Student Bodyguard for Hire

by Callie James

  STUDENT BODYGUARD FOR HIRE

  By Callie James

  Text Copyright © 2014 Callie James

  Cover Design Copyright © 2014 Callie James

  ISBN: 9780692202166

  All Rights Reserved

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of this text, please contact author at https://calliejamesbooks.com.

  This story is a work of fiction and a creation of the author’s imagination.

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  When her younger brother becomes victim to Ridgeview High’s worst group of bullies, Peyton Greene sets out to hire the most feared student in school to protect him. It never occurs to her that the antisocial, two-time senior won’t agree to do it, even for the large sum she’s willing to pay.

  Sam Guerra can’t afford to pick a fight at school and risk another expulsion, but after witnessing the beginning of a humiliating locker room beat down, he gets involved anyway. Soon more students approach him with offers of money and requests for protection. Having zero interest in becoming anyone’s bodyguard, he finds other students willing to take his place for the same fee. A growing list of names rapidly morphs into a reason to approach the pretty geek again, and despite the stark differences in his and Peyton’s backgrounds, they begin seeing each other outside of school.

  But everything changes when Peyton transforms the list into a bodyguard website for a class project. Not long after go-live, she’s struggling to maintain the burgeoning database of bullied students matched with student bodyguards. What happens next turns the senior class assignment into a non-profit, nationwide project that will ultimately tear her parents’ marriage apart and the town in two as it fuels the hot topic of violence to stop violence in an already divided nation. Her struggle to do the right thing becomes even more complicated when she learns of Sam’s dark past and equally violent present—information that could compromise their relationship, her reputation, and the integrity of a successful, anti-violence project she refuses to quit.

  Dedication

  For my husband, David. Of course, I would dedicate my first published book to you. Thank you for all of your support and love. I love you so much.

  Acknowledgements

  This is my favorite part of publishing. I want to thank Dr. Marcela Frazier and Maria Gonzalez for their assistance with all Spanish translations. I want to give a huge thanks to Virginia Duke, my copy editor. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Thank you, Kristin and Nicole, two wonderful friends who kept me going with cheers of enthusiasm. I can’t tell you how much we writers rely on friends who never allow us to give up. Thank you Lynn Raye Harris and Christy Reece, two amazing authors who gave me so much advice along the way.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Peyton

  “You’ve got to be the bravest person I know,” Adam said.

  I parked Mom’s Lexus along the edge of sparse lawn and followed my best friend’s gaze to the white, box house where Savanna Guerra had just stepped out from behind a battered screen door. No one would know she was two years my junior. Her constant scowl and badass attitude made her seem older. She fished a lighter from her jeans pocket, lit the cigarette dangling from her lips, and found a seat on the top porch step. Inhaling deeply, her gaze drifted to Adam and me.

  “Or the dumbest,” I added, as she blew smoke into the warm September breeze.

  He turned to me. “You didn’t hear me use that word.”

  “You were thinking it.”

  “It’s scary how well you know me.”

  Savanna narrowed her eyes as though daring me to step out of the car. I wiped my palms against my jeans. I’d been ready to talk to her brother, Sam, only thirty minutes ago. Now, not so much.

  “If Ryan finds out about this,” Adam said, “he’s gonna freak. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Right now I’m more concerned about Ryan’s face getting bashed into another locker.” The thought of the gash above my brother’s right eye only fueled my anger. “Face it. Sam Guerra is the most feared guy at school. Even the bullies won’t touch him. He’s my best shot and I need to do something while I still can. Next year I’ll be gone and Ryan will be alone.”

  “I feel so loved.”

  I dreaded attending college next year without Adam, so much that I kept putting up a mental block about his junior status. “Sorry,” I said. “You know what I mean. These guys are built, and you’re…well, you’re …”

  “Not.”

  Guilt swamped me at his dejected expression. When I eventually noticed his lip twitching, I smacked his leg and he busted up laughing. “Dammit, Adam, this is no time to fool around.”

  “You fall for the wounded geek act every time.” He poked me in the ribs, still laughing. “Aw, c’mon. Smile for me.”

  I resisted his infectious cackle by acting mad. “This is so not funny,” I said, pushing his hand away. He grabbed my knee and squeezed with two fingers, a surefire way to make me laugh, and I did until I managed to shove his hand back and scowl again. “Shh. Be quiet. What if Savanna can hear us?”

  He looked out the passenger window. “She’d think we’re mental, and she’d be right.”

  “I can’t care about that now,” I said. “We agreed I should do something big and this is it. There’s no turning back.”

  “No, I agreed we should do something big. I never agreed you’d do this alone. And propositioning Sam Guerra …admit it. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  “Or the best. Can I still count on you to have my back?”

  He snorted. “For what it’s worth.”

  Adam Cooper had been my best friend since junior high. Standing at six feet, his height remained his only feature that might intimidate Sam Guerra. Otherwise, he looked like the tech geek I’d known for six years—lanky with large feet and a head of blond, wayward layers that made him appear perpetually windblown.

  I held out my clenched, clammy hand to him and waited for a fist bump. “Wish me luck.”

