Singe (Guardian Protection Book 1)

by Aly Martinez

  “Nope,” he replied curtly.

  “Right.” Leo snatched the truck into reverse. “Shut the door, son.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not doing this.”

  “Yeah, you are.” He threw his arm around the back of my seat and angled to see out the back glass as he gunned it out of the parking spot.

  I was barely able to get the door closed before it took off the side mirror of Braydon’s BMW parked next to us. (I definitely needed to ask for that raise.)

  “Fuck, man,” I growled.

  “So here’s how this is going down. You two are gonna patch this shit up.”

  “I’m—” I started, but that’s as far as I made it.

  “I’ve known Johnson for a lot of years. He can be a short-tempered bastard, but there isn’t a man in my office who would think twice about taking a bullet for him.” He kept his gaze pointed out the windshield as he pulled into traffic. “You know why that is, Levitt?”

  Because apparently Guardian Protection is the only place the mentally insane can find employment?

  He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Because they know he’d take a bullet for them. No questions asked.”

  My eyes nearly rolled out of my head as Johnson reached forward and patted Leo’s shoulder.

  Being a mall cop had never sounded more appealing than it did in that moment. And, if I quit this job, that might be exactly what I’d have had to do for a while. I doubted that would come close to covering my monthly bills. But, then again, I wouldn’t have had to pay an attorney to defend me on assault charges.

  “That’s great news,” I smarted. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I am not one of those men. I appreciate the opportunity to work for you, but this childish bullshit is not what I signed on for.”

  “You’re right.” he answered immediately. “Which is why Johnson will be working in Indianapolis for the next few weeks while you settle in.”

  “The fuck you say!” Johnson boomed.

  Leo once again found his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, I do fucking say.”

  My surprised gaze jumped to Leo. Holy. Shit. Did that just swing my way?

  He kept talking to Johnson. “If you got a reason to hate him, it’s probably a good one. However, the fact that you are not willing to share this information means you know damn well it’s not enough for me to fire him. So I’ll repeat: You’ll be working with Slate and Erica in Indy until you can let this go. I’ve got a business to run, and providing you with maxi pads is not in the budget. Sort your shit. Do your fucking job. And stop fucking with Levitt while he does his. Yeah?”

  Victory sang in my veins, and the fact that it still came with a paycheck made it even sweeter.

  Surprisingly enough, Johnson didn’t say anything else.

  He did, however, burst into laughter, adding to my suspicions about the mental status of the Guardian staff.

  Those suspicions were confirmed when Leo joined him.

  What the hell did I get myself into?

  The moment we arrived at the hotel hosting the party, Johnson disappeared through the lobby. I didn’t pretend to care. I did, however, watch my six until I was sure he was out of the area.

  Leo spent the morning introducing me to his client, a professional basketball player with absolutely no concept of reality. It wasn’t my job to judge him though, or I’d have been in the unemployment line years ago. It was my responsibility to find out the specifics of what he needed and then get down to business to fulfill those needs.

  That night, those needs were to stand guard at the door to make sure no one got in or out without permission.

  In the last few years, I’d taken a knife to the gut for a client, apprehended a stalker, stopped a home invasion, and a myriad of other admirable duties.

  And now…

  I was a glorified bouncer at a sweet-sixteen party.

  And to think, I’d actually thought this position could have been a step up in my career.

  As the night wore on, it was clear my job was also to be the only responsible adult at the entire fucking party while the others huddled around the open bar. By the time it was all said and done, I’d broken up four different fights—only three of those had been between kids—and thrown out two kids for smoking and countless kids for drinking. To top it all off, on two separate occasions, I’d had the stomach-churning pleasure of walking in on a couple having sex in the bathroom. One couple was way too young, the other way too fucking old. I had gone from feeling like a pedophile to a necrophiliac in the span of an hour.

  The party had started at six and was supposed to run into the night, but shortly past eight, the hotel shut it down. As I walked out and hailed a cab, I swore that, first thing in the morning, I was scheduling a vasectomy.

  I scrolled through my phone on the way back to my hotel and found a few new messages I’d missed throughout the day.

  One from my mom, who was asking for my Thanksgiving plans. Considering that it was September, the only plan I had was eating turkey and watching football.

  The next was from my ex-wife, April. I didn’t bother to read that one.

  I skipped right to the next.

  Valerie: Be careful at the new job tonight. I love you and miss you.

  I scoffed. If she only knew the level of danger I was facing. It was only six in LA. She’d be at softball practice. I smiled to myself as I typed.

  Me: Love you too, beautiful. I’ll call you in a little bit. And don’t worry. I’ll see you in a few weeks.

  I made a mental note to talk to Leo—not Johnson—about what I could expect from my schedule over the next few weeks. Maybe I could volunteer for some overnights in order to get a four-day weekend to visit her.

  I scrolled to the last text.

  Devon: Drinks at Murphy’s. Get your ass up here when you finish.

  I liked Devon. He was the only person I had remotely resembling a friend in Chicago. And he’d been able to help me find an apartment. I couldn’t move in for a few weeks, and I fully intended on asking him to help me when I did. The least I could do was buy him a drink first.

