Much like the outside, my brother had invested money in renovations on the inside of the clubhouse. What once would have been a simple room with just a bed and a nightstand is now nearly a full suite. I was shocked, when I discovered that he’d even had a private bathroom and a flat screen television installed in the guest room. I could see him doing it in the brother’s rooms’ maybe, but definitely not a guest room. Those were usually reserved for someone who probably wasn’t going to walk out of the place alive, got themselves into a bit of trouble, or a visiting club member. It wasn’t extravagant by any means, yet it was comfortable. Settling in took mere seconds, since I had nothing to my name, except for what I was wearing. Darcy stood awkwardly in the room with me for a few minutes, making small talk. Days without sleep had worn my body out beyond normal functionality. I owe her an apology later, since I know that I likely came off as a bitch to her. She is my future sister-in-law, and I need to get to know her better. Apologetic niceties would be reserved for tomorrow. All I wanted was a hot shower, new clothes, and the longest night of sleep in my life.

Just as I was about to get started with my trifecta of relaxation, I hear a knock at the door.

Fucking great. What now.

“Come in.” I call out to the person on the other side, and the door swings wide. The man who was ferociously taking notes during the earlier meeting steps through the threshold. His eyes are wide, when he sees me curled up on the small couch in the room and quickly diverts them away. I look down to what I’m wearing. Nothing about the clothes I have on screams indecently appareled, so I have no clue why he refuses to make eye contact.

“I take it that you are the bodyguard?” I ask the man, who has darkened my doorstep with a box tucked under his arm.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, while fumbling the box free and trying to outstretch his hand.

The patch on the back of his vest clearly indicates that he’s a full member, but his uneasy demeanor is that of a prospect. Is it him or me? It could possibly be my relationship to his president or the fact that he’s the sole person in charge of me. Maybe this is his first solo assignment. He doesn’t look young enough to have just patched in, but it’s so hard to judge anymore. This man could be twenty-one, and I would be none the wiser to it without checking his I.D.

I have to admit that his nervousness intrigues me, since usually the caliber of men in this club are nothing more than a walking hard on, meatheads, or grunting instead of talking. Maybe he’s just a man of few words. God, I hope he was because living with him as my shadow for the next few weeks or even years was going to wear on me. I love my privacy, and having to invite a complete stranger in, goes against every one of my life rules.

He fumbles the rattling box twice more, before finally setting it down and approaching me. His long, lean fingers brush against mine in an awkward handshake.

“I’m Voodoo, but you can call me V,” he rattles off. He stiffens at my touch, and I see a slight smile crack on his face. My eyes connect with his nearly silver-blue pools, and a rush of familiarity hits me, when his hand fully engulfs mine. His eyes suck me in, but it’s his touch that’s intoxicating. My skin buzzes as the connection between us continues, like little ripples of electric currents zipping from hair to hair.

Did he feel that too?

He jerks his hand away a little too quickly, and turns his focus back to the box on the table.

Yeah, he definitely felt that.

Have I met this man before? What if he’s a legacy patch member of someone I knew once? If I had met him before, then he was a void in my mind, and those were the most dangerous kinds of lack of recognition.

As he fumbles around inside the box, I notice wires peeking out of it.

Lord. This is the guy my brother thinks is going to protect me? He’s a nervous wreck. How is he going to handle a firefight? I think I might have a better chance protecting myself at this point.

“I didn’t know the club hired blue collar guys these days,” I remark. “I guess skill sets of all kinds are useful around here, when you have to keep everything in house.” His confused look in return almost makes me laugh.

“The wires,” I say pointing at them.

“Oh,” he chuckles. “Raze, I mean your brother, wanted me to upgrade the security in the clubhouse.”

“I see.”

I watch silently, as he pulls a few small cameras from the box and sets them down on the table in a systematic approach. He checks each one carefully, before turning around again and noticing that I’m watching him. This man definitely has a mild form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Stop analyzing him. His mental health isn’t any of your concern, as long as he’s stable enough to keep you safe.

“Cameras?”

“For your protection. These will detect changes in temperature, motion, and sound over a certain decibel range.”

“Like screams for help?” I inquire, with a knowing look on my face.

“Or for pleasure.”

I cock an eyebrow at him, and his face quickly flushes because he realizes what he just said, and where my mind just went.

