Chapter 10
KRUK
The male approaches through the grapevines with the overconfident swagger of someone who believes they have already won. I catalogue the threat level automatically: soft hands, poor posture, zero combat training. Annoying but negligible.
Still. He is holding evidence. Evidence that could hurt Colletta.
That makes him dangerous in a way my fists cannot solve.
"Stay behind me," I tell her quietly, though she has not moved from where her hand still rests against my chest. I can feel her pulse through her palm, rabbit-quick and frantic.
Derek waves the printed paper like a banner of conquest. "Bodyguard.
Event security. Intimate protection detail.
" He reads from the page, his voice dripping with theatrical glee.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice how fake you two were?
The way she flinches every time you touch her, like she's surprised you're allowed?
The way you look at her like she's a mission objective instead of a girlfriend? "
The accusation lands crooked. I do look at her like a mission objective. Objectives must be protected, secured, kept safe from all threats. This seems reasonable.
But I also look at her the way a drowning man looks at air.
"The contract was clear," I say, my voice level, tactical. Giving nothing away. "Colletta required protection services for a social engagement. I provided those services."
"Oh, so you admit it!" Derek's grin widens, shark-like and vicious. He angles his phone to capture us both in the frame. "This is perfect. Wait until Monica finds out her sister hired some muscle-bound freak to pretend to be her boyfriend. That'll definitely make the toast memorable."
Colletta makes a small sound behind me, wounded and scared. The noise triggers something primal in me, something that wants to break Derek's recording hand in three places and feed him his phone one shattered piece at a time.
I breathe through it. Channel the rage into something useful.
"What do you want?" I ask, though I already know. Predators like this always want the same thing: power over someone who hurt their pride.
Derek's expression shifts, becomes calculating, cruel. "I want Colletta gone. I want her to pack her shit and leave this wedding before tomorrow's ceremony. Let Monica have one day without her embarrassing little sister making it about herself."
"Fuck you, Derek." Colletta's voice shakes but holds, fury threading through the fear. She steps out from behind me, chin lifted despite the way her hands tremble at her sides. "Monica invited me. This is her wedding, not yours."
"Yeah, but I'm the Best Man, sweetheart.
" He says it with such smug satisfaction that my vision briefly tints red around the edges.
"And Monica cares what I think. So when I tell her you hired some random orc bodyguard off Craigslist to play pretend because you couldn't handle seeing me happy, she's going to be humiliated.
The whole family will be talking about it for years. "
"Then tell her," I say, the words coming out harder than I intend, each one a stone thrown with precision. "Explain the contract. Make your accusation."
Derek blinks, clearly not expecting this. "What?"
"The mission parameters included social escort services and protective detail.
" I take a deliberate step forward, using my size the way I have been trained, watching Derek's bravado flicker as he has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.
"There is no deception in that. Colletta hired professional services.
She paid the agreed rate. The contract was fulfilled according to terms."
"You're seriously going to stand there and pretend this is normal?" Derek sputters, backpedaling slightly. "You're a fake boyfriend. Everyone will laugh at her."
"Perhaps," I acknowledge, voice dropping lower, quieter, the tone I use before combat when I want my opponent to understand exactly how outmatched they are.
"Or perhaps they will ask why you spent your time investigating Colletta's personal life instead of supporting your friend's wedding.
Why did you feel so threatened by her happiness that you needed to sabotage it. "
His face flushes an ugly shade of crimson. "I'm not threatened by—"
"You are." I let the truth sit between us, blunt and immovable. "You are threatened because she replaced you. Upgraded. And now you cannot tolerate the evidence of your own inadequacy."
For a moment I think he might actually take a swing at me. His fists clench, his body coils with impotent rage. I almost hope he tries. The contract technically allows defensive action.
But Colletta's hand grabs my arm, her fingers digging into the muscle with surprising strength.
"Kruk. Stop." Her voice cracks on my name. "Just... stop."
I look down at her, confused by the plea in her eyes, the way her face has gone pale beneath the sunset's glow.