  Me: OTW. Where the fuck is Murphy’s?

  Devon: Bar across the street from the office.

  Now, that was convenient.

  This was a terrible idea. A real motherfucking calamity.

  “Can I get you a drink?” the bartender asked as I nervously stared at my phone.

  Johnson was late. He should have been there before I’d even walked in.

  My lungs burned more with every breath I wasn’t taking. I looked up and plastered on something that I hope resembled a smile. “You’re new.”

  An all-too-familiar glint lit his eyes. “I am. You come here often?”

  “The fact that I knew you were new should be answer enough,” I teased in an effort to slow my racing heart.

  It didn’t work. A cold chill crept up my spine as I frantically surveyed the bar.

  Oh God. I can’t breathe.

  “Touché,” he replied, but I barely heard him over the blood thundering in my ears.

  I should go.

  He’ll be here any minute.

  I have to go.

  He’d want me to wait.

  Oh God. Where is he?

  “I…um.” My throat closed, but I forged ahead. “I’ll…have a beer. Whatever craft you have on tap.”

  Instead of rushing off to get me said beer, he shot me a flirty grin and leaned his hip on the bar. “A girl after my own heart.”

  I remained silent and concentrated on the intense need to peel out of my own skin. When he failed to take the not-so-subtle hint, I squeaked, “Any chance I can get the beer sans your heart?”

  “And she’s funny,” he mumbled, his grin widening.

  A man with white-blond hair caught my attention on the other side of the bar. I jumped to my feet and reached for my purse and my sweater on the back of my chair.

  Nope. Nope. Nope.

  I can’t do this.

  Jo
hnson’s voice rumbled behind me at the same time his large palm landed on my back. “That she is,” he told the bartender.

  I clutched his forearm, digging my nails into his flesh as I tamped a relieved sob down. My shoulders fell and the massive weight on my chest disappeared, allowing the glorious, stale bar air to fill my lungs.

  “Sorry I’m late. ” He kissed my forehead.

  I turned my head and brushed away a tear of relief that had managed to escape.

  “You did good,” he whispered.

  I cut my gaze to him. “Were you watching me?”

  He grinned and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Since you got off the elevator.”

  I blew a ragged breath out and equal parts laughed and cried, “You’re an asshole!”

  “Maybe. But you did good,” he semi-repeated before settling his large body onto the barstool beside me. “I’ll have whatever she’s having,” he said to the bartender.

  The bartender remained frozen, flashing a surprised gaze between us. It was the typical reaction to meeting Johnson. He was a tad scary at first glance.

  He finally walked away, mumbling, “Coming right up.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and did my best to swallow the lingering anxiety. I opted for a joke, but it still came out shaky. “I ordered a cosmo.”

  Johnson knowingly twisted his lips. “Bullshit.”

  I giggled, which did wonders to help my heart return to a non-marathon pace. So much so that, when Johnson grinned at me, I was able to genuinely return it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Devon heading our way.

  “Nice hair,” he said when he got close.

  My teal tips from this morning had been transformed to red thanks to a much-needed visit from my stylist.

  “Thanks, Devon.” I reached up over my shoulder and patted his chest.

  He whistled across the bar and then snapped his mouth shut when the bartender turned to face him. “Shit. You’re new.”

  “So I’ve been told,” the bartender retorted.

  “Well, as long as you know,” Devon quipped, settling onto the barstool on my other side. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

  I kept my face unreadable as I lied, “I ordered an Appletini.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He pulled a bowl of peanuts in front of him and peered up at the TV. “Any games on tonight?”

  I shrugged and turned in time to see Lark and Alex laughing as they strolled in.

  “Red. I like it,” Alex said quietly, tugging at the ends of my hair.

  “Thanks,” I laughed, swatting his hands away.

  Lark shrugged his coat off and then slung it over a barstool before calling out, “We’ll have two more of whatever she’s having. But bring mine with a shot of tequila on the side.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I ordered a Sex on the Beach. With two pink umbrellas.”

  Alex grunted something that obviously translated to bullshit.

  Lark ignored me altogether.

  “One day, I’m going to do it. And then I’m taking pictures of you guys drinking them and passing them around the office.”

  It was a lie. I’d never order that fruity shit. I was a beer girl through and through. It was my favorite thing about Murphy’s—well, that and the fact that it was literally across the street from my apartment. Every week, they offered a new craft beer. Some of them were amazing. Some were absolute shit. But I adored trying them all.

  The bartender appeared with our beers, and I slid them down until everyone had one.

  I was turning to clank mine with Johnson when Devon stopped me.

  “Wait. Wait. Wait. I have a toast.” He smiled wide and lifted his beer in the air. “To Johnson’s cranky ass being sent to Indy for two weeks!”

  “Hear, hear,” came from the guys.

  But my mouth dried as I slung my head in his direction. “You’re leaving? For two weeks?”

  Devon kept talking, but Johnson shot him a murderous glare that snapped him to silence.

