by Eve Langlais
Darren saved my life. He’d found Marcus right when he’d reached the end of his rope.
Today, he looked back on that dark time and couldn’t believe he’d ever contemplated suicide. But when people talked of the swallowing darkness, the hole inside them that wouldn’t let them crawl out, Marcus understood.
I’ve been in that hole.
As to how he’d gotten to that point? His sob story resembled so many others. Marcus had lost his father at a young age to a car crash. It had hurt the little boy to lose his dad, but it had crushed his mother. She couldn’t cope, and so she’d turned to things that she thought would help her. Booze, drugs, and a mixture of pain meds. Yet, nothing could take the hollow shell-shocked look from her eyes; nothing could make her snap out of her own misery enough to notice the little boy still in need of his mother. Given her issues, they’d moved around a lot, following some path only she could see that she thought would fix things.
Running couldn’t fix sadness. But she never did learn that lesson. As his mother struggled with her addiction, the necessities of life were ignored—things like ensuring Marcus had clean clothes, a bed, even food to eat. Children’s services stepped in, claiming his mother unfit. They placed him with his paternal grandfather, a man Marcus barely knew because his mother had moved them across the country. A man restricted to a wheelchair, having lost his legs to shrapnel while in the Army.
But the surprise of becoming someone’s guardian and the disability didn’t prevent the grizzled old man from loving his grandson, even if he was tough about it. Their apartment was small but clean, the food plain, but Marcus got a meal three times a day. Specials treats were for when he did something great such as an A on a test or making the football team.
Some local charities offered to help, but pride meant Granddad wouldn’t accept any handouts, and neither would Marcus. A man took care of his problems, took care of his family.
When Marcus entered his teen years, he repaid some of that kindness to his granddad by working two jobs while going to school, trying to offer not only himself but also his grandfather a better life.
Shortly before his graduation, Marcus’s mother passed of an overdose. He flew out west to attend the funeral, a small event that left Marcus dry-eyed. The woman who’d died bore no resemblance to the one he’d known when his dad was alive.
Going back home, he returned to his life, going through the motions, and only realized when the time to apply to colleges had passed that he didn’t have it in him to do more studying. With his grandfather’s blessing, Marcus had joined the Army. Enjoyed it, too. There was a certain serenity to having rules that governed his every moment.
A big man at this point, Marcus enjoyed the physical aspects of it. Loved the shooting drills. He didn’t even mind the tours they sent him on overseas. He rose in the ranks, a long career ahead of him.
That all changed the day he got the message that his grandfather was dying.
He didn’t hesitate to go home. Not that it did any good.
Cancer. Such an ugly thing, especially what it did to a person who’d always been so strong, shriveling them into a pale shell of their former self. Marcus didn’t care about all that. His grandfather had always been there for Marcus, and now, Marcus would do the same.
It was a lonely and emotionally wrenching time. The friends Marcus had made in the military tried to keep in touch, but Marcus more or less ignored them. Adjusting to civilian life after almost ten years in the military proved hard. He missed the rules, the missions, the friendships that developed.
When his granddad died, Marcus found himself adrift, alone. He didn’t have his job with the Army anymore and had no interest in reapplying.
Why bother? Who would he send his checks to? Who did he have to impress?
No one.
Who would notice if Marcus left this world?
Marcus still remembered the conviction that he had nothing left to offer as he stood on the edge of the bridge and stared at the water swirling below. It would take only one step, one tiny forward movement into nothingness to end it all.
And then, Darren had appeared beside him. Annoying—God fucking bless him—Darren with his questions. “Hey, you, in the Army coat, kind of cold for a swim.”
“Fuck off.”
“I usually get better results when I fuck on, or in.”
Marcus ignored him. The man would leave. Everyone left.
“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a job.”
“Nope.” Why work when he had no one to support?
“Want to grab a coffee?”
“I hate coffee.”
“Me too. But a nice, cold beer…” Darren made a humming sound. “Love beer. Want to grab one?”
Yes. But instead, Marcus said, “No.”
“I don’t suppose you’re any good with a gun?”
“If I had one, I’d shoot you. Can’t you fucking see I’m busy?”
But Darren wouldn’t leave. “Can you kill yourself later? I’ve got this man I’ve got to meet in a shitty part of town. I could use a behemoth with a scowl to make sure I get out of there in one piece.”
“Are you asking me to bodyguard you?”
“Yeah.”
The deal was sealed when Marcus asked, “Will there be a chance to hit something?”
“How about I make sure there is?”
It turned out they’d both needed to fight their way out that night. A night that had turned into a few days as Darren kept asking him to do this and that for him. Next thing Marcus knew, he worked for the guy and killing himself seemed like the stupidest idea ever.
And now, he finally had a real chance to pay back that debt. To actually save Darren.
But only if his ignorance didn’t get in the way.
Slipping through the secret door, he noted the couch torn apart, the reason being the cushions were piled by the bedroom doors, which were mostly shut.
A form lay huddled under a blanket.
From the bedroom, he could hear the snoring and grinned.
“How was your night, little pint?”
