“And your mother would lose the last remaining marbles in her head.” I let out a loud bark of laughter, knowing the only reason my dad would let those words fall from his mouth is because my mom isn’t here. “We’d best learn how to accept the beast. Speaking of your friends, Aiden called a little while ago. Said he tried your cell, and it went straight to voice mail.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m going to get changed and then give him a call,” I say over my shoulder, already walking down the hallway toward my room.
I dig the phone out of my pocket, hit the power button, and flop back on the double mattress that was great when I was sixteen—but at six feet, with another eighty pounds of weight, I’m not sure how it even holds me anymore.
The phone rings two times before he picks up.
“Aiden Frost,” an irritated voice snaps into the phone.
“You okay?”
“Fuck, man. This new client is already busting my balls. I needed you like yesterday.”
I lift my head and slam it back on the pillow a couple of times. Aiden and I served together, fought shoulder to shoulder, protected each other’s six. He got out after his dad died to be more available for his mom.
Unlike many of our friends who got out and immediately joined mercenary groups, or what the government calls private military companies, Aiden opted to start his own business catering to the rich and spoiled. He’d extended a job offer when I first got out, but I’d scoffed; I wasn’t a glorified babysitter. But that offer didn’t sound so bad now.
Twenty-four hours on, twenty-four off. Housing, food, and travel all included. Yeah, that sounds like a train I can totally jump on right now.
“Who is it? And for how long?” I’m unable to stop the eagerness from slipping into my voice.
“Sin City and for the unforeseeable future. Their lead, singer Sinclair James, is dealing with a stalker whose behavior has been escalating over the last eight months. The other members in the band, who each think they are Billy Badass because they have had a fight or two in high school, have the illusion they can keep her safe. They’re still trying to function like a garage band with little resources and no fan base. Thank God I know their PR rep, Venetria McCullough. She recognized the crazy and gave me a call. This fucker is getting close enough to touch, and three wannabe rock stars have no idea how fucking treacherous the world can be.”
He lets out a frustrated breath.
“So, you took the job thinking it would be the typical spoiled musician gig, and it turned into . . .”
“A mess. Sinclair is good people, you know. All of them are actually really good people. They are huge, man, and they have people everywhere around them all the time. I’ve spent the first month or so filling in the gaps in their security. Creating emergency response plans and exit plans. I got contingency plans. I’ve been working with my guys on putting a barrier between them and the ravenous fucking vultures who want a piece of them. Now it’s all fine-tuning. That’s where you come in.”
“This ain’t exactly my wheelhouse, A.”
“Bullshit. Remember the security detail you ran for the ambassador in Yemen? That’s the expertise I need here. I need a motherfucker who runs into the gun fight. Who has a level head, can shoot the wing off a fly at a hundred yards and, if push comes to shove, can throw hands. This girl will be like the baby sister you never had. She’ll make you want to move mountains to keep her safe.”
I joined the military to protect and serve. I wanted to be the thing that scared the bad men of the world and made good people feel safe. Aiden just hit on all of that. He knows me better than most. We met at eighteen on the first day of bootcamp.
I wasn’t lying when I said being a bodyguard isn’t exactly my wheelhouse, but having a mission? Protecting people, that for whatever reason, are unable or unqualified, that shit is ingrained in my DNA.
I roll nonexistent options through my head. The decision is swift and easy.
“When do I start?”
Seth
SHENZHEN, CHINA
I watch from just outside the executive terminal as the sleek jet carrying my new assignment touches down on the tarmac and slowly rolls to a stop. Less than twenty-four hours ago I was in my parents’ house, having left the Marine Corps for bigger and better things on the horizon. Now I’m running out to meet an aircraft filled with celebrities. Who will probably take one look at the roughneck in the interview suit, which looks ill-fitting when compared to the expertly tailored Valentino joints that scream expensive while concealing weapons, the other guys in security are wearing, a day’s growth of facial hair because I literally just got off my own flight, and dark circles under his eyes because I read every word of every file Aiden sent over, and think, Where in the hell did they find this guy?