“Oh shit. Did I really just say that?” he back peddles. “Sorry. Not exactly used to having a lady around here.”

“I can tell,” I smile.

“So, my brother plans to monitor me from afar or am I to be on display for the entire club’s viewing pleasure?” I sharply question him. Just the idea that my brother wants cameras on me begins to infuriate me. It may all be in the name of protection, but this seems like overkill. The Zezza’s have no idea of my connection to the club, and as far as I know, Ginny never revealed to Gio her real name. This place should be the Fort Knox of safety as it is, but it’s like my brother doesn’t trust his own men. Maybe things aren’t as great as I thought around here.

“The only two people who will have access to these cameras are your brother and myself, but just as the security expert,” he back peddles.

“I see,” I offer back coolly.

Oh yeah. My brother will be hearing about this. I may be a prisoner here, but I refuse to live as a real live version of a show pony in a ring. Safety is one thing, but this is more than that. He wants to keep an eye on me, so I don’t bolt again.

“It won’t take me long,” he assures me. “If you want to hang out in the main room, I should be done in about thirty minutes or so.”

I consider his proposal, but dismiss it almost immediately. Being out there would mean facing Ruby again, something that I’m not exactly ready to do again today or ever. After all these years, she is still angry that I left and chased my own dreams, while she gave up on hers for this club. I once would have considered her a friend of sorts, since we grew up together in the club, even though her role was far different than mine. She was property, and I was the princess. We both lived completely different lives. I’d be stupid to think that I could avoid her, while I’m here. We’ll have to see each other on a daily basis, but right now I wanted to avoid it at all costs, even if it meant watching a perfect stranger rig up my room in cameras.

At least the view is nice.

Lord have mercy. Stop ogling the bodyguard.

As he reaches up to the corner of the north and east walls, the muscles below his t-shirt and cut ripple just slightly. V isn’t exactly what I would call a meathead. His muscles, while smaller than his brothers, are still noticeable under the tattoos that wrap around his biceps. He is lean where the other men are bulky. The kind of guy that I usually fall for. I squint trying to decipher the theme of his ink to profile him a little bit, but he jumps down from the chair he dragged over to the corner, and bends down to pick up a fallen piece of equipment, before I get a really good look at it.

Seriously? Where in the hell is this stuff coming from? Okay, brain. I know you’re tired, but this is getting ridiculous.

A smile cracks on my face, as his perfect butt strains against the tight dark wash jeans wrapped around his thin hips. Heated arousal begins to coil in my core, as I continue to watch. Each slight movement from him charges my internal arousal batteries one tick higher, which begins to set me on the dangerous edge of confusion and arousal. I wonder what he is packing in the dick department.

Hey ovaries, get with the program. I know he’s good looking and it has been awhile, but no. You have someone out there already.

A pained thought enters my mind. There is someone out there who might be wondering where I am or why I have gone quiet. Though I had agreed to cut off contact with the outside world via my government contract, I just couldn’t. It’s human nature to want to seek out human interaction. After so many nights with Ben and Jerry’s and a vibrator, a girl had to do something. I craved affection so badly that I did something really stupid, like set up a dating profile. I tried to make it as generic as possible, and even obscured my face to the best of my ability. It was dormant for months, until a message from another user brought me back to life. That one message turned into multiple messages, which then turned into texts. It was a whirlwind, and I was gladly caught up in it. The man’s name is Beauregard. It’s old fashioned I know, but in those e-mails and then all the text messages from my hidden pre-paid phone, I found a friend. It was almost like he understood me in a way that no one else had ever been able to before. Even miles away, he could see into my soul and provide me with the relief I had needed for so long. There were no expectations, rules, or FBI agents, when I was talking with him. It was easy, and it was the best damn thing that had ever happened to me.

 

He was very handsome, if the picture he sent me was really him. I’m not naïve enough to believe that I met the perfect guy on the first try, and I also know there is a huge possibility that he might be lying to me. It was an everyday occurrence with Google Images allowing anyone to usurp someone else’s identity. Yet, I never got the feeling that what was between us was a lie or a cruel deception by an unhappy person seeking anonymous romantic entanglements, before ghosting away. I have this gut feeling he is telling me the truth, and that the picture really is him.

He is different. I know he is. I wouldn’t be this happy, if it were all a lie.

