“Well it’s not a real fight,” I say, pursing my lips and shaking my head gently. “And I’m still standing, alive and healthy to say the least.”
He lunges forward, landing a blow against my cheek. I stumble backwards, wondering if I’ve taken enough abuse to erase the guilt. Not quite. I straighten myself back out only to receive a painful blow against my stomach. I hunch over and shake my gloved fist at him.
“I think it’s time for a break,” I say, my voice shaking and ragged. “Don’t you think?”
“Nobody’s ever going to give you a break.” He drops one gloved hand onto my shoulder and gives me a forceful shove so that I stumble backwards onto my back. He climbs above me and drops the weight of his body on my chest. “What’s gotten into you lately, Luke?”
“You’re straddling me like I’m Summer,” I chuckle and drop my hands above my head. Summer is his boo and knowing what I know, I feel like I should tell her, too. After all, if Dom is engaged in some heinous behavior behind the scenes, then it affects her, too. Joking is my way of easing the guilt. “Does she know you that you have a hard on for another guy?”
“You’re an idiot.” He scoffs and climbs to his feet, pulls one glove off, and drops his hand to assist me to my feet. “But you’re also my favorite idiot, so I’m not about to complain.” He slaps me on the back and pushes me forward and off the training mat. “I should be getting going anyways.”
“Date night?” I cock my head over my shoulder with a knowing wink, as I rip the gloves off my hands and drop them onto the mat. “Do you have room for a third wheel?”
“In a queen-size bed?” He shakes his head with a shit-eating grin. “You need to find yourself a girlfriend of your own.”
“You know me.” I spin around to face him, clutch my hand against the throbbing pain in my stomach. “Single for life.”
“I remember the life of being a bachelor.” He reaches for a half-empty bottle of water sitting on a black shelf and twists the cap off. “I pity those memories.”
“You are so whipped.” I rip the bottle out of his hand and take a good, long chug before he wrestles it back from me, spilling water onto my face and dribbling down the curve of my chin. “It’s almost like I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
“I know you’ve always had a flair for being dramatic, but it’s time to maybe start getting serious about someone.” He finishes the water in one go, crunching the plastic bottle when he’s finished and disposing of it into a nearby trashcan. With the back of his palm, he clears the water from his lips. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“Hit the brakes, pal,” I say, feeling the need to remind him that… “You’ve only been off the market for a few months. There’s going to be a lady that sweeps me off my feet, but today is not that day.”
“Does this mean you have no plans for the evening?” He questions with a calculated smirk. “I’m shocked.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I reach to retrieve it, all the while not breaking eye contact with Chase. “I would have you know that I have a romantic Netflix and chill date with myself.”
“Netflix and chill?” He cocks a brow and folds his arms over each other. He clearly doesn’t approve of my youthful slang. “You do realize that you’re a grown-ass adult, right?”
“I might be cutting close to three and a half decades on this earth, but my soul is forever young.” I click my tongue against the inside of my cheek and gaze down at the phone in my hand. My eyes roll, and I let out a stifled groan when I see the message waiting for me.
213-555-7373: The white knight in shining armor will soon rise up against the tides to fight against the dark knight, but he’ll lose, tuck his tail, and run because some princesses don’t need saving.
“Is it that asshole again?” Chase questions, arms still folded over each other.
I raise my eyes to meet him once more and force a smile. “Just the same old basement dweller trying to screw with me.”
“In this business, with our reputations, you can never be sure about that.”
I offer him nothing more than a shrug before twisting on my feet and heading towards the elevator. Chase’s shadow hangs over me, as he follows me to the lift. Blue lasers scan over my eyes before unlocking the elevator door. It slides open, and the both of us step inside and position ourselves with our backs against the concrete interior.
I pretend as if the anonymous messages don’t bother me, but they do, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m actually afraid, or maybe I’m just annoyed. Either way, I’m going to get to the bottom of this and rip someone a new asshole when I find out who exactly it is that’s messing with me.
“You know, you could have Marcus trace the number,” Chase points out, as the elevator begins to rise to the surface level. “And then the two of us could go kick ass and take names?”
“Yeah.” I turn to him with the same forced smile as before. “I’ll consider that, but for now I have a date.”
“Really now?”
I elbow him playfully in the side. “Yeah, remember? A hot date with myself.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He cocks a curious gaze my way. “Just don’t rub yourself raw.”
“Hilarious.”
# # #
The music blares from the speaker on the bathroom counter as water rains upon my head, drenching the entirety of my body in water hot enough to scald most people. I’m not like most people though. I enjoy my showers as hot as the fire of Satan, and I’ve been that way since I was a kid.
I spin around in a circle, push my hair back and rinse the shampoo out. It’s only when the soap is rolling down my face that I take a reprieve from singing along to the rock track with enough bass to shake the glass door of the shower.
I like my showers long, because there’s nothing better than standing under a hot rainfall of water to clear my head, to clear the racing thoughts of the possible betrayal of my best friend and boss, to clear my head of the fact that there’s someone out there harassing me via text.
