mouth dropped open, then closed. Was he on something? I didn’t have the luxury to figure him out. My duty was to protect my client, and I had done a shitty job of it. Petra was unguarded, and I had no idea where she had gone. She might be hurt.

  When the stranger didn’t let go of me, I decided I’d had enough. I let my gun arm fall, swung my leg out and kicked his knee, then showed him exactly how mean my left hook really was. I could hear his nose break as much as I felt it through my fist.

  Without checking on him, I holstered my Glock, turned on my heel, and sprinted away from the scene.

  Chapter Two

  I ran as fast as my feet would carry me until I was sure I had put enough distance between me and whoever those men were. I was already in the Charlottenburg area, where Petra lived, when I fished out my phone and called her. This part of Berlin was, for lack of a better word, the posh part of the city, full of history and prewar buildings. It wasn’t far from my apartment, but coming here was like stepping into another world. One I had no place in.

  The phone rang five times before she picked up. Only, Petra wasn’t the one on the other end.

  “Miss Anker,” a stern female voice answered. This had to be my actual client.