Makayla is taking a nap on my couch and my dog is curled up beside her legs later that night. I smile to see the old girl warming up to someone new so quickly. I look around the apartment, noticing all the small things that are out of place from her obvious snooping session. I knew she would try it, but when I check the hidden drawer in my room and see the hair I carefully wedge in the crack has fallen, I’m surprised. This woman is no ordinary snoop. Damn.

She can’t have had much time to read the contents, but she will have already seen more than I hoped. Just holding the journal in my hands makes them shake. I slam it back down in the drawer, steadying my hand on the dresser and lowering my head, fighting the memories that are rising up.

I’m covered in dirt and blood. My hand is warm. God, it’s so fucking warm. I’m pressing the hilt of a knife into his stomach and yanking up like I’m opening the thick burlap of a sack of potatoes. I feel resistance as it moves through him, hot blood drenching my hand. He tries to collapse, but I hold him upright, finishing the job of ending him. He wraps his arms around me as he dies, almost hugging me, like he’s afraid to die alone. I should feel something. I should feel sympathy, fear, anger, disgust. But I feel none of it. That’s what worries me. I end his life and let his corpse fall to the ground and I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.

I snap myself out of it, wiping the cold sweat forming on my forehead away.

War showed me the parts of human nature most people could never understand. I saw how worthless human life can become, how quickly men can put their own survival above others. I saw how easy death comes, and how the world moves on, season by season, forgetting the dead and the dust they become.

I went to war because I wanted to stop the pain losing my father created. I stopped the pain, but I stopped everything else, too. Being around Makayla is the first time in years I’ve felt closer to my old self, like part of me is still linked to her and how I was in those days. She’s helping me remember who I am, little by little. The worst part is I don’t know if I want to remember. Every step closer I take to my old self makes me realize how far I’ve fallen, and how much I stand to lose if I lose her again.

I step back into the living room and stop in my tracks. She’s still asleep on my couch, one long leg dangling from the blankets. One very naked, long leg. I take in the smooth skin that glistens softly and the way her calf tapers perfectly into a narrow ankle, to feet that are a little larger than average. Rather than seeing it as a flaw, I always thought it was endearing. Makayla Pierson was always seen as perfect by everyone, but she always had those slightly oversized feet. It makes me grin to remember the ways she tried to avoid me noticing when we first started dating. Always black shoes, never open faced, and usually a size too small.

Before I realize it, I’m only a few steps from where she sleeps peacefully on the couch. Her golden hair swirls around her heart shaped face, framing the perfect picture of innocence it makes. Such an innocent face that you would never expect her to lie or snoop through someone’s apartment when they weren’t watching.

Thinking about the way she tried to deceive me has me wanting to… I bite my lip. Hard. No. I’m not even going to dignify that line of thought right now. She’s a client. I don’t care how fucking gorgeous she is or how much I’d like to see those perfect lips wrapped around my--

Shit. Maybe I’m going to think about it a little, but I’m not going to do anything. I can manage that much.

I’m about to turn and walk away when her eyes drift slowly open and then widen at the sight of me standing over her. She notices her leg hanging out from beneath the blanket and pulls it back under, covering herself again. Her dress must have ridden up a hell of a lot, and I’m guessing without the blanket I would’ve gotten a show to remember.

“I was going to see if you wanted to grab a bite to eat,” I say.

“You sure?” she asks. “Because it looked like you were thinking about taking a bite of me.”

I smirk, rubbing my mouth with my thumb. Goddamn. What a fucking tease. She gives me a half-smile before it falters and she clears her throat. “Food sounds good, actually.”

I’m a little surprised that she’s making it so easy on me, but I don’t fully let my guard down. “I know a place,” I say. “Just let me grab Makay… my dog some food.” I see her covering a smile as I head to the kitchen to grab my dog’s food. Okay, so what if the shit about the shelter already naming her was a lie. Her original owners named her Bat Girl, and I wasn’t about to walk around calling my fucking dog Bat Girl. So I named her Makayla. It was the first name to pop in my head, big deal.

I use a can opener on Makayla’s wet food and pour it in her favorite bowl, giving it a fifteen second shot in the microwave, just the way she likes. I sprinkle a little salt on it for taste and stir in a handful of dry food. Then I set two treats for her on one of the bar stools. She has to stand on her hind legs to get to them, and it always takes her a few minutes to work up the energy to do it, but the old girl needs the exercise. I slap her plump belly as she waddles over to get her food.

“Keep an eye on the place while we’re gone, girly.”

