CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAYDEN
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Tiffany and I sit shoulder to shoulder at her desk while she takes me through some of the horrendous fucking messages she gets from fans. Impressively, she’s kept a folder of them along with screenshots of certain comments on posts associated with anyone who sends a red flag.
A side effect of being the daughter of one of the biggest stars in the world growing up, I’m sure. However, there’s a big pile she hasn’t opened since the break-in.
“The police have past threats against me on file,” Tiffany says.
“Christ.” I rub a hand over my face and sit back in my chair. “How do you live like this?”
It’s an inappropriate thing to say, but it falls out of my big mouth. Every night it gets harder and harder to drive away and leave Tiffany. Even knowing the BHS guys are outside on patrol.
Having her in my arms, wanting her, and feeling this huge need to protect her is all-encompassing. I don’t want to attribute it to our chemistry, but the reality is, if she were a fifty-year-old dude, I probably wouldn’t feel the same way.
That would be weird.
Going through the fan mail, Tiffany does a running commentary I don’t need but know is valuable information.
“This is Daisy, she’s sweet. Oh, Mary-Lou from Texas. I love her notes.”
When I pick up one envelope, her mood shifts.
“Don’t open that one. Toss that one.” She says, pointing to the trash can.
“We aren’t tossing anything.” I growl. “Give me permission to open them. If there’s anything that relates to the burglary, we need to give it to LAPD as a potential lead or evidence.”
Tiffany groans, and I can see this is stressing her out. Gone is her normal, sunshiny personality, replaced with real anxiety.
I reach for her hand, and her eyes widen.
“I’ll read them. You don’t need to see it.”
Tiffany licks her lips, and while my dick reacts—it does to every move she makes—I give it a stern talking to. I don’t like seeing her distressed like this.
Her eyes...they’re darting around.
I feel my heart rate speed up and tug the collar of my shirt.
Not now, PTSD. Not fucking now.
It doesn’t always make sense when I get triggered, but seeing her so anxious, the way she’s looking at me, it's triggering.
“I need some water.” I stand, stride out of the office and down the hall.
Leaning on the kitchen counter as I down a glass of water, I stare out at the yard and draw in long breaths.
Fuck.
I feel it pass and let out a long sigh. That was close. It could have been way worse if a true panic attack had kicked in.
I turn and stare at the empty doorway.
I can’t not return, and it’s a reminder of how everyday situations can be triggering. I need to get in there and help her. That’s my job.
Tiffany needs me.
“Okay, let’s do this.” I say when I return and focus on the mail, doing what needs to be done and not her big doe eyes.
One after the other, I rip the envelopes Tiffany won’t go near open. They are sick, but nothing out of the normal for this day and age.
Until one stops me in my tracks.
The envelope is plain, the address typed as if it was put through a typewriter. The note is also typed, and at the bottom, the sender has attached a Polaroid photo.
A photo of a pair of peach-colored panties.
Fury plows through me as I read the note.
Tiffany baby,
I loved your video with the new lip gloss this week. Seeing your lips shine like that gives me a good visual of your mouth around my dick. Do you like the taste of dick?
You didn’t show up at the park last week, and that means more punishments for you. I guess you like punishment, as we are up to twenty-five now. I can’t wait to smack your cute bottom.
Jesus fucking Christ.
This guy is lucky he didn’t put a return address, or I’d be grabbing my keys and heading there now to shove my gun in his face.
It continues.
It was me who broke into your home. I came for you. Are these your panties, baby?
Your love,
Messy-Bob463
Jesus fucking Christ. You are a dead man, Messy-Bob463.
I know for a fact that the color of the panties missing was not shared with the media or public. Which means Messy-Bob463 is either grasping at straws or guilty.
I second guess myself for a moment on the color.
“The panties,” my voice is rough as I glance at Tiffany. “They were peach colored, right?”
She nods, fear draining her face. “Can I see?”
