Student Bodyguard for Hire

by Callie James

  Apparently, no one had told him about his terrifying reputation. “I’m not wrong. They’ll back down. I know it.”

  His eyebrows pulled together, twisting the scar into a crescent. “Listen, Sunshine,” he said. “Dropping two hundred on a hunch may be nothing to you, but I can’t afford to get kicked out of school again. I told you, my answer is no.”

  I loathed violence enough to have a serious, moral problem with what I was asking him to do. But I loved my brother too much to stand around and do nothing. The school administration obviously had no plans to step up their game where rampant bullying was concerned. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

  “I told you. Not interested.” He pivoted abruptly and walked toward the house, apparently done with negotiations.

  Panic flooded and I bolted after him, grabbing his forearm. “Wait—”

  He grabbed my hand so quickly that my startled reaction became an awkward stumble when I tried stepping back. “What part of no don’t you get?” he snapped.

  He was trying to intimidate me. I kept telling myself that, finally believing it when I realized his gentle grip belied that hostile tone and hard expression. I should have pulled away, could have at any time, but I didn’t. At least when he held my wrist, he wasn’t leaving.

  “Let me guess,” he said softly, his thumb brushing a delicate stroke along my skin when I remained silent. “I’m the first person to say no to you. Is that it?”

  “You okay, Peyton?”

  Adam’s voice drifted across the lawn, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the smug smile tugging Sam’s mouth. “I wondered,” he said, low so only I could hear, “what it would take to get him out of the car. Looks like you’re it, Sunshine.” He released my wrist and turned to Adam.

  The sensation of Sam’s warm and callused hand remained on my arm as I pivoted and tried to find a smile for my friend. “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t tell me he’s your idea of backup,” Sam said next to me. “Cooper wouldn’t amount to anything more than a witness.”

  I looked at Sam’s hard profile. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m stating a fact.” He never turned his gaze from Adam, proof that my best friend had been right. Sam would never let down his guard. Even around Adam.

  I rubbed my wrist, unable to shake the sensation of Sam’s fingers as I gave him my full attention again. “Adam lives only three streets over. He came with me because I didn’t know where you lived.”

  “Let’s go, Peyton,” Adam said as he approached, sounding more determined than I’d ever heard him.

  But I refused to go until I changed Sam’s mind. “Listen, I’d be willing to make payments.”

  Sam turned to me then, looking baffled. “Payments?”

  “I’m willing to pay more. Whatever it takes. But I’d have to make payments,” I said. “Tell me your price. Everyone has a price.”

  “Come on, Peyton,” Adam said quietly, yanking my shirt. “Let’s go.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about payments, Sunshine. And if you had two feet planted in reality, you’d know your brother’s little problem will only get worse if he doesn’t handle it himself.”

  Frustration burned a trail up my throat until my eyes watered. “Look, I get reality.”

  “I doubt it,” Sam said.

  The undeserved insult snapped my last nerve. “Really? So by your logic, you just made things much worse for your sister by going after those knuckleheads in the truck who were—”

  “You need to go,” Sam said, cutting me off. “Now. And take your bodyguard with you. This isn’t your neighborhood. There’s no telling what might happen to you if you hang around too long.”

  I stared at him, mouth open. Sam Guerra had managed to snuff out my little plan in less than five minutes. I hadn’t expected rejection, and as he’d insinuated, I wasn’t used to it. Tears burned the back of my eyes. Everyone feared Delaney and his group. Everyone but Sam Guerra. I’d been so certain he’d agree to my terms. Clearly, I’d overestimated him. Or underestimated him.

  I had no idea what I estimated anymore.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I dropped my head and pushed my hand over my mouth and trembling chin. I had no Plan B. No way to stop something horrible from happening to Ryan tomorrow when I couldn’t be with him. My stomach twisted until I thought I might be sick.

  I heard Sam turn and skip porch steps on his way into the house. Savanna’s steps followed and the screen door slammed behind her as warm tears streamed over my lashes.

