Protecting What's Mine: A Security Romance Collection

by Apryl Baker

  I expect one of them to speak, at the very least, but they don’t. Instead, they step to the side—very dramatic like—and up strolls an older, rounder gentleman. He smooths a chubby hand over his round belly, seemingly straightening out his white, button up shirt. He looks like a tourist with his pressed, black slacks, leather shoes, and shiny Ray-Bans that hide his eyes, but I don’t think he is. No. There’s something too…comfortable…about him.

  The man doesn’t say anything as he lowers himself into the chair across from me. I contemplate opening my mouth first, but decide against it. This is Vegas and this man could be anybody.

  “Quite a show you put on,” he says, breaking the silence.

  His voice is deep and rough, straightening my spine. It’s the kind of voice that sends alarm bells ringing in my head, the kind of voice every movie villain conveniently has. I glance over his exterior, not focusing on anything besides the graying hair at his temples.

  “Just doing my job,” I say, peering out into the street as the cops work on freeing the traffic out of gridlock.

  My phone vibrates over and over in my pocket, but I ignore it. It’s probably Terry ready to go postal on my ass.

  “You’re confident and competent with your gun.”

  “I’m a soldier,” I say with a shrug. “Or was…I was a soldier.”

  “I could use a soldier like you for a special job I need done.”

  I glance at his men and they all watch me intently. By the looks of them, I get the feeling their boss isn’t asking. Ah. It suddenly all makes sense. These guys are a part of the mob. The suits, the silence, the intimidation game. Five bucks says they’re all carrying. If I’m right, if they are a part of the mob, the man sitting across from me is none other than Marco Ventilli.

  I’ve seen him and his men around Vegas from time to time. Now, I’m no casino rat or strip club fiend, so my interactions with the mob have always been minimal, but I know they’re not the type of people I should fuck with.

  “With all due respect, I don’t do those kinds of jobs,” I tell him.

  I bounce my knee as my nerves get the best of me. How do you turn down the mafia without pissing them off?

  “What makes you think it’s one of those kinds of jobs?”

  I lean closer. “You’re in the mob, right?”

  He doesn’t agree nor disagree and I take it as my answer. I’m not going to go from fighting for my country to working for the mob. What does that say about me? It goes against everything I stand for. I fight against terrorists. I fight anyone who wants to do this country harm. I don’t join them.

  “Why don’t you sleep on it and join me at my place for breakfast tomorrow morning to discuss the position.”

  Again, he doesn’t pose it as a question. He pushes his chair back and the metal scrapes against the cobblestone sidewalk. I open my mouth to decline, but he cuts me off with the point of his finger.

  “I’m being patient with you, soldier,” he bites out, whipping off his sunglasses. “Don’t deny my generosity a second time.”

  I grit my teeth at the sight of his eyes. There’s something awfully familiar about the dangerous flare of gold amongst the brown, but I don’t think we’ve met before.

  I can’t turn him down. Not for something as simple as breakfast, anyway.

  “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  They look like they’re about to leave as a policewoman approaches me in her khaki uniform, notebook in hand, but decide to stay. “They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?”

  I shake my head. “No, ma’am.”

  She lowers her sunglasses to the slope of her nose, watching me with curious azure eyes. “What do they want?”

  “To congratulate me,” I lie. “On catching the bad guy.”

  “Is that so?” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “You’ve broken a few laws today, Mr…?”

  “Campbell.” I scratch at the back of my head. “I was just doing my job.”

  “Your job is to fill ATM machines, not open fire on the public.”

  Is she kidding me? He would have gotten away if I didn’t stop him. “I didn’t open fire on the public. I prevented a carjacking and a lot of money being stolen.”

  “Who’s your superior?” Marco cuts in, stuffing his hand into his pocket.

  He speaks with fire in his tone. He couldn’t care less that woman in front of me is wearing a badge.

  Straightening her top, the officer clears her throat. “Paul Hendrix.”

