I open and close every attachment on Melinda.Not one damn photo.
He did that on purpose.
I could look her up now that I have her full name.My supposed genius brother also conveniently left off all her social media, assuming she has any.
She’s not boring,
I type out to Adrian.
You just only sent boring stuff.
He doesn’t get it.She edits for a living, so details don’t slip past her.I kill for a living.Details can’t slip past me.Different trades, same religion.Precision, discipline, patience, much like mine, but in its own way entirely, steady me.Reading through all this, I see a woman who chooses the same road on purpose.So, when she deviates, it means something.Her world is a clean routine, and ours isn’t, but Adrian is wrong.That doesn’t make her boring.It makes her rare.It makes her something I’ll protect.I’ll keep the blood off her.If something ugly has to get through, let it be me, let me be the only bad thing that ever gets through, and I’ll carry the dark so she can keep the light.
Adrian:
I did enough to know she’s not currently a liability.Would you like a deep dive little brother?
No shit.I want it all.Down to what she’s having for breakfast today.
Adrian:
Can I send Atlas?
Discreetly and only if I’m not watching her myself.
Adrian:
Is my killer brother turning over a new leaf?A stalker leaf perhaps?
Just do your damn job.
My patience gone, I close out of my messages.Adrian will do what I asked.He’s annoying.They all are.But, he’s never let me down.
I still see Atlas as a naïve, punk-ass kid, so I try not to put too much on him.Don’t get me wrong, I’d die for him.I’d skin a motherfucker alive for him.
It’s just different with Adrian and Caleb.Especially Adrian.I’d chop a man’s balls off with a dull kitchen knife and feed them to his mother if Adrian asked me to.Wouldn't even need to know why.
Another ping.It’s her calendar, blocks color-coded to the minute that cover everything from meals to meetings.It isn’t just neat blocks.I can see into her mind.Resign?sits in yellow, which I figure out is herdecidecolor.The note is nudged forward three Fridays in a row before it finally turns blue.She followed through.Tell Mommoves a week, then two, then disappears and comes back days later with a note under it:don’t apologize for doing what’s right for me.
Packing Tasksshow up as a run of blue logistics,order boxes, donate, label boxes,butBook movers?keeps hopping day by day with pep talks stacked under it:call them today, stop stalling, be brave.
Her first days here are a map of flinches.Drive to officeappears three mornings and gets crossed out each time and replaced withUber (it’s fine)and a little script:practice driving Strip on days off.Walk-through apartmentis solid green, buthang artsits yellow on top of it with:no measuring, just commit.EvenExplore Strip?toggles between maybe and never with a note that reads,you can do hard things.
She plays life like chess, ten moves ahead, but then stalls any time the task is, what, uncomfortable for her?The Vegas tasks, the ones that should’ve stayed forever in the crossed-out phase, are all there, complete.Some after a few tries, but done.Pick up keyslands blue after two red X’s.Drive to workfinally sticks.In the margins she talks to herself:be brave,alone isn’t empty,you can trust you, today you choose you,breathe odd, you’re allowed to take up space.She hesitates; then she goes.
That’s the part I can’t shake.Her fear is present, obvious, but her will is louder.She fears the checkmate, but still makes the move.I know men who don’t, who can’t.Courage like that can’t be taught.She thinks she’s afraid, but the reality is she’s fearless.My instinct is to protect, to sweep the pieces off the board for her.But under that is something truer.I’m her knight, and I want to watch how she plays, watch as she wins.
One thread keeps snagging:Call Mila.It shows up every Sunday night as far back as this calendar goes in soft purple, the color she uses for personal things.But then it gets bumped, crossed out, rewritten asMila—coffee?and canceled twice.A week later it’s justMila.No verb.After that, a greyed-out block:Stop trying (for now).No last name anywhere.Whoever Mila is, she used to be automatic.She used to be purple.Now she’s a red bruise on the schedule pages.I flag the name in my head.People who vanish leave bigger holes than enemies ever do.
I leave my phone charging on the kitchen counter and go through my morning ritual.It takes me exactly twenty-seven minutes daily to prepare to leave my house.Fifteen minutes spent punching the absolute shit out of the heavy bag in my basement, leaving twelve minutes to shower and dress.When I’m not on a job, like today, I unfortunately wear suits and drive a car.When my planner sayskill so and so, I dress casually and ride my Harley.
Today’s not a Harley day.
My brothers and I built our reputation for unparalleled service, discretion, and effectiveness, and quickly became the go-to security firm for the world's elite.Clients come to us for everything from personal protection to asset security.With Adrian behind his keyboard, Caleb running the numbers, and Atlas tracking people and things like a bloodhound, there’s no other company on the same playing field.Not to mention my special talent of making people talk and or disappear depending on the situation.
We handle all meetings with potential clients as a team.Only exception?When I’m elbow-deep in someone’s guts.
Perk of the job.