  He grabbed my hand and held it against the console. “Seriously, Peyton. Rethink this. The guy nearly killed his own uncle.”

  “That was the media exaggerating. We don't know that for sure.”

  “He hospitalized him, Peyton. Over a week. Heart transplant patients spend less time in recovery.”

  “Yes, and then his uncle pled guilty to two counts of first degree assault,” I pointed out. “The guy is serving so much time he may die in prison. Maybe he had it coming.”

  “Wow.” His nose quirked. “That’s more detail than I remember. Did you follow the story or something?”

  I looked at the carpeted floorboard. “I’m just saying the police would have arrested Sam if he’d done something wrong.”

  “Wrong? Guerra almost beat the guy to death. Are you listening to yourself?”

  “Yes, and I’m repeating myself, too.” I glanced at Savanna, imagining the hard realities she’d experienced growing up in the northeast neighborhood where drug busts and domestic violence arrests happened regularly. Their small, white house looked misplaced with fresh paint and a well cut lawn, nowhere near the same ramshackle shape as the surrounding homes. Sam’s black Chevy Impala, waxed to a beautiful shine, sat without a scratch in a section of town where people likely boosted cars daily—yet more evidence that the people in this horrid neighborhood respected him. “Ease up, Adam. Obviously, he hasn’t had the easiest life.”

  “That sounds like your mom talking. Look, at least l
et me go with you.”

  “No. It’ll go more smoothly if it’s just me. You know. A girl. Non-threatening.”

  “Believe me, I’m no threat to Guerra.”

  “Give yourself a little credit. You kicked Jason Thompson all over the place, and he used to be Ridgeview High’s football god.”

  He smirked. “We kicked Thompson’s butt because Jon sucker punched him and I jumped him before he could get up. He never knew what hit him. Besides, blind rage can make a person do amazing feats. Thompson was lucky we didn’t drop a car on his head.”

  I swallowed bile, wishing after three years that the memory of Jason Thompson pinning me against his truck seat wouldn’t materialize every time someone asked me out. “Well, you won’t have to jump on Sam Guerra.”

  His gaze slid to mine. “You got that right. I’ve seen the guy fight. He’d never let anyone get the jump on him. He’s much too focused. You know, like a serial killer.”

  “Serial killer? For all we know, he could be the nicest guy at school.”

  “Who are you trying to convince?” he said, nodding at my face. “You have sweat on your upper lip.”

  “Because you’re freaking me out,” I said, wiping my lip. I glanced in the rearview mirror and pushed a lock of red hair out of my eyes. “Do I look okay?” I turned to him and schooled my features, feeling sweaty all over.

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Who exactly are you trying to look okay for?”

  “Anyone.”

  “Anyone would think you’re gorgeous,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “Do you think it’ll help if he finds me attractive?”

  “Do you want Sam Guerra to find you attractive?”

  Another rush of heat climbed up my neck. “I want him agreeable. Right now, I’m so desperate I don’t care why or how.” I reached to the backseat for my book bag out of habit, paused and shook my head. Adam smirked at my nervousness but had the decency not to comment. “Okay, I’m ready. Now remember, only come out if I look at you. That’s the signal I’m in trouble.” I opened the car door before I could chicken out.

  His pale face made his eyes shine bright blue. “I’m so far from okay with this I can’t even tell you. Remind me when I wake from my coma that I did try to talk you out of this. Several times.”

  I pursed my lips, trying to stay all business as I stepped onto the road grit lining the patchy lawn, closed the car door, and made my way toward Sam’s intimidating little sister. The Portland, Oregon autumn temperatures often fluctuated dramatically. Today it had dropped from eighty to sixty-three degrees, but no one would know it by my sweaty palms. Savanna watched me cross the grass, the sunlight hitting her eyes and transforming those hazel irises to a golden color that nearly glowed. Looking at her jaded scowl, I had difficulty remembering she was a sophomore like my brother.

  “Hey.” I waved once, feeling awkward. We’d never actually met. Well, I’d said hello once in a school bathroom but she’d never acknowledged me.

  Like now.

  She pulled her fingers through her glossy black hair, which fell over her forehead like a beret. She’d shaved the back and sides to half an inch over the summer, and her multiple piercings helped her pull off the punkish hairstyle beautifully.

  “Can I talk to your brother?” I asked, taking a step back when she flicked cigarette ash at my boot.

  She quirked the eyebrow adorned with three silver posts and pushed the cigarette between her lips. The cherry burned bright now and close to the filter. “I don’t know. Can you?” Smoke blew through her thinning lips as she glared at my dip-dyed sleeveless top and washed-out jeans.

  I looked at her brother’s car. “Is he inside?”

  “Yeah.”

  My gaze hooked with hers. “Would you mind getting him?”

  She dropped her hand where a large hole split her jeans at the knee and rolled the white, frayed threads between two fingers. “No.”

  No, she wouldn’t mind, or no, she didn’t plan to get him?

  An engine’s loud roar pulled my attention to the road where Eli Jones’ red Toyota truck rounded the corner. When he neared the Guerra house, I recognized the two blonde girls next to him. Ashley, his stuck-up, cheerleading girlfriend, sat tucked under his arm, while her best friend, Cassie, hung halfway out the passenger window, gripping what looked like a rock.

