Chapter 7

I wipe the sweat from my forehead after an hour-long session in the gym here at the house. It might be weird to share a mansion with a dozen other people—most of whom are hardly here—but having shit like this at my disposal is pretty nice.

Rossi pushes the door open. "Once you're finished up and showered—because you're fucking nasty—Enzo called and requested that one of us take Ms. James to the hair salon." He pauses, cringing slightly. "He wants her hair blonder if he's going to marry her."

I don't say what I want to because I've learned you never know who—or what device—is listening. "I take it, you want me to be the one to break the news and take her to this appointment?"

"If you could." He shrugs, leaning his arm against the door. "She's by the pool now. The appointment's in an hour."

Rossi has been on this job for a few months longer than I have. I've known him since I first joined the agency, just out of college. But he has a young daughter back in the States, so I have no doubt that watching a man force his soon-to-be wife to bleach her hair in order to marry her probably isn't easy for him.

"Should be fun," I mutter, grabbing my water bottle. "I'll go shower and change and gather her up."

"Appreciate you, Hercules." He slaps his hand on my shoulder, immediately pulling it back and wiping it off. "That is fucking gross."

I chuckle, shrugging. "Had to blow steam off someway. Besides, how am I going to stay bigger than you if I don't work out every day of my fucking life?"

He frowns. "You aren't bigger than me yet." He looks me over. "Fine. Same size."

Rossi is pure muscle. And even though he looks intimidating, he's a damn good man. When I started working with him, he was undoubtedly bigger than me. So, I had to make it my life mission to change that.

Once we get to a spot in the hallway where it's safe to talk, he stops. "Hey, Hercules?"

"Yeah?"

"The girl … you, uh … you think she wants to be here?" He swallows. "She looks sort of sad."

Pulling in a breath, I look away. "Not our problem to find out."

And then I walk away. Maybe if I tell myself I don't give a shit about the girl being held prisoner, I'll feel less shitty that I'm about to take her and force her to change her hair. Hair that looks like that of a goddess that is beautiful exactly how it is.

I want to tell Mr. Hudson Hercules to go fuck himself. I want to take the glass of lemonade by my side, throw it at his face, stand on this chair, and smash the glass over his head.

I want to do a lot of things to this man. Including … licking the lemonade off of his body after I dumped it on him. Which is very annoying because, out of all the thoughts running through my head, that's the one sticking the most.

Get it together. He's about to drive you to bleach your hair and make you look like a bimbo. Why are you thinking about licking lemonade off of him?

Since Hudson told me the news minutes ago, I've stared straight ahead at the pool.

"If you can't stand up and get ready, I'll have to do it for you," Hudson threatens, his voice sounding just like it did a few days ago when he caught me snooping. Or trying to snoop. "So, you go on and choose, Dove. This can go a lot of ways. None of which ends with you sitting here much longer though."

Closing my eyes, I drag in a breath.

Nothing good can come out of my sassing back. Because of this family, girls like me are being forced into marriages, and it will continue. I'm here to take people like Enzo and his family—hell, even my uncle—down.

Popping my eyes open, I plaster on a fake smile and stand. I don't miss when his eyes move down my body, taking in every inch of my red bikini before he reluctantly looks away.

"You got it," I drawl, real sugary sweet, as I lean down and grab my towel. "Let me just hop in the shower and change, and I'll be ready."

"Twenty minutes," he says from behind me as I walk toward the house.

I shouldn't play with fire, but I can't stop myself. There's something about him that makes me want to push back. And the other day, when he pressed me against the wall, I watched his pupils dilate when he looked down at me.

When I get almost inside, I toss my towel into the hamper next to the door and gradually bend down, pretending like I'm brushing off my foot as I give him a perfect view of my cleavage. Peeking at him through my sunglasses, I watch his eyes drink me in before he forces his stare somewhere else.

That's right, Hudson Hercules. I saw you look.

Due to Hudson catching me trying to break into Enzo's office, I've been playing it safe. Which means my investigation has briefly been put on hold. So, the least I can do is have a little fun with the hot bodyguard, right?

Definitely.

Hudson opens the door to the salon, and I walk inside. Until I moved in with my uncle, the only haircuts I ever had were ones I gave myself at home. Or when I had Poppy—my next-door neighbor, who also grew up very poor—trim my ends. She was always so nervous that she'd screw it up, but I honestly couldn't have cared less if she did.

Poppy was also my best friend when I was a child, even though she was closer to my brother and was clearly in love with him.

I miss her. When I left Sunset Drive to live with Beckett, I never looked back—never checked on her or her brothers, Van and Jake. Her father had supplied the drugs that killed my parents. And even though I've never seen that as a reason to write her off, my brother did. And since he was my only family left—well, aside from my maniac uncle and his doormat of a wife—I followed Walker's lead and cut Poppy and her brothers off too.

