chapter twenty-three
------
Neighbors are outside as I park Wren’s car in the driveway. Their crossed arms and watchful eyes follow us as we get out. I sigh. This is about to get tense. “Incoming,” I mutter to Wren as we shut the doors. I’ll pull the car in later when everyone is calm.
“What?” she asks, stilling her walk.
“The neighbors.”
“Why?”
“Um, probably because of the police presence last night.”
“Oh.” She deflates.
I want to run her into the house and lock the door to avoid the confrontation with the neighbors she’s grown to like. But there would be no reasonable explanation within my job description to do so.
“Excuse me!” a voice calls from the street.
Neighbors are approaching the driveway and a Crow informs me, “Three known individuals approaching the driveway at Wren’s nest.”
“Copy,” I say irritably into the earpiece. As if I’m not staring these people down right fucking now.
Wren smiles brightly at them as she meets them at the end of the driveway. “Hi neighbors!”
“Hey, so is everything alright?” Jennifer, the mom of the two little girls, asks. Her face is smiling, but her eyes are pinched at the corners. She has her arms crossed over her chest despite the heat of the day.
“Yeah,” Wren tries for a self-deprecating tone. “Everything is fine. Just a misunderstanding.”
“One cop said it was a break in,” another neighbor says.
“Well, it was,” Wren replies.
“Then how was it a misunderstanding?”
“Um, well, they misunderstood the house to be empty,” Wren says awkwardly.
“I’ve lived here for thirty-five years and there has never been any break-ins,” an older woman says. I’ve seen her get the paper and her mail before, but I haven’t seen her interact with any other neighbors. The Crows, of course, have all of her information on file and are likely checking for any recent arrests or public social media posts as we speak.
“Oh, um, well—”
“Is this going to be a common occurrence?”
“No!” Wren insists, her hands out in a placating gesture. While I know she’s trying to soothe her angry neighbors, she needs to not put both of her wrists out for anyone to grab and control her. I pinch the fabric of her flowy tank top and tug lightly to give her the quiet message to step back.
“We’ve never had someone in the neighborhood to need their own personal security before, and we’ve never had any break-ins. You see how we’re making these connections?”
“I see.”
“Some of us have small children.”
“I know.”
“We feel unsafe.”
I step in. “Excuse me, the incident was a break in and a case of mistaken identity. I assure you, it will not be a common occurrence.”
“Mistaken identity?” Jack, the father of the two little boys, scoffs.
“Who’s identity? Hers or yours? We only know her first name and we know nothing about you!” the old woman laughs sardonically.
“All I can say now is that the situation has been dealt with. The individuals who broke in have been apprehended and it will not happen again,” I say and wheel Wren away from the angry neighbors.
“I’m sorry,” she calls back to them, tears filling her eyes, as we walk up to the house.
“There’s nothing more you could say, Wren,” I tell her as she struggles to open the door with her code. I reach over her head and punch in my code, use the scanner, and the door swings open.
Wren goes directly to the kitchen and opens a bottle of wine. I inform the Crows in the Nest of our location as I lock the door behind me. I hear the cork pop and my chest constricts. She’s a wreck emotionally and last night I… fuck. The tight feeling in my chest spreads into an ache. It had been an amazing and confusing and sexy as fuck experience. I deeply craved more from her. If it wasn’t for the security cameras, I’d have her up on the counter with my tongue between her legs. I glance up at said cameras as I enter the kitchen.
She pours me a glass and hands it to me. I’ve never been a wine guy, but something about the jammy tasting red she likes has me changing my mind. We sip in silence, but I sense that she’s deep in thought. A shallow crease is nestled in her brow. I want to smooth it away, but I know it’s best not to. My free hand curls into a fist at my side.
“The things that are supposed to keep me safe are responsible for the people around me feeling unsafe,” she says after a time. Her voice is raspy and I see tears welling on her bottom lashes.
I say nothing.
