Chloe
Since the reluctant deal I’d come to with my Dad a few days earlier, I’d been frantically trying to organize my trip. With money no longer being an issue I didn’t really have to plan the whole four months travel out in one go. I decided to just get to Europe, and then Daddy’s Amex Black card would handle the rest.
The first thing I did was have a frantic search for any of my friends who weren’t still studying, knocked up or in full time work. Surprisingly, even with the promise of a no-expense spared luxury trip, only a few had shown interest.
Then again, I thought to myself. I do sometimes forget I went to a damn expensive school and Ivy League College… some of those bitches are probably richer than my Dad already...
Luckily I’d managed to find two who at least showed passing interest in joining me on my epic adventure. I’d managed to persuade them by promising that it would be more of a sex-venture, sampling the finest Europe has to offer, and maybe beyond if we were left not quite satisfied…Jess and Amber were the kinda gals who I knew would be down for a trip like this.
Really, if I met a guy, then sure, I planned on enjoying myself, but really I wanted to experience some of the culture, see the sights, try the food.
Though I had to admit it to myself, I found myself warming to the idea, quite literally, even as I made up the white lie to reel in the more promiscuous duo. They were shallow and selfish, but were good fun. They also bored easily, and would likely lose interest after the first couple flights or so.
That’s OK though. I’m sure with my big scary bodyguard protecting me I’ll be able to travel on alone.
“Fuck it! Shit!” I shouted angrily at my huge suitcase, slumping down on my bed in defeat. I was wearing nothing but some small white panties, my chin in my hands and elbows on my knees. I had been absent mindedly arranging my clothes while I daydreamed, and somehow the suitcase was now stuffed to bursting - and there was still a pile of clothes on the bed that I simply couldn’t bear to leave behind.
I felt my frown lifting; “I’ll just buy another suitcase! I won’t be carrying them anyway, right?”
I jumped up, punching the air as if I’d just had a major breakthrough and made a life-changing decision. I felt my boobs bounce as I jumped, catching sight of myself in the full length mirror opposite the foot of my bed.
Damn, when did they get so big? I’m gonna be beating these Euro guys away with a stick!
I stood there, pouting with my hands on my hips, my long blonde hair cascading down my shoulders to just above my hands posing in front of the mirror, adopting a few different sexy (or at least what I imagined was sexy) poses.
I was halfway through my second pose when the doorbell rang.
Shit, great timing.
It was probably someone delivering one of the expensive accessories I’d ordered for the trip. I knew it was someone trusted or wearing a uniform, or they wouldn't have got past the guards on the gate.
Ooh, it could be those bikinis…
I decided against giving the visitor an eyeful and put on a large, fluffy pink dressing gown, though leaving it a bit looser than was strictly necessary.
“You never know, it could be a hot delivery guy for once,” I mused, aloud. But everyone knew that only happened in pornos, or crappy movies.
I ran down the large spiral staircase, lightly gripping the handrail as I charged down the stairs, reaching the front door in what was probably record time, spurred on by the anticipation of the impending unwrapping of an expensive item or four, giddy with shopping glee.
I opened the door, and found myself staring chest level at a hulking figure that seemed to almost fill the doorway, muscles bulging visibly below a black, too tight t-shirt. I raised my gaze to head height, passing the well muscled arms and shoulders on the way up, arms politely held behind his back in an almost military pose. I wasn’t too short at 5’6”, but this guy was a good foot or so taller than me.
My girlish glee evaporated in an instant, and I froze like a rabbit in the headlights, wide eyed. Then my brain unfroze.
Ah so this must be the bodyguard. Or possibly not, I don’t think the guards on the gate would have had much chance against this guy. Well, if i'm being kidnapped, at least he’s hot. Massive, but yeah, very hot.
“Ma’am”, the figure nodded, his calm and softly spoken deep voice oddly hypnotic.
“You must be Chloe. Sorry if I, ah, got you at a bad time. Your Dad, well, he said you’d be in so. Here I am.”
He shifted his weight from one knee to the other. I could tell by his pose that he was favouring his left knee. A scar that ran down one side of his face contorted as he frowned.
“Shit. Sorry. I’m going to be your bodyguard. Guess I should have started with that.” His frown softened. “Ain’t too good at this bit. The protecting part, though; that’s the bit I excel at, Ma’am.”
No shit. This guy looks like he could shrug off bullets.
I did my best to regain my composure, remembering that this guy was going to be working for me effectively. I looked again at his arms.
And carrying my cases…
“First of all, stop calling me Ma’am,” I said, putting on a face and crossing my arms under my breasts. I felt my dressing gown part slightly and my boobs squeeze together, accentuating my ample cleavage.
“My name’s Chloe, as you well know. I’m not sure why my Dad’s sent you here yet. I’m not nearly ready. I haven’t even booked a flight yet!”
His hand was suddenly in front of me, held out in greeting. How a big man moved so quickly was astounding…
“Pleased to meet you, Chloe.” His hand was still hovering in front of my arms. “I’m Axel. Axel Miller.”
I shook his huge hand briefly, the exchange slightly awkward due to the size difference. “And that’s fine. I’m on retainer, fixed fee. I’m ready when you’re ready. Need anything doing, just ask. Or you need me to fuck off into the shadows, same goes. Any sign of trouble though, you won’t need to shout; it will be over before you even know it.”
I looked again at the figure standing awkwardly in front of me. For a moment before the handshake I thought I had seen a softness in his eyes, a glimpse through his well-rehearsed I’m a fucking badass facade. I narrowed my eyes at his face. Nothing.