"Um … Ms. James?" a pretty woman with a sleek black bob says, standing in front of me. "Did you hear me?"

I snap back to the present, giving my head a slight shake. "I, uh … I didn't." I glance behind me to find Hudson sitting in a chair in the waiting area before looking back at the stylist. "What did you say?"

She gives me a small, soft smile. "I see here that you are in today to have your hair lightened." She looks my hair over. "Is that right?"

I turn to Hudson again, and even though it's subtle, he looks annoyed.

"Tell me, Mr. Hercules, is that what I'm here for?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Reluctantly, he nods, though his embarrassment is evident. Good. I hope he feels like an ass, forcing a girl to come to the hair salon and change her hair.

Her eyes move from Hudson to me before she bobs her head up and down, seeming a bit unsure of the entire thing. "Okay, well, the good news is, you have a great base color to work with." She reaches out, touching my hair. "Is this virgin hair?"

I frown. "I don't—"

"Has your hair been colored before, Briar?" she clarifies, and I shake my head.

"Uh … no. Never." I blush. "I've wanted to, but I just … haven't."

Her eyes widen, and she claps her hands a few times. "Virgin hair is my favorite type of hair to work with!" Taking my hand, she directs me to my seat and looks at me in the mirror as her hands run over my hair. "I promise, it'll look great."

"Thank you," I whisper.

Even though I have no idea why, I feel like this girl … she gets it. And maybe she has my back.

I look at myself in the mirror, and even though it's not as blonde as I feared it would be, it's a change. But most of all … it's a change I didn't choose for myself. And that makes me hate it, even though it looks good.

It's an improvement. Yet I'm pissed.

I fight back a sniffle, realizing that this is what my life is. What it will always be as long as I'm here. Being told what to do by a man who sells drugs and kills people is my new norm. And I wasn't brought to Italy kicking and screaming. I signed up for this. I agreed to this. All for what? To try to play detective.

Let's be honest. I'm in over my head.

My heart begins to pound in my chest. My body feels chilled, but my palms bead with sweat. That annoying swooshing sound flows through my ears, and it seems almost like I'm floating.

Anxiety. Of course you'd make an appearance today.

Quickly, I start to stand, sliding from the chair. "Th-thank you," I mutter to the stylist before I make a beeline for Hudson. "I want to go now." My teeth clatter together. "I … really need to leave."

I bolt out of the salon and onto the sidewalk, feeling Hudson's presence right behind me as I walk faster. I'm not trying to run away from him. I know I'm not fast enough to get away from a guy in that good of shape. The truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm scared. And I'm worried. And I'm freaking falling apart at the goddamn seams.

His large hand wraps around the top of my arm, keeping me next to him. "Not sure where you think you're running off to, but don't try anything stupid."

I try to suck in a breath, but it feels like I'm having a heart attack. "I can't breathe," I cry, grabbing my chest. "I … I can't … breathe!" This time, I yell the words, panic setting in my bones as the air becomes harder and harder to find.

Looking around, he takes my hand and pulls me between the two buildings. "Breathe, Dove." His deep voice speaks calmly before he rubs my back as I lean over, putting my hands on my legs. "Keep breathing. That's it."

Tears cloud my vision, and I feel paralyzed. Like … someone injected me with a crippling drug.

"It's okay," he says, somehow keeping his gruff voice calming. "You're all right."

My bottom lip trembles, and my throat burns as I swallow back the thick lump of emotion that's lodged its way so pleasantly in there.

Hudson's massive arms wrap around me as he forces me to stand up straight before hugging my body tightly. I feel so small in his giant arms—small … and safe.

"You're okay, Briar. Just keep breathing."

For whatever reason, I melt against him, letting him hold me like a child as I continue to lose my shit, allowing him to put me back together. I might not know this man, but right now, he's all I have.

I have no idea how much time passes as he keeps my body snug with his own. But little by little, my heart begins to pump slower, and the tears start to dry.

And when I gaze up, he looks at me. For the first time … he really looks at me.

Once we're in the car, she's quiet. Too quiet.

From the moment I watched her big eyes stare at herself in the mirror after the stylist turned her chair around, I knew she was going to lose it. The panic in her eyes was clear, and there was no hiding that everything that'd transpired in her life lately was catching up with her. All because of a damn hair color.

And when she began to freak out, losing it right before me, I had to get her out of sight and off that sidewalk. Over here, Enzo is a celebrity. The last thing she needs is the paparazzi plastering pictures of her having a meltdown all over the news. Thank fuck I didn't see any around. After Enzo had gotten pissed off that I didn't force her to change out of leggings on the wedding-dress shopping day, I can't imagine what he'd do if there were pictures of his fiancée crying her eyes out on some random sidewalk. Oh, and being that close to me probably wouldn't go over too well either.

