by Jaime Reese
He wanted to hide, but Julian and Matt had never given him a reason to. He looked up and lowered the ice pack from his swelling eye, wanting to meet Julian’s pale green gaze without obstruction.
He was no longer the young kid they’d known. Not entirely. He was now twenty-four, physically stronger, and with the harder edges and tighter lines that often came with age. Still curious as ever and innocent in more ways than he wanted to admit, he was navigating through the bumpy road to responsible adulthood. But he had stumbled far too many times to believe he could do it alone.
“Welcome home,” Julian signed. A single deep swallow from the stoic man was the only indication of emotion. Julian reached out and gripped the back of Ben’s neck, pulling him into a hug.
Ben sagged into the firm embrace, gasping a breath when Matt joined in and stroked his hair.
He had guessed wrong. Again. They hadn’t pushed him away or given him a disappointing shake of their heads. Instead, they greeted him, welcomed him with a tight hold he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—escape.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed this or how much he had missed the support they had always offered.
Tomorrow, he’d worry about finding his way through the maze of life.
Tonight, he wrapped his arms around the house owners, thankful he wasn’t alone as the tears he had held back for years finally spilled.
Bull shut the door of the small storage room behind him, careful to avoid the click of the lock. With his client’s daughter now safely tucked away, he sought cover in a small alcove along the hallway of the hotel. Reinforcements were due to arrive, and he had to buy some time. After tonight, this job would be over. Then the real job of making things up to his sister would begin.
He hadn’t been home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. He was never going to hear the end of it.
He tightened his grip on his gun and leaned back, flush against the wall, as the sound of voices neared. He had counted three remaining armed men in the hallway before seeking cover. All inconspicuous in their standard-issue black shirt, suit, and tie.
A door opened, then closed.
He peeked out over the edge of the alcove, cautiously stealing a glimpse of the cluster of men. Make that four. He would have remembered that turd-brown shirt.
Bull leaned back again and stifled a groan. During his time in service, he had killed men. And each soul he took had taken its toll on him. His life and occupational choices since then were driven by his intense protective instincts. He would defend his clients and had completed each task with both a zero-failure and zero-casualty rate. But having to fight off four men likely meant he would have to add another soul to his mental list of kills.
Glancing up, Bull spotted the security mirror in the corner of the hallway.
“A man and young woman were spotted running up the stairs.” The voice was new and likely that of the new guy.
Bull craned his neck to get a better view and watched the men in the mirror, cataloging every possible detail of Mr. Brown Shirt. The man wiped blood off his hands with a handkerchief. He must have beaten the information out of someone. The man weaved his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. He then curled his hands into fists in a slow deliberate movement as he looked to the others. “Did you check all the rooms?”
The men grunted.
“They’ve got to be on the roof. Go. Now!”
The men raced into the stairwell door on the north side.
“Bull, I’m here. Where are you?” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back when the familiar voice filtered through his earpiece. Finally, the secondary security team had arrived. Well, at least one member had. The one he knew was most motivated to keep his current charge safe. The lovestruck gaze Reinaldo aimed at the boss’s daughter left little doubt the man would stand guard while Bull took care of these men.
“We’re on the sixteenth floor. Don’t use the north stairwell.”
“Please tell me she’s safe.” The winded sound of his voice was surprising, likely a result of him sprinting up the stairs. There was little doubt in Bull’s mind the man was racing up sixteen flights of stairs like a knight on a mission to rescue his princess. Daddy dearest would likely castrate the man if he suspected the secret love between his little girl and his right-hand man.
“Don’t offend me,” Bull responded with a huff of a chuckle.
Within seconds and after Bull’s confirmation that the floor was clear, Reinaldo pushed through the door of the southside stairwell and immediately stalked over to him, scanning side to side until he joined him in the alcove. “The others are on their way.”
With a nod, Bull quickly led Reinaldo to Annamaria’s hiding place. He pushed open the door to the small storage room and spotted his client’s daughter huddled in the dark corner. Bull barely had a chance to say a word when Reinaldo shoved him aside and landed on his knees in front of her, pulling her into a tight hug. They clung to each other as they whispered words of affection and thankful praise to the heavens.
An eye roll was imminent, but Bull held back the urge. It would take a force greater than a snow blizzard in hell to drop him to his knees like that for someone.
“Can you keep her safe while I nip this shit in the bud?”
Reinaldo held her close as he looked over his shoulder. “With my life.”
It took every ounce of effort to steel his reaction. He wanted to scoff at the clichéd response, but the sudden tightness in his chest shut him up. If he had someone who stared back at him with that much devotion, maybe he’d understand the desperation in their embrace.
Determined to wrap things up tonight, he pushed out the door of the storage room as the young couple still lingered in his mind.
Letting the eye roll finally escape, Bull entered the south stairwell and climbed the steps leading to the roof.
At thirty-eight, he hadn’t felt that squeeze of heart most would call love, but he had been in a few long-term relationships that might have become serious. The last two relationships had left the strongest sting. Justin hadn’t cared about anyone but himself, and Amelia was all about filling her sex quota for the week, even if he wasn’t around to satisfy that itch.
