Chapter 2
TWO
WHAT PART OF NO DON’T YOU GET?
GABE
At the same time.
Somewhere in Texas.
“Hey man, can I see you for a second?” Manny, my second in command and chief operating officer of Stonegate Security Enterprises calls as I head back into the office after some time out in the field.
“Sure,” I answer as I redirect to his office. “What’s up?”
“We have a new client.” That would usually be good news but his posture and the way he’s acting means this is anything but good news. I don’t have to be one of the top recon marines to know it.
“Okay…”
“It’s Adrienne Malone,” he says.
“The baseball player?”
He laughs. He knows I don’t give a shit about sports.
I actually don’t give a shit about anything but keeping my guys alive since my wife died, and that’s probably something a shrink would have a field day with.
Since Manny decided to follow me into the private sector, I couldn’t just lay down and die or swing from my chandelier.
Just because I’m still breathing doesn’t mean I give a shit.
“The race car driver,” he corrects.
“Same thing,” I shrug my shoulders. “What does he need us for? Home security?” It’s a good guess because we run some of the best wires in private security, although our name was made in Kidnapping and Recovery and providing the occasional high-profile bodyguard…
Oh shit, no. No.
“Actually—”
I don’t give him the opportunity to keep talking. “No. No way.”
“He needs a bodyguard for his daughter, also named Adrienne, like the French spelling,” he says.
“Extra fuck no then,” I reply. “Send one of the boys.”
“He said no-go on that,” he answers. “Only the best for his only daughter.”
“Love that for him, but he’s not going to get what he wants,” I bark.
“Gabe…”
“What part of no don’t you get?”
“He wants the boss,” Manny says quietly.
“All right, then you go.”
“Are you shitting me?” His dark brows shoot sky high on his face. “Maria would fucking kill me. I didn’t make it out of Kandahar for my wife to slit my throat in my sleep.”
“And why would she want to kill you, Manny?” I ask already knowing I won’t like his answer.
“Dude, do you live under a fucking rock?” he asks.
The exasperation is evident in his tone of voice.
I just stare at him, silently asking if he’s new here.
“Right, I forgot, you do. If it doesn’t happen in the office, the field, or the gym, you don’t care.
Well, let me fill you in. Adrienne the daughter is a fucking babe.
She’s on posters in every straight man’s room from ages thirteen to seventy-five, and probably most girl’s rooms too. She’s that fucking sexy.”
“But she’s a driver?” I ask, feeling confused.
“Yes, she’s one of the best professional drivers out there and she’s got a body that could make a grown man cry,” he says, eyes wide.
“This is sounding kind of unprofessional,” I tell him, feeling itchy on the back of my neck. But the last thing I want to do is squirm in front of someone who’s known me long enough to know when something riles an emotion out of me.
“Oh, we’re going to treat her like a professional,” he says. “I’m just telling you that I can’t go because I’m married. So, you’re going.”
“I’m also married,” I tell him, and he gives me a sad look. I’m tired of the pity I see on everyone’s faces when Macy or my marriage is mentioned.
She lived, she died, and I love her.
I loved her. I don’t fucking know.
I run my palms over my face and sigh. “Fine. I’ll go, but this is bullshit.”