2. Samuel
The night was short and the little sleep I got wasn’t exactly restful, but it would surprise me if it was any other way. After a shower and a coffee from the machine in my room, I no longer look like I pulled an all-nighter.
I frown as I look through the outfits Rockwell organized for this mission. I’ll look like a fucking choir boy on steroids. Polo shirts and slacks aren’t my usual attire, and they aren’t dirt-caked and blood-smeared enough for my liking.
Not to mention that those pants have way too few pockets. Where the hell am I supposed to put all my stuff?
The girls behind the reception desk chuckle as I walk past, giving me even more reasons to complain as soon as I call Rockwell.
I’m twenty minutes early to my appointment with Mr. Barron and apparently, I look misplaced. After not even a minute of standing around in the lobby of the office building, a woman walks up to me.
“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?” She talks in that specific tone some women put on to appear charming, a bit too high pitched and I think back to the banshee baby on yesterday”s flight.
“I’m here for a job interview with Mr. Barron,” I say, flashing her a small smile. It feels forced and unnatural and I hope I don’t look like a goddamn serial killer. It’s just that I don’t smile that often. Sure, I laugh, from time to time, but I don’t do those “oh, look at me, I’m so charming” smiles.
It’s not expected to smile at hostages or cartel members during raids, and unlike Logan, I don’t run around grinning while emptying my AK-47 into the air. I already miss him. He’s a good guy.
The woman’s cheeks flush slightly—good, no serial killer impression—while I wonder if everyone in this town is that flirty. Max and Logan would have a field day if they were here.
“Ah, you must be the new bodyguard for his br—daughter.”
“I hope so,” I say, unsure if I want to hear her gossip or if I want to be surprised by the horrors that possibly await me.
“Mr. Mills?”
I’m almost startled by the deep voice that comes from behind me, and I hope it doesn’t show on my face as I turn around.
Mr. Barron is shorter than I expected him to be, but he carries himself as if he is at least twice his size. His deep voice doesn’t fit him, but it fits his slicked-back black hair and his pinstripe suit that probably costs as much as I make in a month. The leather of his shoes is so shiny that I can almost make out my reflection in it, hard not to catch it since I have to look down to meet his gaze.
His hand is outstretched to greet me, the big smile on his face showing just a tad too many teeth. It makes him look like a shark that’s trying to convince fish he’s not dangerous at all. Too bad that I’m a fucking orca if we want to keep it nautical.
We walk towards an elevator that takes us up to the 38th floor. I counted the floors because I don’t like elevators. I also don’t like high-rise buildings. Something about being so far away from the ground just feels wrong to me.
His office is generic, as if he flipped through a catalog of model offices and picked the one that looked the most serious. I doubt he manages his actual business from here.
The interview goes smoothly; he asks about a few things on my resume, another thing that was on Charlie’s to-do list, but at least he didn’t fuck this up.
I answer all of his questions that I already saw coming, but then he asks me something that wasn’t on my prepared list. Maybe because those fuckers wanted me to believe that I was supposed to work as his bodyguard for as long as possible.
“My daughter can be a bit complicated.” The worn-out expression on his face tells me that it’s probably a bit more than just complicated.
“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I have experience dealing with rather complex clients. They usually behave under my watch.”
Of course, they behave when you hold a gun against their head, but I keep that part to myself.
“Ruby is good at twisting things around. She’s also good at getting what she wants. Do you have a wife at home, a girlfriend, anything like that?”
My brows furrow at his weird question. My thoughts travel back to the memo, and I clear my throat with a slight feeling of disgust.
“Please excuse the question, Mr. Barron, but how old is your daughter again?”
“22, no, sorry, 24. I’m bad with numbers,” he says with a laugh, pulling out his phone. “My assistant must have forgotten to add that to the job description.” Aggressively, he types something into his phone. Looks like I’m not the only one who has to work with idiots.
I don’t know if the revelation that Ruby is an adult makes the situation better or worse.
“Sir, I can assure you that I keep all my work relations strictly professional.” My answer is as vague as his question, but it seems to be enough to please him. He leans back in his office chair, his posture less tense.
“You said you could start right away. Is that still the case?” he asks as he gets up from his chair, walking around the desk until he stands in front of me. Even while sitting, I’m not much shorter than him and it’s kind of satisfying to watch him crane his neck as I stand up.
I nod, remind myself to smile, and take his outstretched hand.
“Well, Mr. Mills, this is the first day at your new job. Let’s get your luggage from the hotel. My driver will take you to your workplace, or should I rather say your new home,” he says, already busy with his phone again.
I’m slightly disappointed that Dominic isn’t the one waiting for me in front of the hotel, but the new guy also isn’t prone to small talk. Somehow, I thought that I’d share a car with Mr. Barron, but we just follow him.
My thoughts start to drift as we drive towards the house. I want to use my time here efficiently, so that I can go back to base as soon as possible.
I’m mostly done with plotting my next steps as the driver turns into what I can only describe as the longest driveway I’ve ever seen. It’s lined with trees and while other people may find them aesthetically pleasing, I only see them as opportunities for enemies to hide behind.
The house fits the driveway, but it also doesn’t. I’ve seen my fair share of houses during my career. Big ones, small ones, luxurious ones, absolutely crazy ones. But this right here is just—I don’t have the words to describe it.
It’s something between old money and movie villain, as if someone told the architect, “Make it look fucking expensive.”
Indirect lights illuminate the entire house, the trees, and the cars that stand in the open. Max would love it. Not only the lights, but also the cars. I’m not into cars, more of a motorbike guy, but even I recognize a Ferrari when I see one.
Mr. Barron leans against the car he came here with while he watches me haul my two bags out of the trunk and I feel like I just stepped foot on a film set.
