by Celia Crown
Ezra does not fight by calculation.
She fights by instinct.
She tells me that protecting prominent figures has taught her to destroy the enemy.
That disregard for human life is alarming.
It does not take a genius to know she meant crushing their lives with her little hands. A part of me is still stunned that those small hands can take down men who are three times her size.
“I have interviewed a member of Cypher,” one of the reporters injects. “Isn’t being involved with a client against the rules?”
Ezra simply stares at the man, and I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing anxiously. I don’t blame him for that reaction, Ezra can appear cold and heartless when she wishes.
Another reporter raises her hand and taps her pen on her notepad. “My source says that you two are dating, is that true?”
This conference is supposed to be about the upcoming match, not about my personal life. I keep the two sides of my life separate, and I hate it when my privacy is breached.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth that forces the anger to my fists, and that usually leads me to break a piece of furniture or two.
“Let’s keep it professional, everyone,” the coach says. “Be respectful.”
That statement is directed to the woman, but she merely smirks smugly. Red flags immediately wave in the back of my mind as I keep an eye on her.
“Do you deny it?” she presses.
I peer at Ezra, who has her eyes on her lap, but she is not looking at my hand on her thigh. The phone in her hand lights up, and she tilts the screen towards me. Her smile is sly and manipulatively unsympathetic.
The screen has a blue background with a white loading symbol. It says, “Force Pairing Bluetooth.”
“Your source is this camera,” Ezra discloses as she takes one of the flowers out of the bouquet.
That was not the shocking part; it was the fact that Ezra’s voice had bounced out from the crowd.
The woman’s face turns ashen as she fumbles with the phone in her pocket. Everyone diverts their attention to her for a moment before they turn back to us.
While their attention was away from Ezra, she had unpeeled the decorative green tape from the “stem.” The red flower “petals” were also exposed.
The woman stammers and defends herself, “I—I haven’t broken the law. It’s a one-party consent law!”
Ezra drops the listening device, and I note there is a pinhole camera attached to it as well. This flower bouquet had been found in my room, so the intention to record incriminating stuff was aimed at me.
Ezra had known about it the first day she stepped into my room.
Fuck, she’s good.
She is incredible.
A flush of pride courses through my veins when I squeeze her thigh as a form of commendation.
“Yes, and that’s why I have also taken advantage of it myself,” Ezra says.
“Your husband’s name is Gregory Lang; you recently gave birth to a baby girl named Bailey. You have a second mortgage, and your home is about to be foreclosed on by the bank. And yet, you can spend money on caviar for your secret boyfriend, who happens to be a married man.”
My hand is clenching her thigh in bewilderment as my Ezra continues to stomp on the woman’s confidence. The reporter is trying to defend herself through her slackened jaw.
“You are desperate for money, and you thought you could get an inside scope or something incriminating to sell.” Ezra finishes with a sigh as the microphone stops transmitting her voice into the room.
Everyone falls into a frigid silence. The woman has tears in her eyes when she tells my Ezra to shut her mouth, but she does not offer up anything to defend herself.
It’s rather difficult to protect her dignity when she has just been put in the spotlight with a truth she never thought would come to light.
I believe everything Ezra said, she is not the type of person to create drama. She was only defending herself and me when it was our privacy that had been attacked.
“If you do not have respect for yourself, the least you can do is acknowledge that others have theirs.”
Ezra is ruthless when she keeps the impassive expression on her face as the woman chokes back a sob of humiliation.
She had been planning this, and it makes sense she was waiting for the dirt that had been dug up on me. She does not show a hint of remorse when the woman runs out of the room with her face soaked by tears.
“Don’t you think that was too harsh?” one of the reporters ask tentatively.
Ezra tilts her head, uncaringly aloof. “I will do whatever it takes to remove any threat against my client.”
“You attacked her personally and—”
Ezra interrupts as her back leaves the chair. “Cease your naivety.”
The man draws a sharp breath, and I can feel the immense iciness in her tone. I want to see just how far she will go to protect me from these vultures.
Reporters are notorious for hiding behind the first amendment. They can pretty much get away with saying anything if they don’t cross the legal limits.
“She initiated the breach of my client’s privacy; I have merely returned the gesture.” Ezra smiles intimidatingly and dreadfully distant.
“I look forward to your articles,” she remarks. “All of you.”
That is a threat no one can ignore.
Ezra knows what she can do. She has a powerful company to back her up; they could bury these reporters in frivolous lawsuits and bankrupt them.
No one dares to make a noise; the vultures have been silenced by simple words from a much younger woman.
I never thought it was possible, but they drop the topic and move on to another question about the upcoming match.
Ezra keeps to herself as the conference continues. I don’t answer any of the questions; the coach does it for me. I don’t want my words to be twisted into something horrible when I wake up to the news tomorrow.
