Lightning Strykes Read online

  Lightning Strykes

  Sherryl D. Hancock

  Copyright © Sherryl D. Hancock 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Vulpine Press in the United Kingdom in 2018

  ISBN: 978-1-910780-91-6

  Cover by Claire Wood

  Cover photo credit: Tirzah D. Hancock

  www.vulpine-press.com

  To anyone, anywhere, who’s looking for love and not finding it… Let it find you. Lightning does strike when you least expect it!

  Chapter 1

  “I’m sorry, who wants what?” Remington said in a querulous voice.

  John Machiavelli smiled wryly. “I know, I’m sure you’ve heard all about Wynter Kincade.”

  “I’ve dealt with Wynter Kincade,” Remington said.

  “Okay, so I’m sure you know how challenging she is then, but she specifically requested you.”

  “And what are my options for saying no?” Remington asked with a dour expression.

  John grimaced dramatically. “Well, you can say no, but I can tell you that won’t go over too well with BJ, and he’s a pretty big client for us…”

  “BJ Sparks,” Remington clarified. “He’s the one asking?”

  “He’s asking for Wynter, but she told him it was you or nobody, so…” John said, his voice trailing off as he gave her a pointed look.

  “So, if I say no, you lose the contract,” Remington stated.

  “Pretty much,” John said, nodding. “It does come with a fairly nice paycheck though.”

  “What are we talking?” Remington asked.

  John scrawled out a figure and pushed the pad toward her. Remington’s eyes widened at the large sum of money. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, nodding.

  “So how long is the contract?” she asked then.

  “Well, she’s starting to wrap up her current album with BJ and then she’s on tour for probably about eight to nine months and it’s a 24/7 gig. But, Remi, this,” John said, pointing to the figure he’d written down, “is per month.”

  Remington’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Ou serye?” she asked, unintentionally switching to her native language of Haitian Creole.

  “Sorry?” John asked looking confused.

  Remington looked back at him for a long moment then rolled her eyes heavenward. “Sorry, that was Creole, I was asking if you were serious.”

  John chuckled, nodding. “Yes, I’m serious. Creole huh?” he asked then.

  “Yeah, my family is part Haitian and they originally settled in Louisiana.”

  John nodded. “I see, and you speak Creole fluently?”

  “Since I was a bebe,” she said, smiling, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Interesting,” John said, “and you joined the marines?”

  “Needed some time away from the farm, yes,” Remington said.

  “Farm?” John asked, leaning back in his chair, looking back at Remington.

  “Horse farm,” Remington said, “my family breeds them.”

  John nodded, ever shocked by this woman. He knew that she’d been in the marines, and that alone would qualify her for bodyguard work in his head, but she’d also been a world class Mixed Martial Arts fighter of some notoriety. Kashena Windwalker-Marshal, former bodyguard to the California Attorney General Midnight Chevalier, had recommended Remington highly to him and Joe Sinclair, his business partner. Joe was aware of Kashena’s skills and background and felt that if she’d recommended Remington that was good enough for him. They’d hired the woman and put her through intensive classes for bodyguard work, including tactical training she hadn’t really needed, evasive and defensive driving, as well as unarmed defense. Joe himself had put her through her paces on the weapons tactical portion and she’d impressed him with her abilities and speed. They both thought that Remington LaRoché was a great addition to their bodyguard detail.

  “So, are you going to take this assignment?” John asked after a few long moments, holding his breath without realizing it.

  Remington looked pensive, her eyes going back to the figure on the paper and then back up at John.

  “How much will it cost me if I kill her myself?” Remington asked mildly, so mildly in fact that it took John a long moment to realize what she’d said.

  John burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Just some jail time,” he said, grinning.

  Remington grinned, her hazel eyes sparkling wickedly.

  “So you’re the bodyguard?”

  “I am,” Remington responded, glancing at the slight bleach-blond young woman leaning indolently against the doorjamb of the bedroom Remington was unpacking in. She was watching with an appraising eye but Remington just continued to put away her things.

  “So you’re gonna be here like all the time?” the woman asked then.

  Remington looked over at the woman, her look expressionless. “That’s the contract,” she replied simply.

  “And you gotta be right next door here?” the woman asked then, gesturing behind her to the master suite.

  Remington’s eyes narrowed slightly, she was getting annoyed with this boi/child. She knew that this was Lauren Samms, Wynter’s longtime girlfriend. Lauren had an androgynous look to her, part homeless waif, part baby butch with her spikey blond hair, pierced lip, and forearms covered in tattoos. Remington could see that she was trying to play the part of someone tough, but it didn’t quite track with her rail thin body type and baby face. So far, she’d been nothing but annoying to Remington and the bodyguard was doing her best not to be rude, but it was becoming difficult.

  She nodded in answer to the last question and turned her back to put things in the closet, hoping that Lauren would get the hint. She didn’t.

  “I’m not sure I like this whole set up,” Lauren said authoritatively.

  “Ede m ' bondye…” Remington muttered quietly. Help me God.

