“You’re under arrest for battery and neglect of a minor. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”
As I finish reciting his rights, Vicors opens the front door and takes a step out to wave backup inside. Mister laughs heartily as I pull him to his feet. “She deserved it. She’s mouthy. You could even say she wanted it.”
I tighten my fingers around his arm as the blood boils within me.
He takes a large breath through his nose and leans forward as if to smell me. “You want it too, don’t you?” he whispers, licking his lips. “I bet getting on top of me got you all riled up, didn’t it, baby? You look like you need a real man.”
“You’re a pig,” I whisper through clenched teeth. “You’re going to jail for a long time.”
“No I won’t. First offense. I’ll get a slap on the wrist and when I get out, maybe I’ll finish her off. Maybe I’ll even look you up and give you a taste. I can see how bad you need it. You have the look. I bet you started early, too, didn’t you?”
I press my fingers into his arm and he flinches. I try to remember to breathe.
“I guess you and she have a lot in common. You both like it rough.”
I feel my nail pierce his skin.
He gasps. “You little bitch. Now you’re going to pay.”
I’m not sure if it’s the words or the look on his face, but I lose it. The image of Misty in that box floods my mind. The thought of her life with this horrible man crushes my soul and all the memories of my past return in full force. Memories I blocked. Memories I’d long pushed aside.
His face morphs into a different one. When he laughs at me, his voice sounds like another I hadn’t heard in years, familiar and haunting. My brain hurts. My heart pounds. My hands shake. He won’t hurt me again. I won’t let him. Not this time.
“Need another?” the bartender asks. My gaze is frozen on the napkin and it takes me a minute to hear him.
“No. I’m good.” I fake a smile and wave him off as I glance down at the healing bruises on my hands.
I don’t remember how many times I hit him. I don’t recall how soon after he fell to the ground that I started kicking him. When Vicors pulled me off him, I almost punched him in anger. I was in pure rage. I wanted my father or sperm donor, as I like to call him now, to finally pay for all those years, for the wounds no one could see that still lived inside my tortured child-like soul.
It wasn’t until I was led outside, and the ambulance arrived, that I realized what I’d done. But by then it was too late.
What did I do to my career? I’m suspended from the only thing I ever wanted to do with my life. Suspended from the job that gives me purpose and keeps me sane. How could I have lost it like that? I know better. I am better than that. What would have happened if Vicors hadn’t pulled me off him? Would I have killed him?
Shaking my head, I glance up at the woman in the reflection behind the bar. She looks tired and broken.
I could get fired over this. I should be. I was wrong. I’ve had perps push my buttons before, but not like him. For the first time in my life, I consider the fact that I don’t deserve to wear a badge. Maybe I’m not cut out for this job after all.
The TV in the corner goes dark. I’d think they lost signal if not for the dramatic music that begins. The TV flips to what looks to be men dressed in full armor going into battle. The clips are brief, interspersed with darkness, but I recognize the music. It’s “Returns the King” from the movie 300. My asshole boyfriend, two asshole boyfriends ago, loved the gladiator type movies. I remember 300 because I drooled over Gerard Butler through the entire thing. He’s hot as fuck.
Something’s different with the music, though. There’s electric guitar dispersed throughout. When the drums finally kick in, you see a line of Roman warriors marching toward a throne made out of silver guitars with a black leather seat. Someone is standing in front of it wearing a black cape, his back turned to the warriors. The cape is being blown around by what seems to be the wind and under it you see tight leather pants and black combat boots. He raises one tattooed, muscular arm and they all stop. He turns and all you see are his crystal blue eyes surrounded by smudged dark eyeshadow and a pierced nose. The camera pans out farther and you see his face. He smirks and the words The Praetorian appear, followed by Coming Soon.
Goosebumps shoot up my arms. I can’t stop staring at the screen even after the baseball game continues.
Movement in the corner of my eye pulls me out of my trance.
