by Imani King
“Maggie and Venus took good care of you last night, huh,” he said, more of a statement than a question. “The infamous Red, fucking and fighting like his life depended on it.”
I grinned halfheartedly. In my line of work, settling down wasn’t really an option, and certainly not now. Not with the threat of being exposed. And if it was, it was a dangerous one. For a lot of reasons. Art didn’t wait for an answer. He never did. The rich little fuck rubbed his hand over his bald head, and he had that look on his face like he was working something out. I shifted in my chair and looked down. I’d need to run from Los Angeles, and soon. It had been a good twelve years here, but I’d started to draw attention. And as soon as Art found that shit out, I’d be fucking finished.
“There’s a few guys I owe a little bit to. Some people with the cartel. Now, you know I got the money, but I’m not really keen on digging into the offshore accounts to get the shit taken care of,” said Art, rubbing his head like he was trying to generate good luck. “I need you to take care of those guys, Red. They’re out-of-towners. They got no idea how it works around here, not in L.A. I think it might be easy for them to get confused, get lost somehow… not make it back home to their own little empires.” There was something in his face, something secret, hidden. A chill ran over me. I couldn’t afford any sort of involvement with the cartel, not before the FBI figured out who I really was. And fuck, it was only a matter of time.
“You don’t normally mess with shit like this, Art.” I tried to keep the worried look off of my face. I didn’t mind collecting money from the folks Art had under his protection, and I didn’t mind getting Art’s girls out of the ridiculous bullshit they got themselves into. Drugs and “entertaining” high-rolling directors and leading men. I could deal with black eyes and overdoses any day. And the occasional disposal of a criminal piece of Hollywood trash who wouldn’t be missed. But eliminating people involved with a cartel? That wasn’t a normal beatdown or even a clean kill. It left me exposed in a way I couldn’t afford. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d have to do it, for now. After that, I was heading for the fucking hills.
“Maybe I’m expanding my horizons,” he said.
I might get well and truly fucked up in the line of duty, but Art had deep pockets. And it was easy for me to turn on the cool. To tune out any of the emotional shit that went along with running art’s Hollywood empire. Art kept my bank account very full, and I turned a blind eye to all of the very illegal shit.
“I don’t pay you to ask questions, Red,” he said, a furrow growing in his forehead.
“Wasn’t a question. Just an observation.” I leaned back in my chair and brushed my hand over my crisp shirt. I’d do what I had to, and it would pay for all of the things that made my life far more than comfortable, maybe help pave a way for me to leave, even if Art had access to most of my damn money.
“Well, I’ll give you more information as the week goes on. Gabi is home today, and I keep her away from all this shit. These guys that I owe … they’ve got a lot of connections in town. So you’ll be accompanying Gabi to the shindig I have planned for her tonight. Just as a precaution. I wouldn’t want her to end up hurt, or worse.” He raised an eyebrow.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Being a bodyguard wasn’t part of my job description. Sure, I was muscle. Sure I looked after his girls—from a distance. I fixed things—I took action against the people who fucked with Art. But that usually involved bribing, threatening, and a few carefully thrown punches. It didn’t involve babysitting.
And besides, I wasn’t good around women. Especially not the boss’s daughter, not knowing Art’s history like I did.
“I uh… I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Art.”
“I’ll tell you what’s a good idea and what’s not, Red.” His voice was vaguely mocking. “Remember, you owe me big time. You wouldn’t want information about your past coming out around here … would you?” I felt the rage inside bubbling beneath the surface, and I imagined clocking the old man in the face, the cartilage in his nose crushing against my fist. The satisfying thrill of bone on bone. After what I’d done, after what he’d done, that punch would be justice finally served. I nearly growled and leapt across the desk, but there was a sound behind us, breaking me from my reverie.
“It’s not like you’re innocent yourself.” My voice came out in a low growl, rage just below the surface.
“My secret is just much better hidden. Let me do the thinking, why don’t you? If you don’t want me digging up the past, that is. They’re still looking for Mickey’s murderer.” I clutched the arms of the chair, my nails digging in.
“Don’t you dare—”
The door to Art’s office had opened. Lucky for him. I might have given my right hand the gift of smashing into Art’s face.
“Hey Dad.”
“Darling… Gabi… I’ve told you to knock before coming into my office.” I heard her voice lilting behind me… it betrayed the faintest trace of an accent I couldn’t place. I turned as she spat words at Art, clearly not afraid of him, unlike everyone else.
Her rich brown eyes caught mine as I stood up, extending my hand to touch hers. Her hair was done up somehow, but a few of the dark curls fell around her face, framing its perfect symmetry. I gripped her hand, keeping it in mine a moment too long. In the shadow of the hallway, I saw Federico, lurking behind the door. He winked at me and slithered off to Art’s back rooms. I drew my eyes back to Gabi.
