4. Samuel
She called me a fucking Navy SEAL.
I wanted to give her a chance, tried not to judge a book by its cover, but how am I supposed to do this when one of the first things she says to me is an insult like that? Misbehaved brat.
I call Rockwell to tell him I’m done here, that I’m going to catch the next flight back home, and that he needs to find someone else for this stupid mission, but he doesn’t answer the phone. I wonder why.
So I try to call Max, and then Logan. None of them picks up the phone, and I suspect they all agreed to ignore me.
Traitors. Every single one of them.
I’m so pissed that I’m unable to fall asleep and just when I doze off, the first rays of sunshine peek through the beige curtains. As I get up to close the blinds, I look out of the window. The view is admittedly beautiful, and it would be kind of nice if I wasn’t shunted off here, accompanied by annoyance personified.
Yawning, I make my way down to the kitchen. The fridge is stocked, just like Mr. Barron had promised, and I grab a few eggs and a package of bacon. Everything goes smoothly and my eggs are almost done, but then I go searching for bread.
That was a mistake because as I turn back around, flames shoot up from the stove. I curse under my breath while I hold the pan with my burning omelet under running water to put out the fire.
My blood pressure skyrockets and I contemplate eating sad raw bacon, but instead, I throw the unopened package back in the fridge as I decide on a bowl of cornflakes for breakfast. I would have preferred something a bit more substantial, but I don’t want to risk another fire.
At around 11am, I get a bad gut feeling. Not because of the cornflakes, but because I didn’t hear a single sound coming from Ruby’s room so far. If she ran off again, I’m going to yell at her the entire way back to the house.
I rush up the stairs and knock on her door. Just when I press down on the handle, there’s a groaned “What?” coming from inside her room, as if I had just woken her up.
“Nothing,” I say, slightly relieved as I walk back downstairs. She’s here and seems to be occupied, so I decide to take a closer look at the house.
There are two guest bedrooms on the first floor and they look exactly the same, almost like hotel rooms. Fancy box spring beds, big TVs and bathrooms that are stocked like spas. Everything in there is gray or white. I’m not one to decorate excessively, but even I have to admit this house could use a touch of color.
I also wonder who the hell needs so much space. There’s a third bedroom that’s bigger, furnished a bit differently, but it also doesn’t look really lived in. I figure that this must be Mr. Barrons”s bedroom as I open closet doors and drawers. There are a few pieces of clothing in it, mostly dress shirts and old suits. As I shove a few coat hooks aside, something topples over in the back of the closet.
“Shit,” I mutter as I see that the barrel of a rifle points directly at my crotch. I get a tissue from the main bathroom before I touch it, not wanting to get my fingerprints on it.
Upon closer inspection, I recognize the weapon as an A-545, a rifle used by Russian Spetsnaz units. I take a picture of the serial number to send to Rockwell later. Maybe they can find out a bit more about the way it took until it ended up in Mr. Barrons’ closet.
We already know about the fact that he has business relations with a few people in Russia, but perhaps this could help us shed more light on the crowd he’s affiliated with.
This first round of gathering evidence is going quite well, so I put everything back in its place before I head out of his bedroom and make my way over to the hallway next to the kitchen.
The door at the end of the hallway is locked, unlike all the other doors in this house. Not even Mr. Barron”s bedroom was locked, and it doesn’t take a mastermind to figure that there is something of importance hidden behind it. I crouch down to inspect the lock, but a sudden sound coming from above startles me.
Of course, Ruby leaves her room right in the second where I don’t need it at all.
“Snooping around is for kids,” she says as she strides down the stairs.
“I’m not snooping around, I just dropped something,” I say as I stand back up and look at her.
“Don’t you have any proper clothes?” I ask in a sad attempt to distract from my actions.
Her tight black shorts leave nothing to the imagination as she walks into the kitchen, but at least she combined them with a loose-fitting sweater.
I usually couldn’t care less about what anyone wears, but something about her pisses me off so badly that this was the first thing that came to mind.
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” she shoots back as she gathers a few ingredients for a sandwich.
Who keeps their bread in a drawer? Ruby, apparently.
“There’s plenty of space for you to look somewhere else if you have a problem with my outfit.”
“I don’t have a problem with your outfit,” I say. “It’s just inappropriate, that’s all.”
“Inappropriate for what?” She asks while she finishes constructing her sandwich. An abomination full of cheese, topped with more cheese and cucumbers.
“This is my house and if I want to run around naked, I’m gonna do exactly that,” she says with a self righteous grin on her face as she flops down on the couch with her sandwich. She turns on the TV and I take this as an opportunity to end the discussion.
