Guarding his Honey: BBW Paranormal Bear Shifter Romance (Honey for the Billionbear Book 2)

  Guarding his Honey

  By Zoe Chant

  Copyright Zoe Chant 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  ***

  I should've gotten that pizza to go, Helen thought with a sigh. She didn't go out to eat much, but it had been a long day at work, and her fridge was empty, so she'd ducked into Tony's. Now she was regretting that decision. There was a rowdy crowd of businessmen at the table beside hers, shouting loudly over each other in Italian.

  Helen watched them from the corner of her eyes, wincing when one of them yelled at Marco, their server, who'd been nothing but friendly and professional. It probably wouldn't help if she spoke up now, though. That bunch of macho businessmen didn't seem like the type who'd take criticism well, especially not from a woman.

  Helen kept her head down, concentrated on her pizza, and resolved to leave a big tip for Marco. She was almost done eating, and trying to catch Marco's eyes to ask him for the check, when it happened. One of the men shoved his chair back right as Marco was passing by him. Marco stumbled, almost fell; the plate of pasta in his hand tilted precariously. The man at the head of the table let out an angry shout as spaghetti and tomato sauce dripped down the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  Marco went white as a sheet. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, sir—let me get a rag…"

  "Yeah, a rag, that's going to help," the man snapped, in such a nastily sarcastic tone that Helen flinched in sympathy with Marco. "That's an Italian silk suit you just ruined, you stupid fuck."

  Marco recoiled. "I’m sorry, sir," he said again. His voice was noticeably more chilly than before, but he managed to keep a neutral expression on his face despite the man's aggressive tone.

  The manager was hustling out of the backroom. "Mr. Amodeo, sir, I'm so sorry—if you'll send us the dry cleaning bill, we'll be more than happy to take care of it."

  "This isn't going to come out in dry cleaning. If your stupid fuck-up of a waiter had been paying a little more attention—"

  Helen could see Marco hitting the limit of what he was willing to take without fighting back, and silently applauded him as he squared his shoulders. "Sir, that's uncalled for. It was an accident."

  Helen had been right earlier when she'd guessed these men wouldn't take criticism well. She hadn't thought they were going to take it this badly, though. She saw the way Amodeo's eyes turned wild with rage, his fists clenching, and realized what he was about to do just in time to shout out a warning—too late. Marco went down hard as Amodeo's fist hit him square in the face.

  Several people on the tables around them yelled in alarm, but no one was doing anything. Helen looked around wildly at the horrified faces surrounding them. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Someone needed to stop this.

  Amodeo drew his foot back, prepared to kick the stunned, defenseless Marco in his side.

  Helen was moving before she even consciously made a decision. She yanked Amodeo back before the kick could connect. "Stop it! What's wrong with you? It was an accident!"

  She realized, too late, that'd just turned herself into the next target for Amodeo's rage.

  Amodeo whirled around and gave her a brutal shove with both hands. Helen's back slammed hard into the edge of the table behind her. Hot pain exploded out from the point of impact. She tried to catch herself, but her entire body felt wobbly. For a moment, her vision swirled with darkness; when it cleared up, she found herself sitting on the floor. Amodeo was glaring down at her, so furious spittle sprayed from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "You stay the hell out of this. This isn't any of your business. If you can't keep your mouth shut—"

  He pulled a gun from a holster hidden beneath his suit coat. Helen's breath caught. Around her, there were gasps and shouts, people leaving the restaurant in a panic. Helen couldn't move. Her heart was trembling in her chest like a panicked bird.

  "If you breathe one word of this to anyone, if you so much as think of talking to the cops…"

  Amodeo cocked the gun. Helen flinched. He came closer, looming over her until the barrel brushed her forehead.

  "And that goes for everyone else in this place, too!" he yelled, turning in a circle with the gun still loaded and primed, glowering at the few terrified guests still remaining in their seats. "Nothing worth mentioning happened tonight, so there's nothing to tell! If you spread any lies about this little… friendly misunderstanding… You'll get what's coming to you. Are we clear?"

