Yeah, I can almost feel the nicotine craving begin.
“What happens for dinner?” I repeat, not impressed one bit.
“Someone usually drops something off,” she says, shrugging her petite shoulders. “At seven. Sometimes a chef comes in and makes whatever I feel like eating.”
A chef?
I blink slowly, wondering which idiot runs this operation. “Do they screen this chef?”
“It’s the same guy who comes,” she says, looking at the TV and flicking through the channels. “He’s been with us for years. He’s fine, practically family.”
I scrub my hand down my face and count to ten in my head. I have no fuckin’ idea how this girl is still alive. If I’m going to be in charge of protecting her, I’m going to change things around here. “Who drops off the food? Why don’t you just cook something? It’s not like you have anything else to do here all day.”
Her head snaps to me like that exorcist bitch. “Just because I’m a woman I’m supposed to cook? Times have changed, and I’m not going to be spending hours in the kitchen every day just because I have a set of tits. Why don’t you cook?”
I look up at the ceiling, my jaw tighter than it’s ever been. Wishing Talon had asked me to torture someone for him instead, I move to stand in front of her, blocking the TV from her view.
“Hey,” she growls, looking up at me.
“I’m here to make sure you’re not fuckin’ kidnapped, raped, or tortured,” I say in a tone that’s way too calm. “Who drops the food off to you?”
She purses her lips but reluctantly answers. “One of my father’s men. His name is Greg.”
I’m not one to judge, and I generally don’t give a shit about what other people do, but it’s clear this chick is spoiled as hell and is used to getting anything she wants, including her way.
“I don’t like the fact that there are all these fuckin’ people coming in and out of the house,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Talon said I’m in charge, so don’t bother arguing. The chef has to go, and no one else is coming inside. The night guard I will check out myself, and if I approve, he can wait outside; he has no reason to step inside the house.”
Shayla surprises me by shrugging again and saying, “I don’t give a crap. Do what you want.”
I exhale and walk out of the room. I change the code on the fence, and I change the locks on the doors. To really protect the little spoiled princess I need to be able to control the environment, who enters and who has access. When Greg arrives with dinner, I thank him but tell him he no longer needs to bring the food—that I will sort it out. He seems a little suspicious but agrees and lets it go. I carry the plastic bag of food to the kitchen and search through it, happy when I see tonight’s menu is apparently Japanese.
“Did he bring my katsu chicken sushi?” she asks as she enters the room.
I shrug and nod toward the bag. “Have a look for yourself.”
She opens the bag and pulls out a box. “Sweet,” she murmurs, then grabs some water from the fridge. I have no idea how she’s being so casual about everything—including having me in her presence—without even batting those long-ass lashes. Maybe she doesn’t realize how dangerous a situation she’s in, but still, she seems completely at ease, even though she has people out to kill her. People so dangerous that she needs high security and has to remain hidden.
“You can have the rest, this is all I wanted,” she says, walking out of the kitchen. I watch her leave, gritting my teeth. Something about her just sets me on edge. It takes me a few minutes to figure out exactly what it is—she reminds me a lot of my ex-girlfriend Eliza. Eliza came from money and thought she was better than everyone else. She was a spoiled, entitled bitch, but because she was my first girlfriend, my first regular pussy, I let her lead me by the balls. Yeah—Shayla might be beautiful, but she definitely isn’t my type. I like women who aren’t so high maintenance and used to having their way. This week is going to drag on, but at least I can keep myself busy sorting out the clusterfuck that is Shayla’s security detail.
Let’s just hope she doesn’t drive me insane before the week is over.
THREE
Shayla
I WATCH from the corner of my eye, pretending to ignore his very existence, as he storms around the house as if he owns it. There’s something different about him from the others who have been sent to protect me. I’ve seen him check the locks on the windows and doors more than once, and I can tell he’s questioning the way things are being run around here. It seems like he’s taking the job pretty seriously, even though I know for a fact that this isn’t what he does for a living. From what I gathered from Talon, Vinnie is some badass biker just using his life experience to protect me. But I trust Talon, and if he says Vinnie can be trusted, then I believe him.
“Who does the cleaning?” he suddenly stops and asks me, running his hand over his shaved head, his brown eyes pinned on me. Seeing as we haven’t been doing much of the whole communication thing, his question catches me off guard.
“Why?” I ask, lifting my head up to look at him. No one has ever asked me that before.
“Answer the question,” he says, not looking impressed. “If you get a cleaner or some shit to come in, I think you need to reassess your priorities, because a little mess is better than you being fuckin’ dead.”