Another Round

by Belaire, Nikki

  Which pretty much guarantees I’m not going to. But even I realize there’s nothing I can do that will make him change his mind. No one is more stubborn than my father.

  Surprise bolts through me from the name popping up on my screen. I haven’t talked to Nick DeMarco in probably more than twenty years and never really expected to again. I abandoned that world a long time ago, but I always respected DeMarco so I’ll give him the courtesy of answering. Especially because of the leg work it must have taken for his team to track me down for him. I set my mug on the table and swipe my mobile off the glass top. “This wasn’t a call I was ever expecting to get, mate.”

  He matches my chuckle, which is a good sign. He wouldn’t be so jovial if he needed me as desperately as he did the last time I worked for him.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

  “Well fuck Nick, I’m not that old.”

  “Yeah you are.”

  It’s true. At least it feels like it sometimes. Somehow aging from twenty-four to forty-five in what seems like just minutes. Other days, when I can’t stop thinking about how things should’ve been, death can’t come for me fast enough. “How’s that beautiful wife of yours?”

  Guarding Shae was one of my most unusual, yet also my most favorite jobs. I stayed way longer than I ever intended or should have. But she was sweet, the money was great, and I only had to kill a few arseholes to keep her safe.

  “Perfect as always.”

  Can’t fault him for being enamored even after all this time. Nothing wrong with a man so utterly in love with his wife, especially when he’ll do anything and everything he can to protect her. “Would she say the same thing about you?”

  “Yeah, but we both know she’d be lying.”

  We laugh again. He’s a lot more mellow than he used to be. A good woman who gives you the family life you didn’t even know you wanted does that to you. Bittersweet how true I know that is. How much I miss it. How much I should have appreciated it before it was stolen from me.

  “But it’s my daughter Evie who I need help with this time.”

  The only birth, besides my son’s, that I ever witnessed. I knew even then that baby would give her father hell when she refused to breathe until I dragged my fingernail down her tiny pink heel and made her scream to life with fury. I was right then, and he’s paying the price now. Luckily he can’t see my smug grin. He doesn’t need me rubbing my accurate prediction of her personality in his face. Especially when I hear the worry pulsing in his tone. “I guess she’s not doing as well as her mum then.”

  “Looks just like her, but she’s got my personality.”

  “Then you really are screwed.”

  “Fuck if I don’t know it.”

  No offense intended on my part or taken on his because we both know how stubborn, calculating, and deadly he is. Those same traits in a young woman have got to be a nightmare. Yet despite everything I’ve ever wanted to the contrary, I have absolutely zero parenting experience. Nothing I can do for him or for her.

  “Some piss ant bastard punched her when she called him out for cheating on her best friend.”

  That comment ends my sentimental musing. Fire burns through me as he fills me in on the details of what happened, and the fingers of my free hand instantly curl into a fist. I don’t even know her since I left the job when she was only a few months old. But I do know how much I despise men who hurt women. Triggering my need to end them for their mistreatment as painfully as possible.

  “So she’s let herself become a damn punching bag because she thinks she can be me. That she can run this family someday when all I want is for her to get the hell out of this life.”

  When he says ‘this family’ he means the family. As the most powerful mob boss on the west coast and half of Mexico, neither DeMarco nor his daughter should be trifled with. Anyone who does is a damn lunatic with a desire to die. “The punk who hit her is what twenty or twenty-one?”

  I don’t kill kids, but if this one’s of age I don’t mind taking the job at all.

  “Twenty-two. But I’ve already taken care of him. Now it’s Evie I need to worry about.”

  Beat me to the punch, literally. But I still don’t understand how I can help him since I’m retired, and he doesn’t need the only skills I really have.

  “I’ve sheltered her. Probably more than I should have. She doesn’t realize there’s a different world out there that she doesn’t know about.”

  Still uncertain about my part in resolving his problem, I let him talk. Since I realize this is the first conversation I’ve had with another human being besides myself in weeks.

