Sure. I nearly snort at the panicked idea. He’d help, and I’d pay the cost.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath. Phone in one hand, folded cane in the other, I jump out right in front of him.
“Why are you following me again?”
My voice comes out strong, demanding, and I’m gratified when he gives a strangled yelp and backpedals.
I swipe my phone screen. “I’m calling the police.”
“No!” He sounds petrified and lunges for my phone. He misses.
I hold out my folded cane like a truncheon, and back away, wishing I’d replaced the pepper spray. “Hel—”
His calloused hand clamps over my mouth, smelling of sweat and freshly cut grass. “Shh. Please. I’m not going to hurt you, just… You can’t—”
I drive my foot into his ankle and swing my folded cane into his midsection.
He doubles over with a guttural wheeze, his grip slackening enough for me to wrench free.
I skip out of range. “Help!”
“No, it’s…” Tears glisten in his eyes, and he gulps in a ragged breath.
I hold up my phone, showing him the screen ready with 111. “Tell me why you’re following me or I’ll dial the cops. I’m serious.”
“Please, I…”
My thumb hovers over the call symbol.
“Damien hired me, okay? I’m not… Jesus.” He collapses against the shed wall, cradling his abdomen. “What did you hit me with? Is there blood?”
“Hired you to do what? Steal my phone?”
“No. He hired me to make sure you’re safe.” A pained laugh escapes him as he straightens, hands braced on his hips. “Got that the wrong way around, didn’t he?”
“Safe from what?”
He gestures at a nearby bench and, at my nod, collapses onto it with a sigh. “From your bullies.”
I remain standing, muscles coiled. “Like a bodyguard?”
“Yeah, exactly like that, except you weren’t meant to know.” His palm rasps over his buzzcut. “I really fucked that, didn’t I?”
“Bumping into me twice in one day? Yeah, I think so.” Another memory stirs. “Did you stop Alyssa this morning?”
“Yeah.” He pulls down his mouth. “She had a balloon full of crimson paint or lube or something. Girls are fucking disgusting.” His lips twist in revulsion.
I take a seat, maintaining a careful distance. “Don’t they teach rugby players how to take a punch?”
“No, they teach us how to take a tackle because it’s not boxing, and there’s no way that was your fist.” His eyes flick to my cane, then he thrusts his hand towards me. “I’m Cam.”
“Ophelia,” I say, returning his shake. “When did he hire you?”
“Last Wednesday. He said you’re bullied a lot.”
An electric chill spreads across my skin. Damien organised this a full week ago. Days before he broke into my house, before I uttered a single word about Craig or accused him of being in league with Chelsea.
“I don’t have much standing here, but I’d really appreciate if you didn’t tell him, you rumbled me.” Cam gives a sheepish grin. “The money’s really good.”
