Chasing The Bodyguard: An Irish Mob Action Adventure Road Trip Romance

by Grace Risata

  “Operation Zombie is in effect. Call Angela and tell her I’m okay. See you on the other side, brother.”

  Without waiting for a reply, I removed the battery from my phone and stomped both pieces to tiny bits before throwing them in a nearby garbage can. I motioned for Samuel to do the same, and he complied instantly. Technology could either be a blessing or a curse. I had no intention of being tracked by my phone signal.

  “Would you care to let me know what the fuck is going on?” Samuel asked impatiently.

  “Sure. I plan to hotwire this Honda and then we’re going incognito. Don’t worry, I’m well prepared for this exact type of situation. It’ll be fine.”

  Luckily the Accord was unlocked, so all I had to do was fiddle around with the wires for a minute and we were on our way.

  “And the phone call? What was that all about?” he questioned without even bothering to compliment my auto theft skills.

  “I let Ian know that we were going on the run for a while. Just like a zombie…let people think I’m dead, but eventually pop back up alive and well.”

  He made a face that implied my plan sucked.

  “Zombies eat brains, Leandra. They’re hardly alive and well.”

  “Play your cards right and I could be convinced to take a body part in my mouth,” I purred, taking my eyes off the road and staring directly at his crotch. I could suck him off in ways he’d never even imagined. Yes, car chases and danger can be invigorating. My libido kicked into high gear and I was up for anything.

  I really should have done this a long time ago. Samuel and I definitely needed a chance to get to know each other better, and I could think of nothing more pleasurable than a little bonding time while on the lam.

  Sometimes the simplest ideas are the most brilliant.

  Chapter Eight

  Samuel

  I ran a weary hand over my face and took another look at the time. Quarter after eight on a Monday morning. I should have been chatting with co-workers over my first cup of coffee at a normal job like ninety percent of all the other decent human beings in the world.

  But was I?

  Fuck no. I was wedged uncomfortably into the passenger seat of a shitty stolen Honda while my crazy boss marched her ass into the First National Bank of New Jersey.

  While I didn’t think she was going to rob it, there was really no way to tell with her. The woman was a fucking wild card. I made it painfully clear that I had no intention of being her getaway driver, thus the reason I was not occupying the other seat. After all the illegal crap I’ve done in the past seven months, I was not about to add ‘accessory to armed robbery’ to my rap sheet.

  Leandra assured me at least three times that she was a paying customer of the bank, she’d be in and out in a matter of minutes, and that I needed to relax. The concept of ‘relaxation’ and ‘Leandra Donahue’ did not belong in the same sentence together. I just wish she’d be a little more upfront and open about her plans. All I really know is that we drove from New York City to New Jersey so she could be at this particular bank as soon as they opened.

  Screw this. I slid out of the vehicle and stretched my legs. I needed fresh air and an opportunity to clear my head. Honestly, I would have given everything I had to be able to go home, but that was not an option at the present time. Don’t think I didn’t ache for that place with every fiber of my being, though.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I noticed a familiar feminine form exit the bank. My boss had gone in wearing a gold dress and long brunette extensions. She came out entirely different.

  “Still recognize me?” the beauty asked, lowering silver aviator sunglasses and flashing me a smile. That was a stupid question. Of course I did. Leandra could be wearing a Halloween costume with full face paint, yet I would still be able to instantly pick her out in any line-up. The soft curves of her spectacular body were etched into my subconscious.

  I nodded, not giving in to her obvious ploy that would end with me ogling the tight black t-shirt that clung to a set of outstanding breasts. In response, I simply maintained eye contact and forced myself not to look elsewhere.

  “What’s our next move?” I inquired, noticing she carried a large black duffle bag in one hand and had a matching backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “We need a car. I can’t keep driving that piece of shit.”

  “It doesn’t matter what mode of transport you choose, we need a fucking destination. Big deal that we’re off the grid, what comes next?”