“You okay?” the bartender asks. He’s drying a glass with a towel and is trying to hide a smile. I must have looked ridiculous.
“Fine.”
“Don’t tell me that’s the first time you’ve seen those ads. I swear I’ve seen them all like fifty times,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. He seems excited by them.
“I don’t watch much TV. What’s it for?”
“Seamore Productions is doing a new reality show, and this time they’re looking for a bodyguard for Roman Creed.”
“Roman Creed?” I feel like I should know the name, but I don’t.
His mouth drops open as if I shocked the breath out of him. “You don’t know Roman Creed?”
I lift my eyebrows, purse my lips, and shake my head. “No clue.”
“The lead singer of Core Damage? They won a Grammy for their album Annihilation a few years ago?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I pretend I know it because I want him to drop it. Core Damage sounds vaguely familiar, but I’m more into country music.
“It looks like it’s going to be kickass. It’s by the same company that did The Fabulist. Remember that show?”
“I do.” That’s not a lie. I watched it. I found the lying challenges fascinating.
“Same thing. They’re holding tryouts next week, here in LA. Pete, my bouncer, is going to audition.”
“Sounds cool,” I say and toss thirty bucks on the counter. “That enough?”
“Too much.”
I briefly consider taking some cash back but leave it. It’ll be my last careless purchase until I get my life back in order.
“The winner gets a job and $100,000,” he adds as I make my way to the door.
I stop in my tracks, turning my head back to him. One hundred thousand just made this a little more interesting. Maybe even life-changing. Gazing up at the TV and then back to the bartender, I lean on the bar. “What do I have to do?”
How in the hell do these people do it? We’ve only done two days of interviews and I’m ready to never consult again. I’ve been sitting behind one of those two-way mirror things, watching them, and they’re boring as fuck.
Esto seems like a good guy. I like him. He’s not pretentious in the least and in my line of work, most producers are. I spoke briefly with his boss on the phone, and he agreed to all my stipulations.
The show is going to be filmed at my home, but they’re only using the east wing. I told them my private quarters were off-limits. They’re doing some construction and renovations to make it more TV worthy. They’re building an addition and said they’d turn it into a recording studio when the show was over. As long as I don’t have to pay for it, the cameras stay out of my way, and they respect my privacy, I couldn’t care less what they do. A recording studio sounds pretty awesome. Then again, so does a bowling alley.
Esto came up with the title of the show, The Praetorian. I like the twist on my name and the “guarding the Roman emperor” thing. It makes me feel like I’m cooler than I really am.
We did a shitload of promo pics and videos for the ads last month and they’re airing what seems like every ten minutes on the network. I’m trying not to watch any of it. I don’t need to hear more negativity. I’ve had too much of it in my life already. I have a couple of interviews scheduled with high-end magazines later this week. My drummer, Shaw, and bassist, Tremor, already gave me shit for doing the show. But hey, if I fall, we all fall. That’s what happens when your front-man is the glue that holds i
t all together.
Yawning, I eye the clock on the wall. There’s one more interview after this one and then we move on to Denver. I thought I wanted to see them all, but this really isn’t my thing. I’m going to have to talk to Esto about it. Maybe I can just watch the recorded interviews rather than actually being here for them. Then I can fast forward over all the boring shit. So far there have only been a couple of people I thought had potential. I guess potential is what they’re really looking for anyway.
When I let the firm that employed Dawson go, I asked him to stay on and head up my team. I bought him out of his contract and the firm and I parted amicably only after Clark threatened to tell the world the mistakes they made on the tour. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time.
I mean, what kind of security guard leaves a dressing room he’s supposed to be guarding unattended to take a personal call? Not a good one, that’s for sure. Especially when he knew there were threats against my life. I usually go back there during intermission. I wonder what might have happened if Dawson hadn’t checked the room after hearing the guard on his phone.