  “Paul, huh? Well, you tell Paul that if he has a problem with our boy here, then he has a problem with me.”

  “Your boy? This has nothing to do with you,” she grinds out, her blonde eyebrows disappearing under the metal of her glasses.

  “Of course it does.” Marco flicks a finger at me. “He’s with us. Aren’t you, Ben Campbell?”

  What the hell is happening right now? I glance between Marco and the officer. Both of them watch me, pulling me in two. Do I take my chances with the law and take the penalties on the chin? Or do I side with Marco and risk…well, everything? Marco has put me in a tight fucking spot and he knows it.

  “Yeah,” I say, the excitement I’m supposed to feel not quite reaching my voice. “I’m with them.”

  The police officer is glaring at me through her sunglasses, I just know it. “My superior will be in touch with you.”

  She whirls on her heel and storms away. Just like that.

  I knew when I drew my gun from its holster that there might be consequences, but I did it anyway and now—all of a sudden—I’m involved with the Las Vegas mafia and the police can’t touch me? What the hell happened in less than an hour?

  “Breakfast,” Marco states, tossing a card onto the table as he turns away. “Oh-eight-hundred, soldier. Don’t be late.”

  Don’t be late.

  Code for: I’ll cut a finger off for every minute you keep me waiting.

  Chapter Six

  Sera

  I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. My eyes feel like ten-pound stones sitting in my sockets and my stomach churns painfully, running on nothing but coffee fumes and a quarter of a peanut butter bagel that I had for dinner last night.

  When I finally made it home after my naughty little rendezvous with Ben, boy, did shit hit the fan. I’d never seen my father so angry—and I can’t forget my mother. She was hysterical, crying about me lying face down in a ditch somewhere. I came up with the best story I could, but nothing sufficed. My guard, Leo? He never came back. I didn’t count on him being too much of a pussy to face my father. Whatever punishment he was going to face will be a million times harsher now that he’s abandoned his post.

  I lied to my parents about driving to a diner out of town with Naomi and her car broke down. I spun a tale about walking miles and miles back to her house and it being too late to come home. I pushed most of it onto Leo since he wasn’t coming back, claiming he abandoned us, and I even went as far as to wipe my phone and give it to a homeless man on the street.

  Of course, Dad didn’t believe a word I said. He slapped me across the face and called me all kinds of names. Now here I am…twenty years old and grounded. I’m not allowed to leave the house for anything.

  I’m a fucking prisoner.

  I’m not going to lie, though. It was worth it. That one night…God, I had the best time, and Ben? He was incredible. I’m almost kicking myself for not getting his number. I would love to see him again.

  Sighing, I kick off the blankets and push myself out of bed. As I sit on the edge, I glance around my room. Long gone are the days when my space was filled with fluffy toys and glitter. Now my room looks like it belongs to a certified adult, so why do they insist on treating me like a child? I’m not buying into the whole “mafia” shit either. I know tons of girls with fathers who are made men and they get to do whatever the hell they want…but not me. Never me.

  I lift myself onto my feet as I push my fingers through my hair and cross the soft
carpet to the door. Outside in the hall, there’s no movement. Usually, Loretta is cleaning the cinema room by the time I wake up, but not this morning, which means one of two things. One, she’s not working today, or two, she’s helping out in the kitchen. Loretta is the only one in my father’s staff who knows how to make a mean cavolo nero and fontina piadina, and if she’s making that…my father must have guests.

  I make my way down the hall, uncaring that only a thin, white tank top covers my bare breasts and the tiniest pair of bed shorts cover my ass. Normally, I’d put on a dressing gown to avoid a lecture, but the sun is out and the air is crisp and warm, meaning my father will be entertaining in the courtyard by the pool.

  No one lifts an eyebrow at me as I enter the kitchen, except my mother, who stands by the far window, watching whatever is going on outside.

  “Come here, child,” she spits, taking in my pajamas as she shrugs out of her light pink dressing gown. “Your father will have a heart attack if the men see you like that.”

