Page 34 of Forced Vows

Some of the men think she's part computer. I think she's part witch and a powerful one at that.

Sev pulls his body upward in a TRX row so smoothly, I swear he doesn't even displace air. "Get those properties, Salvatore."

Chapter 13: RÓISE

There are no alarm clock emojis from Ollie in my texts this morning. He doesn't respond to my message telling him I'm almost ready like he usually does either.

I run late. It's a thing. Ollie, on the other hand, is always early.

He assures me it's a bodyguard thing.

When I get downstairs, there is no Ollie finishing a cup of coffee in the kitchen. No Ollie brushing crumbs from a piece of toast off of his tie while he flirts with the cook, who is the same age as his mother.

I can hear her in the pantry, muttering to herself about people who raid her pantry shelves and have no more manners than wild boars. Not in a good mood then.

Maybe that's why Ollie isn't in here. Maybe he's the miscreant who got into her baking chocolate.

He's the one that taught me and my cousins how delicious Irish milk chocolate is, in or out of cookies. His absence is weird but not unprecedented. Even if he didn't eat the chocolate.

Ollie is assigned to both Fiona and me. If my cousin needs a bodyguard at the same time I do, Ollie's priority is her. Not because Uncle Brogan decrees it that way, but because I do.

Fiona does better with people she likes and trusts like Ollie. He's been part of our security team since we were children. When Kara married, she got assigned her own team, but Fiona and I still share one.

In his mid-forties with graying red hair and a ready smile, Ollie is her favorite.

My cousin always tells me if she's leaving the house though and she hasn't said anything.

The sound of raised voices draws me out of the empty kitchen to the side porch we use to exit the mansion. The front door and its impressive steps and entry are for guests and formal occasions.

Raised voice. Singular. Ollie is the only one shouting. And he's on a rampage, throwing out Irish invective and questions about somebody's parentage.

Two people I've never met are facing him. Both are wearing dark suits tailored to conceal shoulder holsters, standing with the confidence of made men. Except the younger one is a woman.

She looks about my age, but that's where our similarities end. This woman is syndicate soldier from the top of her closely cropped hair to the tips of her shiny shoes made for quick movement, not showing off the curve of her ass.

The man's expression is implacable, but the woman looks ready to let loose on Ollie. No wonder. The last two insults were directed at the pair's boss and their parents in that order.

"Róise is my responsibility!" Ollie shouts in the man's face. "I've been protecting her since she was a toddler."

"Our orders are to take point on her security going forward," the stranger responds.

Ollie shakes his curled fist at him. "Repeating it isn't going to make me go away!"

"You're not going anywhere," I insert, drawing all eyes to me. "Ollie, we need to go. I'm running a little behind."

A brief flicker of indulgent humor flares in his pale blue gaze. "If you weren't I'd think you were sick, Rosy-girl."

Hitching my backpack more firmly on my shoulder, I head toward the door. The two strangers follow me, putting themselves between me and my bodyguard.

Discomfort crawls up my spine like a spider on a quest.

I stop and turn. "I don't know who you are, or what your orders are, but I'm not going anywhere with you. Let Ollie pass."

"We're your new security detail," the woman says with a sneer for Ollie.

"Yeah, no. I don't want or need new bodyguards."

"Miceli sent us." The man says, like that explains everything.

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