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Brak had packed a small duffel with spare leather pants along with a couple T-shirts. Since boxers were optional, he decided to forego them. Damn things chafed his dick.
He armed himself with his favorite matched pair of butterfly swords and two Glocks. The blades slipped into sheaths at his spine, the guns fitting into cross holsters on his chest. He adjusted the straps for a snug fit. To hide the weapons, he donned a long black leather coat despite the summer temps.
Duffel in hand, he was outfitted in enough armaments to be his own army. Brak took the stronghold’s portal through the Whorl to a Chicago site the Firebrands identified as safe. Once he arrived, he tapped his D-chip to open the door leading out of the downtown storefront. Since it was night, sidewalk traffic was light.
The female lived in a ritzy part of the city, facing the lake. Must be nice to have money. She was a lawyer. Likely snooty to boot. Already two strikes against her. At the foot of her night-lit building, he let his gaze crawl up the sleek glass and concrete high-rise from the lobby floor to the penthouse. Yep. Rich. Uppish.
Finding the name Harley Ross, he buzzed. A sweet but commanding voice sounded over the intercom. “Yes?”
“Brak. Your father sent me.”
“I told him it wasn’t necessary. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure, but right now, I’m out here looking a little out of place and hotter than hell. Could we discuss this inside?”
Long pause. Was she really going to let him stand here holding his dick in the open?
Beep.
He grabbed the door handle before she changed her mind.
Riding in the elevator, he thought of all the ways he could let Kole down. She could refuse his help. She could get killed on his watch. He could lose his shit and fuck her brains out. For a male who had never known fear, it had a grip on his throat now. The carnal demon was afraid he’d fail.
Brak strode off the elevator, prepared for the worst encounter of his life. He rapped his knuckles on the door to her condo. A nose and an eye appeared in a crack, a flimsy chain all that protected her from danger.
“How do I know it’s you?” Her voice was as sweet up close as it had been over the speaker.
Smart.
He shrugged off his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeve. “Firebrand mark.” He flashed it at the cautious female.
She gasped.
Uh-oh.
With no cover-up, he was a walking arsenal of death, scaring the shit out of the lawyer chick. “I’m your bodyguard. The blades and guns come with the job.”
He waited.
She stuck a cellphone into the crack to snap his photo. “Hold it a sec.”
The door closed. He heard the lock snick.
In a few minutes, she opened it wide, pointing a lady’s pop pistol at his chest. “Come in, Brak the bodyguard.”
He grinned. “You know, that can’t stop me.”
“But it will sting like a bitch. Follow me. I was making myself a dry martini. Very dry. May I offer you one?”
Brak’s throat was parched. Not because he was thirsty. The female was tall, trim, gorgeous. Her tight ass swayed from side to side as she led him into the living room. She wore cotton pajamas, not thin but clinging to her curves. Her top was long-sleeved and high-necked. The more it hid, the more he wanted to uncover. Pink fluffy bedroom slippers peeked below the pant legs.
Her face was scrubbed, her dark hair pulled into a snug ponytail. Everything about her was great. Heart-stopping great. And she was dressed for bed, which was where he wanted her. What really made his damn cock twitch, though, were the black-rimmed glasses she kept pushing up the bridge of her nose with a pinky finger. Fuck. She looked like a librarian. Sure. But most librarians couldn’t talk a jury into giving you twenty to life.
To top it off, he bet she was smart. Being a lawyer and all.
His voice was deep and raspy. “Yeah. A drink would be nice.”
“James Bond style?”