As the clamshell door opens and lowers, exposing the air stairs for the group to deplane, I turn on the radio. Aiden’s voice is loud in my ear, snapping out directions for the team. I adjust the sound by lowering the volume to a low hum. I ignore the sweat trickling down my spine from the burning spring sun in Shenzhen, China.
I lift a hand to my forehead to shade my eyes. My sunglasses are somewhere at the bottom of my carry-on; I didn’t have time to root through all my shit. So, I’m not just tired. I’m also damn near blind as I monitor the perimeter we have set around the plane. The other four men standing guard in sophisticated black suits have moved seamlessly into position. Shit. Aiden runs a tight ship. Even through the jet lag and being thrown into a team of people that I don’t know, I’m comfortable here. These particular men are new to me, but the structure of working with a team for a common goal is familiar, maybe even a little comforting. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the camaraderie of the men and women I served with until I arrived this morning to their shit-talking and coffee drinking.
We all move closer to the stairs, staggering ourselves on either side as the occupants deplane. First down the stairs is Sinclair James. I recognize her easily. Jesus, she’s more beautiful in person than she is on television. A petite little thing with smooth, brown skin and big, natural hair. Wearing an old school MTV T-shirt with fitted jogging pants and custom bejeweled Converse sneakers. She speaks to every person she passes, but when she gets to me, she stops. She looks at me through her sooty lashes.
“You must be the new guy Aiden told us about. I’m Sin; nice to have you on board,” she says with a broad smile, her deep dimples carving valleys in her cheeks. I extend my hand, but she pulls me into a hug. It’s brief and warm like we’re family instead of new acquaintances.
“Seth. Seth Cody,” I stammer in surprise.
“Sin, let’s roll. The car’s waiting and we have an interview at the radio station before sound check in four hours.” The irritated sound of the voice pulls my eyes from the woman in front of me to the tall figure at her back. Sin takes a step back, linking our elbows as she moves to my side.
“Seth, this is Adam. Ignore his current grumpy demeanor. It was a bumpy flight.” She winks. “Behind the cool sunglasses and pissed-off growl he’s a really good guy. On a bad day he helps me wrangle those two knuckleheads.” She tilts her head toward the other two members of the band disembarking the jet. “On a good day he helps me write songs and play some of the sweetest guitar solos you’ve ever heard.”
So, this is the Adam Beckham? I recognize him as easily as I recognized Sinclair. It’s rare to see one without the other, but where she’s warm and welcoming, this man in front of me is downright chilly.
No one would describe me as small, but Adam is two, maybe three inches taller than my almost six feet. We both have broad shoulders, but that’s where our similarities end. I’m bulky, the shape of my muscles easily defined even through layers of clothes. He’s tall and lean. His corded muscles stretch taut over his wiry frame. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with a picture of the rapper Nas on the front and dark wash jeans.
Adam pushes classic Wayfarer Ray-Bans up to rest on top of his head and his face is arresting, almost startlingly so
. His vibrant blue eyes combined with his longish, wavy blond hair, sun-kissed skin, and long, dark lashes make this man so striking I can’t help but to stare at the man like I stared at his pictures.
Damn, he’s gorgeous.
My eyes rove every inch of his sculpted face, from his high forehead to his slightly crooked nose. I take in his full, pink lips, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and his chiseled jaw, and I can’t stop my eyes from dipping down his lean, muscled frame one more time.
My perusal finally ends with his hands. A guitar player’s hands, the fingers long and elegant. Hands that would look magnificent wrapped around my shaft.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. Sorry about that. Adam Beckham, nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand. His voice is deep, a husky growl that pricks my nerves with awareness and nabs me out of my daydream. I find him examining my body in a sexy sweep that has me uncharacteristically squirming in my freshly waxed church shoes. All that ice from a moment ago is gone, melting into a sort of potent heat, and I’m . . . I’m a little uncomfortable having that attention. Not so much so that I stop looking though.
