by Jagger Cole
I nod. “I do.”
“Take her away to the shore house. Keep her there and keep her safe. Promise me.”
“On my life,” I growl. “Do you really think they’ll come today?”
He shrugs. “Nothing in this world is a sure thing, Vincent.” He smiles. “Well, aside from you. Come, let’s go watch her blow out the candles.”
I can barely form words or think. Bellamy is here. And I’m about to see her.
****
“Happy birthday!” The crowd cheers.
I could barely form words before. I can’t at all now. It pains me that I can’t say happy birthday with the rest of them. I know she can’t hear me anyways over the rest of people. I don’t think she can even see me through the crowd. But I can see her. In fact, I can see nothing else but her.
Bellamy. My Bellamy. And fuck me, she’s… different.
I growl quietly. Different, and all grown up. She was always a pretty girl. But when I see her now, something dark ticks inside of me. Fuck. Now, she’s a stunning young woman. She’s beyond stunning. She’s temptation. She the kind of gorgeous that makes a man crazy and brings crazy thoughts to his head. And it’s turning me inside out.
I’m looking at the girl I’ve known for years. But looking back is a woman who… does things to me.
She’s grown taller. Her lips are full and plump. Her hips are full as well and built for my big hands to grab tight. That dress—Jesus fucking Christ, that dress. That Micheal has allowed a girl who looks like her to wear that dress might be a sign of insanity.
There are wolves in this world. Hell, there are wolves in this fucking room. There are enemies of his who look at her with filthy thoughts. I want to pluck them each out of the crowd and kill them here and now for thinking those thoughts of her. For looking at her like that.
A possessive thought washes over me. She’s mine. She’s only mine. Those thoughts and desires are for me alone. Only my own eyes will drink her in.
I walk towards her, and she spots me. And her eyes light up. It’s like my heart shakes off three years of dust and shadow.
“Mi bella,” I say with a grin. She lights up like she always did.
“Vincent!” She gasps.
I want to tell her she’s beautiful. Or happy birthday might be more appropriate given the circumstance. But that’s the moment the sound of shouting hits my ears. I look at Micheal. His face grows tight and I know this is it. His sources were right. It’s the Feds, and I need to get Bellamy as far away from here as possible.
I don’t think. I simply grab her in my arms and throw her over my shoulder. She gasps in shock. I try and push aside the feel of her body under my hands; the thrum of her pulse so close to mine.
I protected Bellamy from the world for nine years. Stepping back into the job, with her, is as rote as opening my mouth to breathe. I grab her, and I run.
3
Bellamy
Twelve years ago:
“Honey?” I look up from my dollhouse. My father is standing in the doorway, smiling. I like him smiling. He doesn’t much these days, after my mom passed on.
“Bellamy, sweetheart, I want you to meet someone.”
“Who is it?” I go back to my dolls.
“He’s going to be watching you and keeping you safe.”
“Like Chris?”
My dad makes a growling sound that scares me. I look up.
“No, not like Chris,” he mutters. Then he smiles again. He turns and waves someone in. “Sweetheart, this is Vincent.”
A giant walks in. I gasp, and I stand quickly. But the giant smiles a small smile. He looks like a friendly giant. My dad looks at him, and then me. He smiles.
“Why don’t you guys chat. I’ll be outside.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with the friendly giant.
“What’s your dolls name?” the giant asks. His voice sounds different, like some of the Uncles who come to visit my dad at the house.
I smile. “Kitty Cat.”
The giant frowns and smiles. “Your doll’s name is Kitty Cat?” He says, sounding amused.
“Yes,” I snap.
He keeps smiling. “I’m Vincent.”
“I’m Bellamy.”
“Nice to meet you, Bellamy.”
“Are you a giant?”
“Nah,” he shrugs.
I nod. “Oh, okay.”
“But my mom was.”
I stare at him, my jaw dropped. “Really?” I gasp.
“Yep.”
“Are you my new friend?”
“I am, yeah.”
“Do you know how to make a good tea party?”
His brow furrows. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh,” I frown.
“But maybe you could teach me?”
I smile. “Okay, you can stay then.”
He chuckles. “Thanks.”
“But no eating Kitty Cat.”
“I promise.”
“You’re part giant, so I have to say that.”
“Of course. Well, I promise not to eat Kitty Cat.”
I beam at him. “Good. So what’s your favorite kind of tea?”
Present:
The sleek car speeds through the late afternoon. The sun fades and it grows dark. We’re driving in silence, but it’s not awkward. It never has been. Vincent has never been a huge talker. But I like that about him. And the silence is comfortable.
I check my phone, but Vincent shakes his head. “You should turn it off.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I frown, nodding. “Okay,” I say, turning it off. “So, what was that? Back at the house?”
“I’m sorry about your birthday.”
“It’s fine,” I shrug.
“You didn’t get to open your presents,” he frowns.
I want to tell him that seeing him is the best present I could have opened. I don’t though, of course. “So, are you going to tell me what that was?”
