Bodyguard: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (Snake Eyes Book 1) (5 page)

“Mom…”

She doesn’t stop for me. I listen to her shoes clack across the front hall towards the stairs, leaving me alone with my stepfather. “You’re making a mistake, Bennett,” I say. “She’s not safe here and your little rent-a-cop over there isn’t going to do a damn thing to protect her.”

“I’ll get more of them then.”

“It won’t be enough.”

He laughs like a man chuckling at his kid for still believing in monsters under his bed. “I’ll decide what’s enough when it comes to protecting my daughter. Not
you
,” he growls. “Obviously, I need to remind you about our little arrangement.”

“Arrangement?” I lower my voice. “I wouldn’t call you telling me to get the hell out your house an
arrangement.
”

“I find it a little bit suspicious that the
second
something bad happens to her, you’re suddenly back from the dead, Fox.”

“This has nothing to do with feelings I may have had for her—”

“
May have
had?” he scoffs. “Please, kid. I saw the way you were looking at her. It’s the same way I caught you looking at her five years ago and I will
not
have you coming back into her life and mucking it up all over again. She’s a good girl with a good career and your little crush isn’t going to ruin that.”

“You mean it won’t ruin your little money factory.”

He flexes his jaw. “You’re out of line, Fox.”

“That’s all she
ever
was to you,” I seethe.

“She’s my
daughter.”

“Then let me protect her! She won’t be lining your pockets anymore if she’s dead.”

“Get the hell out of my house, Fox. And this time, don’t come back.”

Fucking idiot.

Bennett has always been overprotective of Dani but in all the wrong ways. He treats her the way a real estate mogul values a new subdivision. She’s an asset to him, not family. Sure, he likes to throw the d-word around as much as possible, but it’s a novelty, nothing more.

“You’re going to regret this, Bennett.” I step back into the front hall and my shoes echo across the marble floor. My pace slows as I pass the stairs, like a bit of muscle memory wanting to charge them. I look to the top and see the door to my old room at the top. I’ve always wondered if Mom kept it the way it was or if Bennett had it converted into a home gym that never gets used.

She’s up there. Now. I feel the urge to veer off course and run up the stairs to appeal to her myself, but there wouldn’t be enough time before Bennett broke the damn door down.

As I step outside, I see the flashing bulbs down the driveway. The paparazzi. I should be more concerned about my face getting plastered all over the internet.
Who is this mysterious man going in and out of Roxie Robert’s childhood home? Is there a new love affair on the horizon?

I keep my head down and throw myself into my rental car. My fingers clutch the keys in my pocket, but I don’t move. I didn’t come all the way home just to be booted out after an awkward twenty minutes. I can’t just pack it in and go back to Mrs. Clark’s guest house.

My eyes jump to her window, pulled by a magnet, and I find her there. She’s discrete about it, only opening the curtain enough to peek her little nose through — that perfect snub-nose I thought about kissing a thousand times.

The curtain pulls back even further. She knows I’m looking at her. We stare at each other for a few seconds and for a moment, I imagine her racing down the stairs and out the front door. I’d get out of the car and run to her and we’d hug and kiss. Cameras be damned.

But happy endings are only for movies.

She shakes her head and drops the curtain down.

I still can’t go back to Iowa. I won’t leave her, no matter what the great Bennett Roberts and his team of moderately-trained cop monkeys want. There’s no way I will be able to live with the guilt if anything happens to her — although, it’d just be the cherry on top of everything else I’ve done in this life.

I drive slowly out the front gate, curbing the urge to take out one or two paparazzi as I go.

I won’t go far.

Chapter 6

Dani

“Wait here.”

I roll my eyes and lean against the wall as Smith enters my apartment alone. “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars there’s no one in there!” I call out. He passes by the door, traveling in and out of rooms with his pistol locked and loaded at his side. I heave a sigh of impatience. All I want to do is get in there, strip naked, and soak myself in a bath for two days.

Fox
. He’s alive. He’s home. And he’s even more handsome than he was when we were younger.

I shove the thought away. He’s also bat-shit crazy.

