2. Dani
2
DANI
YOU WANT A FIGHT?
S unlight floods Ronald Reagan National Airport arrivals terminal, bouncing off the glass panes to cast an annoying glare over the bustling crowd. I scan the sea of travelers, feeling the cloak of responsibility on my shoulders. I wear it with pride. To be a bodyguard—to safeguard another life is an agreement signed in blood—one where their life holds a higher value than mine. The thrill, the possibility of danger, is an intoxicating rush. But my agreement to escort Xeno Voss, the billionaire butcher, comes with an added threat I hadn’t anticipated—a magnetic pull I felt the moment I laid eyes on him.
Had he baited me with the Murder Me Barbie comment… maybe?
Probably.
Definitely.
Men don’t comment on my appearance. Most avoid direct eye contact. They’re uncomfortable with a woman who looks through them. Ignores their blatant stares, the invitation to start a conversation. Outside of work, I don’t have jack shit to say to the male species. However, I can look upon a predator in his prime with vast appreciation. Don’t think I missed those large and lethal hands or the skills they possess.
But as I note possible ambush sites, mapping out a just-in-case exit strategy, I remind myself that he is a mission. And I never allow emotions—or the enticing elixir of big dick energy—to get in the way of doing the job. Ever.
I move with practiced precision through the crowd, eyes assessing for threats when Xeno strolls through the No-Entry corridor to stand directly in front of me, his pure brown eyes obscene in their perusal of my tits. Asshole.
“Mr. Voss,” is all I utter. My stars, he was lip-biting handsome on screen. Face-to-face, he’s a brand new vibrator with ten thousand five-star reviews. He is snackable. Like a Jason Momoa, minus ten years, after a flea dip and the premium pet grooming package, snackable.
His casual smile and Brioni Vanquish suit paired with a tonal open-collar dress shirt do little to mask the gravity of his alpha male pheromones on the mere humans in the vicinity. Single women stare in blatant admiration. Small children tug at their mothers’ arms, pointing at the towering giant with the bronzed skin of an Instagram fitness influencer and the muscled chest of a back alley boxer in their midst. In response, he gives a sly grin, effortlessly charming. The men, the smart ones, detect that danger has entered the territory. A few pause, breath held, praying that whoever this man is, they haven’t drawn his fury.
I’m no less impacted. When Xeno inclines his head; that gorgeous bronde mane of sable brown roots surrendering to full blond waves pushed back from his bronzed forehead, a testament to his Greek god heritage, I curl my fingers into fists. It’s not much, but it tames the urge to brush the tendrils when they sweep within a millimeter of his cheek.
“Dani, in the flesh. Very lickable flesh,” he whispers.
A shiver ghosts over my skin at the unrepentant lust in his tone. His voice is rich and deep, a dark chocolate heated by a controlled flame that makes my mouth water for a taste as it slowly melts and trails straight to my center. Between my legs, my pussy clenches three times—slot machine style—cherry one, ding— cherry two , ding— cherry three , ding . Ladies, we have a winner!
I step back, re-establishing the professional distance he breached without appearing crude. Yet, his brown eyes pinned to mine remind me he’s still a lion, not a businessman wrapped in tailored loincloth. I want to fuck him up. And suck him down.
Instead, I offer my hand. “I’ll be your protection till we reach The Governor.”
His touch is jolting, though neither of us has moved an inch. I suck in a breath, holding it as heat spreads over my skin. My nipples tingle, sensitive against my black silk blouse. As if he knows my body’s responding to his nearness, the corner of his mouth raises into a crooked grin. “Lead the way, ma cherie.”
Growling at the endearment, I extricate my hand, all the while cataloging his full brows, fuller bottom lip, and trimmed goatee. Somehow, he’s testing me. That flash of white teeth is his stamp of approval. I don’t need it.
“I think we can do business, Daniella.”
“Sounds like a metaphor.”
He narrows the distance between us yet again. The hint of expensive cologne and even more expensive distilled spirits waft from him, hitting my nostrils in a one-two punch. For the first time, I wonder if he senses the primitive mammal appeal that I have no intention of acting upon. At five feet eight, I border on model height. A man who makes me appear small has a sexual advantage.
“This is foreplay, Barbie,” he says with a straight face.
I should probably taser him with the decorative bangles I wear on each wrist. Fifty thousand volts of electric current to a nut sac screams, hell no to whatever you’re thinking, and don’t try to fuck me, in every language. Again, I rethink my plan of harming, rather than protecting my new client.
“If you value your reproductive organs, never call me Barbie again. Follow me.”
“Anywhere, Chocolate,” he rasps, lengthening his stride to match my pace.
Hmm, glad to know he recognizes my warning about his dick health as a creditable threat. I don’t joke with clients. When I give an order, there’s one option, compliance. Deciphering truth from lies is a deadly game. No one under my protection has ever met the Grim Reaper. Besides, the Barbie comparison is an insult. Ain’t a damn thang on my body plastic.
