Back Off: Reed Security: Book One

by Robin Leaf

  “Jason has a special diet he has to follow because of his heart condition.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I can work with that.” Taking our bowls to the sink, she fills it up to wash them. “Tell me what he can’t have, and I’ll do a little research for recipes. There’s no reason you boys should starve just because you can’t eat any of the good stuff.”

  “Thank you so much for the delicious soup, Graciela.” Jason turns to me. “Please tell her I need to go study.”

  “Of course, go,” she says before I can translate, confirming my suspicion that she understands at least a little English. She waves him out of the kitchen.

  I walk over and grab a towel to help dry the dishes.

  “So, how is Cristiana?” I ask casually, although internally, it’s what I’ve wanting to ask since she brought her up before.

  I can’t tell Graciela how often I think about her daughter. She’d start meddling. I saw Cristiana once before I left for the Navy when Graciela asked me over again for dinner. She acted aloof, but I noticed how she kept eyeing me when she thought I wasn’t looking. I also saw her at Fionn’s wedding. We didn’t get to say much to one another though. Bryan, Fionn’s brother, kept running interference, which seemed to irritate her. I was only in town for the actual wedding because I deployed early the next morning, so I decided not to flick the little shit out of the way like I wanted to do.

  Then at Layla’s funeral, she was so distraught after losing her best friend. I found her during her private break down and picked her up, holding her while she cried. I don’t even think she realized it was me.

  Graciela’s eyes shoot over to me, followed by a slight smile. “I was wondering when you were going to ask about her. I knew you had a thing for my daughter.”

  “I don’t have a thing for her, Graciela.” More like she makes it clear she will never have a thing for me. “I just wondered how she’s doing.”

  “She has been so busy lately, working as a dance teacher at a popular studio and choreographing musicals for three different high schools.” She sighs. “But some man came to talk to her about choreographing for him at some new dance club he’s opening. She’s considering it.”

  “I heard at Layla’s funeral that she was choreographing for the 49ers cheerleaders.”

  “Not anymore,” she shakes her head. “She didn’t like it. She said it was too much like the dancing she did on that team in high school.” She passes me the second bowl. “I was secretly glad she decided to quit the team. It made her miserable.”

  I think back to watching her dance in her garage. That dance was so good. The way she moved… she came alive, like dancing was life to her. I tried to warn her. She really was too good for that dumb team.

  Graciela turns to me and takes both my hands.

  “You know, Noah, I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving her the day you brought her home from the beach.”

  “You know I didn’t save her. She saved herself.”

  She shakes her head. “No, you did save her. That boy, he almost…” she looks down. “I think she would have fallen apart if you hadn’t been there to catch her. She stayed strong because of you.”

  “Graciela, I don’t think you give her enough credit. She was fine.”

  Her head whips up, and her eyebrow is raised. “I think you are the one who doesn’t get enough credit. You saved my daughter, just like you’re saving this boy.” She waves toward the door. “He needs you, and he will let you save him, unlike…” she swallows. “I just wish…” Shaking her head, she squeezes my hands and looks me in the eye. “You, Noah Reed, are a good man.”

  With that, she kisses my cheek quickly, steps around me, and calls to Javier to take her home.

  Eight

  2006

  I currently question my sanity.

  I’m sitting here in this practice room in the back of the club, looking around at all the pretty boys and the few who can’t seem to keep their eyes off themselves in the mirrors lining the walls, flexing and posing like narcissistic douchebags. I can’t help wondering if this is worth it.

  I was told to dress comfortably, in something I can move easily, so I am wearing one of my white t-shirts and a pair of black sweats.

  Most of these guys are shirtless, wearing the expensive joggers I see on the musicians we guard.

  We’re waiting for some dude named Chris to come show us the ropes.

  “Hello, everyone,” some guy says, coming to middle of the room. “I see a few new faces here, so let me introduce myself. I’m Randy, and I just happen to be one of the stars here.”

  I hear a very quiet groan from the guy next to me and see him shake his head slightly out of the corner of my eye, which I assume is because of Randy’s bragging.

  “It seems Chris has been delayed by a huge wreck down the street.” Randy checks his watch. “It should only be a few more minutes.”

  As he walks around talking to some of the other guys, I stand back and watch all the interactions, trying to see if I get any tingly feelings from anyone. So far, everyone seems clean.

  I’ve been hired by the club’s owner, Antonio Santiago, to ferret out a possible drug dealer in their midst. He thinks one of these guys is using his job here to sell drugs to customers. I couldn’t say no to the opportunity because the owner of this club also owns a very exclusive sex club here in L.A., to which I happen to need access.

  This job is paving the way to taking down the senator.

  It all went down like this.

  When Jason was still in college, he helped me write a business plan to attract investors for the security company I wanted to start. Because of the War on Terror, not much could happen on the “take down Senator Heywood” front. The senator straightened up his act, probably because he was acutely aware of the taskforces looking for suspicious activities. Of course, there is the super tiny minute chance that he really is not guilty of anything. Regardless of the reason, he appeared squeaky clean, so I decided I needed to make a plan for my future.

