“Well…” Kayla hesitated. She stepped back and stared at her dad. Is it even possible to ever truly know someone? Can I let some stranger into my home? “I- dad- I can’t believe any of this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to run a credible, legit business when all of this is going on.”
“None of this will get out. You can be sure of that. What I’m doing won’t hurt your chances to run your own business. Even if I didn’t want you involved in doing it in the first place, I would never, ever hurt you that way. I know you’ve wanted this for most of your life. You were always baking and cooking for your mom and I. You made us so proud.”
Kayla couldn’t take seeing her dad’s dark eyes turn into liquid pools of sorrow. She had to blink hard to clear the tears from her own dark eyes. Eyes that looked exactly like his. She had her mother’s thick black hair, her father’s olive hued skin and his eyes. Her dainty nose, her sharp cheekbones and jawline, as well as her petite form, was all from her mom.
“I- I miss her,” she said, because that was easier than saying anything more about that monkey-biker-babysitter who was going to be squatting at her home and probably around the restaurant she was trying to renovate and get under way, for the foreseeable future. She didn’t want to agree to it or acknowledge it out loud. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She still couldn’t believe that her dad, her own father, was involved in illegal dealings. She’d suspected for years that he had some kind of, for lack of a better word, mafia-connections, but she didn’t want to believe it.
It was little hints dropped here and there, something her mom once said, the way her dad used to go out in the middle of the night and come home late. The random things they’d get when her dad was an accountant and shouldn’t be able to afford it. The care her dad paid for when her mom was sick, when she knew for a fact their insurance wouldn’t cover it. She’d been in denial for a very long time.
Kayla wasn’t quite ready to pull her head out of her ass and admit that her father was a criminal, so instead she pulled him into another hug and held on tight.
Chapter 3
SHAWN
Babysitting a prissy, spoiled, twatty brat wasn’t Shawn’s idea of a good time. It was his idea of a bad fucking time, but he had no choice. What his future prez said, he damn well did, unless he wanted to ship out of the club. Since he was just a prospect he probably wouldn’t end up on the wrong side of the grass over refusing a job, but he’d find his ass pounding that grass and he had nowhere else to go and no future jobs lined up.
Then there was the whole fact that he hadn’t been a part of civilian lifestyle and a regular world in a long time. Getting a nine to five job scared the shit out of him. He wasn’t cut out for that. It was the reason he’d joined his last MC in the first place.
Guys like him either ended up joining some shady organization or they ended up in jail or a body bag. To be completely honest, they ended up rotting in some woods somewhere or being fed to pigs or put through a wood chipper or meeting some gruesome end. What they didn’t end up doing was working straight up jobs and becoming good upstanding members of society.
Fuck that nonsense.
Shawn hadn’t been able to force himself to become a part of the system since he was a kid. He’d been terrible in school. His mom actually was a decent person. She was a single mom who tried her damn well best to put him on the straight and narrow, but when that was obvious it was never going to happen, Shawn weeded himself out. He left home, left his mom a note on the table, apologizing. He said he’d come back one day, but he never had. Once a year he sent her a letter to make sure she knew he was still alive. She lived in Chicago, in the same tiny apartment he’d been raised after his shit for brains father took off and left them there. He sent cash too, because he knew she’d never cash a check and god, it wasn’t like he was decent enough to have a bank account.
Right. Let me just deposit this brick of cash that I got for selling fuck-loads of drugs. Or rather, for someone else selling it. Yeah. That shit would never fly in a bank. It wasn’t like he was getting bricks of cash either. More the paltry pocket change, but that was just semantics for the time being.
Fact was, he couldn’t afford to ship out at the moment, so as shitty and annoying as it was, he walked up the nice front steps with the potted plants and flowers and rang the old-lady-sounding doorbell. The condo was small, but neat. Painted yellow with a red door and a small porch with a white railing. Suburbia at its finest.
