Page 22 of Her Guardian
“How would you feel if she walked in here one night, maybe in five years when she’s twenty-one, or tomorrow with a fake ID,” I say, leaning even closer so he can get a good look as the rage behind my eyes. “Would it be okay for you to know that there’s a guy working here who might put something in her drink?”
“N-no, sir,” he shakes out.
“Then don’t let it happen again.” I straighten up and turn away. “Don’t worry about the door. Someone will be along shortly to repair it. You call the cops, and you’ll see me again. You don’t want that to happen.”
I leave the bar carefully, so I don’t knock Sarah out of the way. I fire off a text message to an associate who handles shit like this and look around. No sign of cops. But someone will notice the door soon. I hurry to my SUV and open the back.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asks when she catches up to me.
“Grabbing a sign,” I growl, yanking one out that saysUnder Construction.
I don’t smash as many doors as I used to, but we cover our tracks. A smashed front door on the strip is a problem. One with a sign in front of it isn’t. I put the sign down by the door, then return to the SUV and open her door.
“That’ll cause less attention. Let’s go.” I usher her in and when she moves slower than I’d like, I grab her hips and put her down in the seat.
She immediately grimaces and leans away. “Ow!”
“Sorry, shit. Sorry,” I mutter, slamming the door.
I spanked her. Her ass will feel that for the rest of the day.
“Didn’t mean to hurt you like that, Sarah,” I sigh as I get into the SUV and crank it up. “I don’t think those two assholes will call the cops, but you never know. We do need to hurry.”
I’m not scared of the cops. Plenty of them are on the Morandi family payroll. But sorting it out takes time. Sometimes, it requires a lawyer. I don’t have the patience for that shit.
“It’s okay,” she says, pulling out her vape and taking several puffs. “Yeah, this is alltotallyfine.”
I get back on the strip, punch the address into my GPS, and head in that direction. Once we’re on a back road, I fish a cigarette out, roll down the window, and light it.
“Remember, you actually get to use this on your podcast,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
She’s not used to this like I am. But damn if I haven’t missed it. The rush from doing something other than following Ericaaround. That job was fucking boring. Truthfully, if she’d tried to recruit me for the coup, I might have been excited about getting my hands dirty. I would have declined, but it might have been the most exciting thing to happen to me in months.
“What happened back there…” Sarah’s face tenses up. “That wasn’t just about me, was it?”
“Today it is,” I mutter, taking a deep drag from my cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.
“Yeah, but no, Boyd.” She shakes her head. “I’m not buying it. You just met me yesterday.”
Fuck. Too strong.Again. And she’s right. This is a part of me that nobody unpacks. The people who could, would never bring it up. I mentally bend the boundary until it breaks.
“Can’t put this on your… podcast.” I tense up a little. “Got it?”
“Yeah,” she says, nervously taking a hit of her vape.
“My sister,” I growl. “Right before Massimo’s first wife got murdered, she went into a club and had a drink. Woke up on a Bratva cargo ship.”
“Oh, fuck!” Sarah’s eyes widen and she swallows hard.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I tore apart half of Russia to find her, but the girl I brought back… she wasn’t the one who left. She, um, killed herself.”
“Boyd… Oh, my goodness! I’m… I’m so sorry!” Sarah’s lip quivers with every word.
“Yeah,” I say again, taking another drag from my cigarette.
It’s never a good idea to try to unpack me.
It’s like opening Pandora’s fucking box.