"Derek's right," she whispers, and the words feel like a blade slipping between my ribs, precise and devastating.
"If Monica finds out I lied to her about.
.. about having a neurosurgeon boyfriend, about having any of this together.
.. it'll ruin her day. She'll spend her wedding worrying about me instead of celebrating, and I can't... I can't do that to her. "
"You did nothing wrong. The contract was legitimate. Your choice to hire protection services does not diminish—"
"I hired a fake boyfriend because I couldn't face my ex alone!" The confession bursts out of her, raw and painful. "That's pathetic, Kruk. That's the definition of pathetic. And Derek's going to make sure everyone knows it unless I leave, so..."
She takes a shuddering breath, her eyes going glassy with unshed tears.
"You're fired."
The words hit harder than any blow I have taken in combat. Cleaner. More final.
"Colletta—"
"Go." She pulls away from me, wrapping her arms around herself like she is trying to hold her own pieces together. "Please. Just... the contract is terminated. I'll pay you for the full weekend, obviously, but I need you to go. Now."
I stand frozen, every tactical instinct screaming at me that this is wrong, that retreating leaves her vulnerable, exposed to a threat I am trained to neutralize.
But she is not asking me to neutralize Derek.
She is asking me to leave.
The mission parameters have changed. The client has terminated the contract.
I should acknowledge the order and withdraw. This is how professional engagements conclude. Clean. Transactional. No complications.
Except my chest feels like someone has carved out everything important and left only the hollow space where certainty used to live.
"Understood," I hear myself say, the word tasting like ash and defeat. "The contract is terminated."
I reach into my pocket, pull out the room key, the small piece of plastic that granted me access to the Lover's Loft with its tactically inadvisable heart-shaped bed. I place it in her palm, careful not to let my fingers brush hers, knowing that any contact will make this harder than it already is.
Derek watches with undisguised satisfaction, still filming, capturing this moment of victory for whatever petty use he has planned.
I want to break his phone. Break his face. Break every smug assumption he has ever made about what Colletta deserves.
But she has given me an order.
And I follow orders, even when they destroy me.
"Your sister's cake structural integrity should hold through tomorrow evening," I tell Colletta, focusing on practical matters because anything else will crack the discipline I am barely maintaining.
"The reinforcement beams I installed can support the full weight distribution. She will have her cake."
Colletta nods jerkily, not meeting my eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks in the fading light.
I turn to Derek. "If you harm her further," I say, very quietly, very clearly, "professionally or otherwise, you will discover that contract termination does not equal immunity from consequence."
"Is that a threat?" he sneers, though his voice wavers slightly.
"It is information," I correct. "Tactical data for your future planning."
Then I turn and walk away from her, from the vineyard, from the heart-shaped bed and the mission that became something I still do not have words for. My boots crunch against the gravel path, each step measured and controlled, the same way I have been trained to withdraw from hostile territory.
Behind me I can hear Derek's voice, muffled and triumphant, saying something about "good riddance" and "back to reality."
I do not hear Colletta's response.
I focus on the path ahead, on the parking lot where my vehicle waits, on the logistics of departure. Pack my gear. Return to my apartment. File the contract as completed, payment received, client satisfied.
Except the client is not satisfied.
And neither am I.
The hotel lobby is mostly empty when I enter, just a few wedding guests lingering by the bar, voices low and relaxed. No one looks at me twice, the large orc in the too-tight suit, moving through their world like a shadow passing through light.
The Lover's Loft feels wrong without her chaotic energy filling it. Too quiet. Too neat except for the explosion of her suitcase contents across the chair where she attempted to "organize" her outfits this morning.
I pack methodically, folding each garment with military precision, placing my gear back into the tactical duffel I brought. My loincloths. My backup boots. The concealed weapons I did not mention in the contract terms.
The tuxedo t-shirt goes on top, the one she said made me look "like a bouncer at the world's saddest prom" before dissolving into that nervous laughter that makes her whole face light up.
I seal the bag.
The room key sits on the nightstand where I left it.
I should take it to the front desk, inform them of the early departure, and settle any outstanding charges.