Page 6 of Killer Notes

CHAPTERTWO

Tobias

I pull in behind my partner, John Brand, and park next to his black SUV, which is identical to mine. We both get out and walk around to the bumper of his vehicle.

“Whose damn idea was it to wear these fucking suits?” John scowls down at the black suit Dean Harper, the owner of Harper Security demands us to wear them.

These stupid suits are a joke, and John asks this same question at every job. Dean wants us to look professional, but he isn’t out in the field working in them. They’re restrictive and un-fucking-comfortable, and hot as hell.

I stretch my arm and the material doesn’t give. What the hell am I supposed to do if I have to run. It’s going to be a bitch, trying to reach for the gun in my shoulder holster.

“Who do you think?” I say, frowning down at my suit.

“Oh yeah. Remind me why we still work for that asshole? Jesus. My ball sweat has sweat.” John adjusts his boys and then his skinny black tie.

I chuckle. “Well, I won’t have to worry about it after this job’s over. This is my last,” I announce, while tracking a blacked out Lincoln Navigator rolling into the parking lot. John makes a noise, but I cut him off. “I’ll explain later. They’re here.”

The men pour out of the vehicle. I instantly clock the singer and my dick perks right up. But I quickly tamp down my fast rising lust by thinking of my ex in bed with another guy. That does it. My cock deflates like a popped balloon.

I memorized his features the moment I received the file, but the photo didn’t do him justice. Danny Raven Wells is even more stunning in person. I’m glad I have on my shades because it gives me an advantage to watch him closely.

However, I can’t ignore the tight-as-fuck blue denim jeans that show off the singer’s pert ass. Or the shirt that doesn’t hide any of his slim lower torso.

His long, straight brown hair is halfway down his back, and it glimmers in the sunlight, like there’s soft gold interwoven in the strands.

Jesus, my fingers itch to touch it.

The way his hair frames a perfect oval face… Christ, I have a need to taste his glistening, full and taunting lips. But his piercing blue eyes. Even from this distance, I can see the depths of the aquamarine color, and the slight disdain cast my way.

I don’t know what or who pissed in his Cheerios, but I’m getting the feeling this guy is a diva with a capital D. Even if he’s beautiful to look at, I know he’s going to be trouble for me.

I shift my gaze to the other men in the band, and then to the slender, tall man who we know is the Warrior Black’s manager.

“Fuck,” John mumbles under his breath.

“What?” I ask without looking over at my partner.

“I think Dean sent me on this job to kill me.”

Not sure what John is talking about, but I do have to agree with him that this job is going to be somewhat tough when my dick wants what it can’t have.

I’m this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been in this business for too many years to let my lust run my brain. I know not to cross that line. Or let my cock do the thinking for me.

As we approach, the singer’s eyes pin me with another frosty glare as he pulls a tube of something out of his pocket, twists it open, and slathers a glossy substance across his lips.

The singer says something under his breath to the drummer, who I remember as Connor Wild, or Wildman to the fans. The singer then hauls ass into the building as though there’s fire licking at his feet. And the rest of the band members follow right behind him.

I wonder if he’s trying to get away from us? Or justme?

Well too fucking bad, princess.

I’m not here to coddle the singer or give in to his spoiled ego. I know those types. Know them well. And they are all the same. I’m here to protect him from a stalker who is sending letters threatening bodily harm.

Too bad if Mr. Wells—or should I call him Danny, or his stage name, Raven—Fuck. I don’t know what to call him now. I’ll have to ask the manager.

How did Dean talk me into doing this job? I should be lazing on my ass back at Pops’ place, fishing. Instead I’m here, babysitting a guy who doesn’t seem to want my protection.

I just need to keep the singer safe and alive, while Harper and the crew back at headquarters unravel who’s behind the threatening notes. I can’t do much about the singer’s disposition.