by Aly Martinez
When Patterson’s Personal Security shut down, it left over fifty of California’s best scrambling for a position. Despite the fact that I’d been highly successful in my three-plus years working in personal security, I hadn’t figured I’d had a shot in hell at Guardian Protection’s only opening. Yet I’d been hired without so much as an interview. One day, I had been unemployed; the next, a new-hire packet had landed in my mailbox.
Needless to say, I’d taken the job.
“Word is right,” I confirmed.
He nodded, picking up two floral plates and then passing one my way. “You’ll love it here. Leo’s good people. Though I should warn you. The bullshit here isn’t much better than the bullshit out in LA.”
“Were you out there too?” I asked curiously.
The flinch was almost imperceptible, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide it. “Yeah. Just some private security. No one special. Anyway…where are you living?”
No one special my ass. As much as I wanted to press, I didn’t need anyone returning the favor and prying into my past.
I shuffled forward with the line. “Currently? A hotel.”
He sucked in a low whistle. “That’s gotta suck. Let me know if you need help finding a place. I’d be happy to ask around for you.”
“That’d be great. I’m paying a small fortune to keep my shit in a storage unit.”
He chuckled. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna be paying a small fortune to keep your shit in your apartment when you get a place here.”
I sighed. From what I’d seen on the market so far, he was not wrong.
“You got a family?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Divorced.”
“Ouch. Well, a one-bedroom shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Two bedrooms,” I corrected.
He arched an eyebrow. “Kids?”
How did I answer that? April and I had never had any kids. Thank the Lord for that miracle, considering she’d started trying without my knowledge before we had even gotten married. But I’d Jerry McGuire’d that woman so fucking hard. She’d had an eight-year-old when we first met, and truth be told, I fell in love with that little girl long before I did her mother. Despite the fact that we only stayed married for two years, Valerie was very much mine.
“Something like that,” I mumbled evasively.
“Gotcha,” Devon whispered, taking the hint and turning around to end the inquisition.
When we reached the food, I took just enough not to seem rude and then made my way over to the seats, where Sarah had placed two cups of coffee. Devon settled beside me with a plate tall enough to rival Everest.
A loud wolf whistle sounded at the front of the room as Leo appeared, his arms filled with folders.
“Where the fuck is Johnson?” he boomed, shaking his head and dropping the stack of files on the end of the table. “Can someone give him a call and tell him to get his ass in here? I don’t have all day.” It was an order, but not a single person reached for their phone.
The new-hire packet had had a list of at least thirty numbers with specific instructions to program them into my phone. Aidan Johnson was one I remembered.
After bringing up my contacts, I pressed send and then called out, “On it.”
Swear to God I heard a round of forks hitting their plates and all eyes turned to me.
“You must be Levitt.” Leo grinned and crossed his thick arms over his chest.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, rising to my full height, my phone still held to my ear.
“Nice to finally meet you, son. Patterson had great things to say about you.”
The drone of an unanswered phone rang in my ear. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”
His grin faded as the ringing was no longer only in my ear, but rather, behind me.
Like right fucking behind me.
I didn’t have time to react before my phone was snatched from my hand. I spun, coming face-to-face with a man who looked like he belonged on the inside of a jail cell more than he did leisurely standing in Guardian Protection. His eyes were so dark that I couldn’t see the pupils, and thick, black gauges stretched his ears. Short, dark hair covered his inked skull, those same tattoos running down the left side of his neck, into his collar, and out the sleeve of his black T-shirt, which barely stretched over his barrel chest. The ogre didn’t have me in height, but I didn’t have to look down to know he outweighed me.
If Devon was the typical bodyguard, this guy would have been the black sheep never allowed to leave the security room.
But there he stood, inches from my face, waves of pissed-off energy radiating off him.
“Johnson, I assume,” I stated.
He didn’t move.
I blankly stared at him. “So this is how we’re gonna play it today?”
“Who’s playing, Goldilocks?”
I kept my expression tight. “Right. Because of the hair. Fucking ingenious.”
He shrugged, and his lips split in a cocky grin. “Sit the fuck down.”
“Give me my phone,” I demanded.
He inched closer until our chests bumped. “Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”
“Give. Me. My. Fucking. Phone.”
His smile fell, and he menacingly narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna need to have this phone surgically removed from your spleen if you don’t shut the fuck up and sit down.”
Seriously? Was this the high school cafeteria?
I maintained my stoic expression and retorted, “I’ll take my chances.”
He chuckled humorlessly. “See, I was starting to like you for a minute there. But, now, you’re pissin’ me off.”
I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Sounds like a personal problem.”
His jaw clenched. “Right. Well, now, it’s your problem too,” he said seconds before lifting his hand to the side and dropping my phone into my coffee cup.
And there was my answer: Yes. Yes, we were in fucking high school.
“Jesus Christ!” Leo boomed.
I gave Johnson no reaction. Refusing to feed the beast, I held his stare without blinking. Dealing with egotistical assholes was a large part of my job description. And, while he wasn’t a client, the moment I’d walked through those doors, I had officially been on the clock. It was an inconvenient and completely unfortunate fact, considering that my fists ached to wipe the smug grin off his face as he sauntered away.
Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath. Ten minutes in and I was already regretting my decision to blindly accept the job. It was bad enough I was homeless, missing Valerie, and running on a week’s worth of nightmare-induced sleepless nights. Now, I had to deal with this bullshit too?
I opened my eyes when Leo called out to no one in particular, “Can someone get Jude a company phone?” He then stabbed a finger at Johnson. “That shit’s coming out of your check.”
Johnson shrugged, not giving the first damn.
“Right… I probably should have mentioned in the welcome packet that Johnson’s a dick before noon,” Leo muttered.
Sitting back down, I mumbled, “Yeah. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Before noon?” Devon called. “Don’t lie to the man! He’s always a dick.”
The room erupted into laughter.
Johnson’s eyebrows shot up as he grabbed his crotch. “I got one you can suck, Devon.”
Devon leaned back in his chair and casually crossed his legs ankle to knee. “I find myself in need of a toothpick, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Oh God, Aidan,” Sarah groaned. “I’m standing right here.”
“Sorry, babe,” Johnson said, giving her hip a squeeze before moving to the nearly empty buffet to make a plate.
Leo shook his head and ran an exasperated hand through his thick, black hair. “Everyone got that shit out of their system? We gonna pretend to be grown-ass men now so I can get started?”
Johnson sauntered over behind me, used his fork to stab a piece of bacon off my plate
, and then propped himself on a shoulder next to the window. “By all means, boss man. Get to it.”
Leo pinned him with a pointed scowl. “As I was saying.” He dropped his gaze to me. “Welcome to Guardian Protection, Jude.”
Chapter Three
Rhion
I. Was. Back.
I’d written nearly thirty thousand words in the last four days. It wasn’t exactly a record for me. I’d once written an entire eighty-thousand-word book in four days. I also hadn’t slept, eaten, or showered, but as far as I was concerned, it was a small price to pay for typing The End.
However, these recent words were more cherished than most. Because they came after an eight-week dry spell. For some, a few weeks off after finishing a book was considered a well-deserved break.
But writing was my job.
How I earned my money.
How I kept my sanity.
Coincidentally, it was also what drove me insane. But that’s neither here nor there.
Writing was who I was.
And, for anyone, losing such a huge piece of themselves would be staggering.
For me, it was agony.
It gave me time to think.
About the future.
And worse—the past.
But, thanks to Margaret’s latest stunt, I’d found myself again. It was worth every single penny of the ten grand I’d sent her on Tuesday.
It was now Friday—the one day a week when I dropped everything and carved out much-needed time for myself. I would force myself to do my hair, put on makeup, pants without an elastic waistband, and a pair of kickass heels, and get the hell out of my apartment. And, this morning, I’d done just that. Well, minus the hair, as I’d scheduled an appointment for later that afternoon.
I was standing at the elevator, juggling a mile-high pile of breakfast pastries, bagels, and several vats of cream cheese when the door to the stairway slammed closed.
I breathed a sigh of relief as his heavy footfalls approached.
“Little help here,” I called out.
And then my entire body locked when a tattoo-free arm stretched toward me. It was only the briefest of seconds before I recognized his voice. But it was more than enough time for my heart to lurch into my throat and all the blood to drain from my face.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Devon asked, taking the boxes from my hands.
I mentally chastised my overactive imagination and did my best to get myself back together. “Yeah. I’m good.” I added a laugh to really sell it.
He eyed me warily for a moment but then let it go. “Why don’t you have this shit delivered to us instead of carrying it down from your apartment?”
I pasted on a snarky smile. “Because then everyone would stop asking me that question. I’ve grown quite fond of it over the last two years.”
Yes, I could have had breakfast delivered to the door of Guardian Protection. It wasn’t like the bakery would charge me an extra delivery fee for going one floor up. But, if I did that, I wouldn’t have gotten to spend the morning bullshitting with my guys before they had to head out on their assignments.
Writing was a solitary career, but with Guardian so close, I’d never felt alone. Leo and the entire Guardian crew had adopted me the day Johnson had first escorted me through the front doors.
They’d never looked back.
And neither had I.
I dug my access card from my back pocket and waved it in front of the elevator sensor. “Where’s Johnson?”
Devon looked down at me and grinned. “He got busy, so he sent me to help your stubborn ass bring up breakfast.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
His teasing grin warmed reassuringly. “Your little boyfriend’s fine. We’ve got a new guy and he and Leo were prepping him for his first assignment.”
I nodded, unconvinced. Aidan Johnson was never too busy for me—even when he was.
I tapped the toe of my red-soled pump against Devon’s dress shoe. “You might not want to let him hear you calling him my little boyfriend.”
When the elevator arrived, I took a step inside, holding my arm in the door so it wouldn’t shut.
“But thanks for helping,” I said. “There’s a special chocolate croissant in it for you.”
His mouth fell open as he slowly turned his head to me. “So that’s why he helps you every week.”
I laughed and pressed the button. “Actually, no. I do strip aerobics on Friday mornings before breakfast. He likes to come watch.”
