Nom de Plume

CAT AUSTEN

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2025 Cat Austen

All rights reserved. Quotes used for review purposes are cool, though.

Cover designed by Cat Austen

Self-published by the author because she’s a control freak.

This book is not permitted to be used with Artificial Intelligence training or otherwise.

(They will never read this, so someone tear it out of a paperback and put it on my funeral board.)

To my baby boys. Thank you for ripping my soul out, rearranging it, and shoving it back in. You made me a better person. The pelvic floor disfunction wasn’t cool though.

Forever and always, for the stay-at-home moms. You are the backbone of our world. This book was written during the two-hour preschool days while sitting next to unfolded laundry.

Author's Note

This book contains adult content and is not suitable for minors under the age of 18.

While this book has elements of humor and a cozy vibe, there are also things you may want to know regarding content. This book contains:

--on page sexual acts including BDSM activities. The BDSM includes but is not limited to masks, degradation, humiliation, praise, “mistress”, dom/sub/switch, choking, bondage, bodily fluid sharing, rough sex, spanking, edging, toys, service, gagging, blindfold, anal activities. Safe words are discussed. This book does not contain extreme BDSM activities. Closer to what could be considered beginners BDSM. If you feel inspired, I encourage you to research and learn. This book is not a manual.

--size difference, masked man, domme/sub and dom/sub

--a scene of accidental to non-consensual voyeurism.

--parental death

--parental abandonment

--an alcoholic parent with resulting health issues

If you have any questions regarding content, please feel free to contact me on social media or at

cataustenauthor@gmail.com

The main male character is called Blue Jay for most of the book. It begins with his point of view and you will not know his name. Just wanted to let you know before you got mad about it halfway into the first chapter (because I totally would. “Who the hell is this guy?”). I actually didn’t know this man’s name until the moment he told our female main character while I was writing. 

The prologue contents contain some intentional typos and font changes.

Part One

Prologue

Sunday                             November 18, 2001

BUSINESS NEWS

New Tech Giant in the Making

The country will be safer with Geoffrey Taylor on our side. His newly developed wrist watch will be used by our brave men and women at war overseas. The watch records and monitors heart rate as well as location for monitoring and safety for wearers. Taylor’s company Taylor Industries has signed a multi million dollar deal to get watches on each and every soldier in the air and on the ground.

“It’s truly an honor to be able to serve my country in this way. I am happy to be a part of the efforts to protect our soldiers and our citizens alike,” Taylor said in a media briefing last Thursday. He hopes to continue to update and expand the watches for public purchase in the coming year.

Geoffrey Taylor,

Those investors should have been mine. My tech plans are better than yours and everyone knows it. You have stolen EVERYTHING from me!!1! I went to get money for my work and they siad they already gave it to you and couldn’t give more to me. you copied my work and stole my money.

ive lost everything because of you and my life is ruined. You will PAY for your crimes against me and my work.

SAFE HOUSE

SECURITY

Re: Personal Security                                  Dec. 17, 2001

This Personal Security Contract (the “Agreement”) is entered into December 17, 2001 (the “Effective Date”), by and between Safe House Security, (the “Contractor”), and Taylor Industries (the “Client”), individually referred to as “the Party” and collectively “the Parties.”

WHEREAS the client has need of personal, property, and technology security .

WHEREAS the contractor is engaged in the business of providing security services.

THEREFORE the Client requests the Contractor to provide security services under the following terms and conditions:

1. The Contractor shall provide security guard(s) ( the “Guard(s)”) at the Taylor residence and Taylor Industries Offices (the “Premises”). The Guard(s) will be in uniform and armed. They will provide security to persons and property at the Premises. All services shall be performed in accordance with applicable laws and ordinances.

2. The Contractor shall provide bodyguard(s) ( the “Guard(s)”) to individuals Geoffrey Taylor, Molly Taylor, and Wren Taylor (the “Subjects”). The Guard(s) will be in uniform and armed. They will provide security to persons identified as Subjects. All services shall be performed in accordance with applicable laws and ordinances.

3. The Client shall compensate the Contractor at the rate of $10,000,000 per calendar year.

4. The Guard(s) shall be employees of the Contractor. The Contractor shall be responsible for the hiring, supervision, scheduling and compensation of the Guard(s). The Guard(s) shall not for any purpose be deemed to be employees of the Client.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties hereto have executed this Agreement as of the day and year first above written.

CLIENT: Taylor Industries

CONTRACTOR: Safe House Security

-Transcript of Video Evidence-

Video begins with suspect, identified as L. Peters adjusting camera in what appears to be a residential basement. Molly Taylor and Seamus O’Valley are seen bound with rope to metal chairs. Both have sustained injuries and O’Valley appears unconscious.

PETERS: There. Now we can talk.

TAYLOR: Please, I don’t know what you believe my husband has done, but Seamus and I are not part of it.

PETERS: I know you’re not part of it and I don’t care. I’m here to take from Geoffrey what he took from me.

TAYLOR: I don’t know you! My husband doesn’t know you! He didn’t take anything from you!

PETERS: He took my career you stupid bitch!

O’Valley appears to rouse enough to verbalize his discomfort.

TAYLOR: Please, Seamus is my bodyguard and doesn’t know anything about Geoffrey’s business. He has a baby- oh God- he has a baby girl at home and another on the way. Please-

PETERS: Oh he has a family? I have a family, too! I have to look my wife and children in the eye every day knowing that I’m a failure to them. Because your husband took my success!

TAYLOR: I have a little girl, too. She’s the sweetest little thing you’ll ever meet. You- you and I are the same, we would do anything for our children. Anyth-

PETERS: Trying to connect with me isn’t going to work.

Peters shoots O’valley and then Taylor. Both appear deceased. Peters watches bodies for elapsed time of 2:47 before turning of recording.

END OF VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Sunday                             January 27, 2002

BUSINESS NEWS

Taylor Tragedy

Geoffrey Taylor, CEO of Taylor Industries, gave a tearful media briefing on Friday afternoon after the murder of his wife, Molly Taylor, and her bodyguard, Seamus O’Valley. “Because of one man’s jealousy, my little girl will grow up without her mother.”

Sources say Lenny Peters filmed the torture and death of both Taylor and O’Valley and provided authorities the videotape. He was engaged in a violent stand off that resulted in his own death after dropping the bodies of Taylor and O’Valley on the sidewalk outside Taylor Industries.

Witnesses saw Mr. Taylor bereft and screaming in the street after searching for his wife and her body guard, an employee of Safe House Security, for four hours after their disappearance.

Molly Taylor leaves behind her husband and their young daughter. She was the founder of the local native bird conservation, Finch and the City. Donations may be made in her honor to continue her work. Seamus O’Valley leaves behind his expecting wife, Gillian, and their young daughter. He was a veteran of the US Navy.

SAFE HOUSE

SECURITY

Re: Addendum to Personal Security             Jan. 26, 2002

This Personal Security Contract (the “Agreement”) is entered into January 26, 2002 (the “Effective Date”), by and between Safe House Security, (the “Contractor”), and Taylor Industries (the “Client”), individually referred to as “the Party” and collectively “the Parties.”

WHEREAS the client has need of personal, property, and technology security .

WHEREAS the contractor is engaged in the business of providing security services.

THEREFORE the Client requests the Contractor to provide security services under the following terms and conditions:

1. The Contractor shall provide security guard(s) ( the “Guard(s)”) at the Taylor residence and Taylor Industries Offices (the “Premises”). The Guard(s) will be in uniform and armed. They will provide security to persons and property at the Premises. All services shall be performed in accordance with applicable laws and ordinances. All Guards will remain masked and anonymous to the Client and identified persons. Guards will not engage in personal discussions. Number of Guards on Premises will be doubled. Premises Guards will be referred to as Crows.

2. The Contractor shall provide bodyguard(s) ( the “Guard(s)”) to individuals Geoffrey Taylor and Wren Taylor (the “Subjects”). The Guard(s) will be in uniform and armed. They will provide security to persons identified as Subjects. All services shall be performed in accordance with applicable laws and ordinances. All Guards will remain masked and anonymous to the Client and identified persons. Guards will not engage in personal discussions. Guard assigned to Mr. Taylor will be referred to as Hawk. Guard assigned to Ms. Taylor will be referred to as Blue Jay.

3. The Client shall compensate the Contractor at the rate of $20,000,000 per calendar year.

4. The Guard(s) shall be employees of the Contractor. The Contractor shall be responsible for the hiring, supervision, scheduling and compensation of the Guard(s). The Guard(s) shall not for any purpose be deemed to be employees of the Client.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties hereto have executed this Agreement as of the day and year first above written.

CLIENT: Taylor Industries

CONTRACTOR: Safe House Security

chapter one

------

The door of the Uber slams shut behind me and I stare up at the house I grew up in. The sound of someone struggling to start up a lawn mower a few doors down and a few birds chirping in the small red maple near the driveway is at the same time overwhelming and quiet. I adjust the duffle bag on my shoulder as I look at the unfamiliar minivan in the driveway.

In fact, the minivan, the new swing set peeking over the new privacy fence, and the mailbox are all unfamiliar to me. Something is wrong. My mom certainly doesn’t make enough as a bartender to afford the fencing. And I am her only child and don’t need a swing set at age thirty-four. Unease and confusion grow in my stomach. 

“Hey, man, thank you for your service,” the Uber driver says after rolling down his passenger window.

I give a nod back and a small smile. I never really know what to say back when people thank me for my time in the armed forces. I’ve seen and done enough to know it deserves respect and thanks, but it always feels odd saying “you’re welcome.” It feels too cocky and too small of an answer, all at the same time. A solemn nod is all I’ve mastered.

“Have a good one,” the driver says before taking off down the street.

A man and a woman ushering three little girls dressed in ballerina outfits come rushing out the side door of the house. The mom checks bags and efficiently gives directions to the girls as they jump into the minivan. The man, presumably the dad, notices me at the end of the driveway. His eyes narrow as he takes me in, looking over my camo pants and boots and undershirt. I look a sight, I’m sure. But I thought I was coming home to my mom, not some strangers.

This isn’t right.

“Can I help you?” the man asks as he approaches me. With a whisper to her girls, the woman stays by the van to watch.

I tower over the man and likely look five seconds off a battlefield, so I give a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I used to live here… I guess.”

“You guess?” he asks, his stance softening when he realizes I’m not a creep.

“Yeah, I was coming home and, well, this isn’t my mom’s house anymore, is it?” I scratch the back of my head and look around.

“No, we’ve been here for three months. Fuck, man, what a homecoming.” The guy winces.

“No kidding. I’ll be out of your way—”

“Hey there, soldier!” a creaky old voice shouts from next door.

“Before you go, I have some of your mail,” the man says and jogs back up to the house.

I approach old Mrs. Stewart’s porch while he goes to get my mail. “Hello Mrs. Stewart,” I say with a warm smile for my almost lifelong neighbor.

“It’s good to see you, boy,” she says and reaches out a long and knobby hand to me.

I hold her hand and let out a long breath. Mrs. Stewart had been like a grandmother to me growing up. She babysat me and cooked me dinner on nights when my mom worked at the local bar. In return, I raked her leaves, mowed her lawn, and shoveled her snow from as soon as I could until I left for the service. Her husband had passed away a year after my mom and I moved in, but I was too young to have known him. My mom and her bonded over their single womanhood and raising me.

“What are you doing here, young man?” she asks fondly as I ascend her front steps to sit on her rickety wicker furniture. Everything creaks under my weight, and I do my best to keep my thighs engaged and not rest my full weight on her chair.

“I was coming home,” I say simply and look over her knitting project. She presses pause on an old CD player that still has a Spiderman sticker on it from when it was mine and played exclusively Creed and Nickelback. She bought it off me for three dollars at a garage sale after I got my first iPod. Her audiobook pauses, and she turns to me, her wrinkled face creases even more with concern.

“Coming home? Boy, your mama hasn’t lived there in almost nine months!” Mrs. Stewart gasps.

“Where, uh, where is she?” I ask, swallowing a lump of anxiety. Had my mom left me behind?

I had colleagues who had come home from service or on leave to find their wives and girlfriends gone or shacked up with other men. But my mom? Was that even allowed?

“She’s been sick. She-”

“Here you go! I’d been meaning to bring it up to the post office. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with it. Now I guess all the return addresses make sense,” the man who now lives in my house chuckles as he hands me a stack of mail over the railing.

“Thank you,” I say to him. “I’m sorry to disrupt your day.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry about your not so homecoming,” he says with a wave as he jogs back up to the van.

“She’s sick?” I ask Mrs. Stewart. My stomach sours.

“She’d been drinking again,” she replies with a pitying look. “Didn’t want to find another job away from the alcohol, so it got worse. Then there was this fellow that had been coming around. Not a man she was dating, you see. He never looked happy going into that house. She wouldn’t tell me what he was about. Started getting snippy with me and all.”

Mrs. Stewart leans back in her chair with a sad sigh. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you.”

I shake my head. “Not even on the phone. Do you know where she is now?”

Mrs. Stewart nods and shuffles inside to get her address book. My mom and I had been playing phone tag for days. Her messages were always vague and encouraged me to take a vacation before I came home. Now, I understand why. She doesn’t want me to see her sick and not have a home to return to.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Stewart returns with a piece of paper with an address in my mom’s handwriting. I’m no longer sitting in the rickety chair, but am pacing the front porch, each step creaking. The address is for an apartment complex close to where I went to high school. At least it isn’t a hospital or under a bridge.

“She’s been there since she moved out and sold the place. As far as I know, she’s still there,” Mrs. Stewart says and gestures to the paper.

“Thank you,” I say and request a new Uber to the address.

“I want to tell you to go easy on your mother, but I’m mad at her, too. For leaving you to find out the hard way she wasn’t doing well,” Mrs. Stewart says. She waits a moment and reaches up as if to stroke my cheek but can’t reach. “Welcome home, soldier.”

****

Standing outside my mom’s apartment complex, I feel sick with worry. Why hadn’t she told me she moved? She knew I was coming home. I press the buzzer at the entrance to the building.

“Hello?” a weary but familiar voice says through the intercom.

“Mom?”

The door clicks to unlock, and I open it. A door down the hallway opens and my mom’s face peeks out. “Oh, baby boy,” she says and breaks into a sob.

Embracing her against my chest, I look over her into the apartment. It is decorated with the same decorations as our house had been, though now everything looks crammed into the space. It smells like her favorite cigarettes and stale beer. “Mom,” I sigh into her graying blonde hair.

She’s thin, her face wrinkled more than it should be for her age, and the skin on her arms is tinged with yellow. My heart joins my sour stomach as they settle somewhere near my toes. She is sicker than Mrs. Stewart knew or admitted to me.

“You weren’t supposed to find me. You were supposed to go somewhere else and have a wonderful life without a sick mom to think about,” she says in a weak, muffled voice against my chest.

“Of course I was going to find you, Mom,” I say, and my voice cracks.

She lets go of me enough to wipe her nose on her sleeve and gesture for me to come in. Her eyes never lift to mine. “I’ll fix you a cup of coffee. I imagine you want an explanation.”

I drop my duffle bag just inside the door and the uneasy feeling makes itself known again. It feels like I’m in an alternate reality where everything is the same, but yet very different. Around me are my mom’s furniture and decorations, but in a smaller space. It is my mom, but sick. At this point, if a robot in a maid’s outfit comes ambling out of a room down the hallway, I’d not even flinch. Clearly, I have hopped timelines.

She shuffles around the small kitchen area and I look around. Her favorite chair has stains all over and burn marks like she’d dropped cigarettes on it. The kitchen table is crammed against a wall and covered with everything from mail to take out boxes to empty beer bottles.

“I really hoped you wouldn’t find me,” she says, watching me take in my surroundings.

“Would it have made you feel better to abandon me?” I ask, not sure how to sugarcoat my anger and hurt.

She exhales sharply as the coffee pot finishes. She pours me a cup with shaking hands.

“Would it have made you feel better to know both of my parents didn’t want me in their lives anymore?” I say, my voice quiet and steady despite the swirling emotions in my chest.

Hurt and fear flashes over her face. “No, baby. I want you in my life, but I don’t want me in yours.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” I say and grip the coffee mug. The same stupid one with the dogs with enormous, cartoonish eyes that I drank from every time I came home. My voice is deep, and I know how it sounds to civilians. I am big and loud and intimidating. All exceptional qualities in the military, but made me feel like an ogre at a tea party in civilian life. My mom flinches at my tone and words, and I remind myself to scale it back.

“Baby, I’m not going to make it,” she says with a sniffle.

“How long do you have?” I accidentally bark at her. My emotions are simmering in my throat, and I can’t help it.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get to go to that appointment,” she says and waves her hand. Irritation colors her movement.

“What?” I ask and almost drop the mug.

“I lost my health insurance at work, and I can’t afford anything else. I got turned away at the door from my doctor’s office because I had too big of an outstanding bill,” she scoffs.

“How much do you owe?” I ask, calculating my own savings in my head.

“More than you have, baby,” she whispers. Her eyes are kind as they finally settle on me. I notice the yellow hue to her eyes.

“Mom,” I scold.

“I owe almost a hundred thousand to the hospital and the doctor.”

“How much to the man that’s been coming to see you?” I ask, setting the mug down so I don’t crack it or drop it.

“That woman needs to mind her own business,” Mom snaps and turns away to the refrigerator. She pulls out a beer, looks at me, and then puts it back. She rests her forehead on the cold, white metal of the refrigerator.