Because he wasn’t a stupid shit, he’d caught a cab over. Left his bike back at the club. Didn’t mean he left his Glocks. He had them holstered under his jean jacket. He was going in undercover so Kill approved leaving his prospect leathers back at the club. He had another gun tucked into the waistband of his pants and a knife strapped to his leg just above his shit-kicker.
This place is going to kill me. It’s just my luck that this girl is probably butt ass ugly with breath that smells like a god damn steaming pile of human excrement.
It happened to be his last thought before the door swung open and… damn. Just… damn.
The goddess that stood in the doorway wasn’t more than five-five, dark haired, dark eyed, with sharp chiseled features that just happened to be schooled into a look of outright annoyance. Hell, it bordered on fury with a tinge of disgust.
As if he was the human pile of excrement who’d just been dumped on her doorstep.
Her dark eyes swept up and down. Kayla Mariani, daughter of Alexander Mariani, one of Drake Cannelli’s more prominent business partners and backers over the past year, just happened to have one of those petite little bodies that was both sexy and disturbingly innocent. Her face reminded him of strawberries and cream, the kind freshly picked and utterly delicious, even though that was totally ridiculous.
Her pussy. Now that was probably strawberries and cream. Fresh and delicious. That actually made sense.
Fuck, he’d like to taste her. Like to make her creamy and wet, spread her open and…
“Stop looking at me like you want to hump me like some creepy monkey or that horny gross neighbor’s dog that everyone hates because it’s always humping legs.”
Shawn blinked. Okay, she really just said that. Fuck me. She seriously just said that. His appreciation for the woman who looked like a doll kicked up a notch while his annoyance at his entire existence and everything about the job he had to do, scaled way the hell back.
“Shawn.” He stuck out a hand, since he wasn’t sure what else to do.
Kayla eyed him up with those gorgeous velvet eyes. “Do you think I care what your name is? Your name could be his royal highness or it could be pond scum and I wouldn’t give two fucking shits.”
Fuck me twice. Her lashes were so fucking long… her lips so full. Damn him, it was a long time since he wanted to fuck a woman this bad.
“No one is actually named his royal highness or pond scum,” he pointed out, far too logically.
He could have sworn that Kayla’s far too serious face nearly cracked into a smile. It was late though, past eight, and she’d probably had enough bullshit for the day and this was just icing on top of the excrement cake. Excrement cake? This is a new fucking low.
“Well… I guess you’d better come in. Since I don’t have any saying in the matter. I’m not going to keep the door open all night and invite all the vermin in the world in. One is enough.”
“No one’s accused me of being a rat and kept their head. Ever.”
Kayla blinked and he immediately regretted that. He hadn’t actually ever cut someone’s head off. He’d put exactly three bullets into men in his lifetime and they’d all lived. He was more of a clean up crew kind of guy. And god, he’d cleaned up an awful lot of shit, literal shit, and blood over the years.
“Sorry. Didn’t actually mean that,” he mumbled.
“Good. Because I never called you a rat. There are all sorts of other vermin. I happen to like rats. I had some pet rats as a kid. My parents didn’t like them, but they let me have
them anyway. They were super cute and smart.” Her eyes swept over him and Shawn felt a strange rush of heat hit him in all the wrong places- namely the face and groin area. “You’re definitely not a rat.”
He shook his head, this time for real. “Well then. If you’re done insulting me, you can let me in. My prez tells me you think you’re a decent cook. Trying to open up some kind of restaurant. Mind putting those skills to the test? I’m starved.” Okay, so he wasn’t really supposed to tell her any of that, but she probably knew he was briefed about her. She didn’t look like a stupid person. Those dark eyes sparkled with life and intelligence. No- definitely not stupid.
Kayla wrinkled her nose. “You have a set of balls to just demand that I cook you something to eat. You’re supposed to be here to keep me safe, not the other way around. I’m not being paid to keep your ass safe.”
“No. You’re not.” He realized they were basically sitting ducks on the doorstep talking like imbeciles, so he shoved past Kayla into the house. She backed up behind him in the process, shut the door, slammed the deadbolt and handle’s lock into place. “I’m the one being paid to keep you safe. I can’t do that if I’m starved.”
