Back Off: Reed Security: Book One

by Robin Leaf

  Her eyes shoot up to meet mine, narrowing at my sharp tone.

  “You need to go back to your boyfriend before he misses you.”

  She laughs without humor. “My boyfriend has his adoring public and will be fine for a few minutes without me.” Moving in closer to me, she tries to make herself as tall as possible. “Or do you need to get to your date?”

  “My date?”

  “The one you just called sweetheart.”

  I glare at her, only because if I don’t, I’ll laugh at the idea that Jason is my date.

  She places her hands on her hips. “Stop trying to intimidate me, Noah, and let me apologize.”

  I’m thrown, but I try to recover quickly. “Why the hell do you think you need to apologize?”

  She again looks down at the concrete beneath her feet.

  “I acted like a rookie on your stakeout.”

  I smirk, even though she can’t see it, and she goes on.

  “I got drunk like an idiot and almost ruined your case.”

  I can’t stop myself from lifting her chin so I can see into her eyes, but I remove my hand quickly before it decides to so something stupid, like caress her face or pull her to me so I can kiss her.

  “First of all, you can’t call yourself a rookie since rookies at least have some training. Secondly, it wasn’t a stakeout. We were simply in a club seeing who the senator met. Third, you weren’t an idiot, and getting drunk saved you.”

  Her mouth drops open. “Saved me? From what?”

  Me.

  “The sights of a drug dealer and kidnapper.”

  She steps back and crosses her arms. “He didn’t even see me.”

  No, but I did. I saw… more than I should be allowed. And I touched. And I tasted.

  “He could have. And for that, I apologize.” I turn away from her and walk to the driver’s side of the car. “I should never have taken you there in the first place.”

  I open my door and look at her pointedly, indicating to her that she might want to move.

  Man she looks pissed… and radiant.

  “I thought you would apologize for more than that,” she snarls, complete with curled lip. “But I guess the kind of guy who would abandon a girl and make her feel all kinds of used would not be one to even know how much of an asshole move that is. So you can just vete a la chingada.”

  She storms off quickly, and it takes herculean strength to sit in my car rather than chase after her, push her up against the nearest available surface and finish what I started at that club… and then fuck all the hate I saw in her eyes for me right out of her system.

  But I can’t… especially now. Not after what I’ve done since then, what I will have to do again. I need to be in that club gathering intel, and I can’t expect her to stand by, waiting until I’m done, knowing I have to… do things to blend in. And there’s no way I’m taking her back there and exposing her to danger again.

  God, I feel like such a tool.

  If only I could be done with all this saving-the-nation shit.

  It’s best she go back to Ignacio; he’s good for her.

  And he better be good to her.

  Sixteen

  Cristiana

  “So, did you catch up with him?” Ignacio asks, handing me a Sprite.

  I grab it, take a drink, and nod.

  “And did you tell him?”

  I look around the room at the people mingling and networking. It’s such a new world to me, and I can’t say I hate it.

  “You didn’t,” he whispers, and I can hear his disappointment. “God, Nana, why not?”

  I sigh. “It’s better if just the two of us know for now.”

  “God, babe, he’s part of my personal security team. He’s allowed to know things. I have a signed contract from him forbidding him to say anything about my personal life to anyone.” He swipes a stray hair from my eyes. “We can trust him.”

  I take another drink of Sprite, wishing I had something stronger. I don’t drink, it’s true, but at this point, hard liquor sounds like a good idea.

  “I think he was late for a date,” I say without choking on the tears threatening to sting my eyes. “He made it clear he needed to get away from me.”

  I get a flash of pity before his arms come around me, cupping my head and pulling it into his neck.

  “I’m sorry, mi tesorito.” He kisses my forehead. “Come to mi casa, and we can pull an all-nighter.” Flexing his pelvis forward, he swivels his hips. “I’ve been working on some new moves.”

  Giggling, I swat his ass. “I must experience these new moves. The old ones were getting kind of tired.”

  ***

  Ignacio’s popularity increased after the release of his video, which is insane. He and I made four total, each one telling a different part of the same love story, and each released a week apart. We have become the “it” couple for the moment. Although it’s drawing a lot of unexpected attention, I’m loving my life right now.

  I stay in his huge home more than I stay at my apartment, mainly for security reasons. When I’m here, Ignacio is a gracious host, giving me run of the house and the dogs. Oh, how I love the dogs, big, gorgeous pitties that love me, too.

  “You’re spoiling my dogs,” Ignacio complains, as I pet Gordo on the head. “They’re not even supposed to be on the couch.”

  “They told me you never show them affection, Nachito.”

  “I got them for protection, Nana, and you’ve made them lap dogs.”

  I smile, rubbing Esbi’s nose. “They can love me and protect me.”

  He laughs. “That’s the problem. I think they’ll only protect you now. Gordo growls when I even get close to you.”

  “Maybe that should tell you something. If they love you,” I bend down to Esbi, getting rewarded with a slurp to the face, “they’ll protect you for life.”

  He rolls his eyes, starting the movie we chose.

  I love staying with him, mainly because it allows us to work together planning the stage productions for his nationwide tour that begins in one month.