“You had ‘that woman’ firmly in our business my entire life. She is right to be concerned and upset.” I defend Mrs. Stewart.

“I started joining the gambling at the bar,” Mom spits angrily. Not anger at me or Mrs. Stewart. But an internal anger at herself.

“Mom,” I groan. She has a fucking bookie on her tail.

“They’re a bit more… aggressive with their payment schedule. I’ve been paying them off and whatever is left after bills goes to my hospital bill,” she says.

“What do you mean by ‘aggressive?’” I ask, knowing enough already to make an informed guess.

Mom waves me off.

“No, answer me.”

“They’ll hurt me if I don’t pay them,” she snaps.

“Yeah, I gathered as much. Have they hurt you yet?”

She steps around the counter and points to her legs below her threadbare nightgown. I choke on my gasp. Her shins are mottled with bruises of every gross color. “This is from weeks ago. I don’t think I can heal right anymore.”

I close my eyes and lean against the kitchen counter, my hands braced on the cool material. Gathering myself and breathing through my anger and hurt, I turn back to her. Tears are streaking down her face. “I’ll call the hospital and see what we can do. I’m not leaving you, Mom.”

“Baby boy,” she sobs and grips me around my middle again. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

****

Hours later, I’m sitting at a high top bar table with a buddy from basic training. Matt is a police officer in New York City now and agreed to meet up for a beer. It’s been a long time since I was in the city. My mom and I would go a few times a year for celebrations or events, but we were largely not fans of the hustle and bustle. Now the noise is almost welcome. In a way, it feels comforting to see the chaos.

Staring at the beer in front of me, I realize I’m an asshole for drinking when my mom is a sick alcoholic. Matt doesn’t judge me for it, though, and doesn’t bring it up. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry,” he says and picks up a fry from the tray we ordered. “What are you going to do?”

“I called the hospital billing department and got them to agree to let her be seen if I dump half of my savings into her account. The other half is going to the bookies,” I say with a sigh.

“Want me to call some people and get the bookies taken care of?” he asks. “It’s not my jurisdiction, but I have some connections.”

“Nah, they’d just send someone else after that guy is locked up,” I dismiss his suggestion.

“True, he’s not likely the only bookie,” he says and sips his beer. “Do you have work lined up?”

“I was going to work with a buddy from high school on his construction crew, but now I’m thinking it’s not going to be enough money fast enough,” I say and slowly tear the bar napkin into shreds.

“You could always do some personal security here in the city,” Matt suggests.

I wrinkle my nose.

“I know, I know. Body guarding some rich celebrity princess around town doesn’t sound like a fun time, but they pay well,” Matt reasons.

I want to work a construction job that is steady and has my ass in a recliner chair by nightfall. Being outside for work, seeing a clear beginning and end, seeing actual progress, and working hard is exactly what I need. No work being brought home in the evenings. No bullshit office politics. No donuts in the breakroom. Just hard work and good pay.

“It’s the absolute last thing I want to do,” I grumble.

“Yeah, but listen. There’s a security company I’ve crossed paths with professionally before. Their guys have always been top tier and well paid. You could see if they have any temporary jobs while some starlet is filming in the city or something. It’s worth it for the money for your mom.”

Matt’s right. It’s worth it. “Alright, send me the info,” I resign.

chapter two

------

“Well, you come highly qualified for the job,” Bradley House, the CEO and founder of Safe House Security, says as he shuffles my resume on the table.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, and adjust the visitor badge clipped on my pocket.

“This is the first job you are seeking as a civilian?” He clarifies.

“Yes, sir. I served for sixteen years and have been released from duty,” I confirm.

“Why security?” He asks, and steeples his fingers in front of him.

I know better than to tell him and the others in the room I need the cash in hand by yesterday. “As you said, I am qualified. I prefer a career I know I can be successful in.” And you pay six figures.

House grins and looks at the man sitting next to him. He is wearing a dark gray suit and his hair matches it near his temples. His green eyes are striking in their intensity, making me feel like he has X-ray vision.

“Are you willing to live on site with a client?” the graying man asks. He had introduced himself as a “friend of Bradley’s” but didn’t give his name.

“As long as the location is local, yes. I have my mother to consider,” I say. I would not allude to her illness, but a soldier recently returned home from duty and wanting to be near his family was not out of the ordinary. A job that includes not living in my mom’s one-bedroom apartment is ideal. It saves me from sleeping on her old couch or paying for my own apartment.

“It would be thirty minutes West,” the man says, watching for my reaction.

“I knew you were going to steal him,” House laughs at the unnamed man. He looks back at me. “My friend here has been a client of my company for so long that he owns half of it.”

“It’s probably no more than a half hour from my mom’s place,” I say with a shrug. “Sounds great.”

The interview continues with more mundane questions to gauge my temperament. I know that’s my forte outside of physical strength. I was gifted with the nickname ‘Cucumber’ in basic training. Not for my… girth, but for my “cool as a cucumber” attitude. It takes a lot for me to get angry enough for a response. That’s not to say nobody knows my feelings. I have a glass face, but I rarely react verbally or physically. Ever since middle school, I’ve been the biggest kid in the room. I learned very early being over six feet tall and weighing in the mid two hundreds as a fifteen-year-old intimidated people enough I never had to react much in anger. If someone saw my face- saw my anger- they typically backed down. Now, my weight is more and is solid muscle, and people assume I’m always angry and always a threat.

“Would you be willing to wear a mask?” the nameless man asks.

“A mask, sir? Like… a surgical mask?” I ask in confusion. If the person I’d be working with was immunocompromised, I’d have to check with Mom’s doctor.

“Hawk!” the man calls over his shoulder.

A man wearing all black and a black balaclava enters the room. My eyebrows shoot up. I notice a gun at his hip, and I can tell he is armed in other ways, too, but it’s concealed.

“Hawk and the rest of the people on my security team wear masks to conceal their identities. Each person on my staff wears masks and uses pseudonyms to protect themselves and the client,” the man says as Hawk sits in one of the remaining chairs.

“Um, yeah, a mask is fine. I wouldn’t mind,” I say with a shrug. It’s odd, but hey if the job pays as well as I hope, then I’d do it.

“Any further discussion would need an NDA to be signed,” the man says.

Oh, this is serious. Here I was, thinking I’d be body guarding Taylor Swift or some other starlet. But no, this is… different.

After we review and sign the NDA, I look up. “Is it bad that you see my face now?”

The man chuckles and stands up holding out a hand to shake. He doesn’t answer my question. “Now, I can introduce myself. My name is Geoffrey Taylor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I’ve heard your name before,” I say as I stand to shake his hand.

Bradley snorts a laugh as we sit back down. “He’s one of the richest and most influential men in the country. Of course you’ve heard of him.”

“Not only that, but my company built the wristwatch he wore overseas. The first version of it was my first government contract almost twenty-five years ago,” Taylor says, referring to the GPS watch with biometrics I, indeed, did wear in the service.

“It has saved countless lives. Thank you, sir,” I say with a nod.

“As you can imagine, with so many government contracts, my family and I are often at the bad end of some real threats,” Taylor says. “My wife was murdered over twenty years ago at the hand of someone who did not like my success. She and her bodyguard both lost their lives that day. She pled for his life, knowing he had a young child at home. Her knowledge of his family left her weak and vulnerable. I’ve vowed to protect my daughter and myself by maintaining anonymity in my staff. My daughter’s identity has been hidden from public knowledge since her birth, and it would be your job to help maintain that security.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I say. Hearing a bodyguard was killed made me uneasy. But that was decades ago, tech and training has only gotten better since then.

Mr. Taylor nods in acceptance. “There have been threats against myself over the years, despite our privacy. She is unaware of any continuing threats since her mother’s death, and I intend to keep it that way. I know Hawk here believes I should tell her, but I have long since decided otherwise.”

I exchange a glance with the masked man. Wrinkles are visible around his brown eyes, but he is still fighter fit.

“She is turning twenty-five this year and has decided to move out of the city,” Taylor grumbles, as if he doesn’t approve. “I’ll need a security staff member on property with her twenty-four seven. When she is at home, you will be at ease, though still wearing the balaclava. She is largely a homebody, but when she goes out, you will oversee her bodily safety and her privacy. Currently, her home is being renovated and having security installed, so you will live in the city as you learn the job. I have room for you at my home and will provide all room and board for the duration of your employment on my team. Being in the city is temporary. The house is scheduled to be finished in two weeks.”

“Sounds great,” I say, to fill the silence. They are waiting for me to back out.

Hawk clears his throat before speaking. “If I may add, Ms. Taylor will have home surveillance in place. Cameras in common areas and covering the entire exterior of the home and a panic room on each floor. Door codes will be at all exterior doors. Two factored authentication is required for all technology on premises. That includes your own personal cell phone. When in the city or in public with Ms. Taylor, you will be equipped with an earpiece of Mr. Taylor’s company’s production, to report back to me and my staff and to remain in the know about the home’s security. There’s not much chatter, but it has been proven helpful.”

“This sounds like tight security. I have no objections. I only ask- how significant are the threats?”

“We’ve received emails and written letters over the years. It happens on and off depending on my current contracts and if I’ve been in the news lately,” Taylor replies with a long, tired exhale. “When my daughter was born, we announced her birth, but kept her identity under wraps. Threats to her exist but most often cannot name her or give any information other than her existence to suggest any credible threat.”

“No chances are taken,” Hawk says firmly.

“Understood,” I say with a curt nod.

“Are you willing to move forward and talk about salary and benefits?” Bradley says with a jovial smile.

“Sure,” I say, already committed. Geoffrey Taylor is rich. Like… rich, rich. He often frequents the same business circles as Bezos, Musk, and other Silicon Valley giants. I know he pays well, and this is not an opportunity I am ready to pass up.

“Great!” Mr. Taylor says as he stands up and buttons his suit jacket. “I will now forget your face and name.” Everyone chuckles. “I would stay and brief you more on the job, but Bradley will give you the information you need to show up on Monday. I have another meeting this afternoon.”

We say our goodbyes to Mr. Taylor and Hawk, and Bradley House slides a black folder over to me with a knowing look. I try not to grab it too eagerly and appear too money hungry. Slowly, professionally, I open it. Not so professionally, I choke on my tongue.

“I know,” House says with a slow nod. “He takes the security of his daughter seriously and he only hires the best. He saw you coming in on our reception camera and knew you were the one for the job. I had you in mind for something completely different, honestly. But after speaking with you today, I agree with him. You are the best person to keep Wren Taylor safe.”

“Wren,” I mumble as my eyes absolutely fixate on the number of zeros on the paper before me.

“Yes, and in that folder is all the information you will need to get to their home and into the security panels. The papers marked Confidential in red must be memorized and destroyed today. The ones marked Confidential in blue can be left in your desk. As a member of the Safe House Security staff, you will have an office here in the building. Since you will work with Mr. Taylor’s family, you will only be here once a week to file reports. Hawk will take over your duty on those days. It is most often while Wren and her father are spending the evening together on Thursday. If you were to choose to leave or be relieved from your position with the Taylors, it does not indicate your separation from my business. This is important to understand.”

“I understand,” I say, tearing my eyes away from the papers in front of me.

“As you can see, the Taylors will take over the funding of your health insurance and your salary. This is not typical for clients of my business. Taylor is, of course, a special case. If all of this appears acceptable….”

“Yes,” I say. “Can I add my mom to my health insurance? As a dependent?”

House smiles. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“That’s all I needed to ask,” I say and give House a professional smile.

“I also have another meeting in ten minutes,” House says and looks at the clock above my head. “Like I said, I had a different idea for your assignment and did not allot time for a briefing on Wren Taylor. I’ll have someone come in that has worked with her and he can give you a rundown.”

Five minutes later, a young man, no more than thirty years old, enters the room. “Hey, I’m Jack. Are you the new Jay?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” I say.

“You working for the Taylors?” He asks.

“Yeah,” I reply.

“That’s your code name. Blue Jay. Or Jay for short. Pretty much everyone outside of the security room will call you Jay,” he says as he sits down. “We’re all called Blue Jay as Wren’s bodyguards.”

The name Blue Jay is present on all the paperwork in my hand, but I didn’t connect that it’s my new name. All those zeros….

“She’s a fucking piece of work,” the guy hisses across the table.

“Oh?” I say, not swayed one bit.

“An absolute princess,” he scoffs.

Of course she is. She grew up the daughter of one of the richest men in the world.

“Mmhm.”

“You don’t understand, bro. I’ve worked with this company for five years. I’ve worked with politicians, movie stars, pop stars, royalty, and heiresses. Wren is the only one to make me quit an assignment in less than three months,” he says adamantly. His finger jabs the table in between us to stress “Three months!”

“What do I need to know?” Forewarned is forearmed and all that.

“She’s going to do her best to embarrass you. She’s not going to know a thing about you, so the more stoic you can be, the better. Think of the guards outside Buckingham Palace. Stand there, watch her prance about like a demented fairy, and don’t react. She’s an absolute menace and hates the idea of a bodyguard. It’s like she wants to be attacked or something.” His lips curl up in disgust as he speaks.

The zeros.

“I can handle that,” I say confidently.

The guy scoffs. “No offence, but nobody lasts more than six months.”

Six months sounds perfect. I will have enough money to pay off my mom’s medical bills and the bookie. Easy. Six months is the goal. I’ve seen combat. I’ve been sleep deprived, sick, and injured behind enemy lines.

I can handle a princess.

chapter three

Wren

For as long as I can remember, there has been a Blue Jay. This figure has been more present in my life than my father or my dead mother. And I hate it. I hate him. A Blue Jay was with me so much as a child I thought the masked man was my uncle. It was only when he left, and a new Jay took his place, that I learned I’d been erroneously calling him Uncle Jay for years. Jay waited outside my nursery school while pretty mommies and nannies and daddies picked other kids up. A hulking, masked Jay picked me up. He was the recipient of my coloring pages and penmanship tests. And then he’d leave, and a new Jay would replace him.

I’ve decided to rid myself of the overbearing and creepy bodyguard once and for all. I have learned to defend myself for the last five years with weapons and martial arts, and there has not been a single threat against me since the death of my mother twenty-two years ago. It is time for me to be alone. And not alone in the lonely sense, but without a constant companion who is, for lack of a better phrase, a built-in cock block.

I want independence. Freedom. To be away from my masked shadow. I purchased a house outside of the city where life will be quiet, cozy, and filled with birds. A dream of a home visited by hundreds of local birds has followed me since my mother’s death. She was a bird fanatic.

The sound of grief and healing is the sound of birds chirping. It reminds me of her, even though I have very limited memories of my mother. But touches of her still grace the home I share with Dad. Graceful bird themed décor, the names assigned to our staff, and even the cheesy plastic clock that chirps with different bird calls to sound the hour still has a place in our home. Someone once told me a visit from a cardinal was actually a lost loved one. To some, that gives comfort. To me, despite my love of birds, it makes me angry. Because if my mother wants to see me, she shouldn’t have fucking died.

“Good morning, Dad,” I say as I enter the breakfast room, where he is already seated with Hawk. Hawk, my father’s masked bodyguard and head of security, is his own constant companion. “Hawk.”

“Good morning,” they both greet me over their identical morning newspapers.

Hawk never changed out. It has been the same grumpy and stoic man under that mask since my father hired the security company. That man knows me almost as much as my father does and has been the tongue-in-cheek recipient of my “Mother’s Day” cards since I’d learned sarcasm and dark humor as coping skills for my grief. It made my dad cry the first time, but at age fifteen that was considered a win, and I never stopped.

“What refreshing and wonderful days I’ve had this week,” I say happily as I pour a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Hawk and Dad both give me the same expression over their newspapers. That long suffering, I Know What You’re Doing So Stop It parental look. I haven’t had a Jay for an entire week. Not because I won completely, but because I have exhausted every available and qualified employee at Safe House Security. This week, without a Jay, I’ve only left the house with Hawk when my dad was home, followed all protocol, and behaved like a good little girl. I want to show Dad I can handle life without a bodyguard.

“Don’t get too excited. Blue Jay comes back today,” Dad mutters and looks back at his newspaper.

“No,” I whine and let my forehead fall to the table with a thunk that rattles the tableware. I vaguely wonder if my action splattered my brown hair with the yogurt parfait in front of me.

“Wren Elizabeth Taylor, we’ve been through this time and time again,” Dad scolds and sets his newspaper onto the table next to his empty plate with an angry crinkle of the paper. He rips off his reader glasses and points at me with them. “If you want the money released for your house from your trust fund, then you will have a Blue Jay.”

“You know, a lawyer once told me after I graduated college and turned twenty-one and the money was turned over to me, nobody could tell me what to do with my trust fund.”

Hawk shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Anyone else would have missed the slight movement, but ninety-eight percent of the people in my day-to-day life have all but their eyes covered by a balaclava. So, I learned to read body language and micro expressions very well, very early.

“Nobody is going to fight my decision,” Dad says in a cocky tone. He doesn’t always have a big head about being one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, but sometimes he certainly does.

I slump in my chair. I’m being childish, but it’s hard not to when he treats me like one.

“Now, Jay will be here this morning—”

“To be my creepy shadow and prevent me from dating.”

“To keep watch over you while you go about your life,” Dad practically shouts over me. He adds in his normal voice, “It’s not creepy.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Tell that to Hawk’s face,” Dad challenges and gestures to the large, black clad man across the table. Hawk looks supremely uncomfortable to be dragged into our bullshit.