  “All she knows is wealth and bodyguards and us. Hell, she’s never even been outside of California except for our beach house.”

  I let myself smirk again from his modest description of the huge mansion he built on the private island he bought for his wife as a wedding present. That they fly to on one of his private jets, only to be taken care of by dutiful servants and protected by a high-tech security system that I helped install. If what he says is true, then his daughter really has no idea how almost everyone else lives.

  “I realize I need to let her get some life experience. Maybe get a job. Do things for herself. Struggle a little. She’s got a good heart, but she’s just too naive and doesn’t understand why I want more for her.”

  Which, I imagine, is what most normal, loving parents wish for their kids. Hopeful their children find viable jobs, good spouses, and enjoy an easier life than they had. Unable to be described as normal in any sense of the word, he just wants to keep her alive. A mafia princess doesn’t easily ascend the throne to be queen or survive long with the crown if deemed weak or vulnerable. “I don’t envy you mate.”

  “I need your help to keep her safe since she won’t stop trying to prove to me she can handle succeeding me.”

  Immune to guilt in most circumstances and for most people, I’m surprised I actually feel a little bit contrite for denying Nick. I like him and love his gracious wife, but not enough to go back to work for them. I’ve had more than enough of la la land. “I’m out of the game. I haven’t worked in years and really don’t want to spend any more time in Los Angeles.”

  “What if she comes there?”

  There.

  Here.

  The last thing I was expecting him to suggest. I glance down through the heavy black wrought iron rails of my small balcony at the intricate pattern of brown and gold stones filling the curved lane. Quiet this late in the morning except for the gurgling fountain with most of the commuters who fill the coffee houses and huddle around the food trucks for breakfast burritos at work already. Leaving only an older couple power walking in their bright white sneakers toward the riverfront and a mother pushing a humongous pram with a babbling toddler toward the entrance of the children’s museum. Likely unaware the attraction doesn’t open for another hour.

  I guess my lack of protest encourages him to keep going.

  “I’ve found her an internship…”

  Bribed and coerced rather than found, would be my guess.

  “…and rented her the loft next to yours.”

  Not really a loft. Just old storage space renovated into a couple of studio apartments above newly opened storefronts as they revitalize the downtown that almost died away.

  “She’ll think she’s safe in a small city like yours, and she will be—with you watching over her.”

  Sixty-thousand people isn’t small, but I guess compared to L.A. it’s practically rural.

  “She arrives on Saturday.”

  Three fucking days from now. He must be kidding me because I know he’s kidding himself. This is never going to work, and I’m sure as hell not going to say yes.

  “I’ve already deposited five hundred grand into your account to get started. Let me know what it’s going to take to keep it going and I’ll—”

  “Damn it Nick! It’s not about the money.”

  “Don’t you think I k
now that?” He sounds almost as frustrated as I feel. Which is typical irony for him, when he’s the one asking me for the favor, to be shitty. “But I have to give her a chance to live.”

  Fuck. I should be pissed. Furious as hell for all of his assumptions. For all of his manipulation. For all of his arrogance. But for some damn reason, that I don’t fully understand myself, I’m not.

  All I can think about is my son Aiden, and the chance he never had. The chance my wife stole from him. The chance she never gave me to help her or save him.

  I jerk to my feet. Needing to surface from the anguish threatening to drown me from the unexpected reminder of them. Of the grief choking my oxygen. Of the misery wrapping around my dead heart.

  “Shae only agreed to let me do this if you accepted. She doesn’t trust anyone outside the family except for you to protect Evie. But you know her, she’ll always think of you as family too after all you did for us.”

  Yeah, a friend for life with that one and her overly generous heart. And this fucker’s smart enough to exploit the weakness of my admiration for her against me. “You’re a bastard for using her belief in me to try and talk me into this.”

  “I know.”

  Damn it. Damn him. Damn this fucking world. “Tell her I appreciate the inclusion.”

