by Kelli Walker
Yep. I needed help.
Just as I caught my breath, a knock came at my door. A heavy pound that rang out around my ears and made me jump. I squealed at the sound. I slapped my hand over my mouth. I looked down at the crack of the door and saw a thick shadow looming there. Standing on the porch of my brownstone.
“Who is it?” I asked.
But all I was met with was another resounding knock.
I peeked through the windows and saw a massive man standing on my front porch. He wore black all over. Black pants. A tight black shirt that looked to be a least a size too small. The man was so huge I couldn't even see all of him. The muscles on his body poured from his bones, like abscesses on a patient’s internal organs. He was a hulking piece of granite with a stare that could have taken my door off its hinges without touching it.
Then, my eyes fell to the badge on his shirt.
‘Rocco, TaylorMade, LLC.’
Weren’t they supposed to call me first?
I slowly eased my door open and took stock of the man standing in front of me. And holy shit, the man was just as massive as he looked to be. His shadow loomed. His hooded brow came with thick black eyebrows that sat underneath a head of thick raven hair. His steely gray stare pinned me to my spot. Daring me to speak as he graced my stoop with his heavy presence. I saw the faintest of tattoo lines poking out from beyond the neck of his shirt and the hem of his sleeves. His tan skin grew red as he stood with his back to the sun. He towered over me. At least a good foot. My five-foot-five stature had nothing on him, and the rippling muscles underneath his black outfit served to shock me to my place.
Black always made things look smaller. It was why I favored the color. Did that mean this man was supposed bigger underneath that damn outfit of his?
“I thought you guys were supposed to call me first,” I said.
The man shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to interview me or something?” I asked.
And again, the man shook his head.
This was annoying. Was he going to talk? Or was he going to stand there and shake his head until I let him in? I already didn’t like this. Reese said they were supposed to call me. Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I jumped, feeling my heart rate buzz in my ears. I gripped the door a little too hard to keep my hands from trembling and I felt that man’s steely gaze studying me. Analyzing me.
Reading me like a book.
“One second,” I said as I reached into my pocket.
I saw I had a message from Reese, and I had a feeling I knew what it would say.
So, they called me instead of you. You’ve been approved for service. They’re sending someone to your place today.
I looked up from my phone to take in the silent hulk of a man standing in front of me.
Yeah. No shit, Reese.
“Are you the man who’s been assigned to me?” I asked.
I was expecting him to shake his head. But instead, he nodded.
“Are you going to be around twenty-four seven?” I asked.
And again, he nodded.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I have a spare bedroom. And it’s right next to the kitchen. So you can eat me out of house and home,” I said.
I watched him raise his eyebrows, but he still didn’t say a fucking word.
That was going to get old very quickly.
I stepped off to the side and ushered him into my home. His large feet fell onto my hardwood floors and he made his way up the stairs. I watched him as he studied my place of residence. His eyes darting around everywhere, taking it all in. The stairs groaned underneath the weight of his body. Underneath the hundreds of pounds of sinewy muscle that sat on his form. I sighed and closed my front door. I locked it, then pulled the shades I had over the windows of the door for good measure. I had no idea if I had enough food to feed myself and this behemoth. But, it seemed as if I didn’t have a choice.
I pulled my phone back out of my pocket and snapped a picture of the man from behind.
I don’t suppose you’re footing the grocery bill to feed the man that just arrived, are you?
I shot the text with the picture off to Reese before I looked up. And I found him staring at me from the stop of the stairs. His eyes looked disapproving. Like I had already misstepped. Great. A silent man who was going to judge my every fucking move. Perfect. Exactly what I didn't need. I made my way up the steps as I slid my phone back into my pocket, but the second I stood in front of him he held his hand out.
“What?” I asked.
He wiggled his fingers, then pointed to my pocket.
“You want my phone?” I asked.
I watched him nod before he snapped, like I was supposed to obey his every silent command.
“You won’t snap at me. Got it…?”
I looked over at his nametag one last time before my eyes met his.
“Rocco?” I chewed.
I placed my phone into his hand and he quickly went to work. I watched his gigantic thumbs move across the screen with ease, then he handed the phone back to me. It didn’t look any different. Nothing seemed to have been toggled. I turned the phone over in my hand as Rocco moved into my kitchen, his eyes moving around the room as I followed him.
“What did you just do to my phone?” I asked.
I looked up, expecting him to answer the question. But instead, he started pulling open cabinets. Opened my refrigerator. My freezer. Looking through my cupboards and my pantry. He slid his hand underneath the edges of my kitchen table that sat by the windows that lined the back wall of my kitchen. I watched him walk into the extra room that poured behind the stove. A room that served as nothing but storage for now. He came back out, his eyes hooked onto the French double doors that stood beside my body.
I watched him toss them open, revealed the bedroom I figured I’d put him in.
“This is where you’ll be,” I said.
But he moved into the room as if he didn’t hear me. The only thing he did that registered the fact that he was listening was he shed his coat and tossed it onto the bed.