Snake Eyes?
What the hell is that supposed to mean? They hurt me to send him a message? It’s a fucking cut. The guy turned around, recognized me, and thought it would be funny to mark up my face. That’s all. And what kind of name is
Mercer Black
anyway?

“All good, Roxie.”

I push off the wall and walk inside. “See?” I say, kicking the door closed. “I told you. Now gimme.” I hold out my hand for the money he owes.

“I never agreed to that,” he says. He slides his gun back into the holster and pulls his jacket around to conceal it.

“Lame,” I say. “Whatever — you probably don’t even have a thousand on you right now.”

“Honey,
no one
has that kind of money on them at all times.” He raises an eyebrow. “Except entitled rich kids, of course.”

I laugh. “Because I’ve never heard that one before.”

Smith steps around me into the kitchen and plants himself at the table. I wait for a few moments, hoping it’s just a temporary rest of his feet, but he leans back with his phone in his hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Go about your business…”

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

He barely glances up. “Because your father is paying me to be here.”

“You’re staying the night?!”

“Yep.”

“No, you’re not.”

He sets the phone down. “Look, kid. I don’t like this either. I got a family, too, ya know. But
mine
doesn’t have a crazy, bearded, dead guy running around that’s obsessed with me.”

“He’s not…” I pause, realizing that I have no reason to defend Fox. “He’s just a little confused.”

“Well,
‘pretty starlet found strangled in her own bed’
is the last thing I want to read about in the morning, so I’m staying here. Daddy’s orders.”

I sigh. “Fine. I’m sure there’s plenty to eat in there.” I point to the fridge. “Just stay in this area. I’m going to take a bath.”

“Don’t take too long.”

I pause in the door frame. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll get all
pruney
.” He peeks at me once before his eyes fall back to his phone.

I walk away and I feel my stress spike a little more. Great. Not only is my hot stepbrother back from the dead, I now have to spend my evening alone with a middle-aged man haunting my apartment.

I pause in the living room, sensing a bit more light than usual. My eyes fall to the windows and I notice the blinds are open. I usually like to leave them closed, but the maid must have opened them. Or Smith did. I shrug my shoulders and continue on into my bedroom, then into my en suite bathroom.

I tilt the faucet and let the hot water fall down into the tub. Steam rises, filling the air with perfect, gentle wisps. I start to unbutton my blouse, then pause when I realize the bathroom window shades are open as well. I don’t recall doing that, but it’s been a strange few days. Everything has been a crazy blur since the moment I watched Senator Lamb get shot. I remember the hospital and my father barking orders at the nurses and today’s consult with the plastic surgeon. It’s the little details that are gone. Post-traumatic stress, they told me. It’ll pass, they told me. Smile for the camera, they told me.

I lock the bathroom door and slide my blouse off my shoulders.

The water is hot — too hot — but it’s how I like it. If I’m not seeing red as I lie back in the tub, then it’s not hot enough. My toes curl and sweat breaks instantly on my brow. I lean back and lay my head against a folded up towel on the porcelain edge. With my eyes closed, I let my mind wander to places it never goes during my busy days. Places of peace and quiet and—

Fox.

I open my eyes and lick my lips.

No. Not Fox. Think of something else. Anything else.

It’s been there since the moment I saw him today; that irresistible thirst. I haven’t felt it since the day he left home and it was immediately replaced with seething hatred. He kissed me — on my
birthday
— and then ran off without even saying goodbye. Who does that? What reason could he possibly have? Did he hate it? He seemed to like it. Maybe I just wasn’t good at it and he was too much of a coward to let me down gently.

I slap the water with my palm, annoyed that this topic has once again dominated my thoughts. It was
five years ago
. I’m a completely different person now and — by the looks of it — so is he. He’s not the same Fox I met when we were fifteen and my father started dating his mother. Back then, he was
that guy.
The popular kid in the halls with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and a hot cheerleader on the other. That devil may care attitude that everyone loved, teachers included. It’s what let him get away with so much with little effort on his part.

