Chapter Four
Zayne
"What are you doing?"
"Stalking Emma."
"Why do I bother asking you questions when I know damn well you're going to tell me the truth?" Zion mutters into the phone. "I refuse to be your accomplice, motherfucker."
"Don't worry, I'm not doing anything illegal."
"Except stalking," Gideon says from beside me, peeling one eye open to look at me.
"Fucking hell. You roped Gideon into helping you?" Zion growls. "What the fuck, Zayne?"
"I'm not helping him. I'm just enjoying the shitshow."
"Uh, fuck both of you. This isn't a shitshow. I don't need help. And it's only illegal if the stalking is unwanted." I prefer to think of this as recon.
"We have got to get you a law dictionary," Gideon says around a yawn. "Stalking is stalking. It's all illegal."
"You know what I mean."
Gideon shrugs and closes his eyes again, resting his head against the windowsill. I don't think things are going well with our new client, an up-and-coming musician being stalked actually stalked by a fan. He's been in a mood all afternoon. But he's not ready to talk about whatever is on his mind, so I'm waiting him out. He'll talk when he's ready.
"Hasn't she shot you down every time you've asked her out?" Zion asks. "I'm pretty sure that puts whatever the fuck you're doing in unwanted territory."
"She takes care of her grandma and her grandma's twin sister."
"Awesome. You're going to get your ass kicked by two old women when they find out. Gideon, please record this for my posterity."
"I'm not going to get caught." I roll my eyes. "My point is that she's been turnin' me down because she's busy taking care of them."
"Or maybe she just doesn't like you."
"Plausible," Gideon agrees without even opening his eyes.
Ma really should have let me trade them for that bike I wanted from the neighbor when they were little. She wanted siblings. I wanted the bike. It was the perfect trade. Instead, Ma busted me trying to smuggle my brothers out of the house with their overnight bags. I wasn't allowed to have a bike for two years after that. And I had to keep my asshole brothers.
"Does anyone like him?" Zion asks. "Or do we just tolerate him because Ma said we have to at least pretend we like him?"
"B. The answer is B."
I ignore them, my attention focused on the colorful bungalow down the street as Emma steps out onto the front porch, wrestling with a bag of trash. It's bursting at the seams, but she hefts it as high as she can get it and hauls it down to the curb before placing it on the ground. It takes her a minute to open the garbage can and wrestle the bag inside.
By the time she gets it in there, she's panting and mumbling to herself. I smile at the sight, imagining her telling herself off for letting it get so full before she dealt with it. She may be a shy little lamb, but she's got fire in her soul.
Even dressed in fuzzy slippers and pajamas, she's fucking beautiful. I can't help but notice the little shadows under her eyes, though. She hasn't been sleeping enough. Is that because she's up late taking care of her grandmother? Does she have any help at all?
She wraps her arms around herself as if she's cold and glances around.
Shit. Does she sense me watching her?
I hunker down in my truck, hoping she doesn't notice me. Before her gaze gets to our location, though, a delivery truck rounds the corner. She turns in that direction, watching as it approaches.
The driver pulls up in front of her, obscuring my view.
"I called to tell you that you have a new client," Zion says, done talking shit about me with Gideon.
"Can't take it. Busy."
"You don't even know who it is."
"Don't care. I'm busy. You're goin' to have to handle this one."
"She's a model."
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for the truck to move. I'm like an addict when it comes to Emma. She's been turning me down for the last month straight, but every no just embeds her more deeply under my skin. Every time I see her, I'm immediately looking for another reason to put myself in her general vicinity.
"Don't care," I say to Zion again. "She could be the fucking Pope, and I wouldn't care. I'm busy. You handle it." Zion doesn't take many clients. He usually runs the day-to-day operations of the business while Gideon and I handle the client work.
He was shot and left for dead five years ago in an operation gone wrong in Syria. It fucked him up for a while, left him with some permanent hearing loss. He doesn't trust his instincts like he did once upon a time, and in this line of work, your instincts are all you've got. He's a hell of a bodyguard, but we don't push him to take clients when it stresses him the fuck out.
Unfortunately, he's the last brother standing at the moment. He's going to have to take it because Gideon is dealing with the musician, Kenna. Camila just signed Gray Larsen, a member of the Nashville Predators, to her client list, which means I'll be sorting out security for him and trying to win my girl. Zion can handle the model.
"Fuck, fine," Zion growls, clearly not thrilled. "But I'm telling Ma you're stalking Emma."
"I'll tell her that you're the one who set her shed on fire." It was an accident, but I fully intend to leave that part out of the story. He was fifteen, playing with fireworks he wasn't supposed to have. One went through the window and exploded.
"That was ten years ago."
"She loved that shed," Gideon murmurs. "She could be ninety and would still be pissed."
"Fuck. You're both assholes."
"You're welcome for the model," I say before Zion hangs up on me, making Gideon chuckle.
"He's going to snap one day, and it'll be your fault."
"I didn't hear you takin' his side."
"I like stirring the pot." Gideon shrugs, his eyes still closed.
I laugh quietly. At least he's fucking honest. He does like stirring the pot. He's been doing that shit his entire life, just to see what we do. It's quality entertainment to his big ass.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message.
I grin when I read it.
Ma: Have you convinced my future daughter-in-law to like you yet?
I'm working on it, Ma.
She's been hounding me ever since I told her about Emma. She's dying to meet her, but I'm not pushing my luck. I can barely get her to stay in one place long enough for me to see her. If I throw my family at her, she may disappear to Antarctica.
Ma: Work faster. Your brothers are never going to give me grandchildren. You're my only hope.
I chuckle, tossing my phone back in the console just as the delivery truck pulls off. I sit upright, my eyes locked on Emma again. She's staring at the box in her hands, her brows furrowed. I don't know what's in it, but her expression says she's afraid it may bite her.
She spins on her heel, heading back toward her house. "Gran!" she shouts as she marches up the sidewalk. "What in the world did you order from TikTok this time? It better not be more freeze-dried candy!"
"She's cute," Gideon says.
I shoot a withering look in his direction.
"I'm just saying, I get why you're all fucked up over her," he says, shaking his head. "Jesus. I didn't say I wanted to sleep with her."
"Try it, and they'll never find your body."
A smile ghosts across his face. "So, it's like that, huh? You're serious about marrying her?"
"Yeah." Until she wobbled her way into my life, marriage and babies had never even crossed my mind. Ma wasn't kidding when she said my brothers and I have been single too long. None of us have ever made time for dating. We've always been busy with other shit, like the military and then forming the company.
Frankly, I didn't want to make time for dating. Women complicate shit without even meaning to do it, and my life was perfect exactly the way it was. But now? Well, I'm about two seconds from losing my proverbial shit just to get this woman to agree to a date.
"What are you going to do about the fact that she won't give you the time of day?"
"Don't know," I growl. "She likes me."
"You sure about that?"
I shoot him another look, which makes him chuckle.
"Want my advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You invited me on this little criminal mission."
"Uh, no. You invited your damn self."
He flips me off. "Cut off her escape route," he suggests. "If you're in her face all the time and her back is against the wall, sooner or later, she'll have to stop running and face whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you."
That's actually not terrible advice. If I'm in her personal space all the time, sooner or later, she won't be able to deny how she really feels. She'll have to deal with it. And if forcing her to spend time with me means helping her carry a little of the burden placed squarely on her shoulders? Well, that's not a bad thing either.
I just need a plan.
Luckily for me, I know a thing or two about coming up with one of those.