  I glance down. Like what? It’s not like I’m going to pour water down my torso or jump into the pool. If they get excited because of a tiny point in my shirt, then that says more about them than it does about me.

  I blow impatiently out of my nose as she pulls her gown around my shoulders. I slip my arms in and she closes it up, tightening it around my waist. Mom and I are very much the same size. Often, we’re mistaken for sisters. We both share long, dark, wavy hair, and a slender frame. However, where her eyes are a beautiful olive green, mine are borderline black with tiny flakes of honey, like my father’s.

  “What’s Dad doing, anyway?” I ask, knowing I’m probably not going to get a straight answer.

  She turns back to the window, slipping a manicured nail between her top and bottom teeth. “Interviewing a new guard for you.”

  I roll my eyes, suddenly not interested in whatever is going on in the courtyard. “Why not use someone who already works for him?”

  I turn toward the fruit platter on the bench and pluck a grape from the top. I squeeze it between my thumb and forefinger before slipping it between my lips.

  “He needs all of his men for something else.” She inches closer. “He seems to really want this…this…Ben guy, but he has no experience.”

  I pause—mid-chew—and swallow the grape. Did she say Ben? Or did I hear Ben? I clear my throat as dread creeps into my chest, nice and slow. “Who?”

  “His name is Ben Campbell.” Mom says, not taking her eyes off the courtyard. “Your father found him downtown yesterday, jumping over cars and shooting the wheels off a truck.”

  I frown, a lot relieved, and a little disappointed. That doesn’t sound like my Ben at all.

  Not that he’s my Ben. He’s not.

  I close the distance between Mom and I and peer out into the courtyard. I see my father’s wide back first and he’s hiding whoever is sitting in front of him, until he leans to the side to grab his prima colazione. I gasp loudly at the sight of short, jet black hair and the broadest pair of shoulders I’ve ever seen. What the fuck is he doing here? Did I tell him who I was? Does he think this is a fucking game? My father and his men would skin Ben alive if they knew what we did.

  I hate that I think he looks incredible in a tight, white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing deliciously thick forearms. I also hate that the top button is undone, exposing his throat and the very top of his chest, but…damn…the guy knows how to dress for an interview.

  “I don’t like him,” I mutter, clenching the edge of the table in front of me.

  “Your father’s counting on it,” Mom replies with a gentle quirk of her lips.

  I have to go out there. I have to put a stop to this. I turn on my heel and rush out of the kitchen toward the back door, ignoring my mother as she snaps my name between her perfect teeth.

  Ben

  “The thing is…” I start, trying to tiptoe my way around offending Mr. Ventilli, who’s gone out of his way to prepare this incredible spread just for our meeting. “I’ve never had to guard someone before. I’ve never had to follow someone around town and make sure they stick to curfew. That’s not really me.”

  He sits back in his chair, lifting his cigar from its ashtray. “I’m not looking for experience. I’m looking for skill, and you have plenty of that.”

  I glance around at the men surrounding us. They stand quite a few feet away and they don’t look at us, but I know they’re listening. Why can’t he use one of them? Why me?

  “I can shoot a gun, but I can’t—”

  “—I’d make it worth your while,” Marco cuts in, tapping a chubby finger against the arm of his chair. “Pay you more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.”

  My eye twitches. Money would help influence my decision. I don’t want it to, but it’d help pay off my mother’s house. I snap myself out of my money-induced stupor. Money isn’t shit when you’re dead. What if something happens to the girl on my watch? What if I fail? They’ll cut my head off.

  I clear my throat and shift on my seat. “The risk is more than the gain. What happened to the last guard?”

  “If you want information, you have to be a part of the family.” He spits a tiny piece of his cigar from his lip. “Do you want information?”

