Captive: A Bodyguard Romance (Hollywood Guardians Book 1)

by Heather Ashley

  "I don't know if you've noticed, but shit is chaotic right now around here," Savage, the newly ascended president and Devil's son, says while cutting into his pancakes. It doesn't make for a very intimidating picture, but I know looks can be deceiving.

  I give him a nod, scooping up a forkful of eggs and waiting for him to keep talking. It's clear he has something he wants to say, and I still haven't decided what to make of him. He's another item in the wait and see what happens category of the mental list I'm keeping about the ROC.

  I really need to write that shit down in an official report so I can keep my team updated.

  "If you're serious about sticking around, we could use you." Now the three of them are watching me intently, hanging on to whatever I'll say next. It's not like I have a choice. I've got to take every opportunity they give me to get in deeper.

  "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need, I'm in." Savage studies me for a few seconds longer, and when he seems satisfied with my answer, the other two relax. It's like they're perfectly attuned to his moods. Good to know.

  "Look, I'm not gonna lie. Things have been tense since Devil died, and they're going to get a whole lot fucking worse real quick if I have my way," Savage starts, and I have to work hard to keep the surprise off my face. It feels like he's about to make some great confession, and I don't understand why considering he doesn't know me at all.

  Maybe it's because he trusts that I'm a patched-in brother, and that's good enough to prove my loyalty—except I'm not loyal or a brother. My stomach twists uncomfortably, and I set my fork down, pushing my plate away. I've lost my appetite, and I don't want to think about the fact I'm pretty sure it's guilt that's making me feel this way.

  But I have nothing to feel guilty for… right? I'm here to do the right thing and put a stop to all the horrific shit this club is buried up to its fucking eyeballs in. Even so, everything I've seen so far from Savage and his officers shows a stark divide between the way I saw his father handle the club and the way he does. It'll be interesting to see what Savage makes of this club or what's left of it when I'm finished.

  He's still watching me, and he's not stupid. He's got an intelligence to him that makes me want to respect him right off the bat, and maybe that's why the club accepted him so easily as their new leader.

  Next to him, Saint has an even more calculating look in his eye as he stares me down, and I almost smile at him. I'd like to see him try to get a read on me and who I actually am. I shore up my mental defenses, though, just in case, and lock down any thoughts of revenge on the club. I only got here the night before yesterday, and I'm still settling in. It's not the time to make waves or draw attention.

  I almost laugh out loud at that because right now, I'm sitting across from the new leadership of this group of biker thugs, having gotten every bit of their attention for the last half hour. All I can do is answer their questions in the way I think they want to hear and hope they forget about me when we're done.

  If they don't, I'll deal with it when it happens.

  "Not everyone's happy-" Saint starts, but he's cut off when another guy in leather hurries up to the table. He's closer to their age—our age—and automatically, I think of him as less of a threat and catch myself relaxing, so I mentally kick my own ass. It's way too early to be dismissing anyone as harmless or non-threatening.

  "This better be fucking important, Lyric." Grim leans back against his seat, but his expression is completely emotionless and his voice cold. It's impressive how fast he can go from seemingly relaxed to cruel and ruthless. It makes me sit up straighter and pay closer attention to whatever's about to go down.

  "Ruthless and I were just checking in the latest Volkov delivery, and we're short." The one Grim called Lyric is a little breathless. I'm not sure if it's because he ran straight here or because his adrenaline's riding high.

  "How short?" Savage asks, going both very quiet and very still. Based on his current body language, this seems like a big deal. No wonder this Lyric guy came rushing in and interrupted our breakfast.

  "A quarter." Lyric brushes his floppy blond hair out of his eyes in what looks like a nervous tic, and I swing my gaze over to the three guys across from me.

  They're exchanging looks like they're having a conversation, but no words are being spoken, so I don't know for sure. Whatever's happening, it looks like it's happened a thousand times before. It's obvious these three have a shit ton of history between them.