  “What?” Lauren queried sharply.

  “I am not the one to discuss your displeasure with,” Remington told Lauren.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Lauren asked, becoming increasingly belligerent.

  Remington turned from the closet, her look very calm. “It means go talk to your girlfriend.”

  With that Remington turned back to the closet effectively dismissing Lauren completely. Remington felt rather than saw Lauren debate pursuing the matter further. She waited, thinking that no amount of money was worth putting up with this child for. Finally, she heard Lauren walk away.

  Not too much later Remington heard raised voices in the living room. She stepped over to the doorway and listened to ensure that things weren’t going to escalate. Wynter and Lauren’s fights were legendary in West Hollywood. Things had reportedly gotten physical on a couple of occasions. Remington didn’t approve of a woman ever being hit, regardless if it was a man or another woman doing the hitting. She had no intention of allowing that in her presence whether she was Wynter’s bodyguard or not.

  She heard Wynter yell, “Just drop it, Lauren!”

  Then there was a crash of glass. Remington strode into the living room to see Lauren standing with her back to her, facing Wynter, and a glass bottle on the floor between them. Wynter’s blue eyes went immediately to Remington standing a foot from Lauren. She
held up her hand in a halting gesture, even as Lauren whirled around to look at Remington challengingly.

  “What the fuck?” Lauren snapped, looking up at Remington, her brown eyes flashing in annoyance.

  Remington looked over at Wynter, her eyes obviously scanning for any damage to her charge.

  “I’m fine, Remi,” Wynter said, her tone placating.

  Remington nodded, then let her eyes fall on Lauren, her look assessing.

  “What?” Lauren snapped. “You got something to say?”

  Remington just continued to look at the girl, her look unreadable. She saw the fleeting thought Lauren had of attempting to hit her and it caused a slight grin to curl one side of her lips and a gleam to come into her hazel eyes. Lauren saw the look and sucked in her breath, her hand curling into a fist. Remington’s eyes flicked to it and then back up to Lauren’s eyes, but still she said nothing.

  Wynter moved to stop the confrontation she could see about to happen. She had no doubt that Remington could take Lauren apart with her pinky. Lauren just wasn’t smart enough to get that yet. Lauren had no idea who Remington was and how dangerous the woman really was in a fight. Wynter had done her research on Remington LaRoché and she knew full well what Remington was capable of; she’d seen her in the fighting ring.

  “Lauren, just stop, please?” Wynter said as she inserted herself between them, pointedly facing Lauren and putting her hands on her shoulders.

  Wynter felt Lauren tense under her hands, and she narrowed her eyes at the other girl. “Trust me, you don’t want to mess with her,” Wynter told Lauren.

  “She needs to remember whose house she’s in,” Lauren snapped, moving her head to look around Wynter over at Remington.

  “She’s here because I need her here,” Wynter said. “I requested it, Lauren. This latest round of threats is getting nasty and I want to know that we’re safe here. Okay?”

  “I can keep you safe,” Lauren said petulantly.

  “Well, BJ wants me to have a professional, so…” Wynter said.

  “Yeah, see?” Lauren said. “I don’t get why you broke with your last label, they were good to you…”

  “They wouldn’t let me grow as an artist, Lauren, we already talked about this. BJ will.”

  “BJ this, BJ that, fuckin’ A!” Lauren snapped again. “It’s like you want to fuck him or something.”

  “He’s an amazing musician, Lauren, and you know better than that, with me, come on…” Wynter said her tone cajoling.

  “I don’t like it,” Lauren said, her tone accusatory.

  “But it’s my career,” Wynter said, her tone stronger.

  “But it’s our lives!” Lauren exclaimed. “I don’t get how you just make these decisions without me. Its total bullshit, Wynnie.”

  “I told you what I was doing,” Wynter sighed. “Just because you didn’t agree with it, doesn’t mean you didn’t know.”

  Remington turned and left the room, sensing that she was hearing more than she needed to.

  Later, Wynter knocked softly on the doorjamb of Remington’s room. She looked over to where Remington sat in a chair with her feet up on the ottoman reading a book. Remington looked up and stood as Wynter entered the room and set the book aside. Wynter moved to sit on the ottoman, and once she was seated, Remington sat back down.

  “You always do that,” Wynter commented.

  “Do what?” Remington asked.

  “Stand when I walk into the room,” Wynter pointed out.

  Remington nodded her head. “That’s what I was raised to do,” she said simply.

  “Where were you raised?” Wynter asked. She couldn’t believe there was such a place that raised people that way.

  “Lexington, Kentucky,” Remington said.

  “Wow, and they raise kids there with these kinds of manners?” Wynter asked.

  “My parents did. I can’t speak for the entire state,” Remington responded.

  “Okay, so explain this to me, you were raised to stand when anyone walks into a room?” Wynter asked.

  “When a lady enters the room,” Remington corrected gently.

  “And only ladies?” Wynter asked.

  “And respected elders,” Remington replied.