  I pushed her for answers, in no mood to drive around and strategize all fucking day. I needed action and purpose.

  “Fine,” she sighed with exasperation at my refusal to go with the flow. “I’m thinking that we lay low for about a week, week and a half tops. Let this thing with the Barsotti family kind of blow over and settle down. It will also give us an opportunity to find out who wants me ousted as head of my father’s empire. With me gone, there will be a free-for-all and no one to fill the void. We wait and see who steps up to the plate to take over. I have a good feeling that whoever has been going behind my back to stir up trouble will be more than happy to assume a lead role.”

  That actually made sense, so I didn’t argue with her.

  “We really don’t have any concrete evidence of anything at this point,” she continued. “Maybe Hawk and Seamus are working with the Barsotti clan to undermine my authority. Maybe once I’m out of the picture, the Italian gangsters will no longer pose a threat. I think we just need to go underground and let this play out. After a minimal amount of time, I come back and find out who’s been loyal and who has tried to double cross me. Bada bing, bada boom. Unless you have another brilliant suggestion up your sleeve, Samuel? I’m all ears.”

  “I guess that will work,” I admitted, unable to come up with something better. “What do we do in the mean time? Where are you planning to ‘lay low’ and not get discovered?”

  Leandra smirked in a villainous way that sent chills down my spine. Was I afraid of her? Absolutely not. However, I knew the answer was not going to be anything remotely pleasant.

  “I figured a little vacation might be in order. When I was growing up, my dad was always so consumed with the business that we rarely went anywhere fun. No Disneyworld, no tour through Europe, no spontaneous visit to see the ocean. I think it’s high time to right that wrong from my past. I’m feeling like a cross country road trip might be a fun way to pass the time. What do you say, Samuel? Me, you, and nothing but open road from here to Los Angeles?”

  “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I have two hundred bucks to my name and not much else. We need money and some bare necessities in order to survive.”

  She leaned in closer and whispered, “I have eighty grand in hundred dollar bills in this backpack, along with a few other essentials. Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got us covered. All we’re missing is a car that’s not stolen. I tried to think this through from every different angle and I’m coming up empty. We can’t rent a car without a credit card. My best option is to buy something off Craigslist, but it’s going to eat up a good portion of my cash.”

  “Not necessarily,” I offered, finally able to be a real help for once. “What if I told you I had a car sitting in storage that was absolutely clean and not connected to anything illegal?”

  “Lead the way,” she insisted, eager to see what I had up my sleeve.

  Chapter Nine

  Leandra

  The tide seemed to have actually turned in my favor for once. Yes, we did have to make an unscheduled detour back to Samuel’s storage unit in New York City, thereby taking a few risks on the slim chance we might be recognized. Imagine my total shock at finding a dusty old pickup truck with Kansas license plates just waiting for us like an oasis in the desert.

  Of course he refused to tell me where he’d found such a treasure, and even more frustrating was the lack of identifying paperwork in the glove box. I guess it really didn�
�t matter. I was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “I’m not flying past every single state at warp speed you know,” I insisted while pouting over the fact that it was already three in the afternoon and he refused to make any tourist stops. “What if I need to see the world’s largest ball of twine in Iowa or something? The whole purpose of a road trip is to see the sights along the way, not drive til the point of exhaustion.”

  “You’re just pissed because my lunch was better than yours. Who orders a hot dog at a burger joint drive thru? It’s your own damn fault.”

  Even though we were bickering like an old married couple, I couldn’t help but be pleased with the situation. Nothing relaxed me like a nice car ride, even if I had no clue where we were going. I would definitely agree with the ‘getting there is half the fun’ adage, but I still needed a destination.

  “This phone sucks,” I complained, lamenting my cheap technology. “I understand that burner phones do not have the same capabilities as my iphone, but it would sure as hell be nice to have a GPS of some sort.”

  “Who told you use up the data plan downloading music instead of saving it for something more important?”

