Page 2

Chapter two

The Bodyguards

Kylie

I n my defense, they were all what I would call downright fuckable.

While I was married for almost four years, I stopped sleeping with Carlos nearly two years ago. Anytime we had sex after that had been by force. But even those horrible episodes trickled to an end unless he was drunk.

He preferred calling me his frigid whore while parading his mistresses in front of my face. Not that I cared. He wasn’t good in bed. I could forgive his lack of skill and finesse in the bedroom when I thought he loved me. But as soon as I realized I was just another accessory Carlos had acquired because he wanted a wife for appearances, I stopped being quiet about his poor bedroom skills. I’d never forget the beating I got that night.

“Mrs. Vega, I’m Gideon White with White Security. These are my colleagues Chase, Axel, and Mateo.”

Chase was the blond, Axel was the muscle, and Mateo was the dude with all the tech gear.

Gideon waited patiently for me to respond. The overabundance of testosterone on display was rather disarming. And my blasted hormones decided now was the time for acting like a cat in heat. I wouldn’t kick any of them out of bed.

Dammit. I needed to stop my train of thought. It would only lead to disaster. I needed them to keep me alive, not fuck me.

“Hi, I’m Kylie Vega. Won’t you please come in?” I stepped back, holding the door for them to enter.

They filed in one after another, removing their sunglasses. And that’s when the full brunt of their impact blasted me. They assessed the foyer and me. Their gazes roved, cataloging everything they touched. I guess it’s good they were thoroughly scanning the property. It meant they would be the best suited to keep me alive. Then again, the foyer made a statement. The golden hardware floor and grand spiral staircase illuminated by a crystal chandelier casting a golden glow. It gave the entryway a warm feeling. I loved the remodeled look.

Also, for the record, I was all for remaining in the land of the living. I didn’t survive hell only to have my life end now.

“Why don’t you gentlemen follow me into the living room?” I walked down the hall toward the living room, expecting them to follow. In my redecorating efforts, I had the entire first floor repainted, the fixtures switched, new artwork installed, and the furniture replaced. Now the first floor reflected my modern tastes with cozy additions. Nothing was too gilded or ornate. I wanted it to look like a home instead of a museum. Muted grays and tans were the main color scheme, with bursts of color from the artwork. I had all the hardwood replaced. It had been deep ebony. And now it was this golden honey wood with hints of tan in it. The walls no longer looked like those you’d find in a bordello, but were a calming neutral beige. The molding was now ivory instead of black. The change made the first floor appear airy instead of making visitors feel like they were meeting a Pharaoh.

The living room held a new gray leather sectional sofa, and instead of the blasted aquarium with piranhas in it. There was a huge eighty-five-inch flatscreen mounted on the wall. And I loved how well-lit the room was with the huge bank of windows facing the backyard and lighter colors. It no longer filled me with dread, but a sense of peace.

And no, I didn’t have the piranhas killed. I donated the entire fish tank to a nearby aquarium.

Carlos liked to use that tank to dispose of anyone he wanted all traces of extinguished.

The security team followed behind me. Their heavy, male footsteps droned out my lighter ones. I felt their eyes on my back. What did they think of me? Was I the young, rather simple widow attempting to appear older in my skirt and blouse? Like I was the lady of the manor instead of the silly woman who believed all my late husband’s lies during our courtship and thought she would be living in heaven when it had been the darkest hell imaginable.

I should fear the four men at my back. But I didn’t have it in me. Yes, they exuded testosterone and made me feel small and feminine. But I didn’t fear them. Not like I did Luka Santos and all his thugs, because those motherfuckers meant business.

“You have a lovely home,” Gideon mentioned, glancing around the living room with a discerning eye.

“Thank you. It belonged to my late husband.” And now it belonged to me, all ten thousand square feet of Northern California real estate along the coast. There was even a marina that could be accessed via stairs along the cliff. It was where my husband’s yacht lay at anchor. Well, my yacht now.

If there was one thing my abusive husband had done that I appreciated, it was putting me in his will as his sole beneficiary. Even though his money was ill gotten, it provided me with a freedom I had never experienced before in my life. I could go anywhere. Buy anything. Be anyone I wanted to be.

As long as one of Luka Santos’s thugs didn’t take me out first. Being dead would toss a monkey wrench into my plans to build the life I wanted.

“Please have a seat. And help yourselves.” Waving my hands, I gestured to the pastries on the platter in the center of the coffee table. “Can I interest any of you in some coffee? Or I’ve got some iced tea as well.”

“Coffee would be much appreciated, Mrs. Vega,” Gideon replied with a slight nod, but no smile. Did the man ever smile? Or was he just that serious?

I had a pot already made, waiting in an insulated pot on the coffee table, along with all the accouterments.

“These look amazing.” Chase scooped up one of the cinnamon chip scones and winked at me. “I could do with some coffee, too.”

At least the blond hottie was a charmer. I felt a twinge in my girly bits over the dashing wink he sent my way.

Get ahold of yourself, girl.

Once I was in the clear and didn’t have to worry about Santos offing me, then I could go to town, become a total whore and sleep with whoever the hell I wanted. Until then, I needed to be on guard and prepared for whatever Santos would throw at me.

“Please, call me Kylie,” I instructed, pouring coffee for everyone. “Cream, sugar?” I asked, scanning the crowd.

“Just black for me,” Gideon stated, rather dour faced.

Why did I have the burning desire to be the reason that man smiled?

I shelved the burning question for later as I poured a cup for everyone, me included, so I would have something to do with my hands. Once everyone had coffee, I sat, facing four of the hottest men I’d ever met—and that was by California standards. My ovaries made kissy noises at them and blushed.

The four of them were on one side of the U-shaped sectional, and I sat on the opposite side with the coffee table between us.

Gideon had a notepad and pen clutched in his hand. He peered at me with eyes the color of storm clouds. “You mentioned during our phone conversation that you need round-the-clock security. Can you describe a bit of the problem? That way, we’ll know the best methods to implement.”

I hated this part. Admitting what my late husband had done for a living. It always garnered disgust and disdain. Like by marrying him, I deserved whatever horrible thing might befall me. But if I had known...oh, who was I kidding? I had been desperate to escape my humdrum, paycheck-to-paycheck, hand-to-mouth existence working as a waitress. During our brief whirlwind courtship, Carlos had brought me expensive gifts. He had wined and dined me even though I hadn’t been able to legally drink. I had experienced my first taste of champagne with him. He had done everything to make himself attractive in my eyes, and it had worked. I doubt I would have believed anyone if they tried to tell me about all the skeletons in his closet. Because within the first week, I had looked at him with cartoon hearts in my eyes.

Studying the men in my living room, I knew they might internally condemn me while acting as if it didn’t matter. Mainly because they were here to win a job and not to judge me.

I set my coffee mug on the table and clutched my hands together in my lap before I began. “Okay, here’s the thing. My late husband was involved with the Santos Mafia. Since his passing, the head of the organization, Luka Santos, has been harassing me.”