Chapter One
Zion
"Ineed a favor."
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to figure out a polite way to tell the hulking, silver-haired billionaire sitting across from my antique desk that we're not doing security for his sex club again. The one and only time my brothers and I agreed to that bullshit, we spent half the night fending off horny clubgoers. It wasn't a fun time for any of us. I'm allergic to latex. I had hives in places that a man just shouldn't have hives.
"No disrespect, but last time we did security for you, some old lady with a riding crop slipped her number in my pocket and tried to grab my ass," I tell Madden Banks, deciding the direct route is best.
"It wasn't that bad," he says.
I stare at him levelly. "She was in her seventies, Madden."
"I don't judge." He shrugs, unperturbed. The fucker would be. God only knows what he's seen in his club. The one night I spent inside doing security guard duty was certainly fucking educational.
I did not know there were so many uses for a goddamn butt plug.
"She said I'd make a good pet."
He cracks a smile. "Lula Banks is harmless. She's a bored, rich old lady with a particular taste. You fit the bill."
"What the fuck is her bill? Unwilling and terrified?" I was both, looking at her with that riding crop. Until a hail of bullets ended that chapter of my life, taking half my hearing with it, I spent most of my adult life in war zones. Not a single enemy I ever faced made me want to turn tail and run for cover.
But a seventy-four-year-old in leather with a riding crop telling me I'd make a good pet? Shit. I was ready to get the fuck O-U-T. Lickety-split.
I'm not one to kink shame. More power to the old lady if she's getting her kicks at her age. God knows, I've never been laid at my age, let alone in half the ways I saw in Dionysus that night. But some things, a man will never be experienced enough to handle. Lula Banks with a riding crop is one of them.
Madden chuckles, trying to hide a smile behind his hand. "Can't say I blame you. The first time she came onto me, I damn near decided to sell the club," he mutters. "She is not subtle."
I snort my agreement.
"But I don't need you for security for the club."
"Thank God. We like you and your money well enough, but there isn't a chance in hell we're working your club again, man." To each his own, but watching people fuck like rabbits all over the place isn't high on my list of things to do again anytime soon.
Madden's smile grows. I don't know the man well, but I know him well enough to know he doesn't stand on ceremony. He shoots it straight and appreciates when it's handed back the same way. He doesn't require kid gloves and a delicate touch. Thank fuck for that.
With my asshole brothers running amok, I do more than enough sugar-coating around here. Gideon is good at talking to people. He only makes my life difficult on principle. But Zayne? I'm pretty sure that big bastard was put on this earth just to stress me out.
I'm the youngest. It's supposed to be the other way around. But Zayne is who he is, and there's no changing him. He calls it like he sees it, regardless of who the fuck he's talking to. He wouldn't know subtle if it smacked him upside his big ass head.
That may have served him in the military. It doesn't when we're trying to run a business. If it requires a softer touch, he bounces it to me or Gideon to save us all a headache.
How the hell he thinks he's going to convince Emma Cooper to give him the time of day when she's too shy to even look at him, I don't know. But he's been chasing her ass since she walked in the doors on an errand for her boss, Camila Gomes. I fully intend on enjoying every minute of the fucker's misery.
He's caused me more than enough since we opened shop four years ago.
"If you don't need us for the club, what do you need?"
"My wife's best friend needs a bodyguard."
Madden and his wife, Olive, are both big social media stars. Madden runs some kink account that keeps horny housewives drooling. Olive is a choreographer. I don't know the details of their relationship, but it was a big damn deal when the two of them got together. I couldn't scroll my fucking feed without someone talking about Mr. Dad Bod and Tiny Dancer.
"The best friend dances too?" I guess.
"Fuck no. She'll be the first to tell you she couldn't find the rhythm if her life depended on it. Let's just say Kenzie marches to the beat of her own drum."
Fuck my life. That's just what I need. Another pain in the ass client refusing to take orders or listen to reason. They hire us to do a job and then spend half the time making the job virtually impossible. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. And you can't protect someone hellbent on putting themselves in danger at every turn.
A lot of clients thrive on it. They've had a close call or two, survived, and some part of them begins to think they're invincible. They take risks they shouldn't, all in a psychotic bid to recapture the adrenaline rush that comes with feeling as if they're untouchable.
They aren't. I'm a walking, talking example of what flying too close to the sun can do to a person. But far too often, they need to learn it the hard way for reality to sink in. Until they're knocked on their ass because they got a little too cocky, there's no getting through to them.
I was just like them until my world blew up in Syria five years ago. You couldn't tell me anything. I knew it all. And that arrogance damn near got me killed. It's the reason I'll wear a hearing aid for the rest of my life.
"What's the situation?" I ask, already knowing I won't turn Madden down, even if this chick is a pain in the ass. Call me old-fashioned hell, call me a sucker if you want but I've got a thing about a woman in trouble. I can't say no. Ma would kick my ass if I even thought about it. And if Lula Banks with a riding crop is scary, Ma with an axe to grind is downright terrifying.
"When Olive and I got married, Kenzie got swept along for the ride. I don't think she intended to become Insta-famous, but it happened anyway since she's always with my wife." He grimaces as if he feels bad about it. "She's been doing some modeling for the last year."
"She has a stalker."