I have a good hunch that I already know. My dad doesn’t totally hide what he does, but he also doesn’t have open conversations with me about it. And I’m not deaf. I heard people hissing “FBI” when they all scattered.
Vincent never answers, but I just look out the window. I wasn’t really expecting him to tell me anyways. We drive a little longer before the silence gets to me finally. I’ve always been comfortable with silence with Vincent. But I’m naturally a talker. Too much of one, probably.
“So where are we going?”
I turn to look at him. Vincent smiles a little. It’s like he knows I can’t help myself sometimes. “The shore house.”
I smile. I haven’t been there in forever. I mean I haven’t been home at all in three years. Boarding school was a full time, full year thing. Even though my dad never has frank discussions with me about what he does, I can read him pretty well. I can tell by his body language how things are going, and I hear whispers of course.
I knew that things have even tense with some rivals the last few years, and with the Feds. So when he’s come to visit me, it’s been in secret. I’m actually enrolled in four schools around the world. One in the States, one in Switzerland, one in China, and the one I actually attend in France. I’m even there under a fake name. The few half friends I have at school don’t know I’m Bellamy Genovisi. To them, I’m Mellissa Cartright, heiress to an emerald mining tycoon. When my father visits, it’s by way of multiple booked flights, with different connections, and sometimes body doubles flying to places like Moscow to throw off the scent. It’s been a weird three years, but I know it’s to keep me safe.
But nothing has ever felt so safe as when I’m with Vincent. He’s been my shadow, and my strength. And crush, of course. I turn to look at him in the darkness.
God, he’s so good looking. He’s gotten even more handsome, somehow. He’s thirty now. Somehow, that makes the things I think about him even more tawdry or scandalous feeling. He’s thirty. I’m nineteen. He works for my father.
/>
But it’s not really a scandal, because there’s nothing here. I’m just Bellamy to him. I’m his charge. Perhaps at times I was like a niece or a kid sister. But he’s never looked at me like, well, like the way I’ve wished he looked at me.
“For how long?”
He turns to glance at me. “Hmm?”
“How long are we there? At the shore house.”
“Until we get word that things have calmed down.”
“Things.”
He nods.
“Things like FBI agents busting down my dad’s front door?”
“I—” he frowns. “I’m sorry this happened on your birthday.”
“You really should have planned it for another day, Vincent,” I tease.
He smirks as I grin at him. “Still the funny one I see?”
“Oh, I’m doing standup now.”
“In French?”
“No, in English.” I sigh. “I think it’s hurting my career though.”
He chuckles, and I like. I love the sound of his deep gravely laugh.
“And how’s your career as a public speaking coach?”
Vincent turns and grins. “Good,” he grunts. It’s a one-word answer on purpose. I giggle, but then I frown.
“What have you been doing? For a job, I mean.”
“Stuff,” he grunts.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Work stuff.”
I sigh. “You’re impossible.” My mind wanders and then I pause. “Hey what were you going to say back there?”
“What’s that?”
“At the house. You said ‘Bellamy, you look’ and then the FBI came and all that.”
He frowns and looks at the road. “I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do, c’mon,” I needle him.
He shrugs. “No idea, Bellamy.”
I sigh. “Were you going to say I look preeeeetty?” I tease.
“Sure,” he grunts.
I huff. “You used to be more fun.”
“And you used to be a kid,” he snaps.
I startle. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what do you mean?”
Predictably, Vincent says nothing. I frown and glance at him. It’s getting dark outside, but I can still see that his jaw is tight. His hands are gripping the wheel and they clench tighter. What exactly did he mean by that? What about me being nineteen now, and an adult…
A though hits me. It takes my breath away for a moment. I blink rapidly, and my pulse picks up. A devilish idea enters my mind. I glance out the window and drop a hand to my thigh. I pluck at the hem of my short dress. I glance at Vincent out of the corner of my eye, but he’s looking straight ahead.
I pluck at the hem some more, teasing it back and forth over my thigh. Then I tug it up. I’m not obvious, but I bring it up a few more inches, to mid-thigh. I keep looking out the window. But when I sneak a look, this time I catch him. His eyes dart to my leg, and his jaw ripples tightly. I tremble, and my core clenches.
I’ve had a thing for Vincent for years. He might’ve never looked at me like that before. But now, for the first time ever, he is. And I think that’s what he means by me being nineteen now.
“Are you cold?”
I frown, startled from my daydreams. “What?”
“Here.” He reaches behind him and drags a blanket from the backseat.
“Oh, no, I—”
He tosses it haphazardly over my lap, hiding my bare knee. Fuck. I look back at him, and he’s looking right at me. His jaw is still clenched.
“Stay warm, Bellamy,” he growls. It sounds like a warning. He turns back to the road, and we drive the last half hour in silence.
4
Vincent
Eight years ago:
“Have you ever been married, Vincent?”
I snort. “Have you met me?”
Bellamy frowns. “I don’t get it.”