“I would if I could see it. Hawk, your job and Jay’s job is creepy,” I say, looking Hawk directly in his brown eyes.

“I aim to be spooky. I’ll try harder, thank you,” Hawk deadpans.

Dad’s eyes light with vindictive joy.

“Ugh,” I groan. “Not only do men hate to date a woman with a bodyguard, but it’s going to be so weird in the suburbs. What am I supposed to do? Walk my dog and my bodyguard every morning?”

“We prefer fenced in backyards,” Hawk adds in his deep monotone.

“You’re getting a dog?” Dad asks. “Who’s going to clean up after it? You?”

Ignoring his jabbing question, I continue, “Dad, this Blue Jay thing is out of hand. I’m moving out of the city, my new house will have multiple layers of security, I know how to shoot a gun, and I’m a black belt in taekwondo. What else could you ask for?”

“A bodyguard who will live with you in your new home,” Dad replies simply, like he isn’t asking for something outrageous.

“A person who lives with me and I don’t even know their real name or their face? Am I allowed to know their dietary restrictions before I cook dinner? Oh my god, do I have to cook for them? Dad, this is ridiculous. Why would a bodyguard want to live with me in the suburbs? Is he allowed to move his stuff in? This is the cringiest thing ever. What will the neighbors think?” I recognize I am practically shrieking, but I am so entirely over it. I can understand having a bodyguard for outings. And maybe living in the city where my mom was kidnapped and killed despite security constitutes the need for a bodyguard. Sure, I can wrap my head around that. But in the suburbs? Insane.

Hawk looks down at his breakfast, and I can see the thoughtful crinkle of his eyes. He is eating the same food as Dad. If I wasn’t so mad, his being self-conscious after eating our food for about twenty years would have made me laugh. When I have a Jay, he also eats breakfast with me and will eat whatever our Sparrow Cook makes for us all. But it will be completely different when I am the one cooking for the two of us.

An image of me cooking breakfast for Maxwell, my boyfriend, the morning after a night of intense sex pops into my head. I’d be in his button-down shirt from last night, no pants, hair a mess, cooking eggs in the soft glow of morning sunlight. He would be drinking a cup of coffee and watching me with love in his eyes… and then a masked man would emerge from his room and ruin the mood and I’d have to make him breakfast, too.

“Hawk has personal belongings in his room. He lives here,” Dad says. “Lately your Jays have not stuck around long enough to feel comfortable.”

Hawk’s eyebrows move in irritated agreement.

I grin with mischievous triumph.

“This is not something to be proud of, Wren,” Dad says with a sigh before sipping his coffee.

“Well, I will not be nice to this one either,” I say in a petulant tone as I bite into my now cold toast with vigor.

“Please,” Dad insists. “We’ve exhausted Bradley’s entire staff. I had to swipe a new recruit.”

I feign an innocent expression. One that Hawk and Dad would surely see right through if they had a single brain cell between them. “A new guy? I’ll be nice to him then. Welcome him to the team, and all.”

Hawk glares at me, and I smile back.

“Has he been warned?” Dad asks Hawk.

“He has,” Hawk replies, not breaking his eye contact with me.

I finally look away to eat my breakfast. Breaking the staring contest to finish eating is better than remaining in this stupid room with these stupid men any longer.

Back in my room, I flop on my bed and look at my phone. Maxwell sent me a good morning text, and I smile at it. Maybe I can ask him to meet up during his lunch break for a quickie. Doing it in his office would be fun. I type out a flirty message and then groan and delete it. Maxwell hates hooking up while my bodyguard is standing outside the door. I don’t blame him, but the idea of making a new Jay listen to us fuck would be a fun way to make him want to quit. Maxwell also hates a lot of the ways I want to fuck, but that is a different frustration. I throw my phone down on the bed.

My dating pool, even in a city as big as New York, isn’t large by any means. Having my identity hidden means meet-cutes in public don’t happen often. I’ve gone on dates with one or two guys from outside my circle before and they always declined a second date after they learned they couldn’t know my last name and my masked, armed bodyguard had to come with us. I never blamed them, but it still sucked balls. Maxwell is the son of one of my dad’s business lawyers who has known me my entire life and signed an NDA long ago. In fact, all my friends, family, and my dad’s business associates signed NDAs to know me. So, my dating pool consists entirely of the sons of my dad’s business associates. Not exactly ideal. I’m not sure how moving to the suburbs would entirely fix the issue, considering they’d still need to sign an NDA to know me, but it had to be a step in the right direction. I just need to get rid of Jay.

My new house would be ready in a week for me to move in. I signed papers a month ago and met with a security contractor from Safe House and a designer and contractor who are making my house into the home of my dreams. When I move in, most of the updates will be finished. I can’t wait. The sounds of the city will be a thing of my past. The smog, the rude people, the trash on the streets will soon all be replaced by quiet, peaceful mornings listening to my birds and baking sourdough bread.

“Hello?” a voice calls from the next room. “Hello? Bitch, come get me!”

My African Gray Parrot, Angelica, is my favorite bird and weapon against Jays. Her room is next to what will be Jay’s room when he gets here. My dad and Hawk’s rooms are as far from me and Angelica as they can get. Angelica has been with me since I was ten and she was a year old. Fifteen years later, we’re still as thick as thieves.

“Hey girl,” I say as I open her room. She isn’t in a cage here, as she never really has the urge or the opportunity to fly away. She is spoiled, and she knows it. Leaving me would mean no more toys and less sweet potatoes. “Did you sleep good?”

“Yes,” she says and bobs her head.

“A new Blue Jay comes today,” I say as I open a drawer of puzzles for her.

Angelica imitates the call of a Blue Jay bird.

“Yeah, he’s a new one.” I set out the puzzle for her that hides some of her food pellets.

“Mean,” she says. She is asking if we are going to torture him together.

“Of course!” I reply and scratch her head after she lands in front of the puzzle.

“Good girl,” she says in a cooing imitation of my voice.

“I’m going to be working on packing in my room,” I explain as I check her water. “You can come and sit on your high perch and then scare him.”

“Boo!” she says and flaps her wings.

“Hell yeah,” I say and hand her a treat.

“Hell yeah, motherfucker!” Angelica squawks.

chapter four

Wren

Mid-morning finds me packing items from my bookshelf. I already packed away the books and transported them to my new house’s library, but I still have to pack the little odds and ends that adorn the shelves. I am smiling at some of the funny fan merchandise I’ve picked up when there is a hesitant shuffling just outside the door. My smile falls when the shuffling leads to a knock.

Angelica mimics the knock, and I shush her. She ruffles her gray feathers to show her offense to being shushed and flicks her red tail at me. She is up on the high perch above my door. It’s the best place to scare people who enter the room. Every Jay sweeps the room with their eyes, but they never look above their heads unless they are expecting Angelica to be there.

“Come in,” I call out, and a scowl plants itself on my face.

A Sparrow opens the door and gestures for the Incredible Hulk to enter. Or that’s approximately how big he looks, standing in the hall.

“Thank you, Sparrow,” I say to the house staff member. All of our house staff are called Sparrow to protect them and they all wear the same black shirt and black pants. All our staff also wear thin black spandex balaclavas to hide their face and hair. Including Jay and Hawk.

Jay enters the room and my internal grumblings block out Sparrow’s hushed response. This guy is huge. He has to be almost six and a half feet tall and maybe three hundred pounds of muscle. A brick wall of a human being. A medical marvel. A grainy picture of him should have red text over it that says “Has Science Gone Too Far?”

But what really stops me in my tracks are his eyes. It’s all that is visible on his face and his eyes are… alive. Every other Jay I’ve seen had training to remain as dead eyed and stoic as possible. They didn’t seem like real people following me around. That’s the point, really. If I don’t see them as real people, I won’t get attached to them. My friends likened my Jays to the guards outside Buckingham Palace. It is an accurate comparison. Except for this one. His eyes are the brightest blue, and they sweep the room as if looking for danger as he steps inside.

“At ease, soldier,” I drone as I turn away from him. I flick my dark brunette hair over my shoulder. “There’s nobody in here but me, and I checked for bombs this morning.”

He says nothing. Another part of his training. Jays can only speak to me about security and logistics. It’s annoying, so I often make it as uncomfortable for both of us as possible by speaking nonstop.

I watch him in my mirror as he visibly relaxes his stance. His eyes fix on me as I wrap a glass replica of the rose from Beauty and the Beast in bubble wrap. “I don’t know if they told you, but I’m moving out,” I say to the man who makes the armoire behind him look like dollhouse furniture. “I’ll be out of here in about a week. I guess that means you, too.”

He nods once in understanding.

I glance at Angelica in the mirror. She is above him, with her feathers plastered smoothly to her body. She is unsure of him. Even she is surprised by his size.

“I’m sorry if that takes you away from your life and your family,” I say and pick up a framed picture of me and my best friend to wrap. “Honestly, I didn’t want to have another Jay, so you can blame Daddy Dearest for that.”

No response. Ugh. It’s like being haunted, I swear.

I assemble the next cardboard box as Jay moves to look out my window. It’s a wide window with a cushioned bench seat that overlooks the street below. I applied a film over the window to make it look like stained glass in the sunlight. Little streaks of colored light dance over his black shirt. He, like every Jay before him, wears a black Henley and black cargo pants with his gun attached to a black belt. The uniform is partly to show no sign of personality but also so he looks more like law enforcement. It is shocking to see a big guy wearing a mask and carrying a gun in the city. So, the more he looked like a cop, the fewer screams happened. They definitely still happened, though.

He checks the latches of the window. I roll my green eyes. I’ve lived under lock and key most of my life. Of course, my window is securely locked. Once personal drones became more popular, living on the top floor became more of an annoying spectator sport. His checking of my window latches annoys me more than it probably should. He is acting like he is the first bodyguard to stomp through here. As if I’m a child who doesn’t know how to lock her windows.

I watch as he feels the leaves of my houseplants. His eyebrows quirk up like he is shocked to see live plants in my room. What did he expect? Diamond shelves? Probably. With the way my dad decorated some of the other parts of the house, minus the bits of my mom’s style remaining, I don’t blame his likely assumptions. My bedroom looks like someone’s soft cottagecore Pinterest board threw up all over it. I love my plants and take great care of them. They are all I have until I can move into my dream home and cultivate a garden. The plants I have now are all decorative and a few herbs, but one day I will have rows and rows of vegetables and fruits.

I might as well start his torture now. It has been five minutes since he got here, after all. My personal record for getting a Jay to quit is twelve hours. This guy is new to the security firm, so he is likely going to hold out as long as possible to impress Bradley. Challenge wholeheartedly and vehemently accepted.

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!” Angelica chooses now to start her screeching.

Jay jumps about two feet into the air and spins around, his hand ready on his gun holster. Angelica flies down from the perch above the door, past him, and flutters dramatically at the closed window. I stifle a laugh. This is a routine Angelica and I perfected years ago for use during Dad’s business dinners.

“Shit,” Jay mutters under his breath as he removes his hand from his gun. I can see the startled relief as plain as day in his eyes as he notes my amusement before relaxing.

“That’s Angelica, she—”

“My name is Blade.”

“Her name is Angelica. She’s an African Gray Parrot. And she’s very dramatic,” I say and turn back to my packing.

“Dumb bitch,” Angelica says as she flies to perch on my headboard. She grooms her feathers in a way I know to be haughty.

Jay’s eyes are wide in shock at hearing Angelica swear at me. I snort.

“Bitch is her favorite word,” I explain with a shrug.

“Bitch, bitch, bitchy bitch… CUNT,” Angelica sings in a high trill and ends on a loud, grunting shout.

It’s clear Jay is fighting the urge to say something. Angelica typically inspires a lot of questions and Jay is doing well at following his orders to not speak to me.

“Big bitch,” Angelica says, looking at Jay.

“Very big,” I agree with her.

“Angelica, this is my new Blue Jay.” I tell her like she doesn’t know.

Angelica imitates a blue jay call. “You do.”

Jay doesn’t respond. I bite my lip to hide a smile, knowing what is coming next. Angelica swoops over to land on Jay’s head. She bends over to look him in the eyes upside down. His hands hover like he is going to grab her if she bites or pecks him. She imitates the blue jay call again. “You. Do.”

“She wants you to make that sound,” I explain.

He pauses before he does his best to imitate the bird call. Normally it takes a few pecks to the forehead before a Jay will humor her.

“Good boy,” Angelica croons throatily and bumps her beak against his cheek and makes a loud kissing sound. She flies back to her spot on my headboard.

With a little bored sigh, I open my nightstand drawer. Jay turns and silently watches me pull the drawer off its tracks and dump it messily into the new cardboard box that rests on my bed.

Over the last few years, I amassed an extensive collection of dildos and vibrators. I don’t use them all. It is simply a fun way to make a Jay uncomfortable when I go into a sex shop and buy one. I love going in and buying the biggest and oddest one they have. It never made a Jay quit, but it surely made them uncomfortable. Being a menace is hard work. If nothing else, my purchases help a local small business. And I sure use some of them. My favorites are simply in a different drawer.

The phallic shaped items all pour into the box and tip it over with their rubbery momentum. The dildos and vibrators all roll across my bed and onto the floor. “Oh, damn,” I say lightly, like I dropped a pen and not approximately forty-seven penises.

Jay completely stops moving. His bright blue eyes are fixated on the biggest dildo that rolls almost all the way to him. Oh, how I wish its girth would lightly kiss the toe of his shiny black combat boots. It’s massive, hot pink, and made of a soft silicone that wobbles like Jell-O. I’m petite, standing at five feet tall, and a toy that size would likely do damage to my internal organs. A clerk who had caught on to my antics specially ordered it as a “gag gift” for me, with its entire purpose being to make Jay uncomfortable. Jay looks at the toy, me, the toy again, and his eyebrows knit together.

“Buzz,” Angelica says, expertly imitating the sound of a vibrator. Jay and I both look at her as she lets out imitations of my voice, gasping and moaning. “Oh, yes!”

“Good job!” I say cheerfully despite my glare at the bird.

Angelica makes a kissing sound at me.

“I’ll leave you to your packing,” Jay mumbles and exits my room. He looked almost horrified. Maybe he is going to be easier to break than previously expected. Delightful.

I grin at Angelica and hold out my fist to her. She taps her wing to my fist and opens her beak for a treat. One I happily supply.

chapter five

Wren

When we’re at home, Jay doesn’t need to be in the same room as me. If I want to leave, I have to find him somewhere. Each reincarnation of Jay is most typically in the security room, called the Crow’s Nest, or his room, which is one down from Angelica’s. I find my current Jay in his room this time. He is unpacking a suitcase of identical black shirts and pants on his bed. He looks up when I knock on the doorframe. An eyebrow quirks in question.

“I’m going to meet my friend for coffee,” I say. “At The Beanery.”

He puts down the garment he’s holding and meets me at the door, gesturing for me to lead the way. Downstairs at the front doors, I wave at a Crow, one of the security staff not assigned as a bodyguard. He straightens up in his seat at the sight of me and Jay. His eyes narrow at Jay in confusion. I look up at Jay and say, “You have to tell security we’re leaving.”

“Excuse me?” The first day jitters are audible in his quiet voice.

“You have to say into the microphone ‘Blue Jay leaving the nest with Wren. Destination The Beanery. Anticipated guests Gemma and Lance,’” I explain to him. If he doesn’t inform security headquarters we are leaving, he’d lose his job. My goal is to get him to rage quit his assignment to me, not lose his career. I’m not entirely heartless.

Jay lifts a hand to his earpiece and fumbles at pressing a button. He clears his throat and says in his smooth, deep, quiet voice, “Blue Jay leaving the nest with Wren. Destination The Beanery…. Guests are Gemma and Lance.” He pauses as he listens to someone on the other end. “Yes, sir.”

He presses the button to turn off his microphone and looks down at me expectantly. I wave again to the Crow and leave with Jay on my heels. The walk to the Beanery isn’t very long, but many Jays in the past have insisted we take a car. This Jay doesn’t seem to care as we stroll down the busy sidewalk. People part around us as we walk, giving us a wide berth. That often happens with Jays, but especially with one so large. Scary dog privilege includes personal space on NYC sidewalks.

The scent of The Beanery wafts out to us as we get closer. I smile when I see Gemma and her bodyguard Lance are already seated at a little bistro table outside. She is wearing a wide brimmed black sun hat over her curly blonde hair and huge sunglasses. She waves dramatically at me as I approach. Lance’s eyes are surveying the area on a continual swivel, but he smiles and gives a nod when he sees me. I gesture to Gemma that I am going to order before sitting down.

“Gemma is my best friend and Lance is her bodyguard,” I say over my shoulder as we get in line to order.

Jay nods, but he fixes his eyes apologetically on a woman and child that hurry out of his way, as if he is a threat. This happens often with a masked bodyguard. It is one pressure of the job I can’t intentionally inflict. It occurs enough Hawk has a prepared business card and speech for the occasion. “This is my bodyguard. You’re safe. Here’s the card for the security firm he works for. I’m sorry he scared you. Here, I’ll buy your coffee,” I say soothingly to the woman as she takes the card from my hand.

“Is he a GI Joe?” the little boy asks warily. His wide eyes never leave Jay.

“He sure is!” I say happily.

“I’m sorry, he startled me,” the mom says, her hand to her throat.

“We get that a lot,” I say with a sigh.

“Who are you that you need a bodyguard?” a man asks from behind us.

