“Quest, I don’t need bodyguards.”
As the words left my mouth, he looked at me like I’d said the stupidest shit in the world. “Yes you do. That’s not a negotiation. For today, I’m picking you up myself.”
I wanted to argue but he was right and I hated that he was right. So I said nothing else, which was my version of agreeing without giving him the satisfaction of hearing me say it.
He dropped me off at the academy in Silver Spring and parked the car across the street like a man who had nowhere else to be, even though I knew for a fact he had a billion-dollar company to run and a war to plan and a friendship to end. He was sitting in a parking lot waiting for me to learn about microneedling. The man killed people for a living and he was waiting for me outside of beauty school. If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was.
Class felt normal and abnormal at the same time. Mrs. Pak was in rare form, barking instructions at us about needle depth and sanitation protocol while we practiced on silicone skin pads. She stopped at my station and looked at my work and said, “Better than last time. Still not great.” Which from Mrs. Pak was basically a standing ovation. I’d take it.
My classmates were gossiping about somebody’s baby daddy and the new celeb gossip and whether the Thai place on the corner was closed for health violations. Normal stuff. It was all mundane shit that I had missed the last few days. Hopefully I would soon get back to normal.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was a CashApp notification. $5, 000 from Mateo Rios.
I stared at it. There was no message attached, just the money sitting there with his name on it. I hadn’t heard from him since before the kidnapping. I’d been so consumed with surviving that I’d almost forgotten he existed, which was a mistake because men like Mateo Rios didn’t stop existing just because you stopped thinking about them.
I returned the payment and texted the number attached to the account:I’m no longer in business. Please don’t contact me again.
Two minutes later, another CashApp notification. $10, 000. No message.
I declined it.
Another one. $10,000 again.
I blocked his number, went back to my silicone skin pad, and tried to focus on needle depth and pressure and the things that mattered. Mrs. Pak was demonstrating a technique at the front of the room and I forced myself to watch her hands and not think about his.
But something sat wrong in my stomach. Timothy Baker had been obsessed with me too, but Baker was desperate and sloppy and showed up crying outside my school begging for a session. That was a man who’d lost control of his addiction. Rios wasn’t that. Rios didn’t beg. He didn’t show up sweating and crying. He sent $25, 000 in ten minutes without a single word attached to it and that said more than any voicemail or parking lot meltdown ever could. It said I have money, I have patience, and I don’t accept no.
Baker was a problem I’d already solved. Rios was a problem I hadn’t figured out yet. And the difference between the two kept my stomach tight for the rest of the class.
14
Quest
While Mehar was in class I made three phone calls. The first was to Creed. I needed a security detail for Mehar, effective immediately. Two men, former military or law enforcement, armed, and comfortable working a residential post. I needed a bulletproof SUV, black, tinted, nothing flashy. Rotating twelve-hour shifts at the Virginia estate and mobile coverage whenever she left the property. Creed said he had two guys who’d just come off a diplomatic protection contract in New York and could be in Virginia by tonight. I told him to make it happen.
The second call was to my executive assistant at Banks Reserve to deal with three days’ worth of decisions I’d been ignoring. The casino was still closed for repairs after the shooting and the insurance claim was stalled and there were two meetings on my calendar tomorrow that I couldn’t push again without raising questions. Running a legitimate business while simultaneously running a war was a skill set they didn’t teach at Wharton, but I’d been doing it since I was eighteen so the muscle memory was there.
The third call was to Prime. I told him Mehar wanted to see Bryce today and that we’d be going to Justice’s house after shegot out of class. He told me Thad’s body had been staged and it was only a matter of time before it was discovered. I thanked him and hung up.
Mehar came out of the academy at 4:30 looking refreshed but I could see that something was bothering her. For all I knew it could’ve just been the kidnapping, so I decided not to push.
I respected her space to a degree. I still needed to protect her but she needed things that were hers. The spa dream, the school, the skill she was building with her own hands. I was never going to be the man who tried to replace that with my money or my name. She’d kill me if I tried and she’d be right to.
She got in the car and I told her we were heading to Justice’s place to see Bryce. She nodded and pulled down the visor mirror to check her face, touched the concealer over her bruise, and flipped it back up.
“I’m gonna take you to see your brother. Justice is hiding him out in his place.”
“Thank you. Were you able to get any work done?” She asked.
“Made a few calls. I’ll take my ass back to the office tomorrow though. You’ll have security by then.”
She huffed but nodded. “I hate feeling like a damsel in distress.”
“You’ll have your own gun.”
“That’s a must,” she laughed.