So much for commitment.
Each time, Bull had left without a second of hesitation. It had hurt, but the realization of how easy it had been to walk away hurt even more. Maybe Cupid’s arrows weren’t strong enough to pierce his armor? He shook off the thought. Those magical arrows had made their way through Aidan’s armor—his friend and fellow brother-in-arms. If arrows could spear that tough heart, anything was possible.
Returning his attention to the mission, Bull carefully turned the handle to the last door at the top of the stairwell and inched the door open, ignoring the instant bite of cold Chicago air slapping his face.
Damn, he missed Miami.
The distant sound of voices traveled through the otherwise silent night.
He opened the door a little more and squeezed through. Keeping his body low, he worked his way closer to the chatter, taking cover behind the rooftop air-conditioning units.
The men stood together. He counted off…two, three…where was the fourth—
He sensed the presence before he heard the click of the gun cocking behind him.
Crap.
Bull whipped around and gripped the barrel of the man’s gun with his left hand and delivered an upper cut with his right, knocking the guy unconscious. He quickly stepped forward, hooking his arms under the guy and lowering him to the ground. Bull turned in time to see the remaining men split up, likely on the hunt for him and seemingly unaware of their comrade’s takedown. He sighed. This was going to take longer than he had hoped. He holstered his gun, preferring to use his fists when possible. He wouldn’t let a random shot cut through the night sky and hit an innocent bystander.
He pulled a plastic cable tie from his pocket and bound the man’s hands, securing him to one of the pipes on the roof. Bull tucked the man’s gun into his waistb
and for safe keeping and sought cover. After tonight, he’d rethink these bodyguard assignments. He didn’t need the extra money. He had enough steady work with his usual security assessments to keep him busy and cushion his already comfy nest egg. Besides, axing the extracurricular bodyguard duties would free up time to spend with his sister.
He had to chew on that a bit more once the assignment was over.
Three more men to go. Then he could call it a wrap. Easy peasy.
He crouched behind one of the rooftop HVAC units when he spotted two of the men to his left.
He edged toward the pair, keeping himself hidden as best he could. He snuck up behind man number one, wrapping his hand around the man’s mouth and his arm around the guy’s neck. The man dropped his gun and clutched Bull’s arm, fighting to break free.
The gun clanked when it hit the ground.
Guy number two spun and froze at the sight of Bull holding his friend in a headlock. The momentary distraction was all Bull needed to deliver a kick to the guy’s midsection, knocking him back against the thick metal pipe just as the first guy weakened in his grip. He dropped guy number one, checked his pulse, and walked over to guy number two. Both were breathing but passed out. Perfect. With another pair of plastic cable ties, he tethered the guys together and pulled them over to another pipe, securing them to the metal to keep them in place.
Where the hell is Brown Shirt Guy?
“The team is here,” Reinaldo’s voice came through Bull’s earpiece. “So are the police. They’re on their way up.”
Right on time. He was getting tired of this cat and mouse game.
A thick arm slid around his neck from behind before he had a chance to respond.
Bull threw his head back with force. The hold around his neck loosened but didn’t release. He used his height advantage and bent forward, raising Mr. Brown Shirt off his feet.
The grip around his neck tightened.
Bull let out a roar, slamming back against a rooftop HVAC unit on one side and then the other, finally shaking the man off him and onto the ground. A quick reflection of light caught his attention as the man lunged toward him. Bull bowed his body just in time to avoid the first slice of the blade. The man swiped his arm in the air, left, and then right, up, and then down.
Bull swung a punch, avoiding each swipe of the blade. The punch landed smack in the middle of the man’s face, but the swinging didn’t stop.
Mr. Brown Shirt sneered, his grin bloody. Gritting his teeth, the man threw his body forward with a yell and enough force to knock Bull off his feet.
Color me impressed.
“Bull!” He recognized the detective’s voice, but it was too distant to make a difference. Bull twisted as Brown Shirt sliced through the air again with the blade. A flash of searing heat—maybe two—cut his arm but he refused to let it slow him down.
Bull kicked out and then hooked the heel of his boot back into Brown Shirt’s knee. The man fell but didn’t slow, quickly jumping off the ground and launching forward again. Bull threw a punch and then another while blocking a series of swings to his midsection. Brown Shirt did the same while still holding his knife in his grip. Another swing and then a slice.
Bull sharply inhaled as the blade finally made contact with his torso.
“Freeze,” Mick yelled with his gun trained on Brown Shirt. “Drop the knife and put your hands in the air.”
Brown Shirt stilled, pitching his knife to the side, sneering at Bull with a death glare as the detective grabbed the man’s hands and cuffed them behind his back.
Bull kept his gaze on the man, refusing to be the first to flinch.
Mick’s partner arrived and escorted Brown Shirt Guy off the roof toward the stairwell, bookended by a pair of uniformed officers.
Bull waited until the man was out of sight before releasing a deep breath. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to show an ounce of pain until that prick was gone. He bent forward, pressing his side with a wince.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I knew there was a reason you made detective.” He closed his eyes, pain spreading through his body as the adrenaline faded. A shower and an ice pack…maybe two…sounded good right about now.