  “Told you this was a bad idea,” Adam said, his arm moving around my shoulders as we walked back to the car. “Hey. You tried. Don’t worry. You’ll come up with another plan. You always do.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sam

  Sitting in the dimmest section of the locker room—my space that nobody messed with—I caught sight of him hovering and I finally looked over.

  He stood with two towels wrapped around him, resembling a half-starved, wet cat as he inched past Delaney and his buddies. One would think by those fearful, wide eyes, that he had to cross an ocean to get to his locker instead of a few feet. Yeah, I’d noticed Ryan Greene’s skinny, lily-white ass long before his sister had the nerve to offer me money to babysit him. It was impossible not to notice him. The kid didn’t fit in. At least not in this class.

  I rifled through my duffel bag a second time. How the hell could I lose a damn book during class?

  Hearing the first bell, I knew I wouldn’t make it to class before the second, and I already dreaded the next class like a root canal. A class where Peyton Greene would glare at me through the entire forty-some minutes of British Author hell.

  She likely blamed me for making her cry yesterday. I rolled my eyes, determined to forget how she’d looked when I left her standing on my lawn. Crocodile tears building. Chin trembling.

  I slammed the bag down and stared into my locker, pissed now because I was thinking about her again. I didn’t need this nagging memory of her walking away while her friend—limp noodle boy, Adam Cooper—put his arm around her.

  Was I supposed to feel guilty because little Miss Perfect Life didn’t get something she wanted for once? No.

  I also didn’t intend to stick around for Delaney’s usual bullshit just because I’d lost a book. The harassment he and his friends put underclassmen through tended to get on my nerves, and not in a mildly irritating way. I was bound to kick somebody’s ass if I stuck around for it, and I couldn’t afford another fight at school, much less a damn locker room brawl where water and steam made every metal and concrete surface slick as hell. A person could get seriously hurt.

  Not that Sunshine would give a crap if I slipped and fractured my skull defending her twerp brother.

  Sunshine. I’d accidentally said my personal nickname for her aloud, then quickly made it an insult to cover the slip. From the moment I first saw her—God, she would have been a freshman—that’s what I thought of when she walked into a room. Summer. Sunshine. A damn mobile sunbeam wherever she went. I used to think it was her hair—a gorgeous red that turned copper during summer, like a shiny, new penny. She’d always worn it long but changed it daily. Straight. Wavy. Curly. I’d never been so preoccupied with a girl’s hair before, but something about hers had grabbed my attention and wouldn’t let go.

  My attraction to her had become a real problem yesterday. Between her perky attitude and entitled smile, she’d immediately gotten under my skin, and I’d done everything I could to unnerve her. I’d stepped into her space. Brushed my fingers against her neck to see what she’d do. I’d even implied I wanted to be her bodyguard, hoping to make her uncomfortable in a restraining order kind of way.

  She’d blushed deep red and her eyes had darkened blue to green right in front of me. Then those dimples that always followed her amazing smile had left me wondering things I shouldn’t be thinking. Wondering if I had a shot at that.

  I’d never seriously considered it.

  Her
comment that everyone had a price had pissed me off. I’d like to think no one could buy me, but maybe I had a price. Maybe I’d risk expulsion if it meant incredible, hot sex with Peyton Greene. Because it would be. I’d heard she had plenty of experience. Yeah, I’d make that trade. Expulsion for an entire night with Miss Perfect Life. It would screw my future, but damn, I’d make every minute count. There’d have to be a few rules. No talking, for one. Her unflinching optimism irritated the hell out of me.

  Most of the time.

  Maybe that was the sunshine of Peyton Greene. Her chronic cheerfulness and relentless bounce that made people gravitate toward her and want to yack at the same time. No one could be that happy, and if she were, I’d have to hate her.

  Delaney and his friends made their way toward Greene’s side of the locker. For his sister’s sake, I hoped the kid had dressed at marathon speed and taken off while he still could. Why had he signed up for Weight Lifting, anyway? He couldn’t weigh more than one hundred-forty pounds. Every jerk in this class weighed one-seventy or more and most did the jock thing after school, which meant Sunshine’s shrimp brother had to either contend with these overinflated egos or get the hell out.