Great. A massive messy man. A woman’s dream.
Not.
I had no idea what to think of this man, but my instinct was to throw him out. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask for permission. And he sure as hell didn’t understand basic privacy. I didn’t want to go back on my promise, however. Not to Reese. She was the only person I had in this world, and my word was my bond. Always. No one had anything if they didn’t have the dependency of their word. Promises were everything to me, and I never took them lightly. I didn’t dole them out frequently and I always fulfilled them when I did.
I’d accept the man’s help. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.
Rocco
I barged into her home so I didn’t have to interact with her too much. Her beauty struck me, and that wasn’t good. Her flowing blonde hair. Her brown eyes with yellow specks that danced the angrier she became. The cutest smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that twitched the more annoyed she became with me. I had her by an entire foot. Her head just barely reached my chest. And yet, she was a spitfire. With creamy skin that almost stopped me dead in my tracks and a determined stare that could rival any man I employed at my company.
Not to mention the curves her body donned.
This wasn’t good.
I immediately shook those thoughts away. I needed to prowl her home. Lock it down as quickly as I could. The fact that the stairs creaked was a good thing. It meant I’d be able to hear someone easily coming up the steps before they reached the second set of stairs up to Dr. Jones. She had vulnerabilities galore in her place. Windows she apparently never locked. Some without curtains to draw and dampen our heat signatures. I’d have to tack up blankets or something around the frames. Anything to shield us from someone sitting on any of the roofs I could see from the views of the brownstone.
I walked through the glass double doors of the bedroo
m she had for me and I tossed my jacket down. This room had smaller windows. Slimmer ones that lined the top edges of the walls. An odd set up, seeing as the rest of the rooms on the floor with the kitchen were full-length. But, that made this room arguably the safest. I’d move her into it if my search proved that to be true. I went back through and double-checked the windows on the floor. I made sure to lock all of them, then counted how many needed curtains. I checked every electrical line in the kitchen as well as the gas lines of the stove.
That was another major vulnerability I had to clear.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Jones asked.
I ignored her question as I continued on my quest to lock down her home. I memorized where everything in the kitchen was. I committed to memory the number of knives she had. The number of plates and glasses and forks. Anything that could go missing if an intruder were to somehow slip by me. Anything I could use to my advantage in a fight. Not that many people won against me. Despite my size, I had quick reflexes. I could draw a gun on a man before he could even think about drawing his. It made me deadly. And many people had met a fate unbecoming of them because they dared to test those reflexes.
Test my resolve when it came to protecting those that paid for my services.
“Where are you doing?” Dr. Jones asked.
I came around the banister of the second set of stairs, making my way up to the brownstone’s third floor. This woman had a lot of dark colors surrounding her. Her hardwood floors were a deep brown and the staircase matched the darkness. The walls on the entry floor were cream-colored, but that was the only bright space. The kitchen was riddled with shades of dark green and random splashes of yellow. But, not enough to offset its dreary nature. The dark green followed me all the way up the stairs until I hit the third floor. Then, the walls gave way quickly to a navy blue.
The cream-colored crown moulding and baseboards were the only sign of bright life in her place.
“Can you at least tell me what you want for dinner?” Dr. Jones asked.
Even if I wanted to answer her, I couldn't spare the time. The threats I had seen in her file were too great for me to spare any time with small talk. Most of my clients didn’t understand that. Being a bodyguard wasn’t like the movies. I didn't have time to sit down and sip tea and laugh with them into the early hours of the morning. I had to be on high alert all the time. I had to keep my eyes and ears peeled no matter where we went.
I had to get her place locked down as soon as possible.
I heard her soft footsteps come up the stairs. I ducked into the bathroom, turning the light on before I started opening the drawers. I felt her lunge at me and I whipped around, catching her wrist at lightning speed. Her hand stretched out for the cabinet I had just opened. I looked down and saw it filled with empty makeup canisters and some tampons. Empty Midol bottles. A few panty liners. Typical things women used.
But the blush in Dr. Jones’ cheeks told me she was embarrassed.
“Will you stop opening all my damn drawers?” she asked.
She ripped her wrist out of my grasp before rubbing it in her hand. I went back to opening things, and I saw her hand come into view. I dipped down and went to open the cabinets underneath the sink and felt her push back on the doors. I bit back a growl as I slowly stood to my feet, shooting her a look that told her I needed her to shut up and get out of my way.
“Fine. Don’t come crying to me if you find things that scar you for life,” she said.
She held up her hands and backtracked out of the bathroom. She had no clue. There was nothing this woman could possess that would ever scar me for life. I’d seen things she couldn't concoct in her darkest nightmares. I’d experienced things that would make even her surgical hands curl in on themselves. I’d done things myself that would make her balk and escort me straight out of her home.
My eyes followed her as she left the bathroom, relieving me of the sweet smell of her perfume. Thank fuck, because I enjoyed the smell a little too much. Her attitude tickled my funny bone a little too much.