  In a way that's eerie as fuck, the three of them look at me at almost the exact same time. "Well, new guy. You ready to ride?" Saint asks, and I force my expression to stay stoic. My eyebrows want to shoot up into my hairline because honestly, I'm fucking shocked.

  These guys are either stupid as hell for inviting along, a guy they just met, on something that seems really important to them and the club, or they're more intelligent than I'm giving them credit for by keeping me close and seeing what I'm about.

  The jury's still out on which one's the truth.

  Nodding once, I abandon my half-eaten breakfast and stand up, waiting for the three of them to slide out of the other side of the booth. Half the main building in the clubhouse is the bar, but the other half is where the club holds their important sexist as fuck officers-only meetings—or church as they refer to it—and this diner. It looks like the whole place was some kind of commune at one point with a garage, the restaurant and bar, and a motel.

  I follow Grim, Saint, and Savage out of the building, with Lyric bringing up the rear. We pass over our bikes and head for the garage. It's a huge building, and I haven't been able to explore it yet, but when we walk inside, I quickly realize it's also got a warehouse attached.

  Stepping inside, I breathe in the cool air. Being in the desert under the burning sun brings back a lot of memories I'd rather not think about from my time in the military, so the air conditioner is a welcome relief. The sweat rolling down my back dries on my skin while I wait to see what's about to happen.

  There are oil drums with their tops pried open next to two piles on the floor—one of guns, one of discarded plastic packaging that I'm assuming the guns were wrapped in before being submerged and transported.

  Savage walks over to one of the open drums and leans over, staring down inside. "Are you sure you checked them all? Scraped down to the bottom?"

  Another of the younger guys steps up with a pissed-off expression on his face. "I'm sure. I checked three times before I sent Lyric over. They're not there."

  "Those motherfuckers. We sent the payment this morning. In full," Saint spits out through clenched teeth. I make a mental note to circle back around later and snap pictures of all of this. I'm starting that report as soon as I get a minute to run back to my room. This won't be enough to take down the club, but it's a start.

  If I whipped out my phone right now to take pictures or record audio, it'd be suspicious as fuck, and I have to play this smart. I'm still not sure why they're including me on this, but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. While they talk about what to do next, I zone out. My mind wanders back to last night, to the way Gigi let me have my way with her.

  I hadn't walked into this club—or into that bar—expecting to fuck anyone, but now that it happened, I can't get her out of my head. I know I need to focus. In fact, I should be focusing right now, but all I can think about is tangling my fingers in that red-gold hair of hers, wrapping it around my fist, and watching her come apart on my cock.

  Fuck, I should not be thinking about her right now. I'm sporting a goddamn semi in the middle of what looks like it's about to be some serious shit between the club and their weapons supplier. The idea that I'm about to ride into a hostile situation that could turn ugly fast helps deflate my cock and push aside thoughts of my little demon for a minute.

  "I already set up a meeting with the Volkov's in an hour at the shop," Grim's announcing as I tune back into their conversation. All thoughts of my green-eyed demon and how she left me in a heap on the floor
after the best sex of my life are put on the back burner.

  Sort of.

  A smart man keeps his weapon on him at all times in a situation like this. I'm a fucking genius because I have my gun in my waistband, another in a holster at my ankle, and a knife in my pocket. That means I don't have to make an excuse to run back to my room while the rest of them climb onto their bikes.

  Throwing my leg over the burning hot black leather seat of my Harley, I turn the ignition switch and flip the button on the right handle down, feeling her come to life and purr underneath me. The sound echoes all around me as the other guys start up their rides, and it doesn't take long before we're kicking up dust as we ride off the club's property and onto the highway.

  I have no idea where we're going, so I keep my eyes open and pay attention to everything. It doesn't take as long as I think it's going to before we're pulling into Las Vegas, cruising in a single file line down the Strip. We turn off onto a side street, and I follow their lead, parking in front of an upscale garage the chrome sign identifies as Chaos Customs.

