Untitled Book 2 (2 page)

Talon throws his head back and laughs, his drink sloshing out of the glass. “It's not a fuckin' holiday. It's a test. A test of your fuckin' patience.” He studies me, searching my eyes. “My cousin is a pain in the ass, Vinnie. None of the men want to watch her because she can be . . . a little difficult to manage.” He cracks his neck from side to side while I process the fact that she is his cousin. I don't know how I feel about that.

“Your cousin,” I say slowly.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes narrowing. “My cousin, and I'm fuckin' trusting you with her, so don't treat her like the enemy because she's my family.”

Who the fuck does he think I am? I tighten my lips, not even justifying that comment with a response.

“I love her, don't get me wrong, but I know how stubborn and hardheaded she can be.”

That's it? The girl was stubborn? That still doesn't add up.

“Big-ass bikers scared of a little girl?” I joke, grinning.

Talon pulls out his phone, presses a few buttons, and slides it over to me. I glance down at it and see a picture of a stunning Asian girl with long black hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. She is a petite little thing, with perfectly shaped lips that catch my attention.

Fuck.

“This her?”

He nods and takes back his phone. “They didn't want the job because yes, she's got an attitude problem at best, but also because she's fuckin' gorgeous, and they know if they touch her in that way, or in any way, I will personally fuck them up.” He pauses, studying me. “I know how loyal you are, Vinnie—to your club, to whoever you care about. And I know that you'll look after her better than any of my men could, and that's the damn truth.”

Better than his men?

His words were true, of course, but I'm still surprised at hearing them leave his lips. Perhaps he needed better men in his MC.

His cousin was a beauty, sure, but I'm not a man to be swayed by a pretty face.

“Message received,” I reply, standing up from my stool. “I'm viewing this as a job, Talon. I protect your bratty cousin—who, by the way, I have no idea how the fuck she's even your cousin, seeing as she doesn't look anything like you—then I get my ass home and hopefully never see you again.”

“Shayla's adopted,” Talon explains, also standing. “Family isn't always about blood; you already know this.” I nod. If I know anything in life to be true, it's that family is about loyalty, not blood.

“I'll
text you the address now; they're expecting you. It'll take you about four hours to get there, depending on the traffic.”

“All right,” I say, just wanting it all over with. “Don't worry about your cousin. I'll keep her safe.”

I can handle one girl. I don't give a fuck how much of an attitude she has.

“I know,” Talon says, finishing the rest of his drink in one gulp. “I wouldn't have asked you otherwise.”

He slams down his glass and leaves without another word.

My phone beeps with a message from him, the address.

Fuck.

Well, no time like the present.

I get on my bike and ride toward my new home for the next week.

I
DO
a double take when I see the house. No, the
mansion
. It's fuckin' huge. Two stories, all done in white and light gray—the house is modern as fuck, with big, timber double doors and a glass balcony on the top floor. I glance at the high security fence in approval and then enter the code that lets me in. I walk up to the door and knock, then glance down at my black boots and figure I'm probably going to have to take them off. I'm just sliding my feet out of them when the door opens and a large, bulky man stands there, a satchel over his shoulder.

“Good luck,” he murmurs, walking past me. I watch him exit the gate, then disappear down the street before I step inside, closing the door behind me.

Well, fuck.

The house is silent.

Not knowing what the fuck I'm meant to do, I walk through the house, checking out the layout from a security point of view, pinpointing any weaknesses. The place is OCD tidy, and fancy as shit, so much so that I don't even want to touch anything.
Straight back from the front door is a row of glass sliding doors, opening onto a wide patio with a shimmering turquoise pool in its center.

I stop in my tracks when I see her, sunning on a lounge chair. She's lying on her stomach, a book in front of her face, which is half-covered by giant sunglasses. She's in a black bikini, and although I try not to, my gaze roams over her bare back and the curve of her ass.

Fuck.

It's a nice ass.

Big and round for her tiny frame.

Knowing I don't need to be distracted by her or her ass, I walk outside, meaning strictly business.

“Shayla?” I say as I approach, not wanting to scare her.

“What?” she asks in a haughty tone, not bothering to even see who she is talking to.

“I'm Vinnie,” I say, hoping that she'd already been told I'd be arriving today. Last thing I want is to have to explain shit to her. “I'll be the one guarding you for the next week.”

She closes her book and lifts her head, looking up at me. “Where did Mike go?”

“He already left,” I say, scanning the backyard. “Seemed pretty fuckin' happy to do so too.”

“I'll bet,” she murmurs, reopening her book and casting her gaze down, dismissing me.

“Which room should I use?” I ask, wanting to get settled.

“Upstairs, first room on the right.”

“Anyone else here?” I ask, trying not to stare at her ass and failing.

“Another guard comes at night,” she says, flicking the page. “You're
the only one here with me during the day.” She pauses, then says, “Although I don't know what they expect you to do.”

I glance around. I have no idea what they expect me to do either.

Leaving her to her own devices, I check the upstairs and put my shit in my room, which is about three times the size of my room at the clubhouse. I'm glad it doesn't have fancy floral shit or anything; it's pretty much all white, with a giant bed that gives me ideas I don't need to be having. I want to take a quick shower but instead I head back down, wanting to be debriefed properly about the situation, but all I know is what Talon told me.

