by Leslie North
Brock shrugged to loosen his shoulders. “Let the girl go and I won’t have to mess up this crappy spot with your even crappier blood. I’m only asking once.”
The girl had guts enough. She kept hold of one guy’s wrist—the guy with the knife—but she glanced at Mr. Mouthy and said, her voice low and firm, “Please, I changed my mind, Toad.”
“Toad?” Brock laughed. “Seriously, dude? That’s your handle? Okay, we’re done here.” He brought his hand down on the shoulder of the guy with the knife—hard enough for the guy to let out a grunt.
Brock spun him around, punched him once in his soft gut. Not smart, dude, to let yourself go like that. The guy doubled over, spilling out whiskey-soaked breath. Brock snapped the knife from the guy’s limp hand. It clattered to the asphalt. A jerk back and the guy lay flat on the ground, on his back. Brock kicked the knife away and glanced at Toad—Mr. Mouthy. “You want a go? Your choice.”
Before Toad could even bunch a fist, the girl hauled off, caught him in the throat with the flat of her hand, and drove a knee into his groin. The guy doubled over, and Brock gave a sympathetic wince. She kicked up at his jaw with a boot, and Toad crumpled like a wad of toilet paper.
Leaving the two guys on the ground, Brock grabbed the girl’s wrist. “Come on. Let’s go before these two even think about trying a round two, or call for their buddies to come kick our asses.”
He pulled her with him, sizing her up as he went. She had long, straight hair, hitting below her shoulders; looked brown, maybe dark brown in this light. He couldn’t judge the color of her eyes, but they were big, dominating a narrow face. Pretty, he’d guess. A little too skinny. A baggy shirt hung down over her hips, hiding anything she might have for breasts, too, but she had great legs—long and lean and encased in tight jeans. Plus boots made for kicking.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded and let go of his hand to go around and get into his convertible. He lifted an eyebrow at that—maybe this kind of gutsiness had gotten her in trouble to start with. She didn’t seem to mind jumping into a stranger’s car, but then he wouldn’t want to hang around either to see how Toad liked being kicked in the nuts.
He started up his car and headed for the highway. “Where do you live?” He asked, leaning over so she could hear him over the wind, which was a soft roar in his ears and a pressure on his cheeks.
She shook her head, captured her flying hair with a hand, and slanted him a look. “No one’s ever done that before. No one’s ever helped me out.”
Brock grinned. “It’s kind of what I do.” He pulled out a card and slipped it to her. It had his name on it and the words, Slade Security. She ran her fingers over the card, and Brock’s throat tightened. She had great hands—long fingers, tapering, slim, and strong wrists. He liked the way she moved them, too, slow and certain. They reminded him, somehow, of white butterflies.
She looked at him again. “What kind of security?”
He shrugged. “Whatever anyone needs. Systems. Bodyguards. Surveillance. You name it. Slade, he’s my boss, runs a full service operation.”
She nodded, shifted so she faced him. “You military?”
“Used to be. Navy. I’m out now.” She nodded again and grabbed her flying hair, yanking it back into a pony tail. He put his eyes on the road. He was not going to think about taking her back to his hotel room. Well, okay, he was going to think about it; but he was also going to remember her kicking a guy in the balls. “What about you?” he asked. “Figure out an address where you want me to take you?”
She shook her head. “My cousins set me up to work for Toad. They didn’t tell me he wanted to have me selling drugs—and myself.”
“Ah,” Brock said, and gave a nod. “That accounts for the parking lot disagreement. No folks?”
“Not that I want to see.” She faced the road, too. He could tell that from the way the car seat squeaked. “Don’t have anything else going for me, either.”
He glanced at her again. The light from the dash played over her face. She had brown eyes to match her hair; big eyes in a narrow, heart-shaped face. She’d also held up well in that parking lot, better than most would, and she’d known how to fight. That was a point in her favor. She also wasn’t shaking or crying now. He liked that. “Where’d you learn to punch like that?” he asked.
She grinned. “Streets. Where else?”
“The streets. Meaning you fight dirty. That’s cool. You want a job?” The words popped out, and Brock wanted to kick himself. That’s what happened after four beers—impulse took over and his mouth went on auto-pilot.
He hadn’t meant to get into this with her. He’d been taught to protect those around them. The weak. The misfortunate. The ones you loved. Those were the rare ones. He’d always had to watch out for the folks who needed someone. He’d always hated the idea of meeting his maker on foreign soil and having that tear someone up back home—and it had ended up costing him.
But Slade was looking to expand the teams with support staff. Slade had said he also wanted to get some females on board. There were some jobs that needed a woman to do things that a guy couldn’t, like follow a female suspect or a client into a bathroom. Slade wasn’t the kind of guy to put women in danger, but the truth was that females could be a great distraction. He glanced at the girl—yeah, he’d bet she’d clean up to be totally distracting.
She hadn’t said anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was because she hadn’t heard him or was thinking things over. He was about ready to write her off—and that was a relief—when she asked, “What’s the pay?”
He glanced at her. It was her call to dive into this, and Slade would make sure she stayed safe. She’d get training. She’d never go out without back up. That actually might be something this girl could use. If he left her on the streets, there’d be no telling what might become of her. He gave a nod. “Good. Really good.”
She stuck out her hand. “I’m Keira Mantz. I don’t use drugs and I don’t sell them. I’m not up for anything illegal and I have no intention of ever being anyone’s property!”
She had enough aggression in her tone that Brock shook his head. But he also grabbed her hand and shook it. She had a firm grip. “Well, don’t go all Amazon man-hater on me.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at her. Her mouth had twisted into a grimace, and he figured something had put her off men in general. Maybe Toad—or maybe just guys like him. Pity about that, but it’d be better for the job if she wasn’t there to snag a guy. “Okay, go ahead with that. I can’t guarantee anything, but I can take you to meet Slade. He’s got to make the final call on you working for him. You want to stop and pick up anything before we head out to meet up with him?”
She shook her head. “I’m more than ready to leave my old life behind. All of it.”
Brock put his eyes on the road. He knew about that. Sometimes life just got shitty enough that all you could do was leave the wreckage behind. He pulled out his cell phone to call Slade and set up a meet. The corner of his mouth twitched. Slade was going to love this girl—he just knew it. Brock snuck one more glance at her.
If she was coming on board with Slade’s team, that put her off limits. Totally. Pity about that, because Brock wouldn’t have minded seeing what she looked like under that big shirt of hers. But work came first. Always. That was one rule Brock was never breaking.
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