The girl that Freeman described is a million miles away from the girl that I know. Not that I know her, exactly – I've fucked her twice, but we've barely said two words to each other. It's enough to form an impression, though – bored little rich girl, out on the hunt for some cock from the wrong side of the tracks. She'd barged into my dressing room – a family trait, apparently – and made it pretty damn clear what she did and didn't want from me. It explains why she split when she heard Freeman banging on the door, in any case.
Now, that had been an interesting conversation. After he'd stopped playing the big man, he'd cut to the chase and explained what his 'job offer' entailed. Threats have been made, which in his line of work isn't unusual, but this one is different. The target is Freeman's daughter, not Freeman himself. There's an unwritten code in this world – nobody targets the family. So, until the situation is dealt with, Freeman's daughter gets herself a bodyguard.
He'd described his daughter as a sweet, unworldly innocent. I know that daddies are usually in denial about their little girls – I wasn't expecting him to call her a 'complete fucking ho-bag', but Jesus Christ, this girl is not what he thinks she is.
She looks as shocked as I am. I'd heard the conversation, so I knew Freeman was dropping this bodyguard shit on her out of the clear blue sky, but even so. It's pretty fucking obvious that she's horrified to see me.
Her eyes flick nervously back and forth from me to her father, and I know she's wondering if I've told him anything, or if I'm gonna. As if. Tony Freeman would kick seven shades of shit out of me if he knew what I'd done, and that's if he was feeling generous. If not, well, I'd be at the bottom of the river. And if the rumors about Tony Freeman are true, I wouldn't be down there alone, either. Thank fuck for that fire exit.
"Lovely to meet you, Miss Freeman," I say politely, holding out my hand for her to shake. The hand that was buried in her pussy a couple of hours ago.
"Call me Honey," she says. She can keep her cool in a crisis, I'll give her that.
She turns to her father.
"Is that all, for tonight? I'm pretty tired, and I really want to get to bed."
"Sure, sweetheart," he says, kissing her on the cheek.
Once the door has closed behind her, Freeman turns to me.
"As you probably gathered, she doesn't know much of the details. I'm gonna keep it that way – it's for the best. I don't want her any more scared than she needs to be."
"How serious do you think this thing is, really?" I say.
"I don't know," he says wearily. "On the one hand, it's just a couple of letters, talking shit. It could even be kids, fucking around. But on the other hand…"
He'd shown me the letters earlier. At the time, I thought they were pretty nasty, but they didn't move me emotionally. But as I stand there, watching Tony pace up and down, I start to look at them in a new light. Because now they're about someone I've met, someone I can put a face to.
It makes me feel sick. The letters go into sordid, graphic detail about what the writer is going to do to Tony Freeman's daughter. Whoever wrote them is seriously fucked in the head. No demands for cash, no 'get the fuck out of town', just threats. As far as I can tell, they're trying to scare Freeman. It's working. He doesn't know what he's dealing with – a pervert, a prankster, or a pissed off business associate. None of that is my problem, though. My role has been made clear. If Honey isn't with her father or her boyfriend, she's with me. And I'm to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
As if he's read my mind, Freeman moves over to the bookcase, and takes an anonymous-looking book from the shelf. He opens it and offers it to me.
"It's not registered, so don't think twice about using it," he says.
I take the gun from the fake book, and slide it into the back of my jeans.
~~~~~~~
I'm lying in bed, but I can't sleep. A shame – this is probably the biggest bed I've ever slept in, or ever will. Staying at the Freeman place is part of the deal, along with a serious amount of cash. This room is like something out of a fancy Vegas hotel, and it's only a frigging guest room. I don't feel like partying, though. I feel out of place, like I shouldn't touch anything.
I'd rather stay at home and drive over every day, but Tony shot that idea down right away. He doesn't want his daughter's lifestyle compromised, which means that I have to be available 24/7 until it's done. And how long that will be, well, that's anyone's guess. He hinted that he has guys looking into it, but he plays his cards close to his chest.