  Between the wind whipping in my ears and the roar of the bike engines, when everyone parks and starts to get off their bike, it's shockingly quiet. My ears even ring a little in the absence of noise. While I've ridden a bike for a few years now, it's always been just me. I've never done it in a group setting, and I haven't decided yet if I like it or not. It's definitely making shit harder for me to hear as we step into the state-of-the-art garage.

  The guy who was checking in the guns—Ruthless, according to his cut—hands me a bottle of water, and I gulp it down. The desert is dry as fuck, and even though I'm dedicated to my cause here, I can't wait to get back to my beachfront home.

  The energy in the room is fucking intense, and no one's really saying anything while we wait for the other half of this little party to show. My muscles are tense, and my heart's slamming into my ribcage. The anticipation of whatever's about to go down has me focused, and I'm the first one to spot the two black SUVs turning into the lot. "Incoming," I say to the room, and if I thought it was tense in here before, I was fucking deluded because I swear to Christ I can actually taste the stress in the air.

  Two guys who look like identical twins get out of the first SUV, and they've brought about ten bodyguards with them between the two cars. Looking them over, they seem like they could easily hold their own in a fight. They give off an icy demeanor between their white-blond hair and pale skin. They're not close enough for me to see their eyes yet, but I bet they're as light as the rest of their bodies. The fact they're dressed in head-to-toe black makes their coloring even harsher.

  My gut is telling me these guys aren't to be fucked with, but it's a damn good thing I'm a steady shot. It's too early in my time with the club for me to expose myself, so if these guys try shit, I'll have to throw down like a member of the club without really knowing who they are and whether they fit into what I'd consider good guy or bad guy territory.

  Since they're the club's gun suppliers—presumably, as I haven't verified yet—I'm leaning toward bad guys, but I don't have concrete proof either way. Yet.

  "What is this about?" the blond guy on the left asks in a thick accent that I'm guessing is Russian or from some other Eastern European country.

  "You interrupted our breakfast," the other blond guy tacks on.

  "I was hoping you might know what the fuck happened to our guns, Alexei," Savage says to the guy on the left as if he's talking about the weather. I have to hand it to the guy—he has balls. I'm starting to get an impression of him, and I don't entirely hate what I see.

  That only pisses me off more.

  The guy on the right answers for his brother. "Explain."

  Grim steps up so he's standing beside Savage before he speaks. "The shipment we unpacked this morning was twenty-five percent short."

  The guy on the right scoffs. "Impossible."

  "Are you calling me a liar, Maxim?" I swear Grim's words cool the temperature in here a solid ten degrees, and I make a mental note to get him to teach me that shit before I'm done here.

  Alexei snaps his fingers, and one of their lackeys rushes off and comes back with a piece of paper clutched in his fist. He hands it to Alexi, who passes it to Saint with a menacing smile. "The manifest. If you'll notice the signature at the bottom."

  Saint curses and hands the paper over to Savage. Grim reads over his shoulder. All three wear thunderous expressions.

  "It is there in ink. Walter Sharpe, also known as Poison. He inspected and took possession of the merchandise this morning. We allowed him every opportunity to ensure the guns were accounted for, and he, representing your club, sealed the deal with his signature. I hope you're not implying that we shorted the shipment? Or that we owe you some sort of refund?" Maxim is all manners as he says this, but there's obviously a threat underlying.

  I move my hand around my back and wrap my fingers around the grip of my gun. I'm not pulling it out yet, but if shit goes south, I'm ready.

  "Of course not," Savage agrees, and the tension in the room drops almost instantly. "Sorry we interrupted your breakfast. We'll be in touch next month."

  The brothers nod in perfect creepy-ass synchronization before getting into their cars with their goon squad and heading out. I'm ready to get back to the club, note all this shit down before I forget anything, and then hunt down Gigi and see if I can talk her into a repeat performance of last night, but the five guys I rode in with don't look like they're ready to go just yet.