“You should have eaten before you came.”
“Yeah…” he shrugged. “You’re going to feed me sometime. Might as well be now. Unless you want me to drag you out for dinner. Which would mean that we’re easy targets. It’s up to you though. The grocery store would be even worse, but if you insist, we could try it.”
“You’re insane,” Kayla grumbled.
Her lips thinned out though and she lost the confident set of her shoulders. They drooped just a little and Shawn felt something plummet in his stomach in response. It shouldn’t matter to him that she was scared or that she was hurt or worried or annoyed or anything at all. The only thing that needed to matter to him was that he kept Kayla alive. That was his job. Plain and simple, but for some reason, it mattered to him that he’d upset her. That she was scared and uncertain. That all of this was probably a lot for her, since she was just a basic civilian and knew nothing about her father’s business.
“Might be,” Shawn agreed.
Kayla turned on her heel and stomped off. “Louse,” she called over her shoulder, her voice fading as she walked towards the kitchen. “That’s what you are. Just a plain old disgusting louse.” A second later a cupboard slammed and a pot hit the stove.
Shawn had to smile to himself. Maybe the job wouldn’t be so bad after all.
He’d never seen himself as the world’s best babysitter, but with Kayla Mariani as his charge, he was willing to take on the challenge for a chance at the title. He just had to remember that, above all, she was off limits and his dirty fantasies should be put to rest. Because porking Kayla, babysitter or bodyguard, was definitely not on any menu, unless he wanted some serious trouble.
Shawn forced himself to walk through the house. With the framed family photographs, the knitted afghan on the couch, the lamps in the corner and the hallway runner, it might as well have belonged to a little old lady.
The woman at the stove carefully cracking eggs into the frying pan where cut up peppers and onions were already sizzling looked anything like an old lady. Her ass in the skin tight jeans was way too tight. Those curves her plain black tank top hugged were also far, far too tight to be granny style.
Shawn’s cock rose to attention. “You know that eggs are for breakfast, not dinner, right?” he asked, as he carefully took a wider stance to give his cock room. He placed his hands over his front like a well-trained body guard, masking the small denim tent that was glaringly obvious.
Kayla didn’t turn around. She cracked another two eggs and set the shells right onto the granite countertop. The condo was nice. Built within the last five years, like the rest of the development. Obviously paid for with daddy’s money, since she’d just graduated from college.
“Breakfast is good at any time. Besides, you’ll eat what you’re given.”
“Mommy and daddy used to tell you that all the time? Their perfect spoiled little princess?” Shawn snapped. He was annoyed at Kayla for sounding like his mother. He didn’t like reminders of his past and seeing her getting all domesticated, as well as the fact that she’d managed to bring out feelings that he didn’t want brought out at all, just pissed him the fuck off. Kayla pissed him the fuck off.
She froze at the stove. Her entire body went unnaturally still. The eggs popped and sizzled in front of her. He had to admit it smelled damn delicious. His mouth began to water.
“Since you’ve obviously been briefed about your assignment and your assignment is me, you already know that my mother is dead. Please don’t talk about her. Ever.”
Awww, fuck. He did know that her mother was dead. He’d just forgotten. Like the ass he was. She had every single right to be mad at him. “Look,” he started, at a loss for words. He wasn’t good with emotions of any kind. “I’m sorry. Ignore what I said. I’m an asshole at best.”
“Oh, I have little doubt of that.” The rigid set of Kayla’s shoulders leaned her an air of toughness, but Shawn knew it was forced. “You’re an asshole of the worst variety. So this… you and me- if you shut your stupid mouth and do your job and just your job, I’ll get on with my life. Neither of us have a choice, but we can co-exist in peaceful easy silence and we’ll get through this. That sound good to you?”
Anyone else who dared talk to him that way would end up with their face smashed in. Shawn might not have dispatched many souls, but he’d fucked a few bastards up in his time.
And he’d just been told off by a slip of a woman cooking eggs at eight in the evening. Eggs. With fucking peppers and onions, like he actually deserved something tasty and special.
