Dragon: A Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

The relief on his face is worth the pain of having to say nice things about Carl.
And really,
I tell myself,
will it kill you to go on a couple more dates with him?
With a bit of luck, he'll get bored of me, and then I'll be free. Free of Carl, anyway.

“I'm so pleased, sweetheart,” he says. “But...”

He looks over at the door to his office, which is ajar.

“But what? What are you looking at?”

“But until you and Carl are more
settled
, I want someone to keep an eye on you. Just until this threat business is taken care of.”

“You mean like a bodyguard?” I gasp. Things must be a lot more serious than he's saying. I know he has protection when he's working, but we've never had anyone at home.

“A companion,” he says soothingly, like I'm an elderly woman who needs someone to play bingo with. “Somebody to drive you about, take you shopping, that kind of thing. He'll be staying here for a little while.”

I'm not completely stupid, despite what everyone seems to think. If my father is ordering this level of protection, it only means one thing. The threats have included me, personally. He's been telling me not to be afraid, but I am.

“Come in,” he calls out. His office door swings open, and a man steps into the room.

“This is my daughter, Honey,” Dad says. “Honey, this is Dragon. He's going to be keeping his eye on you night and day, so don't worry about a single thing.”

Goddammit.

Chapter Three - Dragon

I can hardly believe my eyes. It's
her.
The girl from the dressing room, the girl from the restaurant, the girl that's been on my mind almost constantly for the last twenty four hours – she's Tony Freeman's precious daughter. Honey. But now I think about it, I never did catch her name. If I had, I'd have known.
Or would I?

The girl that Freeman described is a million miles away from the girl that I know. Not that I know her, exactly – I've fucked her twice, but we've barely said two words to each other. It's enough to form an impression, though – bored little rich girl, out on the hunt for some cock from the wrong side of the tracks. She'd barged into my dressing room – a family trait, apparently – and made it pretty damn clear what she did and didn't want from me. It explains why she split when she heard Freeman banging on the door, in any case.

Now,
that
had been an interesting conversation. After he'd stopped playing the big man, he'd cut to the chase and explained what his 'job offer' entailed. Threats have been made, which in his line of work isn't unusual, but this one is different. The target is Freeman's daughter, not Freeman himself. There's an unwritten code in this world – nobody targets the family. So, until the situation is dealt with, Freeman's daughter gets herself a bodyguard.

He'd described his daughter as a sweet, unworldly innocent. I know that daddies are usually in denial about their little girls – I wasn't expecting him to call her a 'complete fucking ho-bag', but Jesus Christ, this girl is
not
what he thinks she is.

She looks as shocked as I am. I'd heard the conversation, so I knew Freeman was dropping this bodyguard shit on her out of the clear blue sky, but even so. It's pretty fucking obvious that she's horrified to see me.

Her eyes flick nervously back and forth from me to her father, and I know she's wondering if I've told him anything, or if I'm gonna.
As if.
Tony Freeman would kick seven shades of shit out of me if he knew what I'd done, and that's if he was feeling generous. If not, well, I'd be at the bottom of the river. And if the rumors about Tony Freeman are true, I wouldn't be down there alone, either.
Thank fuck for that fire exit.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Freeman," I say politely, holding out my hand for her to shake. The hand that was buried in her pussy a couple of hours ago.

"Call me Honey," she says. She can keep her cool in a crisis, I'll give her that.

She turns to her father.

"Is that all, for tonight? I'm pretty tired, and I really want to get to bed."

"Sure, sweetheart," he says, kissing her on the cheek.

Once the door has closed behind her, Freeman turns to me.

"As you probably gathered, she doesn't know much of the details. I'm gonna keep it that way – it's for the best. I don't want her any more scared than she needs to be."

"How serious do you think this thing is, really?" I say.

"I don't know," he says wearily. "On the one hand, it's just a couple of letters, talking shit. It could even be kids, fucking around. But on the other hand…"

He'd shown me the letters earlier. At the time, I thought they were pretty nasty, but they didn't move me emotionally. But as I stand there, watching Tony pace up and down, I start to look at them in a new light. Because now they're about someone I've met, someone I can put a face to.

