Page 40 of Finding My Bodyguard

“Let me ask you this: If you're just helping a friend, then why are you wearing the ring?”

I smirked at her observation. I could always count on my sister to call me out on my bullshit.

“I may be a little more invested,” I admitted, causing Samara to squeal.

“You love her, don’t you?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer her as my phone vibrated. Meechie was finally giving me a call back.

“This Meechie. I have to take this call.” I signaled for Samara to leave.

“Well since we dropping secrets, I’ve been secretly dating Demetrius. Tell him I said hi.” She stood from the loveseat and exited my office before I could say anything. Now it was my turn to drop my mouth. I didn’t know how to feel about Samara fucking with my best friend. It was a lot to process and I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. Right now, my attention was on Monroe.

“Yeah, nigga?” Mechie answered the call.

“You fucking my sister?” I couldn’t hold it in.

“Look, nigga. I was gon’ tell you when shit got more serious. Samara been having me chasing her ’round playing games for months.”

I rubbed my hand across my forehead. There was so much I needed to discuss with him when it came down to dating my sister. I didn’t want Samara involved in cartel shit and Meechie was the fucking ringleader.

“You know how I feel about Samara.”

“I know, bruh. I wouldn’t even be pursuing her if I wasn’t going to do right by her,” he replied. I knew that already. Samara would be in good hands with Meechie. He wouldn’t do shit that would jeopardize our friendship. We sat there for a minute in silence before my mind traveled back to Monroe and I remembered what I needed to tell him.

“Jacob Iris is dying,” I blurted.

“That’s a new development.”

“Yeah, a big one. That nigga Kashus just stopped by to see me.” I rubbed my hand across my face. Negotiating with a mobster was one thing, but negotiating with one that was dying was something else. By marrying Monroe, had I just intercepted his dying plans? Without Monroe marrying Kashus, he had no one to take over when he was gone.

“So the marriage was because he needed an heir?”

“Arranging marriages is definitely a family tradition, but marrying Monroe off to a nigga with two baby mamas and forcing his daughter to undergo surgery, that’s a direct result of being desperate.”

“Damn,” Meechie mumbled. We sat in silence for a moment, both thinking about our next move—both knowing what was on the table.

“You willing to trade yo’ freedom for Monroe’s?” Meechie blurted the one thing we were both thinking. I’d replaced Kashus as Monroe’s husband, so by default I had to replace Jacob Iris as leader of the Iris mafia upon his death. I’d ran from my duties in my crime family and right into another.

“Did you get the meeting set up?” I ignored his last question. I wasn’t ready to answer that shit yet.

“Come on now; you know how I roll. We meet with him tomorrow night. He doesn’t want to leave his home. So we gotta go to Bristol.” He confirmed.

“I guess we going to Bristol.” I disconnected the call.

Was I ready to trade my freedom for Monroe’s? That question was going to keep me up all night.

Monroe

“Come on in!” A tall woman with sienna colored skin greeted me as I approached the entrance of a small, dingy building. I was hesitant to enter, but the rain pouring down behind me forced me inside. After a long day at Aunt Vanessa’s restaurant, I’d come home to another note from London. He instructed me to put on a beautiful dress and a car would bring me to this address. I didn’t know what to think at first, but the flashbacks of how beautiful last night’s self-care date was flooded my brain.

I’d fallen asleep reading in the library room that London had gifted me. It was the most peaceful time I'd had in a long time. I was curious to see what another date had in store for me. So as instructed, I’d gotten ready in the turquoise swing dress London had placed on my bed, called a car, and came to this address.

“Do you have a reservation, Senorita?” the woman questioned as I stepped through the front door. I took in the scenery. Loud, muffled music could be heard coming from somewhere inside.

“Monroe Iri—”

“Oh, Senorita London.” She cut me off. “I’m glad you made it. A second later and you would have been soaked.” She spoke English, but it was coated in her thick Cuban accent. One thing I loved about Cuba was the diversity of the residents here. There were so many shades of black—it was beautiful. I watched the woman as she scribbled something down on a notepad. I wasn’t sure what type of place this was. The only signage outside was in Spanish, and I hadn’t had any time to Google it.

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