  When his gaze returned to mine, his face had softened, and his voice came out as a gentle whisper. “Not a full two weeks—”

  “Why? I thought…” I trailed off, anxiety crawling up my throat.

  I hated it when he left. He was out of town almost every weekend, working down in Indy for some championship boxer. I’d adapted to that by spending my weekends locked in the apartment. But two full weeks? I felt the color drain from my face.

  “Breathe,” he urged. “It’s only a couple of days. I’ll come back on Wednesday.”

  My stomach ached as I held his dark stare with pleading eyes. “A couple of days?”

  He flinched but quickly locked it down. “Back on Wednesday.”

  It was a promise. And I knew he’d follow through, but that didn’t change the guilt that pooled in my stomach.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I’m trying…”

  He shook his head and clanked his beer with mine. “I know. And you did good. Let’s just drink our beers and worry about the rest later.”

  It should be said, for as moody and grumpy and short-tempered as Johnson was, beneath it all, he was also a great guy.

  I smiled weakly and held his gaze as we both lifted our drinks to our lips.

  And then I burst into laughter as he spit it across the bar.

  “What the fuck!” he growled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Is that grape-flavored?”

  I laughed so hard that I nearly fell off my stool.

  It was safe to say the craft beer that night was absolute shit.

  Yet, as I watched the guys laughing and Johnson banging his fist on the bar and barking at the bartender for a round of Buds, I decided that it was exactly what I needed.

  I sucked in a huge breath and filled my lungs with the brief moments of my life that didn’t overwhelm me. Johnson was right. I could deal with the rest later.

  Only, as I turned to the side in order to steal one of Devon’s peanuts, I realized that later wasn’t actually a measurement of time. It was nothing more than a word tossed around to lull you into a false sense of security. The past always had a way of working its way into the present.

  And, as I met his blazing, green gaze, I knew that later had found me.

  “Butterfly?” he whispered.

  Time slowed the moment our gazes met.

  She didn’t move. Not even an inch.

  But neither did I.

  Blink.

  A million words hung in the air around us, but not a single syllable fell from either of our mouths.

  She was different than I remembered.

  And not because, when I’d first walked in, her head was thrown back in laughter instead of hanging down while tears streamed from her chin.

  Blink.

  And not because she was sitting on a barstool, drinking a beer, rather than perched on the narrow ledge of a burning house.

  Blink.

  And not because her hair was blond with red accents, not a hint of black soot staining it.

  Blink.

  And not because her arms weren’t spread out to her sides in a hospital bed, raw with third-degree burns, but rather covered in full sleeves of brightly colored tattoos.

  Blink.

  No. She looked different because, for the first time since I’d met her that night four years earlier, she was alive and not struggling to survive.

  Her lips thinned uncomfortably as she rose from her stool and took a step toward me.

  I believe words were spoken around us. However, as I focused on her mouth, I heard nothing but the ease in which she breathed.

  No coughing. No choking.

  Just…

  Breathing.

  Blink.

  And then, with one flash of her gaze over my shoulder, that vibrant light dancing in her pale-blue eyes exploded into a million shades of darkness.

  Blink.

  “No,” she breathed, stumbling back into her stool, knocking it over.

  I instinctiv
ely glanced over my shoulder but saw no one of note.

  Johnson rose beside her, his hand going to her bicep.

  Blink.

  And then, all at once, time caught up. The bar detonated into a flurry of activity.

  “Don’t you dare!” Devon shouted to someone.

  “Motherfucker,” Alex cursed.

  “Rhion!” Johnson yelled as she bolted toward the entrance.

  I wanted to open my arms. To finally catch her.

  But, like in the past, I stood motionless as I watched her fly away.

  Johnson’s shoulder slammed into mine as he rushed after her, Alex only steps behind him. Devon, however, charged to the other side of the bar, shoving customers out of his way.

  I shook my head and turned back in time to see her disappear out the door.

  I blinked again, and much like the first time we’d met, she was gone.

  One blink was all it ever took for me to lose her.

  “Rhion,” I whispered to myself, rubbing my hand over the scars on the back of my head as if it could erase the memories.

  “Oh fuck!” Lark barked, plowing over a stool and several people as he raced outside.

  I followed him with my gaze, and the second I saw her, my throat locked up tight. No air in. No air out. Just a bullet of panic ricocheting in my hollow chest.

  “No.” I breathed, storming to the bar’s glass door, praying that my eyes were deceiving me.

  But they weren’t. I’d recognize that woman anywhere, but especially in the middle of the busy four-lane Chicago street with cars swerving around her.

  Adrenaline blasted through my veins, traveling straight to my legs. I was out the door before I’d realized my feet were moving.

  “Rhion!” Johnson bellowed, slamming his fists down onto the hood of a car that had nearly clipped him.

  Alex was doing his best to stop traffic, but they were flying around him, turning that street into a real-life game of Frogger.

  The roar of blood thundered in my ears as I darted out into traffic, weaving in and out of cars as I made my way toward her. I was acting on pure instinct, unable to process the fact that she was actually there.