  I haven’t allowed that to sink in until now.

  I’m going on tour with Ignacio fucking Muñoz.

  I’m going to dance on stage for a crowd of thousands per night.

  Since the first video dropped, offers have been flooding in for me to work with other artists. I’ve taken a few as choreographer, but I only dance in videos for Ignacio. He asked for that, and honestly, I can’t deny him. I owe him so much.

  He says he owes me, too.

  I love him, I genuinely do, so being a part of his world is amazing. He trusts me implicitly, and I mostly trust him. I say mostly because I have a theory; if it came down to a choice between me and doing what’s best for his career, he’d not choose me. He wouldn’t do it to be cruel, but he’d still throw me over in a heartbeat. So far, we haven’t had to test my theory.

  Despite the fact that he’s from Texas, we have so much in common: a love of music, a passion for dance, and most of all, love of the same foods (even if his Texas cooking is a bit different than mine; his unnatural love for jalapeños and cilantro is a bit much). In our precious free time, we watch the same movies and TV shows. He seems to be the perfect man.

  Just not perfect enough.

  He’s missing one crucial element. He can’t give me everything, which is okay for now.

  There’s one thing that creeps into my consciousness late at night, invading my dreams and keeping me awake. Blue eyes, looking up at me with want… with need… with lust. It just fuels the questions of “what if” and makes me miss what I can’t have… what I never had.

  How is that possible? Missing something that was never mine?

  I don’t know. But I do.

  ***

  Two weeks before the tour, the record company decides we need exposure. Ignacio is to make an appearance at the opening of a new high-end club, and the dancers are to perform one song from his new album.

  I can tell that this m
akes Ignacio nervous, so I talk Joe into beefing up security for the event. This makes Joe pop several veins. Security in the clubs is apparently difficult to manage. Therefore, Joe, Fionn, Bryan, and Noah all descend on the establishment, making sure we are all safe.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Noah since the garage incident. I make it a point to avoid him, and he seems to take my hint quite well… a little too well.

  Before our performance, I am invited up to the VIP room to mingle with Ignacio. He and I play up our “are they or aren’t they” relationship quite well, hovering around each other without being too obvious. There are several other artists enjoying his charm, two blinged-out rap stars and their entourages, Dylan Stokes, a former Disney kid actor who’s trying to make it in the music biz, and Condie Jessup, an up and coming pop diva who seems a little too young to be in the club. It’s amazing what a couple of number-one hits will do for credibility.

  I walk over to the bar to get a bottle of water, and when I return, it seems they’re finishing a conversation they’ve had about me while I was away.

  “Well, she looks like a fuckin’ nice little snack,” one of the rappers, BeEffDee comments, smiling salaciously at me around his lit cigar. It smells suspiciously like more than a cigar, which worries me. Ignacio is in recovery. Putting him in a situation where drugs are readily available is really not a good idea.

  BeEffDee stares at me, seemingly waiting for me to respond with a thanks like that was some sort of compliment.

  “No,” Ignacio declares, making me happy that he’s about to defend my honor. Instead he shakes his head and grabs my ass to pull me closer, “she’s my entree.”

  I grab his hand to throw it off me and look his direction, throwing him a look that says what he did is not okay. He tries to disarm me with his smile and shrugs his shoulders. I relax, remembering our deal, and take a deep breath to control myself. I hate allowing him to disrespect me in front of all these people, but I grit my teeth and smile at him, flaring my nostrils and hoping he gets my message. He does, removing his hand from my ass and resting it on my hip instead.

  “Gotta keep room for them tastier side dishes, amirite?”

  Several of them let out this growling noise of agreement, doing that congratulatory hand-slapping thing with Ignacio. BeEffDee glares at me, daring me to respond. My fists ball at my sides and my jaw clenches. I feel the comments coming with no way to stop them. Right as I’m about to release my full-strength bitch, Noah steps out of the shadows and wraps his hand around my forearm.

  “Cristiana, it’s time.” He turns to Ignacio. “I’m going to escort her down.”

  Without waiting for a response, he tugs on my arm, leading me quickly to the small elevator to the first floor. I’m still huffing, and he reaches across me to push the button down. Right when the doors open, he growls at me.

  “What are you thinking, trying to pick a fight with a man who has two assault charges against women?”

  We step on and the doors close. I cross my arms over my chest, pushing my breasts up further in this ridiculously low-cut top. “For the record, güero, I didn’t try to do anything. He’s the one who was disrespectful to me.”

  He steps closer, so close I can feel his heat, and lowers his voice. “Let’s get this straight. You are no one’s snack. You’re not a side dish or a main course. If anything, you should be someone’s last meal, one it would take a lifetime to devour… slowly.” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “You shouldn’t be with any man who doesn’t treat you like the delicacy you are.”

  My breath catches as my heart tries to beat out of my chest, reaching for him. He steps back, and the look on his face… it gives me hope and breaks my heart all at once. It looks like he wants to devour this last meal he’ll never get to have. As the elevator doors open to the very loud first level, I stare at him, I’m sure with my mouth hanging wide open, but his face is now emotionless, like he didn’t just destroy the wall I was rebuilding around my heart after he TNT’d the last one. Grabbing my elbow, he leads me around the side of the club to where the other dancers are standing by the DJ’s stage.

