My head teeters back and forth. “Let’s just say being here is a lot more complicated than I imagined.”
He folds his arms over his chest and puckers his lips. His expression piques my interest.
“You look like you have words of wisdom you’d like to share.”
“I might.”
“Lay it on me,” I say, turning in my chair to face him.
He unfolds his arms. In little more than a whisper, he says, “Life is a series of waves. Some waves push us farther along while others pull us under. Sometimes people toss us a lifeline and other times they stand by and watch as we drown. It’s how hard we swim against the current that defines our character.”
I ponder his words for a moment. “You don’t let things bother you, do you?”
“As long as I’m breathing, everything is A-okay.” He leans back in his chair and sighs, glancing over at the groups forming before our eyes.
I follow his line of vision, turning back to face him when I notice two obvious groups seem to have formed. On one side of the room are Tori and her crew. Sitting on the stairs to the left are Raul, Akio, and Bobby in deep conversation. Matt’s sitting alone with his eyes closed. They could all be talking about the weather, but I know it’s more than that. “I guess this is about the time when people start making alliances.”
“People only seek out mergers when they don’t have enough faith in themselves.”
I squint. “Something tells me you have an adage for every situation.”
“Pithy sayings don’t matter if your ears are closed. People only hear what they want to hear.”
I laugh because he proved my point. “I bet you’ve seen and heard it all. Being in the military, I mean.”
“I learned a few things,” he says with a wink.
“You’re really smart, but you know that.”
“Smart people don’t claim to be smart. If you say you’re smart, that automatically makes you dumb.”
I laugh. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would return to your seats, we’re almost ready to start.” Bryce’s voice reminds me we’re only beginning the game. I already feel as if I’ve been playing it for months.
“In a few moments, we’ll be heading outside. It’s imperative you listen closely to every word I say. I’ll only state the directions one time. Please stand behind your tables.”
Everyone rises to their feet as four additional camera operators enter the room.
“Welcome back to The Praetorian. Before the break, we met security expert Jean Paul Beck. Jean Paul will be leading the contestants and also one of the judges of during the challenges. Please join us for a celebration on the lawn of Creed Manor. Contestants, follow me.”
Kari and Logan scurry to be first in line. I stay close to Cedric. I have years of experience interviewing people, but Cedric has a quality about him that draws me to him. I want to see what he does. He may be my biggest competition.
We walk out onto the drive, past the large fountain and onto the back lawn. As soon as we round the corner, I see multiple limousines lined up and a very large white tent. It’s the kind you’d see at a swanky wedding, but larger. Bryce leads us to the front of the tent. It’s extraordinarily quiet for a party.
“Once you enter into the festivities you are free to move around, eat, and speak to whomever you choose. This is not your typical meet and greet. You’ll see why in a moment. When you hear the horn, you are to return to the forum and not speak to anyone.”
A gentleman hands Bryce an oddly shaped horn-like instrument. It wraps around his entire body and has an opening at the top. “This is a cornu, if you’re up on your ancient Roman history, it was often used in times of battle. You could be hearing it throughout this event.”
Bryce hands the instrument back and straightens his coat. He smiles brightly and with a flourish of his hand says, “Welcome to ‘The Festum.’”
White linen panels lift to reveal two very large Roman guards in full uniform. We scurry into the tent. Columns of stone hold up the fabric roof. There are at least twenty people inside and they all turn as we enter. The guests are wearing red-and-black clothing and silver masks on their faces. Each mask is ornate, but some only cover the eyes, while others shroud the entire face. Most are dressed to the nines. A particular woman in a backless red sequin gown catches my eye. Her silver mask has swirls and ribbons but covers only her eyes. Her bright red lips stand out, as does her long brown hair.
After they see us, they begin speaking again. A large buffet of fruits, cheese, and wine is to the right, surrounded by Roman guards holding flags bearing the Core Damage insignia—a skull squeezed to look like a core of a fruit with a C and D on the sides.
Tori, Akio, and Raul approach guests and start talking. Matt goes for a glass of wine, and Bobby is gazing at the top of the tent, where I see flourishes of red and black leading down to the stone columns.
A guard stomps his feet and hits a metal gong. “Long live Roman Creed. For your entertainment, here’s Core Damage with ‘One More Day’.”
Creed and his bandmates appear on a stage toward the back of the tent and he begins to play. I don’t know the song, but I’m paralyzed, watching him strum the slow, rhythmic sound on his guitar. It’s not their traditional type of music from what I’ve heard. This is haunting.
“If I could go back in time
To a place I used to know
I’d choose twenty years ago
And step back with you.
If I could walk in your shoes
Take every ounce of your pain
For you I’d take it and trade
So you could be.
When I fall down I fall harder than most
It’s not something I easily say
But I’d surrender to the fires of hell
Just to give you one more day.
This life of mine is nothing
If I can’t spend it with you.
What can I say to make you come back?
Please tell me what to do… for one more day.”