From what I understand, Shayla is the daughter of some accountant who is Talon's biological uncle. He had clients who required him to be creative in doing their books, which landed him in prison. Apparently there are rumors he's working with the feds, so there are men after Shayla who plan to use her against her father. Not only do they want to threaten her life, they think she has the information her father needs. She's his weakness. Talon thinks it's the Mafia, since they were a huge client of his, but he isn't really sure. No one has shown their faces. I have no idea why her father turned to Talon when he'd already hired guards, but here I am. I'm here to protect her, for a week, until they move her again.

This is the third house she's been in in the last two months. Talon thinks moving is the solution to keep her from being found, and so far it's seemed to work. On top of my being here as her personal bodyguard, her father's hired men are also on call 24-7, and the house has camera surveillance. I personally think they're going about this all wrong, but what the fuck do I know?

I'm
just a biker who owes another biker a motherfuckin' favor.

*  *  *

After a phone call with Talon, I take a shower and head back downstairs. Shayla has moved inside and is sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“What do you do for dinner?” I ask her as my stomach rumbles, making her jump in her seat.

She flicks her head around, her hair flying around her oval-shaped face. “Jesus, how do you not make any noise when you walk? You're freaking massive.” She pauses, raking her gaze over me. “You're one of those douchey guys who spends all his time in the gym, aren't you?”

My lips tighten into a line. If I'm going to have to deal with this mouth for a week, I'm going to need something to keep me sane. Since women are out, and I can't drink on the job, maybe I should take up smoking for the week.

Yeah, I can almost feel the nicotine craving begin.

“What happens for dinner?” I repeat, not impressed one bit.

“Someone usually drops something off,” she says, shrugging her petite shoulders. “At seven. Sometimes a chef comes in and makes whatever I feel like eating.”

A chef?

I blink slowly, wondering which idiot runs this operation. “Do they screen this chef?”

“It's the same guy who comes,” she says, looking at the TV and flicking through the channels. “He's been with us for years. He's fine, practically family.”

I scrub my hand down my face and count to ten in my head. I have no fuckin' idea how this girl is still alive. If I'm going to be in charge of protecting her, I'm going to change things around here. “Who drops off the food? Why don't you just cook something? It's not like you have anything else to do here all day.”

Her head snaps to me like that exorcist bitch. “Just because I'm a woman I'm supposed to cook? Times have changed, and I'm not going to be spending hours in the kitchen every day just because I have a set of tits. Why don't you cook?”

I look up at the ceiling, my jaw tighter than it's ever been. Wishing Talon had asked me to torture someone for him instead, I move to stand in front of her, blocking the TV from her view.

“Hey,” she growls, looking up at me.

“I'm here to make sure you're not fuckin' kidnapped, raped, or tortured,” I say in a tone that's way too calm. “Who drops the food off to you?”

She purses her lips but reluctantly answers. “One of my father's men. His name is Greg.”

I'm not one to judge, and I generally don't give a shit about what other people do, but it's clear this chick is spoiled as hell and is used to getting anything she wants, including her way.

“I don't like the fact that there are all these fuckin' people coming in and out of the house,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Talon said I'm in charge, so don't bother arguing. The chef has to go, and no one else is coming inside. The night guard I will check out myself, and if I approve, he can wait outside; he has no reason to step inside the house.”

Shayla surprises me by shrugging again and saying, “I don't give a crap. Do what you want.”

I exhale and walk out of the room. I change the code on the fence, and I change the locks on the doors. To really protect the little spoiled princess I need to be able to control the environment, who enters and who has access. When Greg arrives with dinner, I thank him but tell him he no longer needs to bring the food—that I will sort it out. He seems a little suspicious but agrees and lets it go. I carry the plastic bag of food to the kitchen and search through it, happy when I see tonight's menu is apparently Japanese.

“Did he bring my katsu chicken sushi?” she asks as she enters the room.

I shrug and nod toward the bag. “Have a look for yourself.”

She opens the bag and pulls out a box. “Sweet,” she murmurs, then grabs some water from the fridge. I have no idea how she's being so casual about everything—including having me in her presence—without even batting those long-ass lashes. Maybe she doesn't realize how dangerous a situation she's in, but still, she seems completely at ease, even though she has people out to kill her. People so dangerous that she needs high security and has to remain hidden.

“You can have the rest, this is all I wanted,” she says, walking out of the kitchen. I watch her leave, gritting my teeth. Something about her just sets me on edge. It takes me a few minutes to figure out exactly what it is—she reminds me a lot of my ex-girlfriend Eliza. Eliza came from money and thought she was better than everyone else. She was a spoiled, entitled bitch, but because she was my first girlfriend, my first regular pussy, I let her lead me by the balls. Yeah—Shayla might be beautiful, but
she definitely isn't my type. I like women who aren't so high maintenance and used to having their way. This week is going to drag on, but at least I can keep myself busy sorting out the clusterfuck that is Shayla's security detail.

Let's just hope she doesn't drive me insane before the week is over.