Hmm, I might have imagined it… But maybe there’s a normal guy in there somewhere. And I can’t blame him for looking, I’m not exactly wearing much. Well at least if the trip goes to shit I’ll have my own, secret, personal Psychology project to work on…
Axel
I shifted awkwardly again, the decade old bullet wound in my right knee causing me grief.
I can never fucking tell when it's going to hurt. Might be the fucking weather. Christ, I’m getting old. Only 37 and I know when it's going to fucking rain before CNN. At least the sneaky Russian who shot me is swimming with the fishes. Well, a guy ain't got much choice with concrete boots on… The memory seemed to alleviate the gnawing pain somewhat.
I’m pretty sure Chloe had caught me looking. Fucking hell, she was beautiful. Not like a dolled up bar girl or stripper. This girl had almost nothing on except a dressing gown, not a speck of makeup, and she was stunning. From what my eyes’ brief foray down her body had seen, she wasn't wearing a bra either.
Christ. Big boobs, big hips. Slim waist. Not too short, not too tall, long blonde hair… Fuck, keep it together, Axel.
In an instant, I was back to my hard-man military pose.
“You got it, Chlo’.”
She frowned at the shortening of her name. It would probably piss her off, but I bet she was even fucking hotter when she was angry. And it would be funny, to boot. “Tell you what. How’s about I come back here in a couple days? I got shit to do, favours to call in, whiskey to drink. You know, the usual. I’ll bring a car and we can arrange a plan, OK?”
Her eyebrows raised. “How about I just call you?” she said.
How about your phone is probably fucking tapped, beautiful?
OK. But look, just do me a favour. No names on the phone. No locations. Just tell me what time to bring a car to get you, and get your pretty friends to meet you here, right? Now, I’m guessing you’ll need a big car. Yeah?”
She giggled at that. “You got that right. And by the looks of you, you won't struggle getting my suitcases in the car.” She raised her hand in a mock salute, putting on a slightly patronising, pretend serious face; “I just need your phone number…”
“Oh, right. Sure.”
I handed her a card. It was literally a blank white card with ‘A. Miller’ stamped in black capitals, with a cell number written in blue pen underneath. Couldn’t find a black one. She didn’t look impressed.
“Burner.” I said. She looked at me blankly. “Say someone taps that number. I break the phone, throw the SIM, and fuck off. Damn well ain't payin’ for new business cards. So I just write the new number on the next card. Genius, ain't it?”
“Yeah...” she responded, deadpan and with a blank expression. “Genius…”
All of a sudden her demeanour changed, a gleam of excitement in her eye and a slight smile on her pretty face. “OK, I’ll call you. But now, I need to get ready. Oh, and your shoulders are blocking the doorway; I’m expecting a delivery or two.”
I’m guessing that means “Get the fuck off my doorstep and scram.” Just like her father…
I left and strolled along the large driveway to the mansion’s gates. I had known Chloe wouldn’t be ready, and I wasn’t dumb or old fashioned enough to think I could just turn up in a couple days time and we’d be off on the grand tour. No, I’d come here to case the joint; check security, access, sight lines, that sort of thing. And I wanted to see how this guy lived, someone who was sending his daughter on a no-expense spared, four month luxury trip, with an expensive bodyguard. An expensive bodyguard who’d had his usual rate almost doubled.
I turned around as I walked, taking in the long, winding driveway. Immaculate lawns to either side. Large pond, tennis court off to one side. Swimming pool out back, I imagined. Oh, and the big fucking mansion in the middle of it all.
Someone might even be after his daughter just for his money…
The security looked good, at face value. There were two guards on the gate, one in a little office which likely had CCTV monitors for the perimeter fence, probably front door and back door as well. There was a guard patrolling the fence, and one guard on the front door. If the guards were worth their salt, then this would be a hard place to get into, detected or undetected. If not, then it wouldn’t take much to sneak past or simply take them out one by one.
Leaving Little Miss Beautiful all on her own, wearing nothing but a fluffy pink dressing gown…
I had to shake myself to clear the image that had started to form in my head, of Chloe slowly opening the gown, and letting it drop to the floor.
I decided that it would be best to keep an eye on the place over the next few days, mainly at night when the guards would be half asleep or not paying as much attention. Didn’t want to fail the job before it'd even fucking started.
“Damn. I need a drink,” I said out loud. It was a bit early yet, though I was sure I’d be able to find some seedy bar that would sell me a coarse whiskey in a dirty glass. But first I had some errands to run and a few logistical issues to iron out.
There were two main logistical issues, I figured. First, I had no fucking clue where the first destination was. Which meant I couldn’t plan anything. Plus, you couldn't get away with strolling on a plane with a gun these days. No, I had to take one with me in my check-in, or arrange for one or two to be “deposited” at the intended destination. I had some old contacts in America, Europe, a few in Russia, some in Asia and a couple in the Middle East. Most of them owed me favours…
It’s surprising how many people run to America, thinking they might be safe here. Well, thing is, they ain’t safe. Not when someone’s hired Axel Miller to find them…
As soon as I knew a couple details, I’d stroll on down to the nearest payphone and make some calls. When I knew the destination, I could use the same contacts to check who was operating in the area. Which gangs might be sniffing around. And I could use those same contacts again to scare the living shit out of most of them…
Leaving the few remaining hard bastards for me to deal with. Well, luckily, I’m harder.