Scarlett
“You bitches!” I screeched.
I didn’t think Travis actually heard what my friends had, although a part of me almost hoped he had, shamefully thinking it’d be nice to give him something to think about. But I definitely wouldn’t admit that to these two because I’d never hear the last of it. Still though, the more I thought about Travis, the further my mind went in visualizing his muscular form…
I was looking forward to the trip more and more by the hour.
Raven and Lonette burst out laughing, and Raven poked me in the ribs. “Just admit it!” she said. “Then we’ll stop teasing you.”
“Admit what?”
“Don’t play innocent with us,” Lonette said. “I could hear from your voice you can’t wait to get your hands on him!”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face. “But regardless, hands off! He’s my bodyguard, remember?” Unable keep it together any longer, I burst into laughter, falling towards the two girls and slapping them both on the legs. The champagne had gone straight to my head, but I had to admit that I was having fun.
And hearing from Travis had been enjoyable too. I was drawn to the idea of seeing if I could get a glimpse of the man behind the serious façade.
CHAPTER 7
Travis
I rose from my armchair with Scarlett and whiskey on my mind, in that order. I left my gear in my non-descript ex-army duffel bag, the sort of no-nonsense bag you could sling over one shoulder and fuck off in an instant. I liked it even though I had to admit it was a bit frayed and beaten.
I left the door to my small but modern apartment and ran down the steps, taking two at a time. My mind ran over the impending trip to the airport, the flight, and trip to the hotel in Paris after the flight. Going over potential routes, risks, dangers…traffic hotspots. My mind swam with ideas and thoughts, feeling like it was about to explode. I almost regretted taking on such a mammoth task, but the money was right. Plus, after meeting Scarlett, I felt an instinctive need to protect her.
Out on the street, I took in the sights and sounds of the city near my apartment. Traffic passed me on the left as I strolled purposefully along the sidewalk, the sound of engines intermittently broken by car horns. There was a homeless guy to my right, drunk or high—possibly both. A young, mean looking guy swaggered past him, bloodshot eyes darting everywhere at once with his hand in his jacket.
Gangster.
I avoided the hood and tossed the homeless guy a couple of ones, not that he seemed to notice though. I then headed towards the local bar, Cal’s. Rough but quiet, I’d been there a few times and the locals mostly ignored me, perhaps sensing I was a slightly unhinged former soldier.
I had to walk a couple blocks and cross the road to get to the bar. Apparently, it was named after the owner, a rough guy of few words who mainly grunted when you ordered from him. He looked like he could handle himself, which made me I like him instantly.
I walked through the main entrance, swinging the heavy door back effortlessly. My eyes scanned the bar. The usual suspects were there—two old guys sitting on stools at the bar stretching across the back of the building, with bathrooms either side. There were a couple of other regulars dotted about on the faded red leather booths that ran down either side of the building. The space in the middle was filled with wooden tables and chairs, all slightly mismatched.
The locals barely paid me any attention as I walked past the tables and chairs to approach the bar. One of the old guys nodded at me, and I nodded back in greeting. The owner seemed to notice the exchange and looked my way. “Whiskey on the rocks?” he said in a gravelly voice.
“Yeah,” I replied. “And a round for the bar.” The old guys on my right raised their glasses and nodded muttered thanks. The other guys behind me in the booths toasted me a bit more vigorously.
Well, I guess that’s my initiation, I thought. Just one of the locals now. I guess they like that I don’t say much, don’t cause any trouble, and can handle my drink.
“Thanks,” I grunted, picking up the whiskey that had been placed in front of me. I opted for a bar stool on the other side as the two old locals. Usually, that earned me a frown or two, but now that I’d risen in the ranks, I wasn’t even glanced at.
As I took my seat at the bar, the door opened loudly behind me. I heard voices in a heated exchange, seemingly arguing about whose round it was. The voices approached, piercing the silence in the bar with crude conversation.
Right when I was starting to relax, I thought, agitated.