The funny thing is that I’ve been through so much shit in my life. Mere texts shouldn’t scare me in the slightest, but somehow, they do…and I’m not sure why. There’s something about facing the unknown that has the power to control me, I suppose. Something about the idea that an unknown person is out there watching me.
I’ve been through three tours overseas. I’ve seen things most people only see in watered-down movies. It’s because of that trauma that I’ve become the man I am today. I often hide behind bad jokes and crackling smiles because it’s easier, I suppose, than admitting to anyone or anything that I’m kind of screwed up because of the things I’ve seen.
And if dancing in the shower is my therapy, then so be it. There are much worse ways to cope, such as drowning out the voices in booze and pills. That’s so not my style.
I twist the knobs to cut off the water flow, grab a towel, and step out of the shower. I towel dry my hair and then pat myself down before wrapping the soft fabric around my waist and twisting the corners into a knot so that it’ll stay in place as I venture out into the living room.
There are many perks to having my own place, the least of which being that I can walk around in the nude if I want. However, I have this thing about not closing the blinds when I should, so I’m playing it safe by stepping out of the shower with the towel wrapped snug around my body.
Just as I’m heading to the fridge to grab a cold beer, the doorbell dings. I freeze in place, my eyes shifting towards the door. I’m a little on edge lately, and I don’t like it. I stare at the door for a moment more before realizing it’s probably just someone dropping off my pizza.
I squint one eye and peek through the tiny hole in the door. There’s a pretty little lady with long platinum hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’s wearing a red hat with the Pizza Fanatics logo on the cap and a matching red shirt.
I pull open the door for her and lean seductively against the frame with my arms folded over each other. She gi
ves me the once over with her eyes and clears her throat as she tries to keep her eyes focused on my eyes. It must be a difficult task for her. I mean, if I were her, I’d be staring too. I’m made of steel with abs you could bounce quarters off of. And that’s not me being self-absorbed or anything like that. It’s just a fact that women are drawn to me, and just the same, I’m drawn to them like a moth to a flame.
“I assume that’s my pizza in your hands,” I say, cutting through the awkward silence. “I’m very hungry.”
“Yes.” She forces a smile. “Here you go.” She pushes the large pizza box into my hand with the receipt attached to the top and digs into her pocket to fetch a pen.
Fearing I could lose the towel if I maneuver too much, I twist on my feet and place the pizza box onto the nearby kitchen counter and then turn back to her. I place the receipt against the wall and scribble a hefty ten-dollar tip onto the bill before passing it back to her.
“You know,” I begin, chew into my bottom lip, “you look great in red.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks blush a soft red. “You look great in a towel.”
I cock my head to her with an amused grin and take particular notice of the way her cheeks blush a redder shade than before. “Yeah, well you should see me without it.” I tuck one thumb under the soft material as my teeth sink deeper into my lip. “How old are you, by the way?”
“I’m twenty-seven.” She shies away from my gaze momentarily and then back to me with a nervous smile. She clicks the end of the pen and scribbles something down onto the back of the customer copy of the receipt and then passes it back to me. “You should call me sometime.”
“Is that what this is? Your number?” I glance down at the piece of paper and have to force myself to refrain from grinning too wide. I look back up to her with a reserved smile. “You know, I’d invite you in, but I already feel like this is the beginning of a porno, so I’m going to let you get back to work and then maybe I can call you later?”
“Maybe.” She nods, chuckles lowly and nervously under her breath, and then begins to retreat slowly. She exhales softly before nodding once more and turning to make her way down the long, carpeted hallway.
Oh, I shouldn’t do that. Call her, I mean. Doesn’t mean I won’t, only that I know it’s a bad idea. I close the door, grab my pizza off the counter, and drop down onto my old but reliable and comfortable couch. I kick my feet up on the coffee table and click the play button on the remote. I’m fully prepared to enjoy my evening, just me, myself, pizza, and trashy TV when my phone rings.
I ignore it as I flip open the pizza box and set my sights on the beauty before me—chicken alfredo pizza. It’s something that should never exits, but I’m certainly glad it does. I reach for the first piece and relish every square inch of the perfect combination of flavors practically melting against my tongue.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I pass a side-eye to the phone vibrating on the coffee table but decide to ignore it again. There’s enough on my mind, and I more than deserve a break. I’m beaten, battered, and bruised, and that’s not saying anything about the inner turmoil inside my head.
I glance back up at the TV just in time to see a dark-haired woman slinking into the Bachelor’s crib after dark. While I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules or something, I can’t help but to offer a cheers of my beer in salute.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Now, I’m frustrated and annoyed. “This better be important.” I toss the pizza box onto the table in front of me and swipe my phone into my hands. It’s an anonymous number, but I answer it anyways because I have a feeling whoever it is isn’t going to stop until they get my attention. “Hello?”
CHAPTER THREE
ELLA
I’m worn out from pacing back and forth across my living room, anxiously waiting for him to arrive. I know nothing about him, nothing more than his name and the company he works for, but I’m hoping he’ll be able to help me get to the bottom of what’s been going on.