His eyes close as he sings, and I sense he means every single word. I feel his pain in my chest. I wonder if it’s about a woman he once loved. A hand on my back pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Now would be the time to talk to people,” Raul whispers as he strides past me, glancing over his shoulder.
I mouth “I know,” and he smiles. I take a few steps farther into the room and decide to speak to the first person I see. He’s small in stature, has gray hair, and is tossing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth. His mask is plain silver with no embellishments and he’s wearing a black, button-down shirt and red pants. I might not have seen him if I didn’t walk closer to the buffet. He’s standing in the shadow of a large, muscular Roman guard.
“Hello.”
The grape hits him in the eye as he adjusts his head to see me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, cringing.
He smiles kindly. “It’s not a big deal. I was trying to look busy.”
Holding out my hand, I introduce myself. “Reed.”
He shakes my hand, gazing past me. His palms are sweaty. I turn to see a cameraman filming me. Yikes.
“Colton,” he says softly, staring at Creed as he sings.
“Are you a big fan?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. You could say I was his first.”
“Really? How so?”
He smiles. “I taught him how to play guitar.”
I smile brightly. “Wow, that’s awesome. I never learned to play anything.”
He scowls with pretend pity. “His parents brought him to me to learn piano. He was horrible at it. He hated it. One day he saw my guitar and wanted to try it.”
“And I bet he was a natural.”
“Oh gosh no.” He laughs. “It took him forever to learn how to hold his fingers the proper way. Do you see how his left index finger is slightly bent?”
I notice Creed holds it out fr
om time to time.
Colton leans closer, and the cameraman moves in as well. “He broke his left hand, punching a wall in my studio. He told me he used his left because he didn’t want to hurt his strumming hand. I tried to explain to him that serious guitar players don’t misuse their hands. He didn’t like that too much.”
I snicker, and he continues. “I thought his parents would be angry, but they weren’t. Apparently it wasn’t the first wall he’d punched.” He shakes his head. “It still bothers him from time to time. We used to have to stop practicing so he could ice it. The last time I spoke to him, he said he’s learned to play through the ache, but I bet he still needs to massage it after a concert.”
“How old was he?” I picture a teenage boy with uncontrollable hormones.
He laughs. “Eight.”
“Eight?” I question, shockingly.
Colton nods his head. “He’s always had a temper. He’s a perfectionist.”
There’s a bit of awkward silence as we watch Roman. I decide I’d better move on. Placing my hand on his arm to get his attention, I say, “Thank you for talking to me. It was really nice to meet you, Colton.”
He stops me leaving before I take more than a step. “You see that guy in a black suit with his hands behind his back? Talk to him.”
“Thanks.” I smile and his face lights up.
“Good luck, Reed.”
Hurrying through the crowd, I see Cedric in deep conversation with a man in a full mask. I wonder what he knows. Every contestant has their own camera person. I wonder how much time we have. I need to hurry.
As I make my way over to the man in the suit, adrenaline courses through my veins. I’m excited by all of this. It’s similar to the rush I get when I know I’m close to cracking a case. I need to get as much info as I can. The band moves into another song. It’s loud as hell and my chest is thumping in time with the drums.
“Hello,” I yell to the man in the suit. “My name is Reed.”
He nods and looks away, saying nothing. I stare at him briefly, then glance around the room. He’s the only guest who’s not smiling.
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” I shout so he can hear me over the music.
“I don’t get paid to enjoy myself.”
“Oh, are you working? I’m sorry. I’ll let you be.” As I take a step away I hear him speak.
“Technically I’m not, but it’s a habit.”
“Ah, I bet you’re an EPO, aren’t you?”
He smirks and I’m glad I used the lingo. I bet he doesn’t like being called a bodyguard.
“I was Roman’s many moons ago.”
“Really? Something tells me the job sucked.”
He laughs. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I heard he has a temper.”
“He’s a good guy. He’s had way more than his share of shit in life. He means well.”
Lifting my eyes to Creed, we make eye contact. His lips curl up as he sings.
“Is there anything you can tell me about him I should know if I win this game?”
He scratches his chin and studies me. His shoulders seem to come down a notch. “He eats oatmeal with blueberries for breakfast every single day. He drinks his coffee black and strong. He draws, so if you want to get on his good side, always carry a pad of paper when you travel. When he gets tense, he likes to sketch. And one more thing…”
I stare at him, soaking up every word.
“Honey.”
“Honey?” Is he calling me honey?
“He’s allergic,” he continues, and I feel dumb. “Really bad. Like swollen face allergic. He can’t have it. One time he ate a piece of cake made with a tiny bit of honey while we were on tour and we had to rush him to the ER to get a shot. Almost had to cancel the show, but he insisted he was fine.”
“Cripes. Thanks, um…”
“Kurt, with a K.”
“Thank you, Kurt.” I shake his hand before I step away and into the crowd in the center of the room.
Tori is speaking to Jean Paul in the corner. Interesting choice in a room full of information. Akio is speaking to Colton now and Colton doesn’t seem amused.
Bobby struts away from the woman in the red dress. “Anything worthwhile?” I ask.