“People call me Red,” I said, suddenly self-conscious in a way I hadn’t been in years. My eyes flickered over her body, discovering the luscious curves of her breasts and ass offered up in the flowy red dress she had on. Bohemian and very Northern California, something that the girls around here would never wear. A shadow of fear crossed over her face. Suddenly, I felt too big, unwieldy… intimidating. I often used my physical presence to intimidate people, to make women swoon. Now her presence was doing the same to me. I backed away from Gabi just a bit.
Gabriella. Beautiful and pure. As beautiful as her mother. Even more. Not now, Red. Of all times, not fucking now.
I caught her eye again before she turned on her heels and exited the room. I turned away, stunned by the girl’s beauty. A jolt ran through me, and I felt my cock stiffen slightly.
Fuck. Not here. Not now. Not this girl.
I couldn’t imagine watching out for this girl without wanting to put my hands on her… without wanting to please her, make her scream out in pleasure.
Women were usually just something for me to do. A hobby of sorts. Something I didn’t get terribly excited about anymore. But this girl… she was different, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I turned back to Art.
“Look, Art, I really don’t think I can go with Gabi to that thing tonight. Does she even know you’re sending her off to parade her in front of some Hollywood dick bags?”
He glared at me. “I emailed her about it last week. Or I had my secretary email her, whatever,” he said, waving his hand like it was no big deal. “Besides, she needs to take a look at getting into the business. She could be big, just like her mom. I told the director she’d be game for whatever.”
“Is she?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t she be? She begged me to introduce her to directors when she first moved here. Said she wanted to be like her mom. Now she’s twenty. It’s about time she gets into the business. Besides, I owe this director a favor. He’d love to get his hands on a young starlet like her.”
I nodded, but my skin was crawling. Usually I didn’t give a shit what Art did with his girls, but this wasn’t some Hollywood hopeful. She didn’t need to be pushed into something when she wasn’t even halfway through college. Again, there was something hidden. Something he wasn’t telling me. And that wasn’t good, not with LAPD and the FBI sniffing around the business.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll take her and make sure she talks to the right people.” Art nodded and waved his hand t
o dismiss me. I headed out of the office, suddenly very tired.
I felt my cool slipping away. I steeled myself, trying not to think of those deep brown eyes.
Those eyes that looked at me like I might have a soul.
CHAPTER TWO
Gabriella
I walked up the stairs, each step creaking as I did. I hoped the noise irritated the shit out of my father and that he wouldn’t be able to get anything done, or talk to either of those horrible men. Well, maybe Red wasn’t so horrible. A hired hitman maybe, but one who was beautiful. I suppressed a shiver, thinking of those icy blue eyes. My bags were sitting in front of the first guest room in the hallway.
“This is as good as any other unused room in this damn house,” I muttered. I lifted my hand and snagged the key from the top of the door frame, unlocked the door, and put the key back where my father kept them. I looked down the long line of closed doors, the empty quiet of the house seeping into my bones. Opening the door, I kicked my bags inside and walked in. The room was old, the ceilings high and spacious. I immediately walked to my bed and fell down into its softness.
I’ll wear the green dress to the party. People always get a kick out of that. Better not go in jeans. Dad got pissed the last time I did that. That had been quite an event. I’d gotten drunk, and I’d made out with a young director. My roommates would never believe that was me—the girl who studied constantly wouldn’t do such a thing.
I sighed and rolled over, wishing one of my med school friends were here with me. Well, I didn’t exactly have friends. I had people I liked, people I studied with, and the sisters at AKA, who seemed to tolerate me and my distinct lack of coolness. They didn’t understand this weird Hollywood life waiting for me hundreds of miles away. Sure, everyone knew who I was. But no one knew what my father was trying to make me be. Not even Maddie. Even she wouldn’t understand this version of me.
I knew what my father was doing. It was always the same when I came home from school. Even when I’d first moved in after Mom died, he was trying to pimp me out to producers and directors as the next big thing. He could have just put me in a movie, I guess, but he wanted people to want me, to come begging for me… like they had for my mom.
Just because I looked like her didn’t mean I was anything like her. I didn’t have that kind of talent. Or really even that kind of beauty. Yeah, I’d wanted to be like her for a year or so after she was gone. But my father wouldn’t have any of it. But suddenly when I’d turned nineteen, he’d gotten the idea that I was some kind of hot commodity.
It sent a thrill through me sometimes, to get those compliments, the sly looks from directors. It made me uncomfortable too, when their eyes lingered too long, when they talked about the B-list movies they wanted to put me in. I’d escaped trouble so far. I was a good kid, or I tried to be. I tried to remind myself that I didn’t want to end up like Mom.
