Chapter One

“Ihave something I need to ask you, and you can’t say no.”

Tom barreled into my office, tossing a glossy magazine onto my desk. The type you see in the waiting room of a B-grade dentist.

“No,” I drawled, not bothering to look up from my Apple screen.

Chuckling, my business partner fell into the seat across from me, loosening his collared shirt.

“Did I invite you to sit down?” I asked, still typing.

“It’s important,” he said mildly. Everything about the fucker was mild—his nature, his looks, his tone. I found his averageness appalling. Less so than the general population, but still annoying enough that I didn’t want his company unless I specifically asked for it. Which happened never.

This begged the question—why the fuck was he here?

“Out.” I crushed the end of my pen with my teeth.

“Not before we talk.”

“Talking is overrated. Silence is golden.” I spat the pen out onto my desk. It rolled and fell in Tom’s lap.

He probably wanted to invite me to a family dinner, or worse, golfing. For reasons beyond my grasp, my business partner did not understand the fact I gave zero fucks about socializing, and minus fifteen fucks about his beloved geriatric sport. My hobbies included CrossFit, pussy, and red meat. Above all—being left alone. I didn’t have a family, and I liked it that way. Trying to rope me into his didn’t win him any brownie points.

His insistence on validating our shared past only encouraged me to spend less time with him. We’d already spent our youth together. And neither of us enjoyed it.

“It’s work.” He grabbed a stress ball from my desk, crushing it in his palm.

I tore my gaze from the screen reluctantly, taking a break from emailing a client to notify him that he was three seconds away from getting violently robbed if he continued flaunting his Rolex collection on Instagram.

I was the co-owner of Lockwood and Whitfield Protection Group. As such, I spent my day explaining to dumb, rich people why they needed to stop doing dumb, stupid shit that could land them in danger. In this case, the heir in question was not complying with my company’s contract. The agent I’d appointed to protect him complained that Vasily informed his 2.3 million followers in which New York hotel he was staying, including what floor.

The man did not deserve his wealth, not to mention the oxygen he consumed.

Babysitting rich morons wasn’t a dream come true. It paid well, though, and it sure beat everything else a man of my skill could do for employment. The other option was a hitman. Although I disliked humans, I did not particularly yearn for prison time.

Tom dumped the magazine onto the desk between us.

“What am I looking at?” I grabbed the tabloid. A shit-faced young woman with hair like a Disney mermaid was staring back at me. Her tit was spilling out of her torn dress. Her nipple was covered with a tiny yellow star. The headline read: Hallion in Trouble! Party Girl Suffers a Nip Slip.

“Never mind.” I threw the magazine back in Tom’s lap. “I got my answer—a fucking mess.”

“A hot fucking mess,” Tom corrected, grinning. “Uncensored pictures appear inside.”

“Great news for my thirteen-year-old self. Grown up me wants to know what she has to do with us?”

“Hallie Thorne.” Tom boomeranged the magazine back into my hands. “Ring a bell?”

“Should it?” I sat back, already bored with the conversation. I never watched TV. It was full of people, and as established before, I hated them. Television also reminded me other people had shit I didn’t—friends, family, hobbies. This woman looked like the type to give someone a mediocre makeover on a cable show.

“President Anthony Thorne’s daughter.”

I spared the magazine another disinterested look. “Must’ve taken after the pool boy.”

She looked nothing like her father. Then again, her father didn’t look like an OnlyFans pin-up girl.

“Anyway,” Tom continued, “I just got off the phone with Thorne’s former chief security officer, Robert McAfee. He knows me from a hole in the wall. Thorne wants to hire security for her after this incident.”

“You mean public indecency.”

“Tomayto, to-ma-to.” He laughed. “McAfee recommended us based on our experience with oligarchs, actors, and political personas. Thorne seems interested, provided we sign all the paperwork to ensure confidentiality.”

“Couldn’t he pull a few strings to get her someone from D.C.?” I frowned.

Technically, only living former presidents and their spouses were entitled to a lifetime of security from the government. But ways around it existed. For instance, if this Thorne chick lived at home, which she must, since she looked seventeen, she could “borrow” her parents’ security while they were in their premises.

Also, showing your tits in public did not put you at security risk, which told me that Daddy Thorne mainly needed someone to nanny his troubled child.

I wasn’t in the diaper-changing business.

“He seems hell-bent on going the private sector route. He wants to be real discreet about it,” Tom explained.