I blow out my breath, wanting to protect her.
“We need to give this one to the police.”
Tiffany holds out her hand.
“You don’t need to read it.” I shake my head, wanting to reach out and cup her face, to assure her I will hunt this motherfucker to the ends of the earth and destroy him for this.
I’m a sniper.
I’m patient.
I will sit and wait, like a snake waiting.
Then strike.
“I need to see who it is, then block him if he’s a follower,” she says, insisting.
“Wait for the police. If we scare him off, we might not find him.” I say, despite the probability of him knowing the note will trigger a search.
Not every criminal is smart.
In saying that, something doesn’t line up. A diamond thief who is a creepy fan who has expected her to meet in the park?
The cops need to see this for sure.
“Just tell me the name.”
“Messy-Bob463. Don’t block him. Don’t do anything. Promise me.” I put my hand on her thigh and squeeze to comfort her.
Then remove it.
It’s pretty clear to me now that the last thing Tiffany needs is some guy getting handsy, after seeing these notes. Christ, she probably thinks I’m a fan of her father—I am—who wants to fuck her—I do—and I’m just like the rest.
I’m not.
But I can’t give a single explanation why it’s different.
I push my chair back. “I’m going to get this to the police and a copy sent to the guys back at the BHS office.”
Tiffany stands and wraps her arms around herself. “Thanks, Jayden.”
She looks so vulnerable I wait for the PTSD to engage, but it doesn’t. I stare at her for a long moment, then quietly curse and close the gap, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.
I want to do more, but she needs my space and respect right now.
If it wasn’t clear to her before, surely after this, it is that she needs to cancel the event.
For that reason alone, I hand her the note and let her read it. Watching her face pale has my pulse racing.
Stay present, stay present.
My mouth is dry, and I fight back the memories of those women, the little boy and the explosion, but I know the memory is in my body.
In my nervous system.
It’s wired.
“Jay—”
Whether she meant to use my nickname or not, I don’t know, but my head snaps up and all I see is Tiffany and her beautiful, trusting gaze.
“Go get ready. We have to leave in two hours. The Maison security team is not stepping through the front door if you’re in a towel,” I rasp, taking the letter while my other fist clenches so I don’t reach for her.
She frowns. “That happened one time, and I told you it was because I’d been waiting for the replacement crystal for my chandelier.”
Not good enough.
“If you were my wife, I’d chain you to our bed.”
Fuck, I wasn’t meant to say that.
Or think it.
But I do.
I have imagined her in my bed when I wake up each morning. Wondered what it would be like to live together, eat together, sleep and make love every goddamn day.
A sparkle starts in her eyes, and I know I’ve awoken the beast within her. I know what she wants.
My mouth.
My cock.
“If I was your wife, I might like you to chain me up.”
A growl creeps up my chest, and she hears it, creating a confidence she shouldn’t have as she steps closer and plants her hands on my chest.
I close my eyes at the pleasure of her warm touch.
“Are we going to talk about this?”
“Probably not.”
When her gaze darts away in disappointment, I do the one thing I shouldn’t. I take her chin in my fingers. “Don’t read anything into that.”
“The comment or the chains?”
Both.
“Fuck, Tiff.”
Her breathing is labored, our bodies creating a firestorm between us, taunting us to take just one more tiny step.
To lean in just an inch.
“I never make the first move,” she confesses, blushing.
“You like a dominant man.” Shut up and stop talking, Jayden.
“Yes.” Her cheeks heat as she steps away. “I won’t do it again.”
“Roger that.”
Her message was received loud and clear. If I want to fuck Tiffany Stallone, the next move is mine.
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WHILE TIFFANY IS getting ready, I FaceTime Ryder and the team back at BHS headquarters.
Tonight’s going to be a huge test, and I’m glad my buddies are going to be there. The right thing would be to tell Josh and Aidan I’m unfit to work for them. Especially after my anxiety flaring a few times this afternoon.
