Chapter 6
Bloody Royal was right. Rafe is everything and more of a hellraiser.
Unfortunately, he is the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
He’s tall, willowy, but with strong defined muscles.
His hair is bleached platinum silver, and his eyes glow like emeralds.
A green so bright I thought he wore contacts.
He looks at me, his cheekbones high and sharp, his lips plump and dark pink.
Swollen, like he’s just spent an hour on someone’s cock.
The open plan living and dining room looks like a bomb has gone off.
There are young men and women sleeping, or maybe passed out, on every sofa, and a couple girls that can’t be much past eighteen-years-old have passed out virtually naked with their limbs entwined on a white shag rug.
Empty bottles of tequila, sambuca, and vodka are strewn around the room, and shot glasses are on every surface, leaving a sticky residue.
The person I’m looking for isn’t here. Where the fuck is he?
“Rafferty!” I shout as I leave the room and head for the stairs.
My frustration has me rushing up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I want him to make his house guests disappear.
I’m sick and tired of dealing with his shit for five months now.
It’s time to kick his arse. This is what happens when kids get paid too much money.
He’s got talent; I’ll give him that, but he’s gonna end up a drug addict, a drunk, and broke when everyone in the business closes doors when his name is mentioned.
I’m being paid a ridiculous amount of money to watch for trouble and to keep him safe, but it’s hard, especially when the worst trouble is being made by himself.
I don’t even bother to knock on his door. It surprises me that he never shares his bed with anyone, but I’m always prepared for that to change at any time. I’ve seen everything and have learned not to be surprised anymore.
He’s sprawled out on the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, and again, he’s alone. “Get up,” I shout and slap his arse hard enough to make my handprint immediately appear.
“Fuck off,” the still drunken-slurred voice says. “That fucking hurt.” He rubs his arse, the perfect, high, round globe I want to bite, but of course, I refrain. He snags the cover and drags it up over his body.
I snatch the sheet and pull it off the bed, almost bringing its occupant with it. “Get out of bed and clear out the piles of bodies that seem to cover every surface of the house.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles through the hand he’s scrubbing down his face. He gets out of bed stark naked, his cock flaccid, long and thick between his legs, the pubes cut neat and short around the base, his heavy balls smooth. He’s beautiful, and everything I would choose, if I could.
He pulls on some grey sweats and a hoodie and sullenly shuffles alongside me out of his room and down the stairs. “I told them to leave. I’m sick of them scrounging off me.”
“Obviously not loud enough.” I roll my eyes as dramatically as he does. It seems to be lost on him.
“Fuck off, isn’t this the sort of shit you’re supposed to sort out?” God, his churlish, spoilt attitude is grating thin on me. I hold onto my temper; I can deal with this once the house is clear of the unwanted visitors.
Christ, if my brothers could see me now, they’d be laughing their arses off. I’m babysitting not bodyguarding. The sooner I can get this job finished the better.
When we reach the living room, Rafe comes to an abrupt stop. I can see the expression on his face turn from shock to anger. “Oi!” Damn, I think the windows rattle. “Wake up and fuck off!”
I watch as he stomps around the room, dragging people off the furniture, not caring how or where they land.
I’ve got to say, I’m kind of impressed. It’s working.
Men scrub their faces and yawn, then stumble about looking for something like shoes, their clothes, their dignity.
No, that’s lost for good. Fifteen minutes later, I close the door on the last of them.
Of course it was one of the girls, whining and clinging onto Rafe’s arm.
I’m sure she’s still stoned, but I lost all my shits to give when she tried it on me.
I turn to face Rafe to find him gone. All I can see is the back of him as he reaches the top of the stairs.
His bedroom door slams, and I guess I’m on my own again.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and call the cleaning service Rafe uses and organise a crew to come and put this place back together.
I wonder how long it will be until this all happens again.
I pull my black SUV with blacked out windows outside an exclusive nightclub in Knightsbridge.
The number of scantily clad young women wandering up the high street at two-thirty in the morning shouldn’t surprise me so much.
I guess I skipped the bar to nightclub to bar life when I joined the army at seventeen.
I have spent enough time watching and monitoring people in places just like these to know how to blend in.
Tonight, though, I’m here to collect my charge, a call from management thirty minutes ago.
Rafe is too drunk and way too mouthy, he may not be the one in a fight, but he could start it.
He wasn’t even supposed to be out tonight; he’s supposed to be resting before a weekend of gigs.
The manager approaches me as I step out of the large vehicle. “Mr Foster, good evening.”
“Good evening. Thanks for the heads up. Is he ready to leave?”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate you coming and maybe have a word with him in the morning. I’d hate to have to deny him entry.”
