The Grump’s Bodyguard (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #3)

One

Thor

The purr of my motorcycle’s engine brings a broad grin to my face as I hug the curve and prepare to zoom past my friend, Christian Price. I picture the exasperated look he’ll give me behind his helmet. Lucky for me, Roxy, his wife, is riding backpack with him today, which makes him a bit more cautious and also adds more weight to his bike—not that I’d say that to her. It’s just physics.

Desmond and Holt flank my sides as we come out of the curve, and I roll the throttle, zipping past Christian and raising my hand in his direction.

“How’d you like the taste of my dust, Boss?” I ask through the comms in our helmets.

“You’re showing off again,” Christian says flatly.

“Just trying to impress the ladies.” I chuckle, enjoying the warmth of the July sun shining down on us as we leave Denver behind.

Sighs buzz through the comms from all the guys, along with Chantelle’s laughter. She was the lone lady of our friendly motorcycle group until Christian got married and Caius got engaged.

“You were impressed. Weren’t you, Chantelle?” I ask, my lips lifting into a smirk even though no one can see.

“In your dreams,” she shoots back, though I can hear the lingering laughter in her voice.

“Every night, baby.” If anyone didn’t know me, they’d think I was actually hitting on Chantelle while her fiancé, Jude Forshtay, rides backpack behind her. Still, I’m sure Jude will have something to say about me flirting with his girl once we stop.

Cai changes the subject. “Has everyone been to Red Rocks?” His fiancée, Tallulah, clings to his back as we take the winding road outside Denver toward Golden.

Everyone responds with an affirmative as I draw in a deep breath, relishing the morning ride. It’ll be much hotter by the time we reach Red Rocks for the Velvet Fret concert, but I wouldn’t trade this time with my friends. At least it won’t be as hot as the high humidity in the dead of Kuwait’s summer. Images flash through my mind, but before my heart can clench with that familiar anguish, I push the memories down and shift my attention to my friends and the beautiful landscape surrounding us.

Chantelle and Jude come up beside me. Jude’s arms are wrapped tight around her waist as he presses his body flush against her back .

A strange pain spreads through my chest. Everyone’s talking over the comms, but I don’t hear what they’re saying as the ache settles deeper.

Shaking my head, I refocus on the road.

I don’t have feelings for Chantelle. Never did. My flirting has always been harmless because Chantelle never felt that way about me either. And I most certainly am not jealous of Christian’s new marriage or Cai’s recent engagement. But . . .

Maybe I am. Just a little.

The truth is I’m a thirty-two-year-old bachelor who has barely dated in over a year. It’s been even longer since I’ve seriously dated anyone.

The last serious relationship I was in, I’d been so sure she was the one. We were even talking of marriage and starting a family of our own. Except, Felicia wanted an easy life, not marriage to an active Marine, where I’d be overseas more than stateside and where we’d move every couple of years. She definitely didn’t want a marriage to a man who would eventually be caretaker to his older brother.

Anger constricts my chest like a band tightening around me as her words float through my mind.

“Thor, I love Gunner, but we’ll be living our own life. He’ll have to be . . . put in a home or something.”

My fists clench tighter on the handlebars. As if I would ever let a woman come before taking care of my brother who has Down syndrome.

Even if that same brother decided he was going to put an entire tub of whipped cream in my helmet last week. A smile tugs at my lips, and the tightness in my chest loosens. Gunner loves filming my reactions to his random pranks and then forcing me to help him post them online. Not that it takes much for me to do it. He’s got me wrapped around his finger, and he knows it.

He’s the best big brother, and as long as I’m still kicking, he’ll be with me. Not some home. I am his home.

It isn’t long before my friends have driven ahead of me. Is that how the rest of my life will be? Everyone passing me by. Finding love. Starting families.

I heave a sigh, forgetting the comms are on.

“Everything okay back there?” Holt asks, glancing over his shoulder briefly. He, Des, and I are the only single members of our little group now. The others have found their better halves and expanded our group from six to nine. Though their significant others don’t always ride with us, it’s still changed the vibe of the group. Not necessarily in a bad way. It’s just . . . different.

“Yup.” No way am I telling them what’s actually going on in my mind.

The rest of the trip is peaceful with a few comments back and forth until we’re pulling into the parking lot at Lookout Mountain Park. We get off our bikes to stretch our legs, enjoying the view. Holt and Des are talking, while all the couples are circled up together, the ladies taking selfies before snapping pictures with their significant others.

I inhale deeply, resisting the urge to rub my eyes. I’ve been getting less sleep than a recruit during the Crucible. Which is next to none. It’s fine. I just need to up my coffee intake. Though how another cup added to my two pots a day will help, I’m not sure. Since I can’t get more coffee at the moment, I pull my cinnamon gum from my pocket and pop a piece in my mouth.

We hang around Lookout Mountain a while longer before hopping back on our bikes and heading to Red Rocks for the Velvet Fret concert. Christian scored us tickets last-minute—being friends with a billionaire has its perks, like getting to see your favorite indie rock band perform at the coolest amphitheater ever.

An hour later we’re inside and taking our seats. The girls have their heads bent together, chattering away. Christian slaps me on the back as he sits down between me and Roxy.

I smile. “Afraid to let me too close to your wife, Boss?”

Christian smirks. “Maybe.” His expression turns contemplative. “How are you? For real?”

“Handsome. Smart. Happy. Free.” I spread my arms wide, stretching my lips higher. “I’m doing great, man.”