She was too fucking good for the likes of him. For the likes of her father. For the likes of any of them, for their world, for the shit that her dad dragged her into. For Drake Cannelli, for the Servants, for fucking Marcello, who was one sick son of a bitch that liked to make anonymous threats he’d probably never follow up on just because his bride to be was stolen out from under his nose. Come on. It wasn’t like the guy actually loved Laura Cannelli. He just wanted to fuck her because he’s a sick old man and she’s a good looking young woman. The guy probably has blue balls, if old balls can even get that way. His panties are in a knot and so he has to knock a bunch of heads together to soothe his pride.
“Sounds good to me,” Shawn said slowly, into the silence of the kitchen when he realized he was standing there like a big stupid lump. The eggs sizzled and popped again and Kayla stirred them once more.
Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Shawn tensed. He had a sixth fucking sense for when shit was about to go down.
He yelled something unintelligible into the air before he ran full tilt at the stove, gripped Kayla in his arms, and tackled her to the floor. He sprawled out over her, shielding her with his massive frame, as gunfire erupted and the kitchen exploded all around them in splinters of wood and showers of glass.
Chapter 4
KAYLA
“What the hell just happened?”
Kayla could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen a gun or heard one go off. Her parents didn’t own guns. At least, she didn’t think her dad did, but her rapidly beating heart, her clammy skin, her sweat soaked t-shirt and the fear that held her paralyzed in its clutches, proved that she didn’t know a damn thing about her father and what he was into. He probably had guns stashed all over his house.
She’d gone to the range once, with one of her ex-boyfriends. She’d heard a gunshot in the distance once, at a sleepover at one of her friend’s houses when she was sixteen. The house hadn’t been in the good part of Philly. Obviously. That was pretty much the limit of her knowledge about guns.
Until someone opened fire on her house.
The beat above her- Shawn- slowly untangled their limbs. Broken glass fell to the floor and crunched around them. The scent of her fear hung thick in the air
around them. It combined with the sharp tang of grilled peppers and fried eggs. Had she really just been doing something so normal only a minute before?
“He- someone- tried to kill me,” Kayla panted. She let Shawn, because she was still too shell-shocked to move, reach down and wrap his monster hand around hers. It was warm where it should have been cold. Hers was ice.
Shawn shook his head and he grinned like she’d just told him some funny fucking joke. “No such luck, sweetheart. That was just a warning shot. If they wanted to kill us, they would have.”
“A- a warning? You call that a warning?” Kayla slanted a shaking finger in the direction of the window. There were holes- actual real holes- in the wall around it. Her eyes trailed from the damage, over to Shawn. She felt them go wide and all the blood rain down to the bottoms of her feet when she saw the blood staining his hair and leaching down both sides of his face. “You’re- you’re bleeding. Oh my god. You’ve been shot.”
He smirked back at her. “Honey, if you think this is bad then you’re more naive than I thought. If I was shot in the damn head I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you at the moment. It’s just cuts from the glass.” Something dark and feral in his eyes, belied his lighter tone.
Kayla shrank back. She’d never seen that look in a man’s eyes before. In anyone’s eyes. A look like he’d just been gifted something. Like he… like he actually enjoyed the pain. Fed off it.
When his hand closed around her arm, warm but hard as a vice, she jumped. “What are you doing?” She glanced down at the strong fingers with the blunt nails. They were dirty, lined with grime that didn’t look like it would ever wash out. She wasn’t sure what it was. She’d guess some type of grease. She had a friend in one of her marketing classes who was a mechanic. His hands looked like that, permanently stained from his trade. It shouldn’t have been attractive on anyone. Certainly it wasn’t on her friend, but for some reason, her stomach clenched up and her pulse spiked. Right. That’s probably just a gut reaction to just about being fucking offed a minute ago. She chalked it up to Stockholm Syndrome or something close to that. She was just messed up in general since someone had just about ended things abruptly. By things, she obviously meant her life.
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 78