  I blow out a long breath. Lying to myself that I’ll do this for her and for him and for their daughter.

  But really, it’s for me.

  Because I’m curious. I’m intrigued. I’m bored as fuck and need something to do before I lose what’s left of my ravished mind. Because being so alone and aimless is fucking killing me as much as a bullet to my damn brain. “Fine. I’ll do it. But the first time it’s any kind of problem, if she’s nothing but a brat, I’m out. I don’t have the patience I used to.”

  All bullshit on my part. I’ve never had any patience to begin with, and now I’ve got nothing but time. Nothing but freedom. Nothing but loneliness to keep me company or busy.

  “Agreed.”

  I’m one stupid, sloppy, sappy motherfucker. “Tell Shae I’ll take good care of Evie for her.”

  “Thank you. From both of us.”

  Rare gratitude from a man unfamiliar with ever having to be at the mercy of anyone besides his spouse. He actually sounds sincere and a little bit relieved. Which makes me question myself once again. What the hell have I really gotten myself into?

  Sweat beads drip from my forehead onto the smooth silver face when I glance down to check the time. She should be here in less than thirty minutes which means I need to hurry my arse up. Three days of securing her apartment has kept me hustling. And reminding me it’s been a long time since I’ve worked this hard—mentally or physically. I roll my aching shoulders back and stand to stretch my legs. Feels good to actually have a purpose. A reason to get up. A goal to motivate me beyond my pathetic solitary existence.

  I click through each of the camera shots one last time as I scrutinize the perimeter. Confirming all the feeds work and the lens mounts are almost invisible if you didn’t know to search for them. Which hopefully she won’t. Not in her new town, new job, new place whirlwind.

  Every square inch of both the interior and exterior is monitored. Probably a lot of overkill with multiple angles overlapping multiple angles, but if she hangs up any kinds of curtains or picture frames or decorations, I’ll still be able to see everything she does. Catch anyone that tries to come in. Eliminate any danger before she’s even aware there’s a problem.

  Satisfied with my set up, I click my laptop closed and stride back to my own studio. Laying my long-neglected tool belt on the gray concrete countertop in my narrow galley kitchen so I can put everything away once I give her a tour of her new home.

  I chuckle to myself as I strip on the way to the shower. My first acting gig, playing a nosy landlord to my one and only tenant. Hopefully she’ll be accepting of me being up in her business all the time. Maybe not quite as overbearing as her own father but probably just as annoying.

  Damn if I’m not actually smiling as I lather up. For no real reason except I realize how much I’ve missed working. Even more so without the travel or risk or mess. No battles with customs or sneaking past muscled head blokes or cleaning myself of blood and guts from the decimated bodies.

  Thanks to Nick I’ve got another easy job with great money and a young woman who I hope is as docile as her mother. Well from his description, probably not. Two out of three isn’t bad I guess.

  After I dry off, I pull on a tee shirt and jeans. Actually questioning if that’s appropriate apparel for a landlord. In past assignments, I’ve compared Glocks to Sigs as the best weapon for the job. Now I’m wondering if khakis or denim are better options. Fuck if I haven’t turned soft.

  My mobile pings next to my razor, and I swipe the screen. Quick update from the driver that he’s dropped her off as close as he can to our building. I move to the window with my weapon in my back waistband. Just in case there’s any trouble from the curb to our entrance. I text Nick while I wait.

  Andy: She’s here.

  Nick: Keep me updated.

  I roll my eyes from his terse reply. Always demanding, as if I’m not going to keep in constant communication since that’s what he’s paying me for.

  The clatter of tiny black wheels from her peach colored suitcase echoes across the cobblestone of the pedestrian path. Closed years ago to any vehicles so visitors could enjoy the shops, restaurants, and bars without worry of watching for traffic. But it’s all I can do to watch her.

  She’s unbelievably gorgeous.

  More than I ever imagined or expected.