I look over to see Jay already has eyes on the man. He is a tourist, holding out his phone like he is ready to take pictures. My picture has ended up on plenty of gossip websites for a brief time whenever I go shopping or out with Gemma. The paparazzi photograph her whenever she goes out, and they often wonder who she is with. Safe House Security always has the photos and articles down in a matter of hours.

“My ex-husband is out on parole. Can never be too careful,” I lie before turning back to pay for the mom and her son’s order.

“Hey Wren,” the barista, Steph, greets me. She doesn’t know my last name or who my dad is, but she’s been making my coffee for months now. “Do you want your usual?”

“Yes, thank you,” I say and look up at Jay. “Would you like a coffee?”

He reaches for his wallet.

“No, I’ll buy you a coffee,” I say and touch his hand to still him. The skin on the back of his hand is warm and smooth. I pull away instantly.

“I’m wearing a mask,” Jay mutters.

“Yeah, how does he drink?” Steph asks, having obviously noticed this was a new Jay. She knows her part in the Jay torment and plays it very well.

“Rectally,” I reply.

Jay shifts his feet uncomfortably.

“Oh!” she says with well-acted shock.

“Yeah, he butt chugs it,” I say with a solemn nod.

“Better for caffeine absorption, I guess,” she says supportively.

Jay dares to touch my shoulder lightly. He is so uneasy he is touching me to get me to stop talking. Perfection.

“You know, coffee enemas are all the rage,” I continue, outwardly unphased.

Jay clears his throat. “A black iced coffee, please. Small.”

Steph gasps. “Iced? Shocking!”

I giggle as I pay for our order and leave a huge tip.

We move down to the order pick up area and Jay leans down to speak low to me. “That may have worked on other Jays, but I was warned about you.”

“Nobody could prepare you for me,” I say and look defiantly up at him. He stands up to his full height and keeps his bright blue eyes narrowed on mine. I can see the movement of his jaw clenching under his mask. His light brows faintly bunch together in his annoyance. My stomach jumps in excitement at getting him to speak informally to me so early in the game. Despite his words, this feels like a win for me.

We keep up our stubborn eye contact until our order is called out. I carry my ceramic mug of a frothy caramel cappuccino to Gemma’s table and Jay picks up his iced coffee. He swipes a metal straw from the barista, who is grinning challengingly at the masked man.

“Hello, my dearie,” Gemma says as I sit in the seat across from her. Her own cappuccino remains untouched before her. “I waited for you.”

“She was taking pictures,” Lance scoffs, sipping from his own coffee. Lance has been Gemma’s bodyguard for about a year. He isn’t masked like my Jay is, but the same company employs him. Gemma and I have been friends for years, having been introduced by our fathers who are business besties. She had been modeling when we met as teens, but she didn’t reach supermodel status until she graduated from high school and signed to a larger agency. An incident with a stalker last year had led to her hiring her own bodyguard for outings. Lance is older than Gemma and me, but he keeps up with her well. 

“It’s marketing. You wouldn’t get it,” Gemma says and waves her hand dismissively at him. Gemma pulls down her glasses over her nose and looks Jay up and down with her wide blue eyes. “New Blue Jay? Where’d you import him from?”

“I don’t know. Wherever Vikings come from,” I say and sip my drink.

Jay folds his massive body into the remaining chair and nods to Lance. Lance and Jay seem to have a nonverbal conversation over our heads. Gemma and I watch silently.

“Will you two shut up?” Gemma scowls. “We’re trying to chit chat over here.”

I snort into my cappuccino.

“How was Paris?” I ask her.

“All work and no play,” she says. “I had a shoot scheduled here, so I couldn’t stay long.”

“We’ll have to schedule a week next spring to go to Paris. You know my dad said we can use his place there whenever,” I say, picturing our previous wild trips to France.

“I will have to see. I just signed a contract with Noody, that shapewear company, and they’re doing a huge summer campaign,” she says. Pride laces her soft voice, and a smile curls the corners of her lips.

“That’s great!” I exclaim.

“I’ll have to hide it from the photographer I just worked with in Paris,” she says with a scoff. “He told me I should look into Botox! I’m twenty-five! I told him to Botox his ball sack and then we’ll talk.”

I give a loud cackle.

“Jay, can you Botox labia?” I ask him.

He has the straw of his drink slid under his mask as he takes a sip. I can see a small sliver of tan skin at the base of his neck as he swallows. My eyes are drawn to it like I am thirsty for information on what this man looks like under his mask. It’s a habit I could never grow out of since I’ve had so many Jays. As much as I despise having a bodyguard, I am eternally curious about who is under the mask.

“I’m not… a gynecologist,” he replies after sliding the straw out of his mask.

“No kidding. You can Google it,” I say.

“So could you,” he shoots back.

I gasp with fake outrage and Gemma echoes, matching my energy immediately. “How dare you!” I say adopting a dramatic, old timey, Transatlantic accent.

“Sir, how could you?” Gemma puts a hand to her mouth, her accent even better than mine.

“I would never dirty my hands with- with electronics!” I say dramatically.

“A lady would never!” Gemma adds.

“Preposterous!”

Gemma and I continue to make ridiculous quips back and forth until Jay rolls his eyes and pulls out his cell phone. I smile triumphantly at Gemma as he unlocks his phone and types. He turns the screen to me, and the first result has both Gemma and I shocked out of our accents. “Oh,” I say. “You and the photographer can make it a double date, I guess.”

“Hm, you learn something new every day,” Gemma says.

Jay puts his phone back in his pocket and I see the corners of his eyes crinkle just the slightest, like he is smiling. I need to work harder at making him uncomfortable if he can manage a smile.

Gemma and I chat about a recent party and the scandals that occurred before she has to leave for a meeting and I have to leave for Taekwondo lessons. My lessons are on the other side of town, so Jay and I take a cab. He looks shocked I am taking a cab, but I don’t enjoy having a driver waiting for me wherever I go, and the subway grosses me out. I have Jay, and he is enough to be annoyed with. While we are ensconced in the cab, he quietly informs the Crow’s Nest of our movement. His knees are firmly pressed against the passenger seat of the cab. I take a moment to consider if the length of his legs and size of his thighs mean he is a fast runner, or a clumsy runner. I need to find a way to test that. For science.

The purse I’d chosen for the day is large enough to hold my dobok and nunchucks. I arranged for the rest of my supplies to remain in a rented locker at the studio, but I took my nunchucks home to practice and the uniform to wash. When we arrive at the studio, Jay waits outside the admittedly gross restroom for me to change. I shove my purse into his hands as I exit the restroom and put my shoes in my locker. With a friendly greeting to Master James as I enter class, I stand in my usual space and start my stretches. Master James looks Jay over and then back at me. “That’s not Hawk,” he says.

“Nope. New Jay,” I reply and sigh into a hamstring stretch.

Jay is waiting on the sidelines where there are seats for parents of the youth classes. He is standing, holding my bag, looking like an idiot. “Jay, sit down. Any attack in this room is consensual,” I snap.

Master James chuckles and returns to the front of the class as more people file in. I am close to testing for my second degree black belt, so I am focused throughout the lesson. Master James is a great instructor, and I am lucky to work under someone so accomplished in his craft. I had arranged to meet with Master James after class to work on one of my forms before testing, but he has other plans.

Jay stands up as everyone but me and my instructor leave the class, chatting animatedly. I remain in my assigned class space while Master James looks Jay over again. There is a thoughtful furrow in his brow. “Jay, I’ve been working with Wren here for almost six years. She came to class hoping to defend herself if the need arose. I understand with a constant presence of the likes of you, she’d hopefully never need it. But I also understand that sometimes unfortunate things happen. I have not taken my job in teaching her to defend herself lightly. I assume you have training in some form of martial arts?”

“Yes,” Jay replies.

“Don’t tell me the type,” Master James says and raises his hand to stop Jay from speaking further. “What I need Wren to know and practice is using Taekwondo against someone who is not likely going to use it back at her. The sparring we do in class is Taekwondo against Taekwondo. Out in the world, that’s not likely to happen. We need her to practice using her skills against an unmatched opponent.”

He’s done this with every Jay I’ve brought in. I hate that he’s right. But mostly I hate knowing I’ve never won one of these sparring matches against a Jay. Crossing my arms over my chest, I fight the urge to pout.

“You want me to… fight with Wren?” Jay asks, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull.

My scowl slowly morphs into a smirk when I realize he is not happy about fighting me. He is massively uncomfortable. He hasn’t been around long enough to want to fight me. His discomfort is more fuel for me.

“Afraid to get beaten up by a girl?” I taunt and cock my hip to the side.

“You have to roll your uniform at the ankles,” Jay drones in his quiet voice. “One hit and you’d be out cold.”

“We’re sparring, Jay. Light touches only,” Master James scolds.

“I won’t- I’m not going to—” Jay stutters.

I laugh and Master James smiles.

“Wren, move to the center of the mat and face away from Jay,” Master James instructs.

I follow instructions, and my skin prickles with awareness. I feel both sets of eyes on me as I stand and examine my manicure as casually as I can manage. Both men’s voices mutter behind me, and I hear a shuffle and thump like Jay is removing his boots. Then the clunking rustle sound of his gun being placed into my purse. I face away from the mirrors intentionally, so I can’t see him coming. Master James insists most hand-to-hand attacks would happen in surprise. Except, standing here impatiently waiting, there is no surprise.

Just as I am getting bored and irritated, I feel goosebumps rise on the back of my neck. It is a survival instinct. A reaction to a threat. But one my stupid body sometimes gets confused with sexual arousal. Who gets turned on by a threat? People with their wires crossed. People like me, apparently. I suck in a breath. Every atom in my body zeroes into the awareness that someone is behind me. Jay is close. He must be. I can feel his presence… just behind me and to the right. My legs are stronger than my arms, but I can’t tell how close Jay is. He is absolutely silent in his approach. I adopt a fighting stance and pivot, a powerful sidekick at the ready, only to strike… air.

A hand wraps securely around my throat, while a foot knocks into mine just after it lands on the mat, spreading my legs enough to catch me off balance. I let out a garbled yelp of shock as the powerful body behind me takes me to the mat, flat on my belly, before I could even fathom a next move. Jay’s body smashes mine into the mat and all the air in my lungs leaves me in a wheezing rush through my constricted throat.

I hear him exhale above me as he loosens his hold on my neck. He is heavy on me, and I wonder if that is his entire weight. He covers me completely. Muscles in my body that were not supposed to engage, clench. His weight lifts off me and cool air rushes in to replace his body heat. The cold air brings me back to reality, and I stand up angrily.

“Wren, Jay is an experienced fighter. Don’t be discouraged,” Master James says as I stand up, pushing my disheveled hair away from my face.

My breath is still harsh as I recover from the choking hold he had on me. Jay’s eyes are assessing in their stare. “Are you alright?” he asks softly. The man just choked me out and flattened me to the ground and now he is puppy-dog-eyeing me and asking if he hurt me.

I nod sharply, embarrassed by how quickly I was taken down and for my confusing arousal. Would he choke in bed? Shut up, Wren.

“I’m not a… fair fight,” Jay says to Master James. “A, um, previous job…”

“I understand,” Master James says with a nod. He slaps Jay on the shoulder. “You two should practice at home. I think it would be great for Wren’s confidence in her abilities to learn from you as well.”

Sure, just what I need. More time with Jay. Wrestling.

I stomp to my bag and pick it up. Jay is next to me in a single stride and pulls his gun from my bag. “It’s not nice to rummage through a woman’s purse,” I snap, more breathless than I would have liked.

“I figured robbing you after taking you to the mat was appropriate,” he mutters with a crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

I groan despite my impulse to laugh and take my bag to change into my clothes. In the bathroom, I look up at myself in the mirror. I look thoroughly ravished and all he did was knock me over once. There is only a faint pink smudge around my neck from his grip that will fade completely in a few minutes. No bruising and no scratches to show on my skin. With a gentle touch of my fingertips on my neck, I swallow and close my eyes. I draw in a slow breath, calming my hormones. There is something to knowing Jay is here to protect me, but he can easily use that same strength to control me that gets me… hot. I splash cold water over the back of my neck and change back into my clothes. My panties are uncomfortably wet against my skin, and I frown as I leave the bathroom.

Jay is waiting for me, and Master James is cleaning up for the next class. I say my goodbye and lead the silent Blue Jay out to hail a cab.

chapter six

Wren

We spend lunch time on Tuesday in an antique tea room. I love their tea and sandwiches, but most of all I love the aesthetic of the place. It makes me feel like I am in a garden in the countryside, even though I am indoors in New York City. They sell many of their antiques and I’m there for lunch and shopping. The hostess seats me at a little wooden table and leaves me with two menus. Jay pulls out the seat and stares down at it.

I hide my smirk behind my menu.

He exhales slowly and lowers himself gingerly into the seat. I hear the delicate wood creak under him but pretend not to. If he breaks the chair, I will pay for it immediately. Though not before I make an embarrassing scene. Obviously. The chair does not break, but I suspect he is kneeling on the floor to prevent the embarrassment.

“This is one of my favorite places,” I say over my menu.

Jay says nothing in return.

I order us an assortment of sandwiches and a pot of tea when the waitress comes over. “I’m going to buy a bunch of stuff before we leave here for my new house,” I tell Jay, even though he will not respond. I am used to talking at Jays, though. “My house is going to look just like this place.”

Jay looks around, taking in the scenery. I see the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow.

“What does that mean?” I ask him.

He looks at me, confused.

“That eyebrow twitch. You were thinking something rude. What was it?” I ask him.

He shakes his head and looks over my shoulder as the waitress returns with our sandwiches and tea.

“No, tell me,” I demand as the waitress sets everything in front of us.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking this place looks like a dollhouse.”

I smile. “That’s not rude.”

The balaclava over his mouth moves, and I am sure he is frowning at me.

“It’s not,” I insist. “I love a cottage-y dollhouse. I want to wear long, flowery dresses, aprons that carry vegetables, and have flowers and birds everywhere.”

“You want to look like a doll in a dollhouse?” he asks just above a muttered whisper. He spoke so quietly, like someone was going to fire him on the spot for speaking to me. Despite his hesitant speech, he looks across the sandwiches at me with an amused expression.

“Yes. Though I’m much bigger than a doll,” I say and serve myself a sandwich.

That eyebrow twitch again. I don’t think he is doing it knowingly. He must have an expressive face under that black spandex.

I never cared so much about what a Jay was thinking before. “What now?” I sigh as I bite into a cucumber and cheese sandwich.

He shifts in his seat and the wood creaks again. “You are not much bigger than a doll.”

“Just because you’re the size of Shrek, doesn’t make me small,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

He nods with a laughing exhale. “Yeah, I do feel like Shrek sitting here.”

“Well, have a sandwich and at least act like you’ve been indoors and out of the swamp before,” I say and gesture to the tray.

Watching Jay gently pick up a sandwich that could easily be one bite for him and place it on his rose pink with gold trim plate is hilarious. I giggle as I pour him a cup of floral tea. Truly, we probably look ridiculous. Like a little girl in a princess dress making her daddy play tea party at a playhouse table. He pulls the neck of his mask out and slides his hand holding the sandwich under the mask to eat. I only see the same flash of his neck, though this time I’m pretty sure I see a tattoo on the side of his throat.

“Do you have tattoos?” I blurt.

His eyes shoot to mine with shock. “I don’t think I’m allowed to answer.” But he answers me just fine when his eyes travel down to his covered forearms and he pats the balaclava back down over his neck. He checked himself over to make sure nothing was exposed.

I grin. “You do.”

He rolls his eyes and says nothing else.

We are silent as we eat. After we finish, I have the waitress add some beautiful china and vintage flatware to my bill. As she is boxing everything up, I turn to Jay. “When you live with me, you’ll be using this every day, too.”

He only looks at me in response.

“I just realized that,” I say. It’s weird to think about. Jays have always been around, using the amenities in my home with Dad. But I’ve built up my new house so much in my head as an independent endeavor. Something entirely my own. And I am still going to have a strange man living with me and using the same space. Am I supposed to treat him like a roommate and consult him on design choices? Are we going to rotate who does the dishes? Unease and irritation creep through me as I think about how a live-in bodyguard is going to translate to the minutia of the day.

Again, he says nothing. We leave the tearoom, both of us carrying large bags of carefully wrapped china and flatware, and get into a cab.

“Does your dad know you take taxis?” Jay asks when we are settled in the car.

“He does. He hates it, but he trusts you,” I reply as I carefully place my bag on my lap. “He certainly likes it better than my driving.”

Jay stares at me but says nothing more.

My phone buzzes in my purse. It’s Maxwell. I texted him this morning about getting together for dinner. It’s been a while since we had a date and even longer since we had sex. I was getting irritable. And while sex with Maxwell may not tick all the boxes for me, it was better than nothing.

Max: Let’s do Saturday. I have reservations at a fantastic spot, and I want to talk to you about something.

Me: Did your dad promote you?!?

Max: No, he won’t until I’m 30.

Me: What is it?

Max: I’m not talking about it over the phone. Meet me at Emerald and Cedar at 7:30.

I sigh and slide my phone back into my purse. It’s only Tuesday. Shouldn’t a boyfriend want to see me more than once a week? Shouldn’t he be working to fit me into his schedule today?

I don’t have the luxury of being picky when my entire dating pool comprises people I’ve known since childhood. Gemma and I both dated our way through all the guys in our approved circles very early in our young adulthood, often passing guys back and forth between us and causing the worst kind of teenaged drama. Gemma likes to look back and laugh at our antics, but she has been allowed to date outside of our circle since she turned eighteen. I am, unfortunately, still in the same position with the same tightening number of men. Maxwell and I dated at least three times already and broke up for various reasons. I suspect he comes back to me only when he is between girlfriends. I guess I don’t care, since I’m mostly using him for sex, anyway. But having someone devoted to me and wanting to be around me was something I dreamed about.