We had nothing in common. I was an average kid on the opposite end of the spectrum. Quiet and shy. I didn’t like crowds or cameras or being the center of attention but that didn’t stop my father from pushing me into theater classes and auditions.

Fox and I never got along that well. We were just too different. It was awkward enough going to the same school. When he and his mother moved in, it got worse. Fighting, bickering. Little did we know that our feelings sat just beneath the surface, forbidden urges neither one of us dared to say out loud until
that night
.

No, he’s not that same boy. He’s changed. Now,
he’s
the one hiding in the shadows. Honestly, he probably should have just stayed there.

I inhale a deep breath before submerging my head. The doctor told me to keep the bandage on my cheek dry, but I don’t really care about that right now. I just want to get his rugged, bearded face out of my head.

I shoot up in the tub, my eyes darting towards the door as something slams in the hall. Water pours from the sides, sprinkling down to the linoleum floor. I refuse to move or even breathe. I stare at the locked door. Was it real? Or was it all in my head?

“Smith?”

I sit up a little more, focusing my hearing on the hallway. Any second now, I’ll hear his loafers tap down the hall. He’ll knock twice and I’ll hear his authoritarian voice ask,
“Is everything okay in there?”

Silence.

I raise my voice a little louder. “Smith?”

Nothing. No answer. No shoes. No annoyed sigh.

I wrap my fingers around the tub’s edge and push myself up.

Glass shatters, echoing from the kitchen. I freeze, suspended between standing and kneeling, as something falls to the floor in the living room. Something stiff and loud. Like a body.

“Smith?!” I shout again, pleading for him to answer me but I still hear nothing.

I step out of the tub and grab my robe to cover up before rushing over to the closet. My fingers wrap around the handle of a baseball bat — the one a young, single girl living alone keeps stashed away for times just like this. I hold the bat tight and move to the door. There’s still no sound coming from the hallway. I grit my teeth in anger. Smith isn’t the type to mess around. If he is playing a prank, it’s entirely unwelcome. However, I’d much rather this be a prank than anything else.

The floorboards squeak in the hall.

I grip the bat a little harder. It doesn’t sound like Smith’s black loafers. These are boots, hard and loud. They tap down the hall, inching closer toward the bathroom door. My entire body shakes. Water drips down my legs. Muscles twitch and ache.

A hand grips the doorknob and it twists back and forth.

I lay a palm against my mouth to keep from screaming.

The door flies open, smashed in by a single kick of his boot. My feet slip in the water beneath me and I fall to the floor. The bat clatters away, rolling towards the sink in the corner.

It’s
him
.

I look up into his eyes, the only bit of his skin visible behind the black mask and tactical gear, and scream. I spin onto my knees to crawl away, but he’s on me fast, grabbing me by my wet hair. He pulls me around and slams me back down to the floor. My head smacks the hard tile and pain crashes down my spine as he mounts me and wraps his hands around my neck.

He doesn’t squeeze. I expect to feel my lungs gasping for air but he doesn’t choke me. He sits there with wide eyes, staring down into mine as if to memorize my fear. It won’t last. Any moment now he’ll flex his fingers and my trachea will crush beneath the weight.

This is it. This is how I die.

“Mercer…”
I say.

His grip loosens. “How do you know my name?” he asks, tilting his head at me. There’s confusion in his blue eyes, but I detect playful amusement dancing behind it all.

“He told me—”

“Who told you?”

He leans in so close, I can smell his stale breath behind the mask. I quiver in his tight grasp. “Fox Fitzpatrick,” I answer.

His eyes grow wide with pleasure — even more so than they were before choking the life out of me. “Fox Fitzpatrick?” he repeats the name. “So he
is
here.”

I nod.

“Oh…” His laughter, dark and cold, rattles my core. He draws me closer to his wild eyes. “I knew it… I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist this…” He grabs me and raises me off the floor, standing me in front of him like a human shield. “Fox! Take the shot! I dare you!”

I furrow my brow in confusion as Mercer pushes me forward towards the windows. He reaches up and rips the blinds open to look outside, keeping me in front of him at all times. I scan the buildings across the street, seeing nothing.