Page 3 of Battle Scars

I make my way from Dad’s house in Coronado to mine in Torrey Pines. My home, while not cheap, is a drop in the bucket compared to Dad’s estate. It’s a Spanish style, two-story stucco home with a terracotta roof that sits on the hill overlooking the ocean. I’m close enough to see it and smell it, but far enough away there’s a certain amount of land around my actual house that keeps the tourists and beachgoers away.

I hit the button on my remote, and the iron gate swings open, admitting me to my sanctuary. When I’m home, I relax, because at the track or out in public, I have to be switched on. I pull around to the four-car garage that sits separate from the house, park, and watch as the automatic gate swings closed again.

I climb out of the Hellcat and make my way to the side door and punch in the code on the keypad listening for the lock to snick. I push open the door that leads into the mudroom off of my kitchen. I kick off my heels and hang my keys on the hook before pulling open the fridge and grabbing the open bottle of wine.

When Mr. Liu, Dad’s business manager and publicist, called to tell me that I needed to be at the estate this morning for a family briefing and then a press conference, I was nervous. I had no idea what Dad was going to say, though the end result was nowhere near what had been flitting through my brain. Nevertheless, I was still nervous, so I popped open a bottle of chardonnay.

I close the fridge, flip open one of the glass-fronted kitchen cabinets, and pull down a glass before making my way upstairs to my bedroom. I move all the way through it and set the bottle and my glass on the bathroom counter before I walk into my massive closet. I slide out of the leather jacket that has all my sponsors on little patches all over it, the one I wear exclusively for press junkets. It’s actually part of most of the contracts that I wear it for press, since each company has paid for the right to have their name or logo on my body or my car or both. One even paid extra to have their patch over my right nipple. It’s ridiculous, but it’s also my life, the one that I was born into, so I accept it and move on.

My jacket gets hung up with the utmost care, but the rest of my clothes are merely discarded where they fall . My flowy black silk tank with the deep vee in the front flutters to the floor of my closet, followed by my charcoal-gray jeans and skinny black leather belt.

I pad barefoot, in only my bra and panties, back to the bathroom where I open the taps to fill my giant tub. While the water flows and steam billows throughout the room, I pick up the bottle, grab the top of the cork with my teeth, and pull it out before pouring the wine into my glass. I don’t stop until it’s full to the brim, so much so that I have to lean over to slurp some down while holding my long dark hair back from my face. I’d spent all morning curling it but now, I need it out of my way.

I stand back up and pin my locks to the top of my head, then shimmy out of my bra and undies. With my glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, I step over the edge of the tub. Sinking down into the hot water does little to loosen my tense muscles, I set the bottle down on the floor next to me, because I’ll be finishing it tonight. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, while the rest of my life feels like it’s spinning out of control, it’s that.

I lie back against the sloped side, lounging as I raise the glass to my lips, and suck back a large portion of wine. I close my eyes against the news that shook the very foundation of my world.

“I’ve decided to retire.”

When I open them again, the rest of the press conference flits through my mind’s eye like a bad dream. If Candy was indifferent to me before, there’s no way she could be anything but hateful after Dad’s stunning revelation.

I’d like to say things will get better from here on out, but I’m not that hopeful. I might be the girl who has everything, but princesses who live in ivory towers live lonely lives.

TWO

WHAT PART OF NO DON’T YOU GET?

GABE

At the same time.

Somewhere in Texas.

“Hey man, can I see you for a second?” Manny, my second in command and chief operating officer of Stonegate Security Enterprises calls as I head back into the office after some time out in the field.

“Sure,” I answer as I redirect to his office. “What’s up?”

“We have a new client.” That would usually be good news but his posture and the way he’s acting means this is anything but good news. I don’t have to be one of the top recon marines to know it.

“Okay…”

“It’s Adrienne Malone,” he says.

“The baseball player?”

He laughs. He knows I don’t give a shit about sports.

I actually don’t give a shit about anything but keeping my guys alive since my wife died, and that’s probably something a shrink would have a field day with. Since Manny decided to follow me into the private sector, I couldn’t just lay down and die or swing from my chandelier. Just because I’m still breathing doesn’t mean I give a shit.

“The race car driver,” he corrects.

“Same thing,” I shrug my shoulders. “What does he need us for? Home security?” It’s a good guess because we run some of the best wires in private security, although our name was made in Kidnapping and Recovery and providing the occasional high-profile bodyguard…

Oh shit, no. No.

“Actually—”

I don’t give him the opportunity to keep talking. “No. No way.”