Page 7 of The Road Less Traveled By

I focus my eyes back on the road, trying not to think of the worst-case scenario, before I clear my throat. “So, has he tried to contact you since he was released?” Ralph was a big fan of leaving notes and what he called gifts for Bree. When I was first assigned to her, he left about one a week until the police eventually caught him. Bree saw every single one, even the ones that detailed what he was going to do when he got his hands on her.

My skin still crawls thinking about it, and I don't scare easily. There’s just something about this case, about him, about Bree, that makes me extra protective. “Bree?”

She shakes out of whatever haze she was just in before she meets my eyes in the mirror. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Fuck. She’s distancing herself again. When I met Bree four years ago, the first thing I pegged about her was that when reality got too tough to deal with, she’d enter a different one. Whether through a book, music, or her own head, she would go somewhere else that made her feel safe. I don't blame her, not after all she’s been through.

She used to have this…glow about her, especially in the end after he was caught. Even though she felt broken, it was like all the pieces that made her who she was shined through. Even on her worst days, her light still lingered in the air around her. I don't see that anymore. I see someone struggling and trying to hide it from the rest of the world, but Bree should know that she could never hide from me. “It’s nothing we can’t talk about another time.”

Her mouth opens as if she wants to say something, but she decides against it. “Did you want to ask me something, Bree?”

“You have a team now.” It’s not phrased as a question, but I nod. “How did that happen?”

“It’s a long story, but a friend of mine, we created a company together—security and protection services. He handles the security aspect, and I run the protection side. We expanded so much that I needed more help.” When Bree and I first met, I was employed under a different agency, and when I met Nico, we decided to team up. I wouldn't call us friends—Nico disagrees—but more or less friendly coworkers.

“I wasn't aware you let yourself have friends, Vince. What happened to no personal attachments? Or have your rules changed since I last saw you?”

I catch the smirk at the end of her sentence, and I feel my lips perk up as well. “I’ve added about six more since I saw you. Don't worry, Nico gives me as much shit as you do for my rules, but there's a reason why I have them.”And I’ve already broken one of them for you. Two, if you count how I touched your hair in front of the elevator.I’ve got to get my head on straight and focus on the task at hand—protecting Bree.

“I know, I know. They’re important to you, and it’s why you’re so good at your job. I’m just messing with you.”

“When I move in, I’ll put a framed photo of my rules in every room, so don't test me.”

Her eyes widen. “Sorry, when you what?”

“I plan on moving into your house, Bree. I know you live somewhere different now, and it has more space, so I decided that’s what’s best for the time being. It’s how I know you’ll be safe, and I can protect you easiest from underneath your own roof. But only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“It’s okay with me, Vince.” She takes a big deep breath. “Thank you for asking.”

“I’m just doing my job, Bree.”

“Right, but still, thank you for coming back. How’s your sister, Aria?”

“She’s okay. Currently living in Seattle with her husband.”

“That’s nice.”

That’s another thing about Bree—if you tell her something about yourself, she’ll remember it. She’s ridiculously good at remembering small details, and I have no doubt she’ll ask for a full list of the names of my team members soon. She’s never not thinking about other people.

Being here with Bree is much better than the last asshole I protected. I normally don't talk poorly about former clients, but now that I’m off his case, I can say he really deserved to get punched by his ex-wife. He was some high up official in Italy who needed a bodyguard because his wife found out he was cheating on her—with about twenty different women. I stuck Romero—another one of my guys—on his case when I dropped everything to get back here. I got her text a week ago, and my heart dropped. I tried to shake it off and focus, but I couldn't. All my thoughts were on her and if she was safe. Then her sister called me—apparently, Bree doesn't feel safe with anyone but me. I told her the same thing—that I was already on a case—but after that conversation, I could barely sleep. I wasn’t focused, so I dropped my case early and handed it off—which is something I’ve never done.

I have an unwritten list of rules that most people acquainted with me make fun of. Rule number four is to always see a case through.

Which I didn't. I couldn’t care less about what happens to the fucker. I’m right where I need to be right now, and I don't regret my decision.

Not one fucking bit.

“So, is Liv still here with you? Wasn't that the plan when you got this new house?” I’d feel better knowing Liv has been with her the entire time, that Bree hasn't been by herself in this house for years.

“She was, but she eventually got her own place, and now she lives with Tristan.”

That’s a name I haven't heard in a while. I’ve never met this Tristan guy, but I knew Bree talked to him, so I ran a full background check way back when. He was clean, and Bree seemed to trust him, but I was still cautious of anyone who wasn't Liv. Even Bree’s parents were on my shitlist.I wonder if they’re still around.Bree always talked about cutting contact. “They’re still together? Wow, good for them.”

“Well, they haven't been together this entire time. A few days after you left, they broke up. It’s a long story. They only recently got back together after four years apart.”

Damn.I don't have the brain power to keep up with this. I’m thirty-three years old, but my mind might as well be a hundred. I work slowly and methodically, and the speed of this day and age is terrifying. That’s why Nico handles the technological aspect of our company and I do the more physical component. It’s much fucking easier for my brain. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, it’s been a crazy few years.” She averts her gaze to the window, and I don't bother trying to keep our conversation going; I can tell she’s somewhere else right now. It kills me that I can’t help her, but I hope my presence is enough for her to know that she’s safe.

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