I stare up at the ceiling, just visible in the dim room, and sigh. How the fuck have I got here? I mentally tick through my problems, as if I'm counting sheep. Problem one – I'm doing a very dangerous job. I'm not afraid of getting hurt. Pain is part of a fighter's life, and it's sure as shit part of mine. But I wouldn't have chosen this job for myself. However, when Tony Freeman asks, the answer is always yes. At least I'm being paid well.
Problem two, though – that's the big one. I fucked the girl I'm supposed to be protecting. If Freeman finds out, I doubt he'll be very forgiving. It's all in the past, though, so I should be able to let it go. Either he'll find out or he won't.
But I can't let it go. Right now, she's lying in bed, straight across the hall. Just knowing that gives me an uncontrollable hard on. Fucking her again would be the worst thing possible, but I can't stop thinking about it. Hell, half the reason I can't sleep is because I can't stop listening out for the sound of my bedroom door opening, which is fucking ridiculous. She's given me no reason to think that she'd do that – it's fairly obvious that she plays the good girl at home. But goddamn, when I picture her in here, riding my cock…
But of course, she has another cock to ride. The asshole boyfriend that she was so quick to disown at the restaurant. I'd heard her gushing to her father about how great he was, and what an amazing time she'd had. She'd even bitched about the restaurant. That right there shows the difference between someone like her and someone like me. I'd taken Paddy and his wife out to celebrate my win. Until this job is over, I'll have no time to train with him, so I wanted to go somewhere nice. I thought the place was great, and she thought it was a shit hole. Different worlds.
When I think about it that way, it makes it easier. Yeah, she's a hot piece of ass, but she is also a lying, snobbish bitch. All I need to do now is tolerate her until this letter-writer either fucks up or fucks off. Then I can collect my paycheck and go back to where I belong.
I'm finally drifting off to sleep when I hear the faint rumble of a car engine outside. The sound stands out – the Freeman house is set way back from the road, and the driveway is maybe a full mile long. Passing traffic wouldn't sound so loud. I roll out of bed, butt-naked, and check the window. I can't see anything out of place, but this room is off to the side and the view is limited. I leave the lights off as I quickly throw some clothes on. If there is someone hanging around out there, I don't want him to know that he's been heard. I take the gun out from under my pillow and have one last look through the glass before I quietly slip out of my room and down the hallway.
The house is as silent as the grave, and I can hear my heartbeat, the blood pumping in my ears. I feel the same way I do when I go into the ring – alert, ready, alive. Maybe my heart pounds this way in the ring, too. I wouldn't know; there's always too much noise to hear it. The gun in my hand feels heavy. I'm not used to being able to defend myself from a distance – my instincts are to fight with my fists. I need to be careful, though. I got the impression that Tony Freeman wouldn't lose too much sleep if the wrong guy got killed, but I will. Especially if I've pulled the trigger. I'm no stranger to firearms, and I'm a pretty good shot, but I won't be going for the kill unless I have to.
I check the ground floor of the house, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. By the time I'm done, I can see as well as if it was midday. There's no sign of a forced entry, and I can't hear anyone moving around. I quietly let myself out of a side door and move towards the tree line. The moon is bright, an
d the gardens are lit up like Christmas out here. But the shadows of the trees will conceal me, and the grass will muffle my footsteps.
I can see something out just beyond the gates – a light. It's not bright, and the trees and bushes are blocking any chance of a clear view, so I can't tell what's going on. It would be quicker to move directly towards it, but if I go trampling through the undergrowth I'll be heard a mile away. Instead, I follow the curve along where the wild wood meets the perfectly manicured lawn, moving as fast as I dare.