Eyes rimmed in dark circles appeared. Her lips turned down. “Fuck off.”
“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine.” He couldn’t help but smile wider. “What happened to sleeping with the boss?”
“Sleep? Who can sleep with a man who snores like a freight train?” She waved at the door. “It’s not right.”
“He’s a little noisy.”
“A little?” She arched a brow. “I was tempted to kill him myself.”
“I heard that,” Darren shouted from the room, the snoring having stopped as they conversed.
“You have a problem,” she yelled back.
“He does,” Marcus agreed, “which is why I told him he should go as Darth Vader last Halloween.”
“You’re an asshole,” Darren announced, sliding the doors open wide and glaring.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one complaining about your raucous snoring habit.”
“You look like shit,” Darren remarked, finally glancing down at Kacy.
“Thanks. I feel so much better knowing that,” she sassed. As she crawled out of the blankets, Marcus noted she’d changed into one of Darren’s shirts. For some reason, that bothered him.
“I was going to hit the gym. Want to join me?” Marcus asked his boss.
“Sounds like a plan.”
“I don’t have the right clothes,” Kacy grumbled.
“Isn’t that just like a woman to complain about her wardrobe?” Marcus remarked. He totally deserved the kick to his shin before she popped out of her makeshift bed.
“I finally know what it’s like to be attacked by a munchkin,” Marcus remarked, crossing his arms and looking down at her. “It tickles.”
“I’ll fucking show you a tickle,” she snapped. “Where is this gym?”
“While I would greatly love seeing you school Marcus, by the looks of you, you need some sleep,” Darren interje
cted.
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped.
“I’m sure you will be, but what’s one of the rules they teach at the academy?”
“What do you know of the academy?” she asked suspiciously.
“Enough to know that you’re supposed to get sleep whenever you get a chance because a tired operative—”
“Is a sloppy operative.” Her lips turned down. “I’ll skip the gym then to grab a nap.”
A shame. Marcus would love to see Kacy put her hands on him. “Yeah, pint-sized princess, better get some beauty rest. Maybe you’ll wake up in a better mood.”
“You know what would make me happy? Carving off your testicles.”
Darren stepped between them and cleared his throat. “I can see it’s going to take some adjustment before you can work together.”
“He’s an ass,” Kacy stated.
“And you’re someone who can dish it but not take it,” Marcus retorted, peering at her around his boss.
“Enough. From both of you,” Darren added, giving them both a fierce glare. “Kacy, you are going to grab a few more z’s while I work out with Marcus.” Before she could protest, he held up his hand. “The gym is secure. It doesn’t have windows, and unless someone’s found a way to put a bomb inside my weights, then I’m pretty sure nothing’s going to try and kill me.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.” Marcus cracked his knuckles.
Kacy bounced her gaze between them. “You won’t go outside?”
“Not even to smell the roses,” Marcus offered.
“You’ll keep him away from windows, meathead?”
A nod to agree.
She bit her lip. He would have offered to bite it for her, but she’d probably slap him.
A finger jabbed Darren. “No food unless you peel it yourself. Check it first for punctures, too.”
“Poison?” Marcus wrinkled his nose.
“It’s a possibility. Why do you think I was tasting his food last night?”
“Seems kind of risky.”
“Exactly. Everything we do to ensure the client’s safety carries a risk. And if something were to happen, my mascara hides an EpiPen, and my perfume atomizer in my purse is a multi-function antidote.”
“Dude, you need to get me some of her toys,” Marcus said to Darren.
“Be a good boy, and you’ll get some for Christmas.”
“If you live that long,” was Kacy’s ominous addition. “Remember what I’ve said.”
Marcus clapped Darren on the shoulder. “I love you, bro, but I am not chewing your food and spitting it into your mouth after.”
“You can forget a raise then,” Darren joked.
“I’ll settle for schooling your ass in the gym.”
“Give me a minute to put on some athletic gear.” Darren returned to his room, leaving them alone.
Good news, Kacy didn’t seem inclined to hit Marcus, but she probably hid a gun under that shirt somewhere, so a gunshot remained possible.
I wonder what she’d say if I frisked her now…
Probably keep good on her promise to remove his balls.
She bent over and gathered the blanket to toss it on the chair. The shirt rode up, but not enough to reveal if she wore panties or what kind. “I’ll need to go to the hotel at some point today to grab my things.”
“We can also send someone to fetch them for you. Unless you’re worried they’ll see something.” Or keep something, say like a pair of panties.
Perhaps I should oversee this job myself.
Again, she worried at her lower lip. “Nothing overt is out and about, if that’s what you mean, but I did leave things strewn about, trying to make it seem as if I planned a longer stay at the hotel. My more covert stuff is well hidden in the lining of the case.”
“You mean there are more toys?”
A genuine smile lit her face. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
More and more, Marcus was beginning to realize that. Even better, the discovery of what she had hidden excited him.
She excited him.
“Tell you what, you get some sleep, and when you get up, we’ll swap places while I grab your stuff.”
“Agreeing to be an errand boy? That seems out of character.” The suspicious look had returned to her face.
