Chapter 1
Five months later
T he eight-foot-tall monogrammed wrought iron gates swing open and I pull through, slowly climbing up the winding driveway bordered on both sides by dense woods.
Finally cresting the hill, the mansion comes into view, along with the lavish grounds around it. The driveway breaks off into three separate paths, left, right, or straight through two identical-looking hedge mazes.
“This is fucking insane,” I mutter under my breath.
There’re no signs telling me which I should take, but since the house is where the interview is being held, I decide to go straight.
Past the mazes, I find a helipad. Automatically, I seek out the accompanying helicopter. Ever since Hide and Keep, I can’t help but look over every helicopter for clues. Five months of wondering if that’s where my butterfly disappeared to, into the helicopter that flew directly above us, ruining what was shaping up to be one of the most memorable nights of my life. She was there, right in the palms of my hands, but I took my eyes off her for a second, one fucking second, and she slipped out of my grasp. I didn’t get a name, a number, a single way to find her…except the helicopter she may or may not have left in.
It’s probably just wishful thinking.
It’s not wishful thinking. It’s worse. It’s delusion.
Private helicopters are common in this type of neighborhood, so the chances of someone living like this going for someone like me is ludicrous, outlandish, so beyond comprehension, I should stop. Stop looking, stop hoping, stop wasting my goddamn time.
There’s also the fact that I didn’t see her leave in it. She could’ve left with anybody, at any time. With her inquisitive gaze, soft yet demanding touch, and bold-as-all-hell kiss, my butterfly was…enchanting.
But she isn’t actually mine. Even if for a brief few moments, it felt like she was. Whoever she was.
No helicopter in sight, I focus on the mansion before me. It’s as tall as it is pretentious. The massive, detached garage off to the side hides two more buildings only seen from aerial footage I pulled off the internet during my research for today’s interview. One is a pool house with what appeared to be an indoor/outdoor pool, but the other was harder to identify. Definitely too small to be another garage, even for motorcycles.
Those two other parts of the driveway lead here, too, obviously wrapping around the mazes’ outer perimeters, so I park my Bronco in front of the stairs leading up to the front door, not entirely sure I’m supposed to but not knowing where else I should. There aren’t any fucking signs. Do they not get guests very often? This property is way too big not to have signage for first-time visitors.
While I’m taking stock of the front of the Georgian-style stone house, and struggling to find a single security camera, a man who is older—but not the man who founded the most well-known motorcycle company in history—comes down to greet me.
“Mr. Brantley, I presume?”
Instinctively, I pull my baseball hat a little lower over my face.
“You can call me Crue.”
Ignoring my request, the man asks, “Mr. Brantley, is there anything I can get you after the long drive? A refreshment perhaps?”
I give him my full attention again and a more thorough once-over. He may not be the homeowner but he’s acclimated to this lifestyle in his time working here. Although the drive here wasn’t long in distance, this area feels a world away from the one I live in.
“No, thank you. Is my car good here or should I move it?”
“Leave the keys in it and one of the techs will park it for you.”
Techs. They have technicians onsite.
As soon as I drop my keys on the driver’s seat, he tells me, “If you’re ready, Mr. Munreaux will see you now.”
“Mr. Munreaux is already here?”
He cocks his head. “Yes.”
“I just thought…” I glance behind me at the helipad with the giant M in the middle of it. Facing forward, I say, “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Mr. Munreaux’s valet. Now, if you’d—”
“But what’s your name?”
After a brief hesitation, he says, “Edwin, sir.”
“Nice to meet you, Edwin.” I hold a hand out to him that he eventually takes with one of his.
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
“I was kinda hoping I’d get to see Mr. Munreaux land his helicopter.”
Edwin’s gaze barely sweeps over the monogrammed slab of concrete, saying, “Private aviation contributes to the current global crisis.”
“So do motorcycles.” And his boss mass produces those.
With a raise of a wiry eyebrow, he says, “For the time being,” but doesn’t elaborate.
I gesture for him to lead the way, then follow him up the staircase that has a motorcycle statue on each side, into the cavernous foyer with two-story-high cathedral ceilings, and through a hallway to a solid, probably hand-carved, door. He knocks once before announcing my name.
At a voice on the other side replying with, “Enter,” he opens the door to let me in.
The first thing I see is a fireplace I could step inside of without needing to bend down. It’s gotta be at least eight feet tall. Next to it is a painting of the man who definitely founded the most well-known motorcycle company in history. He even posed on one for the portrait so there’s no fucking confusion.
“What was the delay?”
My eyebrows plummet as I turn to face Arthur Munreaux. “Delay?”
“You’re a minute late,” Arthur informs me, his eyes noticeably narrowing on my face, on my scar.
