Chapter 24
Twenty-four
Tucker
My four-thirty training group is late.
All four clients.
This is highly unusual for a mid-session group that’s been to the facility before, so it’s not like they’re all lost, and I didn’t receive any calls canceling.
Well, I turned my phone to silent mode yesterday and haven’t turned it back on due to the amount of random calls, texts, and notifications that were coming in, so I should probably check it now.
I pull my phone out and see a few messages from the clients.
Tricia with Bronson the malamute: Can’t get into your driveway, there’s security, and we don't have clearance? Can you let us in?
Dan with Roxy the Doxie: Hey, Tucker, there’s an issue on the road to your house. It’s backed up for some reason. Think we’re going to be late.
I click through the messages from the other two clients and see similar themes.
What the actual hell is going on down there?
Security? I didn’t ask for any kind of security.
Would Sheriff Cooper have assigned some off-duty officers to guard my driveway for me?
Nah, he would’ve told me and then sent the bill my way.
He’s not an altruistic guy, especially when the county would have to foot the bill otherwise.
“Hey, Rowan, I’m headed to see what’s going on down at the road. The clients say there’s some issue that’s keeping them from getting onto the property.”
Rowan’s head snaps up from where he’s working with Atlas. “I’ll come with you. The mess with the reporters has me on edge, and I don't like knowing people have been inviting themselves onto the property.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, heading for the truck with Lux on my heels.
We climb in, the dogs hopping in the bed at Rowan’s command, and trundle down the dirt lane to the main road, where I see a sleek black Cadillac Escalade blocking the exit.
As we approach, it pulls away enough for a car to get through, but I stop far enough back to give myself options.
I don’t like my road being blocked by some random vehicle with unknown motives.
It idles in my driveway. The dark-tinted windows keep me from seeing the occupants or knowing how many there are.
“You carrying?” I ask quietly.
“Always,” Rowan answers. “You?” he asks.
“Yup.”
We open our doors at the same time, cautiously exiting and keeping the truck between us and the Escalade.
The doors of the Escalade open, and two men in tight black T-shirts and cargo pants step out, looking like military operators in their ball caps and dark sunglasses.
They're even open carrying their pistols on their hips in holsters like cosplay tactical cowboys.
They walk toward us, the one in front with a beard puffing his chest out as he holds his hand up and waves.
“Mr. Covington, I’m Rob Costelleto. This is Derrick Smith.
We’re with Prime Security. Mr. Montenegro hired us to keep unwanted parties from entering your property until interest dies down and people stop attempting to trespass.
” He’s direct and to the point, like I should be so thrilled to have him blocking the way to my house with his fancy SUV and his expensive clothing from some social media brand that fanboys who never served but like to dress up and pretend they're in some overly patriotic club wear to feel cool.
I hate these kinds of macho guys, all muscled up, high on their own potential, but couldn’t do anything with it other than find a private gig that lets them play-act rather than going into a job that puts their asses on the line daily.
I look over at Rowan as his hand moves away from his hip, and his shoulders relax.
We exchange annoyed looks as we walk toward the private security guys.
Rowan’s shaking his head, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.
Posers.
“Why are you blocking my fucking driveway?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re keeping paying clients from my place of work and costing me time, money, and business.”
“Mr. Montenegro said no unauthorized persons should access the premises,” Rob says.
Oh, bless his heart. He’s clearly not used to being questioned and not smart enough to employ critical thinking skills while on the job.
“Don't you think I’d be the one to provide you with a list of authorized people if there needed to be such a thing, and all of my clients who have appointments would be on that list?” I ask, gesturing at the four cars pulled to the side of the road next to my driveway.
Rob and Derrick look over at the vehicles, where my clients wave, the dogs in the idling cars barking their heads off. The men look at each other, clearly trying to process this new information.
“Mr. Montenegro didn't give us instructions about any clients. He just said to keep out unwanted people,” Derrick, the bigger, beefier guy, says. He’s probably made up of more protein shakes than common sense, but I can forgive him for that.
He’s pretty and works hard for his physique at the very least. I digress.
