Protection
ESTELLE
The heavy bookcase screeches loudly against the tiled floor as we drag it in front of the door. This is not how I imagined spending my evening.
As soon as the bookcase is in place, Karl starts banging on the door and rattling the doorknob.
“Open this fucking door, Elsa! You bitch!” he yells.
“Take Micah to my room,” I whisper.
She grabs his hand, his mouth stuffed with marshmallows, and leads him to my bedroom.
Once the door shuts, I go to the TV stand, find the small key I hid inside a pot, and unlock a drawer to retrieve the handgun. The small semi-automatic feels foreign in my hands, but I hold it tight anyway.
Karl keeps banging on the door, calling out for Elsa, more erratic and insistent with each passing second that he doesn’t hear an answer.
The door bangs louder, and I flinch from the more forceful sound—probably his shoulder.
Once I realize he’s trying to break down the door, I hold the gun the way they taught me at the gun range and aim, waiting and hoping Karl changes his mind.
I aim lower.
Just his leg.
Don’t kill him.
Don’t kill him.
Don’t kill him.
“If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police. You hear me? You stop this right now. Leave these people alone.” The shrill voice of Mrs. Elliot carries into my apartment.
The banging stops.
Heavy footsteps retreat, growing fainter with each step.
I hear the loud groan of the elevator doors opening.
Then silence.
I walk slowly to the door to peer through the peephole, maneuvering my head sideways through the shelves.
The hallway is empty.
My labored breaths are loud inside the small apartment. I quickly go place the gun back in the drawer, lock it, and hide the key again.
This is definitely not how I imagined spending this evening.
Sleep evades me. When morning finally comes, I already know only coffee will get me through this day. We slide the bookshelf from the door when it’s time for me to leave for work.
“I’ll use the landline and see if I can get out of town, maybe stay with a friend for a few days,” she says softly.
I shake my head.
“It’s a bad idea for you to leave right now. You should stay put until you have a real plan.”
My apartment isn’t safe for either of them, but until we have a solution, they have no other choice.
“If he comes back, call the police, Elsa,” I tell her.
She nods, but I can see the fear in her eyes.
I see the black Cadillac SUV as soon as I step outside the building. Ross parks in the exact same spot every time.
The sight of the large black car with its dark-tinted windows is a relief.
Safe.
I’m walking toward it when a large hand roughly grabs my upper arm, yanking me sideways.
“Where is she, Estelle?” Karl growls, too close to my face.
I force the fear back down and stare up into his eyes, making sure he only sees ice.
“Let me go right now,” I say.
“No chance. We’re going back inside, and you’re going to unlock the door for me.”
I yank on my arm trying to get out of his hold, but his grip tightens, so tight I know he will leave a bruise. I bite my lip to keep from crying out in pain.
“Let me go,” I say louder.
“You heard the lady, asshole. She told you to let her go.”
Ross’ voice is calm, yet hard. I turn to see him standing a few feet from us, his hand clasped around his wrist in front of him—his usual stance. His face is expressionless, bored.
Like this is a minor inconvenience for him.
“Listen, suit. This is none of your business,” he lifts his shirt so Ross can see the gun stuffed halfway into his jeans. “So go back to minding it, punk.”
Ross casually reaches inside his jacket pocket with one hand and pulls one side open with the other so Karl can see his own gun, holstered to his side.
Professional.
Bigger.
Karl tenses when he sees that Ross’ hand is already on his piece.
“Like I said, she told you to let her go, asshole.”
His hand slowly loosens around my arm, then he lets me go. I almost stumble toward Ross, who is keeping his eyes on the bastard.
“See you soon, Estelle,” he says bitterly, then walks away.
“You okay?” Ross asks, finally looking at me, his eyes running from my head to my toes.
I nod.
My heart is a mess inside my chest, and I know he can see on my face that I’m shaken.
He doesn’t say anything and goes to open the door for me. I get in, sighing in relief when it closes and I’m safe inside the car I know is bulletproof—I googled it.
It doesn’t escape my notice that almost a week ago, I sat in this exact spot, terrified and wishing I was anywhere but here.
Now all I want is for Ross to take me to Calabasas, to Carlos’ heavily guarded mansion.
I'm walking up to the huge house, mentally counting my breaths to calm my nerves, when the door opens before I get to it.
Carlos stands in the doorway, his jaw tight and eyes fierce.
Dangerous.
“Who the fuck is that man?” he asks with clenched teeth.
I blink up at him, emotions warring inside me when I finally get to see him after days.
“Estelle.”
Why does my name coming out of his mouth sound like the most beautiful name in the world?
I never thought my name was beautiful but right now I could listen to him say it a hundred times.
His face softens.
“Are you okay, little dove?”
I hate how my throat tightens and my face crumbles in front of him.
I fight the tears.
I fight the fear.
I fight.
My face is suddenly flush against a hard chest, and strong arms wrap around me. It’s a shield more than an embrace, and it’s exactly what I need.
“I almost shot him last night,” I whisper.
He tenses.
“Who is he?” he asks, his voice low.
“My sister’s boyfriend. He hurt her, so she came to my apartment with my nephew last night. He tried to break down the door.”
In this moment, I don’t care if this man in whose arms I’m shielded is a monster.
He expels a hard breath, then pulls back to look at my face.
His thumbs wipe at the tears.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “I will take care of it. Let’s go inside.”
He grabs my hand, his much larger one engulfing mine completely, and leads me into the mansion, but instead of the kitchen, he takes me to his study.
The last time I was in here was the day I signed the work contract and the NDA.
Carlos turns to me, runs a hand down the side of my face, across my jaw, then over my mouth.
I don’t want him to stop.
Ever.
And that’s when I know I’m doomed.
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