I keep my mouth shut and spend the next few hours watching her from a distance. The guys are still going no contact and the only thing I got were two blue checks as I sent Rockwell the picture of the rifle. When they finally pick up their phones, I’ll have to leave this property to make sure Ruby doesn’t hear me screaming at them.
Her only activities seem to be watching TV in her room, watching TV in the living room, and making a mess in the kitchen. From time to time, she’s scrolling on her phone, but apart from that, she spends her day like a fourteen-year-old on summer break.
The day feels like gum, dragging out longer and longer until the sun finally goes down again and Ruby starts to yawn. She leaves her spot on the couch and I’m surprised that she’s not one with the fabric yet.
Two weeks and not a day longer. That’s how long I’m going to put up with this shit. I’ll do my very best to get as much intel as possible until then, but if I don’t, then Rockwell has to send someone else.
I don’t knowhow dumb she thinks I am or how lazy her past bodyguards have been, but she looks surprisingly shocked as she jumps down on the gravelly ground in the driveway and I immediately yank her towards me not even a second later, pushing her back into the house.
“Is this going to be a daily occurrence?” I ask as I watch her stomp up the stairs.
She ignores my question, and we arrive back at her room. I inspect the windows, wondering if I could ask Mr. Barron for some locks. I know watching over Ruby shouldn’t be my primary concern here, but her continuous attempts to sneak out are already getting on my nerves and I have only been here for two days.
She groans as she walks over to her bed. The bed in my room is already huge, but this beige monstrosity looks as if it’s custom-made.
Funny how this brat gets to sleep in something that’s the size of my room on base while my colleagues and I have to sleep on things that are more cardboard than comforter.
It’s not like we protect the country or anything.
Meanwhile, Ruby has to be well rested for the important task of watching TV for ten hours a day and annoying the shit out of me.
“James, please-,” she complains. She realizes quickly that I don’t have the slightest bit of sympathy for her and goes for a different approach.
“Come on, let me go out. I promise I’ll be back in two hours. Look, I’ll even let you track my location.”
I stand in the doorway, unmoving and silent. Maybe she gets tired once she argues for long enough.
“Fuck you. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a goddamn annoying asshole?”
There we go.
“Shut up, kid.” I hope she doesn’t hear the “annoying little shit” I add under my breath. My jaw clenches beneath my mask as I widen my stance, my arms crossed in front of my chest.
Ruby looks over to me, gaze lingering on my elbows that touch the wooden door frame for a second, and then she chuckles. Something in her demeanor switches again and I have a feeling that this isn’t good.
“Stop calling me a kid, you gorilla. I’m 24, in case my father forgot to tell you. Makes this whole situation even more ridiculous.”
She rolls her eyes at me before she lets herself fall back on the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Her dress hitches up a bit, exposing too much of her thighs. It’s equally indecent as the one she wore yesterday.
Quickly, I look back at the wall. While the other rooms in this house could use more color, hers could use less. Or maybe it’s not the color that makes it chaotic, but her stuff that’s strewn around everywhere.
“I was supposed to go on a date.” She turns onto her stomach, her head propped up on her hands, as she looks at me with puppy eyes.
“Does the guy know about that date too, or did you plan on taking someone hostage to endure you?”
An upset huff comes from her and I don’t know why I’m so mean. It’s not like she wouldn’t deserve it, but I’m usually above such bullshit.
“There are enough guys that would gladly take me out on a date,” she says, her expression a bit sour.
“Sure.”
“So, can I go now? Please.”
“No. Do I need to spell it out for you? You. Are. Not. Allowed. To. Leave. This. House.”
“You know what? It’s fine.” She sits back up, leaning against the headboard while she looks straight at me.
“The guy is shit anyway. I don’t want to spend my time in a stupid restaurant, acting like I care for what he has to say while he orders a salad for me.”
“Ruby, I don’t care—”
“The last time I was on a date with him, he was done after two minutes. Can you believe that? What a fucking waste of time.”
It takes me a moment to process what she just said.
“Too much information,” I say, while I press my fingers against my throbbing temples. If there’s a mental image I did not need tonight, then it’s probably Ruby, splayed out underneath some guy.
“You’re a prude.”
The grin on her face grows even bigger. Like the fucking Cheshire cat.
“Go to sleep. You’re getting unpleasant.”
I hear her laughing as I close the door behind me with more force than necessary. I know I judged her for slamming them shut, but it just feels good to do it.
It’s obvious that she hadn’t been shown boundaries by anyone in her life before. She’s not used to rules, or anyone being stern with her.
God, the things I’d give to drop her off at one of the rookie training sessions. They’d have her running through the woods with a fucking backpack that’s almost her weight while a choleric drill instructor lets his anger about his failed marriage out on her and the others. I would pay good money to witness this.