  And finally, thankfully, there was the sound of sirens. Two police cars screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant.

  Amodeo crowded up close to Helen one last time, tapping the barrel of the gun against her forehead. "Remember what I just told you," he hissed.

  Suddenly the gun was gone, disappeared back into the hidden holster it'd come from. When the police stormed in, Amodeo was lifting her to her feet, making a show of solicitously knocking the dust off the back of her coat, his hands harsh and careless right over the worst of the throbbing bruises on her back.

  ***

  Helen had never been in a police station before. She looked around the barren interrogation room. There was a bright light pointed at her face, and the table in front of her had a ring that handcuffs could be fastened into. Telling herself that she was only here as a witness didn't make the scene any less intimidating. The hostile glares from the police officer in front of her didn't help.

  "Are you absolutely sure you want to testify?" Officer Bradley asked again. He leaned in, his hard eyes boring into hers. Helen instinctively flinched backwards a little. "Think about it very carefully. Mr. Amodeo is a very dangerous man. And he's already out on bail, you know."

  "Yes," Helen said. Her voice came out small and shaky. She swallowed hard. The bruises on her back still hurt, pulsing hotly in time with her heartbeat. Mr. Amodeo was a dangerous man indeed; she'd learned that the hard way today.

  But you couldn't give in to bullies just because you were scared. She took a deep breath and clasped her shaking hands tightly in her lap. "Yes, I want to testify."

  "Well, you got some guts, lady, I'll give you that. Not many people out there who'd want to go up against the don of the Italian mob in court," Officer Bradley said. She could hear the faint undertones of annoyance in his voice. All this two weeks before my retirement party, she'd overheard him saying to one the other officers earlier, in a disgusted tone.

  "I'd stay out of sight until the trial at least, if I were you," Officer Bradley added. "A man like that won't go to jail easily, even if it's just for a year or two. You think he could come out and still be the don, after losing that much face? He'll do what it takes to make this go away."

  "Isn't there anything you could do? What about witness protection?" Helen asked. There was a sinking feeling in her chest. Officer Bradley wasn't going to go out of his way to help her out, that much was becoming clear.

  "You're on your own there," Officer Bradley said, in a tone of finality. "You sure you don't want to opt out of testifying?"

  "No," Helen said firmly.

  "So where are you going to go?" Officer Bradley asked.

  Alarm bells were starting to ring in her head. She didn't think she wanted Officer Bradley to know where she was going.

  "I know a place," Helen said vaguely.

  If the police weren't going to do anything to help her, she could take care of herself. She'd done that all her life.

  ***

  In the bright mid-morning light, Aunt Sally's bee farm looked like an oasis of peace and warmth. The wooden wall
s of the old cottage seemed to glow golden in the sunshine. The garden's lush grass was sprinkled with a bright riot of flowers. Bees buzzed everywhere, busily preparing for the end of summer.

  Looking at the peaceful sight, Helen felt like she could breathe again for the first time in days. Isabella opened the door just as Helen was raising her hand to knock.

  "Helen? My God, you're as pale as a ghost." She drew Helen into a tight hug. Helen wrapped her arms around her cousin in return. She hadn't seen Isabella in person in a long time, with the both of them living on opposite sides of the country, but Bella's honey-and-cream smell was instantly familiar and comforting. In the safety of Isabella's embrace, the tight, miserable knot in her chest was finally coming loose. Her entire body felt shaky, and the next breath she drew came out as a sob.

  "Hey, hey," Isabella said gently. "You're okay, you're safe here—come on in, I'll make you a cup of tea. Tell me what happened."

  Helen followed her into she living room, but stopped short at the sight of the tall, unfamiliar man unfolding himself from the couch. Isabella gestured to him with a smile. "Helen, this is Ryan, my husband. Ryan, Helen—my favorite cousin."

