Chapter nine
Greyson
The Balmoral, Edinburgh
The executive car collected us from Ewan’s farm in the middle of the night.
Between the dark paint, tinted windows, and black wheels, it had vibes of the Batmobile and was no more inconspicuous than walking down the street with a flashing neon sign.
Hunter had ensured our lack of invisibility by booking Tilly and myself into The Balmoral in Edinburgh.
The chances of getting to London unseen are almost impossible now.
We pull up to the old sandstone hotel. It is huge and demands attention sitting in the center of the city.
The clock hanging high above the roof chimes for ten in the morning.
It’s been a long night since arriving at Ewan’s then finally getting here.
I’m looking forward to a warm bed and clean clothes. Hunter is meant to be arranging it all.
Tilly sits beside me, silent. She hasn’t spoken since we left the farm.
Still dressed in her makeshift outfit of oversized clothes, she looks timid and weak.
I know she isn’t. I know the woman sitting beside me has a steel core that has helped her survive the life given to her. The one she didn’t ask for.
When she kissed me in the bus shelter, I wanted nothing more than to yield to her lips.
A bodyguard doesn’t fraternize with their clients; it’s rule number one of the job.
You don’t touch the ladies whose family pay your wages.
Doing so will only bring you danger and ultimately death if the wrong man finds out.
But the way she tasted, even after the days we had before, made me want to throw everything I knew to one side, take her in my arms, and kiss her back.
Our driver turns off the car, then steps out to open Tilly’s door.
I open my own and walk around to meet her, my eyes always scanning the area for any potential threats.
Three men approach, all dressed in dark suits with white shirts.
I recognize them from London; they’re part of the Devane family’s security team.
The man in charge carries an envelope. He offers it to me then nods in greeting.
“Greyson,” he says, his tone every inch a soldier.
“Your instructions from the boss.” Tilly steps up beside me, blatantly listening to the conversation.
My comrade’s focus moves to her, and he bows politely.
“Your suite is ready on the top floor. There are essentials already in place. You won’t have to leave your room, Miss, until it’s time to leave for London.”
“Thank you,” she replies, sounding bored. She turns to me. “Come on, Greyson. We need to rest.” The man opposite me smirks, and I glare at him for his open disrespect. Her tone is that of a master calling their faithful mutt to follow them. The sad thing is, I kind of like it.
“I may have orders,” I tell her. “I’ll walk you upstairs, then deal with whatever needs to be done.”
“Okay,” she whispers, wandering off in the direction of the regal front steps.
“And my room?” I prompt the man opposite.
“It’s a suite, Sir,” he replies. “There’s a sofa for you.”
“Of course there fucking is,” I mutter, following the path Tilly just took.
Upon reaching the top floor of the hotel, there’s a long corridor decorated with highly patterned blue wall paper and white wall paneling. Every item in this place screams wealth. The people who stay here pay through the nose, and what surrounds us reflects that.
Tilly strolls along the dark red carpet in her ragtag clothes as if she was born to walk these halls. Outside her suite is another security guard dressed in black. He greets her with a nod, and then opens the door. I step in behind her.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter to myself, and she turns to face me.
“What?” she questions.
“Your uncle can be such a fucking bonehead.” She snorts in surprise with my statement. “This is not a suitable place for you to stay while there’s a contract out on your life.” Her eyes run over my face. It’s obvious she hasn’t worked out the issue.
“You’re going to need to give me a clue.”
“A wall of windows isn’t ideal.” I walk over and begin closing the floor-to-ceiling curtains.
The room is all shades of light blue and Scottish tartan.
To one side, there’s a large four posted bed draped in silk sheets.
To the other is a sofa with a duvet. My bed, obviously. “Stay away from the windows, Miss.”
“I will,” she whispers under her breath, to my shock. I never expected her to agree so easily to anything—Tilly normally likes to push back and defy any order given. “How long do we have to be here?”
“A few nights. As I said, you’ll be back in London on December 31st.”
“Hmm,” she mutters, then walks over to the closet. When she pulls the door open, I can see it’s filled with ladies’ clothes. “You’re right; my uncle does nothing by half. I have a bloody clothes boutique in here.”
I move over to what’s clearly my sleeping location.
Sitting on the arm of the adjacent chair are a fresh pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, and a jacket.
A new phone sits on top. I pick it up and switch it on before sitting down and opening the envelope I was given earlier.
Before I can read a word, my phone beeps. Hunter.
Keep your head down and bring my niece back safe.
With my energy levels at an all-time low, I do the only thing I can and send a thumbs up.
He’ll be pissed off, but I’m good enough at what I do to get away with pushing back sometimes.
My attention returns to the envelope in my hands.
When I open it, I find what I expected: a task to do while I’m here.
My boss has merchandise needing to be moved, and tomorrow I’m to ensure it happens.
He always likes to get his money’s worth.
Having me sit around The Balmoral for a few days won’t go down well with him, and I fully expected to be used while I’m here.
I glance up at Tilly. She’s stripping off her clothes, throwing each item on the floor. She ignores my presence completely, then climbs under the large feather duvet on the bed in only her underwear.
The idea of leaving her here while I go move a stolen car isn’t enjoyable. I don’t trust anyone else with her safety. I don’t trust her not to do something she shouldn’t.
After throwing the instructions on the coffee table, I lean back and close my own eyes. If these few days turn out as I expect them to, rest will need to be taken when I can.
My phone ringing startles me awake. I sit up and grab it from the table, then lift it to my ear, not bothering to check who’s calling.
“Greyson,” Damon’s voice growls down the line.
Fuck, I haven’t spoken to him since I left for Scotland.
He works beside me for Hunter, a former cop turned mafia enforcer.
He and I get on well. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but I know he has my back.
“The car is moving tonight. I need you to be at the checkpoint in an hour.”
“An hour, fuck’s sake. I’ve been trudging around the Scottish Highlands ducking bullets from the Russian mob. Can someone else not do this? I’m completely jacked.”
“No, Hunter wants you to do it. The client is…” He trails off, and I don’t need him to fill in the blanks. The man I’m delivering this car to is one of Hunter’s best customers, so with me doing it, he’s giving it the best chance of going through with no disruptions. “There’s a bonus in it.”
“I’ll be there,” I concede, spurred with the knowledge that by doing the job I’ll be topping up my escape fund further. It’s worth it.
After disconnecting, I look up to see Tilly sitting on the bed staring at me.
Her dirty blonde hair is ruffled around her face.
She looks exhausted. Her shoulders are bare, but the white duvet is pulled up around her breasts.
If she was mine, I’d be pinning her to the bed.
My cock hardens, excited by the idea. But she isn’t mine, and I need to get this stupidity under control.
Not only is developing lust for this woman dangerous for me, but also for her. I need to have my mind on the job at all times. Her life is in danger. If I’m too busy looking at her ass that won’t happen, because all I’ll be thinking about is sliding my dick between her pert cheeks.
“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice hoarse. She coughs a little, a delicate hand lifting to her lips.
“I have an errand to run for your uncle, but I’ll be back.”
Still dressed, I stand and move to leave. She wriggles beneath the sheets, uneasy. When I look at the white silk, I see stains from the dirt that was on her skin when she climbed in to bed. Her cheeks flush, taking in the same thing I have. I stop and walk over, then sit down.
“Sleep was more important than washing,” I say supportively. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. You have a shower, get some fresh clothes on, and when I return, we can sort something to eat.” She nods but doesn’t speak. “I’ll get housekeeping to change the sheets so you have a clean bed for tonight.”
Not waiting for a response, I get up and leave.