  “Checking me out, Greene?”

  Case in point—Carter Delaney. Greene rarely looked up while walking, much less to check out Delaney. Peyton’s brother may be gay but that didn’t make him desperate. I’d always guessed girls went after Delaney because his parents were loaded. Money had to be his appeal, because the guy was easily the most offensive, self-centered prick I’d ever met, and I’d met a few.

  Greene said nothing, and when Delaney couldn’t taunt a response from him, a loud slam resonated on the other side of the lockers.

  Shit.

  I’d had a chance to work a few extra hours yesterday and hadn’t made it to school. When I noticed the cut above the kid’s eye earlier in the weight room, I figured something had gone down yesterday. Probably what set off his sister on her insane quest to my side of town.

  From the sounds of it, Delaney planned to finish the job today. I yanked the flannel from my bag and dug through it for my t-shirt. Screw the book. I’d say I lost it—the truth, for once.

  A succinct thump sounded against the lockers this time, what sounded like a fist or … forehead. I took a breath as my neck muscles tightened. Fighting Delaney and his buddies would lead to suspension or expulsion and I couldn’t afford to screw up my future any more than I already had. And I definitely didn’t need to stress out my mamá. She’d already been through enough crap for one decade.

  Another sickening smack of skin and bone sounded against the lockers, followed by laughter.

  “Dude, you’re getting blood on the floor,” said one of them.

  Greene grunted, his voice strained, “Stop it. God... just leave me alone.”

  “Or what?” Delaney said. “What’ll you do, wimp?”

  Delaney’s friends laughed again and another slam sounded, hard enough to vibrate my locker. The kid slurred something unintelligible.

  Well, crap.

  I stood and walked the length of the lockers in my bare feet. It shouldn’t have shocked me to find three people—locker room rubberneckers—watching and doing nothing, but it did. I glared, seriously wanting to kick someone’s ass. Two of the jokers whispered, shut their lockers and left.

  The big guy—a giant who likely played an offensive lineman or defensive back or some other sports position that crushed people—gave me his back and sat on the bench, preoccupied with his shoes.

  I finished rounding the lockers to find everything close to how I’d pictured it. Greene hadn’t pulled on his pants, though, and stood in his underwear. Delaney had the kid’s face pushed against the locker and one arm pulled behind his back. Ryan Greene looked as thin as a communion wafer, his cheeks a blotchy red from embarrassment, pain, or both. When large blue eyes similar to Peyton’s pivoted to mine, I noticed the blood running down his face and the fresh cut to his cheek. His eyes widened as if I’d come to join the others.

  The notion made me sick. “Let him go,” I said without thinking twice. “Now.”

  Eli Jones, Chris Woodcock, and Tim Nash turned in stark surprise and for good reason. I had a rep for staying out of everyone’s business as long as everyone stayed the hell out of mine.

  Delaney glanced at me. “Go back to your little corner, Guerra. This ain’t your business.”

  “Yeah, well… you’re killing my concentration with this goddamn noise,” I said. “So I’m making it my business.”

  “Noise?” Eli asked. “Seriously?”

  My eyes pivoted to the short, stocky guy whose girlfriend, among others, had been harassing my sister nonstop since school started simply because she didn’t talk when she could avoid it. That she didn’t need a fake-and-bake to keep her tan didn’t help her stay under the bully radar either. Eli’s nervous gaze darted from mine back to Delaney.

  “I forgot you’re a little slow, Delaney,” I said. “You probably need a few seconds to think about it.”

  “What did you say, you shit bag?” Delaney said, tightening his hold on Greene until the kid grunted and hissed, obviously trying not to cry out.

  The jackass had heard me the first time. “Five seconds.”

  “Then what?” Delaney asked.

  “Then I knock you out in front of your friends,” I said, giving him a visual incentive as I counted quickly. “Five, four—”

  “Really, Guerra?” Delaney slammed the kid into the locker once more before releasing him and turning to me. “I always knew you were crazy. I didn’t realize you were suicidal.”