“You’re pushing it, Mr. Voss.”
He chuckles, the sound low and lust-filled. “It’s Xeno. And, how else will I know your limits?”
I look up at him, not hiding my irritation. “Serious? You saw me like once on camera,” I accuse, “all you talk about, then and now, is fucking. We ain’t friends, Mr. Voss. Protecting you doesn’t come with between-my-legs benefits.” That stops him in his tracks. Good, he needs to understand who’s in charge.
“Fucking you, specifically. My focus is singular, Dani.” he says as if that answers all my questions.
“That sounds like a, you problem. I said what I said.” The way he stands, brown eyes glued to mine, two gunslingers from the wild, wild, facing off in the center of the dusty road, neither backing down. It’s crazy.
“You mentioned the camera.”
I fold my arms. “I did.”
“You notice things about me, like fucking. I noticed you saw me covered in blood, and you, Dani, licked your lips. So, was it for the dying man or me?”
I suck in a breath at his no lies told revelation. Damn, his fine ass is infuriating already. He’s got my number. Skill recognizes skill. His lips split into a pleased grin. Why does his smile rattle a simmering need I keep under biometric lock and key? Please let me hold onto my shit. The sooner Xeno Voss is safe inside The Governor, the faster I can lower the heat level rising between me and the fuckable stranger whose thin dossier belies how dangerous this man must be, not bearing any visible scars.
If only I’d been so lucky.
Against my best judgment, I take the bait. “What’s funny?”
“There you are,” he declares in triumph, “the fuck bait who hides behind her position,” he smirks, dropping his proper English to match my zero-to-straight-up hood vibe.
“Fuck bait,” I repeat, jabbing him in the chest with a singular red-painted fingernail. Oh, he’s ‘bout to get his ass ripped. “Is this your fuck the bodyguard foreplay?”
He doesn’t get a chance to answer.
“Shush, something’s off,” I say, searching. Passengers shift, bunching together like gawkers once the police come on a crime scene. It’s human nature to seek out safety in numbers. Oneness is its own brand of vulnerability. Who or what has them intentionally invading each other’s personal space?
Xeno’s voice reaches me. “What is—”
A dull pop echoes through the terminal. My instincts kick in a split second before the first scream rips through the air.
Gunfire.
Instead of seeking cover, my client takes a step toward the danger.
"Get down!" I shout, grabbing Xeno by the arm and yanking him toward the ground. The chaotic blur of travelers diving for cover filled my peripheral vision, but my focus narrowed to the flashes of muzzle fire from the right across the terminal. Two men blocked their exit to the parking garage. A matching duo pulled weapons from the position at the ticketing counter on the left. And worse, they were closing three men advancing through the exit directly in front of me.
Damn it.
Seven men. Moving fast. Coordinated. There’s no need to waste time looking behind me; we’re outnumbered, outgunned.
I unbuttoned my suit jacket and grabbed both custom-designed ceramic Glocks from my waist holsters.
“Damn it, no sword. Give me the gun,” Xeno demands.
“Shut. Up. Keep your head down.”
I had read in his dossier he preferred sword play to guns. Sucks to be him. I release a barrage of bullets, aiming high, hopeful civilians would hit the ground, giving me a clear shot at the men in front of me. My guns stay loaded.
“Damn it, woman.”
My strategy works as planned.
Heartbeat pounding in my ears. I aim both barrels at the twelve o’clock position. Seconds is all the time I had to save lives. I need to reach outside to minimize the number of casualties or reduce the possibility of a would-be hero getting in the fucking way of my targets. The world around me sharpens, sounds and movements becoming painfully clear. I could hear the clatter of suitcases, the sharp intake of breath from panicked travels, the shouts of airport security trying to regain control.
I call out a command, activating my link to The Governor’s artificial intelligence control system via my earpiece: “House, arm all personal defense systems. GPS lock on my coordinates. Immediate evacuation.”
“Systems activated. Evacuation estimated three minutes.”
Minutes are a lifetime to die with this many guns aimed at the asset. The three in front are smart, advancing in a line, before fanning. But they didn’t anticipate my dual return fire.
One and two drop, and the third is caught by surprise. A bullet between the eyes is my gift to him.
And now there are four.
“Move now,” I yell above the deafening sirens. Xeno moves, moves away from me.
“Damn it,” I curse, watching him charge four and five in a wild bear hug, driving into their mid-section like a human football tackle sled. Both men slam into the waist-high counter, their backs cave in an unnatural bone-breaking arch, witnessed more than heard.
Then there are two. In my head, I do a mental countdown to transport. Ninety seconds and counting.
“Dani, get out of here.” The client, the one I’m contracted to protect, has turned his sights on the two men, making Swiss cheese of anyone between them and the target.