I held her, wanting to be the guy to calm her down, even though it's not my job—not to mention, I could get in a fuck ton of trouble if anyone knew. But I'd do it over again because she needed me. Hell, to be honest, I didn't want it to end.

And as fucked up as it sounds … I loved that she needed me. And I loved even more that I could swoop in and save her. But that's not what I should be doing. And I need to smarten my ass up.

"Everything good back there?" I ask, glancing back at her.

Keeping her focus out the window, she sits mutely. "Everything is perfect," she utters, and even if it wasn't intentional, the sarcasm in her voice is obvious.

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter," I toss back. "If you don't like your hair, just say it."

Silence. That's what I'm met with.

Her slender shoulders sink as she stares off at absolutely nothing. She isn't eager to open up to me. She doesn't trust me, which is good. She shouldn't trust me. After all, I'm not the man she thinks I am. Hercules isn't even my last name, for fuck's sake.

"I do like my hair," she finally whispers, her voice so quiet that I barely hear her.

"And that's a problem because it wasn't your decision in the first place," I guess. "You like your hair color, even though it was chosen for you by a man you're being forced to marry."

Her gaze snaps to mine, confusion and shock written all over her face. "It's fine," she finally mutters before offering a small smile. "It'll just take some getting used to. That's all."

She's wary of me and my intentions. She thinks I'll tell her scumbag fiancé that she's upset. If only she knew that I've got my own secrets. Ones that solely involve taking him down.

Bringing my phone in front of me, I quickly hit Rossi's contact and bring it to my ear.

"You headed back, Hercules?" he answers. "Did you get your hair all fancied up, too, beefcake?"

Ignoring him, I cut to the chase. "Ms. James has asked to do some sightseeing," I say into the phone and look in the mirror, seeing her head quickly turn to face me again. No doubt questioning what the fuck I'm doing. "So, I guess I'm wondering what you suggest I do about that."

He's silent for a few seconds, no doubt pondering what the hell to tell me. "Well, Enzo is out of town for a few days." He pauses, sighing, and I can almost see him dragging his hand down his face. "I don't want to piss the boss off or anything, but … he never said she couldn't do shit like that. Only that one of us should always be with her when she leaves the complex … so go ahead, I guess?" He stops. "Just be smart, Hercules. Don't get yourself in any fucked-up situations. I'm not in the mood to bail you out today."

"Copy that," I mutter before ending the call.

"Are you planning on kidnapping me or …" rushes from her mouth the second I put my phone down. "I didn't ask to go sightseeing."

"All right then. I'll take you back to the crew complex, and you can sit in your room all day," I deadpan. "Or perhaps attempt to do more snooping."

That shuts her up. For a second anyway before she defends herself. "I was not snooping." She clears her throat. "And sightseeing sounds fun and all, but forgive me for not trusting your intentions. I don't really feel like—I don't know—say, dying today."

"Why would you think sightseeing with me for the day would involve you dying, Dove?" I mumble, keeping my voice low and unimpressed. "Quite the opposite really."

"I just … don't know you," she whispers. "But as long as Enzo is okay with it, I'd love to go sightseeing." She nods. "That sounds … really good."

I hate that she is worried about if that fuckstick is okay with it. He shouldn't get one motherfucking say in what she does or who she's with. But I know he basically owns her now. She's his toy that he can pick up and take places or leave behind when he doesn't want it.

And why the hell does that piss me off so bad?

Being here, acting like one of his minions, is killing me inside. If I wasn't stuck being fucking undercover, I would have put a bullet between his eyes long ago. But that won't solve this case. He can't lead us to what we're looking for if he's dead.

"All right then. It's decided." I fight the urge to smile because she doesn't need to know how eager I am to spend the day with her. "We're going sightseeing."

So many of the people I've worked for as a bodyguard while I've been undercover are overprivileged individuals who don't appreciate a damn thing because they are so used to everything being given to them.

Not this girl though. She looks at everything with absolute awe, taking a few extra minutes to just … take it all in. Just watching her, I can plainly see that she has never had the privilege of traveling much. Now that Beckett is marrying her off to someone, she gets to see the world.

What a waste it all is. To give such a beautiful creature to an undeserving man.

The way she gazes at the world around her, I watch her the same way, completely intrigued. She gives a small smile to every person who passes by her. If she feels like she's in someone's way, she quickly steps aside and murmurs an apology.

Her childhood—losing both of her parents to drugs—could have hardened her. Made her cold and mean. But somehow, for some crazy reason … it didn't.

She's the sweetest, most delicate creature on the planet. So, why the fuck is she here, brought into this fucking mess?