I glance down to the coffee table at the pile of letters I’ve collected over the past forty days, each and every one of them written in red ink and with varying levels of creepiness. There’s five of them to be exact and because I can no longer pretend it’s a harmless prank, I’ve decided my best option is to bring in help.
I thought about contacting the authorities, but in my limited history with the police, I’ve got to be honest, I haven’t had the greatest experiences. Back in high school, for a very brief while, I ran on the opposite side of the law while I was dating the class bad boy. And then, later on in life, I had a friend in college who was suffering abuse at the hands of an ex-boyfriend. The police could never do anything about it except help my friend, Anissa, secure a restraining order.
Little help that restraining order did. Anissa was found dead in her apartment. The only thing the restraining order did was put it on record that her ex-boyfriend was stalking her and showed aggressive behavior. It helped throw him behind bars, but it didn’t save her life.
Before calling Luke, I performed a quick search on the internet for Ford Security. While I couldn’t find much information at first, I eventually found some information hidden deep in search results. It would seem that the personnel who work for Ford Security work just outside the law, and though their methods might not be kosher, they tend to get results.
I need results, but more importantly, I just need the peace of mind in knowing if these letters mean anything or not.
There’s a soft knock on the front door that steals my attention. It steals every bit of my attention to the point where I freeze in place while staring straight at the door. Another knock breaks me out of a daze, and I rush to the door and drop a sweaty palm to pull the door open.
The man standing there turns on his feet to face me fully. He’s dressed casually in a dark blue and plain tee shirt, fitted with boots and jeans. His brown hair is short and swept across the top of his head. He cracks a half-grin and chuckles lightly.
“Luke King, I presume.”
“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his head, his eyes searching over me. “That would be, and I presume you’re the damsel in distress who rang me last night?”
“Damsel in distress?” I scoff and cross my arms defiantly, push my tongue against my cheek. “Not quite.”
“I apologize.” He clears his throat and reaches his hand forward to shake mine. “I’m known for making jokes at inappropriate times, so let’s start over by saying it’s nice to meet you.”
I nod at him before shaking his hand. “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”
“Do you mind if I come inside?” he questions, but takes no time stepping right past me and then pivoting on his feet as I reach forward and push the door to a close. “Now, you were rather brief over the phone, so what exactly are the circumstances we are meeting under?”
I point to the letters on the coffee table before leading him over to the couch where I drop down to take a seat and gesture for him to do the same.
He shakes his head gently. “I’m good with standing.”
There’s something about him that’s almost intimidating, something about him that reeks of authority, but there’s also something oddly comforting in the way he carries himself.
“I’ve been receiving these letters for a brief while now.” I reach for the stack and pass them to him. “The first time I received one, I thought it was a prank or it was simply sent it to the wrong person.”
He shuffles the letters in his hands while he reads through each one. His eyes alternate between the letters and me, almost like he’s judging me. I wait impatiently for him to finish his quick review, all the while my feet tapping incessantly against the hardwood floors, creating a symphony of nervous monstrosity.
He finally finishes and drops the stack of letters back onto the table, his ice-blue eyes drift back to me. “Five letters don’t end up addressed to the same woman all by mistake, and if it’s a prank, it’s no
t a funny one.”
“So, what do you think it is?” I question and swallow a gulp. “Do you think I’m in danger?”
“It’s hard to say.” He shrugs and moves to stand against the mantle above the fireplace. “Different people have different understandings of a prank, but like I said, it isn’t funny. Maybe you’re in danger, maybe you’re not. I only have one question for you…”
“Which is?” I furrow a brow and narrow my eyes at him, my heart racing, feeling like I’m about to be put on trial when I’ve done nothing wrong.
“Would you rather be safe or sorry?”
“That’s the exact same thing my friend said.” I drop my head and chuckle lowly to myself. “But the truth is that I’d rather be safe than sorry, even if it turns out to be nothing and I end up looking like an idiot.”
“Who’s your friend?” he questions deadpan, his eyes burrowing a hole in me. “Is this the same friend that referred you to me?”
“Yeah.” I shoot him a narrow glare. “Why?”
“No reason.” He shakes his head and chews into his bottom lip. “While I can’t promise anything, I’m going to help get to the bottom of this.”
“How are you doing to do that?” I rise to stand and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “Can you trace the letters?”
“We could lift fingerprints, but I’m not sure that’s our best course of action.” He points to the stack of letters. “These people have gone out of their way to hide their identity, they’re not going to make a stupid mistake like leaving forensic evidence behind.” He thumbs his lips before pacing forward slightly, his tall, strong muscular body swaying towards me. “Instead, I think we should take a good look at anyone in your life who could potentially be doing this.”
“What makes you think it’s someone that I know?”
He raises a curious brow as he reaches forward and grabs the first of the five letters and shifts backwards to take a seat in the chair opposite me. “First things first, the letters are addressed to you by name. Secondly, they know what you look like based on the newest letter, and finally, the biggest reason I believe this to be the case…” He leans forward, locks his eyes with mine. “There’s this look on your face that’s half-torn between fear and uncertainty. Something tells me you might know exactly who’s doing this to you.”
Ford Security Page 17