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, pulling my baseball cap farther over my eyes. I wonder if they’d notice if I slept through this last interview. It’s not like I have a lot to say. Heck, I don’t talk much at all.
Esto is wearing an earpiece so I can ask questions or make comments if I want to, but I’ve only said something to him twice. One time I said, “hell no,” to a dumbass with a chip on his shoulder and the other time I wanted details on someone’s military training. Having someone protect me who knows how to protect our country sounds like a person I’d want on my side.
“One more!” Esto says as he turns to face the mirror. I nod, knowing he can’t see me. He fixes his hair in the mirror and I chuckle. He’s a funny dude. Not at all how I’d expect an Emmy-nominated producer to act.
“Can you hear me?” he asks through the microphone. “Testing one, two, three. Check, baby, check, baby one—”
“Yeah, I can hear you.” I don’t need to hear or see him dance again. He seems to like the words zoom, boom, and rump a little too much.
I glance at the packet of info on the contestants on the floor. It contains the applications of people who made it through first-round interviews and into the second round with Esto. I flipped through it briefly when he gave it to me and have doodled a bit on the backs of the pages. They’re all the same type of people. I’m bored out of my mind.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I hear the familiar sound of the door creaking open inside the interview room.
“Hello, my name is Esto Rivera. I’m one of the producers for the show. We’re going to be filming these interviews and part may eventually air. Have you signed the nondisclosure?”
“Yes, I have. It’s nice to meet you.”
“The soft, demure voice sends shivers down my spine. My eyelids flicker open. I find myself leaning forward with more interest than I’ve had the entire day.
Sitting in the chair is a strikingly beautiful blonde. She’s wearing a powder-blue button-down blouse and gray slacks. There’s nothing fancy about her. Her hair is slicked back in a ponytail so hard, it’s as if she’s trying to tighten the lines on her face. She’s not wearing any makeup or jewelry, but the long line of her neck makes me think she’d look amazing with a pearl necklace from me. My dick twitches at the thought and I sit a bit straighter, turning my ball cap so it’s facing backward. I want to get a better look at her.
As she reaches out, her shirt tightens, and I notice muscles in her arm. I bet she works out. I wonder if she could kick my ass and smirk at the thought of rolling around with her. She’s definitely not my type, but there’s something about her that resonates with me.
“Reed Manning,” she says, shaking Esto’s hand.
I’m a bit jealous of Esto at this moment. Lifting the packet from the floor, I search until I find her. She’s a cop. She just became ten times more interesting.
I flip over her page and immediately begin to draw the long line of her neck.
“So, Reed, tell us what made you decide to interview for the show.”
She flinches and bows her head. I scoot forward in my seat and draw the dark circles under her eyes. Is she tired or stressed?
“The truth is, something happened at work and I was suspended. I’ve been an officer for seven years and it’s all I know, but this incident has forced me to take a hard look at my life. I’m starting to think I don’t want to do it anymore.”
I pull out my phone and immediately start searching for her. There are Reed Mannings all over the place, but there’s nothing about one as a cop. Wait… is this her? I lift my head as he asks the question I want to know.
“What happened at work that got you suspended?” Esto asks.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” she responds.
“Isn’t it public record?”
“Part of it. There was a minor involved and for that reason, some details haven’t been revealed to the media.”
Staring at her face, I wonder what she did. Did she hurt a kid? That would be unacceptable and unforgivable for me. I don’t want it to be true. I want to like her. I can already see her lying in my bed. I need to know so I tell Esto, “Ask her if she hurt a kid.”
“Can you tell me if you were responsible for hurting a child?”
Her brows crease and her body goes stiff. She snaps, “Absolutely not! I resent that question. I would never. Is that who I look like to you? An abuser? A child hater?”
I immediately stand and respond as if she’s speaking directly to me. “No, I wanted to make sure. I couldn’t get past that and I think you might be great in this game.”