A few of our partners have fancy houses, and even let us stay there from time to time, to celebrate after a successful mission, but I’ve never stayed in such a luxurious house for longer than one night.
He dismisses the driver with a gesture of his hand while movement behind one of the second-floor windows catches my attention.
Mr. Barron follows my gaze, and the curtain closes again before I can make out anything.
Must be the infamous Ruby.
I wonder if she’ll come down to greet me, but as soon as Mr. Barron unlocks the front door, my question is answered. He just sighs over the sound of a door being slammed shut and my concerns that she is an annoying brat solidify.
I can’t believe that she’s supposed to be around the same age as Max. Not that Max is what I would call an adult, but at least he doesn’t slam doors shut and hides in his bedroom.
Mr. Barron and Ruby seem to have an interesting father-daughter relationship, but that’s none of my business. I’m here to monitor him, his business partners, and his annoying spawn, and not to play hobby psychologist. Even though I could, at least judging by the amount of self-help books Rockwell subtly placed in my room on base every two weeks for the past year.
Mr. Barron shrugs his shoulders and gives me an apologetic look before he proceeds to show me around. We start the tour with the security systems that are surprisingly moderate for a man like him. I expected more, and I also expected cameras.
“No cameras,” he interrupts my thoughts. “We had some, but after Ruby destroyed them for the fourth time, I didn’t bother replacing them.”
So far I haven’t met her, but the image I have of her in my mind gets worse with every new thing that I learn about her. I should thank her for rebelling against the cameras, though. That’ll make my mission much easier.
The house has a mostly open floor plan. Adjacent to the hallway is a vast living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that allow a view into a garden so big that I can’t see where it ends. I’m a bit too excited for my own good as I see the pool. Logan knew something I didn’t when he told me to pack swim shorts.
To the right of the living room is an open kitchen and a glass staircase that leads up to the second floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another, smaller hallway, which faces the staircase. Mr. Barron walks straight past it as he shows me the house and I make a mental note to find out more about the room at the end of the hallway.
“Feel free to use all the amenities, as long as you make sure that Ruby stays inside the house,” he says as he shows me the home gym. It’s stocked like a commercial one and, most importantly, it doesn’t reek like the one we have at base. And I don’t have to listen to Rockwell’s old-man grunts when he lifts weights. Maybe this situation isn’t so bad after all.
As luxurious as this house is, it feels empty and lifeless. Like showcase rooms in furniture stores. There are no family pictures on the wall, not an ounce of personality showing apart from the few things that are strewn around.
A fuzzy blanket on the couch, a pair of slippers, dirty dishes in the kitchen, and a towel on one of the pool loungers. It reminds me of his office, just less tidy.
We walk up the stairs and I follow him past two doors until he comes to a halt in front of what I suspect is my bedroom. There’s only one door left next to it and the sound of a blaring TV tells me that the room next to mine must be Ruby’s.
“There are two other bedrooms on the first floor if you want a different room, but this one is better for keeping track of her,” he says as he opens the door for me.
Calling this a bedroom is an understatement. Not even Rockwell’s quarters on base are as spacious and he’s a goddamn captain. The room is equipped with everything I could need. A king size bed, a small desk by the window, and a huge personal bathroom. From my window, I can overlook the whole driveway.
Mr. Barron excuses himself while I carry my bags into my new temporary home. I open the zip of my bag and start to put my stuff in the closet, but then I hear him knock on Ruby’s door.
I’m usually not one to eavesdrop, but it’s not like I can just ignore him. He knocks and knocks, repeatedly asking Ruby to come out of her room and be polite. In response, she turns the volume of the TV up.
If I knew nothing about his background, I would feel pity for him. I wonder if I’m getting old because I catch myself judging Ruby for her prepubescent behavior. To spare Mr. Barron the humiliation, I act like I didn’t witness this sad encounter when he comes back to my room.
“You think you have everything under control, Mr. Mills?” I nod and he sighs as he looks down at his phone.
“I have to leave again. I’ll be gone for around two weeks. Money never sleeps, right?”
He laughs while I wonder in what kind of movie this man lives in. The Godfather, just a guess. “If anything happens, please don’t hesitate to call me. If I can’t come, I’ll send you some of my men.” Definitely the Godfather.
Why is it always me who ends up with the crazies on missions? Why not Logan? He could just out-crazy them.
“And Mr. Mills, I know I already said it, but Ruby is not allowed to leave the house. Under no circumstances. Trust me, it’s easier to keep her in here than to drag her back home from God knows where. And don’t let her fool you. Whatever she tells you, there’s no need for her to go out. Groceries are delivered two times a week, and she has access to my credit cards in case she, or you, need anything.”
I nod and he shakes my hand, breathing out in relief. He stops midway on his way out of the door as if he just remembered something important.
“Keep an eye on the driveway.”
With that, he leaves. Not even five minutes later, I hear the engine of his car starting. I want to get out of those damned slacks, because one night in day clothes was more than enough, but first, I should introduce myself to Ruby.
I pull my black balaclava over my head, going through the brief speech I prepared for her.
When Logan and Max drink enough to become courageous, they make fun of my mask. But at least our enemies don’t recognize my face. If one of them ever gets killed because of this, I’ll say, “Told you so,” at the funeral.
Professionalism isn’t the only reason for the mask, at least not now. Ruby isn’t that dangerous, but something still tells me that it’s better not to let her see my face.
Maybe it will help with keeping her in check. Usually, people are at least a bit intimidated when they see a faceless black mass standing in their doorway. The effect would be better with a different outfit, though.
From what Mr. Barron told me, I have a feeling her last bodyguards were mostly buff guys in need of a bit of cash, and if I’m right with that assumption, she’s in for quite the surprise.