I dip my head just enough that I can still see him while hopefully casting shadows over the top third of my face with my hat’s bill.
“Mr. Brantley was inquiring about your helicopter , sir.”
Arthur frowns at his valet, then me. “Helicopters are terrible for the environment, and we’re moving toward a cleaner, greener world, aren’t we?”
There’s an unmistakable bite to his tone that leads me to believe he’s not entirely happy about the progression.
I’m just about to mention the plan his company announced back in November to roll out an electric motorcycle but has yet to produce when Edwin speaks up, saying, “Yes, sir. Sooner than anticipated.”
Arthur smirks. “Much sooner.”
“If that’s all, sir…”
Edwin waits for his boss to dismiss him, giving a half-bow before leaving us alone.
“Take a seat.” Arthur gestures vaguely, so I take one of the two plush chairs in front of his desk, my back to the door.
A document I’m all too familiar with in his hand, he says, “Your résumé is…colorful. You were a straight-A student, yet didn’t further your education beyond high school.”
I don’t make a sound, waiting to see if he’ll ask why.
“It also says you have experience in martial arts and combat. Is that how you got that scar?”
“Um…” I hesitate, his directness catching me off guard. Most people focus on it while acting like they’re not. No one usually asks me about it. They don’t really have to. It’s pretty well known how I got it. “I was a wrestler,” I say, not exactly answering his question. If he doesn’t know, that’s on him for not doing his research. Or more accurately, making someone he pays do theirs.
He sets down my résumé, giving me his undivided attention.
“Any good?”
“State champ.”
“You’ve worked security at a lot of places, yet you’ve never been let go, so you jumping from job to job is your own doing…”
Finally lifting my head enough to meet his eyes directly, I tell him honestly, “I like to be challenged.”
“You’ll be challenged here. All day, every day.”
“ All day?”
Sitting forward, his gaze narrows on mine. “The position I’m looking to fill, it’s around the clock, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. From the moment you’re hired, your shift begins and you get no breaks. And I mean none.” His flattened hand makes a chopping motion. “And that’s not for everyone, especially someone with a wife and kids to go home to every night. You got any rugrats running around?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He huffs out something like a half-laugh before focusing on my scar again.
“Married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Good, because there is no going home. This will be your home for the foreseeable future. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Spotting the device on the window behind him, I add, “But if you were to make some upgrades to your home’s defense system, even just installing cameras outside, I’m not sure you’d need a full-time guard.”
Arthur sits back. “You won’t be guarding the house. You’ll be guarding my daughter.”
“So, you’re looking for a bodyguard?”
“That’s such a crude term. It implies a meathead with very little skill. I prefer executive protection agent. Someone smarter, faster, able to blend in a little easier.”
I consider his words, my head beginning to move into a shake. I’ve never done that kind of work. It sounds…public, at least more than the security jobs I’m used to. It also sounds like babysitting.
The motorcycle mogul holds up a hand. “Before you decline, let’s talk numbers. Once moved in, all living expenses will be covered, making your salary of fifty thousand a month more than sufficient.”
Fifty thousand? A month? Damn. I could do a lot with that much money.
As far as I know—as far as everyone in Sea Haven knows—Arthur Munreaux only has one daughter.
“It’d be for Ever?”
“You know her?”
“Not personally.” Luckily, I’ve never met the princess of Sea Haven. I’ve heard plenty about her though. And like I said, luckily I’ve never met her.
“So, you’ve done your homework then.”
I bob my head slowly.
Ever Munreaux, star student at the most prestigious college in this country and social media influencer for some kind of dance team bullshit. At least that’s what it showed on the only social media account I was able to find for her. She could have another private one.
“Look. I’ll cut to the chase. I need someone to start right away. Today. Now. And because it does require a bit of…let’s say…hazard pay, how about I tack on an additional five-thousand-dollar sign-on bonus if you make it past your first day?”
If I make it past the first day ? How much danger is she in?
“What exactly does your daughter need protecting from?”
Without blinking, he says, “Herself.”
I have no idea how to take that. Is she suicidal?
“She—”
The door behind me bursts open, causing Arthur’s posture to stiffen.
“Father,” I hear behind me but don’t take my eyes off Arthur just yet. Most people become more relaxed, happier, loving when they encounter their offspring. Arthur looks like he’s none of those things.
“Speak of the devil,” Arthur drawls.
The steps behind me falter for a moment before resuming. A body to my right breezes by, a faint current of honey and sunshine floating past.
“We got first place. As expected,” Ever tells her dad.
There’s a long stretch of silence, then Arthur says, “You look pleased with yourself.”
“I am—”
“Imagine how it’d feel to get first in a real sport.”