  “What about Lauren?” Wynter asked her blue eyes sparkling with a challenge.

  Remington didn’t answer, merely pressing her lips together.

  “No answer to that?” Wynter asked, grinning. “Is it because she’s so androgynous? Or because you don’t like her?”

  “I was also taught that if you didn’t have anything nice to say…” Remington said.

  Wynter laughed at that. “Okay, so you don’t like her.”

  “It’s not imperative that I like her,” Remington said.

  “No, it’s not,” Wynter said, shaking her head. “I think she’s threatened by you, and it’s making her act worse than normal.”

  Remington merely nodded.

  Wynter narrowed her eyes. “And you don’t want to know why she’s threatened by you?”

  Once again, Remington didn’t answer, her hazel eyes simply looking back into Wynter’s evenly.

  “Well, I’ll tell you anyway,” Wynter said, smiling. “She doesn’t like anything about my new direction, and you’re just part of that.”

  Remington nodded again.

  Wynter looked back at her, shaking her head. “Man, you really don’t talk much, do you?”

  “I speak when there’s something that needs to be said,” Remington replied.

  “Wow…” Wynter said, her ice blue eyes widening. “How old are you again?”

  “I’m thirty-four.”

  Wynter shook her head. “Way too young to be so controlled and philosophical.”

  “With power comes responsibility,” Remington said.

  Wynter looked back at her for a long moment, and then nodded. “Meaning your strength?”

  “Among other things,” Remington said.

  “Such as?” Wynter asked.

  “Other abilities,” Remington said.

  Wynter rolled her eyes. “Not much for bragging, are you?”

  Remington shook her head.

  “You weren’t even when you were fighting,” Wynter said. “I mean the MMA stuff. I saw so many interviews with you before and after fights and you are always humble and modest.”

  If Remington was surprised that Wynter had researched her, it didn’t show. She simply inclined her head in recognition of Wynter’s comments.

  “I have no idea what to make of you,” Wynter said, her look a mixture of amusement and wonder. “In any case,” she said, shaking her head, “I came to apologize for Lauren’s behavior earlier.”

  Remington once again simply looked back at her, and finally inclined her head accepting the apology.

  “I’ll try to keep her in check, okay?” Wynter said. “I know you’re not getting paid to deal with her antics.”

  “As long as her antics don’t include physical violence, there shouldn’t be a problem,” Remington said placidly.

  Wynter looked back at her bodyguard. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Remington said, her face serious.

  Wynter nodded, having thought that was likely the case. Someone like Remington LaRoché with her old-world manners wouldn’t accept a woman being hit. She knew that many butches in the lesbian community were gallant, but Remington was different even from them. She had a whole other vibe. Wynter knew it was what had captured her attention, that and Remington’s look. She had an extremely attractive, exotic look about her, with her beautiful face and high cheekbones, and her golden skin and light-colored eyes. Remington’s hair was always in cornrows. The neat tight braids starting at the center of her head and dangled a foot down her back. They gave her a tough look. Add to that the physicality of her body, with well-muscled arms and trapezius muscles regularly on display in tank tops. From what she’d seen from videos of fights, the woman had some serious muscles, without being overly bu
lky.

  Wynter knew that the lack of bulk was what led Lauren to foolishly think to challenge the former bantamweight fighter. She seriously needed to make sure Lauren watched one of Remington’s fights where she moved like lightning, and the poor girl she was fighting couldn’t begin to keep up. Remington was not one to be messed with physically. She had no idea what would happen if Lauren ever struck her in front of Remington. It wouldn’t be a good situation. Then again, if Lauren was dumb enough to do that again, it might be good for her to get taken to task by someone as dangerous as Remington LaRoché.

  Two weeks later Wynter stormed out of the studio, after throwing down her headphones and screaming at her backup band. A stoic Remington followed her out of the studio and through the double doors of the back area. Wynter lit a cigarette the minute she was out the doors. Remington followed suit and stood until Wynter finally sat down on the stairs. Remington took one step down and sat on the stair just below.

  “Is it me, am I crazy?” Wynter asked sharply.

  Remington looked back at her calmly and after a long moment she shook her head. “I don’t know anything about making music.”

  “Okay, but you listen to music, right?” Wynter asked.

  Remington inclined her head in confirmation.

  “Okay, so what I’m trying to tell them about the sound I’m looking for… is that making any sense to you?” Wynter asked, her tone strident.

  Remington shook her head, slowly, looking apologetic.

  “Ugh!” Wynter exclaimed raising her chin in frustration.

  Remington just sat, extending her long legs to the step below her, crossing her legs at the ankles, her eyes scanning the area. Wynter looked her over. She was wearing black slacks, a black tank top with a dark denim long sleeved shirt over it, and black leather zipper-style high tops. She spotted a silver ring with a very intricate design. She reached out and touched it, looking at it in fascination.

  Remington looked up at her surprised, and then saw what Wynter was looking at.

  “I love this ring,” Wynter said, smiling, “but it’s not a regular ring, is it?”