The Soldier's Christmas Romance.

The Soldier’s Christmas Romance. (Book One of The Protector’s Series) Chapter One. The darkness of winter made eerie the late afternoon sky, as Safron Bell pulled her black woollen coat tight around her body to protect her from the icy chill. Her eyes glanced up at the sky, the ominous clouds above laden with heavy snow, and she knew that it would not be long before the storm that had been promised on her weather app, would soon begin fall. Safron hated this time of year with a passion so consuming, it caused her to gain the nickname ‘Scrouge’ by her co-workers at the restaurant she waited tables at. As she passed by the shops, lit up with the bright multi-coloured lights which flashed their holiday greetings to potential patrons, she shook her head almost in disgust, as crowds of shoppers filled the spaces, spending money they probably did not truly have on gifts that people would most definitely place in the far reaches of their cupboards, or on toy’s which would be broken, by over enthusiastic kids come the 26th of December. To her, it was all pointless, and she was certain deep down in her soul that the reason for the season was lost to the marketing ploys of those evil men and women wishing to gain riches from the people they pressurised into feeling they were required to purchase their wares, to prove their love to family and friends. She could not help but feel like one of those broken and discarded toys. In fact, she had, once upon a time, in the not-too-distant past, been one such person. Believing in the fairy tale of the perfect family Christmas. Safron hadn’t always hated the festive period. No. In fact she had once been as happy as Santa’s little helpers, loving the hustle and bustle of the season. Taking joy in blessing her family and friends. She had once owned a drawer filled with ugly jumpers, Santa hats, and of course the green elf costumes, she would wear to bring sunshine to the lives of those around her. But that was before, and it had been three long years since Christmas day had betrayed her. That year had not brought her peace, joy and goodwill. But heartache so pronounced, and a spirit so utterly broken, she would never be the same again. Safron had awoken early on Christmas morning that year, early, as she always had, excitement consuming her as usual. She had been but 18 years old, the day her life took an unexpected turn, and left her without a soul in this world who cared for her, and the trust she had for her family, was irradicated beyond repair. The memory of that morning caused a lump to form in her throat, as Safron shook her head in a vein attempt to rid herself of the tears which threatened to fall. Try as she might to forget the past that had shaped the last three years of her life the memories refused to abate, playing repeatedly in her mind. Safron had descended the large white staircase in the huge mansion that she had once called home, that morning. An excited joyful smile lighting up her face. Her deep brown eyes had sparkled with happiness, as she all but bounced into the main living area that contained the huge Christmas tree, where the presents were laid out for her family to enjoy. Only this year, Santa did not leave a gift under the tree for her to rip open. No. He had left her a man. A man of around 55 years old, with grey hair slicked back, and a belly to rival Santa himself, stood, his three-piece grey suit. Although it was an expensive cut of cloth it happened to be two sizes too small for his larger than average body. His eyes had trailed up and down her body, making her shiver with disgust, and feel naked under his gaze. She was dressed only in a small satin red night dress with white fur around the hem. A lust filled smile had adorned his ugly face, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as the crevices on his forehead rose upwards as he lifted his long grey eyebrows. A chuckle had erupted from his lips, as he gazed at her legs that went on for miles, and the womanly curves her young body possessed. “Safron my dear,” her mother’s voice sounded forcefully cheerful, as she greeted her daughter. Her father sat alongside her elder sister, who whispered something Safron did not quite catch in his ear, before a giggle erupted from her throat. “You should sit down, we have some exciting news,” her mother had continued. Safron moved to the long couch, grabbing one of the knitted red throws with white snowflakes that decorated the large sectional sofa, and cocooned herself in it, to hide herself from the disgusting looks the older man was throwing her way. “Don’t be shy, Safron. You will have no need of coyness where you are going,” the man had said, a bellow of evil laughter erupting from his lips, causing a shudder of disgust to wash through her. “Safron, this is Gusto Blinkoff, a very important man to me,” her father’s voice cut through the disgusting old pervert’s laughter. “As you are aware, your father has many business opportunities, which have given us this perfect life we enjoy,” her mother smiled, as Safron felt her stomach churn, not liking where the conversation was heading. “Now, you have enjoyed many years living with the privileges of this house, after we adopted you. It is now time to pay your family back what you owe,” her father the business tycoon, with political ambitions stated, as her elder sister, the true born daughter of Adelle and Leonard Truss grinned with glee. Patricia Truss had always despised Safron, since the moment she had arrived at the Truss mansion, at just two years old, after the woman who had birthed her had been tragically killed. The details of which, she had not been informed of. Safron could not remember her birth mother, she did not even have a photograph of the woman, who she felt she must look like. It was obvious to anyone who saw the family together Safron was not their ‘real’ child. Adelle, Leonard, and Patricia all had green/ blue eyes and blonde hair, not the waist long deep chocolate coloured hair that Safron had been gifted with. She had often wondered, since that day, if the reason they had adopted her was to court favour with the voting masses. They had, until that point in her life, treated her with kindness. However, after that day, during the long hours where pain and suffering became her best friend, Safron realised that there had always something missing, although if asked, she could not have fully explained what. The details of the transaction between her parents and Gusto Blinkoff, had blurred over the years, possibly her minds way of self-preservation. But Safron had found herself being taken by the man. She had become the Christmas gift, to some perverted old man, who gave her to powerful men, to use and abuse. For 12 months she had endured the physical and emotional torture that life on the fancy yacht brought. The billionaire’s playground hid secrets so disgusting it would make the general public’s insides hurl. Many girls had been broken, the torture so abhorrent their minds had fractured. Some unable to speak, others escaping their bolted shut rooms, only to throw themselves overboard, and be sucked up by the yacht’s engines, ridding the world from the evidence of the disgusting practices of the men and even some women in powerful positions, across the globe. Safron’s escape happened almost a year after that fate filled Christmas day. It had been Christmas Eve, and once again Safron had become the human gift, to be used and abused. A prince with a penchant for physical pain, had gone too far. Her body was bruised from head to foot, that every inch of her a deep purple/ black colour. Ribs were smashed in two, her cheekbone swollen from a fracture, her eyes like panda’s. She had been so broken by his hands, she thought she might die. In fact, at that point of her life, death would have been a welcome reprieve. One of the staff had taken pity on her, risked their own life to save her. They had informed Gusto Blinkoff the evil prince had killed her, but as they were ashore, they could not throw her overboard. Blinkoff had shrugged and commanded that the man who was paid to do his bidding, take her body, and bury it where no man could find it. And so it was, she was carried off the Yacht, left in the trees of the remote Scottish island, with little more than a blanket for warmth and a hand full of five pound notes, the servant pressed into her hand. Against the odds Safron had survived. Saved by the inhabitants of the island. They didn’t ask questions and nursed her back to health. She left as soon as she was able, and begun her wandering journey, working odd jobs for cash, before she eventually found work as the waitress, and began to live a little once more, her past life buried deep, a secret from the world, as she hid in plain sight in an area of London, that no billionaire, politician or prince would enter.