“We’ve got an ambo downstairs. Let them take a look at you.”
It hurt to nod.
“Thanks for making things easier and not killing anyone.”
“You’re welcome,” Bull said.
Mick planted his hands on his hips, his expression pinched. He looked over to the half dozen uniformed officers escorting the cuffed men downstairs. “I’m guessing you could have banked a nice bonus tonight had you killed these men threatening Daddy’s Little Girl.”
Bull huffed out a pained breath. His client wasn’t an angel and would have easily paid an extra hundred grand for every dead target who had dared threaten his precious daughter. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“Smart-ass. Sit still. I don’t want you bleeding out. It’ll add more paperwork.”
“I’m feeling the love.”
Mick grabbed his radio and called down to one of the uniformed officers, requesting a paramedic to come up.
Bull blew out a tired breath. “My client is leaving the country in two days and I’m done. Please don’t tell me I’m going to get stuck here because of your paperwork.” He closed his eyes and winced when Mick patted him on the shoulder.
“Your client has diplomatic immunity. When he leaves, he leaves. I’m guessing you might have to wait a bit until you’re cleared to fly if that cut’s deep. Otherwise, I don’t see a reason you need to stay in town.”
He grunted his approval.
After this three-month assignment, he was ready to get back home. He just wished there was someone there waiting for him.
Ben jolted up in bed and looked to each side. He breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the meticulously painted walls and clean blinds on the windows. He slid his hand under the pillow and retrieved his phone. Scowling, he swiped at the screen and realized he had forgotten to set his alarm.
Dammit.
First day at HH and he had slept through breakfast. His stomach wasn’t going to forgive him. One thing he remembered from his first stay at the house, Matt and Julian stuck to a schedule. And he’d just blown his chance at having his first home-cooked meal in years. He sighed. He missed Matt’s pancakes.
He missed a lot of things.
He rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. After getting the basics out of the way, he fished through his duffel bag and pulled out a fresh shirt and pair of jeans. Finally dressed, he slid the phone into his back pocket and headed downstairs.
The lingering smell of bacon wafted in the air as another memory blindsided him. He stopped and glanced to his left at the living room, remembering the time when Shaw knelt on the floor and repaired his stuffed bunny, sewing together bits and pieces of fabric scraps until his bunny was whole again. He blew out a shaky breath. He wished it were that easy to piece himself together again.
He resumed his walk downstairs. The living room was pretty much the same but he hadn’t had much of a chance the night before to see if anything else had changed. Walking into the kitchen, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he followed the familiar line of cabinets against the wall opposite him. The kitchen had that U shape he remembered, starting with the entrance where he stood and hooking around to his left where the appliances resided and Matt did most of the cooking. The short wall section to his left that separated both sides of the kitchen remained the same, but the countertop and cabinets had all gotten a face-lift, likely from Julian’s need to ensure the house was perfect and welcoming. The dining table still sat to his right but was newer and larger. The big dry-erase board hanging on the right wall was new. A list of names set in a grid with the days of the week seemed to outline the daily tasks and responsibilities of each resident. He could handle that. The peace of having structure settled him and lessened the chance he would screw something
up.
With a heavy sigh, he stared at the messy kitchen table, a clear sign he had just missed the meal. The single clean space had probably been for him. He groaned as his stomach tightened in protest. Used flatware rested on empty dishes and crumpled napkins were tossed haphazardly on the table.
He stacked the used dishes to help clean up the mess just as Julian walked out from around the kitchen U, holding two breakfast plates—one with scrambled eggs and bacon, the other with a short stack of pancakes.
Ben’s mouth salivated as Julian set the plates on the table’s empty space and pulled out the chair. “Sit,” he signed. “You need to eat.”
“I remember the schedule. I know I missed breakfast,” Ben responded, frowning with each motion of his hands. He looked away for a moment at the steaming food. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning of his release the day before. And the house food slopped onto his paper plate for dinner last night hadn’t looked any tastier than the prison menu he had pushed down his throat for two years.
But not here.
These were real plates and silverware, and Matt’s eggs were almost as fluffy as the stack of pancakes.
Julian tapped Ben’s shoulder. “I wanted you to get some rest and Matt wanted to feed you. We compromised. Everyone wins,” he signed. He stepped forward and grabbed Ben’s chin, tilting his face upward and to each side before releasing him. “Your eye looks better. Is your vision clear enough to read lips?”
Ben nodded.
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” he said, no longer signing, likely testing him. Seemed he and Matt hadn’t changed in their style. Julian hadn’t ever been one for wasted words. And it was likely why he preferred to sign or speak, but rarely did both simultaneously. Matt always signed key words as he spoke, just enough for Ben to follow the conversation, regardless of whether he chose to read lips or signs.
Without further prompting, Ben planted his butt in the chair and shoveled a forkful of breakfast into his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned as the mix of flavors flooded his taste buds. Damn, he missed this. He glanced up when Matt entered his line of sight. He gestured a quick thank-you, then resumed eating. Matt smiled, just as he used to do back then when the residents would attack the food he had cooked for them.