In my defense, I didn’t expect them to look like the glossy images I’ve seen on the pages of magazines. I thought that shit was airbrushed. No one looked that perfect or that flawless, but he does. He lives up to every magazine cover, every sultry gaze captured in the videos, and every fangirl squeal.
I grasp his extended hand in a firm grip, squeezing slightly.
“Seth,” I say a little too deeply.
He nods in acknowledgement before dropping my hand, but his eyes linger on mine. If this were a different setting, a club, anyplace with hidden corners and the celebratory clink of glasses, a place where the burn of smoke makes your throat raw but your whisper tempting, and the sway of bodies is hypnotic, things might play out differently.
If a man like Adam gave me a look like the one on his face right now in a place like that, I’d answer every single question in those eyes. I would coax and entice. I’d figure out what makes him tick, and I’d do it over and over. In this particular setting—my first day on the job, under these exact circumstances—said guy is not only straight and in a relationship but is in a roundabout way my boss. I’m way out of order.
Adam runs his hand through his hair, pulling the strands into a loose knot on top of his head. The movement is distracting and sultry, and once again I fixate on his hands. This is going to be a problem. Perving on the client can’t be a good thing. I let out a shaky breath and force my gaze to Sinclair for a distraction. Anything to stop the crazy train that has me picturing a thousand different ways those hands could caress my body.
“As Mr. Beckham stated, you do have a radio interview before sound check. However, we need you to hang back for just a little bit to give us time to check the station,” I say to Sinclair, attempting to get my mind back on track.
“Two things: One, we go by first names here. Sin.” She points a finger at her chest. Her head tilts to the side as she raises one sleek, shapely brow. “And Adam.” She points a thumb in his direction. “And two: Why do you need to check the station? Is everything okay?” She’s not looking at me. Her steady gaze is fixed on Adam’s.
“You know how these new guys are, Sin. Just being overly cautious,” Adam cuts in before I can answer her question.
His quick response placates her. Their conversation drifts from security sweeps to topics they’ll touch on for the upcoming interview.
On the flights over, I took a crash course in all things Sin City. I stayed up all night going over the band members’ personal files Aiden emailed. It’s a steep learning curve. To keep them safe I’ll need to get familiar not only with the band members and their proclivities, but also the type of people drawn to them and what kind of threat, if any, those people pose.
Ian Foster is the man who in the last eight months has become fixated on Sinclair James in a way that makes my stomach curl. Especially when I read some of the inventive ways he’s attempted to contact her. He is definitely in the threat category. So why doesn’t she know about the stalker who is quite literally chasing her ass around the globe?
Daniel Xu, the drummer, bounds down the stairs, his bone-straight black hair hanging almost to his waist. He’s wearing a yellow leather jacket, which hangs open over his smooth chest and green camouflage shorts. He sports an easy grin, his coal-colored eyes teasing when he reaches us.
“Sin-a-sticks, I didn’t know you were so filthy. I had to finish that last chapter and wait for my dick to deflate before I stepped off the plane. What happened to the books where members pulsated and flower petals unfolded? I just read a line that said, and I quote, ‘He pounded her pussy animal-style.’ Me likey. I need more. What are we reading next?”
He slings his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. Looking at me, he extends his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Daniel. Mr. Xu if you’re nasty.” He does a perfect Janet Jackson imitation, moving his head and arms in some awkward dance move.
“Seth Cody. Nice to meet you.”
“Said no one ever.” Miles Anderson, the last member of the band, joins our group.
“Miles,” he says. “And I don’t care if you’re nasty.” His skin is polished ebony and his smirk is as smug as a fox. We shake hands, but his buzzing cell phone immediately captures his attention. He answers the FaceTime call and walks away without another word.
“You’re just loud for no damn reason. We’re not reading anything else if you can’t keep your mouth shut. I’m not trying to have everyone know I like to read . . .” Sin’s raspy voice falls off, her embarrassment evident in her lowered eyes and her fingers toying with the hair just above her ears.