  "Hey, don't let cousin Jessy hear that," Helen joked weakly. She swiped self-consciously at her tear-stained face, uncomfortably aware that she had to look like a mess. But Ryan gave her a warm smile.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you. Why don't you two sit down, I'll make you some tea."

  "Thanks. You're the best," Isabella said. She drew Helen down onto the soft couch cushions.

  "Wow, he's gorgeous!" Helen hissed, once Ryan had left the room. "How on Earth did you ever find that guy?"

  Gorgeous, and, from what Aunt Sally had told her, a good man—which Helen still found a little hard to believe, considering that Ryan was also a billionaire. As an accountant, she'd worked with rich men before, and if there was one thing she'd learned, it was that rich men were jerks. But one look at the smile on Isabella's face told her that it had to be true. Isabella fairly glowed with happiness.

  Isabella laughed. "Honestly, half the time I still can't believe it myself, it's the craziest story… But I'll tell you all about that some other time. What on Earth happened to you? Aunt Sally told me some of what happened, it sounded horrible."

  "It was pretty bad, yeah," Helen said, trying to force a smile, and then giving up on it when her eyes started stinging again. The bruises on her back ached.

  Isabella drew her into a hug again, and held her tight as Helen recounted the whole terrible story for her.

  "…and now they want me to testify against Mr. Amodeo in court, and, and they actually think he might send the mob after me," she concluded. Her voice cracked.

  Isabella squeezed her tightly. "My God, what a nightmare," she said. "You're brave as hell, you know that, right? I'm so proud of you."

  "Come on, anyone would do the same thing," Isabella said uncomfortably. "Anyway, I'd already promised Aunt Sally I'd come out here and take care of the bees while you two go on your honeymoon, and I don't think even Mr. Amodeo is going to be able to find me all the way out here, mob boss or no. I even booked the train ticket under a false name. I felt like such a spy." She gave Isabella a shaky smile.

  Isabella laughed and squeezed her hand. "That's the spirit. Seriously, though, I hate leaving you here all alone with this hanging over your head! We can cancel our trip, I'll stay here with you—"

  "Heck no, absolutely not!" Helen said quickly. "You two have been married for, what, almost a year? And you're just finally getting around to a proper honeymoon now! No way am I getting in the way of that!"

  "Well, you know, to be honest with you, for the first month or so, neither of us felt like leaving the house much at all… or even the bedroom, really," Isabella said with a giggle, lowering her voice down to a whisper.

  Helen laughed, startled. Shy little Isabella, who would have thought!

  Isabella grinned. "Anyway, then Ryan had a big project to wrap up at his company, and I started my job at the bank down in Mountainville… I mean, not that I'd have to work, Ryan takes such good care of me! But I like staying busy, you know? But now…" She cupped her hand over her stomach, her entire face lighting up with a smile, as if she was glowing from within. "Well, we figured it was now or never."

  "Oh my God, do you mean— Bella, are you pregnant?"

  Isabella's beaming smile confirmed her suspicion.

  "Oh wow, congratulations!" Helen said instantly, wrapping Isabella up in a tight hug, her own worries temporarily forgotten. "I’m so glad for you, that's wonderful!"

  "It really is," Isabella said. "Just about two and a half months along, so it's a little bit early to tell anyone yet. But we're so happy, I couldn't not tell you. And of course Sally guessed right away when we told her we were finally going on that honeymoon, you know how she is."

  "Breaking the good news?" Ryan asked, coming out of the kitchen with three steaming cups of tea in his big hands.

  "Congratulations to you, too," Helen said, and Ryan's entire face lit up. God, he really was gorgeous. Helen could easily see why Isabella had fallen for him.

  "Helen, I really want to make sure you're safe while we're gone," Ryan said. "I could hire a bodyguard for you until the trial…"

  "Oh, God no," Helen said quickly. Just the thought of how much money that would cost made her dizzy. And then there was the fact that she'd have to share Aunt Sally's tiny little cottage with a complete stranger. She thought of the bodyguards she'd seen protecting celebrities at concerts: serious men with bodies like brick walls and cold, hard eyes. Imagine a man like that sleeping on the couch when she went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, or sitting across from her at the breakfast table! God no.