****

Gemma and I meet at The Beanery on Wednesday morning. Often with her busy schedule, we can only meet for a quick coffee once or twice a week. She is treated by the media like a spoiled heiress, which she is, and like she does nothing but party and be wild in public, which is also partially true. She is my closest friend, and I love her.

With a wave to Gemma and Lance, I get in line with Jay. I look up at him to ask what he wants to drink and see his eyes on a blended sugary coffee drink piled high with whipped cream that a woman carries past us. “Do you want one of those?” I ask him.

“No, just a black iced coffee,” he says with a shake of his head.

“You know, you’re allowed to get something else.”

“I’m not drinking that garbage.”

“Hey Wren!” Steph greets. She is making drinks today, and a new person is working the register. “Usual?”

I nod and tell the new girl my order. “And I have a question. My bodyguard here takes his coffee through an enema. Do you think a caramel macchiato would give him-”

“A small, black iced coffee,” Jay tells the girl.

Steph and I both laugh while the new girl blushes and doesn’t speak a word as she puts in the order. I pay and tip very well for her embarrassment before we gather our drinks and meet Gemma and Lance.

“Good morning, baby girl,” Gemma greets me as I sit across from her.

“Good morning,” I reply and kiss her on the cheek before taking a huge sip of my coffee.

Jay radiates irritation next to me, but I ignore him. Lance and Jay sweep their eyes through the busy cafe as they sip their coffee. Gemma and I talk about the recent design choices for my house, the photoshoot she had the day before, and idle plans for vacations. I can’t stop looking over at Jay. His blue eyes seem to pierce through every person in the cafe. What he’s doing does not differ from any other Jay I’ve had, but something about his gaze is so engaging I want to know his every thought.

“You okay?” Gemma asks me in a whisper.

“Yeah,” I say as I tear my eyes away from Jay. At her words, he looks at me as if to check me over for harm. Being the subject of that intense blue stare has a blush rising to my face. “Totally fine.”

“We need a spa day,” Gemma declares as she finishes her coffee. “Tomorrow?”

“Um, sure,” I say and shake my head to clear the fog. “I can get us an appointment.”

“Perfect. I think we need it,” Gemma says with a soft, caring smile.

“Is that Gemma Cox?” someone giggles at the table next to us.

I glance up at Gemma and Lance. Lance’s eyes are already on the person, but I see Gemma switch on her gracious celebrity face. “Hello beautiful!”

Gemma poses for a few pictures with the girls and signs a few pieces of paper for them. Watching Gemma work is an exhausting but beautiful thing. Gemma is one of my favorite people on the planet, and I am happy other people get glimpses of her beauty inside and out. But once the autographs and selfies start, it tends to not stop. After the girls are done and say their goodbyes, a small line has formed. Lance is good at controlling the line and Gemma’s safety and will cut the time at ten minutes and say Gemma has to leave for an appointment. Jay’s job is to slip me out before anyone notices me any more than a cursory glance.

Jay nods to Steph over the counter. She smiles and jerks her head to the back of the building. Jay stands up and I follow suit. With a gentle hand on my lower back, he guides me to the back of the cafe. There are a few shouts of “Who’s your friend, Gemma?” by the fans that swarmed, but Gemma and Lance have long been deflecting that question.

“Straight back,” Steph whispers to Jay as she opens the staff door. “It goes to an alley, but both ways will get you to a main road.”

She has helped me escape a few other times before, so she knows the drill. I leave my friend with a wobbly feeling in my belly. Jay is muttering into his earpiece as we walk through the kitchen area to the back door, but his hand never leaves the small of my back. In the alley, Jay walks us confidently to the end, where it opens to the street. The alley smells like garbage and urine. I groan.

“Do you have an extra mask? It reeks out here.” I pout as we step over an overflow of garbage.

Jay reaches into his pocket and hands me a spare mask. “I can still smell. It doesn’t help.”

I hand the mask back to him. “We’d look like bank robbers, anyway.”

A black car pulls up, and a Crow opens the door.

“That was fast,” I mutter.

“I called them as soon as I saw those girls taking pictures of Gemma. Before they said anything to her,” Jay says, just above a whisper as we slide into the car.

As much as I despise having a Blue Jay, this one is irritatingly good at his job.

chapter seven

Wren

The drive back home is quiet. As expected, since the Crows and Jay aren’t supposed to talk to me. The city sounds around us, the tall buildings, and the people jogging across the road have me feeling stifled and overstimulated. And the silence of the car has me feeling lonely. If I am going to be feeling lonely, I am going to do it somewhere peaceful.

As soon as we get home, I stomp to the security office. Jay is hot on my heels, likely thinking I am about to go complain to Hawk about him. I can feel the waves of irritation emanating from him as I approach the security office. Just to make him more agitated, I shoot a narrow-eyed look over my shoulder. He huffs out a defeated breath and I fight the urge to smirk.

“Good morning, Wren,” a Crow greets me as I enter the small, dark camera room. When I look behind him, I see Hawk’s office door is shut.

“Good morning,” I reply. “No Hawk this morning?”

“He and your father left an hour ago for the office,” the Crow says.

“I would like the keys to my car, please,” I say.

I feel Jay stiffen next to me. “You drive?”

“I drive,” I reply.

Crow hands me my keys and a small wallet that contains my insurance information and a few emergency contacts for roadside assistance. Getting a car, learning to drive, and learning how to call for help on the road was an important part of buying a house away from the city. It was a topic that, miraculously, both me and Dad agreed on. 

Down in the underground garage, I slide into the cool leather seats of my candy apple red Corvette while Jay stands outside the car. “Get in, princess,” I call to him as I start the engine and roll down the window. I’m not a car fanatic, but I know I have a really fucking cool one. Dad said if anyone saw me driving in anything but one of the best, they’d be disappointed in his billionaire status. All I know is I like the way it purrs, and it makes me look like a bad bitch. Of which, I am not. But I like to pretend.

“I-” he says and shakes his head, his eyes roving over the car.

“Do you think you can’t fit?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

His eyes jump to mine for a second before he opens the door. He folds his massive frame into the bucket seat. The scent of his soap is strong as he settles next to me. It’s a crisp scent and smells clean and masculine. That is something that isn’t standard to Jays. They all use their own soaps. No colognes may be used, but their soaps and deodorants are all their own choosing. This Jay smells good.

“See, baby? We made you fit,” I croon as he buckles into his seat.

He ignores my comment and runs his hands over the dash.

“Did your training not tell you I drive?” I ask.

“It was only mentioned in passing,” he replies.

“Oh, uh, well, there’s GPS tracking, of course,” I say, taking his training into my own hands. “You’re added to the insurance when you’re hired on. But I’ll never let you drive. There’s a script and card to give police in the glove compartment if I’m ever pulled over or in an accident. You have to explain the mask and the weapons without sounding like a criminal.”

“Okay, where are we going today?” he asks as we pull onto the highway.

“My house,” I say, and press play on the console. It was already connected to my phone, and it plays music right away.

I used to scare Jays off by driving terribly. Hitting curbs and pretending it was an accident in a luxury car was enough to make most Jays sick. However, after single-handedly providing a body shop with enough funds to remodel and send every mechanic’s children to college, Dad put a stop to it. He was worried all my “accidents” were going to get me in trouble with the law and, therefore, ruin my anonymity. He was likely right, but I sorely missed the opportunity to make Jay rage out.

It takes about an hour to get to my house with traffic. Jay relaxes into his seat after reading over the information in the glove compartment. It’s the first time I’ve seen him relaxed and I can’t help but sneak looks over at him. He is tall and muscular. That’s the first thing anyone with working eyes notices. His blue eyes are striking in contrast to the black mask. The arch of his nose beneath the mask looks like it has a Roman curve to it. His brows are full and have a prominent ridge. The outline of his jaw looks strong, but it’s hard to decipher. That is the point of the mask, after all.

Now, his body is relaxed as he watches the scenery outside the window. His legs are spread as much as they can in the small space, and his thighs strain against the fabric of his pants. It took him a while in the car to relax and I wonder if I am stressing him out enough. I need to up my antics if I am going to move into my house without a Jay next week.

There are work vans in the driveway and along the road, lining the quiet cul-de-sac. A steady thrum of excitement beats in my chest. This is my house! I park behind the last work van and Jay stills me with a hand as he looks around outside. “Before you get out, we need to have a plan about how you talk to your neighbors.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, these people will not react well seeing me get out of this car. Especially since your work crews are already disturbing their peace,” Jay reasons.

I pause before snapping, “That’s why I didn’t even want you here.” It came out harsh. It is harsh. But I don’t care.

“Well, I am, Princess. So we better decide on a plan now,” Jay snaps right back.

My mouth shuts with a click of my teeth. I can’t believe he just mouthed off to me. I could fire him for that alone. But firing him won’t be as exciting as him quitting. I sit back in my seat and glower at him.

“Now, I think we should have you walk over to any neighbor you see, and I’ll hang behind until you tell them you have a bodyguard. Give me a thumbs up and I’ll approach, or a thumbs down to say you need help. I won’t be far,” Jay says in a professional tone that brokers no room for discussion.

“Fine,” I say as I lock eyes on a male neighbor coming out of his house, staring at my car. “That one.”

I get out of the car quickly and round the hood to meet the guy in his driveway. He is probably in his mid to late thirties, wearing khakis and a button down over his house shoes. His brown hair is styled neatly, and his eyes are roving over my car. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes, is she yours?” he asks, finally looking at me.

“All mine. Hi, I’m Wren, I’m moving in right over there,” I say and hold out my hand to shake his. I nod toward my house where all the work vans are parked.

“Happy to have you in the neighborhood. I’m Jack. I live here with my wife and two boys. You’ll probably hear a lot of them when you move in,” he says jovially and shakes my hand.

I smile. “I’ll be moving in on Monday. Just me and my bodyguard,” I say and gesture to the car where I can see Jay folded like a newspaper to see me through the window.

“Oh,” Jack says, shock clear in his tone.

“He wears a mask and all black clothes, but he’s safe. He’s here to protect me,” I explain and try to give a soothing smile. “He looks scarier than he is.”

“I, uh, see that,” Jack says and scratches the back of his neck.

I give a thumbs up to Jay and he opens the door and steps out of the car. His muscles shift as he heaves himself out of the vehicle, making the sports car look like a clown car. He approaches, moving his body in a non-threatening way, and greets Jack. “Hi, I’m Jay. I’m Wren’s personal bodyguard.”

“Hey, I’m Jack. Um, not to be nosy or anything, but, uh, are we in danger with you living here? I have two little kids and—”

“No,” I say at the same time as Jay.

“The security is for a personal matter and involves some family history. I’ve had no incidents in decades. This is merely a precaution,” I continue. “My dad insists on it. He’s paranoid.”

“That’s alright, you don’t have to tell me why,” Jack says awkwardly. “I just wanted to make sure we were safe for living near you.”

“Of course. That is perfectly acceptable to question. Here is a card for the security firm I’m contracted with. It’s a business out of New York City and we’ve provided personal security to this family for many years without incident. Like Wren said, it’s a precaution. I understand seeing a big man in a mask could be alarming. Is there a way you could inform your other neighbors?” Jay says in a calm and professional tone.

“Yeah, we have a group chat. I can add you two after you move in if you’d like,” Jack says.

“I’d love that,” I say and smile.

My new neighborhood has a group chat. This is already better than I could have asked for.

We say our goodbyes after letting Jack see my car and the engine. Walking up to my house feels like a dream. The landscaping needs some help after having trucks and vans parked in the grass. The house is a beautiful Tudor style home with great mature trees surrounding it.

A quick tour through the house is done, and I am ushered into the backyard away from the work. They are on deadline and working quickly. The kitchen looks done and the main floor bathrooms only need faucets installed. A man is washing the windows in the sunroom and all of my books are already on their shelves in the library. My heart feels light as I peek into each room. The backyard needs furniture, but the work crews have scattered a few folding lawn chairs around. I sit with Jay and show him my plans for the landscaping and the bird feeders and baths I am buying.

“The only problem is I don’t know what birds live in the area,” I say.

Jay looks around at the trees and bushes. “I don’t see any.”

“The construction is probably too loud,” I say. “If I knew what was usually in the area, I’d know what kind of bird feed to get.”

“I think they all eat the same thing,” Jay says.

“No, little birds eat little seeds… right?” I ask.

Jay shrugs. “Ask Angelica.”

I snort.

“You could find a park and go for a walk to see what is around,” Jay suggests.

“That’s a good idea. Let’s go,” I say and stand up. “Find me a park, Blue Jay.”

After a few minutes of sitting in my car and Googling, we find a park with a walking path less than a mile away. The birds there are likely to be the same that visit my house. There is a small parking lot out front and a party is using the covered pavilion. From far away it looks like a birthday party.

“Are we allowed at the park if there’s a party?” I ask before unbuckling.

“Yeah, we just can’t go in the pavilion,” Jay replies like I’m dumb.

I scramble in my purse for a little notebook and pen. I want to write my observations about the birds to identify them later. Jay and I walk up the path to pass the pavilion. Closer to the party, I can see their decorations and banners. It’s a bird watching group celebrating “Spring Birding!” They are finishing up a picnic and I am eager to meet them.

“Hello!” I say as I approach them.

Jay makes a sound of disapproval behind me as he follows.

“We have nothing you want,” an old man gripes. 

“I’m calling the police,” a woman says as she rummages through a big purse.

“What? Oh, we’re not robbing you. He’s my bodyguard,” I say and wave off Jay. “I’m new to the area and want to find out what birds are likely to visit my backyard.”

They are silent.

“A bodyguard? Who are you, one of them Kardashians?” someone asks.

“No, it’s for family issues. Could I join you and hear about the birds in the area?” I ask, going for sweet and loveable.

Looking around at them, they are all senior citizens. Some are in wheelchairs and some with walkers and canes. All of them have small binoculars and worn books with them. This is a club and I absolutely want to join.

“Well, dearie, there’s a robin’s nest with a few eggs in that rhododendron bush, right over there,” a woman says, sounding like she wants to do anything other than teach me about birds.

“Where?” I ask, my eyes wide. I want to see that nest.

“Just in that bush with the magenta flower buds,” the woman says and points a wrinkled finger at it.

I approach it carefully, Jay on my heels. I can see the bottom of the bowl-shaped nest of hay and cloth fibers and what looks like a piece of a McDonald’s bag.

“Their eggs are so blue,” Jay whispers behind me, easily peering into the nest.

With a frown, I glare up at him. He looks down at me curiously. “Oh, here,” he whispers before slotting his hands in my armpits and lifting me like a small child.

I should hit him, but I am too eager to see the robin’s eggs. They are a beautiful blue color. The crayon could never do it justice. I want this exact color everywhere in my house. It is so beautiful. I am marveling at the size and visible smoothness of the eggs when two things happen simultaneously. A robin swoops into the nest and nudges her precious eggs just as Jay’s arms wobble. He sucks in a sharp breath and sneezes, dropping me unceremoniously to the grass. The robin startles and flies away from her nest.

Jay and I stare at each other for a moment with wide, horrified expressions, before angry voices interrupt us.

“Now, look at what you just did.”

“I knew you were trouble!”

“You need to leave!”

“I’m so sorry,” Jay says and spins to the bird loving geriatrics. They all visibly cringe away from him like they are afraid of him. Which is fair, considering he could easily round each of them up and throw them like disc golf in a matter of seconds.

“Please, I love birds!” I cry out as I stand up from the grass.

“Get outta here!” an old man says with an angry wave of his gnarled hand.

With a tearful huff, I stomp back to the car. Jay hurries after me, his long stride eating mine up. “Wren, I’m sorry-” he starts and then sneezes again.

“Oh. My. God!” I screech angrily as I yank open my car door.

Jay sneezes twice more as he gets into the car.

“I hate you so much right now,” I say through gnashed teeth.

“Copy that,” Jay says sarcastically, sounding nasally. “Don’t look at me. I need to change my mask.”

“Eeeww-uh!” I shriek but diligently don’t look at him. The scent of his soap gets stronger as I hear the mask rasp against his hair as he pulls it off. He blows his nose into the discarded mask and I continue to shriek and dramatically gag and choke.

“Shut up, oh my god!” Jay snaps, sounding less nasally.

“Get a fucking Benadryl!” I shout.

“Stop at a drugstore and I will,” he grumbles as he put a new mask on.

“I want to pull over and hit you so bad right now,” I say.

“Do it,” he dares, sounding bored.

I growl and speed down the road.

chapter eight

Wren

The mobile spa company set up their pedicure chairs in the family room and Sparrows are helping to bring in water. Gemma is coming through the front door with Lance and carrying a brown bag of pastries and a tray of coffees. A Sparrow takes the refreshments from her while Gemma greets me with a kiss on each cheek. “Darling!”

“Hi Gem, hi Lance,” I say as they come in.

It is loud and busy in the house, and I do my best not to cringe at the overstimulation. “They’re setting up in the family room. I think they’re almost done.”

Spa equipment and a long table of hors d’oeuvres and ingredients for different flavored mimosas fill the room. After Gemma and I have our turn with the spa company, we will leave and all of the Sparrows and Crows can have their turn if they choose. While I know Dad pays them well enough to do this on their own wages, getting it free at work is likely still a fun perk.