My eyes are fixed on the light as I circle it, hoping that it will reveal something, and start to make sense. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe this is an intruder of a different variety. Honey is clearly no angel, and I know first-hand that her daddy hasn't got a clue about what she gets up to when he's not looking. I should have checked her room before I came down here. What the fuck am I supposed to do if I find her out here with some guy? It's not a question I could ever ask Tony, for obvious reasons. She has no idea about the letters, let alone the contents, so she doesn't know how dangerous it is for her to be running around in the middle of the night. And he it would never occur to him that she would go running around, so he'll never warn her off doing it.
I know what I should do, if I find her. I should report it, because it's not my fucking problem. I've been hired to keep her safe, not to keep her secrets. But when I think of her with some guy, I feel... jealous. Jealous? That's fucking ridiculous, I tell myself. We're not together, and we never will be. She has a boyfriend, and I'm not interested. But for some reason, the thought of a nameless, faceless guy out here makes me angry in a way that seeing that limp-dick douchebag never could. I don't want that side of her – the spoiled little rich girl. Douchebag is welcome to her. But the wild, sexy woman who would sneak out of the house in the dead of night; I want her. She belongs to me. Suddenly, I want to catch her at it. Because I want nothing more than to beat the shit out of the guy touching her.
The trees thin out, and I realize that I'm pretty close to the gate. I can see the light source, now. It's the interior light of a car – no headlights, though. For one horrible moment, I can imagine it so clearly that I nearly see it – Honey on the back seat, riding some prick. But the car is empty. As I watch, a shadow crosses the light, and a man slides into the driver's seat. The interior light goes off, and the car starts to reverse down the drive, headlights still off.
I break cover, crashing through the undergrowth, but by the time I'm over the stone wall, the car has gone. It's too dark to see the color, let alone the plate. I look around for Honey, but there's no sign of her. What was he doing, then, if he wasn't doing her?
I move over to the gate. I'm on the wrong side, now, the outside. Everything looks normal. I know he's not been using the intercom, because the house is still in darkness. If he'd have pressed the buzzer, Tony would have woken. The only other feature is the mailbox. From this side, there's only a slot to push the letter through. I backtrack to the wall where I came over. I could have climbed the gate, but doing so would have broken the invisible laser beam that runs over the top. As of yet, there's no reason to send up the alarm.
Back at the gate, on the right side this time, I check the mailbox. It's locked, but it's only a shitty thing, and the keys in my pocket are enough to jimmy it open. The metal box should be empty, of course. But it's not. There's no stamp on the envelope, which looks like all the others that Freeman showed me earlier.
I wake Tony, give him the envelope, and tell him what I saw. I don't mention my raging suspicion that the intruder was there at Honey's invitation. He checks the CCTV, but it's worthless. The car parked too far back, and in the dark it's impossible to see the guys face when he posts the letter. Hell, I don't even recognize myself when I show up on the tape a moment later. Freeman tells me to go to bed, looking like he's aged ten years in the last half hour.
Before I do, I open the door to Honey's bedroom. I don't know why. Tony already looked in on her, so I know she's there. She's asleep, barely visible under the bedclothes. As I watch, she rolls over, murmuring something. She looks so innocent and vulnerable, and I find myself wanting to protect her. Not for the money, or the job, but for her. Then I remember her talking about her prick boyfriend, and I turn away. I'm just here to do a job, get paid, and get out.
~~~~~~~
It's only 9 AM, and I already feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole. I always imagined that being rich is just an easier version of being poor. Instead of worrying about the engine falling out of your shitty Honda Civic, you worry about the paint job on your Porsche. You buy your clothes in fancy stores, but you still put your pants on one leg at a time.
But this is something else. When I woke up, my clothes from yesterday – the one decent suit I'd worn to the restaurant, and the muddied jeans – were gone. My first thought was that Honey was playing some sort of stupid prank, but that isn't the case, I discover. The Freemans employ a cleaner, and one of her tasks is to creep into the bedrooms at dawn and collect up any laundry. I'm told I'll get them back, fully laundered, by the end of the day. I've not even seen the kitchen yet. Tony and I sat in the dining room, and the cook brought breakfast to us. There is no sign of Honey - it seems she likes to sleep late. He doesn't want to talk about the letter, though.