  I don’t know jack about fashion. But most of her beauty seems natural with a few expensive touches. Long dark hair highlighted with almost blond streaks. More make-up than necessary or I like, and thick, full eyelashes I don’t think can be real. Yet she wears a simple off the shoulder white dress with a wide band of dark pink around her thighs that makes her look sophisticated despite how tiny she is. Overall, pretty low key for someone from Hollywood.

  After a few steps, she slows. Scanning the dark red brick, she pauses to check the numbers painted over the entrance. My breath actually fucking catches in my chest when she looks directly at me. Busting me as I scrutinize her. Almost as if she senses me observing her. She seems unconcerned, giving me a genuine grin and small wave before picking up her pace again.

  What the actual fuck? I’m a damn mercenary. A trained killer surviving all those missions by never being seen. An expert at in, out, and gone. And now here I am fucking caught by a woman not even anticipating my presence. Damn.

  A sharp triple chime pings to alert me that she’s entered the stairwell. A new security mechanism I’ve installed for her that I’m not used to yet, but accept just the same as part of my job.

  I go ahead and open my door before she knocks. No sense pretending it wasn’t me inspecting her through the bullet proof glass I used to replace the old thin panes. The same easy smile lights up her beautiful face as she offers me her hand. Soft and delicate despite her confident grip within my fingers. An odd feeling stirs in my chest from her touch. This overwhelming need to protect her and not just because it’s my job or her father’s paying me to. Except at this rate I’m probably the bloke she needs protecting from.

  “I’m Evie. You must be Andy.”

  Fuck me if I don’t love her assertiveness. Friendly and pleasant but not afraid to take the lead even with a man twice her age. Hell, I’m not sure if I’m even a man anymore the way I’ve been acting so pansy arse in the last two minutes. I’ll have to check that I’ve still got my god damn balls after she leaves.

  “Pleasure to meet you love. Glad you made it safe.”

  That comment earns me a cute smirk before she laughs. Knowing and indulgent. “As if my Dad would really let me be alone and unprotected for even a second.”

  I play dumb. Keeping a blank expression on my face. Or at least attempting to, because at this point I’m not sure I actua
lly remember how to feign innocence, since I seem to have lost all my finesse with her.

  “He thinks I’m stupid, but I know exactly what he’s doing with all of this.”

  She’s smart. Way more than he gives her credit for. Maybe a little bit insulted too with the hurt drawing down her face. I don’t trivialize her feelings. Unwilling to be dismissive of her opinion, I decide to be just as direct.

  “Not stupid.” Her head tilts to the side from my description. Disagreeing with my assertion. Which, for some strange and unknown reason, I like her challenging me. “Naïve.”

  Striking blue eyes flick to mine. Intense with the wisdom of someone who’s witnessed death and destruction on the regular from her father’s world, although still innocent enough not to be completely jaded by the damaging exposure. Yet.

  “I’m not naïve.”

  I acquiesce to the adamancy of her tone. “Poor choice of words on my part. How about inexperienced?”

  Her small body softens from the olive branch I extend, and she offers a slow nod of agreement. With the desire to battle, at least against me, suppressed, she shrugs. “I guess so.”

  “Since we agree you’re not stupid or naïve, how about we level with each other about everything else? What do you know?”

  My admission coaxes another authentic smile from her, matching my own from her amiably. She releases the handle of her suitcase, a tell that proves she trusts me. That she’s more comfortable now that we’re being honest with each other. Just like I am.

  “He’s paying you to watch over me, and you’re going to report back to him everything I do and say. Any little mistake or problem and you’ll be—”

  “True….” Absolute conviction in her tone and her expression until I interrupt. “…except the second part.”

  Her slender arms cross over her chest in silent protest. Disbelief lining her face as the burgeoning friendship between us quickly fades. “I know my Dad.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t know me. I’ll only tell what he needs to know. Only what he really cares about. Which is that you’re safe.”