When I stand, the other Makayla is leaning in the doorway with a huge grin on her face. I’m going to have to get her out of that fucking dress and into something more modest. If I’m going to have any hope of making it through this contract without putting my hands on her, I can’t have her walking around looking that sexy. “I never would’ve guessed you could be such a sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” I growl, moving past her. I hear her following after me.

“Do you always season her dog food?” she asks.

I don’t even have to look over my shoulder as I pull open the door to know she’s still smiling ear to ear.

“She’s picky,” I grumble.

“You don’t think she’d eat whatever you gave her if she was hungry enough? Salted or not salted?”

I sigh, increasing my pace as we walk toward the elevator, wanting to get out of this embarrassing line of questions. “She’s all I have. I’m not going to starve her.” I wince. That sounded way more pathetic than I intended, and judging from the look of concern on Makayla’s face, she picked up on every bit of it.

Her smile is gone, replaced by a reluctant look of sorrow. “She’s all you have?”

“I’m fine. Really. I don’t need a bunch of people complicating my life.”

I feel her looking at me, waiting for me to say more. She can wait all she wants. I’m done talking about it. The elevator doors chime and let us out in the lobby. I motion for Makayla to wait in the elevator while I scan the room for anything out of the ordinary. Once I’m sure it’s clear, I gently guide her out by the small of her back. It’s habit, but when she doesn’t flinch away from my touch this time and lets me continue to protectively guide her to my car, I feel my cock stirring traitorously. The way the soft muscles of her back tense and relax with each step is making me think of how it would feel to squeeze her hips as she grinded into my cock, and that’s a thought I don’t need to be having.

If being my client wasn’t enough to make her off-limits, the way I treated her ten years ago definitely is. I don’t deserve to be with her, and she definitely deserves more than my shell of a self getting entangled in her life again. But I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stay away. I might be too fucking selfish to keep my hands off her and keep my distance. I want to taste her lips again so badly it hurts, even if it’s just once.

When we step outside, I grimace at the traffic choked streets. “Let’s just walk,” I say. “I don’t want to get stuck in this.”

“Okay,” she says, oddly compliant.

What’s more odd is she lets me keep my hand on the small of her back, and I don’t have the willpower to move it away. I lead her down the street. I’m wearing a low-key outfit of jeans and a black t-shirt and she’s still in the small dress from her shoot the day before. I’m surprised she hasn’t already been raising a fuss over going back to get fresh clothes. Most women I’ve met wouldn’t have left the apartment without fresh clothes, but she seems to be handling it. On a whim, I decide to take her inside one of the clothing stores we pass.

She gives me a strange look, but I rifle through the racks and quickly pick out a light green top and gray leggings. I hesitate for a second and then grab a pair of boots too. She’s looking at me like I’ve absolutely lost it now, but I push on to the register and pay for the clothes.

The guy behind the counter gives me a receipt, and I quickly snatch the clothes and hand them to Makayla. “Go put these on in one of the changing room.”

She looks down at the clothes thoughtfully and then meets my eye with a daring boldness that has my cock hardening immediately. “What about panties?”

I clear my throat. “Go on then. Pick some out.”

She smirks, slinking past me and picking out the most dainty little red thong she can find and a silky black bra. She puts them on the counter and then turns, waiting expectantly for me. I shake my head, unable to do anything but huff a laugh as I pay for her lingerie and watch her step into one of the changing rooms.

The changing rooms are little more than half-doors that leave me with a tantalizing view of her calves. I find my eyes lingering on that open space as I watch the dress fall to a pile beneath her feet. She kicks it away, and then her legs bend slightly and a tiny black thong follows behind it.

Fucking hell.

I turn to see the cashier smirking knowingly at me.

“Fuck off,” I growl.

He jumps a little, suddenly finding something to do away from the register. And away from me. I don’t look toward the changing room again until I hear the door open and see Makayla emerge. She looks ridiculously good in the clothes I picked out for her, and my gaze immediately drops to the way the gray leggings hug her curvy hips and emphasize the perfect gap between her inner thighs. Knowing she’s wearing the clothes I picked and saw her choose the underwear turns me on in an unexpected way. It makes her feel like she’s mine. And that thought feels dangerously good.

She gets a plastic bag from behind the counter and stashes her old clothes inside, then follows me back outside.

