Chapter 3
Kade's POV
I didn't move. I couldn't.
I was sitting there with the silk sheets bunched in my fists, my head still throbbing, and now there was a woman in the doorway looking at me like I was a cockroach she'd just found in her bed.
She was beautiful in the way a diamond is: sharp, and icy. Her eyes swept over the room, landing on the tangled silk sheets, my bare, bruised shoulders, and finally, Damien's hand still hovering near my arm.
"I see," she said. "I thought the sensors were acting up. I didn't realize you'd brought home a new... acquisition."
I felt the heat crawl up my neck. I didn't feel embarrassed. I mean, I'd spent three years on a stage in a G-string, for Christ's sake but the way she looked at me was the way you look at a muddy footprint on an expensive rug.
"Lydia," Damien replied. His voice didn't waver."You're back early."
"The gala was tedious. The company was worse." She stepped into the room, her heels clicking against the floor. She stopped at the foot of the bed, tilting her head as she studied my face. "He's a bit... roughed up, isn't he? Is this a new hobby, Damien? Or is the 'security' excuse finally wearing thin?"
I clutched the sheet tighter. "I'm the bodyguard," I snapped, my voice raspy. "And you must be the wife. Nice to meet you. Love what you've done with the place. It's very….'haunted museum' chic."
Lydia's lips curved into a fake smile."It speaks." She looked at Damien. "Where did you find this one? He has a mouth on him."
"He's staying in the guest wing," He replied.
"Go to bed, Lydia."
"In a moment." She leaned against the bedpost, her gaze dropping to the tattoos on my chest. "You know, honey... you shouldn't feel too special. Damien has a very specific aesthetic for his personal protection. Tall, blasian, fuck-me eyes. You're the third one this year."
My heart skipped a beat. A 'type'?
"I'm not his sex mate," I muttered, though my confidence was cratering. "I'm a hire."
Lydia let out a soft laugh that made me want to punch her. "Oh, you're adorable. Has he told you the 'protection only' lie yet? Or the one about how he needs someone 'discreet'?"
She leaned in closer, the scent of expensive roses suffocating me.
"My husband doesn't hire security for safety, darling. He hires them because he's a coward who can't admit he'd rather be under one of you than sitting at the head of a boardroom. He's gay, sweetie. But he's a Resquav. And Resquav men don't come out, they just buy toys that look like you to keep the secret warm."
I looked at Damien. Expecting him to spazz out or tell her to get out. But he just sat there, his jaw tight, staring at her with a cold, hollow hatred.
"Sleep well, boys," Lydia chirped, flicking a stray hair off her shoulder. "Try not to stain the sheets. They're Hermes."
She turned on her heel and went out, the door clicking shut behind her.
I sat there, frozen. The 'bodyguard' job, the 200k, the protection rule. It all felt like a script now. A dirty, well-rehearsed script.
"Is it true?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Damien finally moved. He stood up, towering over the bed, his shadow stretching across me.
"What Lydia thinks is irrelevant," he said.
"It's really relevant to me!" I shoved the sheets down, not caring that I was naked. I needed to feel like I had some kind of teeth left. "Am I a bodyguard, Damien? Or am I just the next guy on the list? Am I here to watch your back, or am I here because I look good in your bed?"
Damien stepped into my space. He didn't touch me, but the heat coming off him was intense. He leaned down, his face inches from mine.
"You're here," he whispered, "because I chose you and not because of a list."
He paused.
"And if you think I'd pay two hundred thousand dollars just to fuck you, Kade... you vastly underestimate how much I'm willing to spend to keep what belongs to me."
My breath hitched.
"I don't belong to anyone," I breathed.
"We'll see," he said, his eyes dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before he pulled away. "Get dressed. We start your training at dawn."
I blinked, jagged by the absurdity of his word.
"Training? At dawn? I'm pretty sure I have a literal concussion, Damien. My brain is rattling around in my skull like a spray-paint ball."
Damien stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to look at me. "I'll have the doctor check you again," he said, his voice flat.
"Rest then. We'll push it back."
He turned to leave, but as his hand hit the door handle, his phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, his face hardening as he read whatever was on the screen. He tapped a button and the room was filled with a muffled voice coming through the speaker.
"Mr. Resquav? They went back. The men from the alley hit the club ten minutes ago and took a girl with them."
I sat upright, the silk sheet slipping down my chest as I ignored the dizziness that slammed into me.
"What?" I rasped.
Damien's eyes cut to mine. "Who did they take?" he asked over the phone.
"A girl. Short, blonde hair. The manager said her name was Dana."
My heart skipped a beat. Dana. My best friend. The only person in that hellhole who had ever checked on me when I was too sick to dance. The person I was going to call as soon as I got my shit together.
"No," I breathed, scrambling out of the bed. I didn't care that I was naked. I didn't care that the room was spinning. I grabbed Damien's arm, my fingers digging into his expensive sleeve.
"They have Dana," I choked out, my voice shaking with a rage I couldn't contain.
"Damien, they have my best friend."
He didn't pull away. He just looked down at my hand on his arm, then back at my face, his expression unreadable.
"Relax," he said quietly.
I stared at him in disbelief, "Relax? My best friend is out there and you're telling…."
I began to feel lightheaded, staggering backwards. "Dana." I whispered before everything went blank.