Kennedy's Redemption (The Protectors 3)

Four

Pulling up out front of the Maxwell’s home, Creed felt hope for the first time in the nearly two months Kenny had been gone. They’d received a postcard from her the day before and called their sons, who in turn called him and Linc that morning. Climbing from his truck, he waited in front of it for Linc to join him before making their way up the front porch.

The door opened before they even had a chance to knock. Greeted by a smiling Amber and seeing bags packed just beyond the front foyer, his brows drew together in confusion. Nate had told them that he wanted Creed and Linc to check things out, make sure it was, in fact, Kenny sending the postcard.

“What’s going on Mrs. M?” Linc asked sounding as confused as him.

“We’re going to get Kennedy. I know Nate wants you guys to go, but I won’t wait; I need my baby home.”

Before either of them could say anything they saw her husband, Jackson, walking forward with yet another bag. “Boys,” he greeted with a nod. “I asked Nate to call you back. Tell you not to come.”

At that they both pulled out their phones, not seeing any missed messages. He turned his phone around saying, “He didn’t, and this is a bad idea.”

“We’re going to get our daughter back,” Jackson told them forcefully.

“Look, I don’t wanna be an ass, but Kenny ran for a good fucking reason. Do you think she’s going to want to be forced back home? How do you know she’s not better off where she is than if she were here?” Creed asked, his voice laced with venom. He was pissed off that her parents, who he figured were normally pretty smart people, were acting incredibly naïve right now.

Seeing realization dawn in Jackson’s eyes didn’t make him feel any better about being a dick, but they needed to understand that Kenny left in a really dark frame of mind. She may be better or she may be worse than before she left. And being forced to be around people who knew what she’d suffered and were going to smother her, might just tip her over the edge. They couldn’t let that happen.

“Young man, she is my daughter, and she will come home. She needs her family right now,” Amber tried to argue but he kept his eyes on Jackson, knowing he would understand when Amber wouldn’t, and why.

“We will make sure she’s safe; you can take that to the bank,” Linc promised trying to appeal to her mom. “But we will not force Kennedy to leave before she’s ready.”

Turning his wife around, they watched as Jackson lowered his head to Amber’s and started whispering so low they couldn’t hear what was being said. When the tears started rolling down her cheeks, he got a better idea. Looking to them, she searched both of their eyes before turning around and running up the stairs. Jackson watched her with regret shining in his eyes.

“I know you boys are interested in her,” he started to say, “but she’s broken in more ways than any of us can possibly understand right now. Just don’t take advantage.”

He felt Linc tense beside him at Jackson’s words. Reaching out a hand, he gripped his arm tightly before replying, “She may not know it right now, but Kenny is our life. For the last four months, she has been at the forefront of both our minds. We would never do a fucking thing to hurt her so you can bet we will give her everything she needs. Even if it means protecting her from doing things others want her to do.”

With that, Amber came back downstairs with a postcard in hand. Handing it to Creed, she looked at him with eyes full of tears and choked out, “Bring my baby home.” Nodding at her, they left with a new destination in mind.

·?•? ?•?·

Fifteen hours. Fifteen long hours of flying or waiting, of a shit ton of cursing, and Linc was ready to never step foot in an airport terminal again. They’d just been informed that they had to take a thirty-minute train ride into Rome, rent a car, and then they still had to drive over four hours before reaching the small village of Porto Venere where Kenny was renting a villa. He was tired, irritated, and it was probably a good thing he couldn’t bring one of his many guns internationally or he might have shot the steward in the knees. Twice.

The layover in London wasn’t supposed to be so bad until they were told their connecting flight had taken off before they’d landed, only to then be told that the wanker that told them that was a fraud and trying to scam them out of their money. He’d been ready to tackle a guard, steal their gun, and hunt the little bastard right then. Creed had given him the look, the one only an older sibling can give— even if he was older by a few short minutes— and he froze mid-step from actually tackling the guard.

With that over, things had gone smoother. That is until they’d gotten on the connecting flight and the steward kept eyeing Linc, even going so far as to accidentally grope his ass when they hit a bit of turbulence while he was stretching his legs. Luckily, he’d held back and didn’t toss the guy out the door mid-flight.

Standing outside on the platform waiting for the train, he felt exposed. It was too open for his liking. The train station had an open floor plan, three surrounding walls made of glass, and an open field in front. If he were on an op, he’d have hoofed it to Rome. It was a cynical thing to think, but they didn’t get to their age in their line of work by not taking the offensive in any situation, especially in a foreign country. They’d made plenty of enemies over the last sixteen years they’d been in the business. Basically, being mercs for their country left an open target on their backs, which was why the last job they did in Argentina was their out.

They couldn’t bring that life to Kennedy. She’d been through enough without them adding stress to it. They wanted her to feel safe and secure like they would keep all the bad in the world at bay for her. Because they would. They may have only met her when they helped her brothers and their friends, Dane and Coop, rescue her and Emily, but from the minute they’d laid eyes on her, touched her, they’d both felt a connection. A zap to the very depths of their souls. From that moment, they’d been the only ones who could touch her without her screaming so loud that he’d been shocked she hadn’t strained her vocal cords so badly that she couldn’t talk anymore.

When her parents had decided to put her in that coma, he knew nothing good would come of it. He could tell immediately that she was locked in whatever hell had been brought down on her in that cabin. She still hadn’t told anyone what happened before or after waking from the coma. All they had to go by were her injuries and what Emily could guess at. She’d muttered a few things on the way to the hospital to him and Creed, but it was more babbling than anything else.

Now, here they were half way around the world waiting for a fucking train so they could rent a fucking car and then drive another four fucking hours in the hopes that she was still in Italy. Yeah, he was a bit bitter and cranky, and ready to eat some real food that wasn’t processed or full of sugar. But mostly, he was dying to lay eyes on Kennedy and make sure she was whole.

His biggest fear was that she would be worse. Holed up in some ramshackle cabin terrified to come out. As the train pulled up he shared a look with Creed; it was time to get their girl.

·?•? ?•?·

“Good afternoon, Miss Maxwell. How are you today?” Dr. Schroder greeted her as she walked into his sun-filled office. He had windows lining one whole wall to the west, so it was facing a large park. Wide open spaces. He knew she felt trapped with the blinds closed, so she appreciated the effort he made in making her comfortable.

Striding into the room, she made her way to the couch adjacent to the window so she could watch the clouds and sun and see the birds fly. A pang of wanting hit her hard as she watched a mother walking through the park pushing a stroller with a small boy inside. “I’m alright I suppose,” she answered absently, still watching the mother and son.

He remained quiet after that. It’s how it always went. He let her lead the sessions— probably so she didn’t go crazy on him. She’d done that in the beginning. Anytime he would speak to her, she’d flinch and whimper. She felt like she was making progress, though. When he spoke to her, she answered back. Not some big breakthrough, but it was still something.

Pulling out her sketch pad, she started to draw. She never really knew what she was drawing until the end, but this time, a bottle was quick to come into view. The more she drew, the more detailed it became. Pulling back to get a better look, she admired the dark lines of what looked like a bottle of fine Crown Royal whiskey. A wide, dark base drawing up tall and lean lines, maturing into a slim yet thick opening. She knew why she’d drawn it.