It’s simple hate.
He releases my wrist. I take a step back, getting soaked, which means my hair’s going to be a wreck for my first day of work tomorrow. He watches me, head tilted, and tosses me the umbrella. I manage to catch it.
“Have a nice night, princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He turns away, facing the street.
I hesitate, but the rain’s too heavy to linger. I run up my stoop, unlock the door, and duck inside.
The last thing I see is Rian looking over his shoulder, his face twisted in pain, and a dark SUV rolling past slowly, two men staring out from a tinted window.
Chapter 3
Rian
I close Daley’s apartment door with a soft click.
Her place is cute. One bedroom, one bathroom. Not a ton of space, but good light. The living room is small, but nicely furnished. Daley’s got good taste. She always did. Clever fucking girl. Always too clever. The kitchen’s tight but neatly organized. Not much in the refrigerator, though. I make some coffee, crack a couple of eggs, and eat them as the sun rises.
Her alarm goes off around six-thirty. I don’t know what I expected when I took this job. Not a ticker-tape parade, that’s for sure. I knew she’d be unhappy to see me, possibly even angry, but her level of vitriol was a surprise. I thought the years might’ve softened her, might’ve eased the wounds and made the accident just another shit hand in a series of shit hands that life loves to deal. I thought maybe she might not want to kill me since her father didn’t seem to think it would be an issue when I volunteered to be her bodyguard.
I was very wrong.
The second she saw me, I caught the hate in her eyes.
True, vicious, black hate. I’ve seen it in her before, a long time ago.
I know something about a hate like that.
But where I let my hate mold me, let it fester and rot like an ugly, dirty wound, she seems to have mastered her rage. She went to college, got a couple of degrees, and now she’s living in a cute apartment in a nice neighborhood and she’s got a fancy office job.
That’s a long, long way from the other shitheads back in Delco. Fancy fucking princess Daley. I called her that the third time we met. Princess Halloran, future queen of the clans.
She hated that nickname. I used it mercilessly. Princess, princess, the little mafia queen. She’d roll her eyes and tell me to fuck off, but I think she liked it. I made her feel special, and hell, she was special.
She’s still special.
Her bedroom door opens and a sleepy Daley comes out. She doesn’t notice me there, sipping coffee and watching. She heads into the bathroom and shuts the door. She does her morning thing and comes out, looking marginally more awake and refreshed.
Then she spots me.
“Oh fuck,” she says, jumping backwards, hand to her chest.
“Morning, princess.”
“Jesus fucking holy mother of heck,” she says, walking back and forth. “You scared the hell out of me. Holy crap, my heart’s racing right now.”
“Adrenaline,” I say, nodding. I take a sip of coffee. She’s got really cheap stuff, but it’s not bad, and it hits the spot. My tongue tastes heavy and dry from exhaustion, and my eyes are sticky and red. I want a bed and eight hours of sleep. The coffee helps, though. “Want a cup?”
“What the heck are you doing in here, Rian?”
“I’m your bodyguard. I’m guarding your body.” I take the opportunity to let my eyes roam down the princess’s skin, getting a sense of what exactly I’m protecting.
She’s got rust-red hair, slightly darker than the other redheads in her family. It’s long and wavy and beautiful, and right now she’s got it up in a messy bun that’s falling apart. Her eyes are green, bordering on blue, and her lips are plump and pink and lovely. Her skin’s pale white and freckled like specks of sand, and she’s in a simple white cotton T-shirt that barely contains her full breasts, and her tiny cotton shorts don’t leave much to the imagination. Her thighs are heavenly, and her hips make a man want to give up all his vices just to feel them. She’s half my height, angry as fuck, and so beautiful I could die a happy man just getting to look at her stark naked and dripping wet for a while.
I’m not here for this. I have to keep reminding myself of that. I’m not here for Daley, not really. She’s a means to an end, that’s all, nothing more. She’s a stepping stone to greater things.
To solving a long-dead mystery.
“Guard me from outside.” She storms into her bedroom and slams the door.
I laugh and make her breakfast. Toast, instant oatmeal, and eggs. When she emerges, she’s wearing a lovely business casual outfit, dark skintight navy slacks and a button-down tucked into it with her hair back and tamed by a navy headband. She’s scowling from behind glasses—since when did she wear glasses?