Page 8 of Tortured Tones

She wouldn’t change my life.

Nope.

Not. One. Little. Bit.

Chapter 3

Ava

I stormed through the rotating door into the London Hotel in West Hollywood where I had to meet my security team and our new clients, The Flintlocks. My polished black shoes clopped loudly on the glossy tiled floor as I dashed across the lobby to the elevator bay. With my extra-large strong black coffee in one hand, I pressed the call button with the other. I glanced up at the LED floor counters above the doors. The tickers hadn’t moved.

All four elevators were stuck on level ten, the second top floor.

What the fuck?

I pressed the button again and again. “Come on, you stupid things.”

After an already long afternoon, I didn’t need this crap this evening. As I closed my eyes, I took a deep breath, searching for some calm, but the crushing ache in my chest overruled everything. The day hadn’t gone to plan. No matter what suggestions and compromises I’d put forward to my ex-husband, Luther, he wouldn’t agree to change our parental agreement. Mediation hadn’t worked. Our lawyers had gone round and round in circles and had gotten nowhere.

Now, I’d have to take Luther to court. Again.

I was over fighting him at every turn.

I loved my son, Josh. He was my world. I wanted more time with him. No, not just more time; I wanted full custody. The reality of that wasn’t likely, but I held onto a sliver of hope.

I’d turned my life around. I’d made every change necessary and taken every step possible laid out by the court to prove I was a fit mother. I always had been. Luther could no longer use my past against me. Conniving son of a bitch.

Justice would be served.

As I leaned against the marble wall, a young couple wheeling carry-on luggage joined me waiting for the stupid elevators. They cuddled and kissed. Ergh! No wedding rings decorated their fingers. I should do them a favor and tell them never to go down the aisle. Marriage would be fun for a short while, but then it’d just fuck you over.

Like Luther had done to me. He wanted no part in being nice. He just wanted to keep hurting me, like I’d supposedly done to him. Money was all he cared about, and he loathed that I’d taken what was rightfully mine during our divorce. So he’d retaliated in the lowest possible way. When I’d been going through one of the worst times of my life, he’d used my job and my emotional vulnerability against me. He’d used the legal system to take the majority hold on the only thing I cared about...Josh.

Asshole.

I’d lost everything. My mother to cancer. My place on the force. My son to my power-tripping ex.

Total freedom from Luther wasn’t likely, but more time with Josh would be a win.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside. Draining my cup of coffee, I stepped out on level two and headed to one of the large meetings rooms where my team was gathering.

I loved working for Sam’s Security Services. I loved these assignments. We’d been contracted to provide personal security for each member of The Flintlocks. We’d be their shadows during the final five weeks of their rehearsals and promotional appearances here in LA, then travel with them when their tour kicked off toward the end of November.

After the hell and heartache I’d experienced during my short time with the LAPD, I’d found my feet as a private bodyguard. This position had saved my soul...and my sanity.

With caffeine coursing through my veins, I entered the room and took a seat beside my best friend, Beckett. Wyatt, Sloane and Riley, the other members of the team, sat around the table chatting. At least I’d made it here before Wells, our boss, arrived.

“Evening, Ava.” Beckett swiveled toward me. A big grin lit his face as he waggled a finger at my new black business suit, shirt, and necktie. “Nice threads.”

“Yeah?” Smugness swayed through my voice as I tugged on the cuffs of my jacket. “You like it? It’s one of a kind. Designer wear. Custom-made just for me.”

He let out a low chuckle and straightened his shirt collar. “How bizarre. Mine too.”

Something resembling a giggle escaped me. His uniform was the same as mine. Standard, company-issued work attire for tonight’s outing. From the day we’d met at our security training course two years ago, we’d shared the same weird sense of humor. “You’re such a buffoon. But you know I love ya.”

“Love you, too.” He hooked his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. But the tension from the day had me sitting stiff as a board.

He jerked his chin at me. “What’s got you all wound up?”

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