A few minutes later, Gemma and I are sitting in two of the four mobile pedicure chairs and catching up with the techs that have worked for the company for years. I ask about how the school haircuts went during spring break. I learned, years ago, many children did not get professional haircuts because of the cost or availability in their areas. So, I created a funding source from my dad’s business that provided the mobile spa company with enough money to give free haircuts a couple times a year to some of the local schools in low-income areas. This led to Dad giving me a position in his company that helps organize charitable donations and events.

I look up to see Lance settling into a chair on the other side of Gemma. He sighs as he puts his bare feet into the hot water. Jay doesn’t know the fourth seat is for him. I go to tell him, only to see him staring at Lance with a horrified expression. As if Lance’s presumptuous and unprofessional behavior appalled him. He also doesn’t know Lance has been around long enough to know Gemma and I insist he take part.

“Jay,” I call to him and point to the fourth seat where a tech, Jenny, is eyeing the size of his feet warily.

“No, thanks,” Jay says and sits in one of the tufted armchairs that had been pushed to the side of the room.

“You’re missing out, man,” Lance says and settles in with his eyes closed.

“He’s a pedicure virgin,” Gemma announces.

“Oh, I’ll be gentle,” Jenny says teasingly. “I’ll go slow.”

Jay shifts uncomfortably in his chair like he wants anything other than to be in this room with us.

“Stinky feet! Stinky feet!” Gemma chants, pointing at Jay.

All four techs, Lance, and I join in until Jay finally rolls his eyes and gets up. Pink stains the skin just over his mask as he unties and toes off his boots. Once he settles into the seat and his big feet cause water to slosh out of the tub, he lets out a long sigh. A Sparrow says nothing as she cleans up the water spill and we all settle into a relaxed silence as the calming spa music plays from a speaker just behind the chairs.

A Sparrow serves us mimosas and snacks and I threaten Jay with his job if he doesn’t have something. We aren’t due anywhere for hours and I am sure he could process three sips of champagne before then. The man is wound tighter than a spring and I can feel it when he is around me. It’s been driving me nuts, so I insist he relaxes. It is impossible for me to chill out with this ticking bomb sitting next to me, staring at me with his alarmingly blue eyes.

“How is Maxwell?” Gemma asks softly when I am pretty sure both Lance and Jay are totally Zen and not listening to us.

I give a small sigh. “I don’t know. He never really texts me back. We’re going out on Saturday, though.”

Gemma is quiet. I know she feels bad for me. “Why are you with him if you feel you’re not valued by him?”

“Daddy approves of him,” I murmur darkly.

“Yeah, but I know your dad. He wouldn’t approve of you being unhappy. He wants you safe. You need to find someone who is safe, but you also see yourself in love with. Not just settled,” she says kindly.

“You’re right, but the only people he trusts as safe are the Crows and Jay,” I say with a shake of my head. “I mean, even when I’m with Maxwell at his home, a Jay is there with me.”

“Ew, do they hear you doing it?” Gemma asks with a scrunch of her nose.

I shrug. “Sometimes, probably. I don’t ask. Honestly, they wouldn’t hear much, even if they were in the room with us.”

“Mmkay, so Maxwell doesn’t do it for you in any aspect of the relationship. Got it,” Gemma says sadly. “Hook up with a Crow, then.”

We both shake with quiet laughter.

“They have to keep their masks on, though,” I giggle.

“Hey, some people are into that. Remember that club I modeled for a few years ago?” Gemma laughs.

“Oh, the sex club?”

“Yeah! They have a mask night. Did you know it was a kink?” She asks.

“No way! I had no clue!” I exclaim with a blush.

“Anyway, maybe you’ll meet someone in your new neighborhood. Go to town meetings like in Gilmore Girls or whatever they do for fun in the suburbs,” Gemma says and settles back into her seat.

“Oh, thank God. I’m next,” Dad’s tired voice sounds from the hallway as he peers into the room. He’s loosening his tie from around his neck and kicking off his shoes. 

“Hi, Mr. Taylor,” the techs greet fondly in unison.

“Angelica, treat!” comes the cry of my bird from the hall. A Sparrow enters with Angelica perched on her shoulder.

“Angelica, you may have some fruit,” I laugh. “Sparrow, there’s some sweet potato in the refrigerator, too.”

Angelica gives an impression of a blue jay’s calls. “Pretty Blue Jay!”

“Thanks, Angelica,” Jay replies sleepily from where he has techs working on both his toenails and fingernails and has cucumber slices over his eyes.

****

This afternoon, I have time booked at the gun range before dinner with Dad. It’s Jay’s night off to go see his family and do his office work. Not that he can’t ask me for time on other days, but I guess it’s easier to have a dedicated evening. Of all the things I’ve done to get Jays to quit, I’ve never messed with their time off. That’s not the type of monster I choose to be.

I always take one of our drivers to the range, because taxi drivers don’t enjoy dropping a masked man outside a gun range. So, I adapt. Jay communicated to headquarters where we are headed, but he looks wary as we go inside. We check in at the front desk and head to our space. Jay watches silently as I prepare my gun and load it. I know what I’m doing, but he watches me like he’s waiting for me to mess up.

When it’s time to shoot, I don my headset and safety glasses and take aim. I’m not a perfect shot, but I’ve had some of the best teachers in the city work with me over the past few years. My paper target comes racing back at me and I tear it off the rack, turning to smile proudly at Jay.

Jay gives a curt nod before gesturing for it to be his turn. I step back as he sets up his own target. He inspects my gun, takes it apart and puts it back together again. Every freaking Jay does the same thing. I don’t understand it, but it seems benign, so I let it continue. He lines up his shot. His stance is perfect and lethal. His muscles effortlessly adopt textbook perfect posture as if he has been physically built for handling weapons. His hands dwarf my handgun, but he remains in a correct hold. He shoots until the magazine empties and then pulls it out before setting it on the table. He takes off his headset as his target zooms back toward us.

“Nice little thing you’ve got here,” he says after I take off my headset.

“Thanks, we did a lot of research before I bought it,” I say confidently.

He says nothing else as I shoot a few more rounds. He doesn’t even correct any posture or grips. I don’t intentionally do anything wrong while holding a firearm. I’m not an idiot. But I am surprised he doesn’t feel the need to nitpick anything about what I’m doing. The silence makes me itchy despite our headsets.

When my time is up, we head out to meet the Crow who is playing driver today. The drive home is silent again. There are three grown adults in this car and none of us speak. I hate it. I can’t even see their faces to know their moods. It makes me feel on edge to not be able to talk to the people around me all day, every day. Sure, this Jay has slipped up a few times and let me see he is an actual human under the mask, but that just means today he is on his best behavior.

I bring it up at family dinner. Well, it’s me and Dad and Hawk.

“How was your range time, Wren?” Dad asks as he takes a sip of the red wine he and Hawk have on nights when they aren’t going anywhere.

“Good. Jay likes my gun,” I say distractedly.

“He said that?” Dad and Hawk exchange glances.

“Nope, he mind melded with me,” I snark and stab at our starter salad.

“Is everything alright with Blue Jay? He is new,” Hawk says, his tone professional.

“Can he be unmasked when I move?” I blurt.

“Why?” Dad asks, his face blank.

“I would feel more comfortable if he was unmasked,” I say with a huff.

“Has he made you uncomfortable? I’ll talk to Safe House about getting a new—”

“No, it’s not that,” I interrupt Hawk.

Hawk and Dad look at each other again.

“He scares my neighbors.”

I can tell Hawk is fighting a smile under his mask.

“He scares my neighbors, and some of them are kids. I can’t be the scary house on the block before I even do something weird to earn the title,” I grouse.

“I thought the neighbor situation had been handled,” Hawk says.

“Right, because he can talk to you,” I snap.

“Correct,” Dad says slowly. “Hawk is his supervisor.”

“And I will have to live with him in my house and not know what he looks like!” I shout. “I will feed him and pay him and… and… wash his laundry, but I won’t know his face!”

“He will do his own laundry,” Hawk says in his ever professional and calm voice. “And he will provide his own food. If you feed him, that is your choice.”

“Blue Jay and Hawk have lived in our home since your mother’s passing. I don’t understand how it is now a problem,” Dad says in a stern voice. I know that voice. He uses it to mask his worry about how he is parenting me. But I’m a fucking adult.

“Ugh!” I growl and throw down my fork with a clatter. A silent Sparrow swiftly cleans up my mess and I notice her nails have a nice red polish on them after her manicure this morning. “Look, Sparrow here has really great nail polish on, and I want to ask her what the name of it is. But if I asked her, she wouldn’t be allowed to answer me!”

Dad clears his throat and wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Sparrow, could you please tell Wren what the name of your nail polish color is?”

“It’s OPI’s Cajun Shrimp. Um, and thank you for the manicure,” she whispers before whisking away my spilled salad.

Dad raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.

“Oh no, a personal detail about Sparrow!” I cry out in a dramatic voice. “We will all be murdered in the street tomorrow!”

“Wren Elizabeth Taylor!” Dad shouts, his fist coming down hard on the table. The plates and glasses rattle, and then the room is silent.

I know I took it too far. I know mocking the trauma he endured at my mom’s death was wrong. My own words hurt me, too. But I couldn’t help the explosion. It came out so fast and gave me such a rush of release I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried.

Dad bows his head as I struggle to breathe through the sharp lump in my throat.

“Everyone I see every day is in a mask and can’t talk to me,” I whisper. My voice is rasping and scratchy, my breath squeaking when I suck it in. “And everyone I see not in a mask is creeped out. I can’t try to make a new start in my life with the same bullshit following me.”

“I would consider a change…” Dad starts and then looks up at me and Hawk, his eyes bouncing between us. “I would consider allowing him to talk to you. No identifying information, but… conversation, simple and cordial and professional, could be allowed.”

A small weight lifts from my chest. “I won’t ask about his name or anything. But being allowed to talk to him about movies and music and just… life stuff would be amazing.”

Hawk gives Dad a long look that communicates something I can’t decipher.

“Blue Jay is not your friend, Wren. He’s there to protect you,” Dad says.

“I know, I know.” I roll my eyes.

“The mask remains, Wren. And if speaking to him changes things then… I will be forced to hire a new Jay and we will be back to not speaking,” Dad says with finality.

While I will still do my best to get Jay to quit, this was at least a step in a better direction. If Jay quits before my move in date, Dad can’t stop me from moving out. I am an adult, and the house is in my name. He cannot legally stop me. And without a Jay, I will have all the freedom I want.

chapter nine

Wren

Friday morning starts with a security meeting. Jay and I sit across from Hawk’s desk as he shows us the new security features that were placed in my house. He turns his monitors so we can see the video display of multiple cameras. There are a few workers putting some final touches on the paint and one directing a hauling company.

“As you can see, there are cameras on every exterior door and window in the home and cameras monitoring the entire exterior property. We, of course, have allowed privacy in each bedroom and bathroom. Though one camera focuses on the panic room in Wren’s bedroom. Wren, do you see it is not facing out into your room?”

“I see it,” I say.

“Do you agree with all the camera placements?” Hawk asks.

“Yeah,” I say dismissively.

Jay clears his throat before saying in a voice just above a whisper, “The gable just outside the master bedroom. Has it been secured?”

“We have cameras that have it in immediate focus, yes.”

“And what are the windows made of…?” Jay continues.

“They are bulletproof, I assure you. Tested it myself,” Hawk says proudly.

“Oh, I’m sure my new neighbors loved that,” I say sardonically.

Nobody answers me.

“Each time an exterior door is opened, it will send alerts to your phones and us here at headquarters,” Hawk continues his lecture.

“That’s convenient and not annoying,” I say and cross my arms over my chest.

“We don’t care how many times you go in and out of your front door, Wren. You could make that your entire occupation. We only care if that door gets opened in the middle of the night or by someone who should not be gaining entrance,” Hawk scolds lightly.

“And is Jay supposed to be standing guard all night?”

“No, Jay will sleep when you sleep,” Hawk answers. “We will have a night guard Crow watching the cameras, just like we have here.”

“Your watch,” he says and points to my wrist that holds one of Dad’s company’s highest tech watches. “Will continue to monitor both of your locations and biometrics. I will warn you it will take us longer to respond to emergencies. And the response would likely be the local law enforcement before us. This is why there is a panic room in your master bedroom, the center of the first floor, and in the basement. All three will be coded to unlock with your retinas at your walk through.”

“Very high tech,” I say.

“This technology has been around for years, Wren,” Hawk says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Did you tell him he can talk yet?” I ask, changing the topic.

Hawk shuffles at his desk like he was not prepared to discuss this. “I had not explained the change, no.”

“Okay, well, Jay, you’re allowed to talk to me now,” I say and flourish my hands as if banishing a muting spell cast on him.

Jay looks at Hawk.

“Once you two move to the new house, you can speak to her… about your life together,” Hawk says awkwardly.

“Ugh,” I groan. “He means when we watch a movie, we can share opinions. When we hear music, we can talk about it or sing along. You don’t have to tell me your real name or your social security number, but we can be friendly to each other. I can’t stand the idea of a mime roommate.”

“Understood,” Jay says in that soft, barely audible voice again. And the quiet of it makes me more irritated.

Hawk drones on about security details I don’t care about. I’m not in any danger and have likely never been. The measures they put in place for my safety are so over the top it’s astounding they believe I still needed a Jay with me. The amount of eyes on me at all times in my own home is unnecessary and upsetting.

While Hawk and Jay mumble and grumble security terms and other bullshit, I become more determined to eliminate Jay completely. I don’t need him. I am perfectly safe in my home and by myself. Even though I just got permission to talk with Jay, I still want him gone.

After Gemma left yesterday, I spent the day researching that club, Cock’s Nest, and their themed nights. Every second Friday is Mask Night, where members are welcome to wear masks. People who like masks know to come for that kink. I can’t tell from my online research what kind of masks would be there. Lacy masquerade ones? Halloween ones? Animal ones? It doesn’t matter to me as long as Jay won’t be kicked out for the wrong mask. I don’t think we will be there long before he finds some arbitrary threat to my safety and makes us leave. Hell, maybe it will be enough for him to quit just before I move on Monday.

Jay stands up and clues me into the end of the meeting. Outside Hawk’s office, I turn to Jay and say, “Wear something sexy tonight. We’re going clubbing.” I spin and walk down the hall, my hair whipping him in the chest.

****

I have a driver drop us off outside Cock’s Nest. Jay’s clueless call to headquarters was a little treat for me. He does not know about this club. I guess I don’t either other than Gemma having modeled for their rebranding a few years ago. She dressed as a type of bondage Barbie doll and had posed out on the sidewalk trying to lure people in. She got paid well for the job despite all the leers she endured on the city streets.

We check in with the bouncer who laughs at the Safe House Security Card Jay gives him. “Nice try, pal, but I need a real ID.”

“It is a real ID. Swipe it,” Jay says to the bouncer. It’s standard procedure that Jays give a security card that says, “Safe House Security Pseudonymous Operative” and when swiped through the card readers, it allows him access to any club I attend. It was rare anyone questioned it. I figured most bouncers really didn’t care much. This one evidently does. Or at least on mask night, they need to be extra careful.

He swipes it with a sarcastic grin that falls when he sees the readout on his scanner. “Oh, go ahead. Sorry,” he says and opens the gate for us to enter.

The bouncer waves us past, and I excitedly enter the club. We are earlier than the bulk of the crowds, but it is still more crowded than I expected. I didn’t know how popular a mask kink is. Apparently, people are freaks. I like it.

A person in a mask like the Scream character walks by and nods at me. I smile back, but it’s an awkward smile. I don’t like that I can’t see his or her eyes. Maybe a mask kink isn’t for me. But I’m not here for myself. I’m here to mortify Jay.

“Wren,” I hear him say warily behind me, but I’m too busy staring at the woman walking up to us. She’s a tall, voluptuous, redhead wearing only high waisted leather panties over fish nets and nipple clamps connected to a black studded collar. My eyes bug out of my head as she walks up to Jay, her hand on his chest as she speaks into his ear.

His blue eyes, bright even in the dim light of the club, bounce from the woman to me and back again. He gently pushes her away and shakes his head, saying something to her. She isn’t upset as she turns back to me with a wink and an “Atta girl” expression. I would laugh, but Jay’s angry eyes turn to me, and I swallow it.

We need to move away from the door before he hauls me back out of it. I squeeze past a couple standing nearby- a man in a mask like a muzzle and a woman holding his leash- to the bar. I order one of their fancy mixed drinks called Ghost Lover. Only because it comes with a little plastic gun as a garnish. It would be fun to give to Angelica for enrichment play.

“Blair Waldorf, I like it,” a woman in a black dress and a little matching masquerade mask over her eyes says as she leans against the bar next to me.

“Hm?” I ask as I sip the lime green drink.

“Blair Waldorf. From Gossip Girl,” the woman says, her husky voice sharp like she’s in a business meeting. “You’re a tourist, right?”

“No,” I say and shake my head.

“The headband and prissy dress, it’s what she wears,” she says matter-of-factly. Like it isn’t insulting. And I guess maybe it isn’t, considering our location. But dressing more provocatively would have raised too many alarms before I even left the penthouse. I look down over my fitted pink cocktail dress. It’s a timeless dress, and it pairs well with my kitten heels. A feeling of self-consciousness fills me.

“No, uh, my boyfriend likes it,” I say and jerk my head back to where Jay is scanning our surroundings. He isn’t listening to my conversation, and likely can’t hear it over the music.

