Page 5 of Another Round
All I can think about is my son Aiden, and the chance he never had. The chance my wife stole from him. The chance she never gave me to help her or save him.
I jerk to my feet. Needing to surface from the anguish threatening to drown me from the unexpected reminder of them. Of the grief choking my oxygen. Of the misery wrapping around my dead heart.
“Shae only agreed to let me do this if you accepted. She doesn’t trust anyone outside the family except for you to protect Evie. But you know her, she’ll always think of you as family too after all you did for us.”
Yeah, a friend for life with that one and her overly generous heart. And this fucker’s smart enough to exploit the weakness of my admiration for her against me. “You’re a bastard for using her belief in me to try and talk me into this.”
“I know.”
Damn it. Damn him. Damn this fucking world. “Tell her I appreciate the inclusion.”
I blow out a long breath. Lying to myself that I’ll do this for her and for him and for their daughter.
But really, it’s for me.
Because I’m curious. I’m intrigued. I’m bored as fuck and need something to do before I lose what’s left of my ravished mind. Because being so alone and aimless is fucking killing me as much as a bullet to my damn brain. “Fine. I’ll do it. But the first time it’s any kind of problem, if she’s nothing but a brat, I’m out. I don’t have the patience I used to.”
All bullshit on my part. I’ve never had any patience to begin with, and now I’ve got nothing but time. Nothing but freedom. Nothing but loneliness to keep me company or busy.
“Agreed.”
I’m one stupid, sloppy, sappy motherfucker. “Tell Shae I’ll take good care of Evie for her.”
“Thank you. From both of us.”
Rare gratitude from a man unfamiliar with ever having to be at the mercy of anyone besides his spouse. He actually sounds sincere and a little bit relieved. Which makes me question myself once again. What the hell have I really gotten myself into?
Sweat beads drip from my forehead onto the smooth silver face when I glance down to check the time. She should be here in less than thirty minutes which means I need to hurry my arse up. Three days of securing her apartment has kept me hustling. And reminding me it’s been a long time since I’ve worked this hard—mentally or physically. I roll my aching shoulders back and stand to stretch my legs. Feels good to actually have a purpose. A reason to get up. A goal to motivate me beyond my pathetic solitary existence.
I click through each of the camera shots one last time as I scrutinize the perimeter. Confirming all the feeds work and the lens mounts are almost invisible if you didn’t know to search for them. Which hopefully she won’t. Not in her new town, new job, new place whirlwind.
Every square inch of both the interior and exterior is monitored. Probably a lot of overkill with multiple angles overlapping multiple angles, but if she hangs up any kinds of curtains or picture frames or decorations, I’ll still be able to see everything she does. Catch anyone that tries to come in. Eliminate any danger before she’s even aware there’s a problem.
Satisfied with my set up, I click my laptop closed and stride back to my own studio. Laying my long-neglected tool belt on the gray concrete countertop in my narrow galley kitchen so I can put everything away once I give her a tour of her new home.
I chuckle to myself as I strip on the way to the shower. My first acting gig, playing a nosy landlord to my one and only tenant. Hopefully she’ll be accepting of me being up in her business all the time. Maybe not quite as overbearing as her own father but probably just as annoying.
Damn if I’m not actually smiling as I lather up. For no real reason except I realize how much I’ve missed working. Even more so without the travel or risk or mess. No battles with customs or sneaking past muscled head blokes or cleaning myself of blood and guts from the decimated bodies.
Thanks to Nick I’ve got another easy job with great money and a young woman who I hope is as docile as her mother. Well from his description, probably not. Two out of three isn’t bad I guess.
After I dry off, I pull on a tee shirt and jeans. Actually questioning if that’s appropriate apparel for a landlord. In past assignments, I’ve compared Glocks to Sigs as the best weapon for the job. Now I’m wondering if khakis or denim are better options. Fuck if I haven’t turned soft.
My mobile pings next to my razor, and I swipe the screen. Quick update from the driver that he’s dropped her off as close as he can to our building. I move to the window with my weapon in my back waistband. Just in case there’s any trouble from the curb to our entrance. I text Nick while I wait.
Andy:She’s here.
Nick:Keep me updated.
I roll my eyes from his terse reply. Always demanding, as if I’m not going to keep in constant communication since that’s what he’s paying me for.
The clatter of tiny black wheels from her peach colored suitcase echoes across the cobblestone of the pedestrian path. Closed years ago to any vehicles so visitors could enjoy the shops, restaurants, and bars without worry of watching for traffic. But it’s all I can do to watchher.
She’s unbelievably gorgeous.
More than I ever imagined or expected.
I don’t know jack about fashion. But most of her beauty seems natural with a few expensive touches. Long dark hair highlighted with almost blond streaks. More make-up than necessary or I like, and thick, full eyelashes I don’t think can be real. Yet she wears a simple off the shoulder white dress with a wide band of dark pink around her thighs that makes her look sophisticated despite how tiny she is. Overall, pretty low key for someone from Hollywood.
