Triple-Duty Bodyguards: Chapter 4

Matt sits back, his eyes flat and cold, but doesn’t say anything else. I nod. “Right. First of all, I’d like you all to switch off your phones. I don’t want any of you recording this conversation.”

Glen and Kenta both do as I say. Matt snorts. “Princess, if we wanted to do that, we wouldn’t be using our phones. We have slightly more advanced equipment at our disposal.”

I stare at him. “Just turn off your phone,” I enunciate the words slowly. “And don’t call me princess.”

“Briar…” Julie starts. “Please. You’re being rude.”

“I’m not being rude,” I say evenly. “This is the protocol for anyone new entering the house.”

She rolls her eyes and turns to the men. “Don’t mind her,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a sexy purr. “She’s been moody the last few days.” She bats her eyelashes at Kenta. “You know, I was honestly only expecting one guard to show up. Getting to meet three of you is a lovely surprise.”

“We work as a team, ma’am,” Kenta replies, apparently unaffected by her flirting. “I’m afraid we’re a package deal.”

“Oh.” She looks taken aback. “Ah, what are your rates, then?”

“That’s impossible to calculate until we know what we’re dealing with, what level of security we would need to provide, whether you require overnight or international coverage—”

“Ballpark figure,” Julie demands. “What are you charging celebs with similar public profiles?”

Kenta shrugs. “Our company recently had a celebrity singer hire close protection for about 1.2 mil a year.”

Julie blanches. If I weren’t so annoyed, I’d probably laugh. Apparently, she’s bitten off more than she can chew with her bribe. The agency isn’t going to be happy that she’s hired me a seven-figure security team that they now have to cough up for. “Um, she probably doesn’t need all three of you,” she starts. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement—”

I cut her off. “Calm down. I’ll pay out of pocket.”

She frowns. “But it’s written in your contract that the agency is supposed to provide you with security.”

“I know. And you did. And it was shit. So I’ll be paying for my own security, from now on. That way, I know no one’s cutting corners to save some cash.”

“But—”

Matt sighs heavily. “Will you please just tell us why the Hell we’re here? Because there’s a very good chance you won’t even need to hire us in the first place. We only take on serious cases. Where the client’s life is endangered.”

“My—” I look down at my hands, digging my glittery red nails into my palms, and take a deep breath. “My house was broken into a few days ago. A guy in a ski mask climbed over my fence, scaled the side of the house, broke my window and climbed into my bedroom while I was asleep.”

A ripple goes over the three men. Their faces stay completely stoic, but they stiffen slightly in their seats. Whatever they thought they were called out here for, it wasn’t that.

“Were you assaulted?” Kenta asks softly.

I shake my head. “No. And he didn’t steal anything valuable. He took a couple of my t-shirts, left me a little present in my bed, and put this under my pillow.”

Julie pulls open her purse and pulls out the file of evidence. “Here you go, babe.”

“Thank you.” I open the file, taking out the Polaroid of me sleeping and pushing it across the table.

Kenta looks at the picture, but doesn’t touch it. “Shouldn’t you have turned this in to the police?”

I press my lips together. “I tried to. Paparazzi caught their cars driving through my gates and started shooting them, so they assumed the whole break-in was some kind of publicity stunt. They barely listened to anything I said.”

Kenta frowns. “Even if they thought your allegations were false, they should have collected the evidence. This is extreme negligence. You could take it to court.”

“I don’t want to take it to court, I want someone to take me seriously. Check the back.”

He delicately flips the photograph. His eyebrows raise as he reads the message scrawled across the back.

“I’ve gotten threatening letters before,” I continue. “I’ve always disregarded them before now.”

“Threatening how?” Matt demands.

“Crazy declarations of love. People telling me they’ll stab me in the street. People saying I deserve to be killed. I’m not a popular person.”

“It really is normal in the industry,” Julie cuts in, back-pedalling frantically. “Really, I’m not sure how necessary all of this is.”

Kenta frowns. “Ma’am, it’s very necessary. Your security system is clearly faulty, and if this is some kind of obsessed fan, I would be very surprised if their success didn’t encourage them to strike again.”

Julie looks desperate. “I know plenty of other stars who have had break-ins. They didn’t need 24-7 bodyguards! Just an updated alarm system, maybe some on-site guards. I’m sure just one of you would be fine.”