  "I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe," she said firmly. "We're in the middle of the woods, and no one knows I'm here."

  The rest of the evening passed quickly. The story of Ryan and Isabella's whirlwind courtship and all the crazy events surrounding it kept her distracted and entertained for the rest of the evening, although she couldn't help but feel that the two of them were leaving out some kind of important fact. She didn't feel like prying, though. She had enough worries of her own.

  Ryan and Isabella left for the airport in the morning, and Helen found herself alone with the bees and the quiet. Even with the sun shining brightly outside and the birds chirping in the trees, Helen couldn't quite suppress an uneasy shiver. But that was ridiculous, she told herself. No one could know she was out here. She was perfectly safe.

  It had been almost a decade since the last time she'd worked with the bees, but Isabella had made sure she still remembered what to do, and the familiar tasks came back to her easily. She checked the hives for parasites and took some honey from boxes threatening to overflow. The bees got uncomfortable if you let the hives get overfull. If you left it too long, part of the colony might even split off and try to form a new hive somewhere else, and it was much too late in the summer for that.

  Her uneasiness grew as darkness descended on the farm. Helen drew the covers tightly around herself. She fell into a restless sleep, and woke up some time later with her heart racing, cold sweat gathering at the nape of her neck. 3:07, the clock on her bedside table said.

  Something was wrong.

  It's just a nightmare, Helen tried to tell herself. But the panicked beat of her heart didn't slow, and she couldn't shake the sense of danger.

  She untangled herself from her cocoon of blankets. Even the rustling of the bed sheets seemed terribly loud in the quiet of the night. When she stood up from the bed, the floorboards gave a groan that seemed as loud as a gunshot. Helen flinched.

  She walked over towards the window on her tiptoes. Outside, everything was dark and quiet.

  See, you're just being hysterical, Helen told herself. It was a nightmare, that's all.

  At the border between the garden and the trees, a flashlight flickered to life. For a fraction of a second, it illuminated a man, a bulky shape in the darkn
ess, a rifle in his hands. The light went out again.

  They were out there, and they were coming for her.

  Panic took over. She bolted heedlessly for the back of the house. Something smashed against her shin, but she hardly felt the pain over the rush of blood in her veins. The house didn't have a backdoor, but the window at the back of the living room was just barely big enough to squeeze through. Helen heaved herself through the opening with a gasp and landed hard in the soft grass of the garden. She rolled to her feet, suppressing a whimper of pain. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the need to get away.

  Behind her, she heard the sound of the front door bursting open. The house lights came on. She could hear the pounding of heavy boots on the floorboards. Out here in the backyard, everything was still quiet. They thought she was in bed, helpless and asleep—but they'd realize she was gone soon, and then the hunt would begin.

  Helen scrambled to her feet with a gasp and started running. She took off towards the trees, stumbling and slipping in the darkness. Her bare feet caught on brambles and stones. She had to slow down once she reached the woods, feeling her way between tree trunks and underneath branches. The moon shone brightly overhead, but beneath the thick cover of the trees, she could hardly see anything.

  Behind her, branches cracked in the dark. Helen froze. She huddled against the closest tree. Her searching hands found a hollow in the tree's trunk. She squeezed inside, curling up as small as she could. The beam of a powerful flashlight cut through the darkness, just barely missing her hiding place.

  Helen held her breath. A man passed by her tree, big military boots hitting the ground less than a foot from Helen's hiding spot. If he turned his head, if the beam of that flashlight came closer by even a few inches…

  The man passed her by. Helen bit down on the inside of her cheek, swallowing the terrified whimper that wanted to escape. She could still hear the man's steps, getting farther and further away.

  "You got her?" someone called in the distance.