  Almost three years ago, Jason came home from party where he fell hard for a girl, and he was like a new man. He graduated college shortly after that, and my contract as his bodyguard was not renewed. Jason approached me with the idea to gather evidence against his father, not to go public with it; he just wanted leverage to get his dad to back off from controlling everything Jason did. So he asked for my help with his plan.

  In return for my help, Jason offered to invest in my security company. He became my primary investor and my first client. So now, thanks to him, my business is growing faster than I planned. I moved to L.A. and everything snowballed.

  My company offers high-end private investigation. I hired several of my SEAL buddies to run that division, and normally, one of them would be here today. However, this particular client is getting my personal attention, especially since I need access to the other club he owns… and soon.

  Once Jason let me know that his father had a penchant for kink and visited a private, exclusive sex club in Los Angeles frequently, I passed that information on to the Admiral. We both suspect the sex club is where our senator is doing business with the crime lord, who is also rumored to have a thing for kink. But there was a problem… getting access to the ultra-exclusive club.

  Now, thanks to this case, I have a possible way in.

  Yes, it took a long time to get here, to be so close to the goal I set for myself when I left the Navy. Let me say Jack Heywood is extremely paranoid, and because of that, he’s careful, appearing almost too clean.

  When I first worked for Jason, I thought I could use him to help me take down his father, but once I really got to know him, I decided I just couldn’t drag him into something like this. He became like a brother to me. So in my three years of stealthy snooping, I found nothing. Then Jason was on board, and I still found nothing. It took a lot of patience, and now, a case to falls into my lap that provides me an in. There’s still not an actual connection, but it smells right. />
  So here I sit, waiting to be trained as a fucking male stripper.

  The door opens, and in walks a woman, regal in her entrance. She has a scarf wrapped around her head and large sunglasses covering her face, like one of those old-timey Hollywood actresses. She’s wearing printed yoga pants that fit her too well to be legal and a tight white tank top. Her legs are long and muscular, flexing each time she steps. A small waist flares out to her ass… God help me, it’s so full and round, but toned, tight, and smack-able. Her breasts aren’t overly large, but they aren’t exactly small, either. She walks with confidence, taking long strides, almost strutting.

  I have to stop myself from going to her and kneeling at her feet. She… she is a goddess. An angel. A woman who deserves to be worshipped… slowly, thoroughly, continually.

  Forever.

  “Whew, it’s windy today, gentlemen.”

  If I wasn’t so fascinated by how she slowly unwinds the scarf from around her neck and how she shakes her warm, cinnamon-colored hair, the waves cascading perfectly down between her shoulder blades, I might have noticed the familiarity of that voice.

  After removing her glasses and bending to place them on top of her bag, she stands up straight, her back to the crowd. I admire her from behind for a second, almost able to feel how that round, firm ass would feel against my palms, when she speaks again.

  “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.” She turns to face us, and… oh, fuck me. “I’m Cristiana, but all the guys around here call me Chris.”

  If I weren’t a trained Navy SEAL, this would be the part where I would cough, sputter, try to catch my breath, and possibly have a level five melt down.

  I never expected her to be someone I know, much less someone who has starred in my fantasies.

  As it stands, I have to restart my breathing.

  But that could be because she took it away when she walked in.

  “Today, we have two group dances to learn,” she says absently, not even looking around the room at anyone.

  I duck behind another dancer anyway, because if she sees me, my cover could potentially be blown.

  “Randy, show them what they’ll be learning.”

  He nods and brings out a chair.

  The song begins, one I’ve never heard, with a strong, driving beat, and Randy begins moving around the chair, really getting a little too into the dance, considering he’s performing to a bunch of guys. The singer begins, some auto-tuned chub nut singing about “bringing sexy back.” Randy picks up the chair and spins it around a few times. Through the course of the next few minutes, he lays over it, sits on it backward, flips it, and humps it. Honestly, the dance, if you can call it that, doesn’t look that hard. I will not get as into it as Randy is though.

  Once he finishes, Cristiana steps forward. “We were lucky to get JT’s new song from the record company a little early. It releases tomorrow, and we perform it tomorrow night. Therefore, you will not get a copy today. We can only practice with the music in the club.”

  Great. The auto-tuned chub nut is Justin Timberlake. Ever since he caused Janet’s “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl, I will never be a fan.

  Everyone moves to the sides of the room to grab chairs, so I follow suit.

  Cristiana takes over, standing in front of the group, showing us the motions, starting and stopping the music after she shows us a few moves so we can practice to the song. It’s so clinical, I don’t really get a chance to enjoy watching her move… well, not much anyway, not when I know how much better she can move.

  Randy walks around, correcting movements for those of us in the back rows.

  When he gets to me, he says quietly, “Damn, boy.” Circling around me, he grunts. “Yep. You’re gonna be a favorite.”

  I raise my eyebrow at him before I nod my thanks.

  “Don’t worry,” he says and claps my shoulder, “I’m not hitting on you.”

  I shrug. “I wasn’t worried.”