"Ex-partner who thinks she owes him more than she's willing to give," Madden says with a dark scowl. "She was partners with this talent scout fucker for a while. She handled social media management for some of his clients. Now that she's got her own thing going on, he's become a pushy son of a bitch. He thinks he made her or some bullshit. He wants his cut."
I snatch up a pen to jot a few quick notes. "What's his name?"
"Lyle Taggert."
I arch a brow. Lyle Taggert is a well-known talent scout in the area. He's also a prick. The bastard thinks he can bully whoever he wants because he's made a few bucks and a few friends. Sounds like he's decided to try the same thing with this girl.
"Judging by the look on your face, you already know why I'm sitting in front of you."
"He has a reputation."
"That's one way of putting it." Madden leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. "The motherfucker is about as slimy as they come. I wouldn't put anything past him. He's already followed her home once."
"You want twenty-four-seven protection?"
"She rides hard for my wife. We're riding hard for her. We want you on her until he's handled."
"You handling him?"
Madden jerks his chin in a nod. "I've got people working on it. Shouldn't take more than a few days to dig up enough dirt to bury him under a nice little landslide of consequences."
"I'll call my brothers and get one of them on it." I pause, eyeing him across the desk. "She going to be pissed when we show up on her doorstep?"
"Shit, probably," he laughs loudly. "She's independent, likes to think she can handle everything herself. She'll probably be mad as hell when you show up at her door. But she'll be mad as hell at me, so at least there's that."
I grunt, knowing damn well it doesn't work that way. Doesn't matter who hires us on their behalf. They're always pissed at us when we show up to invade their lives without their input. We're convenient targets when lashing out at the universe isn't really a feasible option.
"Do me a favor?"
"Whatever you need."
"At least warn her that you hired us. Listening to my brothers bitch for the next few days when she throws a holy fucking fit is a headache I don't want."
Madden laughs like he thinks I'm joking, but I'm not. I really, really don't want to listen to them bitch for three days straight. A motherfucker can only turn his hearing aid off so many times before he gets caught.
"What are you doing?"
"Stalking Emma," Zayne answers without hesitation.
Jesus Christ.
"Why do I bother asking you questions when I know damn well you're going to tell me the truth?" I mutter into the phone, truly mystified why I do this to myself. It never ends well for me. "I refuse to be your accomplice, motherfucker."
"Don't worry, I'm not doing anything illegal."
"Except stalking," Gideon says.
"Fucking hell. You roped Gideon into helping you?" I growl, stomping in circles around my office. "What the fuck, Zayne?"
"I'm not helping him. I'm just enjoying the shitshow."
"Uh, fuck both of you," Zayne protests. "This isn't a shitshow. I don't need help. And it's only illegal if the stalking is unwanted."
"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."
Zayne has lost his ever-loving mind. Actually, I'm not sure he had one to begin with. But he's completely gone around the bend over Emma. It's fucking me up a little. I've never seen him like this. Hell, I've never even seen the man date.
Not that I have room to talk. I went into the military straight out of high school, and then came home broken five years ago. We started Carmichael Security the following year. I keep telling myself I'll get around to it eventually, but the truth is that I'm a fucking coward. The thought of jumping into the dating pool with hearing aids and scars all up and down my body isn't appealing to me.
"Hasn't she shot you down every time you've asked her out?" I ask Zayne, trying to reel him in before his big ass ends up in a jail cell, enjoying the three hots and a cot lifestyle. "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 viewing pleasure." What? If he's going to lose his mind, it's my goddamn duty to ensure I have front row tickets to the shitshow.
Huh. Maybe Gideon is on to something.
"I'm not going to get caught. 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," I suggest, though I'm fairly sure she does, in fact, like him. She had damn hearts in her eyes the day they met in the office. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a Hallmark movie.
"Plausible," Gideon agrees, making me grin.
"Does anyone like him? Or do we just tolerate him because Ma said we have to at least pretend we like him?"
"B. The answer is B."
Zayne completely ignores us, taking all the fun out of giving him shit.
"I called to tell you that you have a new client," I say after a moment.
"Can't take it. Busy."
I make a note to add a new rule to the employee handbook. Stalking the woman who keeps turning you down isn't a valid excuse for refusing to take a client. We started the handbook the day we started the company. It's mostly full of bullshit, like no cooking fish in the microwave. But it's sacrosanct. Everything goes in it. Unfortunately, if it isn't in the fucking book, it doesn't count.
"You don't even know who it is."
"Don't care. I'm busy. You're going to have to handle this one."
"She's a model."
"Don't care," Zayne says. "She could be the fucking Pope and I wouldn't care. I'm busy. You handle it."
"Fuck, fine," I growl, giving up. There's no fucking way I'm dragging him away from Emma anytime soon. Until he's got his ring on her finger or she's got a restraining order on his crazy ass, there will be no talking him down. "But I'm telling Ma you're stalking Emma."
"I'll tell her that you're the one who set her shed on fire."
"That was ten years ago." It was also an accident. I was playing with fireworks I wasn't even supposed to have. She still thinks it was set by some random arsonist. I'm not telling her any differently. She'll kick my ass.
"She loved that shed," Gideon murmurs. "She could be ninety and still be pissed."
He's right, dammit.
"Fuck. You're both assholes," I growl.
"You're welcome for the model," Zayne says before I hang up on him. The dick.
I reluctantly stomp back to my desk to look up our new client. No, my new client.
Yay for me.