  Savage waits for the SUVs to leave before he speaks. "We've got a big fucking problem. Someone is a fucking traitor, and I'm going to find out who."

  My body tenses as his eyes sweep over all of us, but they don't linger on me. I'm surprised, considering the timing is suspect as hell, but the pieces don't fit, and I'm sure as shit glad I didn't attempt to get included on what seems like an early morning run to pick up their gun shipment.

  "None of you breathes a word of this shit to anyone," Grim says, leveling us all with a threatening glare. I can think of about eight ways I could kill him or incapacitate him right now with nothing but my hands, so I don't really give a shit about his threat, but I won't say anything because now I want to know who's double-crossing the club as much as they do.

  Maybe I can use their infighting to take them down from the inside out, which would be easier than me trying to do it myself. Not that I mind doing it myself, but a little help is never a bad thing.

  We all mumble our agreements, and the ride back to the clubhouse is almost as tense as the one to the shop. When we get back to the garage, I rush up to my room before I can get sidetracked by any of the relentless sweet butts. They must be stalking me because they always pop up the second I step outside my room.

  It's fucking annoying. What kind of self-respecting guy wants to fuck a girl who's not a challenge? My dick's already been claimed by the most captivating woman I've ever met who can put me in my place and have me begging for more in the same breath.

  The mission is still my main focus, but now that Gigi's on my radar, I won't be able to let her go when it's time to walk away. One night together—more like one mind-blowing fuck together—and I'm already possessive and single-minded when it comes to her. When we spend more time together—because we will—it'll only get worse. I know myself. I'm prepared to let it happen, as long as it doesn't fuck with the job I'm here to do.

  If I get to walk away in the end with Reign of Chaos in flames and Gigi by my side, I'll be the luckiest fucking guy on the planet.

  Pushing into my room, I dig under the bed for the tablet I brought with me, logging into the secure cloud Sebastian set up for exactly this purpose. I note down everything I learned today about the guns, the Volkov brothers, and the dissent in the club, making a note for Sebastian to dig into both Walter Sharpe and the weapons dealers.

  I make sure to sign out before sticking my tablet back into its hiding place inside the box spring where the fabric has a tear in it. Now that m
y afternoon is free, I figure I'll walk the property to get a better feel for what's out there, and if I happen to run into Gigi along the way, even better.

  Poking my head into the hall, I let out a sigh of relief when none of the bleach-blond quartet of sweet butts, as the guys call them, pop out of the woodwork.

  The heat feels like a fucking wall when I step outside, smacking me right in the face and burning my lungs as I inhale. I've explored the clubhouse pretty well but haven't spent much time in the garage, so I head there first.

  It's a relief to step into the cooler air, and my relief turns into outright fucking excitement when I catch Gigi climbing down a ladder that must lead into a loft of some sort. She hasn't seen me yet, so I get to stand back and check out her ass in tiny cut-off denim shorts as she lowers herself to the ground. My lungs feel tight in my chest at the sight of her, like she's stolen the fucking breath from my body with her presence.

  I move into her space on purpose right before she turns around so that when she spins, she collides with my chest and drops whatever she had tucked under her arm. Grabbing her arms to steady her, euphoria at touching her skin has my dick perking up like he's ready to start shit again like last night.

  "Shit! Sorry," she says before she even looks up to see it's me, and when she does, I see the flare of heat in her eyes like she's remembering how it felt to have me inside her. She extinguishes it almost right away, but I know what I saw, and my cock is hard as a goddamn sledgehammer, and there's not a damn thing I can do to hide it from Gigi.

  She's going to make me work for her, but I've always liked a challenge. "What are you up to, little demon?" I don't know where the nickname came from, but it fits her.

  "Nothing," she answers entirely too fast and then drops down to pick up whatever it was she dropped. I follow the movement, wishing she was dropping to her knees before me for an entirely different reason, but when she stands, I pluck the book out of her hands.