I let my gaze drift over to the back in front of me. Ever’s spine straightens, making the muscles in her back flex, her dimples of Venus visible thanks to her crop top and skintight booty shorts.
It’s a hell of a body to guard, I will say that.
“Cheerleading is a sport,” she argues.
That’s what her feed must’ve been full of—cheerleading…which is absolutely not a sport.
“Is that the uniform you competed in?”
Confused, I drag my eyes back to Arthur. His are locked on his daughter’s, the disapproval palpable.
Ever puffs out a laugh. “No, I got this after. It’s a joke.”
The tense stare-off between the two continues until Ever shakes her head and spins to leave. Spotting me, she freezes.
And unfortunately, so do I.
While her shoulder-length hair is black, her eyes are far, far from it. They’re azure.
I have dark hair and light eyes, too, but the contrast between hers is much more significant. Seeing it in photos online is striking. Seeing it in person is…different. Very, very different.
I could tell from her pictures she was pretty, but face to face, she’s absolutely fucking gorgeous. She’s also really short. Short enough to be my butterfly.
Beneath furrowed brows, that blue gaze touches every inch of my face, lingering on my—
Shit. I forgot.
I tuck my chin down, cutting off her view.
Only able to see as high as her neck now, I notice a couple hickeys there, one fainter than the other. Below that is her black crop top, so short it barely skims the bottom of her gray sports bra, with the words “I got wet” scrawled in white cursive across the chest.
I feel my expression settle into a frown. What a dumb fucking shirt. Reminds me of high school when everyone was so goddamn desperate for attention all the time, they’d embarrass the fuck out of themselves to get even a shred of it. This girl graduated though. She should be mature enough to behave better, but obviously, she’s still seeking attention. Probably always will.
Spoiled brat.
I’m not expecting her to duck down, catching my eye, but she does. She fucking does. And I…freeze. Again.
What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s not like she is…the butterfly…is she?
Our eyes locked on each other’s, she says, “What—”
“Never, meet Crue Brantley…your new executive protection agent,” Arthur announces confidently even though I didn’t accept the position and have no intention to, especially after coming face to face with Ever. There’s no way this girl isn’t out and about all the time. That’s so many people to encounter. So many gazes to avoid.
Those sea-glass eyes wince briefly before leaving mine altogether.
“You’re shitting me. Another one?”
“Don’t use that expression. It makes you sound as common as you currently look.”
Arms out at her sides, she yells, “It’s funny!”
“Do I look amused?” Arthur asks her with a chilling tone before saying, “You did this to yourself, Never.”
The first time he said it, I thought I must’ve misheard him, but now there’s no mistaking him purposely calling his daughter Never.
“You were given ample time to get your act together and conduct yourself like a Munreaux. Instead, you’ve chosen to make a mockery of my good name and I won’t have it. Not anymore. Too much is at stake, more now than ever.”
“Father, I—”
“If you’re going to act like an insolent child, you will be treated like an insolent child. If you need to be watched day and night, then you will be watched—”
“Father?”
“—day and night.”
“Ugh!” Ever spins my way again, practically spitting, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you. I’ll have you back out on the streets by the end of the night like I did the others he tried putting on me.”
“I’m not from the streets,” I say, shoving to my feet before I know what I’m doing. I don’t even attempt to hide my scar. I know she’s seen it anyway. Let her look.
Closing the gap between our bodies, she does exactly that but with an added lip snarl to say, “My bad. I get my levels of poor confused when the stench of destitution becomes unbearable.” Then she plugs her nose and pushes past me.
Fuck. You. Bitch. I may not live like the Munreauxs but I’ve never been destitute in my life.
I twist to watch her leave, those back dimples prominent as her hips sway aggressively, and conclude with absolute certainty that there’s no fucking way she’s the girl from Hide and Keep.
“Take your shirt off.”
Ever pauses at her dad’s voice, then shakes her head, sneering, “Like I don’t work out in my sports bra every day anyway.”
To keep up those abs, all eight of them, tight and toned to perfection, I’m sure she does work out every day. This girl’s in better condition than I am. She’s fucking cut .
“Not you,” Arthur says as she grabs the high-ass hemline of her shirt.
I turn to face her father, finding him looking at…me.
“As of yesterday’s competition, cheerleading’s over.”
“But we have—”
“It’s over!” Arthur finally loses his composure, shouting the last word at his daughter.
I don’t really like it, him yelling at her, even if she does deserve it, but I bite my tongue, counting down the seconds until I can leave this place. Rich people are weird as fuck and not for me.
“As is your excuse for not wearing enough clothing.” Arthur gestures to me, ordering, “Give her yours.”
