Page 18 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

That 'please' keeps me from walking away. And that bloodless look in her eyes—that haunted, hunted look—tugs at the part of me I've been trying to bury. The Protector. The guy who followed in his Dad's footsteps and swore to serve and defend, no matter the cost.

"What's your name?" I ask after a few moments of chewing on my thoughts.

Her eyes flash wider and her arms wrap around her waist like a shield. She wants to keep her name protected and tucked away, but she tells me, "Londyn. Londyn Seever."

"Okay, Londyn. I know you've made up your mind to hire me, but you should know the truth. I'm not the same guy who helped your coworker. My instincts aren't what they used to be. Yes, I've protected people, but you should also know I've failed people I was supposed to keep safe. Whatever image of me you've built up in your head isn't real. I'm sorry."

She searches my eyes cautiously, then my entire face, shaking her head. "It has to be you. You saved my coworker's life, and I've never heard a bodyguard talked about so highly. Because of that, I trust you. Even if—" Her eyes drop to the ground like she just revealed someone's secret.

"If what?"

More head shaking. "Nothing. I'm crazy, remember?" Her eyes try to find comfort in the ground as those shoulders crank up toward her ears again like she's unsure of her thoughts. "What I'd like is for you to come stay with me, I mean, across the hall from my apartment because I'm going to rent a vacant one. I'm sure you'll watch everything and find nothing. Can I hire you for twenty-four-seven security? Watch my apartment. Escort me when I go out. It's an easy job. I'm okay paying for the reassurance that I really am nuts and overly cautious."

I can only pray that's all it is as I glance down at her feet. The top of her sneakers are pulsing up and down as Londyn curls and uncurls her toes. She's worried I'll say no again.

She should actually be worried about giving me her trust so easily.

My stomach is so heavy it feels like I swallowed boulders. Am I really going to do this? Takeone moresecurity job?

I survey the baggy clothes and glasses she's hiding behind. The protective body language and restless fidgeting. The way she's still struggling to meet my gaze. This woman has built a fortress around herself, and something this fortified doesn't get built on a whim. Her defenses are systematic and for a reason.

I stuff my hands in my pockets to hide my fists. The part of me that joined the Marines, that became a bodyguard, that still wakes up at night replaying moments where I could've made different choices—it refuses to let me turn my back on genuine fear. Whether she's imagining things or not, you can't fake the kind of deep terror rippling beneath her thin attempt at control.

I lift one of my hands, extending it with my palm open and empty. Either a ghost or a real person is threatening Londyn, and I guess I'll be finding out which it is.

"One month," I hear myself say.

She stares at my hand with a grimace, like I'm offering her a glob of black tar. When she doesn't move to shake on our agreement, I start to lower my arm.

She lunges forward, grasping my hand firmly as if not shaking means the deal is cancelled. I give one strong up and down motion—a promise—but instead of releasing me, she only blinks. Our handshake should be finished, we should be moving on to discuss specifics, but we're suddenly just holding hands. Actually, Londyn is refusing to let me go.

It's nice. Her touch is soft and warm, but I'm also distracted by her strange response. It's like she's never touched a man's hand before, and she's surprised at how much bigger it is in comparison.

I give her hand a light squeeze and she gasps. She then releases me and hugs her waist again. "Um, thank you. I… I live in Manhattan. Is that okay? Will that be a lot extra?"

My hand feels empty and cold now, so I return it to my pocket. I'm not sure she's prepared for how much a gig like this will cost, but I'm taking this on as a free agent. I won't charge her. Or I'll tell her she can pay me at the end and then I'll just disappear. I have more than enough money. Besides, I'm not doing anything else with my life, and I've always wanted to visit New York.

"Yeah, Manhattan is fine. But if you want around-the-clock coverage, you'll need a second security guard. I know who I can ask. Someone I trust with my life, so he's a great guy."

"Oh… okay. If that's what you recommend."

"We'll need to set terms," I say, trying to sound professional when all I feel is dread coiling in my stomach. "Let's find somewhere to sit so we can go over the details and when you'd like me to start."

She nods, following me as I move out of the hallway. "Yes, terms. And as soon as possible. I need you to start as soon as you can."

Something with barbs slithers down my spine. A warning from whatever remains of my instincts. Londyn's safety is now in my hands.

Hands that have failed before.

Chapter 7

LONDYN

I YANK ON SOME YELLOW gloves and start scrubbing the sink. Not that it matters since it's already spotless. Cleaning is another of my coping strategies, but at least it's kind of a healthy one. I'm not obsessive about it only… particular. Things have to be a particular amount of clean before I feel like I'm done, otherwise it'll nag me. Like I'm leaving blemishes around for myself to find later; spots that I'd rather not look at. Cleaning just helps me shift my thoughts the same way math does.

My mind won't stop thinking about the guests that'll be here soon, if that's what I should call them.

Men.

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