Page 31 of My Broken Bodyguard 2: Ritchie & Tori

“What about you, Asia? You have two men.” I grinned.

“It’s fucking wonderful. They both give me all the attention I desire. And our connection is next level. I never thought we’d be together. Just thought we’d have a little fun. But they have no plans of letting me go.”

“Asia, I’m so happy for you.” I beamed.

I lined up the ingredients for the brownies on the counter. “What about you Simone?”

“Ezra and I have a lot to work through. Our past is so painful. It keeps rearing its ugly head.” She shook her head.

I gripped her arm. “Does he love you?” I asked.

“Yes, more than anything in this world.”

“Do you love him?” I asked.

“Too much.” Sadness covered her pretty features.

“I believe you two will work it out,” I whispered.

Simone grinned. “Yeah, we will.”

“We should make two batches of brownies,” I said.

“Fudge brownies and salted caramel.” Bianca wiggled her eyebrows.

The girls went crazy.

I absolutely adored my friends. They’d been my lifeline for years. Now I had a new lifeline. Ritchie.

A LONG, HEAVY BLACKleather apron covered my frame as I stood at a stainless-steel table across from Rosco. My gaze fell on the brown wooden chair sitting in the center of the room on topof a plastic sheet. It looked like Rosco was upgrading from the floor to the chair.

Ritchie ditched the suit and was wearing a matching apron.

The putrid stench of urine permeated the air in the small space. I wondered if this was where we’d torture whoever wronged us in the future.

Ritchie leaned in, his jaw set and face taut as he pulled out a slender key, turning it slowly to unlock the handcuffs that bound Rosco's wrists.

Ritchie’s back muscles strained against his wife beater with each move.

Seizing his chance, Rosco lunged forward, pushing against Ritchie's broad chest with all of his might. But Ritchie's sturdy frame didn't move an inch.

With one well-placed punch to Rosco's jaw, he sent him flying backwards onto the cold concrete floor.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Ritchie chuckled.

“Get the fuck up.” His gloved hand fisted Rosco’s dingy white t-shirt. He slammed his hulking frame into the chair.

Rosco's face was covered in bumps and bruises. He was barely recognizable. There was dried crusty blood under his nose and around his swollen lips. His dark facial hair had grown wild and tangled. His dreadlocks hung loosely, like a mane framing his face and shoulders. His eyes were lit with a fiery rage. Was he holding a grudge? It certainly seemed that way.

“Do you think we’ve wronged you by holding you as our prisoner?” I asked.

His sinister dark eyes rose, meeting mine, while Ritchie zip tied Rosco’s wrists behind his back.

“Of course, I do. My people need me. The millions I make in drug money provide for hundreds of families in my town.”

I smirked. “Do your precious townspeople know you’re a woman beater and a rapist?”

A huge smile curled his lips. “What I do in my free time is none of their concern. I love watching a woman squirm underneath me. Or the way her eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets when I squeeze her throat.”

---