Page 8 of Without Fail

“Fuck,” Marshal growled, squeezing the phone.

Rock cackled and Marshal shot the big bodyguard a glare.

“I don’t blame him, he’s been through hell,” Rock said, leaning back in the chair that creaked underneath the considerable weight of the heavily muscled man.

Marshal pulled a hand down the trimmed hairs on his face. He agreed with Rock that Ryker had been through hell, but dancing on fucking tables?

“It’s probably still streaming live,” Bishop said, shoving to his feet and grabbing his keys from where they lay on the desk. “You guys coming?”

Hell yes, he was fucking coming. Marshal shoved back his own office chair and snatched his jacket from the peg by the office door. Rock snorted but dutifully got to his feet. All three men headed through a large workout room.

Stepping outside the front door, Marshal made sure it closed tightly, although he didn’t lock it. There were enough bodyguards inside the Suwan Guardian building to deter anyone from fucking with the place. Rock hopped into the back and Marshal snagged the passenger seat with Bishop behind the wheel of the custom jeep.

“How come you’re no longer guarding Shelley?” Bishop shot Rock a curious glance over his shoulder.

“She’s dating a new guy. He has his own team and she doesn’t need me any longer. Brick told me to pick Suwan or Cobalt to work at.”

Bishop chuckled. “So, they kicked you out?”

“Nah. Shelly said I could still have my room, but a friend was looking for a roommate, so I moved closer.”

The city lights flashed by and Marshal’s mind went to Ryker. He was all for having a good time, but Ryker was taking it to a whole other level.

“I need to head over to Cobalt on Wednesday to go through some new trainees, you guys want to come with?” Bishop asked, cutting into his thoughts.

“I’m down,” Rock told Bishop, and Marshal thought about it for a moment.

He might as well. Suwan Guardians and Cobalt Security were both part of Brick Industries, so essentially, they all worked for the same people.

“Yeah, I’ll tag along.”

“Oh, thank God,” Brandon said, rushing up to him, Bishop, and Rock when they entered the club twenty minutes later.

“Where’s Chad?” Marshal growled.

“He got a sick stomach and had to leave.”

Marshal wanted to strangle Ryker’s two bodyguards. “I gave you guys one fucking job.”

“I know. I’m sorry, sir.” Brandon ducked his head down.

Marshal zeroed in on Ryker. The young billionaire was still dancing on the table, although the rapid beat of the music had changed to a slower pace. So instead of breaking his neck from a fall, the man was set on seducing every person in the place with the seductive sway of his hips. The glittery top left a portion of Ryker’s midriff bare and the black hip-hugging pants were painted on his trim hips, tight ass, and sleek thighs. His body swayed, head tipped back, eyes closed. Next to the table Rykerdanced on sat Syn, wearing a similar outfit and sipping at a drink.

The only reason the crowd hadn’t swarmed the table was because of Mateo and another man giving death glares to the encroaching crowd.

“Who’s that guy?” Marshal asked Brandon and pointed to the man next to Mateo.

“That’s Cliff. He’s Jennifer’s new bodyguard.”

Marshal squinted at Syn lounging like he didn’t have a care.

“You allow him to do this shit?” Marshal growled at Bishop.

Bishop snorted. “You think I have any say over what Syn does?”

“You’re whipped.”

“And proud of it,” Bishop agreed, smirking.

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