  He moves on to the next guy, and the thought that I’ll be a favorite inexplicably makes me smile.

  The next hour moves slowly but productively. We learn the rest of that stupid song, running through it twice before we get a break.

  Again, I watch the men. I can’t get a good read on any of them, probably because I’m having to fight the distraction of the five-foot-three-inch goddess, who still hasn’t looked my direction.

  After the break, we learn a similar dance to “Llevame,” which translates to “Take Me,” Ignacio Muñoz’s latest release. He was Charlene’s first client four years ago, and she suggested my company for his body-guarding needs. She got him recognized, but when he got too big for her to handle, she had to pass him off to an agent who specializes in big named celebs. He moved to L.A. the same time I did, so he still uses my services. I owe her for that.

  Ignacio performs sexy dance music with a Latin flair, using both English and Spanish lyrics, and this song is very suggestive. It’s definitely a perfect song for sex.

  Randy again circles me. “You move exceptionally well. You’ve done this before?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm,” he rubs his chin. “You’re definitely a natural.”

  Sure, I get plenty of attention from the probably gay featured dancer, but not even a look from someone I’ve known since high school, someone who I swear used to hide the fact that she watched me in the hallways.

  But the whole time she’s been here today, there’s not one indication of recognition from her. Not one. No meaningful eye contact. No dirty looks. No pause when her eyes float my direction. Nothing.

  I’m not sure I’m too happy about that.

  Was I really that forgettable?

  We move into the club to go onstage to do something Cristiana calls blocking, which is just learning where we stand and move. And we run through both dances twice, adjusting our positions as necessary.

  “Okay, boys. New guys, take five, but if this ain’t your first rodeo, you are free to leave. Understand dress rehearsal begins at five sharp tomorrow… Yes, I’m talking to you, Beck.” She gives one of the pretty boys a stern look. “Five. Sharp. Don’t be late again.”

  He smiles, showing all his impressively bleached teeth. “You won’t fire me, Chris.”

  “Maybe not,” she growls. “But I can bench you for a few nights.”

  His smile fades. “You wouldn’t.”

  Crossing her arms under her breasts and throwing her hip to the side, her stern look turns to one that is completely uncompromising.

  It’s fucking hot. And I find I want to compromise the uncompromisable.

  “Be late and test me, cabrón.”

  They glare at each other, locked in some staring contest of wills. My money’s on Cristiana for the win.

  Beck grunts, bending down to grab his stuff before storming out like a little bitch.

  I study all the men and their interactions, watching for anything that may look… off.

  So far, I got squat. I assume the other two new guys aren’t the guilty parties, which means any opportunity to catch this asshat today is walking out the door.

  Shit.

  “Gentlemen, will you join me on stage, please?” Cristiana requests, which somehow, she makes sound like a demand with no option to refuse.

  Damn. Getting close to her not only threatens to blow my cover, it threatens to grow something with an option to blow.

  The three of us line up, and my body just seems to snap to attention on its own. She stands in front of us, Randy at her side like a little suck-up minion.

  Cristiana smiles. “Boys, this is the part that is kind of fun.”

  “Yeah,” Randy agrees while Chris begins to walk from man to man, starting at the end furthest away from me, making eye contact with both of them. “Soon, you guys will be required to give lap dances.” He smiles. “So we’re here to train you how to do that effectively.”

  Cristiana seems to be stalling at the guy next to me. I’m stuck between pissed because she�
�s avoiding me and glad she is. I don’t want either of us to ruin my mission.

  “Gentlemen,” she begins slowly, lowering her voice. “We sell the illusion of sex. We give women the fantasy. Our job is to make them feel desirable and desired.”

  God, she sounds so fucking sexy. I take a deep breath, trying to focus.

  She gets to me, and I see her eyes flash. “Yep, so no matter how much you look like a tattooed wet dream in sweats…” Her eyes work her way down my body, and my dick tingles. “…the idea is not to make her want you.” She locks eyes with me. “Your job is to make her feel like you want her.” Stepping closer, she adds quietly, “Only her.”

  Fuck. The tingling in my dick is about to become a full-scale, raging hard on.

  Think of something totally unsexy, Reed. My mom’s cat licking his balls. Grandpa plucking his nose hair. The hair clog I removed from Charlene’s drain last month. ANYTHING but the goddess in front of me, so close, I can feel the heat of her skin.

  Not much is working.

  She steps back, and I have to keep myself from making it obvious that I relax. I also have to keep myself from reaching out, pulling her closer than she was before just to feel her against me, and running my nose against the column of her throat.

  Wait… it occurs to me that she doesn’t really want me. She was simply demonstrating how to make someone think she wants him.

  Well played, Ms. Calvillo.

  Commotion comes from the back of the club, breaking the spell, and two women enter, not too quietly.

  “Holy hell,” one of them yells, “I love breaking in the new boys.”

  “It’s my fucking favorite thing,” the second one answers not as loudly.

  “Boys,” Randy addresses us. “This is Karina.” She throws up her hands and whoops. “And Paige.” She smiles and curtsies.

  Randy looks around them. “Where’s Brittany?”