My hand automatically goes to the small of her back, it’s an instinctual reaction to being so close to her. A deep seeded need to touch her. It’s a compulsion and I’m relieved when she doesn’t stop me. The fabric of her top is thin beneath my fingertips and I drive myself fucking wild thinking about how good her bare skin would feel against mine. As we start walking down the street, I let the movement of her hips jostle my hand a few centimeters lower until my pinky rests just on the top of her perfectly round ass. I’m hard as a rock now, and mentally willing myself to move my hand away, but my muscles are in full-scale rebellion, refusing to obey any command that takes me further from her body.

After a few minutes of walking quietly together, I begin to let my mind wander, imagining what it would feel like to have Makayla as my own. To walk with her out in public like this, just enjoying the evening and heading out to grab a bite, knowing that we might go back to my place later, where I could do anything I’d like to her. It’s a nice fantasy, but that’s all it is. I’m too damaged and she’s too different. We’re not compatible anymore, no matter how much the sparks seem to fly at the slightest touch. Besides, a quiet life like that isn’t in the cards for me. I’ve done and seen far too much to think I could be the kind of guy Makayla deserves.

Focus on the job, Jesse, I mentally chide myself. You’re getting distracted. Distractions lead to mistakes. And you don’t make fucking mistakes.

I suck in a breath, mentally rallying myself to focus on the job.

We reach Z Shack, my favorite burger place. It’s jammed between a dry-cleaners and one of those scammy loan places. The windows are tinted, but when we step inside the bright lights of a dozen huge TV screens provide all the light the place needs. Servers in black shirts and jeans scramble around, grabbing to-go boxes and making milkshakes or taking orders.

I guide Makayla to the register, reluctantly taking my hand from her back to grab a menu and show her. “Just about everything is good,” I say. “But the Swamp Thing is my favorite.”

She gives me a strange look. “Sounds appetizing.”

“It is. Pulled barbeque pork and a burger patty with Z sauce.”

“What’s Z sauce?” she asks, having to raise her voice as the patrons cheer over something that happens in one of the games playing over the TVs.

“Delicious,” I say, smirking.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. She reaches for her wallet and I stop her with a quick hand. “It’s on me,” I say.

“No, it’s okay, I can pay,” she says. “I’m a big girl and I have my own money.”

“For what I’m charging you, the least I can do is buy you a burger and a change of clothes.”

She bites her lip and gives in, waiting behind me. I take the liberty of ordering the Swamp Thing for her. I know she’ll love it. She doesn’t complain when I add Oreo cheesecake milkshakes to the order either.

We find a place to sit while we wait for our food. Makayla is frowning at me, looking a little confused. “Do you normally eat like this?” she asks.

I shrug. “Sometimes. Why?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re… you know. I don’t get how you can eat like this and still be…”

“Still be…” I prompt, trying not to revel in her discomfort too much.

“You know,” she says. “You just. Well. You’re put together nicely.” She clears her throat and sits back, eyes widening a little as she likely replays what she just said to her own horror.

I bark a laugh. “Is that movie star slang?”

“I’ve never been in a movie. Just television.”

“You’re not happy doing television?”

She shakes her head as she fiddles with the roll of silverware on the table, plucking at the sticker holding the napkins together. “I love working on the show.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” I say sarcastically.

She laughs, stealing a glance at me and looking back down. “Really. I can’t complain. There are so many people who would kill to be doing what I’m doing.”

“That means you have to like it?” I ask.

She scowls at me. “No. It’s just that it makes me feel selfish for not being satisfied.”

“Fuck that,” I say. “If you want it, don’t stop going after it.”

She finally looks up at me, saying nothing for a long moment. “So this is what you wanted?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Shots fired.”

She tilts her head and sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, I don’t know, being a bodyguard--sorry, personal security--doesn’t seem like a job most people would be happy with long-term.”

“Maybe not. But it got me here, so I can’t complain too much,” I say, watching to see her reaction.

Her cheeks blossom with pink. “I thought you were supposed to be professional security. Not a professional flirt.”

A young girl drops our food off. Makayla’s eyes widen as she takes in the burger and shake. “This does look good.”

We spend a few minutes quietly enjoying our food. I forgot how much she and I always clicked. I hate talking while I’m eating, and she was always the same. We could just eat in relative peace, enjoying our food and talking after. She glances up at me, eyes sparkling as if she just thought of the exact same thing. There’s a glob of orange Z sauce at the corner of her mouth as she smiles.

I reach across the table and swipe it away with my thumb without thinking, licking the sauce from my finger. My unthinking gesture feels a hell of a lot more seductive than it should’ve been, and judging by the way her chest is practically heaving, she thought so too. My cock stirs and I shift in my seat.