His dark eyes widened as he breathed, “Shut the fuck up. Seriously?”
I shook my head and laughed harder. “No. It’s totally the chocolate croissant.”
He bumped me with his shoulder. “I was about to be pissed I was missing the show.”
“You should be. I’m fucking killer on a pole. I’ve won the Chicago Strip Club Championship for three years in a row.”
The elevator door opened and I exited.
Devon didn’t follow me. “No fucking way.”
“Don’t look so surprised. If it hadn’t been for that trifling ho oiling the stage, it would have been four years in a row.”
The shock remained on his face as he slowly stepped out of the elevator. “Did you just call someone a trifling ho?”
I nodded and kept talking over my shoulder as I walked toward the door. “Yep. And don’t get me started on the year before, when she sabotaged me by putting fiberglass in my body glitter. I was itching for a week. I swear, if I hadn’t been sleeping with three of the judges, I wouldn’t have had a shot in hell that year.”
I smiled to myself when his footsteps came to a sudden halt.
“You’re fucking with me,” he stated in disbelief.
“I wish I were.” I flashed my card at the door and pushed it wide, a rush of warm air enveloping me.
There was something about Guardian Protection that eased my soul in ways I hadn’t experienced since my father had died. It was more than just a security firm. Inside that apartment-slash-office, I felt a luxury I had rarely been afforded over the last few years—absolute safety. No one could touch me when I was with my guys.
Not even Apollo.
Devon walked straight to the table and set the mountain of boxes down before turning back to me. “I’m calling bullshit.”
“You can call whatever you want, but I’ve never been able to trust glitter again.”
He narrowed his eyes, and a wicked grin pulled at one side of his mouth. “See, as much as I think you’re full of shit, I’m really enjoying the idea of Rhion the stripper.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Grant. Let me hear you call her a stripper again,” was drawled in a Southern accent behind me.
I turned to find Alex striding my way. I could have used a lot of colorful adjectives to describe the men of Guardian Protection. But there was only one way to describe Alex Pearson: strong and silent. He was Mr. All-American. Clean cut. Southern gentleman. Former college football player. Handsome in that boy-next-door way. Well, that is if you lived next door to a family of giants. Alex was fucking HUGE. Six-six and, I swear, nearly as wide as he was tall.
I craned my head back. “Good morning to you, too.”
He went straight to the box of bagels, reached in, and pulled three out. “How’d Bible study go this morning?”
“Bible study!” Devon laughed, arching his eyebrow at me. “Was this before or after the strip show?”
“Who’s stripping?” Braydon asked, sauntering in and reaching around Alex to grab a muffin from the pastry box.
Braydon Hughes was the youngest of the Guardian crew. He was tall and well-built but much more on the lanky side of the spectrum compared to Alex. While Braydon and I weren’t particularly close, I still thought he was extremely charming and a blast to hang out with. So much so that I managed to overlook the fact that he was a raging womanizer. Though I probably should have been offended that he’d never hit on me. Not even before he had known that Johnson would have ripped hi
s arms off.
“No one,” Alex growled at the same time Devon answered, “Rhion.”
Braydon smirked, popping his sexy, sexy—dear God, it bears repeating—sexy dimple. “What happened? You getting out of the cake-decorating business?”
“We got cake today?” Lark asked, lifting the lid on the box. His thick shoulders fell when he found the usual.
“Sorry,” I laughed at his disappointment. The man loved his sweets. “Have an apple fritter,” I suggested.
Jeremy Lark was the resident family man at Guardian. He had to have been at least forty, but he still had a head full of thick, auburn hair. He loved to brag about it to all of the guys who had so much as a hint of a receding hairline. He’d settled down later in life, saying he hadn’t found the right woman before. And, clearly, he still hadn’t, because six months ago, he’d gotten a divorce. It made me a bad person, but I was happy at the news. Mainly because his ex-wife was a raging bitch. But also because he had three-year-old twin girls he got from their mother every other weekend. And, if Lark was called in on one of those days, he’d drop the girls off with me. I got a whole day of princesses, ponytails, junk food, and painted nails.
“Rhion’s apparently a stripper. But don’t worry. She manages to fit this in between running a Bible study and her cake-decorating business,” Devon filled in.
Lark tipped his head to the side and then asked around a mouthful of fritter, “Does that mean you’re giving up the tattoo shop?”
I laughed as they all stared at me. They were thoroughly perplexed but not fazed enough to stop shoving food into their mouths.
I turned to make my escape. “Right. Well, I should probably let Johnson know breakfast is here.”
Devon caught my arm. “Not until you reward me for my chivalry by way of a chocolate croissant.”
“Don’t you dare give that asshole my croissant,” Johnson rumbled as he rounded the corner.
I spun to face him, my smile growing wide as I laid eyes on him. Aidan Johnson was hot in the most unorthodox way possible. He may not have resembled the Prince Charming little girls dreamed about, but he’d never once walked into a room without turning the head of every woman there. He sure as hell had turned mine the day he had shown up at my door, reporting for duty.
