Her Mafia Bodyguard

I pull out my bank card and hand it over after placing my order, then look around the store. It’s cute, with funky music coming from the speakers and a relaxed vibe. I could see myself hanging out here, but only if I didn’t have a chaperone. Why does he have to make everything difficult?

The girl clears her throat, and I turn my attention back to her. “Um, it’s not working.” She tries to smile, but it comes off as more like a grimace.

“My card? It should be okay. It’s practically new. The bank just sent it.”

“Let me try it again.” She swipes it, then frowns at her screen. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s saying to call the bank.”

I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and there’s plenty of money in my account. But this kind of situation leaves a person feeling like a deer in headlights no matter what. There are people all around us, and I can feel their eyes on me. They know I’m a fake. I’m not one of them. A flush creeps up my neck, and I feel sweaty all of a sudden. “Let me call my dad. Maybe he put a hold on it or something.” I step out of line and take my phone from my bag with shaking hands. I don’t even know if Zeke follows, and I don’t care.

Once I’m outside, I call my father. He picks up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?” He always sounds like there’s some kind of catastrophe going on.

“Uh, hi, Dad. I just tried to get a coffee with my bank card, and they told me there’s a problem. I just used that card to pay for makeup online a few days ago. I swear, there was money in the account. I didn’t overdraw on it.”

I expect him to get upset or to promise some idiot bank teller will lose their job over it. But all he does is make an understanding sound. “There’s plenty of money in your account, sweetheart. But your card isn’t going to work.”

“Why not? It’s practically new. It doesn’t expire for—”

“Zeke will take care of it. If you need to buy something, he’ll pay for it.”

It’s like we’re speaking two different languages. “I don’t understand. Why? You know I’m not going to waste money.”

“I know, and you have all the money you need. But Zeke will take care of it.”

“But why?” I hate how whiny my voice sounds, and I try to change its tone. “Dad, please. Can’t I at least be trusted to handle my own money?”

He’s quiet for a second, and now I know I’m in for it. “Mia, have I ever denied you anything?”

You mean besides your presence in my life for the first seventeen years of it?“No.”

“No matter what you want, Zeke will make sure you get it—so long as it’s legal,” he adds in a stern, fatherly tone. He’s got to be talking about alcohol. “But I know how teenage girls can be. You’re away from home, you get a little freedom, and that’s it.”

That’s it? He doesn’t have the first clue about teenage girls, and especially not about me. I’m practically vibrating with rage and humiliation. My eyes keep trying to fill with tears, but I blink them back because I am not going to break down on the sidewalk. “Please, Dad. At least let me be able to go get a cup of coffee when I want to.”

“Zeke will be with you. Zeke will pay for it. End of story. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy—and you have another class coming up pretty soon.” Of course, he’s completely aware of every class, of my entire schedule. He’s following along from home like my life is some kind of game he can check in on every once in a while.

“Okay.” I mean, what else is there to say? There’s no use trying to fight because he’s always going to win.

I drop onto a bench near the entrance of the coffee shop, feeling just about as helpless as I ever have. When he came into my life, and I found out how rich he was, I actually thought all my problems were over. I wouldn’t have to wonder how the bills would be paid. I wouldn’t have to worry about being sick, knowing I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor. I would have someplace to live and everything I could ever want.

I never figured there would be so many conditions.

“Here. Your coffee.” A cup appears in front of my face, Zeke’s hand wrapped around it. “I took care of it.”

“Of course, you did.” I take the cup from him, but now I don’t want it. I have to force myself to take a sip, and the icy coffee does help cool me off a little. “You knew about this, didn’t you? You must have. He had to tell you when he gave you the debit card.”

He jams his hands in his pockets with a sigh. I glance up in time to check out his sharp profile as he looks up and down the street. “I did.”

“But you let me stand in there and be humiliated. You knew my card wouldn’t work, but you let me try to use it.” My voice trembles thanks to the tears determined to spill onto my cheeks. I won’t let it happen. I have to go to class soon, and I don’t want anybody knowing I was crying. Normally, I’d figure nobody would notice—it’s the first day of school, everybody’s too busy worrying about themselves—but I have a six-foot-three god attracting attention, so of course, people are going to notice me.

“And you’re the one who had me follow you around the store carrying your books. I guess I figured you deserved it.” Our eyes meet, and he looks away. “But that was a dick move. I can admit that.”

It’s like some kind of miracle. All it took was me almost breaking down for him to admit he’s being a dick. “You know, there will be times I need to order stuff online.”

“And if that time comes, we’ll figure something out. I guess your dad figured if you’re going to the store, I’ll be with you anyway. So what difference does it make?”

I roll my eyes. “You know it makes a difference.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “I know. Come on. You’re going to be late for class.”

Lucky me, having so many people who care whether I’m punctual. I get up and drag my feet a little, headed for the building where the arts and languages classes are taught. Intro to Writing. I was actually kind of looking forward to this class, but now it’s not easy to look forward to anything.

Once again, girls stop and stare like Zeke is swinging his dick around in the open. Do they recognize us from the party, or am I being paranoid? If I’m not careful, I’ll lose my mind before the first week is finished.

I wonder if anybody who notices us walking past can guess I’m living in a cage.

I wonder how long it will take before I’m finally free—if that day ever comes.