“Of course.” I nod and look over his shoulder as Rafe comes sauntering out.
I can tell just how drunk he is, but to a bystander, he’s holding up very well.
He opens the back passenger door and climbs in; he’ll be asleep by the time I pull away from the kerb.
I wish I knew what demons he carried around with him.
His self-destruction button is getting close to the surface.
He needs something to focus on; his life is rapidly spiralling out of control.
As soon as I switch the engine off, Rafe is up and out of the car, and with dismissive wave over his shoulder, he goes into the house.
I follow behind and start locking up the house.
By the time I make it to my room, it’s the wrong side of three-thirty.
At least Rafe is not an early riser, but we definitely have things to talk about tomorrow.
Annoyingly, I wake up at six-thirty. Some old habits are very hard to break.
There is one benefit of this job, and that’s the gym.
I pull on my running gear and wander lazily down the hallway to the large, fully equipped room.
After stretching, I hit the treadmill, setting the program to a punishing level and start running.
After ten miles, I slow the pace and walk off the burn.
I’m getting fidgety, my skin feels too tight, and however much I exercise and try to run the feeling off, I know I need to visit a club.
I need to hand over the control to someone else—a Dom.
Preferably one with a flogger and a big, fat dick.
A spark goes off in my head, a thought I would never have expected to have, but it could be the answer.
Rafe comes downstairs at half past twelve, his hair a mess and his eyes like pee-holes in the snow, only opening enough to show how bloodshot they are.
I look up from my laptop, from a stool at the huge island in the kitchen, the remnants of a chicken sandwich on a plate and a coffee cup that has been filled too many times today.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.
A shower would probably make you feel better. Plus, you stink of tequila.”
“You sound like my mother,” he mutters as he makes his way to the coffee machine. “Why do you always look so fucking perfect, not a hair out of place, even your scruff is perfectly neat. It’s weird.”
“It’s called being an adult. You should try it some time.
In fact, you need to remind me how old you are.
Because I thought only teenagers messed around and pulled stunts like the one you’ve just done.
Sneaking out to go to some posh club is just fucking dumb; you know the paparazzi just love hanging around those clubs at closing time.
Do you want your career over with due to a drugs charge?
That’s where you’re heading.” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with him.
Rafe tips his head back and blows a long stream of smoke from his lips, the Marlboro cigarette a permanent fixture between his lips or fingers.
And damn, my dick likes that look. “Chill, I didn’t get arrested.
So, no worries. Just because your life has been dull with no fun, doesn’t mean I have to do the same. ”
Anger at his flippancy, his easy dismissal of my very real concerns, along with his blatant disrespect of me and what I do for him, bubbles up inside me.
The stool squeaks as I stand up too quickly, sending it three feet back before toppling over.
I’m at his side and leaning over him, snatching the cigarette that’s now back between his lips and tossing it in the sink.
“Listen to me, you little shit. At your age, I was in a war zone, dodging fucking bullets to stay alive. I’ve seen friends and enemies killed by gun fire or bombs.
That’s about as much excitement I need for the rest of my life,” I snarl.
He has the decency to flush and look away.
“If you want to do stupid dumbass things because you think it will make people like you more, then do them, but do them with me behind you. Your manager told me you needed protecting. What he didn’t say was that it was from yourself.
And if you say ‘whatever’ to me, I’m out, gone, and you’ll be on your own. ”
I’ve been working with him for six months, and while he plays the joker, the life of the party for the public and the paparazzi, at home and alone, he’s different, subdued.
It’s like he has something to prove to everyone; it’s like there are two sides to him.
One of them I like, the other has me wanting to throttle him.
He has so much bottled-up energy that he needs to let out and run free when he’s being the popstar version of himself.
A thought has been building in my head for a while, one I’m cautious to mention for obvious reasons. It could get me in a ton of trouble, sacked, or so out of my depth I wouldn’t know how to stop it.
I step back, letting him straighten up and get his composure back. Yet, instead of his usual superior smirk, he’s looking shaken. “There has to be a better way for you to get that energy out of your system.”
“Well, if there is, I haven’t found it yet.” His shrug is non-committal, but I can see I’ve caught his attention.
“You’ve been seen with both women and men, but you’ve never had a date come home with you.
You always sleep alone, even when there are people throwing themselves at you.
This is probably against every rule or condition of my contract, but are you gay, bi, straight and all the women hanging off your arm have been a ruse? ”
Rafe’s beautiful green eyes widen in surprise more than shock. Then he grins. “Whoa, don’t hold back.”
“Don’t evade the question. I’m trying to help.”