Page 29 of Played
“Ms. Wright,” the wall says, tone low, even. And intimidating.
“Who wants to know?” Malcolm barks, his body damn near bristling with anger.
This guy outweighs him by at least fifty pounds and has no less than four inches over him, but my big brother doesn’t dial back theattitude. The human wall doesn’t react to Malcolm’s hostility, though. His expression remains the same, and he remains standing by my trunk.
“I’m Graham. Mr. Young sent me to follow you home and make sure no one bothers you once you’re there.”
“A bodyguard?” Malcolm says before I can reply. He scoffs. “Yeah, okay. One, how do we even know you’re who you say you are? And two, if anyone’s going to protect my sister, it’s going to be family. We don’t needMr. Youngto do shit.” He might as well have said we don’t need Stalin to do shit. That’s how much disgust he wrapped around Solomon’s name.
Again, Graham doesn’t directly respond to Malcolm but, instead, reaches into his back pocket and removes a phone. He taps the screen, then holds the cell up to his ear.
“Yeah, I’m here with her.” Pause. “Uh-huh, yeah, got it.” Graham’s attention shifts back to me, and he moves forward, arm and cell outstretched. But Malcolm cuts him off from approaching me.
“Nah, bruh. Back up.”
Graham doesn’t lower his arm or the phone, but his hard jaw flexes, and though his poker face would fleece a lot of people out of their money, Malcolm’s obviously working his nerves.
“It’s okay, Malcolm.” I fully step around my brother. He shifts again, trying to stay in front of me, and I pat his arm. “It’s good. I’m good.”
He mutters something under his breath, but I still move forward and accept the phone. God, I’m about to choke on all this testosterone.
“Hello?” I say.
“Adina.” Solomon’s deep, midnight voice rumbles in my ear. And I hate myself for the shiver that trips down my spine and echoes in my sex. Why can’t he have a voice like Michael Jackson’s? If all were fair, he’d sound like his balls were permanently stuck in his stomach. “Graham’s legit. He’s a part of my security. You can trust him.”
“I don’t trustyou, so I don’t know how you figure I can trust him.” I flick a glance at Graham. “No offense.”
He shrugs a massive shoulder.
“I get that, and I own it. But now isn’t the time to be stubborn, ma.”
I grind my teeth at the endearment. TheDon’t call me thatdances on my tongue like an entire step team. But I swallow it down. Snapping that might reveal too much. If he doesn’t affect me, then nothing he does should bother me.
Should.
“I found out about those fucking pictures yesterday. I’m used to this kind of thing, but you’re not, and I’m sorry that you got caught up. I also know how aggressive and intrusive these trash-ass reporters can be. So please, let Graham do his job. I’m out of town on a stretch of away games and won’t be back until next week or else I would be there myself.”
“And make all of this bullshit worse?” I scoff. “No thank you.”
“Adina.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and after several seconds, I blow out a hard, much-aggrieved breath.
“Fine.” And there’s nothing gracious about my tone. “But if you’re waiting on a thank-you, I hope you’re holding your breath.”
Do I sound like an ungrateful brat? Possibly. Do I care? Not. At. All.
I jerk the phone away and hand it back to Graham, but Solomon’s low chuckle still tickles my ear. Fuck him for eventhatbeing sexy as hell.
“Here.” Graham silently takes his phone back, and I sweep a hand over my hair, my fingers bumping up against the bun at the back of my head. “I’m not leaving my car or riding in that ... tank.” I jerk my chin toward the humongous gleaming black Range Rover. “You’ll have to follow me.”
“That’s good. Ready when you are.”
“Dina, you don’t need this guy. I’ll follow you home and stay there just in case any more like him”—his lips curl into a sneer as he shoots the jerk still snapping shots an evil glare—“are hanging around.”
“Thanks, Malcolm, but you don’t have to do that.”
“You’re my sister. I don’t—”