  “Leandra Donahue has unlimited gigabytes! I do not suffer with data limits! Besides, I needed a roadtrip playlist. Would you deny me the basic necessities of life?”

  “Food, water, and shelter are needed for survival,” he replied. “Metallica and Joan Jett are not critical to your continued existence on planet Earth.”

  I turned my head to stare out the window and hide my wicked smirk. Samuel was less than thrilled when I blasted, “Do you wanna touch me?” as high as the radio would let me without blowing the speakers. It’s certainly not my fault that I prefer badass rocker chicks with an affinity for sexy lyrics.

  “Would you rather listen to country?” I asked, flinching as though I’d just stepped in dog shit. “I mean, really, it’s not even music. You can’t dance to it, the lyrics are one giant sob story after the next, and they have to sing in the most whiny voice imaginable with an extra dollop of Southern twang!”

  “Whiniest.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the ‘whiniest voice’ and not the ‘most whiny.’ If you’re going to bitch, at least use proper grammar.”

  Wonderful. I’m stuck in a decaying pick-up truck with my freshman year English professor. Although Mr. Barnaby never looked nearly as delectable as my current companion. If he had, I might have paid more attention and gotten a better grade.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, since this radio barely works and picks up nothing but static. Where did you find this truck?”

  Yes, I was hoping he might slip and give me some much needed information.

  “I didn’t find it, since it was never lost.”

  I sighed in frustration and began to grow claustrophobic.

  “Don’t you have anything that might occupy your attention in there?” Samuel questioned while glancing down at the backpack carefully stowed between us.

  “That’s sort of a sore subject right now,” I admitted with a hint of regret.

  “Do tell. I’d like to know what we’re working with.”

  “Fine. Ever since my dad got arrested and was forced to flee the country, I decided it would be a wise idea to have my own bug-out-bag. When the heat is on, it pays to have a backup plan.”

  “That makes sense. How come you don’t seem too happy then?”

  “Let’s just say that the items I packed don’t seem as useful now that the situation has actually presented itself.”

  His lip twitched as though trying desperately not to show any emotion such as amusement or curiosity.

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I began, forming a strategy to get him to open up a little.

  “I have my wallet with two hundred dollars, the black American Express card you gave me with your name on it, and a condom that is most likely no good due to age and condition. That’s all, Leandra. Nothing to show. I’m working with far less than you are.”

  “Liar. You have a 9mm handgun and some form of identification.” I decided to avoid mentioning the condom entirely. If the thing is old and mangled, it means he hasn’t had the opportunity to use it. Either he likes it bareback or he hasn’t fucked in quite some time. I’ll pretend we’re dealing with option number two.

  “Nope. I don’t carry a driver’s license on the off chance you’ll subdue me and search my pockets.”

  Is he fucking serious right now?

  “How in the hell am I going to subdue you? Did I wake up with some magical ability to perform hypnosis? You’re paranoid.”

  Actually, I respected the shit out of him. Obviously Samuel had a horrific past and wanted no one to find out about it. It didn’t take a genius to notice the lack of a New York City accent, the way he constantly looked over his shoulder, or the lengths he took in order to avoid answering any personal questions. Every time one of the other guys asked him something, he always turned the topic back to them or their lives. Since people are basically narcissistic in nature and love talking about themselves, it hadn’t been an issue. Until now.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to tell you the entire contents of my two bags, and then it’s your turn to open up about something.”

  “I’m not agreeing to that.”

  Completely ignoring him, I grabbed the black backpack and unzipped one of the compartments.

  “In bag number one, we have eighty thousand cash in the form of hundred dollar bills, a switchblade, a twenty-two caliber handgun, three spare ammo cartridges, a worthless burner phone that I might as well throw out the window, a fake New Jersey driver’s license, and a box of condoms that are brand new and in perfectly usable condition.”

  He rolled his eyes at the last item, but made no comment.

  “My current outfit was also in there, but I changed in the bank restroom as soon I had the chance. It’s impossible to go incognito when wearing a sparkly gold party dress.”

