Page 3 of Guarding The Phoenix: Vol. 1

I had a pot already made, waiting in an insulated pot on the coffee table, along with all the accouterments.

“These look amazing.” Chase scooped up one of the cinnamon chip scones and winked at me. “I could do with some coffee, too.”

At least the blond hottie was a charmer. I felt a twinge in my girly bits over the dashing wink he sent my way.

Get ahold of yourself, girl.

Once I was in the clear and didn’t have to worry about Santos offing me, then I could go to town, become a total whore and sleep with whoever the hell I wanted. Until then, I needed to be on guard and prepared for whatever Santos would throw at me.

“Please, call me Kylie,” I instructed, pouring coffee for everyone. “Cream, sugar?” I asked, scanning the crowd.

“Just black for me,” Gideon stated, rather dour faced.

Why did I have the burning desire to be the reason that man smiled?

I shelved the burning question for later as I poured a cup for everyone, me included, so I would have something to do with my hands. Once everyone had coffee, I sat, facing four of the hottest men I’d ever met—and that was by California standards. My ovaries made kissy noises at them and blushed.

The four of them were on one side of the U-shaped sectional, and I sat on the opposite side with the coffee table between us.

Gideon had a notepad and pen clutched in his hand. He peered at me with eyes the color of storm clouds. “You mentioned during our phone conversation that you need round-the-clock security. Can you describe a bit of the problem? That way, we’ll know the best methods to implement.”

I hated this part. Admitting what my late husband had done for a living. It always garnered disgust and disdain. Like by marrying him, I deserved whatever horrible thing might befall me. But if I had known...oh, who was I kidding? I had been desperate to escape my humdrum, paycheck-to-paycheck, hand-to-mouth existence working as a waitress. During our brief whirlwind courtship, Carlos had brought me expensive gifts. He had wined and dined me even though I hadn’t been able to legally drink. I had experienced my first taste of champagne with him. He had done everything to make himself attractive in my eyes, and it had worked. I doubt I would have believed anyone if they tried to tell me about all the skeletons in his closet. Because within the first week, I had looked at him with cartoon hearts in my eyes.

Studying the men in my living room, I knew they might internally condemn me while acting as if it didn’t matter. Mainly because they were here to win a job and not to judge me.

I set my coffee mug on the table and clutched my hands together in my lap before I began. “Okay, here’s the thing. My late husband was involved with the Santos Mafia. Since his passing, the head of the organization, Luka Santos, has been harassing me.”

Chapter three

The Ugly Truth

Kylie

“Harassingyouhow?”thebig fella Axel asked, his voice like stone sliding over gravel. But his contemplative expression gave nothing away.

“Sending me letters stating if I didn’t return the property my husband stole, he would ensure I paid for it with my life. Santos has sent his thugs to follow me when I leave the house. There have been packages left on my doorstep. Death threats, that type of thing. In that envelope are copies of the letters Santos sent me. The originals are in a safe.”

Gideon grabbed the envelope and opened it. Like he was too curious to wait for further invitation.

“What was in the packages?” Chase asked, munching on his scone.

“Body parts that once belonged to my gardener,” I admitted grimly, unable to control my shiver of disgust at the memory.

All four heads whipped my way, their gazes wide at the admission. I couldn’t hide this stuff from them. Not if they were going to be able to protect me and keep me alive. And I very much wanted to go on living.

“Did you report that to the police?” Gideon asked with raised brows. All four men were shocked.

“Of course.” Once I stopped screaming long enough to think straight, I did. “But the packages have been untraceable. And because of who my husband was, the police didn’t seem inclined to help me. Like I deserve all the harassment and threats because my husband was in bed with bad people.”

They glanced at each other, having a wordless conversation I wasn’t privy to, but could only imagine.

“Look, I know how it sounds. But I didn’t know my husband was involved with the Santos organization until after we were married. And by then, it was too late. I wanted to divorce him, but he wouldn’t allow it.” When I had asked for one, my bags packed, ready to leave, Carlos had issued a particularly brutal beating, making it clear that I was his property, and he would never let me go.

“Wouldn’t allow it?” Chase asked with a frown, like he didn’t understand my statement.

I stared at each man, trying to gauge how much to divulge. They were strangers, and here I was being asked to show all my scars, all the pain I endured. There was no one I’d talked to about it, not even a therapist.

Gideon leveled me with a stern glare. “Mrs. Vega, Kylie, for this to work, we need you to be bluntly honest with us. We need to know what type of attacks you might be facing in order to protect you and keep you alive. So, I will ask Chase’s question again. Why wouldn’t your late husband allow you to divorce him?”

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