After two months of almost constant contact, I felt safe with him. Even safe enough to send him my full picture, and in doing so, our relationship moved from friendly to romantic. It was reckless on my part for exposing myself that way. I knew that, but I didn’t care. The thought of meeting him after my contract was over in just a few months, gave me the hope and the drive to finish this job. At the end of this journey, there would be someone that I could call my own and not have to worry about him disappearing or being killed.

My eyes float to the pre-paid phone currently tucked away in the jacket I had worn for days, as we drove across the country. I clung to it like a lifeline the entire trip. Not only for Beauregard, but also for the fact, it was the only form of contact I had with me, other than my purse that I had thankfully left in my un-locked car that day. Without it we would have been dead in that safe house.

As soon as I felt we were safe, I emptied my bank accounts at a local bank branch drive-up window and tossed my card along with my personal cell phone. I knew if I had done it on the trip that it would pinpoint our location, so I pulled the money from an obscure location just within the city limits of the safe house. The men after us could track us easily, if I used my account or card, but cash wouldn’t provide a breadcrumb trail for them to follow us with.

The sound of V moving the chair snaps me back into reality. His eyes linger on me for a few seconds, before shifting away again.

“Do you think that someone can get me a change of clothes?” I ask him, while he grabs another camera off the table.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he mutters, while sliding his pad of paper and pen from the earlier meeting, out of his back pocket. “Write down your sizes and what you need. I’ll get someone to get them for you.”

He hands over the notebook and pen, before getting back to his work. I flip the pages, and I can’t help myself but to be nosey, when I see his notes on the meeting today scribbled in his own handwriting across the page.

Would this be how my patients felt if they could see my notes on our sessions?

It’s almost like reading an action and adventure novel, as I read back the reality that has become my life. How did I fall so far, when I was only trying to do so well for myself in this world? Maybe my life was meant to be one series of giant screw-ups, like the ones I ran from.

I notice Voodoo grabbing the last camera off the table out of the corner of my eye, before I start scribbling down my own essentials. He makes quick work of its installation and returns to the table for his box, before turning on his heels and collecting the list from my hands without so much as a please. His eyes scan the list quickly.

“Just the essentials, I swear.” He smiles in return.

“You’re all set,” he comments, pointing out all the cameras. “The only room that isn’t monitored is the bathroom. For privacy.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. “At least someone around here isn’t a pervert.”

He pauses for a minute, and then smiles. “I wouldn’t go that far. You just don’t know me well enough yet.”

I climb from the couch and stalk toward him. His body freezes at my closeness, and I take note of the fact that I can see perspiration dripping from the back of his neck. Not something that I expected of a man who likely kills for a living, just from hanging a few cameras.

Maybe he has an anxiety disorder to go along with his O.C.D.

“Since you’re in charge of me, I’ll take it easy on you for your first day. I’m going to take a shower and likely turn in for the night. If my clothes show up, just have someone leave them outside my door, and I’ll grab them in the morning.”

His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard gulp. The therapist inside of me wonders whether it was the mention of the shower or the implied nakedness that elicited such a response from him. The need to get him on the couch and pick his mind comes on hard, but I dismiss it. I made a rule a long time ago that if the need to pry open a person’s deepest and darkest secrets hit, to back away if I wasn’t being paid to do it. Because those are the kind of people whose mind you didn’t want to dip inside of.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Goodnight then.”

Before I can even respond, he’s out of the door. I listen for returning footsteps for a few minutes, before grabbing my jacket and bolting for the bathroom door, seeking privacy.

I shut the door behind me and dig into my pockets for my phone. The screen flicks on, and the low battery notification flashes. I had just re-loaded the minutes the morning before our great escape, but that wasn’t the issue. Minutes I had, but the battery dying was going to be a problem without a charger. If I asked for one, my brother or my guardian would be wise on the fact that I had a phone. My brain was too tired to come up with another plan for securing a charger, and I added it to my mental to do list, after I slept.

The battery alarm beeps again, and I quickly unlock the screen, finding Beauregard’s name. My fingers fly across the digital keyboard, as I click send. The three days of silence between us was almost too much.

Is it the same for him?

I miss you.

The text goes through, and the phone dies in my hands, just after it sends. My heart sinks, as I realize that may be my last message to him.

I’m truly alone in a prison of my own creation with no escape in sight.