“Never mind,” I smile. “And no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m difficult.”
She giggles. “So marry a difficult woman?”
I laugh. “Maybe I will.”
Bellamy shrugs and goes back to her drawing. “I’m going to get married one day.”
“Well that’s nice.”
“Yep. I even know who to.”
I chuckle. “And who’s that?”
“Jessica, from school. “
I smile. “Oh?”
“Yep,” she says matter of factly.
I stop for moment and ponder that Bellamy not actually being interested in boys might make my job considerably easier as she gets older. But I know at her age, it’s not about actual attraction. I’m surprised she didn’t say she’s marrying Elmo, or the talking snowman from that other movie.
“Well that’s nice. You can marry Jessica if you want.”
She shrugs. “Dad says mommy was his best friend. You’re supposed to marry your best friend.”
“And Jessica’s your best friend?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
She looks at me and scowls. “You, dummy.”
I smile. “Well, I don’t think we can get married.”
“I know. That’s why I’m marrying my second-best friend.”
I laugh.
Present:
Christ, this girl is going to be the death of me. We pull through the gates of the shore house at the touch of a button on the dash. But we wouldn’t have made it here without me throwing that blanket over her. Not without driving off the road. I grit my teeth. We pull up outside the huge house. I turn off the engine and it’s quiet.
Bellamy looks up at the huge house. “I haven’t been here in so long.”
“Neither have I.”
Not in maybe six years. The last time we were here, Micheal foolishly let Bellamy throw her first boy-girl party. Which meant boys; boys like a little shit named Kyle who tried to corner Bellamy and steal a first kiss. When I stopped him, I wanted to let him have his first with the hot side of a frying pan. Micheal settled for a firm word and sending him home to his parents.
“Can’t go killing every boy that looks at her, Vincent,” he’d joked.
I still believe otherwise. And after seeing her now that she’s grown and become this intoxicating woman? I mean it even more.
We step out. There’s no luggage, but there are clothes stocked in the house. I push in the key code and we step into the dark house. Immediately she starts turning on lights. I frown.
“Bellamy,” I warn.
She sighs. “Are we going to hang out in the dark? Besides isn’t this house under a different name or company or something?”
I grin. She’s smart, and correct. She can be a little brat sometimes, but she’s a very, very smart girl. And she misses nothing. I only hope she’s missing the way I’m trying not to look at her. I mean, it’s Bellamy for Christ’s sake, I remind myself for the hundredth time.
“It is.”
“So? We’re good. They won’t look for us here.” She frowns. “Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“Why do I have to run? I mean, my dad’s business…” she falters. “I’m not connected to it aside from being related to him.”
“Your father just doesn’t want you exposed at all. No, you’re not connected to anything he might be involved in.”
She rolls he ryes. “Might.”
I press on. “But even an innocent trip to the FBI office means you’re an exposed target. He’s done a lot to keep you safe over the years, you know.”
“You mean you have.”
I smile. “That too.”
“But they won’t be looking for us here?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Well, then let’s throw a party!”
I roll my eyes. “I’m going to check out the house. Stay on the first floor, okay? And no phone. Keep it off.”
She rolls her eyes. “Booor-ring.”
“Bellamy,” I g
rowl.
“Fine, fine,” she groans. When she wanders off towards the kitchen, I go back to the car for my gun. When I’ve got it, I make a quick check of the house. But the security system is state of the art, and I know we’re alone here.
All alone.
The thought has me both hungry and excited, and terrified of what that means. It’s Bellamy, I tell myself. She might look like the most gorgeous, sinfully sexy woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. She might be all curves and sensual beauty. But she’s still Bellamy.
The throb in my pants seems to disagree, though.
I’m almost done with the third floor of the sprawling, twelve-thousand square foot house. But suddenly the music booms over the home audios system. The Rolling Stones start blasting away into Gimme Shelter. I swear. The FBI and Micheal’s enemies might not be looking for us here. But the neighbors and the local cops might if she keeps that shit up.
“Bellamy!” I roar. I run downstairs. The sound only gets louder. It’s deafening by the time I charge into the kitchen. My jaw clenches.
“Bellamy!”
She turns from the fridge, just as the cork on the champagne bottle pops. I scowl and march over. I grab the bottle from her soft, small hands. Then I reach over and dial the music way the hell down.
“Oh, what the hell!?”
“Really?” I grunt.
“What?” She shrugs. “It’s my birthday! I’m nineteen!”
“Exactly.”
Bellamy groans. “I can drink champagne in France, Vincent!”
Images of this gorgeous little creature cavorting around drinking bubbly with French boys makes me livid. I shove it aside though.
“Well here, you can’t.”
“Vincent.”
“What,” I grunt.
“You work for the mafia.”
I say nothing. But she just smirks at my silence.
“Are you seriously worried about following the law when it comes to me?”
Jesus, I think to myself. That wording carries more implication than she even realizes.
“I mean my drinking,” she adds.
“Yes.”