I’m about to apologize and set the record straight, to tell her that I don’t get involved with clients, even if I can’t stop myself from hitting on her every time a chance presents itself, but something outside the window catches my eye. A flash of gold. I just barely see the two pointed goat horns on a golden mask tucked in a man’s inner jacket pocket. I jolt upright, jostling the table. I rush outside the restaurant and hear Makayla coming after me.

“Wait here!” I growl at her.

I burst out the door, find the man, and slow my pace just enough to avoid catching his attention before I want to. I walk right up behind him, putting my hand on the back of his neck. The street is relatively crowded, and I can avoid causing a scene if I play my cards right.

“Make a sound and I’ll snap your fucking neck,” I say into his ear, still walking beside him.

He moves his eyes toward me. “You must have the wrong guy,” he says. He’s probably in his twenties. He’s relatively built and his mannerisms mark him as former or current military to me. What the fuck is a soldier doing playing this stupid game?

“This way,” I say, pushing him down an alley between two buildings. There’s an alcove that blocks us completely from the street a few yards into the alley, and I shove him roughly into it. His chin bounces off the bricks. He spins, landing hard and cupping his bloodied chin. His hand moves to his back, but I’m on top of him in an instant, feeling at the waistband of his pants and finding the gun he was reaching for.

I step back, racking a bullet into the chamber and pointing it at him. “Looking for this?”

He shakes his head, blood dripping from his chin. He’s already sobbing. Fucking pathetic.

I hear footsteps coming down the alley. I turn, seeing Makayla walking cautiously toward me, looking so effortlessly beautiful that she snaps me out of the moment. I feel a wave of pity for this bleeding coward on the ground, as if seeing Makayla in the middle of this gives me some kind of new perspective on the violence, but I push it down. I don’t have room to get distracted. I kneel, still pointing the gun toward him as I roughly open his jacket and pull the mask free.

“Go back to the restaurant, Kay,” I snap.

She stops short when I used my old pet name for her by mistake. “What are you doing?”

“Just go back to the--”

The soldier sees an opportunity while I’m distracted and lunges forward, wrestling me for control of the gun. He has decent training, but I can tell after just a few seconds that he doesn’t have the real world experience to back it up. I let him think he’s putting me in a vulnerable position as he turns me to face the ground, and when he takes the bait and reaches past me for the gun, I grab his arm and yank him forward, using my back as a fulcrum to flip him hard to the pavement. I don’t let go of his arm as he flips and I feel it snap and twist as he spins over me.

He screams, curling in on himself and clutching his arm. The sound of his screams bring me back to the war. I feel the sun beating on my back, the layers of sand caked on my sweat and blood soaked skin. I feel the ache of the bullet I took in my thigh a few months ago. My hand is around an insurgent’s throat. My gun is out of ammo and my knife is back near where the IED went off. He’s clawing at my forearm to stop me from killing him but I don’t relent. He tried to kill my men, and he’s going to…

“Stop!” Makayla shouts.

I snap out of my memory, realizing I’m choking the bleeding soldier. His face is purple and his eyes are staining with red veins. I let go and he gasps, coughing hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Makayla. “You almost killed him!”

I ignore her, blood still thundering in my ears. I kneel down, clutching the front of his shirt. “What are you playing at?” I ask.

The fear in his face tells me he’s not about to hold anything back. “Her,” he says, looking past me. “The boss wants her dead. There’s a big,” he stops, coughing hard until blood splatters the pavement beside him. “A big payout for whoever gets her.”

I turn slowly to look at Makayla, whose face has gone pale. “Why me?” she asks.

“I just know they want you dead. That’s all. I swear to fucking God. Just please let me go, man.”

I let his shirt go and he flops back to the ground, rolling to his side and whimpering.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say.

Makayla takes a step back when I reach for her.

I sigh in frustration. “We need to move.”

“I’ll find my own way,” she says.

“Like hell you will. You just heard him. They want you dead. You’re not getting out of my fucking sight.”

Emotion clouds her features as she shakes her head. It’s then that it hits me. She’s scared of me. She’s fucking afraid. Of me. The realization sinks into my gut like a cold weight, a weight I’ll have to bear if I want to protect her.

I grab her arm and pull her back toward the road. I hate the way she flinches at my touch, but I don’t let up as I lead her back toward my place.

I don’t care if I have to take her hostage to protect her, I’ll do what it takes, whether she thinks I’m a monster or not.