“The break in they’re talking about wasn’t even my fault!” she exclaims with a sarcastic laugh.
“It was because of me. I’m sorry,” I say and set down my wineglass. I royally fucked this up. I’m not meant to be with Wren in any capacity outside of professional and I had gotten too comfortable to see it. This house isn’t mine. This life isn’t mine. The garbage life that is mine followed me here and put her at risk. I’d been here playing fucking house with… with royalty and forgot that I was a shit covered peasant until the reek of my real life followed me. God, I am such an idiot.
“No, I’m not upset with you. It just… you have to see it from my perspective,” she says and waves off my apology.
I want to feel relieved, but the humble pie is fresh in my belly.
“Truly, I’m not mad. Think of it this way. I am considered to be unsafe in the world. Right? Accepted belief held by my dad. So, I get security in the form of video surveillance, panic rooms, and a Viking warrior who can’t process cheese and plays video games—”
“Hey!”
“And that security brings the threat to my doorstep.”
“Accidentally.”
“Right, but more than would have been there without you.”
“You can’t say that for sure. If you were here unprotected, who knows what you’d face?”
“Jay, you clearly drank the Kool-Aid at the orientation meeting for this position,” she scoffs.
“It was Earl Gray Tea. Hawk’s favorite.”
“Low key, if you ever need anything from him, brink him a sugar free vanilla London Fog,” she says fondly and shakes her head. “But do you see what I’m saying?”
“Sort of. I think. You believe you’d be safer without protection?” She’s wrong, of course.
“Not necessarily. Sometimes I think that. But is my safety more important than the safety of the people around me?” She asks and drains her wine. “Is my safety more important than my happiness?”
I consider her words. Her father would easily answer that to him her safety is more important than anyone else’s and he has the financial means to make it happen. Maybe tucked away in the city, Mr. Taylor could get away with the security when her life was lived within his reach. But here, where everything is expected to be peaceful and safe, it certainly brings attention.
“It feels like I’m always going to be left outside of any meaningful relationships. Not just romantic, but like, friends and good neighbors.”
“You have Gemma.”
“Yeah, but her life is fucked up, too. Neither of us will ever have normal. And that’s what I want. Normal .”
“What do you think would fix it?” I ask, knowing there’s almost nothing that I can do to help her.
“I wonder—not for the first time, remember all the bullying—if not having a bodyguard would allow me to have a more normal life. If I was just more aware of my surroundings and able to take care of myself, I could have normal relationships,” she says, but doesn’t look at me at the end.
Since the break in, she’s had a hard time separating from me. I find her actions to be the opposite of her words. If she doesn’t want a bodyguard, then why the attachment? Is it possible that she just wants… me ? Or, rather, her vague idea of who she thinks I am.
“Is that why you learned to shoot and take taekwondo?”
“Yes.”
“So fire me.”
“What?”
“Fire me.”
“You know I can’t do that,” she laughs.
“Why not?”
“Because I haven’t punished you yet. I promised you, earlier.”
“Punished me?” My gut twists in a way I’m not entirely sure is fear.
“Yeah, you got a guy to break into my house and got my neighbors mad at me,” she says with a pout but a devious twinkle in her eyes.
“I am truly, deeply, sorry for that. Had I known—" I break off with a sigh and hang my head. Guilt still eats at my guts.
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me how fucking sorry you are.” She leans across the kitchen island and her gaze narrows on me.
“How?” That feeling I pretended was fear is actually excitement. Arousal. I lean across the island to be almost nose to nose with her. Remembering how she dominated our encounter last time has my cock eagerly springing to attention. Her control and domination is hesitant, clumsy. But the desire is there and I’m intensely interested in the development.
I know what she wanted from her little ex boyfriends. I know she wanted it rough, and they wouldn’t or couldn’t give it to her. But I also know she craves control and for someone to take care of her at the same time. Apparently, what I need is a tiny ass woman who thinks she can boss me around until it’s my turn to lose control.
“Take off your clothes,” she whispers.