No looking at the private security boys like they're meat, Tucker.
“Mr. Montenegro doesn’t own this property or have any jurisdiction in this county, so you can move along and let my clients through,” I reply with an exasperated sigh.
I’ll be having a chat with Sebastian about this.
He shouldn't be making decisions that impact my business without at least talking to me about it.
“Look, Mr. Covington, we have a job to do and were given strict instructions to protect your peace, so the media isn’t all up in your business. That’s all we’re trying to do,” Rob says, dropping the macho bullshit and getting real. There it is. He doesn't sound half as bro’d up now.
I rub my palm over my cheek and cup my chin, scratching my jaw as I think through my response and find patience so I don’t lose it on this poor dude.
It’s not his fault he was given stupid instructions and isn’t smart enough to execute them in a way that makes sense for the situation.
Sebastian is the overprotective idiot who pulled the trigger on this dumb plan for some reason, and he’s going to have to answer for it.
“You can do that without blocking my driveway and keeping my business away.” I sigh and look around. “Just pull off to the side of the driveway and don't fucking block it again, or I’ll call the Sheriff and have you removed for trespassing, you feel me?”
Rob’s eyebrows rise under his ball cap, and he quickly looks at Derrick for some sort of confirmation that he heard me, too. I’m sure they’re not used to having someone threaten to have them removed. It’s usually the other way around.
“Uh, yeah, sure, man. If that’s what you want,” Rob says, sounding put out, and a little confused.
If this is the kind of security Sebastian employs for himself and Enzo, I’m going to have a few words with him and provide the name of a firm I know that employs former military and law enforcement.
They know their stuff, and they’re legit.
I wouldn't trust these buffoons to watch a lemonade stand, let alone his kid or his property.
I watch as they climb back into the Escalade and move it completely out of the driveway. I nod at Rowan and get in the truck, turn around, and wave at the clients to follow us back to the facility.
“Can you get the class started? I need to have a conversation with Sebastian about this situation so we can make sure those idiots are gone before the next group gets here,” I say when we park.
“Yeah, of course. Good luck with that, and don't be too hard on him. That was pretty nice of the guy. I can tell he had good intentions, wanting to help you out, even if it wasn't the best way to do it. It’s plain to see he cares about you,” Rowan says, patting my shoulder as he calls for the dogs to join him.
“He has a funny way of showing it,” I say, more to myself than him, as I walk toward my house while he goes to one of the training buildings.
Once inside, I grab a bottle of water and lean against the kitchen counter.
Pulling out my phone, I debate whether to call or text Sebastian.
The team flew to Chicago today for a game, so they’re probably in between practice and getting ready for the game tonight.
He should be free, but if not, I’ll just text him to be safe.
Tucker: Why are there two dumbass security wannabees standing guard at the end of my driveway?
His reply comes quicker than I expected, and my phone is vibrating in my hand with a call a few minutes later. My heart leaps with anticipation, and I stomp down the excitement to hear his voice. I shouldn't be feeling anything other than annoyance.
“Hey,” I answer, trying to keep my tone even.
“Tucker,” he replies, voice low and growly with relief and possession.
The sound of my name does something stupid to my brain, softening my resolve more than anything can and making me melt against the cabinets.
“Yeah,” I rasp, and swallow the lump in my throat from my reaction to him.
He sighs. “I’m sorry for bringing this whole media circus to your doorstep. I asked the company I use to send a couple of guys to make sure no one gets onto your property while we’re still a hot topic. Please tell me they're not fucking things up?”
He’s given me enough time to compose myself, and I’m able to respond now without sounding like a lovesick fool. I reach for the irritation at the interruption to my day and my business because of his so-called good intentions.
“This isn’t how we handle problems out here in the woods.
We get our shotguns, a tarp, and a pig farm if we need to, not some fancy security firm of idiots blocking my driveway all day and night, keeping my paying customers away.
Your money isn’t good out here. Now, call off your guys, or I’ll get rid of them myself. ”
“Fuck, Tucker, I just want to make sure you’re safe,” Sebastian snaps, sounding like he’s pacing wherever he’s calling from.