“This wasn’t a break-in,” Kenta counters. “It was a home invasion. Had Miss Saint woken up whilst the fan was in the room, the likelihood of a violent altercation would have been incredibly high.”

Matt speaks up suddenly. “What did the police say?”

“Not much. They didn’t dust for prints, because he was wearing gloves on the CCTV footage.”

He nods. “Not surprising, if he thought forward enough to mask up. Nothing useful on the video?”

I shake my head. “You can look at it if you want. All they could tell was he looked about five-ten, medium build. They also took a DNA sample from my sheets, but apparently they didn’t find a match.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Your sheets? What did he do, spit on them?”

I set my jaw. “He… ejaculated on them.”

Kenta’s eyes widen. “Wait. While you were in the bed?”

“Yes,” I say stiffly.

All three men share a dark look. I notice Glen’s hand twitch slightly on the table, like he wants to clench his fist. Matt visibly flinches.

“I see.” Kenta’s warm voice is suddenly icy. He looks back down at the photograph. “I see.”

“Again, it’s pretty common,” Julie chips in. “You know, I heard just last week, some creep broke into Tye Kavanagh’s hotel room—you know, the rock singer? The guy masturbated in Tye’s guitar case. All Kavanagh did was call security to escort him out, he didn’t hire three ex-SAS soldiers to tail him around—”

“Could you please leave?” Kenta asks suddenly. “We’d like to speak with the client alone.”

She scoffs. “If we’re paying for your services, surely we are the clien—”

Matt glances up from the Polaroid. “Out,” he orders.

I wonder if he was some kind of commander in the army. I think Julie’s halfway out the door before she even realises what’s happening. The door clicks softly shut behind her.

“You need 24-7 protection,” Matt says. “Your current system is completely unacceptable.”

My mouth drops open. “24-7? Are you serious?”

“Someone has broken into your house, violated you, and threatened further assault. You need 24-7 protection. That means at least one of us staying in your house with you, at all times.” He ticks off a finger. “You need updates to your home security system. More CCTV. Motion-detecting floodlights. A more advanced alarm system. Reinforced windows.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think you understand. I’m not looking for 24-7 bodyguards. Just someone to fix up my security system and protect me when I’m out in public.”

“I don’t care what you’re looking for,” Matt bites out. “I’m telling you what you need. If we take on a job, we do it properly. We’re not half-assing it and putting a client in danger, just because she doesn’t want the hassle of having us around.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenta says, softly. “But this really is necessary for your safety.” He taps the Polaroid. “He mentions that he’ll try to meet with you again ‘soon’, and frankly, I don’t like the wording ‘we’ll be sleeping next to each other forever’. It sounds like a kidnapping threat. Potentially murder-suicide.”

My heart freezes in my chest.

“You said you wanted someone to take you seriously,” Matt says brusquely. “We’re taking you seriously. Stop complaining.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I snap, rubbing my temples. I’m scared and tired, and he’s already doing my head in. “They don’t teach you manners in the military?”

He snorts. “Like you know anything about manners. I’ve seen you in the tabloids, princess. And I’ve heard first-hand the shitty way you talk to your staff. What was it?” He pretends to think. “Screw this up, and you’re fucking fired? Was that what you said to your PR woman before you came in here?”

My mouth falls open. He leans in. “If we do take this job, I want to make some things clear.” He raises a finger. “We are not servants. We are not butlers. You might be paying us, but you will have to follow our orders. No tantrums. No arguing. No stamping your little kitten heel in the middle of the mall, because we tell you that you have to go home. We need you to trust us completely with your safety.”

“I see,” I drawl. “And this is how you inspire trust? By insulting me? Because right now, I wouldn’t trust you to hold my handbag, let alone save my life.”

He opens his mouth to answer—and then an odd expression flickers over his face. He stiffens, his free hand gripping the table. I watch as his jaw clenches so hard his teeth click. For a few very long seconds, he sits there in silence, completely unmoving, every muscle in his body tensed.

I blink, confused. “Are you okay?”

He relaxes, his shoulders slumping the tiniest amount, and reaches for the glass of water in front of him, not meeting my gaze.

“Let’s see the house,” Kenta says, standing abruptly. “We’d like to scope the place out before looking at any contracts.”