Page 9 of Sinister Devotion

Bonnie steps forward, putting herself between me and Claire as if my anger is going to put her in danger. It gives me pause, taking a step back to calm myself down.

"She was with me, Sir." Bonnie is proud in her stance, sticking up for Claire.

"I don't care who she's with. You work for me and if I call, text, or send a fucking smoke signal, you'd better goddamn answer me. You do anything like this again, and not only will you be unemployed, but you'll never get a job in security again."

This time, Claire steps forward. "Julian, that's not fair. She didn't do anything wrong. We went with Danny?—"

"Who the fuck is Danny?" I bark out the question and I immediately flashback to moments arguing with my parents. Their reputations hinged on my behavior and I understand their worry now more than ever. I don't want Claire's actions to reflect badly on me or Nuvola.

"Danielle, Julian," Bonnie says. "My 19-year-old sister, who you know, met and approved for associating with Claire."

"What do you mean approved?" Claire turns to Bonnie.

Bonnie immediately scrunches her face to betray the fact that's not common information.

"I'm your guardian, Claire. I'm here to keep you safe. I'll do that however I see fit."

Claire shifts her focus back to me. "You don't get to do that anymore. I'm eighteen, remember?"

"Is that the stance you want to take right now, Claire? You want to pull the ‘I'm eighteen and can do what I want as an adult’ card?" I warn her because she needs to tread carefully.

"Not whatever I want, but I can go to a breakfast spot near Bonnie's apartment to eat food with Danny. What if I decide to visit places around the world as a humanitarian volunteer?" She backtracks, as she should.

I roll my eyes at the scenario. "Then you'll have private security everywhere you go that won't simply let you fuck off to grab pancakes."

"That's not the point, Julian, and you know it," Claire argues and I see her getting worked up. The way her eyes widen as red brushes across the bridge of her nose, tells me that tears will come if I don't take this discussion down a notch.

"Bonnie, thank you for bringing Claire home. I won't be needing you for the rest of the evening."

Bonnie knows better than to argue as she pats Claire on the hand before leaving the house.

I start walking away from Claire but stop to face her. "Put your training gear on and meet me for a session. If you're going to put yourself in danger for food, you'd better be damn good at your self-defense tactics."

"Julian," she whines, but stops when I hold a finger up to silence her.

"Don't. You want me to trust you to go wherever you want without this kind of reaction? Then you need to show me why I should trust you. Meet me in the combat room in thirty minutes."

I walk away from her and head to my room, where I throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. The training room is directly above the ballroom on the second floor of the manor. It used to be a room to display my mother's pieces of art, antiques and other items to display how much of my father's money she loved to spend. After the divorce, the art and every trace of my mother left this home. She couldn't stand to be here anymore.

Rightfully, so. I can't speak to a woman or a wife's experience, but staying in the home where her husband murdered a prostitute doesn't seem like a welcoming environment. The worst part about that situation is my ten-year-old little brain seeing it happen and then seeing it swept away like a tsunami washes away a marina.

I shake of my memories of my twisted childhood to focus on strengthening the person I care about more and more each day. The idea of Claire being in the world on her own is terrifying and exciting all at the same time. I've been tasked with preparing her, and I always finish what I start.

Claire walks into the training room wearing sports bra and compression shorts that can easily be mistaken for something she should wear on a beach. Images of the sun tanning her milky white skin send impulses straight to my cock. I have to ignore it to teach her this lesson.

"Let's stretch and warm-up," I tell her, taking her through my 20-minute drill before I put her through a punishing cardio routine. She keeps up with me just fine, which speaks volumes about the training she's been doing with Bonnie.

She looks like she's ready to quit until I pull out the fingerless gloves. The gloves are weighted to give her arms a much-needed workout. I want her to look gorgeous, but her punches need to be able to make a dent in whoever she's fighting.

Claire stares at me. "You're not going to put on the pads?"

"No. Attackers don't wear padding. Your only goal is to pin me and get away. Ready?" I ask her.

She nods and squares her shoulders, positioning her feet in a way like this is going to be a fair fight. I take Claire by surprise when I lower my shoulder and hoist her up by the waist. I hope she recognizes the move from her training with Bonnie this morning.

Claire picks up on it, throwing her weight over my arms and dipping low. She snakes herself under my elbow to give her some leverage and throws a kick toward my ribs. I block it and grab her leg, sweeping her into my arms and gently putting her on the ground. I can't bring myself to slam her onto the mats like Bonnie.

"Attackers are going to lay me on the concrete like a Princess?" She smirks.

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