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And this is a fucking safe house? Shit, you could put my entire apartment building in here.
The kitchen area is right in front of me; white cabinet doors, white countertops, and white ceramic tiles. To say it in your head would make it sound clinical, but it’s all high-end and finished to perfection. The living room to the right is made up of two large navy sofas, a thick gray rug, and a huge television placed on the wall, while the dining table seats six, the hardwood furnishings make the space feel homely.
I’m obsessed.
Give me a security detail every day if it looks this fucking good.
Turning my attention to the only other person here, I clear my throat. “So, what’s your name?” I ask, having read it on his identification but wanting to hear it from him.
He startles for a moment, a hint of guilt over not introducing himself properly sooner, but it quickly washes away as he finds a vanilla cupcake in the bag of goodies from Elsie. “Benji,” he states before popping the entire thing into his mouth.
Holy fuck.
Wetting my lips, I glance around the room once more, searching for a distraction that doesn’t come in a six-foot-four suit-laced body. “So, what are we supposed to do now?” I ask, still looking anywhere but at him.
“Now we lay low,” he replies, the bag ruffling in his grip as he searches for more treats. “At least until they find the hitman anyway.” My blood turns to ice at his causal mention of a fucking hitman and I whip my gaze back to him so fast I almost give myself whiplash.
“Hitman?” I repeat, my heart thundering in my chest.
“Yeah, when we ran checks on everything last night, after Elsie had reached out, we got an alert in the early hours of the morning that an ad for a hitman had been placed on the dark web,andsomeone had accepted the job.” He says the words like he’s delivering the weekend weather forecast.
It looks like kidnapping on Thursday, followed by a high chance of homicide throughout the weekend. Bob, back to you for sports.
But this isn’t an everyday occurrence for me like it may be for him.
“Why hire a hitman when he…” My words trail off, bile burning the back of my throat as Benji moves toward me, confusion flicking in his eyes as he comes to a stop a few steps away from me.
“When he what, Nate?” he asks, his voice almost soothing as he questions me.
“Elsie wasn’t the only person he paid a visit to last night,” I whisper, embarrassed by my current situation. But I don’t see any judgment in his gaze, just a calculated gleam, like he’s trying to piece together all the parts of the puzzle. But this isn’t some casual wooden jigsaw puzzle, this is my fucking life.
“Some people want things done without the risk of it falling back on them. What they don’t know is how far our reach extends, the information we can gain at the touch of a button, or the fact that we’re literally trained to die for our clients, Nate. Now is no different. I would die to protect you. It's my job, my responsibility.”
His words weigh heavy on my shoulders as I gape at him, each breath I try to take harder to draw than the last. I really am fucked. This world is screwed up, and I want no part of it. It’s not supposed to be this way at all.
He must catch a glimpse of something in my eyes because he steps closer, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder, and I jolt at the touch, frozen in place as his stormy brown eyes meet mine. “Now, you can tell me what happened last night or not, that’s your choice, and it doesn’t change the situation right now, but I need you to know that I’m the protector, not the predator, Nate.”
His words calm the rising panic building in my veins, my shallow breathing evening out as I stare at him.
What if I don’t want a protector though? What if I just want to find someone to live my life with, get a dog, live in the suburbs, and bake cakes forever? What if I don’t want my literal life on the line and people hunting for my blood?
Nothing that I want matters anymore, and that defeat hurts.
My shoulders droop as I feel myself retreating. Benji must sense it too because he drops his hand, giving me the space I need. “Where are the bedrooms?” I mumble, my voice void of emotion as I drop my gaze, refusing to meet his eyes once more.
“Find one,” he mutters, giving me free reign, and I take that as a tiny win. In two words—short and abrupt, sure—he managed to show me that I’m not subject to his every order.
“If you need me for anything, I will be updating the security features,” he hollers after me as I turn for the stairs, and I nod in response, unable to use my tongue.
I haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, the horrors of my life making it far too difficult, but with every step I take up the stairs, my eyelids grow heavier.
Let’s hope I don’t wake up to the same nightmare I’m escaping. I opt for the room at the end of the hall, shouldering the door open with a huff and throwing myself down on the bed like a moody teenager.
Fuck.
I want to scream into a pillow, punch something, and rip my hair out all at once, but none of that is going to help my current situation.
Not. One. Bit.