Without turning, I could smell trouble. The new arrivals were already drunk and sounded up for a fight. I’d been around enough drunken idiots in my time to know when they were out looking for trouble. Why they’d walked into a bar for old men though, I had no idea. All I knew was that they’d chosen the wrong time to come because considering my mood, I wasn’t afraid of knocking a couple heads together if it meant peace and quiet. And since I’d just been initiated as a local, I doubted anyone would object to my attempt to restore the peace.
The two guys approached the bar, quieting for a second to debate over who was paying.
“Get us two beers, with whiskey chasers,” one said once the quiet debate was over.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the one who’d spoken was the smaller of the two, probably the brains. The guy to his right was big, half-fat and half-muscle.
Calvin didn’t say a word as he begrudgingly prepared the drinks for the two, taking twice as long as he would for a local. His gaze was fixed intently on the two rough men in front of him, although he didn’t look fazed at all.
Probably got a shotgun under the bar, I mused.
The two guys resumed their heated conversation, but this time the big guy boasted to his friend about how he had recently bedded his colleague's wife.
“Yeah, after the party, we had to celebrate finishing the last job, you know. The apartment block.” He paused to take a huge swig of whiskey, followed by half of his bottle of beer.
Construction. Explains the equal ratio of fat and muscle.
His friend laughed loudly, patting him on the shoulder before the big guy continued his boasting. “You know John’s wife, Susan? Gagging for it, she was. Said he wasn’t up to the job and she needed someone big to take care of her.”
I stopped listening and pretended to watch the small TV above the bar behind Calvin. I shifted on my seat and drained the rest of my whiskey in one go, sliding the empty glass over towards the barman. He refilled my glass obligingly and was rather generous with the measure. I nodded at him slightly, an intense look on my face meant to convey that these two knuckleheads were no problem, and I could handle them if need be.
Catching my drift, he nodded back and resumed his stance at the center of the bar.
One of the old guys on the stools said something to the other, and the other laughed.
“What’s that, old man?” the big guy said, turning to face the old drunks, his back now turned to me. “Got something to say?”
“Yeah, say it so we can all hear,” his sidekick chimed in.
“Right.” The big guy gestured with his beer bottle. “Ain’t polite sayin’ things about others under your breath.”
The old guy sat silently, taking a long drink from his glass and pretending he hadn’t heard anything at all.
The two thugs exchanged glances, and the smaller guy raised his eyebrows. Then the big one smiled meanly and together, they turned to face the old man.
“We’re talking to you. Don’t you go pretending you’ve suddenly gone deaf. I ain’t afraid of teaching you a lesson in manners, old man.” The big guy stepped forward and poked a sausage-like finger into the old man’s chest.
I’d had enough. I was almost halfway through my second whiskey and was more stressed than before I’d entered the bar. I stood swiftly, thinking bitterly that these fools could have done me a favor and shown up an hour later so they could have gotten chas
ed out by a shotgun instead.
As I stood, the bar stool scraped loudly on the wooden floor.
The two thugs turned to face me. Too drunk, they didn’t seem worried that I was the same height as the bigger one, much more heavily muscled, and twice as mean-looking.
That was their first mistake.
“You got a problem too?” the smaller one said. “Looks like everyone in here needs a fucking lesson in manners.”
I held my hands up defensively, palms facing them. “Listen,” I said, in a low menacing voice, “‘cause I’m only gonna say this once.” I paused, noting the silence in the bar and the fact that everyone’s attention was on me. “I suggest you fuck off now, before I teach you a lesson in manners.”
They stood stupefied for a moment, their expressions quickly changing from shock to anger in the space of a few seconds. Then they both took a step towards me, their arms raised.
That was their second and final mistake.
I covered the distance to the pair in an instant. Adrenaline slowing my time perception, it seemed like they were moving underwater.