  “What about the duffel bag?”

  “I had originally intended for the backpack to be critical and the duffel to be secondary. It’s not very useful at the moment,” I admitted, pulling it up from the floor and taking inventory.

  “I’m not running from any kind of criminal past.”

  Wait, what? Back it up. How did we go from discussing my heinous packing skills to him actually divulging something personal?

  “Hmm?” I mumbled, eager to hear more but not wanting to pry.

  “I shared,” he replied. “Now I’m done. What’s in the bigger bag?”

  It doesn’t matter! Let’s talk about important details! Namely, why the fuck did I find him scraping by at an underground MMA fight and desperate to make a quick buck if he wasn’t a fugitive of justice? Any time I decided to meditate and let my mind wander, it always ended up trying to piece together the mystery of Samuel’s origin. Nine times out of ten, my imagination had him framed for an accidental murder that was not his fault due to self-defense reasons. The other explanations ranged from the plausible (he was in the witness protection program after stumbling upon a crime in progress) to the completely absurd (aliens abducted Samuel and fried his brain, thereby giving him a complex case of amnesia).

  Deciding not to question him further, I gave up and began pulling items out of my duffel.

  “This bag was intended to get me through a longer period of time on the run. I have a jar of my face cream, a tiny bottle of perfume, spare undergarments including three pairs of underwear and two bras, a t-shirt, this crazy family photo taken on the best Christmas I ever had, an unopened container of peanut butter, a bottle of vodka, and a notebook with two pens. I also packed a giant beach towel and bathing suit. Evidently I must have thought I was running away to Cancun on spring break or something.”

  “You mentioned face cream and perfume though, right?” he asked with a weird expression as though he were relieved.

  “Yeah. But it was kind of st
upid to pack that shit, since I could probably buy it at any high end department store. I should have brought more precious mementos of my past,” I commented, holding up the photo and smiling at the memory.

  “Ian looks so young and innocent here. I think he was six and I must have been about twelve. There were a pile of presents under the giant tree, but that didn’t matter at all. What made it really stick out in my mind, was the time we all spent together before everyone else came over. Dad made a huge breakfast for just the four of us and we actually seemed normal for a brief second. Then a ton of relatives arrived along with all my father’s associates and henchmen and hangers on. I preferred it when there wasn’t such mass chaos all the time.”

  “I had a few nice holidays, too,” Samuel mused, face taking on an unreadable expression as he remembered days gone by.

  “Do you have a big family?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to tell me your last name?”

  “No.”

  Asshole. Yes, it was true. Leandra Donahue, current leader of one of the most ruthless Irish Mafia clans in all of New York City had no clue regarding the true identity of her most trusted bodyguard. Shameful, really.

  “Do you have any idea how much shit I had to put up with from the other guys because you refused to let me do a background check on your stubborn ass? Shorty had a field day giving me the third degree and asking why I was such a dumb fuck as to trust a newbie with my life. I finally gave in and lied to them, pretending you told me your last name. Ian is still convinced you’re undercover DEA. The gossip died down a little after you took a bullet for me within the first few weeks of your employment, but some of the men are still distrustful.”

  Samuel shrugged with indifference, eyes firmly fixed on the road as mile after boring Pennsylvania mile passed by in a blur. I stared out the window as I recalled that fateful day in February. It should have been a simple visit to collect a debt from an old friend of my father. The gambling addict never had a problem paying his loans when dad was in charge, but the second I took over everything changed. The jackass suddenly thought he could run wild and do whatever the hell he wanted. Fuck that. I took Samuel and Shorty along for the ride with the intention of teaching Mr. Deadbeat a lesson. Instead, he came out guns blazing and started shooting at us with a Mossberg Rifle. Samuel shoved me in the SUV and screamed at Shorty to get us the fuck out of there, but we didn’t make a clean escape without some collateral damage. My newest employee got a thigh full of buckshot. Thank God the dirtbag was shooting at us from across the street, or things might have been much, much worse.