  Dennis, my dance partner, grabs my hand, pulling me away from Noah. “Oh, this is so fucking awesome, Chris. Aren’t you stoked?”

  “Yeah,” I say, with all the fake enthusiasm I can conjure, which isn’t much right now.

  He wiggles like an excited puppy. “Oh, my goodness, I think I’m about to pee myself.”

  “God, please don’t do that before we dance, or worse, while we are,” I laugh, looking over my shoulder to see Noah is nowhere to be found. I’m distracted from the crushing disappointment, for in his place is Bryan, trying hard to look like he’s not leering at Monica’s ass. He looks up at me and smiles, completely unashamed. I smirk in response, not because I caught him, but because “Womanizer” is blaring throughout the club. I point up and mouth the words, and his smile disappears.

  I miss the rest of his reaction when the DJ starts talking. The announcement is lost on me because Dennis squeals like a little girl and grabs my hand, leading us to the edge of the dancefloor. The song starts, and we begin our performance to an enthusiastic crowd. Some of the patrons start murmuring, recognizing me from the video. It’s weird, kind of off putting, and makes me a bit nervous, not because I’m dancing in front of the crowd, but because I’m unsure how I’m going to get off this dancefloor safely. Luckily, I don’t have time to wonder, because as soon as the song ends, I’m met by Joe, who quickly whisks me away, intimidating anyone who comes within three feet of me.

  We make it out the back and into the car before I can blink. Ignacio is already there waiting.

  “Thank you, Fuego, for not starting shit.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “You should thank Noah. He’s the one who saved that puto from me.”

  He smirks, studying my face. Leaning in, he whispers, “You still have it bad for him, huh?”

  I turn away. “Yeah, well, he did what he does best again.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Disarm me, then disappear.”

  Seventeen

  2007

  Noah

  “Graciela made us caldo,” I tell Jason, showing him the container when he opens his door. “And your suspicions about the clinic weren’t exactly off the mark. Although you were right to question it since they approached you, it is legit, but they aren’t exactly considered ethical.”

  He narrows his eyes. “How do you mean?”

  I get a good look at him. He’s pale and his hair is mussed, which is unlike him. He moves to sit on the couch, leaning his head back against the cushions.

  “Man, you look like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

  He smiles. “Yeah, just another date night.”

  His mystery woman. She makes him so happy, but dates with her sometimes mean he forgets to eat healthy and pays the price afterward. I decide to ignore the lecture and move on to why I’m here.

  “Well, my source tells me they do personalized stem cell cures,” I begin, sitting in the chair opposite him, “which in and of itself, is not a bad thing. They have a pretty encouraging success rate.”

  He sits forward to grab his bottle of water on the table, seemingly stoic, but I know him. As he sips, I can tell his brain is working overtime trying to come up with his own answers to the questions that are plaguing his thoughts.

  “Before you have an aneurism overthinking,” I joke, “let me tell you the rest. They have been on the radar of several medical ethics committees that have threatened to shut the clinic down. It comes from the mysterious and questionable ways they generate the stem cells.”

  “Is it unethical?”

  “Most people would think so. It’s rumored that they generate embryos for the sole purpose of harvesting stem cells, but no one has found proof.”

  He blinks. “Yeah, I can see why that’s considered unethical.”

  I stand and clap him on the shoulder. “So you need to think long and hard about what
you are willing to do for a process that may not even work.”

  He again sits back against the cushions and stares at the ceiling, quietly contemplating for a full minute.

  “So my current options are a transplant, meaning I have to hope for someone to die before I get my chance at life, or I can have a clinic create life for the purpose of destroying it.” He runs his hands over his head. “Both are pretty crappy options if you ask me.” He looks at me, pleading, “So what should I do?”

  I stand and head to his kitchen. “I can’t help you there except to tell you to think on it.”

  Opening his refrigerator, I grab my own water bottle, really wishing that the man could at least keep a bottle of whiskey here for me in this sterile apartment. I’ve contemplated just buying a bottle to leave here. It would make some of the shitty conversations we are forced to have much easier to swallow if I had Crown Royal at my disposal.

  I serve up bowls of the still-warm soup, plating some of the tortillas.

  When I return to his living room, his eyes are closed, and I think he’s asleep.

  I move to sit, figuring I’ll eat quickly and leave, when he speaks.

  “I’ve never thanked you for all you do for me.”

  I set down my bowl and cross my ankle over my knee.

  “Not necessary, Jase.”

  He opens his eyes and stares at me for a minute.

  “It really is, Noah.” He sighs. “You are really the only person I can count on to always be here for me. You’ve never let me down.” I see a flash of anguish cross his features. “And I return the favor by asking you to compromise yourself.” He blows air through his lips, making them flap. “I’m not a good friend.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “How am I compromising myself?”

  He sits up and puts his elbows on his knees. “You’re at that place getting dirt on my dad. You have to see things you’re not comfortable seeing.” Running his hand over his head, he adds, “I hope you’re not having to do… anything, are you?”