Page 32 of Protect Your Queen

He was fit. His shoulders were wide, his delts were round, his arms defined, and strong. There was a perfect line that traveled between his pecs, down his sternum, to his abs. There were two grooves on his hips, that created the Adonis belt – the v, that pointed down the top of his trousers. I tried not to notice his smooth skin or the way his muscles flexed with his every movement. Instead, I fixated on the line on his arm, where the bullet had left a tiny cut that was held together with black stitches.

Had Brian done that? I didn’t know that Brian could do that. But I guess it was part of why Jareth hired him.

“I’m really tired,Ate,” I said using the Filipino honorific for a big sister.

“I know, Baby,” she took my hand in hers. She pulled me to my room, like I was a kid that didn’t want to go to bed. “I’ll be quick.”

She sat me down on the bed as she went to the vanity and took out a hairbrush. Without a word, she began combing my hair, starting at the ends and working her way up, bit by bit. I watched as my carefully placed curls unraveled and straightened.

My sister had long straight hair. It was natural, never colored. Her eyes were downturned at the ends while mine slanted up. Her nose was broader, her jaw a little wider, and her skin several shades darker. That, alone, kept her from ever being a beauty queen in the Filipino pageants that valued paleness and softness.

Still, she was beautiful. She wore her strength like a badge. When she chose to act like this – to be a little bit like the mother I never knew, I enjoyed it.

“Your mother used to brush my hair like this when I was little,” Jazz said, as she ran her hand through my now softened curls. Then she started the process all over again, this time beginning from the other side. “When she was pregnant with you, she made me promise to do the same when you had enough hair.”

“Why wouldn’t she have done it?” I asked, staring at the two of us in the mirror.

“I don’t know, Baby,” Jazz said, as she started a braid near the crown of my head. “Maybe she knew, you know? Your mother was very smart, very feeling. She just knew things, sometimes.”

She was the only one that still called me that name: Baby. Not because it was a term of endearment, but because I was the literal Baby of the family. I was always referred to as “theBaby” instead of my name. I was everyone’s annoying baby sister, especially after my mother died.Get the baby… Don’t forget the baby… stop or you’ll make the baby cry…

“I promised that I would take care of you,” Jazz said, as she came to the base of my skull, and separated my hair into three perfect strands. “Which is why we are always hovering.”

She got to the end and tied off my hair with a black band that she kept on her wrist.

“Do I look like her?” I looked down at my painted nails. One of them was chipped from the fall earlier, when Chris had shielded me with his body and taken me to the ground.

“No,” Jazz said, with a slight shake of her head. “You are beautiful, like her. But you look like our father.”

None of them ever called him Papa. Not like they had when he was alive.

“Is that bad?” They hated my father. All four of them had turned their back on him after he disappeared, but I hadn’t.

We had been close. I was a papa’s girl. He was always showing me off. He kept telling everyone that I would be very beautiful one day. He was always talking about how I was just like him… I could sing, I could dance, I could act. I was everything he wanted in a child.

“No, Baby.” She pulled hair from my temples and smoothed them behind my ears. “He was a very good-looking man. That’s why he was so successful as an OPMartist.” Original Pilipino Music, or OPM, was a robust industry in the Philippines, and had spread its tentacles to other parts of Asia. Our father had been one of the biggest stars, until things went south for him and he failed to live up to his former glory, taking the whole family down with him. “You and Jareth inherited his face, but not his heart. Thankfully.”

Maybe she was right. But what if I had inherited his failures too? Doomed to rise and fall in the music industry, just like he had?

“Why did he leave?” It was a question I had never asked. “Why did he leave us? It was because of me, wasn’t it? Could he still be alive somewhere and…”

I knew that unless my father showed up and told us for himself, then I’d never know for sure. But I wanted to know what she thought. Did she blame me? DidJarethblame me?

“He’s not coming back.” My sister’s hands tensed into fists. “And it wasn’t because of you.” Then she looked away for a moment and mumbled, “not really.”

Those last words struck me in the heart. She thought, at least a little bit, that it was my fault. He had left us all because of me.

“Where is your gun?” Jazz asked it so casually, that she could have been asking if I had misplaced a scrunchie.

“It’s in the nightstand.” I waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the drawer.

“Why didn’t you have it on you today?” She smacked her forehead.

“I didn’t have pockets, or a purpose for it!” I protested. “And I had Brian and the new bodyguard.”

I didn’t want to say his name. I didn’t want to call her attention to him anymore than it already was because… well, because he wasmybodyguard. And I was scared that he’d like her more than me. Everyone liked her more, when they got to know her. She had that strength and allure that I could only pretend to have.

She could be brash, mean, stubborn, and it would only add to her charm. I could do the same. But then I’d be labeled Diva Difficult.

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