Grateful I technically have on two shirts today, I start unbuttoning my flannel. What does it say about the pauper literally giving the princess the shirt off his back?
“I’m not wearing his off-brand rags.”
“Cover up or so help me, I will strap a chastity belt to you,” he warns.
Although I’ve seen this man show zero humor, I hope to God he’s just joking.
I walk my shirt over to Ever. As she goes to grab it, her nails sink into my wrist, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction—good or bad, because while she’s wanting bad, my cock thinks it feels good. Really fucking good.
Peeking up at me through thick black lashes, she juts out her bottom lip, and whispers, “I’d rather wear a chastity belt than your ugly hand-me-downs. At least then I could run your dick through it like a meatgrinder.”
I rip my arm out of her hold, those fake nails leaving angry lines in their wake, then I fit the flannel over her shoulders, making sure to button it from the top down.
When I’m on the last one, I bend down so I’m next to her ear and, grazing the inside of her bare thigh with a fingertip, whisper back, “Good luck getting it hard enough to try. I’ve put my dick in glory holes more attractive than you.”
I’m full of shit of course. Not only have I never even seen a glory hole in person, I’m currently fighting a hard-on. She was attractive before she marked me, but now… As long as she didn’t talk, I’d have no problem wetting my dick in Ever Munreaux.
Her breath tickles my ear as she says, “Quit now or when I’m finished with you, the only job you’ll be able to get is manning a glory hole…” She pulls back to look me in the eye. “…swallowing so much cum, sperm will shoot out of your tear ducts.”
The corners of my eyes itch from that graphic visual.
“That’s not how it works.”
“Whatever you say, cum fountain.”
Snapping to my full height, which is at least a foot taller than hers, I keep sperm-free eye contact with her while telling her dad, “I accept the position.”
I don’t have to be her bodyguard forever. But after the challenge Ever just laid at my feet, that five-thousand-dollar bonus is as good as mine.
One brow arched, Ever mimics a blowjob, then spins and leaves.
“Well, that went better than expected.”
Finally peeling my eyes off the doorway Ever disappeared through, I return my attention to Arthur. Did it? She threatened both my dick and my livelihood, and I can’t decide which I should be more pissed about.
“As you can see, my daughter is acting out. She’s struggling with…” His gaze drops. “…her mother’s death.”
I mumble out an apology for his loss that he shrugs off. Although no one ever really saw Alette Munreaux when she was alive, everyone heard about her tragic death. But that was several years back already.
“I’ve given her ample time to come to terms with her new reality, but her behavior continues to worsen. And while we all were a little rebellious at her age, she’s meant for more than being some frat bro’s chew toy. She’s important. Necessary. The future of Munreaux Motorcycles depends on her. Do you understand?”
I give a nod even though I don’t know what the hell the girl I just met could possibly offer Munreaux Motorcycles. If Arthur’s plan is to hand his daughter the reins one day, that day is far off. Ever’s not fit to intern at a multi-billion-dollar company right now, let alone run one.
Is there literally no one else to take over?
“Recently, she’s been on a bit of a tear. Sneaking out at all hours of the night, showing back up with fuck-marks on her neck from God knows who. Now that her little cheerleading competition is over, I fear she’ll let her studies slip and lose her exemplary academic standing as well. She only has a few weeks of classes left for her freshman year. I need her to finish her time at college strong. Your job is to ensure she does.”
She’s a freshman. That means I’ll be babysitting her for the next three years. At least. She could major in something that requires even more schooling.
I remember who we’re talking about. Three years is being generous. Ever Munreaux isn’t going for something like a doctorate.
Three years of fifty grand a month though…
It’s not forever, and it’ll give me enough money to actually do something, go somewhere, be…someone. Someone else .
“So, her education is the priority?” I question.
“Her reputation is the priority. That’s why you will be with her at all times, tirelessly working to keep what’s left of it intact. You’re…what?” He glances down at my résumé. “Twenty-five. You’re considerably younger than the other guards I tried out. So you’re close enough in age to her you should be able to think like her, and hopefully, get ahead of her to nip destructive behavior in the bud.”
“You mentioned wanting me to start today—”
“Not wanting. Needing. And you did start. You started the moment you accepted. Unfortunately, while we’ve been talking, she’s already got the jump on you.”
After tapping the screen on his computer with some sort of electronic pen, he points it at a TV mounted on the wall to his side, instantly summoning live video feed.
So, they do have one camera on the property.
The gray-and-white image on it is unmistakable—Ever flipping off the camera as she takes a left out of the driveway. In my shirt, but also…in my Bronco.
“Shit.”
“Now’s a good time to make your peace with whatever God you believe in. My daughter’s about to put you through hell.”