“Oh, cute. Another Ghost,” she says and nods as the bartender returns with her drink. “Want to go dance?”

“Sure,” I say and give a shy smile. There is something to her dry, husky voice and unapologetic manner that has me desperate for her approval. I want her to think I’m cool and not someone who dresses “prissy.” Even though I very much am, apparently.

We carry our drinks to the dance floor, staying well within Jay’s view. I catch his angry expression once as his eyes zero in on me. My sour green apple flavored drink glows in the club lights like a glow stick. I dance with my new friend as we suck down our drinks in the sweaty throng of dancers. She fits her body against mine, belly to belly, and we dance and sway to the music. The bass is deep and thrumming and I finish my drink and tip back my head as we dance. I feel sweat dripping down my back and neck, but I don’t care. The lights dance behind my closed eyes and I wish Gemma was here. She is my dancing buddy… well, my only buddy, if I’m being honest. But she and I love dancing together. This woman is a good substitute. Though, her hands roam a bit more. I don’t care. It feels nice.

At some point, my empty glass is taken from my hand and the crowds close in on us. In the back of my mind I know I’m in trouble with Jay, but that is kind of the whole point of the night, isn’t it? To make him upset?

“WREN!” I hear a deep male voice bellow.

Even over the music, I hear the anger and panic in his voice. I open my eyes to see my new friend grinning at me with understanding and a hooded eyed expression. “I get it!” she laughs.

“Get what?” I ask her and look around for Jay.

“WREN!”

“The role play! You’re his bratty… what, hostage? Little girl? What is it?” she asks over the music.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I shake my head as I lay eyes on Jay, using his size to barrel through the dancers that joined the floor and had blocked his view. The sheer panic in his eyes has me pausing. Is he really that upset? I haven’t gone anywhere. He comes to a halt and lightly moves my new friend over. Her eyes flash with approval as she looks him up and down.

“We’re leaving,” he says, relief and annoyance warring in his eyes.

“No, I’m dancing with my new friend…”

“Lexi,” she supplies and bites her lip as she looks between me and Jay.

“My new friend Lexi,” I finish and cross my arms over my chest.

“No, I’ve had enough,” Jay says as a man runs his hands over Jay’s shoulders as if to massage him. The guy says something to Jay and Jay shrugs him off with a growl.

I tuck my lips into my mouth to hide my amusement.

“Well, I haven’t. I want to see the performance,” I say and gesture to the stage with the flashing lights that count down for a show. The dancing was fun, and it felt good to let loose. I want another of the green drinks and to see a good show. While I’ve never been into kink before, seeing it openly and proudly displayed seems to get the closest to scratching the itch I’ve never been able to scratch with any of my boyfriends. Especially not Maxwell. Maybe I can convince him to see this place and try some stuff out.

“It’s a Masked Bondage performance, I think,” Lexi supplies. “Is that your thing?”

“Yup,” I say just as Jay says, “No.”

Before I can open my mouth to say I would honestly like to see the bondage performance, Jay has his hand around the back of my neck. His hand is hot and tight around the base of my neck as he uses it to steer me away from my new friend and toward the edge of the dance floor. I give a little wave to Lexi, who is grinning in return. There is something about his grip that has me shutting my mouth and following his direction. No Jay has ever put hands on me. In fact, nobody has ever put hands on me in this way. Not even a boyfriend. I likely wouldn’t have tolerated it from anyone else, but there is something about a man trusted with my absolute safety abusing that trust just a little that has me listening. And a little bit heated up. But I chalk that up to our overtly sexed surroundings and not my bodyguard’s large, firm hand surrounding my neck and leading me like a collar.

Outside the club, I’m led to lean against the brick exterior while Jay mumbles, “We’re needing to be picked up outside Cock’s Nest. Destination home.”

Someone must have asked him a follow up question because he presses the communication earpiece again and replies ruefully, “No issues. A misunderstanding about… the type of venue. Understood.”

I say nothing, only shrug to get him to let go of my neck. His hand drops from my skin like I burned him. I stand sullenly with only the smallest pout while we wait for our car and he huffs out a sigh. His irritation is exactly what I was hoping for, but it still grates on me to have to endure it until he quits.

The car was only a minute away from the club and brings us promptly back to the penthouse in tense silence. I have enough time in the car to think about my experience at the club. I liked it. Mask kink may not be something I’m into, seeing as most everyone I saw daily wore masks, but the other parts intrigue me. The collars, the leather, the soft-looking ropes, the whips and paddles. There is an entire world I’ve never explored right inside that club.

Once home, I head straight to Angelica’s room. Jay goes into the security room, and I continue down the hall. But I hear the Crows snorting with laughter and a deep mumbled response from Jay. I hope they are making fun of him and not me.

“Hey Bitch,” Angelica greets with a fluff of her wings. 

“Hey Bitch,” I repeat a little half-heartedly.

I feed her some snacks and think about Jay’s hand around my neck. He hadn’t been choking me, but his grip had been firm enough to make me acutely aware of my heartbeat. It had been enough to shut me up and that realization had goosebumps rising and a little chill going through me. I touch my neck gingerly and bite my lip.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” A whispered question from the doorway behind me.

I whip around to see Jay leaning in the doorway. I blink and hand Angelica the little plastic gun that was in my drink earlier. She takes it with a squawked “Pretty!” and flies over to the highest perch to inspect her gift.

Jay waits patiently but tensely for my answer.

“No.”

His shoulders relax a fraction.

I stare at him. “What does your voice sound like?”

His eyes flash with confusion and he tilts his head. “I’ve spoken to you before.”

“In whispers and mumbles. Your real voice.”

He clears his throat but Angelica interrupts. “Shut the hell up, Bird!” She spoke in an imitation of a man’s deep voice and then ruffles her feathers in a manner I’ve long suspected was equivalent to tossing one’s hair over one’s shoulder.

I look back to Jay to see his eyes are smiling back at me. He quirks his eyebrows and jerks his head as if to say, “Well, there ya go,” before he leaves the doorway without a word.

chapter ten

Wren

I spent the afternoon getting ready for my date with Maxwell. A matching set of lacy red lingerie is underneath my black slip dress. It isn’t something I’d have worn before, but I purchased it while hazing a previous Jay. The garters and strappy lace press slightly into my skin and should make me feel uncomfortable, but make me feel sexy and powerful. Lexi’s comment about looking prissy sent me through a spiral this morning and required Gemma’s help via Facetime with one of her make-up artists on her photoshoot. Now, feeling more confident and expecting a fun night after dinner, I meet Jay near the security office.

Seeing Jay waiting for me sends a little whoosh of guilt through my belly. He apologized and checked on me after I’d been an (intentional) asshole to him. I had put him in a potentially dangerous situation, and he checked on me. Now, if I’m not mistaken, he’s checking me out. His gaze travels up and down my body more than once and I see a twitch of his eyebrow. His jaw clenches as I approach him.

I hand him a ball of knitted fabric. “I made this for you. Please don’t tell my dad I sexually harassed you by taking you to a kink club.”

Jay’s light brown eyebrows almost disappear beneath the hood of his balaclava. He looks at the yarn in his hand. He unfolds the bulky, woolly object I have, admittedly, given to three other Jays before him.

“It’s a hand knitted balaclava,” I say and toe the carpet runner in the hall. Though, the cute and innocent act doesn’t come across right when wearing Louboutin heels and a slinky dress.

“Thank you. Do I have to wear this tonight?” he asks, his thumbs rubbing over the scratchy multicolored wool.

“No, this is for sleeping in. Your pajama mask,” I say as we walk to the door.

“I don’t wear my mask to sleep,” he says and unbuttons his cargo pocket on his pants to slide in the mask. Honestly, the man pulls off cargo pants unapologetically, simply because he is so massive and everyone is afraid to even think ungenerous thoughts about him.

“Dirty!” I gasp.

I see Jay roll his eyes in our reflection on the elevator doors.

****

Maxwell is already at the restaurant when I finally get through the valet. Jay hates that I used the valet, but I was already out of the car by the time he realized what was happening. I could have taken a cab or used one of our Crow drivers, but I am hoping to spend the night with Maxwell and the walk of shame with one bodyguard is bad enough. I don’t need it with more people involved.

A glass of red wine is waiting for me when I get to my seat. I kiss Maxwell in greeting as I sit down. The table is a four top, but only two places are set for our dinner. “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find parking.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Maxwell says with a dismissive wave and a small smile.

“Did you order anything?” I ask and look down at the menu. I’ve been here before with Dad. It’s one of the most elite places in the city. When I look up, almost nobody is eyeing Jay suspiciously because most of the other patrons know me.

“No, I’ve never been here before. The wait list was astronomical. I went on it last year and they called me three months ago to let me know when my reservation was,” Maxwell says with proud bravado.

“Wow, they must be very selective!” I say, with praising awe in my voice for his achievement.

Maxwell’s shoulders lift as he peers down at the menu. I sip the red wine he chose for us. It’s a good choice. Dry, with a hint of chocolate and smoke. I hum into the glass.

“How was work? You seemed busy this week,” I say lightly.

“Eh, it wasn’t too bad,” Maxwell says and sits back in his seat and looks around the room. His eyebrows do that high scrunch thing all of Dad’s male business associates do when they’re thinking highly of themselves.

“Oh,” I say and look down at my menu.

Maxwell is silent. I’m getting sick of people not talking to me.

“My house will be done Monday. I’ll be moving in. You’ll have to come spend the weekends with me,” I say and slide the toe of my shoe up his calf.

He pulls away with a jerk and a scolding. “Wren.”

“Will you come visit?” I ask, not dropping the subject.

“Yeah. So, what’s going to be the deal with your bodyguard? Will he stand guard outside of your house? Will he have a room? What’s going on with that?” Maxwell rapid fires at me, a scornful look aimed at Jay next to me.

“Um, he’ll live with me,” I say with a small, casual shrug. “Just like he does now at the penthouse.”

I chance a glance over at Jay for the first time since sitting down. He is leaning back in his seat as his eyes are slowly scanning the room. He doesn’t seem to be listening to our conversation and is focused on his job.

“But it’ll be just the two of you,” Maxwell says instead of asks.

“Yeah,” I say with another shrug. I’ve learned long ago I need to downplay the presence of Blue Jay when talking to boyfriends. They get their feathers all ruffled when they think another man is protecting their woman more than them. While I’m certain Jay could fold Maxwell like a paper napkin, it’s not something that goes over well when brought to the attention of men.

The waitress comes over and Maxwell orders. I don’t register any of what he says to the waitress because I am focused on not making a scene.

“I’ll have the steak,” I say with barely a glance at the waitress as I hand her the menu. I launch back into my conversation with Maxwell. “Why is this a problem now, Maxwell? You’ve known about this arrangement for years.”

“Now it’s a bit intimate, don’t you think?” Maxwell asks with a scoffing laugh.

“He wears a mask and I don’t know his name. What about that seems intimate to you?” I ask sharply and lean over the table toward him.

I feel Jay shifting uncomfortably next to me. Oh, now he’s listening. I slide him my water glass without looking away from Maxwell. Watering my guard dog is the least I could do.

Maxwell flicks his styled blond hair away from his eyes and pulls a vibrating phone out of his pocket. He shoots me an irritated glance. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” He stands from the table and strides to the front entrance.

I sit back in my seat and look around the room again, taking in the luxe décor and well-dressed patrons. I smile at a few people I know when I catch their eye. Everyone is on their best behavior here tonight, which I find amusing. I’ve seen more than one of these people sloppy drunk after too much champagne and whiskey at parties Dad and I have thrown. One memorable party involved Dad talking about his favorite drunk food in college being Taco Bell. It resulted in us ordering about three hundred dollars of Taco Bell and everyone sitting on the floor eating it and laughing. This was surely a change of pace.

Jay exhales slowly and leans back in his seat. I hear a rustling sound and see him eating what looks like trail mix from a plastic bag. “Ew, I’ll feed you later,” I murmur to him.

“I’m not a dog,” he grumbles. I almost laugh again because it’s like he answers my guard dog thought from earlier.

“Say that to me when you’re not eating kibble,” I snark right back at him.

Maxwell and the waitress carrying our food arrive at the same time. “I’m so sorry, I had been waiting on that call,” he says as he sits down, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“It’s alright,” I say with a terse smile.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about, though,” Maxwell says seriously as he cuts into his fish.

I set down my knife before I can finish cutting into my steak. “Is it about visiting my new house? Because I know it’s unfair to ask you to come all the way every time, so we can alternate.”

“No. Wren. I want to let you know I’m… interested in seeing someone else,” Maxwell says quietly. His consonants are clipped, formal. Like he is discussing business and not breaking up with me.

That wine I drank while waiting for Maxwell swirls in my belly. “What?”

“I haven’t pursued anything with her yet. But I realized I wanted to try something with her more than I wanted to keep doing this with you,” he says carefully.

Tears well in my eyes. “What do you mean ‘this?’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, essentially sneaking around. I can’t tell my workplace your name and they’ve made it a game to guess which washed up celebrity I’m seeing,” Maxwell hisses back at me and assesses to see if anyone heard, nodding curtly to someone he knew. “I don’t enjoy hiding and going on dates with a third wheel.” He finishes in less of a hiss.

“You know I can’t help that,” I say and blink furiously, trying to make my tears go away. Instead, one drips down and lands on my dress. I hear it land on my lap, somewhere above where my heart dropped.

“Yes, and I can’t help wanting something else. Something more normal,” he says, like there is no fault in his words. And logically, I know he is within his rights to want something else, but it still hurts like a bitch.

“Oh, normal. Me and your desire to be normal go way back,” I scoff and sit back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest. The tears are gone now and are replaced with anger.

“You know what? I wasn’t going to say anything. Since you brought it up, I might as well say it,” Maxwell says and sets down his knife and fork.

“Say it,” I snap.

“You want different things in the bedroom from me. Wrong things. I know you don’t even know what you’re asking for. And a girl like you shouldn’t want those things,” Maxwell spits disapprovingly.

I blush, thinking of what I only glimpsed at Cock’s Nest. He’s right. I think I want some of those things. But for him to say it like he knows more of my desires than I do is humiliating. It’s been a point of contention in our relationship that I always want more and harder sex than he is capable of. I don’t know what it is exactly I am asking for, but I know I never got it. And Maxwell has been adamant about his refusal to give it to me. So has every other man I’ve dated. The men within Maxwell’s friend circle. Ugh, this is so messy.

“Well, a girl like me is leaving,” I say and move to stand up.

“Wait,” he says hurriedly. “This reservation was really hard to get. At least sit and enjoy your meal. We’ve known each other long enough to keep a friendly relationship, Wren. This isn’t even our first break up. Please, eat.”

The food looks fantastic, and I am starving after that glass of wine. Jay is hovering above his seat as he waits for me to decide. He’s hungry, too, if the trail mix that got shoved back into his pocket is any indicator. “Wouldn’t want to waste this expensive dinner,” I say with a feigned calmness as I sit back down. I hear the tremble in my voice. And it’s not for losing Maxwell. Not really. It’s for the embarrassment, and the feeling of being… not enough but also too much for yet another person.

Maxwell gives me a small, relieved smile until I pick up his plate. I also pick up my plate of steak and hold them both up to Jay with a quirked eyebrow. His eyes are filled with a warm amusement before he chooses the steak. I loudly plop the plate down in front of him and hand him my refilled wine glass before reaching across for Maxwell’s glass. I feel a hush fall over the restaurant and our waitress stands nervously two tables behind Maxwell. Her eyes are wide with fear we’re about to cause everyone around us to ask for refunds and leave shitty tips.

“Wren, seriously! Oh Wren, come on! This is ridiculous!” Maxwell hisses at me as I take a huge, unladylike bite of his fish. I can’t tell what fish it is; it is so laden with a dill sauce that honestly went so far it came back around to taste like a fancy ranch dressing. I stuff two gumball sized potatoes into my mouth next.

“Mm, this is good,” I say through a mouth stuffed full of food and an excited nod to Jay. My voice is thick and my cheeks extended like a chipmunk.

“Mmhm,” he mumbles through his own bite. I look over to see him holding out his mask with one hand and ripping into the steak, sauce dripping down the other wrist. He immediately and without question matched my vibe and a small part of me wants to break into hysterical laughter. 

We devour the two meals in seconds in an almost animalistic fashion before chugging both glasses of wine. I wipe my face, throw my napkin down on the table, and stand up. If I could belch on command, I’d do it now.

“I would say it’s been fun, but we both know that’s false,” I say slightly breathlessly from eating so quickly. “Goodbye Maxwell.”

I turn and catwalk to the door, Jay hot on my heels. I keep my head high as I move to the hostess stand. Almost everyone in the restaurant is staring at me. A few kitchen staff have even poked their heads out the staff door to watch. I was a spectacle, but thankfully, anyone that knows me is under a strict NDA and can never say a thing. At the hostess stand, she shakily reaches out to accept the money I hand her.

“I’m sorry about the scene I caused. This will cover the cost of dinner and a great tip. I would appreciate it if you all kept this quiet,” I say in a whisper to her.

“Oh my gosh, I would never,” she says quickly, her eyes wide.

I paste on a smile and leave the restaurant. I hand the valet my ticket and begin to pace. The adrenaline, shame, hurt, and anger all come rushing to the surface. A breath catches in my throat and I try to steady it. A squeaking whimper slips out and I bite my lip. I pull my phone out of my purse and try to look composed as I type with shaking fingers and tear-blurred eyes.