“Good luck with making this woman do anything discreetly.” I ran a hand over my hair. It was growing out too long. I probably should’ve already cut it.

“McAfee is still the chief security officer at the White House.” Tom stroked his chin.

“His medal’s on its way.” I popped two mint gums into my mouth.

“They’re serious, Ran. This is an immediate post. For the princely sum of 250k a month.”

“It’s a babysitting gig,” I retorted.

“Exactly. Zero work. All the glory.”

I understood why Tom had a hard-on for this assignment. If we played our cards right with Anthony Thorne and Robert McAfee, it could earn us D.C. clientele, and that was an interesting prospect.

Though both Tom and I were former counterintelligence officers, it was near impossible to get a foot in the federal door. Washington didn’t like to outsource security. They preferred to train their own, then put them on a government payroll, the cheap bastards. But once you found your way in, you were looking at fat salaries, ongoing contracts, and a lot of prestige, all from the comfort of running your own business.

Not to mention, Tom and I were about to launch a cybersecurity department next year. We could use governmental ties.

“She in Texas?” I remembered President Thorne’s Dallas drawl, which had won him the suburban housewife vote and flipped a few purple states during his reelection.

Tom shook his head. “Los Angeles.”

The place I loathed the most. How fitting.

“Fine. Process it.” I shrugged. “Put Max on the case. His family’s from Oceanside. The pale fucker could use a tan.”

Max looked like every designated emo kid in coming-of-age shows. I was also fairly sure a guy like him wouldn’t touch this pile of designer skirts and Daddy issues with a ten-foot pole. He would be a good influence on her.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably.

“Max is good, but he’s a rookie. He can be the standby officer. He’ll need to be paired with someone with more flight time hours. This is our big breakthrough. Make this girl presentable and get all the connections. It’s only for six months.”

“Get Jose on the day shift.”

“Jose is still in Scotland, remember?”

Of course I hadn’t remembered. What was I, his mother?

“What about Kent?” I growled.

Tom shook his head. “Paternity leave.”

“They let him father something?” I scowled. Kent had a sadistic streak a mile long and five kilometers wide. He’d once punched a paparazzi photographer in the face for asking him for the time.

“Not something, someone. We went to his son’s bris together.”

I saw where this was going, and I didn’t like it. Three weeks ago I’d finished my last job in the field—a British royal—and told Tom I wasn’t going back to tailing famous ass.

I would probably miss the international pussy—certainly the private jets—but nothing was worth putting up with someone else’s bullshit twenty-four seven. Especially the young women.

They were always the worst.

Plus, I was the one in charge of vetting our cybersecurity staff, and that was two jobs and a half.

Plus, what the fuck was Tom thinking, sending me to Los Angeles? Last time I was there, some nasty shit went down. Stuff even I couldn’t stomach.

But then you never told Tom the whole story. How could he possibly know what drove you to quit and go private?

By the puppy dog eyes Tom was giving me, my guess was he wanted me to be the one to personally ensure Titty McFlash wasn’t going to show the world any more of her privates.

“You’re high,” I said decisively.

“You mean practical.” Tom stood up, ready for an argument.

I sniffed the air. “Smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“That fart scent all your gaslighting is causing.”

He chuckled. “Look, I know it’s not what we discussed—”

“What about the cybersecurity unit?” I darted up to my feet, ready to wring his neck. “Who’s going to open it? We made verbal commitments to clients. You can’t even make a PowerPoint presentation.”

I’d seen this guy wrestling with his phone to find the poop emoji.

“It can wait until we’re done with this job. We need clients on the Hill when we launch,” Tom argued.

“Putting the cart before the horse, are we?” I unbuttoned my cufflinks, rolling my sleeves up my elbows. “We didn’t get the job yet, not to mention the connections.”

“Thorne wants us. You, specifically. Ransom Lockwood. The Robot. No heart, no sentiments, no strings. He knows you’ve dealt with some top secret shit. Knows you saved Prince Pierre several times from life-or-death situations. You have a flawless track record, and you won’t be tempted to screw his daughter’s brains out.”

“You can say that again.”

Ordinary sex bored and frustrated me, and most women were…well, ordinary. I liked it rough, unconventional, and with people who were willing to sign a long dos and don’ts contract. My taste ran on the dark side of the spectrum. Specifically, CNC. Consensual Non-Consent. Rape fantasies, if you would.

