It isn’t until a woman says, “You’re safe,” that I relax and let her lead me wherever she’s taking me.
I’m deposited on my couch, but I shake uncontrollably.
The officer’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Is there anything or anyone I can get for you?”
“Gideon,” I croak. “My manager.”
“The guy who called it in?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s outside. He got here as we were about to charge in.” She talks over her radio to send him in, and I’m thankful she didn’t have to leave me alone to do it.
I can’t get my breathing under control.
Gideon bursts into the room and lands on his knees at my feet. “Harley?”
I sniff and wipe away tears that streak my face. I didn’t realize I was crying until right now.
With a deep breath, I meet Gideon’s gaze. “I’ll do it. I’ll hire a bodyguard.”
Chapter Two
Brix
Gravel crunches under my almost-bald tires. My shitty 1999 Honda makes a grinding noise as I park in my assigned position. I usually pull in and park my heap of junk next to Corvettes, convertible Mustangs, and Aston Martins, but today, the lot is empty.
Working for Mike Bravo Ops pays well—better than what a sergeant in the US Army earns—but medical bills cost more. There’s no fighting that.
When we’re all called in, and our cars are lined up, it’s not hard to play a game of one of these things is not like the other.
I grab my bag full of stuff that’ll get me through the next few weeks, take my coffee from the cupholder, and then get in the zone as I move toward HQ.
A new mission means I need my head in the game. I’m too distracted by that to notice Iris coming up the drive. I’m almost taken out by his Charger.
He’s a complete show pony but decent to work with, and I’m guessing he’s here for the same op.
His engine revs as he pulls his handbrake and drifts into the parking spot next to mine, kicking up gravel and dust everywhere.
Yup. Total show pony.
He’s got slick brown hair, aviators, and a model face that makes all the boys and girls drool.
He’s a little overstated for my tastes. Pretty guys are not my thing.
I like rugged guys. The more masculine the better. Find me a guy who has the ability to throw me around, and I’m theirs. No questions asked. No strings.
Iris catches up to me. “Any idea what the job is?”
“No idea. Boss was vague.”
“You know what that means.”
I nod. “Yup. It’s a job we’re gonna hate.”
“I’m guessing recon on some bad guy where we have to stake out his place for weeks.”
“Fuck. That’d be the worst.”
“Aww, don’t want to spend that much time with me?” Iris lifts his glasses and flutters his lashes at me.
“I love you, brother, but not that much.”
He’s not even offended. “That’s okay. I’m better in small doses. Even my mother used to tell me that.”
“That could be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Right? Feel sorry for me!”
I glance back at his Charger. “Yeah. So sorry for you.”
“Where does all your money go? We’re all on the same pay grade.”
“Nice try.”
The guys ask, but I never tell. I don’t need them acting like the brothers they are. Brothers-in-arms to the core … professionally. When it comes to my personal life, it’s my mess to deal with.
“You’re secretly divorced, have six kids, and your ex takes all your money?”
“Nailed it, man. Nailed it. Their names are Brix Jr, Brix III, Brix IV, Brixley, Brixany, and … John.”
He doesn’t even blink. “I’m not the brains of this group for nothing.”
He is far from the brains. He’s the agile one we send into tight ops. The one who’s so stealthy he can extract a target and take out three guys without anyone noticing until hours later.
He’s the most lethal and the least sane, but I guess those things go hand in hand.
Iris claps me on the back and leads me into the house.
Travis West’s mansion is our main base of operation, and in the four years I’ve worked for Mike Bravo Ops, I’ve never seen the boss anywhere but in our operation center. Supposedly, he lives at the opposite end of the house, but I’ve found him sleeping in our control room more times than I can count.
Today, he’s in our war room.
“Take a seat.” Firm and authoritative as always.
We sit opposite him, and he slides files over to us.
The company does a large range of ops, whether it be for military, government, or private clients. It ranges from extractions, intel gathering, and sometimes taking out bad men who do bad things. All off the books kinds of things.
Which is why the contents of my folder doesn’t make much sense.
“We have to take out a pop star?” Iris asks.
Trav grumbles. “Of course you’d go there first. No. You’re not taking him out. It’s your job to protect him.”
“From what?” I ask.
“Rabid fans,” Trav says. “One broke into his house, so now he’s after full security detail.”
“Security …” My gaze flies to his.
“Bodyguards.”
“As in glorified babysitters?” My voice goes high-pitched.
“Starting a new avenue for the business, boss?” Iris asks. “We’re not really on the protecting side of things.”
The opposite, actually.
“It’s a favor to my cousin Gideon. He’s Harley Valentine’s manager.”
Then something in the file catches my eye. “Live-in? We’ll be living with him?”
“You will be. You’re taking point. Iris will take over on Sundays, which will be your one day off.”
Full-time. Live-in. With a pop star.
No, thank you.
“Am I being punished for something?” I ask.
“Punished?” Trav cocks an eyebrow. “Did you see the pay packet on this job? And you get a company car. Can’t exactly protect someone in that shit box of yours.”
I glance back down.
Damn, that’s a lot of zeros. I’m not exactly in a position to turn it down. “Why’s it so much?”
“Celebrities need to pay their employees a significant salary so they can’t be tempted by a tabloid payday.”
Makes sense.
“How long’s the job?” I ask.
“Six months, but it could be longer. It depends on how long his next album takes to record and if they’ll want you on his next tour at which time we’ll reassess.”
Permanent. Minimum six months.
“I can’t,” I blurt. That’s too long. Then I look at the pay again.
I could really use this money. No, I need this money.
“You can’t?” Iris says. “I’ll do it. For that much money, I’ll be his personal rent boy.”
“Of course you would,” I mutter.
“Iris, give us a moment.”