When the conference ends, few stay to get their last questions in by coming up to the stage where we are seated. The table helps keep the distance I want between the reporters and me.
“I apologize for my behavior, sir,” Ezra says as I guide her off the stage.
“No, thank you for your contribution,” I reply shortly with a laugh.
We find ourselves by the other exit when Stein stalks up to us. The bold grin on his face means he is up to something I don’t want to be a part of.
“I want you, girl,” he says as he points at Ezra.
What the fuck did he say?
“You cannot afford me,” she retorts back with a blank face.
I square my shoulders and bring her small body to my side with a hand firmly locked around her waist. The gentle hand on my back rubs away the tension that pinches the muscle above my spine.
“I can when I win,” Stein claims boisterously. “Cypher, eh? I’ll buy you for the whole year when I beat his ass.”
His thumb jabs towards me, but his eyes leer at my Ezra’s breasts.
He is no longer a man in my eyes. He is an animal salivating over what is mine like a piece of meat.
I want to put him in his place, but I will have a chance to do that in our upcoming match.
My hand itches to knock that grin off his face, and it would be so easy to do it. However, that would disqualify me from the match.
I did not work this hard to get where I am only to be defeated by a wash of anger that would eliminate me.
“I see,” she muses without a smile. “Then, you are well within your rights to hire me—if you win.”
Stein laughs and stomps off. His coach spares us an interested stare before going after the smug bastard.
I am fuming with anger as I grab a fist of her hair and tilt her head back forcibly. I do not appreciate what is mine making a decision that is not hers to make.
I want to stay true to my word and not dictate what she does, but that goes against every part of me.
I want to control her and keep her as mine. If it means I will have to pay for her services as my bodyguard for the rest of our lives, then I will gladly pay that hefty price.
Keeping her is a significant part of my motivation, other than winning this match for myself. This serves as more motivation to win; I have something to look forward to other than the one hundred-million-dollar prize.
However, the prize itself pales in comparison to getting Ezra as my reward.
“No need to be angry, Reese,” she coos wickedly.
Ignoring everything around us, I lean down and kiss her. Her muffled breath turns into a shuddering mewl as I slant my mouth to hers.
She tastes of honeyed mint and a faint trace of something indescribable.
“You’re mine,” I whisper against her lips. “You don’t get to choose who will have you next because there will only be me, do you understand?”
She smiles against my lips; it is cunning and conspiring. “As of now, I belong to no one. My options are open.”
“Not for long,” I vow with a sneer.
“Oh,” She gasps lightly. “I would never doubt your chances to win, but I must remain neutral.”
“You are mine until next week, and you will continue to be mine after it passes,” I growl into her lips and take all I can get from her.
She pulls back and presses her tiny hands on my chest. “May I remind you there are still reporters here? I would hate to see this on the front pages.”
“You may not,” I snap back and lean towards her once more.
“You know, when I suggested the ‘relationship’ thing, I wasn’t thinking of making out in public to sell that lie,” the coach injects suddenly as he appears out of nowhere.
Ezra blinks, not self-conscious or distressed by his arrival. She turns as much as she can with my hand holding her soft hair as leverage. I also turn to my coach, silently cursing him for his untimely entrance.
I have not gotten enough of her pink lips yet.
“I will be whatever my client wants, despite it being against the rules,” she says.
The coach cocks an eyebrow at his daughter. “And after?”
“Son-in-law,” I answer curtly.
Ezra hums. “That’s… well, color me speechless.”
The coach huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he tries to intimidate me with a well-aimed glare.
“I expect you to woo my daughter with that one hundred million.”
I smirk as I let go of her hair to hold the curve of her waist and press her closer to my hardened body.
“As amusing as this is, may I remind you that I am still employed by my boss who will put me in a container and ship me into oblivion?”
I glance down to see the subtle acceptance in her eyes. That is exactly how I want her to respond.
“It will be my turn to protect you.”
Chapter Seven
Ezra
Reese is stressed, understandably so.
It has been several days since the press conference, and the final match has been looming in everyone’s mind.
Reese stands looking forward, but his back is tense and strained. He has never voiced any shred of doubt or anxiety. But it is easy to see the uneasiness in his sagging shoulders when we are alone.
He cannot afford to doubt himself, so he pushes his body to do more in less time. I do keep an eye out; I don’t want him to fall into a vicious cycle of doubt and the need to prove himself.
The match is now just two days away.
Many people want him to fail, but that comes with the territory and being in the public eye.
I will not let that happen. My job is to protect Reese as a whole person. Nothing will come as a failure for him—not on my watch.
“Come with me, sir,” I say as I stand from the chair.
The view of the endless greenery has begun to fade with the sunset. Nightfall comes too quickly, and another day has gone by uneventfully.