  “Hey, spick!” She whipped her arm back, ready to chuck the stone. “Come on over. We’ve got a present for you!”

  The screen door slammed open and I pivoted to see Sam Guerra already halfway down the porch steps, the promise of hell in his eyes as he blew past me and stalked toward Eli’s truck. Dreading an inevitable fight, my heart pounded harder with each step he took, but by the time he reached the road, Eli had hit the gas and disappeared around the corner.

  Relief made my shoulders sag.

  I admired Sam’s wide shoulders buried beneath a checkered white and green flannel shirt. He always wore faded jeans and a hoodie or a long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows. No doubt to cover a bevy of skull-and-crossbones tattoos. This was a guess since his sister already had a flowery tattoo covering her entire throat.

  I tried imagining Sam covered in tattoos and couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the picture. He was threatening enough without thinking of tattoos and muscles and…

  “Sam?” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Could I have a moment?”

  Hands still clenched, he turned his brooding gaze to me. I stood only five-feet-five-inches to his six-feet-something, which made his glare a little overkill if he was trying to intimidate me. Most days he managed that walking by me in the hall.

  “Maybe I should m-mention,” I stammered, ringing my hands when he continued to look at me as if I were next on his kill list, “that I didn’t come with those guys.”

  “Peyton Greene,” he finally said, his long strides determined as he crossed the grass. “Let me guess. You’re lost.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “The mall is that way, chica guapa.”

  I considered asking what chica guapa meant, but that glare of his persuaded me to choose my battles. He seemed to get bigger as he approached, and I ignored my instinct to back into the dead shrubbery. “I’m not here for directions. I want to hire you.”

  He halted in front of me, tall, menacing and way too close for comfort. “I don’t do other people’s yard work.”

  I squinted up at him. “Who said anything about yard work?”

  His gaze dropped to my chest. Back up. “Then what?”

  The wind blew his dark brown hair, making him look reckless and tough. I swallowed. Sam Guerra scared the hell out of me. His reputation for a bad temper and constant fights had preceded him, and if I were to believe rumor at all, he’d spent last year—his real senior year—in juvie. “I need a bodyguard.”

  A slight smile curled his mouth, which immediately softened those intense eyes, sharp cheekbones and the scar slicing across his right eyebrow. He took a step closer, reached out and pinched my shirt collar. The movement startled me, and I looked down just as his knuckle brushed my skin, the brief contact causing a flurry of goose bumps along my spine. “Your bodyguard?” he said softly.

  “Um—” My gaze followed his hand as he pulled it back to hold up a ladybug that had hitched a ride on my shirt. Its wings spread and Sam released it to the wind. “It’s not for me,” I explained, sounding rushed. A section of my hair blew across my eyes and I quickly yanked the stray locks behind my ear and licked my lips. “It’s for my brother. You’re in his class.”

  He dropped his hand. “So?”

  “So we’re barely into the school year and already Carter Delaney and his friends are shoving him around. I want it to stop.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to pick a fight with Delaney and his friends. That’s four guys.” His smirk returned and he glanced at his sister, who only shrugged. He turned back to me. “Nice odds. What makes you think I’m capable of taking on
four guys at once?”

  “Because people say you’re good in a fight.” I immediately wanted to reel the words back. “Although … that’s not what I’m asking you to do. I don’t want anyone fighting. Just say something to scare them.”

  “People say,” he repeated my words, taking another step closer and bringing us toe-to-toe. “What people?”

  Did he seriously think he needed to intimidate me? He already stood close enough to block the sun. “A-anyone,” I said, refusing to move back. “Everyone at school.”

  “That’s a lot of people,” he said.

  “Well. You know.” My throat felt dry as dirt. “You don’t talk to anyone and people say you fight because you enjoy …pain, I guess.” I seriously could not believe I’d said that. “Everyone is scared of you.”

  “That’s why you’re here? Because a bunch of people I’ve never talked to, who don’t know me at all, told you I’m good in a fight.” His scathing gaze raked over me. “Forget it. I don’t fight for money.”

  Savanna let out a cackle and Sam turned to her with a glare. She shoved a hand over her mouth, still grinning. “Oops.”

  “I …I didn’t say I heard you fight for money,” I said. “I’m asking you to—”

  “Sorry,” he said, cutting me off. “Not interested.”

  My stomach cramped with a heavy sensation, as though I’d swallowed a ten-pound brick. “Why not? I can pay you two hundred. One hundred now and one hundred after. You wouldn’t have to fight. You could scowl, like you’re doing now. Or say something menacing. Anything from you would intimidate them. I know it.”

  He looked at his sister with narrowed eyes. She shrugged again, but her smirk and the bitterness in her eyes told me they needed the money. “If you don’t do it, Samuel,” Savanna murmured, exhaling a stream of smoke from a new cigarette, “then I will.”

  He ignored his sister’s asinine comment, turning back to me. “Ever consider you might be wrong? At four-to-one odds, they’re not going to back down because rumor has it I’m good in a fight. I wouldn’t.”