“Porn? Triple X-rated smut? All you need is some music, a little bow chicka wah wah, and a billionaire. I thought women wanted the pool boy or the delivery man who brings the pizza with a little extra pepperoni,” Dan continues, oblivious to Sin’s discomfort.
“Extra pepperoni? What kind of porn are you watching where people still show up to the door with extra pepperoni?” Adam laughs.
“The kind with fucking.” Dan pistons his hips back and forth, mimicking loud porno moans.
“If that’s how you fuck, I’m surprised at the amount of pussy you get,” Adam says with a smirk.
“Don’t worry, brother, my women are sat-is-fied. I’ve been taking notes from Sin’s books. Game changer!”
“Not hardly,” Sin says with a roll of her eyes. “Women need . . .”
“Pussy pounding?” he quips.
All three laugh, their closeness apparent in their easy banter. Miles and Sin walk toward the convoy of vehicles waiting to cart them all to the next destination. I’m left alone with Adam, his pointed gaze heavy on the side of my face.
“Seth, right?”
“Right.”
“I know you’re new here, but Sin doesn’t need to know about security sweeps or stalkers or any of the other things that are outside of her control. She’s sensitive to that kind of shit. You know? Between me, Dan, and Miles we’ve always managed to keep us safe. The only reason any of you is here”—his head swivels around the perimeter security has set up—“is because our publicist,Ven, thinks we’re getting too big not to have a security detail. Sin needs you because of that crazy motherfucker Ian Foster. What she doesn’t need is you scaring her half to death. You find anything, bring it to me. Something needs to be addressed, I’ll address it.”
“The better informed she is, the easier it’ll be to protect her. She’ll be more alert, which will help us . . .”
Adam shakes his head, dismissing what I’m about to say and pulls his sunglasses from his hair as he walks toward the blacked-out SUV, ending any chance of argument from me. He stops before sliding and looks at me over his shoulder. His chiseled features harden into a determined mask.
“They”—he thumbs over his shoulder toward the black Escalades—“don’t deal with threats, Seth. I make sure of it.” Adam disappe
ars into the back seat of the center SUV, joining the other members of his band, and pulls the door closed behind him. With the dark tinted windows, it’s impossible to see inside. I’m left standing on the tarmac dumbfounded because he’s serious.
If we weren’t discussing his friends, if he had experience, any experience, maybe his puffed-up chest and bravado would be warranted. But street smarts, which I’m sure he has after reading his file, aren’t the same as tactical knowledge. He’s too damn close to see the entire board, and too inexperienced to react with any type of speed. His boasting will eventually get someone killed, and I’ll be damned if it happens on my watch.
“Seth, move your ass. We gotta get ’em outta here.” I hear Aiden’s voice in my ear. He’s been in the lead vehicle with a laptop, mapping out the next leg of our journey and coordinating security’s presence at each point. I jog over to a third SUV, the follow vehicle, and jump in the front passenger seat.
Aiden shoots me a couple of looks as we drive.
“You’re quiet,” Aiden says, glancing over.
“Just trying to wrap my head around the personalities.” One delusional, fine as hell, noticeably bossy, used to getting his own way personality man in particular. “I think I just got reprimanded for telling Sinclair we have to check the building for safety before they do the interview. She was shocked, like the idea had never occurred to her. I know you said they’re all a little sheltered, but this degree of ignorance is dangerous.”
He shakes his head. “That’s why they have us. To stand between them and all the fucking vultures out there that want a piece of them.”
“Even the blond with the attitude?”
“Especially him. Adam’s trained the other three to believe he’s got this, but you and I both know he ain’t got shit. If he knew of even half the threats directed at Sin, he’d lose his shit.”
“So those two are . . .”
“Super tight,” he says before I finish my question. Sure, let’s go with that. Not exactly my question. It’s obvious they’re super tight, but I’m more curious if they’re a couple. They’ve been paired up in every rag mag for the last couple of years, but that look Adam gave me damn well didn’t say committed or relationship or even straight or girlfriend.
Exquisitely Hidden: A Sin City Tale Page 2
