The corners of her lips twitch before she can stop them, her eyes lighting up. She looks away again to hide it, back out the window, watching the city pass by.
For a second, I let myself actually look at her. Not as a responsibility. Not as an asset. But justlookat her.
She’s… aggravating. It’s the first word that comes to mind. Her bratty demeanor and the way she doesn’t back down are grating on my every nerve. The sharp comments, the stubborn tilt of her chin, and the way she acts like she’s daring me to challenge her.
A challenge that is enticing me far more than it should.
But she is also gorgeous. I repeatedly find myself noticing the way her thick thighs press against the seat when she shifts her weight and the soft curves of her body, not hidden beneath the oversized sweatshirt she’s wearing. Her cheeks fill out when she smiles, not sweet, exactly, but smug and amused, like she knows she got under my skin and is enjoying every second of it. And her eyes.Jesus. They spark whenever she’s about to say something bratty.
I drag my gaze toward the windshield before I get caught staring, because the thoughts I’m having are nothing but trouble. If she were ten years older—twenty-nine instead of nineteen—she’d be exactly the kind of woman I’d never be able to stay away from. All sharp edges and confidence, with soft curves wrapped around a mouth that has never learned how to behave. The kind of woman who’d keep me up at night just to argue with me and then grin about it as I spent the rest of it reminding her who’s in charge. She’s the kind of woman I’d become completely infatuated with, which is precisely why I need to stop noticinganyof that now.
She’s the job. An asset. Nothing more, Damon.
The SUV pulls through the cast-iron gates, guards standing sentry before rolling to a stop on the circular drive, marking the end of this nightmare journey. Not bothering to wait for either of the guys, I shove open my door, and my boots hit the pristine white pavers with a thump. I storm up the front steps of the house, a place that is supposed to be home but instead feels more like a museum I occasionally visit.
I wrench open the heavy oak door and step into the cavernous, marble-floored foyer. “Dad!” My shout echoes off the high ceilings, and the empty, distorted sound bounces back at me. He appears at the top of the grand staircase, dressed in a tailored suit with a loosened tie and disheveled hair. His face is etched with a weariness that goes beyond a busy work week, looking much older than when he dropped me off at college only a few months ago.
“Kenzi,” he exhales, his voice soft as he descends the stairs. “Thank God.”
Instead of stepping forward to meet him, I plant my feet in the center of the foyer and cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Don’t ‘Kenzi’ me, Dad. I sat on a private plane for nearly eight hours with two human brick walls who wouldn’t tell me anything more than the sky is blue.Please,tell me what’s going on.”
He reaches the bottom step with slumped shoulders and looks past me to Damon and Hawk, who have entered behind me. He gives them a slight, grateful nod before turning his full attention back to me. “It’s the cartel, Kenzi. They’re making threats.”
Cartel?
It’s a word from movies and news reports. I’m not naive. I know they’re real, but notthisreal. Cartel crimes are something that happens to other people, faceless people on television screens and headlines you scroll past quickly because they feel too distant to touch your life. They don’t belong in the marble hallways of ambassador residences and security detail briefings.
“Threats,” I ask, my voice shaking with nerves that I’m barely holding in check. “What kind of threats?”
“Violence against me,” he shares, his voice heavy. A cold wave of dread crashes through me so fast it nearly steals the air from my lungs.
No. Not him.
I can’t lose him, too.
It’s been five years since Mom died, and suddenly the ache of it feels more like an open wound than one that has been healing for half a decade. It’s just the two of us. Even if wefight and work keeps him busy more often than not, he’s all I have left. The thought of something happening to him twists my stomach painfully.
My arms wrap tighter around me, my fingertips digging into the flesh of my upper arms. It’s a futile attempt to make myself feel safe as a thousand horrible images force their way into my thoughts: blood, kidnappings, explosions, and men with guns coming for him.
“So you just… what? You just yank me out of my life, from my classes, my friends, and everything I’m working toward, because you are in danger?
“Not just me.Youare in danger as well.”
“And, you didn’t even call me?!”
“I did call you, Kenzi. But as usual, you didn’t answer.” His face softens as he closes the distance between us. “What would you have had me do? Give you a choice? ‘Hello, darling, a drug cartel wants to kidnap and murder you to get to me. Would you mind terribly packing a bag?’ I’m sorry, darling, but it doesn’t work that way. My first responsibility is always to keep you safe.”
“Safe?” I scoff, a short, bitter sound. My chest feels too tight, panic and anger tangling together so intricately, I can barely tell them apart. “You sent me away after Mom died, are too busy to answer my calls, and now, because men are threatening me,yousuddenly decide to be Father of the Year?”
“Mackenzi!” he shouts back, his composure finally cracking. “I’m doing the best I can!” The volume of his anguish in the silent house hits as hard as a physical blow.We stand there, unyieldingly staring at each other as two more men emerge from the shadows of the living room, drawn by the sound of our argument. One is tall, covered in tattoos like Damon, built like a wall, and has a cocky smile. The other is equally as tall, a little older, and far more clean-cut. Both are dressed in the same dark, tactical clothing as Damon and Hawk.
My father takes a deep breath, visibly composing himself before gesturing at the two men. “Mackenzi, you’ve already met Damon and Hawk. This is Jagger and Gunnar. They are the rest of our new security team.”
Jagger gives me a lazy, two-fingered salute and a wink that practically explains the arrogance on his face. Gunnar just nods, with the corners of his lips ticking up barely enough to call it a grin. A team. A mini army of men dispatched to manage my life.
Hawk steps forward, his calm, professional demeanor a stark contrast to the emotional wreckage of my reunion with my father. “Miss Bradenburg, if I could have a moment of your time.” He waits until he has my full, unwilling attention. “We need to go over the details of your protection. It’s important you understand the parameters?—”
“Nowyou want to go over the details?” I don’twantto understand. I want to scream and throw things and break every one of the pristine, expensive vases sitting on the console table. Instead, I find myself following the four of them and my father into the living room.