  “We gonna do this?” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Or you plannin’ to talk all fucking day?”

  Delaney looked at the others. “You think you can take all four of us?”

  “One or four. Won’t make a difference,” I said, keeping my voice low in a pain-promising tone. “I'll still mop the floor with your ass.”

  Greene backed into his locker as Delaney’s mouth twitched. “Nobody could be that stupid. I think you’re bluffing.”

  I scanned the locker room briefly, confirmed Coach Reynolds was out, and took a step forward. “You first then.”

  “Jesus!” Woodcock hissed.

  Delaney backed up a step as his gaze dropped to my chest, his eyes widening.

  I’d been ready to put his teeth down his throat when everyone’s new, sudden fixation on my torso made me pause. It took a second before I remembered I hadn’t pulled on a shirt. Wearing nothing more than jeans and a towel around my neck, I’d stepped under the light and given them full view of the two hideous marks that stretched down my chest and through my abdomen. Even Greene stared bug-eyed.

  My throat constricted and I had to swallow several times to work past the closing sensation. Most days I couldn’t forget my scars. Now I had a full audience, all because of Peyton Greene’s kid brother and a damn book I had no intention of reading.

  “I ain’t never seen scars like that.” Nash shut his mouth the second he noticed my glare. I shifted my gaze to Woodcock, the pity in his eyes, and gave him a threatening look that made my neck muscles tighten and my pulse burn. I wanted to hit him, hard and relentless, until his eyes swelled and he couldn’t look at me like that.

  Shifting and noticeably uncomfortable, he turned away. Nash soon followed, as did the other two. Only Greene continued to stare, looking oblivious to the blood oozing from his cheek through his fingers.

  I’d suspected these four jerks had nothing going on, having learned to recognize the bravado type ten seconds into a fight. But Delaney had a short in his circuit board, so I remained ready until he finally took a step back. His friends did a casual back pedal as well, none looking eager to test my reputation.

  Sometimes I liked to pretend I’d endured those innumerable beatings years ago for a reason. Maybe this day. For this kid. Maybe something good would come of it. I wanted to believe that, but I knew better. Life was random that way. Some people g
ot everything. The rest of us got shit.

  “Whatever, Guerra,” Delaney said, running a hand through his spikey, blond hair. “We’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone. Give you some quiet time together. Damn faggots.”

  They left the locker room, loud and boisterous. Greene watched me the entire time, his wide, watery eyes transporting me back to yesterday when his sister had looked at me with an identical expression.

  He was trying not to cry.

  As siblings go, Ryan’s blue eyes and pale skin were his only similarities to his sister. He had short, dark hair, stood maybe an inch taller than she did, and had a scrawny, underdeveloped body, unlike Peyton, who had curves everywhere.

  “Th-thanks,” he said, swiping once at the free-flowing blood before looking at his fingers.

  “What were you thinking taking this class, anyway?” I snapped.

  He grabbed a towel from the bench and pushed it over his cheek to hold it there. “I wanted to increase my muscle mass. I can’t take crap forever, you know.” His eyebrows bunched as he glared back at me. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Just looking at him irritated me. He seemed so damned weak standing there all wide-eyed and bleeding into a towel. “Bulking up won’t help if you don’t know how to defend yourself. And you’d definitely need more than bulk against a group of four.”

  “Like what?”

  The bell rang and I shook my head, remembering class a little too late. Swearing under my breath, I backed away and hurried to my locker, keeping the worst of the scarring—my back—from his view.

  Dammit, I’d rather miss class altogether than show up late to British Authors. Ms. Campbell had a weird, obsessive thing about punctuality and could weigh down a person with extra homework like no other teacher I’d had. I already had enough difficulty understanding the class. I didn’t need more homework.

  I sat on the bench, found my black t-shirt at the bottom of my locker and quickly yanked it over my head, then pulled the flannel over it to cover my arms. Heat stroke was always preferable to gawking stares and stupid questions about my tats.