Reese has a strict schedule, and my father is not someone who messes with something proven to work. He was the one who strategically adjusted the timetable for Reese and accommodated his needs. But it is putting a strain on everyone.
After dinner, we were going to retire for the day. Reese had wanted a breath of fresh air and complete silence, so I took him to the roof for an unobstructed view around the facility.
“Something on your mind?” he asks as he follows me down the stairs.
“You could say so,” I murmur.
The elevator takes us to our resting quarters. I guide Reese to his bedroom door and smile. The silent message confuses him, and he opens the door to step in as I follow.
“Please sit,” I say as I motion to the bed.
He blinks but does what I ask him to do. His broad shoulders roll with exhaustion from today’s training.
I am amazed at his ability to push through an even more rigorous workout regimen my father had fine-tuned for him.
I stand between his tree-trunk thighs and hum to myself. A trace of apprehension twists in my belly, but it is not as bad as I make it out to be in my head.
For Reese, I can do many things.
I bring a hand to his cheek and stroke the skin under my fingertips. The amber in his eyes reflects what he sees when he looks up. He wraps a big hand around the back of my thigh, mimicking the stroking on his cheek.
“I am never good with people,” I begin, but not pitying myself.
The art of conversation was nonexistent in my upbringing. But I do not blame anyone for it. Not my mother, who shouted more than she talked. And not my father, who used his fists rather than verbally communicating his anger.
There was a time in my father’s life when alcohol was his best friend. I loathed him for it and learned to never take anything my father does to heart.
Not his spontaneous need to be another person and not his need to prove something wrong.
He is headstrong and insensitive. To spite his father, he became an alcoholic with no consideration for those who truly struggle with that demon.
He believed alcoholism could be cured with willpower.
My father knew what he was capable of, but no one knows how well they can control their body until the worst strikes them.
Nonetheless, he pushed past his limits and never touched a drop of alcohol again after his father had died.
A “fuck you” to his grave.
A lot of things my father did were thoughtless and tactless. But that is who he is, and he will never change for anyone.
Not for his daughter and not for my mother.
“I work for Cypher to get better at it,” I mutter softly as I smile at the incredulous bend of his eyebrows.
“I know,” Reese says with a chuckle.
It is ridiculous because I tried to improve my social skills by joining a company that does not provide that option. We are always off to new places with new people, so we never have the chance to make friends.
“I have met people from all backgrounds and religions, but none of them has ever caught my attention the way you have.”
A flash of darkness clouds his gorgeous eyes, his grip on my thigh tightening with my skin pinched between his fingers.
“You’re different, something I can’t put my finger on,” I continue. “I have been pursued with money and offers of never working another day in my life, but I was never interested.”
Maybe it is because they were politicians, men in the spotlight with more money than they can spend. Or maybe they were just vain in everything they did.
I don’t know, and I will never know. Reese is grounded and humble, a breath of freshness I never thought I needed in my life.
“You have taught me a lot of things, made me learn about myself in the weeks we have spent together.”
I pause and contemplate how I want to go about this. I don’t know what is acceptable to say and what is not; I don’t want to hurt my relationship with Reese.
I wouldn’t usually call i
t that, but other words don’t really describe our connection. I feel close to him, a scary feeling that is hard for me to grasp.
I’m afraid of saying or doing something that will make him see me in a different light.
However, I can’t change for the better if I do not take the risk of trying something new.
“I enjoy my time with you, and you have been so patient with me. I never realized how many rules I have broken,” I point out, but I’m not blaming him.
There are consequences that I will bear.
In my estimation, the termination of my employment with Cypher is the worst thing that could happen. Unless the team of blood-thirsty Cypher lawyers sues me for damaging the company’s image.
“Ezra?” he whispers in a velvety baritone. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “It is my job to protect you, and that means I will do whatever I can to accomplish it.”
“I know,” he mutters back. “You made that clear before. What brought this on?”
I am unsure what he means by “this,” but I can assure him that he doesn’t need to worry about me. My emotions are my problem to deal with; he already has a lot on his shoulders.
I would only be a burden to him.
“I don’t like seeing you like this.” I drag my hand down to his neck and feel the pulse on my fingertip.
“Tired and restless,” I note softly.
“It’s common before a fight,” he murmurs with a chuckle. “I’m alright, Ezra. Just anticipation, nothing more and nothing less.”
“Let me help you,” I offer vaguely.
He tilts his head in contemplation but has no idea what I am offering. I don’t know what I was thinking when I said that. He often makes me lose my train of thought with one keen sweep of his eyes on me.
His eyes, I realize, are a weapon.
I do what I think is right because that is what people who are attracted to each other do. His actions have indicated his desire, but he has never verbalized wanting anything other than what my body can offer.
Maybe he has and I just don’t remember. But I don’t have the luxury of thinking back right now, or I will lose my nerve.
I bend one knee and drop to the carpeted floor.