My mom ended up beaten within an inch of her life, found on Goleta Beach near the university. No trace of who did it, and she was in a coma by the time she’d gotten to the hospital. Gone eight hours later.
The Hollywood Rose, first of the great African American starlets in the 1970s.
I don’t think that Art understood it. Why wouldn’t I want to be like her? Well, I could only remember how she ended up. I wasn’t around when she was famous. Just when she was drunk, sad, and dead.
I’d go to the party. It was always an interesting sociological study to see how the Hollywood girls tried to whore themselves out to the directors, producers, and casting agents at these parties. I usually just kept to myself, but for some reason, that Red guy was coming along as a bodyguard. Maybe my dad thought it made me more legit. Maybe the folks would think I was already big if I had a bodyguard.
And maybe… whatever. I’d have to ditch Red as soon as I got there. That was the only way I’d have a little fun … let off a little steam. I was normally so good back at school, but here, I could slip into a different personality. Even if it wasn’t the personality my dad was looking for.
I knew for sure I’d need to be away from Red if I was drinking. I knew that from the moment in my dad’s office. I normally didn’t feel that way about any man, but this one felt dangerous. Like a chasm you stare down into, imagining yourself jumping. Taking that hard dive off the edge. Like I was about to jump off a cliff. Like I wanted to.
I shook out my hair, trying to get him out of my head. I knew what he did, or at least I had a pretty good idea. My dad didn’t think I knew anything about his business, or the lengths he went to make sure that he kept his place as one of the top producers in the world. To invest all the money he did, he had to have a lot of people on his payroll. And that didn’t come without making enemies. Red was Dad’s protection against… whatever my dad was involved in.
And it was best not to really think about that. After all, Art Sanchez was my only family.
I combed out the thick curls that fell around my face and pulled a dress out from the closet, feeling the fine silken fabric between my fingers. It was a designer piece my dad had made for me, perfectly fitted to my body, in jewel green fabric that complemented my complexion. I pulled it on and shook myself into it, letting it hug my curves just as it was made to do. I glanced in the mirror.
Tonight you look just like her. The pain shot through me like a wave. There was something revolting about my father giving me dresses that made me look like my mother. But that’s the type of man he was—domineering, opportunistic, greedy. I was his plaything, a doll he could dress up and show off.
Sometimes I caught a glimmer of my father in my facial structure. Tonight, I was a vision of my mother. The actress who cracked and retreated. Her lifeless body found beside the ocean, bloody and beaten to death in her pretty green dress.
I smoothed out the green fabric, brushing my fingers over the cleavage that the dress gave me. I had a fleeting thought of Red and pushed it away. It didn’t matter how he thought I looked. I didn’t want that kind of attention anyway, not from a man like that.
He wasn’t a good man. His eyes showed me a dark depth I didn’t quite understand.
It was best not to try.
Wasn’t it?
Red
I pulled up in the Aston, idly wondering if cars would impress a girl like Gabriella. Probably not. She was at some good school, couldn’t remember which, and she was supposedly studying medicine. Plus, her father had more money than anyone in Hollywood. I noted the modest silver Audi parked by the walkway. No Astons for this girl.
I looked at my watch and back out at the immaculately landscaped property that Art Sanchez called home. Supposedly, he had started out like me. Penniless, immigrating to this black-hearted city from Boston. Except he’d had the idea to work in movies, and all I’d ever done was kick the shit out of people. That was the difference between him and me. As much money as I might have, I didn’t have the finesse that men like Art had, or the mind for business. I had a pair of battered hands and a collection of guns that would impress a congressman from Alabama.
Art’s morbidly carved doors opened, and anxiety gripped at my chest. There was Gabriella. Gabi. And she was wearing that same shade of green that her mother had always favored. I lowered my sunglasses and looked at her, letting the car idle.
If Gabriella’s mother Rose had been beautiful and alluring, Gabriella was stunning. In the most literal way. The angles of her face were harder and less forgiving than her mother’s soft lines. But her body was the same bombshell shape, breasts high and firm… her hips and ass juicier and rounder than any of the stick-figure girls I was so used to here in town. My cock stiffened as I watched her walk to the car, and I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t going to be good for me to be close to this woman. She lit some primal fire that I hadn’t known in years. I was hyperaware of her body, shifting away from her as she opened her door and got in.
“Gee, thanks for the welcome,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Usually, I go to these whoring events by myself,
and I thought it would be nice to have someone with me.” I arched an eyebrow. Apparently she was more perceptive than I thought she was. It occurred to me that it must be lonely to be Art’s daughter. To be paraded about like this and told what to do.
