Chapter 6
SIX
FENRIR
FOUR MONTHS AGO
I’m on edge, and it’s no wonder, trussed up in this fucking penguin suit. I’m used to action wear: combat trousers and heavy boots. Clothes that make you disappear into the night. This shirt and jacket feel claustrophobic.
Markus insisted that if I’m to protect Hayami at this evening’s ball, then I have to abide by the dress code, whether I like it or not. I’m pulling at the cheap cufflinks he lent me when Hayami arrives at the top of the staircase.
She looked beautiful drenched in water after I pulled her out of the pool, and in the shopping centre when she was wearing sweats and a hoodie.
But tonight, with her dark hair coiled into a pleat, claret lips, dazzling eyes, and a red figure-hugging dress with a split that stops mid-thigh, she is fucking devastating.
The only things marring this exquisite sight are the scowl on her face and the darkness that still surrounds her that only I can see.
I’m thrown by her expression. I thought a woman like Hayami would love nothing more than to attend one of these functions.
That she’d flaunt her name and her status amongst the other wealthy patrons.
But she looks as happy about this as I do.
In the two months I’ve been her bodyguard, I’ve yet to see Hayami smiling, laughing, relaxed, or laid-back, even when shopping. I’d been preparing to work with a spoiled princess, a diva of the worst kind, but slowly, I’m beginning to realise that she’s nothing of the sort.
Okay, I’ll admit, she has her moments—the snarky comments, the goading, the way she tries to bait me at every opportunity. But as the weeks have passed, I understand where this comes from and why she behaves the way she does. She’s just as caged as the rest of us.
I thought she would be a social butterfly, but she doesn’t go anywhere other than university and shopping. I’m sure this is because she isn’t allowed to go anywhere without Markus knowing in advance and the location being vetted by him before it’s approved. She’s on a very tight leash.
She also doesn’t appear to have any friends.
I’m not sure if that’s due to the restrictions or whether people don’t want to be associated with a Devall.
So, I kind of understand where the grumpiness comes from—and I’m receiving no special treatment when it comes to her temper.
I’m sure she’s still harbouring some resentment over the fact that I stopped her from killing herself.
She certainly isn’t treating me like her knight in shining armour.
Willa and Bastian are also fair game. She thinks nothing of barking at them. Willa, I think, quite enjoys the sparring, as if Hayami is her annoying younger sister.
And I won’t lie: I don’t mind the fierce Hayami—the snap of her tongue when she bites back. It’s the only time I see a spark of life from her. An energy that reminds me there’s a person in that shell.
But tonight, there’s no spark. Tonight, she looks downright terrified.
Her father approaches, and I swear she bristles as he touches the crook of her elbow and leans in. “You look stunning, princess. Good job.” He smirks.
Good job? I don’t understand his choice of words, but Hayami appears to, as her brow furrows.
“Let’s get a move on. We don’t want to be late.” Devall ushers us from the foyer.
I wait for Hayami to move, but she hesitates, stalling the inevitable. She clearly doesn’t want to attend this ball as much as I don’t, but we’re all at the mercy of her father.
Her shoulders drop as she heads towards the exit. As she passes me, I wait for a snide comment—something about a beast being dressed up in a monkey suit—but she says nothing. And somehow, that breaks me more than it should. I lose my professional self and ask her if she’s okay.
She stops and glares at me as if no one has ever asked her this question before. Just when I think she’s going to spit in my face or throw one of her witty comebacks at me, she tilts her head and says, “Do me a favour, Beast—don’t let anyone touch me tonight.” Then she walks out the front door.
I follow her to the waiting car and open the door for her to climb into the back.
Her cryptic request dances in my brain as I clock Devall getting into a car ahead.
Markus nods at me as he holds open the door.
He’d insisted the pair travel separately tonight, since tensions are rising between Devall and the Castros.
Returning Markus’s nod, I climb into the front seat—the look on Hayami’s face and her request sitting heavy in my gut.
By the time we arrive, the tension hasn’t eased.
The venue is everything I hate about the rich.
Gaudy chandeliers, designer outfits, a ballroom full of wealthy predators who prey on whatever takes their fancy.
Hayami stays close, which is unusual, but I see the looks the men give her.
See the hunger in their eyes. See the lust on their faces, the flick of their tongues as they imagine what she tastes like.
And I want to kill them all.
I hold myself together, keep my anger in check, but there’s something about this function that sets me on edge.
I’ve never been to a fancy ball, but I can imagine it’s supposed to be a social event.
People catching up on the latest business deals, boasting about their most recent luxury holiday or grand purchase.
An event for the wealthy to showcase their worth.
But this doesn’t feel like that kind of show.
The men are prowling, like hunters with guns. They aren’t here for the orchestra, or to dance the foxtrot, or sip the champagne. They appear to be here to ogle Hayami and the nine other young women in attendance.
A couple of the women are basking in the attention, but the rest mirror Hayami: startled, afraid, and deeply unnerved.
We stay on the periphery, me glaring at anyone who dares to even look at Hayami. But then one fucking jerk-off in a suit approaches, and my scowl—and scars—aren’t enough to deter him.
“May I have this dance?” he asks.
Hayami answers before I do.
“Absolutely not,” she spits, but then her father arrives from nowhere.
“Come now, Hayami, that’s not the way to speak to Mr Javier.
” His voice is slick like oil, and he turns to Javier.
“I apologise. Hayami is a little nervous this evening. I’m sure a dance will loosen her up.
” He nods at Hayami, his slippery tongue retreating as he throws her the sharpest look that screams obey or pay.
Hayami gulps, lowers her head, and takes a step towards Javier, who is positively licking his lips. He takes Hayami’s hand and leads her to the dance floor, and all I can do is watch.
The dance is never-ending. With each spin, Hayami’s eyes land on me as I track her every movement. Javier tries to talk to her, but she doesn’t appear to respond, only gazes at me as if waiting for me to throw her a lifeline.
Eventually, Devall disappears with some of his cronies, and I take my chance just as Javier’s hand lowers to cup the curve of her ass.
I cut through the crowd like a scythe, pushing the dancers apart, already making up some bullshit excuse as to why I have to intervene.
But she’s way ahead of me.
As I reach them, hand on my gun, she dips her head towards Javier’s ear and says, “I’d move your hand if I were you, before he moves it for you.” And then she looks at me, Javier following her gaze to where I loom behind him, like the Grim Reaper ready to collect what’s mine.
“You heard her,” I growl.
He smiles at me, but I see the fear as he registers my scars, wonders what battle I fought and what testament it is that I’m still standing.
Needless to say, he doesn’t ask her to dance again, and neither does anyone else.