It makes me feel sick. The letters go into sordid, graphic detail about what the writer is going to do to Tony Freeman's daughter. Whoever wrote them is seriously fucked in the head. No demands for cash, no 'get the fuck out of town', just threats. As far as I can tell, they're trying to scare Freeman. It's working. He doesn't know what he's dealing with – a pervert, a prankster, or a pissed off business associate. None of that is my problem, though. My role has been made clear. If Honey isn't with her father or her boyfriend, she's with me. And I'm to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

As if he's read my mind, Freeman moves over to the bookcase, and takes an anonymous-looking book from the shelf. He opens it and offers it to me.

"It's not registered, so don't think twice about using it," he says.

I take the gun from the fake book, and slide it into the back of my jeans.

~~~~~~~

I'm lying in bed, but I can't sleep. A shame – this is probably the biggest bed I've ever slept in, or ever will. Staying at the Freeman place is part of the deal, along with a serious amount of cash. This room is like something out of a fancy Vegas hotel, and it's only a frigging guest room. I don't feel like partying, though. I feel out of place, like I shouldn't touch anything.

I'd rather stay at home and drive over every day, but Tony shot that idea down right away. He doesn't want his daughter's lifestyle compromised, which means that I have to be available 24/7 until it's done. And how long
that
will be, well, that's anyone's guess. He hinted that he has guys looking into it, but he plays his cards close to his chest.

I stare up at the ceiling, just visible in the dim room, and sigh.
How the fuck have I got here?
I mentally tick through my problems, as if I'm counting sheep. Problem one – I'm doing a very dangerous job. I'm not afraid of getting hurt. Pain is part of a fighter's life, and it's sure as shit part of mine. But I wouldn't have chosen this job for myself. However, when Tony Freeman asks, the answer is always yes. At least I'm being paid well.

Problem two, though – that's the big one. I fucked the girl I'm supposed to be protecting. If Freeman finds out, I doubt he'll be very forgiving. It's all in the past, though, so I
should
be able to let it go. Either he'll find out or he won't.

But I can't let it go. Right now, she's lying in bed, straight across the hall. Just knowing that gives me an uncontrollable hard on. Fucking her again would be the worst thing possible, but I can't stop thinking about it. Hell, half the reason I can't sleep is because I can't stop listening out for the sound of my bedroom door opening, which is fucking ridiculous. She's given me no reason to think that she'd do that – it's fairly obvious that she plays the good girl at home. But goddamn, when I picture her in here, riding my cock…

But of course, she has another cock to ride. The asshole boyfriend that she was so quick to disown at the restaurant. I'd heard her gushing to her father about how great he was, and what an amazing time she'd had. She'd even bitched about the restaurant. That right there shows the difference between someone like her and someone like me. I'd taken Paddy and his wife out to celebrate my win. Until this job is over, I'll have no time to train with him, so I wanted to go somewhere nice. I thought the place was great, and she thought it was a shit hole. Different worlds.

When I think about it that way, it makes it easier. Yeah, she's a hot piece of ass, but she is also a lying, snobbish bitch. All I need to do now is tolerate her until this letter-writer either fucks up or fucks off. Then I can collect my paycheck and go back to where I belong.

I'm finally drifting off to sleep when I hear the faint rumble of a car engine outside. The sound stands out – the Freeman house is set way back from the road, and the driveway is maybe a full mile long. Passing traffic wouldn't sound so loud. I roll out of bed, butt-naked, and check the window. I can't see anything out of place, but this room is off to the side and the view is limited. I leave the lights off as I quickly throw some clothes on. If there is someone hanging around out there, I don't want him to know that he's been heard. I take the gun out from under my pillow and have one last look through the glass before I quietly slip out of my room and down the hallway.

The house is as silent as the grave, and I can hear my heartbeat, the blood pumping in my ears. I feel the same way I do when I go into the ring – alert, ready,
alive.