“How’s things going with Ms. Stallone?” Ryder asks, arranging his phone so I can see him, Liam and Aidan.
“The team is set for tonight, by the way.” Aidan takes a swig of his water bottle.
“Hey dude,” Liam’s mug is in the corner of the screen.
“What’s up!” I grin. “I got your email with all the details, thanks Aidan. Something has come up.” I hold up the envelope.
“Fan mail,” Liam nods.
“Yeah. Fucked up stuff.” I shake my head.
“It comes with the territory,” Ryder shrugs, but it’s not so much nonchalant as accepting of the situation. That makes sense, given his wife is one of the most famous women on the planet. “Does LAPD have copies?”
I toss it onto the table in front of me and send the email. “Just sent it over. This one from Messy-Bob463 is very concerning.”
“Messy fucking Bob. What did he have to say?” Aidan shakes his head.
“He references her underwear and the correct color. There is a photo.”
“That wasn’t shared in the media.” Ryder sits up a little straighter.
I shake my head as Liam rubs his jaw.
“Get it over to the cops,” Ryder starts tapping his keyboard, and I figure he’s reading the letter when a look of disgust appears on his face. “Jesus, yeah, this could be a lead.”
“Get Jake to take a look.” Aidan says, then explains. “Former Marshal. He’s good to run things past.”
“Noted.”
“Could just be a sicko who saw her wear the lingerie in a video, or he might be our guy.” Liam leans forward.
I hate that he’s right—that Tiffany wears outfits that are revealing on her social media for the fucking world to see. A world that includes people who are dangerous.
She doesn’t belong to me, but I’m feeling all kinds of possessive right now. I falter for a moment, wondering if I should raise my concerns; that I want to fuck my charge, that there’s a possibility I may not be suitable to protect her.
If Messy-Bob463 or anyone tries to harm Tiffany, I may not be able to protect her. That’s a serious consideration.
When I was taking this job on, it was all about the numbers, paying my mortgage and not setting myself up for criticism from Dad.
Now...now there is personal.
Now, I could put Tiffany in a position where she doesn’t have the right man to protect her. As a former Air Force Captain that pisses me off.
As a man, that makes me feel like a piece of shit.
Perhaps that is why I need to prove to myself that I can.
Liam must notice my hesitation because suddenly he’s asking to be rostered tonight.
“I know Noah would love my company.” He laughs, and I can’t help but do the same.
Liam and Noah had an altercation over my sister at Ryder's beach party several weeks back. The two of them brushed it off soon after, especially when it came out Liam was actually in love with Jessie.
“Love is a strong word,” Aidan frowns at Liam. “Thought you were busy tonight and couldn’t work.”
“Change of plans.”
Liam can be as cool as a cucumber when I’m almost certain he saw the concern in my expression. We’ve known each other since we were young boys. We trained together and served together before I became a sniper. I trust him more than anyone on the planet.
He knows there’s something going on with me, and I hate that we have a secret between us. Then again, he owes me for fucking my sister. So there’s that.
“Fine, Danny will be happy he can take the night off.” Aidan shrugs.
Knowing Liam will be there tonight takes a bit of the edge off. I give him a nod, and his lips press together as he nods back.
“It will be interesting to see who Messy-Bob463 is. We’re looking into the increase in diamond thefts in the country recently. Many of which have occurred in Bel Air and other opulent suburbs,” Ryder shares. “Josh and I are talking to a contact at the FBI tomorrow.”
“Do you think it’s a crime ring?”
“Or smuggling.” Aidan leans back in his chair. “I don’t think this is just some stalker fan. Breaking into a safe is one thing if someone can work it out, but selling diamonds of that size is hard. You can’t get rid of a million-dollar necklace on Facebook Marketplace.”
We all nod our agreement.
I think of all the people on my suspect list, and nothing makes sense. It could be someone she doesn’t know.
Regardless, my eyes will remain wide open.