The smaller guy was quicker and had reacted to my advance first, swinging a frightened and savage right hook to my jaw. I tensed my left arm, strong palm facing outwards, and stepped into the punch, deflecting his fist harmlessly past my head. I then brought my right fist up to his jaw in an explosive uppercut, my massive biceps and ripped abdomen giving the punch extraordinary power and sending him flying backwards, landing with a crunch.
An instant later, I turned to face the big guy. But I easily weaved under his first right jab, rising to send a left cross into his temple. He grunted and punched at me viciously with his left, bringing his fist hooking towards my temple. I rocked back on my feet, his fist missing my face by a few inches as his momentum took him slightly off balance.
I stepped into his guard, pushing his over-extended right arm into his chest. At the same time, I brutally headbutted him square on his nose. It broke with an audible crack. I then hooked my right leg behind his left, stepping past him and sending him the rest of the way to the floor. He landed heavily with a grunt of pain.
“Shoulda listened when I told you to fuck off,” I said.
The whole exchange had taken a matter of seconds. I looked at the pair on the floor as they slowly picked themselves up. I didn't expect any more trouble from them and figured their pride would most likely stop them from crying to the cops, especially when they’d been the one to start the trouble.
I’d been a nasty bastard in the past, but only to people who deserved it, either by threatening me, someone I cared about, or someone I was protecting. I didn’t consider myself a hero though, as I knew the only real way to stay safe was to avoid trouble whenever possible.
Regardless, I hated lowlife small-time wannabe hard men who picked on people for no reason.
I surveyed the eyes fixated on me from around the bar. I had been in the army for a few years in my younger days. My strength, savagery, skill with weapons, and fighting prowess had lead me into the Savage Soldiers, which I’d deserted after a period of spiraling self-destruction into corruption and illicit gambling rackets after the breakdown of my first and only marriage.
I turned to face Calvin, stunned to see him grinning broadly at me.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” I said after a second. “Just don’t like fools causing trouble where it ain’t needed. ‘Specially fools that gang up on a couple of old guys who ain’t causing no trouble.”
Calvin nodded, still grinning. “That’s all right,” he said, pointing a finger at the old guy. “Thing is,” he continued, “if they’d picked on him ten years ago, they wouldn’t be walking outta here.”
The old guy winked at me. “Navy SEAL,” he said.
“Savage Soldiers,” I replied, nodding. I took a seat two stools down from him.
A large whiskey appeared in front of me. “Drink’s on the house today, buddy,” Calvin said.
I raised the glass and took a grateful swig. Then I heard the door slam shut behind me—our uninvited guests were leaving with their tails between their legs. Most of us had already forgotten they were there.
“So.” The old guys had turned on their stools to look at me. “Savage Soldiers, huh? Bet you got some stories.”
I grinned broadly. “Of course. I got tons. If you think you can handle them.”
CHAPTER 8
Scarlett
I awoke early, slightly groggy. Raven and Lonette had ended up staying at my house. We figured there wasn’t much point in them going home, just to return the next day.
We’d ended up getting through quite a few bottles of champagne as we lounged around my dad’s mansion, spending time by the pool, Jacuzzi, and sauna while discussing the upcoming trip. I liked my luxuries and home comforts, but Lonette, and especially Raven, were on another level entirely. They had both called their respective homes’ housekeepers and had their suitcases delivered to my house. Even the small cases they’d brought for the two-day stay had been the size of what anyone else would have taken for a week-long vacation.
I rolled over twice to reach the edge of my bed, brushing my unkempt hair back so I could check the time. It was eleven o’clock. I sighed.
Guess I should probably get up soon, I thought tiredly.
I liked my sleep and had gotten too used to sleeping in since graduating college.
I rolled onto my back, my eyes roaming the engraved wood and embroidered curtains of my large four-poster bed. It was a beautiful bed, but looked out-of-place against all the other modern furniture of the mansion my dad had commissioned after finally accepting how wealthy he was.
I snuggled into the covers and closed my eyes again, my mind wandering and thinking about how there was probably enough room for two Travis Jameses in my bed…
I began to visualize the curtains being drawn back on each side of me as two huge, muscled figures climbed onto the bed.