Xeno almost reaches me when I see movement from the corner of my eye. A spray of bullets tears through the air. Drywall punctures. Stone pillars crack. Posters mounted on cheap aluminum stands shred. I lunge, propelling my body through the air. Crashing is the only way to describe the impact of my curves hitting Xeno, his arms curling possessively around my waist, me shoving his body down. I feel a bullet strike. Jerking from the blast, the burn robs me of oxygen.
From behind me, a roar—that’s only to describe the bombastic quality—comes from Xeno. “No!”
As I crumple to the ground, my eyes fix on the sight of blood spreading like spilled juice across my blouse. It’s been years since I’ve seen red on my brown canvas. The AI interface tailored into my uniform starts a tangible buzz, communicating my statue to House. In response, the fibers tighten on my muscles, shrink-wrapping my limbs and acting as a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding.
"Dani!” Xeno’s voice cut through the haze.
The sting of disorientation and fucked up nostalgia evaporates in an instant. Xeno. I refocus on my pain, the great motivator. My weapon is still in hand. Sighting down the barrel, I squeeze off two shots. And then there were none.
Or not.
More men pour through the arrival doors.
Fuck. Who is the mastermind who’d outmaneuvered me? It wasn’t these men. There was no satisfaction in their eyes at having cornered their prey and his bodyguard.
“Dani. I got you.” With Xeno’s help, I regain my feet.
I teeter on the edge of failure, yet he stands at my side, holding me up.
Me, who’s underestimated Xeno Voss’s threat level on both fronts. I would’ve fucked him…eventually. If only out of curiosity to have a man like him underneath me.
Though I remain on my feet, every breath stabs deeper than a serrated blade. Six men run in our direction. My gut twists when I see the face of the man leading the assault.
It couldn’t be.
Omar.
For a split second, I freeze in disbelief, locking my limbs in place. I hear his older brother’s cold voice taunting me in my memories, reminding me of the price I’ll pay if I ever attempt to leave him. The price of my freedom was steep. Because of me, Xeno will pay a bill he doesn’t owe with his life.
Omar spots me. A diabolical grin accompanies the glee in his eyes. I’m going to die with a fuckable stranger, a brave fuckable stranger who dared me to deny the attraction between us at my side.
Xeno confronts my enemy. “I don’t know you, fucker, but X marks the knot. When I’m done, you’ll choke on your balls.”
Glass explodes. Everyone ducks, including us, Omar, and his goons. My Mercedes-Benz SUV barrels toward our location under House’s AI command interface.
“What the hell?” Xeno bellows. “This fucked up city.”
The sound of sirens and orders cuts through the chaos. Law enforcement swarms in from our left, an ant army soon to overrun the terminal. The PA system crackles, and a woman’s voice starts but stops abruptly. Static interference, deafening to the point of pain, blares through every mounted speaker.
Good.
House is disrupting communications, scrubbing security footage and passenger manifests. We have to escape. I squeeze Xeno’s waist. “Get in,” I push out.
He gestures towards the Obsidian Black Maybach GLS 600 curbing. “This you?”
I nod, the slight movement kicking off a wave of dizziness. “Ou…our ride home.”
Xeno springs into action. He presses his free hand against the chest wound above my suit jacket, trying to stem the bleeding as my eyes dart around, calculating our next move. Blood loss dulls my vision. I’m too weak to confirm what my eyes can’t deny. I had left my family behind—of birth and marriage —that life wasn’t supposed to find me here. Not now. Not when I’ve survived the hell they condemned me to.
Xeno’s face has paled, but his eyes, those deep brown eyes that will usher me into the next life, watches, a silent prayer vigil that I’m silently thankful for. I’ve done my job, and I won’t die alone. HOUSE would deliver him safely to The Governor. My breath comes in short bursts, my heart rate slows.
“Hey,” Xeno presses my chest wound harder, “wake the fuck up.”
“Ouc…O…Oh,” I pant through the pain.
“Fight that shit. Stay with me,” he mutters, his voice soft but firm.
“Crazy ass, homicidal Barbie. You’re okay,” he lies. Even as he says the words, I know it’s no guarantee.
“Not Barbie. You…Crazy asset,” I rasp.
“Oh, It’s like that. You go full black panther in the middle of baggage claim to take a bullet for an asset. Hell no. You better hang on for all the fucking to come.”
I try to laugh at the double meaning. It comes out more of a groan. He keeps talking shit, talking me back to life.
“Don’t laugh, Dani. Real talk. When you’re better, I’mma inspect between your legs like the USDA. Just ‘cause we fucking, don’t think I’m not pissed off at you. Jumping in front of a bullet for me.”
I knew I liked his eyes, but I love his voice—melodic and low but constant. Maybe because these words are breadcrumbs for my fading consciousness to hold onto, a knot tying me to a single thread, Xeno.
“Corso and Silvio ‘bout to get their fucking skulls cracked over this shit. And these man bitches who attacked can start booking the priest.”
A wave of peace flows over me. At least Xeno hadn’t taken the bullet meant for me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, as a single tear trails in between my lips. If I survive this, I’ll fuck him.