He looks confused. “You want to take me? Alone?”
“Yes, you weirdo. Even if they were awake, I’d pick you to come with me.”
I really would. I get different things from each man. Comfort and gentleness from Glen. Fight and strength from Matt.
But from Kenta—
I get steadiness. Calm. Support. Both Glen and Matt like to shield me from things that are painful, and I understand why. They’ve seen so much pain. And right down to their cores, they’re protectors.
But Kenta wants to see me work through obstacles. He really believes I can do anything. He makesmebelieve I can do anything. So, yeah. I need Kenta, right now.
Fifty-Three
Kenta
?
Briar insists on driving us to the cafe. Normally, I would never let a client drive; if something goes wrong, Matt, Glen and I have all been trained in escape and evasion driving, so we can make a quick getaway. But the danger has technically been eliminated. And if I’m honest, I think she needs it. She needs some sense of control, after everything that happened last night. So I key the zip code of a veteran’s cafe into the sat nav and let her have at it.
We’re quiet as she navigates the sunbaked LA roads. It’s a beautiful day. The sky is bright blue, and the California palm trees ruffle their long green leaves like streamers in the gentle morning breeze.
I look across at Briar, taking in her unstyled blonde hair and bare face. The necklace that we bought her sparkles on her collarbone. My chest clenches with a sudden wave of pain, which I quickly stamp down.
I shouldn’t be sad. I should be over the damn moon that she’s here. And safe. And whole.
The few minutes it took us to bust down the door to X’s cabin last night were the worst of my entire life. I shudder as I remember standing outside the thick metal door, hearing Briar screaming and sobbing as gunshots fired. X’s deranged shouts echo in my ears.I’m going to kill her. You’re too late.
In that moment, I thought for sure that we’d open the door to find her dead, bloody corpse. And I knew that when that happened, my life would never be the same again. Never. I’ve never loved a girl so much. Losing her might just break me.
But now she’s sitting next to me, relatively unscathed, and I can barely look at her.
Last night, when I went to pay the delivery guy, I passed Briar’s open bedroom door. I heard her whispering to Glen in the bathroom. Telling him that she loved him. He didn’t sound shocked; it clearly wasn’t the first time she’d said it. Then, when I walked out onto the balcony half an hour later, she was telling Matt the exact same thing. She’s in love with both of them.
Which is fine. I’m used to it. I’ve always been the one who fades into the background. Matt is such a loudmouth no one could ever ignore him, and Glen has a kind of gentle-giant sweetness which gets him a lot of attention, even if he doesn’t realise it. I’ve always been the boring one. The sensible one. And I like that, most of the time. God knows we need a bit of sense in our team.
Right now, though, I wish I could be anybody else.
Briar leans forward and fiddles with a button on the dash, turning on the radio. Her long hair drapes over my bare arm, and I close my eyes as ‘Hotel California’ starts blaring through the sound system. She lingers there for a moment, her soft body pressed against mine, before slowly pulling back. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
In a few days this will all be over.
While I was out on the terrace this morning, I made a plan. I’ll stay here in LA for the next day or two, until Angel Security can find another guard to replace me. Then I’ll fly back to London and ask Colette to find me a solo job. Preferably a very difficult, dangerous one that will distract me for a few months. I don’t like the idea of leaving Matt and Glen; we’ve worked as a unit for so long. But I just can’t be around them if they’re both going to be dating her. I’ll get over it in time. I always do. But right now, I can’t sit around watching her fall more and more in love with them. I can’t do it.
A small hand touches my arm. Briar scans my face carefully, then nods out of the windshield. “We’re here.”
I blink, suddenly realising that the car has stopped. Looking around us, I can’t help but swear.
The street she’s driven us to barely looks like LA at all. It could be London, with its grubby shops and brightly coloured signs. There are bins huddled on the pavement and graffiti tags sprayed on the walls. I thought this place would be safe, but there’s already a handful of photographers hanging around Cricket’s Café. They’re huddled together, smoking cigarettes and chatting in the late-morning sunshine.
“This makes no sense,” I mutter. “How does this keep happening? How did they know we’d be meeting here? We haven’t put it on any of your socials.” I pull out my phone. “I know another location. I’ll text it to Julie.”
Briar stares at the men clutching their cameras. “Kenta,” she says slowly, “only three people knew we were going to be here. You, me, and Julie.”
I close my eyes as everything falls into place. “Shit.”
It all makes sense. How the paparazzi kept finding her, no matter how secure the location was.No wonder X managed to follow our car back from the restaurant; he was probably paying off the paparazzi for her location. The paparazzi, who had been tipped off by her fame-hungry, cash-grabbing PR manager.
I shake my head, pushing open my car door. “I’ll talk to her—”
