Page 39 of Finding My Bodyguard

Monroe sent another picture. This time she was topless, reading a book. My eyes damn near popped out of their sockets.

Me: You’re so fucking beautiful.

“Yeah, the biggest crime family in Bristol City, and I’m going to be the head of it all. The nigga dying, and he needs an heir. All I have to do is marry his daughter, and what I do? I fucking lose her.” Kashus dropped his face between his hands. Monroe’s father was dying. That explained why he’d chosen Kashus as her husband. He was desperate to find someone capable of carrying on his legacy. My heart immediately went out to Monroe. In everything she’d confided in me about her father, his dying wasn’t one of them.

“Damn; he got cancer or something?” I exited from Monroe’s text thread and shot Meechie an emergency text. I needed this meeting with Jacob Iris scheduled as soon as possible. Finding out about his failing health changed things.

“Skin cancer or some shit.” He informed me. I dropped my head. I was dreading having to break this news to Monroe. As fucked up as her father was, he was still her father and all she had left in the world. This news would devastate her. My phone vibrated and another message from Monroe came through.

Wife: Thank you. ??

I sighed heavily contemplating when to tell her. She had the right to know. This stupid nigga was waiting around for her father to die and hadn’t told her anything.

“You been over there cheesing like jester cat the entire time. I can tell you a newlywed, nigga.” My head lifted toward him. The longer he sat here the more I wanted to come out of retirement and place a bullet in his head.

“Yeah, man. I was pissed I had to climb out her sweet ass pussy to come here and deal with this shit.” I shot back at him.

“I get it. I had to leave my bitch back home to come down here and look for Monroe’s ass. Her disappearance really fucking up my plans.”

That was it. I was done with this visit. Another word and I’d be burying his stupid ass in the backyard somewhere. Standing from my chair, I rounded my desk.

“Work calls, nigga.” I moved toward the door. Kashus stood and followed me. “Sorry, I couldn’t be of more help.” I escorted him out of my office and down the hall to the lobby.

“Naw, you were plenty of help.” He reached his hand out to give me a handshake. “You ever back in Bristol City, fuck with me.”

“Bet, maybe my wife and I will stop through.”

“Let me know.” He nodded as he signaled for the men he’d come with to follow him out the door. I stood there watching him leave. Everything I’d just been told weighed heavily on my spirit.

“You keeping secrets now, Royale?” Samara’s voice thundered from behind me. I turned around slowly, feeling slightly amused by how she was standing. I knew her ass had been ear-hustling on my conversation. “What’s this about a wife, and what is that on your hand?” Her eyes darted toward the wedding band on my left hand before she grabbed my arm, bringing my hand closer to her face.

“Oh this? I got married last weekend.” I pulled away from her and walked over to the front desk.

“That man comes back, you let me know before he even gets in the door,” I informed Rebecca. Kashus’s next visit was not going to be a pleasant one. One thing I knew for sure was that niggas acted crazy when their ego was bruised. Once he realized I had taken his fiancée and his chance to head the Iris mafia, he was going to be sick. I was going to have to handle him before he caused any harm.

“I’ll put security on alert too,” I informed her as I walked toward my office. I didn’t have to tell her to follow. I knew Samara was right behind me.

“What is going on, Royale? I know gangsters when I see them, and you talking about you got married, what—”

“We can talk when we get to the office.” She knew I wasn’t about to discuss my personal business out in the open. We walked in silence the rest of the way, but as soon as we entered my office and I shut the door, Samara started shooting off questions.

“Talk… ’cause who were those men? Are you getting back into that lifestyle? Are they trying to extort you or something?”

“I got married while I was in Cuba, and that man was my new wife’s ex-fiancé.”

Samara’s mouth dropped, and she stumbled to the loveseat that I kept in my office.

“What?”

“Monroe was in an arranged marriage, and I’m helping her get out.”

“Monroe?” She was thinking, probably trying to figure out where she’d heard that name before.

“Monroe Iris,,, she was a patient,” I told her. I watched the moment her brain connected the dots.

“The woman that didn’t pass the screening. I knew something was going on with you that day!”

“Yeah, her fiancé was forcing her to get the surgery, or he wouldn’t go through with the marriage. She needed help, and I offered it.” I didn’t want to go into details, so I told Samara only the basics to satisfy some of her questions.

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