Maybe my heart pounds this way in the ring, too. I wouldn't know; there's always too much noise to hear it. The gun in my hand feels heavy. I'm not used to being able to defend myself from a distance – my instincts are to fight with my fists. I need to be careful, though. I got the impression that Tony Freeman wouldn't lose too much sleep if the wrong guy got killed, but I will. Especially if I've pulled the trigger. I'm no stranger to firearms, and I'm a pretty good shot, but I won't be going for the kill unless I have to.

I check the ground floor of the house, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. By the time I'm done, I can see as well as if it was midday. There's no sign of a forced entry, and I can't hear anyone moving around. I quietly let myself out of a side door and move towards the tree line. The moon is bright, and the gardens are lit up like Christmas out here. But the shadows of the trees will conceal me, and the grass will muffle my footsteps.

I can see something out just beyond the gates – a light. It's not bright, and the trees and bushes are blocking any chance of a clear view, so I can't tell what's going on. It would be quicker to move directly towards it, but if I go trampling through the undergrowth I'll be heard a mile away. Instead, I follow the curve along where the wild wood meets the perfectly manicured lawn, moving as fast as I dare.

My eyes are fixed on the light as I circle it, hoping that it will reveal something, and start to make sense. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe this is an intruder of a different variety. Honey is clearly no angel, and I know first-hand that her daddy hasn't got a clue about what she gets up to when he's not looking. I should have checked her room before I came down here. What the fuck am I supposed to do if I find her out here with some guy? It's not a question I could ever ask Tony, for obvious reasons. She has no idea about the letters, let alone the contents, so she doesn't know how dangerous it is for her to be running around in the middle of the night. And he it would never occur to him that she
would
go running around, so he'll never warn her off doing it.

I know what I should do, if I find her. I should report it, because it's not my fucking problem. I've been hired to keep her safe, not to keep her secrets. But when I think of her with some guy, I feel... jealous.
Jealous? That's fucking ridiculous,
I tell myself. We're not together, and we never will be. She has a boyfriend, and I'm not interested. But for some reason, the thought of a nameless, faceless guy out here makes me angry in a way that seeing that limp-dick douchebag never could. I don't want that side of her – the spoiled little rich girl. Douchebag is welcome to her. But the wild, sexy woman who would sneak out of the house in the dead of night; I want her.
She
belongs to me. Suddenly, I
want
to catch her at it. Because I want nothing more than to beat the shit out of the guy touching her.

The trees thin out, and I realize that I'm pretty close to the gate. I can see the light source, now. It's the interior light of a car – no headlights, though. For one horrible moment, I can imagine it so clearly that I nearly
see
it – Honey on the back seat, riding some prick. But the car is empty. As I watch, a shadow crosses the light, and a man slides into the driver's seat. The interior light goes off, and the car starts to reverse down the drive, headlights still off.

I break cover, crashing through the undergrowth, but by the time I'm over the stone wall, the car has gone. It's too dark to see the color, let alone the plate. I look around for Honey, but there's no sign of her.
What was he doing, then, if he wasn't doing her?

I move over to the gate. I'm on the wrong side, now, the outside. Everything looks normal. I know he's not been using the intercom, because the house is still in darkness. If he'd have pressed the buzzer, Tony would have woken. The only other feature is the mailbox. From this side, there's only a slot to push the letter through. I backtrack to the wall where I came over. I could have climbed the gate, but doing so would have broken the invisible laser beam that runs over the top. As of yet, there's no reason to send up the alarm.

Back at the gate, on the right side this time, I check the mailbox. It's locked, but it's only a shitty thing, and the keys in my pocket are enough to jimmy it open. The metal box should be empty, of course. But it's not. There's no stamp on the envelope, which looks like all the others that Freeman showed me earlier.

I wake Tony, give him the envelope, and tell him what I saw. I don't mention my raging suspicion that the intruder was there at Honey's invitation. He checks the CCTV, but it's worthless. The car parked too far back, and in the dark it's impossible to see the guys face when he posts the letter. Hell, I don't even recognize myself when I show up on the tape a moment later. Freeman tells me to go to bed, looking like he's aged ten years in the last half hour.