  “I…”

  Truth be told, I need a job. Terry fired me on the spot—fucking ridiculous since I hadn’t undergone any official training. He said the cops are on his ass with an investigation now and he’ll probably lose his job. It seems since Marco made it so law enforcement couldn’t come after me, they went for Knox instead, and the company itself is facing a massive fine. I couldn’t argue with the guy, not really, so I took the termination and I left without protest. My brother called me two hours later after seeing shit on the news. The whole ordeal has been a damn mess, but no media and no police have come for me…because of Marco. I know that’s not a good thing, but what am I to do? At this point, I kind of owe the guy. If I leave here without taking this job, who knows what’s waiting for me on the other side of his stone wall.

  “Okay…” I say, nodding. “I’ll—”

  My words are caught in my throat as the huge double doors to the back yard open and out steps a—oh, I don’t fucking believe this. My eyes bug out of my damn skull at the sight of her. Sera. The girl from the other night.

  Oh, fuck. This is not happening. She marches toward us, her pink gown splitting at the front, exposing one long, smooth leg and a sexy thigh that I licked all over. I clench the arms of my chair in my hands and look away. I pray to God she’s not his wife. My lungs tighten in my chest and I reach out for my orange juice, taking a sip for the first time since it was presented to me. I guess that explains why she bailed first thing the morning after.

  I feel the stares of Marco’s men on me, gauging my reaction to the woman approaching. I force myself to relax and glance out over the pool, seemingly uninterested even though every muscle in my body is coiled tightly.

  “Morning, Daddy.”

  Erhg. I take another sip of my orange juice to hide a gag-slash-gulp. I don’t know if she’s using that word in a kinky way, or if he’s actually her father. What’s worse? At this point, they both end up with me getting shot. Sera kisses Marco on the cheek and stands beside him, cutting her dark eyes at me.

  She drops her head back and I kiss her damp neck, brushing my thumb against her collarbone. Sighing, she pushes her fingers through my hair and squeezes the strands in her fists. With a rough tug, she forces my face to hers and devours me with a greedy kiss as she grinds her pelvis against mine, forcing our bodies together.

  I snap myself out of it, still gobsmacked, as the gentle breeze blows her long hair against her face, but she doesn’t bother swiping it away.

  “This is my daughter,” Marco states, looking down his nose at me. “Seraphina.”

  “Sera,” she cuts in, touching her father’s shoulder. “I prefer Sera.”

  Now I know why Marco’s ey
es are so familiar to me. They’re exactly like his daughter’s.

  His. Daughter’s.

  I’m relieved that she isn’t his wife, but very fucking nauseated that she’s his little girl. If he ever finds out…declining this job will be the least of my worries.

  I lick my lower lip out of nervousness. “So, she’s the job then?”

  I should never have come here. I should have ended this at the cafe.

  “Don’t let her pretty face fool you, Ben Campbell. I go through guards like I do underwear. The girl is a handful.”

  Oh, I know she’s a handful. She’s a handful and a half. I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on Marco and pretend she’s not standing right behind him. I pretend she doesn’t exist.

  “I can’t do it, Mr. Ventilli.” I exhale as I lean back in my chair. “I’ve never done it before. Doesn’t that concern you?”

  He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table. “Let’s cut to the chase. You know who I am, you know what I do, correct?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “So, you understand the kind of dangers my family has to face?”

  I nod.

  “I’m more concerned about someone kidnapping my daughter while I’m not there to protect her than I am about whether or not you can stand in one spot for hours while she shops. You’re confident with a gun, your fitness level is above par, and you’re not afraid to get shit done in the public eye.” He places his cigar in the ashtray. “That’s why I want you. I trust you with my daughter and I don’t know you from a bar of soap. How about you show me the same in return.”

  He shouldn’t trust me—not with his daughter. Not with the girl I’ve already defiled in lots, and lots of different ways. To take this job would be an insult to him.

  I peer at Sera, who regards me with wide eyes filled with warning. She doesn’t want me to take the job. Can’t she see that I don’t want to take the job either, but my hands are tied?