Chapter 1 - Bronn
brONN
It’s an unusual house. Box-shaped rooms jut out at odd angles making it look like building blocks a child has stuck together.
The sun glints off the floor-to-ceiling windows, making me wince even behind my sunglasses.
It doesn’t look homely, the hard lines making it look uncomfortable, unwelcoming, like a fortress. I should know. I’ve been staring at it all fucking day.
A black Mercedes waits on the driveway, the chauffeur as bored as I am.
But I’m good at waiting. I learned it in the Army, how to be still while remaining alert and how to spring into action when needed.
All good traits to be a security guard, which is about the only work I could find when I retired from the special forces.
Still, clients pay top dollar for ex-military, especially when you’ve been in the Green Berets.
Finally, the front door opens, and my client, Phillip Brooks, steps out.
His dark tailored suit contrasts with the sun gleaming off the white walls of the house. His wife stands in the doorway, twisting her hands nervously, looking at him with doleful eyes.
He slides an arm around her waist, and I look away as he embraces her. I feel a pang of regret. Military life never allowed me to settle down with a woman. I wonder what it’s like to have someone to say goodbye to, someone to miss you when you’re away.
He steps away, and she tugs on his sleeve, not wanting him to leave. Gently, he pries her hand off his arm and hurries down the stairs.
He stops next to me, and I get a whiff of bourbon and expensive aftershave.
“Don’t let her leave the property.”
I nod, letting him know I’ve understood his instructions.
My client explained the threat to me, the death threats he’s been getting, and his concern for his wife.
If someone had threatened my woman, I wouldn’t be fucking off and leaving her alone. But it’s not for me to judge. From what I understand, when you’re in the oil business, like my client is, threats are a part of life.
The chauffeur holds the door open for my client, and he slides into the waiting car.
There’s a wrought iron gate at the entrance to the property, and I scan the area around it, making sure there’s nothing suspect before we open the gates.
As the car circles around the drive, I catch movement on the road.
My skin prickles, and I’m instantly on high alert. A black car is driving slowly down the road, too slow to be going straight past.
I jog in front of the Merc, holding my hand out to stop them. My client ducks down in the back seat, protecting himself from whatever threat this might be.
The black car comes to a stop outside the gate. It’s got tinted windows, so I can’t see who’s inside.
Every fiber of my body is alert, my blood thumping, ready to meet the threat. I pull my piece and aim it at the car, keeping my hand steady.
The back door of the car opens, and I train my gun on whatever’s going to come out of there. I won’t be the first to fire, but if someone attacks, I won’t hesitate to shoot.
There’s the flutter of bright fabric, a flash of tanned leg, and a young woman slides out of the backseat. She’s wearing a short, floaty dress that comes halfway up her thick thighs. It dips at the front, displaying a full cleavage of soft breasts.
My mouth waters, and there’s a twitch in my pants. If this is how my clients’ enemies attack, then I’m screwed.
She can’t be a day over twenty, but my dick doesn’t seem to mind the age gap.
The woman shuts the door behind her and saunters over to the gate.
She slides her large designer glasses down her nose and peers at me over the rim, unimpressed by the gun I’ve got pointed at her.
“If this is the welcome I get, I would have stayed away.” Her voice is as pouty as her look. Sassy and sharp.
I’ve been trained to encounter all kinds of enemies but not an entitled brat with a sticky pink pout and a mane of golden hair clasping an overnight bag to her plus-sized chest.
A car door slams behind me.
“Put the gun down, Bronn.”
I slowly lower my piece, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the woman. She wraps both hands around the iron bars and leans forward rattling the gate.
“Open the gate, Daddy.”
Her voice is whiny and petulant, like an overgrown toddler. Like a spoiled brat who needs some discipline.
My client strides forward, irritation in his voice. “You’re supposed to be at college.”
The woman tears one hand off the gate and swipes at her golden hair. “It was boring.”
“Did you get kicked out?” My client’s voice is clipped, his anger not quite disguised.
The woman gives him a sweet smile.
“I wanted to be here with you instead.”
My client harumphs and pushes the code for the gate. It swings open, and the woman sashays through.
“I’ve got a business trip. You can stay here with your mother.”
“Oh, great,” mutters the woman, and even though I can’t see behind her glasses, I’m sure she’s rolling her eyes. If any kid of mine spoke about my wife like that, I’d tan their hide. But her father doesn’t react.
“Don’t give your mother any trouble,” he barks at her. “I’ll be back in ten days. You stay inside these gates and I’ll deal with you when I get back.”
The daughter does a slow twirl as if checking out her surroundings. Her eyes rest on me, and my body tenses as she looks me up and down.
“Who’s the heavy?” she asks her father as if I’m not there.
“I’m Bronn.”
Both the woman and her father look at me in surprise. To them, I’m the hired help, the silent security guard. But this brat needs to learn some respect. If her father isn’t teaching her, then I will.
She slides the sunglasses onto her head, showing off her large brown eyes. There’s a mischievous look in them as she saunters toward me.
“Hello, Bronn.”
My cock lengthens despite myself. I shift uncomfortably, clasping my hands in front of my body, hiding what’s going on in my pants.
“I’m Adrianna.”
From a distance, she was beautiful, but up close, she takes my breath away. I literally can’t breathe as I stare at her, transfixed by her dark, playful eyes.
Heat sweeps over me, and I feel unbalanced. A surge of protectiveness rushes through me, and one thought bangs into my brain.
Mine.
“Bronn’s here to protect you and your mother. Do exactly as he says and don’t do anything stupid.”
She’s so close to me I can smell her cherry-flavored lip balm and expensive floral soap.
“Oh. I’ll do exactly what you tell me to do,” she murmurs so only I can hear.
My gaze flicks to her lips, so full, so pouty—just the right size for my cock.
Then she flicks her hair and flounces up the driveway.
I am so fucked.