Chapter Two
“What do you mean you’re changing my entire detail?” I asked, my voice shrill as I stared at my mother and her chief of staff with disbelief.
They’d called me into the Oval first thing this morning, forcing me to change up my usual routine of walking Ginny before getting ready for the day.
Ginny, who was still sitting at my feet, whined up at the clear distress in my voice, tilting her curly red head as she stared up at me and I quickly reached down to give her a comforting pat.
My mother, as always, looked perfect even this early in the morning.
Athena Holloway wasn’t the type of woman that would allow even a single silvery blonde hair to be out of place in the low ponytail that her stylists had pulled it into this morning.
Nor would there be a wrinkle in the light blue suit that creased perfectly as she sat on the couch across from me with an already-tired expression.
Somewhere deep in my mind I realized she probably hadn’t gotten any sleep again. There was always some secret issue or something that she couldn’t tell me about because she was the president and I was just her daughter, but right now I didn’t really give a damn.
The detail that they were trying to switch had been mine since I was a little girl and I felt protective over them.
Especially now that Greg Brady was gone, they were all that I had left of the safety I used to feel before I was nearly kidnapped in the middle of the city two months ago.
Turning, I glared at the thin middle-aged man sitting next to my mother who had barely looked up from his phone for this entire conversation. “This is all your idea isn’t it, Arthur?”
Arthur McDaniels was my mother’s chief of staff and had been with her even when she was just a state senator. He’d also been the bane of my and my brother’s existence for just about as long.
He was pragmatic to a fault, and if I didn’t know any better, I would think he was some kind of a robot my grandfather had built by hand to support my mother’s political career straight to the White House.
The presidency or whatever office she was running for always came first to Arthur, even if it meant Carter and I fell by the wayside. Just like I was now.
“Arthur,” my mother said, cutting in to defend him just like she usually did, “Is correct and it really didn’t take much for him to convince me, Lennie. Your detail should have been switched up long before the incident happened. They were growing too lenient with you.”
I winced at her use of my childhood nickname. My mother wasn’t stupid with her use of it either. She knew how to use it to her own advantage in hopes that it would soften me up.
Besides the nickname, I couldn’t totally disagree with her words.
The memory of how Brady’s blood felt as it soaked into my dress flashed through my mind and I shook my head once, trying to banish it as far back as I could before I glanced up at my mother again.
It had been my fault that he was gone. If I hadn’t asked to change our route back to the White House maybe we would have made it back sooner and we wouldn’t have been ambushed. Agent Brady was like an affectionate older uncle, and with that came mistakes.
“So, what sort of switch up were you thinking?” I asked, finally giving in just as they both had known I would because I always gave in.
It wasn’t in my nature to disagree with my mother’s requests—not when she was doing so much day in and day out to run the country and try to keep our fractured little family together.
My mother’s expression broke into a wide smile, one of the genuine ones that she rarely ever showed these days, and she turned to Arthur who reached out to the coffee table in order to press on the intercom button.
“Cindy, go ahead and send in Onassis and his team.”
The doors to the office opened and four men entered, dressed in the typical dark suits that all Secret Service agents wore.
But that was exactly where their similarities to a typical agent ended.
The first man that entered at the head of his group was broad shouldered and clearly the one in charge because the three behind him seemed to fan out without even needing to communicate, placing themselves in a line a half-step behind him.
He had dark brown hair that was neatly combed out of his face and trimmed short on the sides. His facial hair seemed a touch too long for what was typical for the Secret Service, making him look more rugged than most agents that I passed by on the daily.
Then there were his eyes which were scanning the room as if danger was lurking somewhere behind the bespoke furniture. They were a warm brown color—the color of maple syrup or the bourbon my grandfather tended to favor.
Slightly shorter than him, the next man I looked at had shiny black hair that was actively resisting the taming he must have given it this morning.
His equally dark eyes met mine for a brief second before shifting away and I watched his pale skin flush slightly as he stared forward, a tendon in his sharp jaw ticking as he stood at attention.
Finally, my gaze turned to the two men behind them that couldn’t be anything other than brothers judging by how similar they looked.
Both had auburn colored hair that was several shades darker than your typical redhead.
They also had a pair of matching green eyes the color of clovers, further convincing me that they were related.
The one on the left was broad and tall, looking like he preferred to take out his enemies with a tackle rather than with the weapon that he most definitely carried with him everywhere.
Meanwhile, the one on the right was standing stock straight like he had a board pressed into his back as he stared straight ahead with an expression that made me think he was as unhappy with the current situation as I was.
The only movement he made was to reach up and push the black wire-framed glasses he wore back up his nose before settling back to stiff attention again.
“Are these Secret Service agents or SEAL Team Six?” I blurted out as I stared up at them in shock.
My old detail would have at least cracked a smile at my comment but all four men remained stone-faced.
“This is Maverick Onassis and his team,” Arthur said, ignoring my outburst completely as he gestured to them with a bright smile. “They worked for DSS before returning to the Secret Service to run your detail for the election.”
DSS? Why were they pulling anyone from the state department in the first place? I didn’t know the ins and outs of how security worked, but even I knew this was atypical. What about them was so special?
My mother, seeming to see the question on my face, jumped in to answer it. “They worked in high-risk areas internationally and have a lot of experience running security for targets that have the potential to be kidnapped.”
My brows rose at that.
“But you said the likelihood of what happened happening again was low.”
That was the first thing she’d told me when I woke up scared and confused in the hospital.
“And this will ensure it. These men have gotten diplomats out of hairier situations than what you were in, so I trust they can do it whatever you find yourself in too,” my mother said, not looking me in the eyes.
Turning to look at them again, I felt something shift inside of my stomach. They looked serious. Too serious for someone like me to be comfortable around.
“And how do the four of you propose that you would be better at protecting me as opposed to the people who have known me for the better part of my life?”
The main one—Maverick Onassis—finally looked me in the face for the first time since entering the office, his expression cooling at the clear challenge I had thrown in his team’s direction.
“Your old security detail, because of their attachment to you, made glaring mistakes that left you open to danger. Our goal is to get you through the election, which means sticking to the schedule and to the protocols that the Secret Service has in place to keep you safe,” he answered in a deep voice that, despite my rising irritation with the man, sent a shiver of something else down my spine.
Realization clicked in my mind as I frowned at him. Ever since they had walked in I felt almost aware of their presence even when I wasn’t actively looking at them. I only ever felt that way when a certain designation was in the room with me.
“They’re alphas,” I said out loud with disbelief as I wheeled around to face Arthur and my mother. “I thought there weren’t supposed to be any alphas on my security detail ever.”
It was one of the rules my father had insisted on when I awakened as an omega at sixteen years old—which in truth was probably a headache for my mother and her staff seeing as, statistically, most of the Secret Service was made up of those of the alpha designation.
Now they were putting four alphas in charge of my protection? It didn’t make any sense.
“They will be taking scent suppressants the entire time, and you have already been taking suppressants as a requirement for campaigning,” my mother hurried to say, seemingly surprised at my ability to tell what their designation was even without being able to smell them.
It was one of the ways she showed how out of touch she was with her own alpha side these days.
“That should be enough to keep things professional and allow them to protect you from threats during this election cycle.”
My mother had chosen to marry a beta man so she, like many alphas, underestimated an omega’s observational abilities and their awareness of everything around us.
To so many of them we were just beings meant to be sequestered away in our nests and to be protected and coddled forever, but I knew there was more value to us than that.
“Would Dad say that was enough?” I shot back, anger coursing through me at her seeming to forget one of his core rules despite only a few years passing since his death.