“Nah, don’t waste your time.”
Something tells me he’s lying. She’s not the only woman in a red dress, but my gut tells me to talk to her. “Hi, having a good time?” I ask as I approach her.
She takes me in from head to toe and smirks. “You are so not his type.”
Lifting my eyebrows, I reply, “Good. I don’t want to be.”
She huffs out a breath and takes a sip of the wine she’s holding. As she raises the glass to her lips, I note her hand is shaking. She doesn’t seem nervous. Maybe her blood sugar is low.
“You’re shaking. Do you want me to get you something to eat?” I ask.
“Hell no,” she states, horrified at the thought. “Do I look like I need to eat?”
Is she serious? “Actually, yes. You’re rail thin.”
“You think?” Her face brightens up considerably.
I see an in, so I go with it. “I wish I looked like you. How do you do it?”
She smiles. “I eat once a day. I drink tons of water and exercise three hours twice a day, every day.”
I nod as if I’m taking notes. I could never eat once a day. I like food too much. I search for the words to make her talk. If I’m not his type, she must know who is. “I bet Roman has the hots for you, huh?”
She laughs loud and hard, holding onto her stomach as if I’ve said the funniest thing in the world. “God no. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. I’m his drummer’s girlfriend. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m here is to make the place look better.”
Skinny and vain. Got it. “That’s Shaw, right?”
“Yeah, the hot one with the amazing hands.”
“I bet you’ve seen it all, hanging around these guys.”
“Have I ever. Roman is good-looking and charming as hell, but he’s also a man-whore. He moves from girl to girl like he moves from dish to dish at a buffet. From what Shaw tells me, he hasn’t had a serious relationship since his early twenties. I guess she couldn’t take the baggage that came along with him. She must have done a number on him, because Shaw said he stopped looking for the right girl and just feasts on them instead.”
She gazes at me from head to toe again, but less critically than before.
“You know, with some work, you could be his type. He has a thing for blondes. If you put your hair down, actually wore some makeup—you’d need a ton—and maybe dressed like a girl, he’d look at you differently. Oh, and definitely a pushup bra. You don’t have enough there to make him look twice.”
“Thank you,” I say. “In that case I will make sure to do the opposite of all the things he finds attractive. I’m here to be his guard, not his girlfriend.”
She snickers and takes another sip of wine. “That’s what they all say. That is until he gets to talking. Then he’ll wrap you so tight around his finger, you’ll beg for him to say your name.”
I step back away from her. “Great, thanks.”
She calls out, “Hey…” My cameraman moves around us to get us both in the shot. She glares at him and tries to whisper over the music so he can’t hear. I have to strain to hear her myself.
“He’s really private. He hates questions about his family, so don’t ask. It’s a sore subject.”
“Why?” I ask, moving close again.
“Shaw hasn’t said much, but I think he and his parents had a huge falling out. He hasn’t spoken to them in years, even though I heard they stop by the house, like, once a month.”
“So he sits there and ignores them?”
“No, I guess they come over and he leaves. I don’t know why.”
“Thanks, um, we never exchanged names.”
“Kinzie.”
“Thanks, Kinzie, you were a
big help.”
As I approach an attractive man in a tux, Roman’s song ends and the horn blares through the room.
The guests head for the doors. I’m guessing they were instructed to leave when the horn blew. Damn, I wish I’d had more time to pick their brains. Did I get enough information for what lies ahead? There’s no way this was for fun. There has to be more to it. There has to be.
Knowing all kinds of information about me just became public knowledge makes my stomach curl. Clark and Esto promised me they instructed the guests on what facts they were allowed to share, but knowing a couple of people in the crowd, I’m guessing they said too much.
I hand my guitar to Dawson, who waits quietly offstage and out of the sight of the cameras, as I wave in thanks to my band for coming in to play. We all know this show will have TV viewers who could become our fans.
I watch my ex, Mandy, as she leaves. She got married a few years ago, but she threw her hand around enough today to make sure I saw her rock. She meant nothing to me the second she insisted I choose her or lose her. If she’d really loved me, she would have known I’d never pick her over my family. Asking that of me proved she wasn’t right for me.
Being with me is a lot to take and I never claimed to be easy, but it’s the way it has to be. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t bother getting close to anyone anymore. I don’t think anyone should have to carry my burdens.
The room clears of guests, and the contestants leave as well. I step off the backstairs and follow Dawson around the house. We walk past a couple more guards I don’t recognize.
“Who are they?”
“New guys. Jean Paul brought them in. We needed more skilled people for the event, and he said he would vouch for them.
“And that was okay with you?”
“I checked them out. I’m not slipping, if that’s why you’re asking. One guy grew up with Jean Paul in Utah and the other was a recruit through his company. I’ve got you covered.”
Yawning, I respond, “I don’t want you to get lackadaisical.”
“Huh?” Dawson questions as he holds the door for me.
“Careless.”
“Never.” I don’t doubt him for one second, but I do like to keep him on his toes.
The Praetorian Page 11