Esto’s hand presses against his ear and I realize I might have shouted.
“Please don’t be offended. Seamore Productions would never promote or support a person convicted of a crime involving child abuse. We just need to make sure. We like to tell our viewing audience something about our contestants and if we can’t discuss your case, I may have to disqualify you. We also don’t want our company involved in any legal issues. I hope you understand.”
She nods and begins to rise.
“What?” I shout. “No. I want her. Figure out how to make this work.”
Esto presses his fingers to his ear. “I’m sorry. We’re having some technical difficulties. Would you mind having a seat while I figure this out?”
“Of course,” she replies, sitting back down.
Esto stands and exits the room. I know where he’s headed.
The door to my room opens. “Whoa, what’s gotten into you? You said more there than you did the last two days.”
Glancing from Esto to Reed, I watch her pick pieces of lint from her clothes. She purses her lips and folds her arms, then tightens her ponytail and takes a deep breath. She appears tough and confident, but there’s sadness in her eyes. Something about her sings to me.
“I think she’s a strong candidate. Can’t we figure out a way to get around her situation?” I ask.
Esto extends his arm to the wall, as if to balance himself, and drums his fingers against the plaster. “Anything’s possible, but Roman… we don’t know what she did. She could be in serious trouble. If her story comes out and it’s bad, it could damage the entire show, hurt your reputation, and even worse, discredit the network. I won’t jeopardize the network.”
I sigh and twist my cap forward once again. “Hold on….” I glance at my phone and skim the article. “It doesn’t say a lot, but it seems she beat the crap out a guy. That’s not that bad. At least we know she can handle herself. All I’m asking is you continue the interview. You barely asked her any questions. Get to know her a bit. See if she has any skills. If you think she might be able to hold her own, work it out. Get references or shit like that. Talk to her boss. My gut tells me she’d make a great addition to the show.”
Esto studies me. I can tell he’s scrutinizing me and I don’t like it. �
�Answer one question for me. Honestly,” he says. “Are you interested in her because you want to sleep with her, or because you think she’d be a good personal bodyguard for you?”
Am I that transparent? I lean forward, placing my hands on the mirror. I am attracted to her for some reason. She’s not the type of girl I usually go for, but I think that intrigues me even more.
I swallow hard and take a deep breath. If she were to be my bodyguard, then nothing could ever happen between us. That would kind of suck. There’s always the chance she wouldn’t be attracted to me. I huff to myself and remember who I am. Of course she will be. Everyone is.
“Well?” Esto asks.
“I don’t know if she’d make a good bodyguard. All I know is she’s a suspended cop. You haven’t asked her any other questions. I think you’re tossing her aside before you even give her a shot.”
Esto’s head bobs back and forth as he presses his lips together. “You have a point.”
Bullet dodged. I’m pretty impressed with myself.
“Okay, I’ll ask her a few more questions. If I think she has potential, I’ll see what I can do. I’m not making any promises.”
“Fair enough.”
As Esto goes into her room, I lean forward on the mirror and smile. When I know what I want, I almost always get it. And right now, there’s nothing I want more than to know her. Let the games begin.
I don’t understand why they’re making me wait if I’m disqualified. I gaze at the two-way mirror and wonder who’s behind the glass. Maybe it’s the dude this show is all about.
I try to remember his name. Praetorian… Roman. Yeah that’s it. I googled him before I came in for the interview. I guess he’s popular. I might have heard one or two of his songs on the radio, but I usually change the station. He’s really not my thing. I assume I made it to this point because I lied about liking his music in the first-round interview.
Ugh, why am I even here? Do I really want to throw away everything I’ve worked for and enter the private sector?
I stare at my dress pants and pick tiny lint balls off them. My mind wanders to the reports I read, and I cross my arms. The news said Roman Creed is a bad boy. He’s known for losing his temper and punching people. I assume being his bodyguard would be more like babysitting.
The Praetorian Page 3