I didn’t think I could handle two though. One would have been plenty enough…
I smiled to myself and adjusted the fantasy in my head, one of the imaginary Travises disappearing.
I imagined looking up at the figure kneeling on the bed beside me, skin taut over huge muscles, wearing nothing but boxers. His big hand reaching down to brush my hair from my face, then running down my chest to gently squeeze one of my breasts. I grabbed my left breast to accentuate the fantasy.
I shuddered at the thought, the fantasy deepening. In my mind, I leaned over, looking up at him, his handsome scarred face looking down at me.
I imagined slowly pulling his boxers down, and visualized what would be under them, large and stiff…
I ran my hand down my stomach, under my panties…
Until there was a loud knock at my door.
I sighed in frustration. Great timing.
“Come in!” I shouted, drawing back the curtain of my four-poster bed.
The door opened slowly, and Raven’s head poked in from behind it. “Wake up lazy!” she shouted, smiling.
Raven had always been an early riser, and bored easily. She had probably lost interest in attempting to wake Lonette, who could sleep through anything.
“I am awake. I was just dozing,” I said wearily. “What’s up?”
“I’m hungry. Where’s breakfast?” She approached the bed. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?” she asked, noticing my flushed cheeks. She hesitated suddenly, raising a hand to her mouth. “Oh, did I… interrupt something?” She poked me and started laughing.
“No!” I said, a little too indignantly. She’d probably already made up her own mind about what I’d been doing though, and no doubt would tell Lonette all about it later. “It’s just hot under these covers,” I lied. “What do you want to eat?” I asked, changing the subject. Raven loved food. Especially expensive food.
“Hmmm. Reckon your dad’s housekeeper will knock us up some pancakes and bacon?”
“Good idea. I could use some strong coffee as well. Al
l this champagne is catching up to me. Meet you downstairs!” I shouted as she walked out.
* * *
A little while later, I walked into the large kitchen to find Raven at the breakfast bar devouring pancakes with bacon and maple syrup.
“Jeez, you couldn’t wait?” I said good-naturedly. “Morning, Shelly,” I said to my dad’s housekeeper, who served as a maid, chef, cleaner, and general helper around the house. She lived with us most of the time and had her own suite at the end of the mansion.
“Morning, love,” she replied in her strong British accent, turning to face me. “I’m afraid your hungry friend couldn’t wait for you to get down here. She said she was bloody starving, bless her.” Shelly gave a motherly smile. “Yours will be ready in two minutes, dear. There’s coffee in the machine.” She waved a finger absently at the coffee machine, turning back to finish cooking the fresh pancakes, which smelled delicious.
I grabbed a large cup of coffee, added lots of cream and sugar, and joined Raven at the bar. She had nearly finished her breakfast.
“Slow down!” I said, poking her in the ribs. “You’ll give yourself indigestion!” She grinned at me with a mouth full of bacon and pancakes. I laughed, thinking about how she probably wouldn’t eat like that once Travis was around. “All set for later?” I asked, taking a large sip of coffee. I closed my eyes at the rich taste of the strong brew Shelly had made.
“Yeah. We just need to get lazy bones out of bed,” Raven said, her breakfast finished. There was barely a speck of food left on her plate. “I’ll just tell her your bodyguard’s here wearing nothing but a thong. That’ll get her up in no time!”
Shelly laughed, turning her head to look over her shoulder at us. “Now, girls! He isn’t a piece of meat, remember,” she said, gesturing to Raven with a wooden spoon.
“Well, from what Scarlett tells us, that’s exactly what he is,” Raven said, beaming like a child at her own joke.
Shelly tutted, but there was a partial smile on her face. She came over to put a big plate of pancakes in front of me, with a bottle of maple syrup. She then placed the cutlery neatly on either side of the plate and handed me a folded white napkin.
Ruthless Hero: A Military Bodyguard Romance (Savage Soldiers Book 6) Page 3