Tony is playing golf with the douchebag boyfriend this morning, so I'm officially on the clock. Luckily, I'm not expected to actually sit in her bedroom while she sleeps. Instead, I wait in the living room, feeling like a burglar or something. I could use a cup of coffee, but I don't want to ask the cook to make me one, like I'm her boss or something, and I don't think I'm even allowed to make my own.
Finally, she appears, still in her robe. Her hair is tousled and her eyes are sleepy. I can't help wondering if she has anything on underneath. Fuck! It's easy to hate her when she's not there, but now that she's here, my cock is doing all the thinking for me, and he likes her a lot.
"Hey," she says, curling up in an armchair. "You sleep okay?"
"Like a log," I say neutrally. Apart from when I chased your stalker through the grounds.
We sit for a moment, not looking at each other, each waiting for the other to address the elephant in the room. She breaks first.
"I didn't realize you knew my father," she begins.
"I didn't realize he was your father," I shoot back. "He describes you very differently."
She looks away, but not before I noticed that she is blushing.
"He… He doesn't know…"
"That daddy's little princess gets her kicks from fucking strange men?" I finish. I don't know why I'm being like this. Maybe it's because I'm tired.
"It's not like that," she says quietly.
"It's exactly like that, darling," I say. "And your boyfriend, Carl? Does he know? Is it some sort of sex game? He likes to know his woman is being fucked by a real man?"
I've crossed the line, but I don't give a shit.
"I'm not his woman," she hisses. "He doesn't know. Nobody knows. Nobody except me and you, and it had better stay that way, for both our sakes."
"Your secret's safe with me, darling," I say. "I'm sure you regret it as much as I do."
She stares at me, frowning. "I don't –"
She's interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Tony is home, and from the sounds of it, he's brought the douchebag with him. Whatever she was going to say, she's not saying it in front of them.
~~~~~~~
Two hours later, I don't regret fucking her. Hell, I'm glad I did it. The knowledge that I've fucked Carl's girlfriend, not once but twice, is all that saving him from a beating right now. If he recognizes me from last night, he's not showing it. Even if he does, he's a lot cockier now that he has Tony to back him up.
"So," he says, when he is finally finished talking about himself, "you're like a personal assistant or something, are you? Driving the car, carrying the shopping bags?"
He's acting like it's the most hilarious joke he's ever heard. What
pisses me off the most is that I know that he knows exactly why I'm here. Freeman has told him everything. The only person in the room who doesn't know is Honey.
"Something like that," I say, not rising to the bait.
"I guess it's a pretty good job," he says, smiling, "for someone like you."
I see an angry expression flash across Honey's face, just for a split second. But then she smiles, and lays a small, slim hand on his thigh.
"Carl is a lawyer," she says.
This, of course, is enough. Carl immediately starts droning on about his distinguished law career, as Tony and Honey hang on his every word. I smile politely, all the time picturing the way she'd stifled her moans in the restaurant bathroom.
He finally leaves, after making arrangements to take her out again in the evening – to 'somewhere better'. Christ, does these people never eat at home? Tony has gone to 'work', and we are alone again. She heads up to her room, and I follow her.
“Want me to help you pick out a dress for tonight?” I say, as I lounge against the doorway, “since I'm your personal assistant?”
“I don't think so,” she bites back. “Just fuck off downstairs. I need to get changed.”
“Why so shy? Don't worry, I'm not interested.”
Interestingly, this seems to piss her off more than anything else I've said. She strides across the room and gets right up close to me. I can see flecks of green within the blue of her irises.
“Yes, you are,” she says.
She's right, of course. No matter how much energy I pour into hating her, I still want her. But there's no way I'm going to admit it.
“You keep telling yourself that, darling,” I say.
She places her hand on my cock, and starts to rub me through my jeans. It takes everything I've got to stop myself getting hard.
Dragon: A Bad Boy Romance Page 4
