Page 108 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

I think about all the women I’ve worked with in the refuge. They all found themselves in far worse situations than this, and they all made it out the other side. Sure, they had the scars to prove it, but I’m a Sedric, and I’m no one’s pawn.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realize anyone is coming until I hear the key turning in the lock. I stand up, staring at the door as it swings open.

A young woman is standing in the doorway, feet planted wide in Doc Marten boots, arms folded across her chest. She can’t be much older than me, but it feels like we’re worlds apart. The green-tipped spiky hair, the green flecks on her eyelids, and the black leather outfit are almost designed to make her intimidating, but it’s more than that. There’s a mark under her left eye; is it a tattoo? But there’s also something in her demeanor, in the way her chin juts forward and her top lip curls at the corner that shows that she’s a woman who is used to being in control.

“Who are you?” I face her squarely and wish that I wasn’t so hoarse.

“Your worst nightmare.”

Her smile bares her top teeth like a dog on the attack. I’m sure that’s a line from a movie, but I can’t think of which one right now. Probably one of the action movies my brother Daniel used to love when he was younger.

“Where am I?”

The smile morphs into a sneer. She would be beautiful if she wasn’t quite so aggressive. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“Why am I here?”

She steps closer. I can smell her exotic perfume and something else. Danger? “You ask a lot of questions for a little printzessa.” There’s a hint of an accent when she speaks, Eastern European maybe. Or Russian.

“Who are you working for?”

The smile is back, and I can see her pointed canine teeth. “That would be telling, and I’m in no mood for small talk.”

“Why not?” The question comes out before I can even think about it. But if I think we’re going to get acquainted and become lifelong friends, I’m mistaken.

“It’s been a long day.” She pauses, and her eyes glitter in the dimly lit room. “If you want to find out how long, just keep on talking.”

My eyes flicker to the door behind her. She left it ajar when she came in; all I have to do is get past her.

I don’t waste a beat. Head down, I lunge at her, the top of my head colliding with her diaphragm and sending her sprawling backwards. Her spine hits the door, slamming it shut, and I groan inwardly. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Like a cat, she springs to her feet, grabs my hair, and hurls me across the room.

Covering my face with my arms, I roll across the bed and crash into the wall, my shoulder taking the full force of the collision. But I’m not giving up that easily. I jump off the bed and try to dash past her to reach the door, a low animalistic howl erupting from somewhere deep inside.

Her fist connects with my jaw and blinding white pain explodes inside my head. I crumple into a heap on the floor, cradling my head in my arms. I remind myself to keep breathing, in and out, in and out, while the pain creates a Fourth of July display behind my eyelids. When I can think straight again, I move my lower jaw from side to side, and almost cry with relief when I find that nothing is broken.

“Game over. Get up.”

I open my eyes to find her Doc Martens in front of my face. Sliding my eyes sideways, I can see that the door is shut, and she is standing between me and freedom.

I drag myself onto my feet slowly, buying myself some time while trying to figure out my next move. I can see the gun tucked inside the waistband of her leather pants. Fuck! She might not shoot to kill if I try to escape, but I have no doubts that she will shoot me, and I stand a better chance of escaping without a bullet wound.

Upright, I realize that we’re about the same height and build, but I sense that this woman is pure muscle. Okay, so I have to try talking my way out of here.

“Do you know who my father is?”

She scoffs and furrows her brow. “I know.”

“So, you know that he will get me out of here and there will be serious repercussions.”

Serious repercussions? What am I, a kindergarten teacher?

Her half-smile tells me that she’s had the exact same thought. “Bring it on, baby.”

What the actual fuck. A sliver of ice trickles down my spine. I’m alive for now, but these people obviously want war.

“Who are you working for?”