My sexual partners liked to be taken by force—and I enjoyed forcing. This type of kind—primal play—was about strength. To be clear, I did not want to rape anybody. I liked the thrill of the chase, the anticipation that came with the danger of pushing our limits and boundaries. All of my partners were consenting, intelligent, and powerful women who shared the same kink.

I enjoyed the sophisticated. The sharp-edged women who, like me, enjoyed playing with their demons.

No part of me craved putting my dick into a vanilla, attention-seeking teenager.

“Thorne will open doors for us.” Tom pressed his lips into a thin line.

“No,” I said flatly.

“You have no choice!” Tom banged his open palm over the table.

“News to me.” I arched an eyebrow. “Watch me leave this conversation, right now.”

I grabbed my phone from my desk and sauntered to the door. Tom snatched my sleeve. “Ran, please.”

Turning around to face him, I drawled, “I said no more teenyboppers. The last one tried to tie me to the bed in the middle of the night and rape me.”

I’d had to break the headboard to loosen the leather belts she’d used. The only reason I hadn’t pressed charges was because her father was the third richest man on planet Earth and I was paid handsomely for my silence.

Tom laughed nervously. “Being handsome is one occupational hazard I wouldn’t mind dealing with.”

“Have you forgotten what happened last time I was in L.A.?” I ground my molars to a point of dust. He didn’t know the entire story, but he knew enough to guess the place wasn’t on my to-visit list.

“A lot of shit went down.” Tom cleared his throat. “But it’s been years. You cannot avoid the city forever.”

Of course I could. Los Angeles had nothing to offer me but pollution, bad Hollywood movies, and overpriced gourmet food.

“You do it.” I stabbed a finger in Tom’s chest.

“I would. In a heartbeat. But I’m starting an assignment with Mayor Ferns next week.”

He got a local post with the mayor of Chicago.

“Unless you want to play a game of switcheroo? I’ll go to L.A. Pack Lisa and the kids and go live in a McMansion.”

I gave it a brief thought. Mayor Ferns had enough enemies to sell out Wrigley Field, but that wasn’t what concerned me.

The fact that I’d screwed both of her daughters—simultaneously—not even two months ago did. In my defense—not that I needed one—I’d had no knowledge of their pedigree when one was sucking my balls while the other bent over a bar for me, letting me shove my fingers inside her.

We parted ways amicably, but I knew better than to play with Lady Luck. Putting myself in a situation with both of them again wasn’t asking for trouble—it was begging for it.

At least there was no danger of my getting frisky with the Thorne girl.

I did not fuck the ward. That was the rule.

Besides, she was not my type.

Besides, she was…what? Seventeen?

Besides, Tom was right. I was giving Los Angeles power over me that it didn’t deserve. It was just a city. An ugly, filthy, expensive one, but a city, nonetheless.

I didn’t want to work for an airheaded bimbo, didn’t want to move to Los Angeles, and didn’t want to talk to people unless I absolutely had to.

But I’d never met a challenge I didn’t annihilate, and this kid wasn’t about to set a precedent.

Tom blinked at me expectedly, waiting for an answer.

“What are we dealing with here?” I leaned a shoulder against the wall.

He sagged in relief, letting go of my sleeve.

“It’s a low-risk job. She’s very active on social media. Informs people of her whereabouts often. But at the end of the day, she’s just somebody’s daughter, you know. Not that high profile, separate from her father. The main concerns Thorne has for her in terms of safety are assault and robbery. She seems like an especially easy target after looking so drunk and out of it, getting groped by the meathead from that reality show.”

I drew a breath, digging my fingers into my eye sockets. This kid better not tie me to a bed with leather belts.

“I want a direct line to Thorne if I do this.”

“He’s already agreed to that,” Tom surprised me by saying.

Well, shit.

Anthony Thorne really wasn’t pleased with his airheaded teenybopper.

“And a meeting about launching our cyber unit, with this McAfee guy after the post is over. He’ll have to make some commitments.”

“Way ahead of you, Ran. I already told him.” Tom nodded enthusiastically.

“This is my last field assignment,” I hissed.

“Pinky promise.” Tom offered me his pinky. I snatched and bent it, to the point of almost breaking it as I pulled him close to me. His chest bumped mine.

“Last. Fucking. Time.” I watched him squirm in pain.

“Aw.”

I let go of his finger. Brushing my shoulder against his, I stalked out of my office.

“Where are you going?” he yelled after me.

“To stab myself in the neck.”