Page 46 of Don't Say A Word

He rolls his eyes. “I got attacked by a cat.” He chuckles, not even trying to hide his lie.

As soon as we stop, Marcel barges in front of Cameron, holding out his hand, chest puffed.

“Marcel.” He states his name as though it means something. “I’m in charge here.”

Cameron looks between us, a smirk on his face. He lifts a questioning brow my way but doesn’t address Marcel’s claim.

“Cameron.” He states his name with equal importance. “Junior’s bodyguard.”

“Ah,” Marcel says. “So we’ve got two dogs in the kennel today.”

Cameron’s smirk instantly vanishes and he takes a step toward Marcel. “What did you just call me?”

“Now you’ve done it, Marcel. Cameron doesn’t have my delightful temperament. I’d watch myself if I were you.”

Marcel laughs but shifts his gaze nervously over to Cameron while taking a step back. “It was a joke,” he says warily. “A bit of a thing between Ryker and me. Bodyguard. Guard dog.” Cameron just continues to glare at him. “I meant no harm, dude. Relax.”

“Dude?” Cameron growls.

I lean in and talk low into Marcel’s ear. “He hates being called dude.”

Like me, Cameron is not a small man. Marcel cringes under his glare until finally Cameron breaks into a smile and whacks him on the back. “Just messing with you.” He nods to the clothing rack. “Where do you want this?”

“Just leave it there,” I say. “So he’s decided she’s allowed clothing, I take it?”

“Apparently so.” He runs his hands over the materials, leaving them swaying in his wake before turning back to me with a wicked grin. “Do I get to see her or what?”

I hide my annoyance and jerk my head over to the monitors, pulling out a chair for him. Mia’s in the shower. Again. She has a lot of showers. She stands under the water until her skin is pink with the heat, trying to wash the filth of this place, the filth of me, from her skin.

I don’t blame her.

She despises me.

I despise me too.

Her back is to us, the water running over her head and flattening her dark hair over her shoulder blades. It isn’t until she turns around that Cameron lets out a low whistle.

“Fuck,” he says reverently.

Marcel chuckles. “No wonder he had to steal her, right? There’s no way she’d go for him otherwise. He’s as dull as a doorknob.”

“You’d be surprised,” Cameron says. “The dude—” he exaggerates the word “—is attractive. He’s got that ‘fuck-me-because-I’m-a-rich-entitled-prick’ look going on. Girls seem to like that. He certainly doesn’t lack for choice. They fall all over him in fact. They have no fucking clue what he’s really like. He wears a mask well.”

“You been busy?” I ask, changing the subject so I don’t have to think about who Junior really is.

Cameron swivels in the chair. “Not really. Been quiet since he’s become obsessed with her. I feel more like a nanny than a bodyguard. You? Are you having fun here?”

I flick my eyes to the screen. “I’m not sure if fun is the right word.”

Marcel laughs. “Only because he’s not allowed to taste the goods. Fuck that.”

Cameron ignores him and gets to his feet. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat,” he winks, “I’ve got more errands to run. The excitement is near killing me.” He claps me on the back. “Behave yourself.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Marcel says. “He’s being a good dog.”

He grins but neither of us return it.

“Joke.” He holds up his hands. “It was a joke. Maybe next time you could deliver Ryker here a sense of humor,” he yells as Cameron climbs the steps.

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