His eyes narrow as he grunts and turns away. I glance around, praying Christian won’t start questioning me again.

Instinctively, my hand rises to rub the tattoos on my left arm. Semper Fi is written below a poppy and a set of dog tags with the name Lit on one and Lest We Forget on the other.

My heart constricts, and I swallow down the painful memories. No, I’ll never forget. I’m incapable of forgetting. The memories shadow me when I’m awake and haunt me as soon as I close my eyes .

And that’s another reason I haven’t been serious about dating in a while. Because behind my laughter and constant flirting, I’m just a broken man struggling to keep himself together so I can be there for my mom and brother.

I’ve begged God to take it away. To remove the memories and the pain. But so far, He hasn’t. It lingers. Like an annoying itch that can’t be scratched. Or a dull headache that hurts just enough to let you know it’s there. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe He hasn’t removed them because it’s my burden to bear for what happened. For what I did.

Finally, Velvet Fret takes the stage, and I grab a shovel, scoop up the heaping pile of bereavement, and dump it down the unmendable hole in my chest. Then I lose myself in the music.

But the ache in my chest remains.

The house lights are off when I park my bike inside the garage. I draw in a full breath, savoring this moment of quiet. It isn’t long before my fingers start tapping against my thigh as my eyes drift across the large space.

What can I work on that won’t be too loud to wake Mom and Gunner ?

My gaze lands on the handrailing. Bingo. I can stain it tonight, let it dry, and since I don’t work tomorrow, I can finish the steps for Mom.

Sliding off my bike, I hang my helmet on the handlebars and remove my leather jacket. I open the kitchen door as quietly as I can and enter the house. After a quick change out of my riding clothes into ball shorts and an old T-shirt, I head back to the garage to work, grabbing a cup of coffee on the way there. I smile. Mom’s a saint for having fresh coffee for me 24/7.

I take a long drink, blinking back exhaustion when my phone rings. Frowning, I pull it out of my pocket and see that it’s my boss, Rocky “Rock” Judson.

“What’s up, Rock?” I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder as I peel the lid off the stain.

“I’ve got a job for you.” Working for Obsidian Group Security means I’m never truly off work.

“What’s the rundown?”

“Young woman, twenty-one. Lives in Elm Hills.” He gives me more info about the threat before pausing as papers ruffle in the background. “Listen, Hammer, I’m going to be straight with you. This is a high-profile case, and they specifically asked for my best guard.”

My lips tug up. “Which is me.”

He snorts. “Yes, but it’s also a delicate case.”

“Are you saying I’m not delicate? I think I’m offended.”

A long sigh floats through the phone. “The client is hiring protection for his daughter who deals with social anxiety. ”

After dipping the paintbrush into the stain, I brush it across the railing, my brow puckering. “Should be pretty easy then. I’ll only be guarding the house if she never goes anywhere.”

“They also hired us to track the suspect and hopefully find her before she finds his daughter. Bexley is already working her magic.”

I nod to myself. Bexley is a computer wiz, and it’s pretty creepy how much info she can dig up on someone to help our guys locate them. “Makes sense. When do you want me in?”

Another long pause. “He wants you to start now.”

I drop the brush and mutter a curse under my breath. “What? Now? It’s after midnight.”

“I know. Which is why I’m calling you this late,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No.” I run a hand through my hair, resealing the stain and picking the paintbrush up. “It’s fine. Send me the address.”

“On its way. Oh, and Hammer?”

“Yeah?” I glance around the garage to make sure everything is back in place before I go change and grab my bag.

“You cannot reveal this woman’s identity to anyone. Got it?”

“Those are the rules.”

“Well, the rules apply even more to her. And you may have a fight on your hands.”

My step falters. “What does that mean?”

“Her father didn’t seem too certain that she would welcome your presence. ”

I chuckle, my shoulders relaxing. “I’ll turn on the charm. No big deal.”

“Please don’t do that. You remember the last female client you had?”

The memory makes me cringe as I rub my neck. “Yeah. That wasn—”

“Keep it professional. Okay?”

“Roger that.” He knows the last client was unhinged, and I’d kept it professional. I can’t help it that the woman thought I wanted more because I was polite, joked with her, and smiled. I wince. Okay, maybe I’d unintentionally given the wrong impression. But I like joking and making people laugh. Especially those who are in stressful situations and can use a little levity in their lives.

Rock grumbles under his breath and gives me a few more details before we hang up. I swipe to the encrypted app we use to send confidential files and find the new message he sent me. Clicking on it, I read the summary, address, and name of my client. A small smile forms on my face.

Clover Nicole Mason.

It’s an intriguing name, but when I scroll past it, I let out a low whistle.

Daughter of Grant Mason, a top Hollywood producer, and his A-list Hollywood movie star wife, Clarissa Steele.

I sigh. Great. So I’m most likely going to be babysitting an entitled brat .

I’m regretting agreeing to this assignment when Clover’s image pops up and my heart stutters.

“A gorgeous, entitled brat,” I mumble.

Dark, curly hair. An adorable nose with freckles sprinkled across and spreading over her cheeks. And the prettiest pair of violet eyes I’ve ever seen.

I swallow, close the app, and continue to my room to change before leaving Mom a note letting her know I’ll be on the job for a while.

Why do I get the feeling that keeping it professional with Clover Mason will prove to be the hardest assignment I’ve ever had?