“More like saving myself the boredom of watching Darren work. Maybe you like overseeing someone do paperwork for hours on end. Me, I’d rather riffle through your panties.” He winked.
She slugged him in the diaphragm—hard—with a jab of her little fist before turning to face Darren who’d reappeared. “Don’t leave the house,” she admonished before slipping into his room.
Marcus meanwhile tried to breathe. Little pint had good aim.
“Shall we?” Darren led the way.
Fucking right, they would. Marcus had some frustration to mete out and a point to prove. Bigger was better.
And yet, something about the little woman upstairs scared the fuck out of him.
Chapter Eight
The phone rang, and rang, an annoying ditty that kept screaming, “it’s your mother,” louder and louder until she finally scrambled from the bed and dug the phone out of her purse. At times, she wished she believed in voicemail.
Such as now, when her mother exclaimed, “How did your date go?”
Fuck. Kacy had forgotten she’d lied to her mother about her fake outing. “Great, Mama. Just lovely.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
Considering that she stood in his bedroom wearing his shirt, most definitely, but she wasn’t about to tell her mother that. “We’re meeting later for lunch.”
The excited squeal had Kacy’s ears ringing. She held the phone away and waited for the excitement to die down.
“Be a good girl. And, remember, don’t order the most expensive thing on the menu. Men don’t like that.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind, Mama. He can afford it.”
“You’re seeing a rich man?” Kacy could just picture her mother’s rounded eyes.
“Listen, Mama, did that guy looking for Tito come back?”
“No, but Harry did stop in. Such a nice man. I sent him home with churros for the bambinos.”
“Did you tell him about the hombre bothering you?”
“Yes. He told me not to worry.”
If her boss said it, then Kacy knew it would be handled. Mama had become a sort of honorary grandmother to his children. Harry would take care of it.
“Be careful. I’ve got to get ready for my date”—ugh—“now.”
Another squeal preceded some I love yous before she hung up. Her poor mother. Kacy felt bad about misleading her. Darren most definitely wasn’t dating material. However, the white lie at least gave her mother hope that perhaps, one day, her baby girl would settle down.
Never.
Still wearing Darren’s shirt, which Kacy had found in the closet, paired with a pair of boxers, that required her knotting them so they wouldn’t fall down, she exited his room. Her nap lasted long enough to leave her feeling, if not entirely rested, at least not suffering from gritty eyes and a slow brain.
She couldn’t entirely blame Darren for her lack of sleep. The man did snore something fierce, but she’d grown up in a house that constantly had noise. Part of what had kept her awake was the job itself.
More specifically, her partner.
Marcus, the giant-sized bodyguard, who was obviously was more for window dressing than true protection. He didn’t know the first thing about how to prevent actual harm to his client, other than standing in front of Darren acting as a wall. To be fair, in most cases, his bulky presence would be enough to stop most attacks. But it wouldn’t stop a dedicated assassin.
However, his lack of skill wasn’t what disturbed her most. Marcus, as a man, bothered her. Somehow, without meaning to, his very existence teased her at every turn. He grumbled at having to work with Kacy, a woman, and at the same time, despite his clear chauvinist atti
tude, there was something hot about him, something alpha that called to the woman in her.
Since when do I want a man who is domineering? A better question, since when did it turn her on to be treated submissively?
Whatever the answer, Marcus was a distraction she couldn’t afford.
Leaving the bedroom, Kacy encountered a few of Darren’s staff and knew how it must look. Slutty girl who came home with the boss running around in his clothes with wild hair.
They’d draw the right conclusion, and if they were the type to gossip, her stay would circulate past the boundaries of this home.
Good.
Let people think Darren and Kacy were an item. They had to make this believable and fast if he was to arrange to bring her with him on this business trip. A trip to an unknown location.
Fucking Harry. He just had to give her a challenge. Bless his heart. She’d show him he’d chosen right.
Wandering into the kitchen, she noted a man preparing fruits and arranging them on a platter with pastries.
“Hi there.”
He shot her a brief glance.
When he didn’t speak, she did, asking, “Where can I find Darren?” Then to cement her presence as a guest, she snagged a goodie from the tray, totally messing up the arrangement.
The chef didn’t stab her with his knife, but he did point with it. “Boss is in the basement gym.”
Must be nice to have a real workout space. Kacy eschewed a membership to one. Why pay to exercise when she could do it for free? Jogging up three flights of stairs to her apartment a dozen times a day when she came home kept her cardio active. Carrying a twenty-pound bag of rice in each hand, lifting them in curls, worked her arms. Sit-ups took care of her abs. As for keeping her skills in good practice? Every so often, she entered the local fights, face masked, body covered in spandex. Her code name? Ardilla Rabiosa. The Rabid Squirrel. Not exactly the most distinguished name, but she usually made those who laughed at it cry, so…she kept it.
When it came to her code name within Bad Boy, she used parum cattus, little cat, because of her ability to slink in and out of places. And to the guy at the academy who’d dared to change it to pussy… He’d spent six months in the hospital.