Her voice felt a little too good against my ears.
I shook my head and kept working. I made my way from the bathroom to her bedroom and began poking around. No stone unturned, no matter how pissed off it made her. I pulled out her drawers and tried not to rifle through them too much. I heard her footsteps falling down the stairs, making her way back to the second level. Probably to cook something, since she had asked me about dinner earlier. I wasn’t hungry. I couldn't focus on food. I needed to screw my head on straight and finish my first task.
I threw open her closet doors and a safe at the top of it caught my eye. I recognized it instantly. I had several like them in my own home, scattered around in all its corners. It was a fingerprint box, and there was only one thing a fingerprinted box held. At least, in my world. I reached for the box and scooped it up. I turned it over in my hand, hearing the jangling of the ammunition as it spilled around against the metal.
This was why I did my check. I needed to know what type of weapons she had at her disposal.
I slid the box back to the top of the closet and closed the doors. I locked her bedroom windows, then drew the blinds before I made my way into the other room. It sat on the opposite end of the brownstone. Toward the front of the place. The sprawling window overlooked the main road and the people that shuffled on the sidewalk below it. I locked the window and drew the blinds. I checked underneath the bed and in the empty drawers before tending to the closet.
That was definitely the worst room in the house for safety. So, I locked the bedroom door before I closed it behind me.
The sweetest sound graced my ears and it stopped me in my tracks. I stood by the bathroom, my hand on the banister as I listened to the notes. A faint humming sound. A trill of music in the air. I trained my ear on it and closed my eyes, feeling my hand relax against the dark wood of the staircase.
Dr. Jones was humming in the kitchen.
I took a second and reveled in it. In the peace her voice had. In the confidence it still maintained. It was my job to make sure it stayed that way. My job to make sure that peace and that confidence never faltered. That was why I needed to focus on the job. That was why I needed to not engage her in mindless conversation. The last time I had entertained a client like that, everyone got hurt. The last time I had gotten to know my client’s personal life, hearts got broken.
I might have saved her from the threat on her life, but I sure as hell couldn't save her from me.
I opened my eyes and made my way back down the stairs. Protection was my game. It was what I had been hired for. Not to hurt my client, but to help them. The only hurt that would come of all this was whoever decided to be stupid enough to harass those in my care. I made my way down the stairs, drawing in deep breaths. I blocked out Dr. Jones’ humming and forced myself to focus on the sound of my footsteps against the stairs. This set creaked louder than the first one. It would definitely be easy to hear if someone found their way into this brownstone.
“You done?” she asked.
I turned my head to her and nodded, then went and stood beside the doors of my room. I turned around and clasped my hands in front of me, standing as a statue in the corner.
“Well, at least you’ll nod your head to my questions,” she murmured.
She peeked back over her shoulder at me and I grinned before I nodded.
“Cheeky bastard.”
And yet again, I nodded.
“Are you hungry, at least?” she asked.
I shook my head, wanting no part in the food she was cooking. I’d get something myself after she went to bed. After I knew she was soundly sleeping. A full stomach only made for a struggle to stay away. Hunger kept me alert.
“Well, you’re a big boy, so I’m going to make enough for you anyway. I’ll keep it in the stove in case you want to gnaw on it later. It doesn’t look like you go very long without eating anyway,” she said.
Her eyes dropped down my from be
fore she turned back to the stove. I watched her stab a slab of steak before dropping it into the pan. Whatever she was cooking, it smelled fantastic. My eyes traveled along her body. Along the perky globes of her ass and the slim dip of her waist. I studied the way her shoulders flared out, blanketed by the blonde waves that poured between her shoulders blades.
She really was a pretty woman.
But I liked her sass even more.
Charity
I woke up to my cell phone dinging on my bedside table. I rolled over and groaned, unable to know what time it was. Usually, I woke up to the sun on my face. To the sounds of New York City pouring through the small crack in my unlocked window. But apparently, according to the behemoth downstairs, I wasn’t afforded any of those luxuries any longer. I drew in a deep breath and slapped my hand onto my phone. I dragged it to my face, trying to peel my eyes open. I sighed when I saw the time. I forced myself upright, feeling lazier than I had in years.
I was usually up by eight, even on a day off.
It was currently eleven in the morning.
I slid my legs off the side of the bed and unlocked my phone. I had a treasure trove of text messages and emails. But, there was one that caught my eye. One from the hospital. And I knew exactly what it was going to hold.
It was the results of the investigation.
Doctor Charity Jones,
On behalf of New York Regional Hospital, I am pleased to inform you that the findings of our investigation are formal and conclusive. You, Dr. Charity Jones, have been absolved of all malpractice lawsuits and ill-will following our official findings. Mr. Skylar Lane’s death was caused by a concoction of drugs injected into his system during the brawl that ended up taking his life. After reviewing the operation room footage and speaking with all of the individuals on your surgical team that night, responsibility of Mr. Skylar Lane’s death no longer sits on your shoulders.