"I can't believe I'm in Rome," she whispers, gazing up at the Colosseum. And though there's awe in her expression, there's sadness too. And the sadness overtakes anything else when the next words come from her pretty lips. "My brother would love this. I wish he were here right now."

I'm not the guy who knows what to say to things like that. For six years now, I've made it a point to not give a shit about people's feelings. Because, to be honest, I can't even face my own. So, I do my job, work out, and sleep. That's about the extent of it.

So, if Briar James is looking for a shoulder to cry on, I'm not it. What I did outside of that hair salon was strictly because I felt like a giant dickhead after driving her to get her hair colored. It has nothing to do with her, and it's not because I don't like to see her sad.

No. Not at all.

"That knucklehead would probably be searching for the closest ice area," I say, nudging her lightly. "He'd be all, Fuck the sightseeing. Where's my sweet hockey stick? "

That earns me a small giggle, and she nods. "You know Walker well, I take it?" Her expression turns a little more serious. "It's weird, you know. You've traveled with Walker and Beckett, but I hadn't met you before I came to Italy."

"I've met him a few times, yes," I answer. "All I really gathered from our time together was two things. One, he loves hockey. And, two, he fucking hates your uncle."

I'll admit, it's kind of strange that she and I had never met before this job. But as bad as I feel to think this, I know that until Beckett convinced Briar to marry into the Romano family, he really didn't give a fuck about her. Hell, he's even said shit in the past, implying so. Walker, on the other hand, is going places with the NHL. Being a pro athlete in the United States? That's no small thing. Beckett's always known this. And that's one thousand percent why he used to spend more time with Walker than he did with Briar. Not like it mattered. Walker James can't stand his uncle.

That makes two of us.

This time, she laughs a little harder, covering her mouth. "That is all very true. Walker, he's smart. And he's also been through a lot of pain in life. I think him closing Beckett out is a way to protect himself from being hurt again."

As we both start to walk toward the structure, our steps slow, and I glance at her. "But what about you? Didn't you grow up in the same household with Walker?" I stop, turning toward her. "You didn't have enough pain to keep you away from … all of this?" I wave around.

All at once, I see her walls go back up. Her body language changes, not completely cold, but she tenses until, finally, she shrugs. "I mean, if I hadn't agreed to it, I wouldn't be exploring Rome," she jokes, giving me a small, fake smile. "Am I right?" She jerks her chin toward the Colosseum entrance. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do this."

Briar James just pulled one of my own moves. On me. I tried to take things deeper, and she shut me the fuck down.

It seems I've met my match. And given the situation we're in, I'm not so sure that's a good thing.

"Despite how it started, this day has ended up being one for the books," Briar says, walking next to me as she brings the spoon to her lips and licks it clean.

I tear my gaze from her, feeling a jolt shoot right to my dick.

Waving her spoon lightly, she smiles. "Also, this gelato literally tastes like the most delicious latte."

I take a bite of my own and shrug. "Tastes like ice cream to me."

Her mouth hangs open. "No, it so doesn't!" She sounds offended. "This is like … ice cream, mixed with orgasms, and crack sprinkles on top."

Of course my cock twitches again from her words, but I ignore it. Because, well, what the fuck else am I going to do?

"That's very detailed," I say back. "But, yeah, I'm not getting that. I mean, have you ever had Ben it's good," she admits. "I've only tried one flavor. Chocolate fudge brownie, I think it was? And only once. But it was good, yes." Bringing another spoonful to her mouth, she takes a bite and moans. "But this … this is next level."

"You've only had Ben instead, they light up more. Her body language has changed. She looks happier, like she's comfortable with me, trusting even.

And just like that … the hope and joy I was just feeling … it's gone. Because I'm brought back to reality. And the reality is, I shouldn't be allowing her—or any woman—to look at me like that.

"Did you have fun too?" she asks as we walk along the sidewalk. She's still smiling, but her smile doesn't light up my heart like it did a minute ago. Now, it makes my chest hurt.

"I did," I answer, pulling my eyes away from her and looking straight ahead. "We'd better get going back to the complex though. It's getting late."

"It's, like, seven at night." She frowns. "That is so not late."

"Yeah, well, I don't think your fiancé would love the idea of you being out past seven, walking the streets with me," I answer coldly, hoping it'll get the point across that I'm not interested in being her friend. Or anything else. And I'll keep telling myself that till I believe it too.

"Okay then," she mumbles, trudging beside me.

And for the rest of the walk to the car and all the way home … we don't speak a word. That's okay because I shouldn't be talking to her anyway. I'm just her bodyguard after all. Nothing else.

For a few hours, it was like we were two normal people, having a regular day, seeing the sights of Italy. But just like every single other time I start to feel somewhat normal, the guilt comes from nowhere, making it impossible for me to think about anything other than knowing I shouldn't be here right now.