Protecting Neal (#1 in the Odd Billionaire Series)

Neal was in knee-deep shit.

He had known it the minute a bang sounded and shook the whole building, rocking everyone on their feet. He hated public events and had no idea what had moved him to attend that one.

Okay, he knew why he had attended.

Mikhail Salvador was going to be there. The keyword 'was'. Somehow a few minutes before the blast, the burly Mexican man conveniently disappeared. If Neal was going to go all gungho, he would bet his fortune that Mikhail Salvador had everything to do with the explosion.

Neal coughed, trying to stand on his feet. His black hair had broken concrete in them, and debris from the fallen ceiling of Crystal Event Hall fell all over his black tuxedo. His vision was blurry and he blinked his blue eyes rapidly so he could adjust his eyes sight to the partially dark room.

It had been planned.

He may be a stuttering fool, but he had a working brain and knew well enough that someone was after him. Someone ruthless enough to not care about the deaths of other people as long as he was dead.

"Shit." He cussed, feeling a sharp pain at the back of his head. Around him, screams and wails prevailed almost drowning him in a cacophony of noises. Everyone was afraid and he didn't blame them. He was afraid too.

Glancing up at the ceiling above him, he eyed the hole where the huge ass chandelier that had fallen was before. It was supposed to smash him through the floor, but his dancing partner had pulled him too close at the last minute, grinding her chest against him in a move that was definitely not part of the waltz. Neal had been too stunned to move and it would've taken forever anyway before he could tell her to back off so he had held his breath.

Until the chandelier crashed beside him.

Then his breath seized completely and he had fallen to the ground out of shock.

Lifting his heavy legs, he moved in the direction of what he thought and hoped was the door, hoping that whoever planted the bomb would assume that he was dead. No one seemed to be running in that direction however but he was fairly certain that was the entrance to the hall. Gingerly he stepped around the broken chandelier glass that was sprayed everywhere and he wondered how he would handle it if- when he got out eventually.

It wasn't that Neal considered himself to be pretty big and important to be the target of an assassination. He was big yes, a solid 6"2 and his frame was bulky but if he had any say in it, most of it was rather inherited. And his huge frame had been a problem for him in middle school- Everyone loved to torture the big dumb ox and he was one. So yeah he was big but important?

Important was relative, wasn't it? Because while Neal didn't think he was important, the media certainly made him seem like he was essential oxygen and they couldn't stay out of his damn business! Ever since his public blunder four months ago, he had never had a more hectic daily schedule in his entire life. Everyone in California wanted to know when Neal Kowalski, CEO of Kowalski Inc, the one who raised the company from the rubble and helped it hit the hundred billion mark, would stutter at an interview again.

Preposterous.

Sore and starting to feel tired, Neal pressed onward, he had to get the hell out of there. And find a way to disappear. At least until the police found whoever wanted to claim his life so bad.

As he reached the entrance, he heard the click of a gun and froze. Before his very eyes, outside the Crystal event Hall, there was a man in a black hoodie a few meters away, pointing a cocked gun at him.

Well shit.

Gathering his balls as a man should, he took a deep breath, ignored the pain at the back of his head and stood straighter.

"Wh...who are you?" He bellowed. His voice, when he wasn't yammering like an idiot, was deep and solid.

The hooded figure remained quiet. Figures. Neal hadn't expected he would listen, he just hadn't wanted to beg for his life like those cliche politicians in movies. He wasn't a saint, but he wasn't a devil either.

"What...what do... What do you want?!" He asked again and felt his hands grow sweaty. Oh, wonderful. He was getting nervous and soon he would be unable to speak clear words. Heck, soon he would be unable to speak at all.

He frowned at the hooded figure. If he had wanted to kill Neal, then he should've done that already. Instead, the person simply held a gun up and waited. Neal would bet that he was simply delaying for the one who was supposed to kill him. The true assassin. And it was a good thing Neal excelled at waiting games.

Slowly unbuttoning his suit jacket, he tossed it at the hooded figure suddenly and dashed back inside the hall, racing away from the rain of bullets that followed.

****

"Surround the perimeter!" Dorothy's commander echoed through the earpods placed in her right ear and swiftly she slid out of the police van along with her colleagues.

This had to be the best night of her life!

For someone who got stuck with pansy jobs like writing tickets and parking duty, she was immensely grateful to be on a heart-pulsing mission. She adjusted her helmet and clutched her gun like it meant her life.

Because in a way, it did.

"Move fatty!" An officer hissed behind her, shoving her out of the way.

"Move small di-"

"Not now Lane!" Her commander hissed and she winced.

"Sorry, sir." She muttered in response. He was right. She had no time to contend with shitty people who thought they had the right to judge her. There were civilians inside the bombed building who needed help. She'd deal with Charles Dutch later.

"Who has a visual of what's going on inside?"

Radio silence met the commander's question. Dorothy eyed her surroundings. She was stationed at the exit of the building along with four others, two on her left and right. A Series of gunshots could be heard inside the already damaged building and her heart slammed harder in her rib cage.

This was it. This was why she had joined the police academy. Why she had become a cop? Oh, she wished she could whip out her phone and take a selfie. Her shoulders shook in laughter as she imagined the shocked look on her parents' faces.

"Charles was. right. You're a freaking weirdo." The cop closest to her said and she gave him a stink eye.

The world was a bitter place from Dorothy Lane's point of view. No, she hadn't always seen it that way. Heck, she hadn't cared one tiny bit about the world when she was younger. But as you grow, you learn the hard way.

And Dorothy learned that when you had a 36-inch waist and your hips spanned close to 50 inches, you're NOT supposed to be a detective. If her parents had anything to do about it, they would've stashed her behind a counter in a library. And if her superiors had anything to do about it, she'd be their personal Ashley Graham.

Steeling herself against his remark and all the other remarks that lived on in her head over the years, she peered into the building.

It was hard to see underneath the dust and rubble in the large rectangular hall. She flitted her eyes around.

An older woman crouched to the ground in a corner, holding onto her three grandchildren. Fear. Dorothy thought and gnawed her lip in anger. Whoever was responsible for this deserved a helluva beating.

"There are a couple of civilians huddled in the back. Everyone seems shaken sir. But I don't see any terrorist in sight." She said into her earpiece.

The commander mulled over it for a while. Chief Davis, the head of the Belmont police department ordered that his subordinates call him commander not chief because he had wanted to be a soldier, but his height failed him. Yeah, that was the kind of man he was. He also didn't like Dorothy much but she was fairly certain it was because he was a bit of a misogynist. Having female police under his command to him was like having an ugly baby foisted upon you by his mother.

"Fine." He said spitefully and she grinned. "Dutch, Lane, move in. All of you on the right-wing, cover them. Getting those civilians out is the priority."

"Copy that." She muttered and swooped into the building, clutching her gun while eyeing the area for any sudden movement. Charles dashed in front of her, grinning widely at Grandmother and three grandkids.

"Aren't you a bit old to be attending these events, ma'am?" He teased as he helped her stand up. Her frail body trembled in his arms.

Dorothy rolled her eyes. Of course, Charles wanted to play the hero. She'd bet her horses that were why he had joined the police force. To save the day, and get the women.

Scruffling in the hall drew her attention and she whipped around to face it. A man. He ran towards them rather blindly and her fight and flight instincts kicked in.

She strengthened her stance, cocked her gun and aimed at the attacker.

"Stand down, your hands in the air. Now!" She ordered.