The Bodyguard

We’d fucked some shit up and left a few bodies to prove we were there and got the girl back with her family safe and sound, not a scratch and ready for the next dumb thing on her ‘get fucked up’ list. Fucking trust fund kids are a pain in the ass. No wonder tigers eat their young.

Anyway, she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut and told that shit to anyone who would listen, which in hindsight wasn’t such a bad thing for the company. Once word got around that we didn’t give a fuck, as long as we got the job done, we’ve hardly had a day of peace.

It was good for the bottom line no doubt, but sometimes the nut-job on the other end of the line needs to be left where the fuck they are. No joke, there are some fucked up individuals out there who instead of rescuing, I’m more tempted to put two in the chest and one to the head.

Those motherfuckers I don’t go after. I got ethics and shit. If you fucked your country over for a payday, I ain’t saving your ass; rot. I don’t get to choose who deserves to live; well, we’ll leave that shit alone. But I do have a say in who the fuck I waste my time saving.

I’d started the company three years ago after twelve years as a mercenary. I started out in the army, but they had too many fucking rules to suit me. They knew it and I knew it, so they put me where I could do my best and still serve my country. Behind the scenes, in the darkest cesspools of the earth, busting shit up.

So on that fateful day, I took the call. And since I was the only one free at the time, had to bite the bullet and take the job. Though fuck knows I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than shadow some airheaded Hollywood starlet who was probably going to give me hell at every turn. Been there done that! And have the skid marks on my ass to prove it.

When I'm on a job it's my rules all the way from beginning to end. I don’t fuck with my safety so if the person I’m covering can’t follow the few simple rules I set in place, they’re probably in more danger from me than whatever the hell it is they’re needing protection from.

These starlet types don't know shit about following orders. Some of them stay high as shit twenty-four seven, which fucks with their perception, and no one knows it but you. As their keeper you’ve got to keep an eye on that shit, keep their dumb asses alive and out of the tabloids. So I really wasn’t looking forward to dealing with this one. Especially after I read up on her and saw how famous she was.

She’s like the new darling of America or some shit, whatever. I barely spared her a glance while reading her portfolio. I had no interest in her looks I was more interested in what kind of help she needed. Already regretting my decision to take the job.

Apparently she had a stalker or some shit, one of those nuts that saw her face on the screen and decided that she was talking to him. It must’ve gotten really bad for them to call in the big guns, which is what I found out once I got on the job.

I have to be honest; because of my disdain for her ilk, I really didn’t pay too much attention to her the first time we met. She was just another warm body that I was there to protect, nothing more. I take my job seriously and would skin any one of my guys who step over the line.

When we’re on a job it’s professionalism all the way. Plus I had a good ten years on her and as we all know, nothing lasts in this damn town. Who the fuck has time for that? Not that I won’t break one off if I get the itch, but her ilk is just not my type. They live their lives in a fishbowl; I do better in the shadows.

Anyway, she seemed normal enough on first acquaintance. That first day I’d dealt more with her manager than her, while she sat on the couch in his office reading what I guess was a script. All I saw was a nest of messy hair piled on top of her head and reading glasses perched on her nose. She was wearing baggy sweats and a tank. Shit made no sense, you’re either hot or cold, what the fuck.

I’d left the office still in doubt as to whether or not I really wanted to do this shit, but my boys were all still tied up and none of them seemed too thrilled at the prospect of taking over for me. That’s a testament to our past dealings with her type. After the last one I needed fucking combat pay.