ME: Where are you?

GEMMA: Club Copper.

GEMMA: Why? Thought you were with Maxi Pad.

ME: He broke up with me

GEMMA: Holy shit I hate him

ME: I made a scene at Emerald and Cedar

GEMMA: As you should. Am I coming to you or are you coming to me?

ME: I’m coming to you.

I put my phone in my purse and spin to see my car coming down the road. The spin on my stiletto heels has me stumbling on the broken concrete and then catching in the sidewalk’s seam. I go down hard and fast.

I cry out and Jay lifts me from the ground a split second after my knees met it. Quick enough my fall went unseen by most, but slow enough that blood still wells up on my knees.

“Fuck,” I groan as I look down at my blood-streaked shins. I snap my tear-filled gaze up to Jay and say, “What good are you for then, if not to protect me from falling?”

“You went down so fast I would have only been able to catch you if I was already holding you,” Jay gripes back.

The valet gets out and comes around with a smile at me and Jay. His face falls to my legs, and he blanches. “Oh, are you okay, Miss?”

“She’s alright, I’ll take care of her,” Jay says and takes my keys from him.

I fumble in my purse and gave him a wad of cash, since he now has to clean a few layers of my skin and a pint of blood off the concrete. My tears blind me enough I don’t fight when Jay gently leads me to the passenger seat of my car. He shuts the door and comes around to his side of the car, sliding in and adjusting the seat back quickly.

With a rev of the engine, we pull out of the valet space and down a few roads to a well lit but private parking garage. It looks like it’s for an apartment complex. Jay waves his Safe House ID to the nervous lot attendant and pulls over to a parking space marked with someone’s apartment number. He gets out and jogs around to my side of the car. I think he’s about to make me get back in the driver’s seat. Instead he gently pushes me back into the seat when I move to get up.

“I’ll clean up your cuts. I have first aid training,” he says and reaches under my seat and comes out with the first aid kit. He kneels at my feet on the pavement. The lights are bright on us and I stare at the top of his head. His eyes assess my broken skin clinically and professionally. He doesn’t even glance up my dress at my lacy panties, even though he has the perfect vantage point.

I lean my head sideways on the seat and let myself sob. It isn’t that I was in love with Maxwell. It isn’t that he broke my heart. I cry because I feel like I’m running out of options. Dad only approves of a tiny portion of men, and I have gone through them all. Some of them twice or three times. I’m probably a joke to them all at parties. It doesn’t matter who my dad is or how much he is worth. Cringe is cringe. And apparently, I am so unlikeable they can’t even stick with me to access my dad’s business and wealth. God, I could really go for a handsome, decent, gold digger.

Jay swipes a cold cloth over my knees and I suck in a breath at the sting. “I know, but you’ll be okay,” he murmurs at me. He lifts his mask enough to lean closer to me and blow cool air over my knees to dry the alcohol. I shiver and fight the urge to clench my thighs. His breath smells like peppercorn and wine.

“How was the steak?” I ask through my sniffles.

His breath shakes like he’s laughing. “It was good, thank you.”

“I told you I would feed you,” I say and heave a big, gross sniff.

Jay’s electric blue eyes meet mine. He looks almost caringly up at me, a small crease between his brows. I wipe at my eyes to see him more clearly, but he goes back to his work in bandaging my knee.

“He’s not worth your tears,” Jay whispers.

“I’m not even crying for him!” I say with a maniacal sounding laugh. “I’m crying because not one of them- the guys my dad has approved for me to date, I mean- could stand to be around me! None of them wanted a space on my dad’s business board, or legal team, or whatever, bad enough to be with me.”

“That’s a relationship you want?” Jay asks as he places a bandage over my right knee.

“No, it’s not. But the fact I’m the daughter of a billionaire didn’t even provide that for me is what’s humiliating,” I scoff. 

“Or, despite your incompatibility, your dad chose reputable men,” Jay reasons as he unwraps another bandage.

“Well, maybe I want a non-reputable man. Maybe he could make me come,” I grouse, mostly to myself, with my arms crossed over my chest.

Jay’s hands knock against my knee as he startles. I snort a laugh. I’m so used to Jays not responding to me I forgot to censor my speech. Sometimes this Jay speaks to me like he is a real person under that black mask and code name. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder who this Blue Jay is. This Blue Jay with the gentle but callused hands, expressive, ocean blue eyes, and who was on my side against Maxwell in the restaurant.

“I want to go dancing with Gemma,” I say suddenly, as he places the final bandage. “She’s at Club Copper.”

“And is this some place I’m going to be made fun of in the office for?” Jay asks.

“No, it’s a regular club. A dance one,” I say and giggle as he puts the first aid kit back.

“Won’t your knees hurt?” Jay asks when he gets back into the driver’s seat.

“Not if I have enough tequila,” I say and begin the big job of fixing my makeup.

“Wren and Blue Jay are leaving Emerald and Cedar, destination Club Copper,” Jay says into his earpiece before running his hands over my car’s steering wheel fondly and starting the engine.

chapter eleven

Wren

Gemma has us enter through the VIP door into the more secluded section of the club. It’s not any quieter here, but the drinks are all top shelf and there’s more security. The bass of the music is so loud my teeth rattle in my skull. Gemma looks beautiful in a tank top and miniskirt. She’s channeling a Paris Hilton in the early 2000s look tonight. Her little purple sunglasses perch on the edge of her nose and knock into my cheek as she kisses me in greeting. She shoves a drink into my hand, screams “FUCK MEN!” and leads me to the dance floor.

I look back briefly and see Lance and Jay exchange tired nods and then resume their sweeps of the room. Gemma doesn’t allow me time to mope. She waves to two model hot men and they come over. She says something, like she’s introducing us, but I can’t hear her or read her lips. The strobe lights are overwhelming and make me feel like I’m in a stop motion movie. Gemma sees me shifting on my feet and she smiles kindly and pushes my drink to my lips. I’ll wallow tomorrow when I’m hung over. But tonight, we drink.

The two men pair off with us, and we dance. They’re not too handsy, and they’re skilled dancers. Gemma and I are belly to belly- or as much as we can, with her being almost six feet tall- but we’ve danced together hundreds of times. Her elbows rest on my shoulders and the guy behind her grins down at me. He has a kind smile, but it’s clear he’s hoping to hook up with Gemma.

I only realize my drink is empty when the guy dancing with Gemma takes my empty glass from me. He has artfully styled brown hair that is slowly wilting in the club’s heat, and soft brown eyes. The guy that is grinding against my back has red hair and light eyes. I peer back at him and see his eyes are dilated and hooded. He’s attracted to me, I realize. Not Gemma. He’s not bad looking, so I turn in Gemma’s arms to face Red. He smiles down at me and the drink- whatever Gemma gave me- warms me and has me staring up at him. This guy doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know my dad, and he hasn’t seen my bodyguard. His bitten lip and focused eyes as he dances with me are solely about me.

I know it’s a fleeting, drunken dancefloor lust, but it feels good. It feels good to be the center of someone’s attention. I slide my hands up his chest. His t-shirt sticks to his chest with his sweat, but he is firm and hot beneath my hands. He stoops a little to be within my reach, and I tangle my fingers in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. The strobe lights make me dizzy, so I close my eyes and dance tighter against him. His hands pull me to him and I feel his breath on my neck.

A cold drink is touched to my shoulder and I startle out of the dancing trance to take it. It’s ice cold and sweet. I only notice the burn of alcohol after I chug down half of it. Red leans down and licks a drop from my bottom lip. I smile and lean up to kiss him. A good make-out will be fun. Maxwell didn’t like to make-out. He went straight to sex. Boring sex. I deserve-

A hand grips my shoulder and pulls me. With a shocked gasp, I spin into the black clad chest of… Jay?!

“Hey!” I shout, but it’s no use. It’s too loud for even a blood-curdling scream to be heard.

Jay’s eyes are glaring at Red, who is wide eyed with his hands up. Before I can apologize to Red, Jay drags me away from the dance floor by my elbow. I look around for Gemma and don’t see her or Lance. How long was I dancing with Red alone? Suddenly feeling sick, I set my drink on a table we pass as we weave through the booths and up to what looks like a private room.

I yank my elbow out of Jay’s grasp, and he immediately reaches for my hand. His hold is tight. Too tight to get out of. He doesn’t spare me a glance as we enter the private room. He shuts the door behind us and my ears ring in the quiet. I can still hear the music through the door, but it is considerably quieter here.

“What the hell, Jay?” I shout. I tug on my hand to get him to let go of me.

“He had his hands on you!” Jay shouts back and lets go of my hand.

“I wanted his hands on me!” I shriek and shove at Jay’s chest. His body is rock hard beneath my attack. He doesn’t budge.

Jay’s blue eyes are wide, and his brows are drawn together. He’s appalled by my behavior. I shove at him again and he takes a single step back to give me space. “I don’t know what the protocol is for hook ups. You- you will have to abstain until I am trained on it.”

I take a moment to absorb what he just said. He said abstain. I let out a loud, barking laugh. He’s taken aback and looks me over, like he’s unsure of how drunk I am.

The door opens and Gemma and Lance come in, accompanied by a burst of sound from the club. “You okay?” Gemma asks me.

“Yeah,” I say as my laughter fades into giggles. “Blue Jay here wasn’t sure of the protocol for hookups.”

“Oh, um,” Gemma says and looks at Lance. “I don’t think that’s ever come up.”

“No! It hasn’t!” I say, and cackle some more.

The room is too hot. I feel sick from the drinks and dinner, and it’s too loud. I want to go home. And by home, I mean my quiet house. A sense of homesickness washes over me, even though I’ve not spent a single night there.

“Wren, baby, I have to go home,” Gemma says with a sigh.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” I ask, sobering at her drawn expression. I reach out and touch her sweat sticky arm.

“Yeah, I went to use the bathroom and- ugh. This is the last time I wear a bodysuit to the club,” she groans and shifts uncomfortably.

“Did you start-”

“No,” she says. “I didn’t want to fully unsnap the body suit, so I just pulled it to the side to pee. Well, I lost my footing and needed to catch myself and let go of the bodysuit.”

“You peed yourself,” I finish for her and bite the inside of my cheek.

She nods.

“Well, that’ll do it. That’ll ruin a good night,” I say and try not to laugh.

“And a good bodysuit,” she sighs.

“Are we calling it a night?” Jay asks, his hand lifting to his earpiece.

“Yes,” Gemma and I both say.

“We’re a mess,” Gemma says to me and hugs me tightly to her.

“Some more than others,” I snort.

We quickly devolve into drunken giggles and Jay and Lance have to practically carry us out of the club’s private doors. We say our goodbyes outside and Jay drives us back home. This time, I’m quiet in the car and it doesn’t bother me. I yawn.

“I’m sorry to… interrupt your time with your… date,” Jay struggles to say.

“It’s alright. I was being reckless,” I say and stare out the windshield.

In my periphery, I see him give me a long look. I don’t turn to make eye contact.

“What you did, kissing that boy, was normal,” Jay says.

“I’m pretty sure he was a man,” I scoff.

“You know what I mean.”

“Sure, I guess. Can we just be silent?” I huff.

“After all that work to get us to be allowed to chit chat like best friends, you’re telling me to be quiet?” Jay asks with fake outrage.

“After I move. You have two more days until your muzzle is taken off,” I snap and relax into the seat with my eyes closed.

Jay is quiet as he drives. I breathe deeply to settle my stomach. His scent is rich in the car. Crisp like water and greenery. The salt of his sweat has the smell reminding me of an ocean breeze. It doesn’t smell forced like a cologne. Maxwell always wore an expensive cologne. I had liked it, but there’s something to be said about the scent of a man’s soap and sweat.

A hand is shaking me lightly and I startle awake. I groan against the parking garage lights and cover my eyes. “Hey, come on Wren. We’re home.”

I try to say, “Wrong house. I want my own.” But it comes out in a jumble.

That last drink had hit me harder than I’d expected. Having two glasses of wine at dinner and then a cocktail and a half at the club was probably the furthest limit of my tolerance. I didn’t have enough water.

Well, my knees don’t hurt anymore.

Jay lets out a tired sounding exhale before speaking into his earpiece. “Blue Jay will carry Wren into the penthouse. She is intoxicated of her own volition.”

I don’t hear the response in the earpiece, but Jay replies, “No, but she will need water brought to her room.”

Wait, carrying?

Jay bends into the car and scoops me up into his arms. He carries me bridal style and gently kicks the car door shut behind us. I grumble into his chest about the inevitable dirty boot print on the red paint.

“If you were walking, you could have closed the door nicer,” Jay snarks.

Someone else opens the door to the penthouse for us. But I don’t open my eyes to see who it is.

“Why did you let her drink so much?” Hawk’s voice says somewhere ahead of us.

“I’m her bodyguard, not her father,” Jay says and doesn’t stop to chat. He goes directly to my bedroom and settles me on the bed.

I am conscious but unable to speak or open my eyes. Jay pulls off my shoes and covers me with my blanket. “Do I have to feed Angelica? Grunt twice for yes, once for no.”

I grunt once. I had a Sparrow feed her since I thought I’d be with Maxwell overnight.

“Good, because she’d eat my eyeballs instead of her pellets and make me call her Blade,” Jay says, as he heads for the door.

I grunt twice.

His chuckle is warm and deep as he shuts my door.

chapter twelve

Wren

It was a late start to the day after wallowing hungover in bed for most of the morning. But I am moving out of Dad’s home tomorrow and have more to pack. I had to get moving. Jay and I are silent as we head to The Beanery to pick up sandwiches and coffee. I am still sweating out alcohol despite having taken two showers already this morning. Gross.

“Hey Wren, you’re late today,” Steph says when we reach the counter.

“Yeah, late start,” I say. “We’ll have two caramel macchiatos and two turkey sandwiches to go.”

Jay looks down at me and I could practically feel his furrowed brows without even looking at him. “Don’t even start. I’ve seen you eyeing my drink every day. You’re allowed to like stuff.”

He mumbles his thanks, and we go to wait for our order. We remain mostly silent until our order comes. Jay hums a deep appreciative sound when he sips his sweet coffee. He lifts his mask to drink and I watch, transfixed, as his throat swallows. That peek of a tattoo is visible again on his neck, just below his collar. I wonder if it covers his biceps and curls up to his neck, or if it covers his chest and extends up. With a shake of my head, I tear my eyes from his golden skin.

“You like Krabby Patties, don’t you Squidward?” I ask as we leave The Beanery.

“It’s like candy. Too sweet,” he says even though he clearly chugged it down.

“Sure,” I laugh.

****

Packing up the rest of my belongings went quicker than I expected. There wasn’t much left in my room besides the furniture that is going to stay here. I look around the space, not feeling the least bit sad about leaving it. It has been my safe oasis for my entire life, but now it is well past time to create my own space. My own life.

“Jay, I found that birding group on Facebook. Many of them are part of a senior center and are bussed in, but other people can come on their own. They’re an open group and they meet on Wednesdays at the park,” I say, peeking into his room. He’s on his stomach on his bed, idly watching something on his phone.

“Wait, you want to go back there?”

“Duh, they’re bird watchers! I love birds! Of course I want to go back.”

Jay is silent for a moment. “They did not seem to like us.”

“They will like us. That was just a bad day,” I say with a shrug.

“Mmkay,” Jay mutters.

“Whatever, dinner is at seven. Dad’s having a dinner party to celebrate me moving out. Dress nice.”

“I’ve been briefed,” he says.

“Your little friend Lance will be there,” I coax, like I’m talking to a shy toddler.

He shoots me a glare, and I cackle as I leave.

****

Seven o’clock rolls around and I’m stuffed into a red dress that matches the red of Angelica’s tail feathers. She’s perched on my shoulder in a proud stance.

“Beautiful bitch!” Angelica croons when she sees Gemma in the foyer.

“Babes!” Gemma shouts as she comes toward me and Angelica. She’s wearing a powder blue cocktail dress and looks as heaven sent as usual. She kisses both my cheek and Angelica’s.

Lance trails behind, carrying two baskets. “Hello, Wren… Blade.”

“Lance,” Angelica greets with a bob of her head.

I realize I am not sure who Dad invited now that I hear the drone of male voices in the living room. I thought it was going to just be us and Gemma. Maybe one or two men from his work. That’s a lot of voices filtering out.

“Who all is here?” I asked Gemma.

“Girl, it’s your party. What are you saying?” Gemma looks at me like I’m crazy.

“I thought it was just us,” I say and hook my arm in hers before we swing into the living room.

I almost turn around and leave immediately. There are so many people in the room. Many I don’t recognize. This isn’t a common occurrence in my life. I take a step back, my arm sliding out of Gemma’s. A hard body stops my retreat and I startle. Angelica on my shoulder puffs up her feathers and tucks her head under her wing. Her talons sink into my skin to keep her place on my shoulder. Warm hands soothe down my arms to settle me and I inhale sharply. It’s the crisp scent of Jay’s soap. The anxiety in my chest releases a fraction of its hold.

“Right behind you,” he mutters. His voice is casual, but with the undercurrent of assurance. For the first time in my entire freaking life, I am thankful for the presence of Jay.

“Big bitch, help me!” Angelica squawks and flutters her wings to land on his shoulder.

Apparently, I’m not the only one thankful for him tonight.

“There she is!” Dad’s voice booms as he approaches me. His arms are out like he’s looking for a hug and the smile on his face is broad.

“Hi Dad,” I say through a dry throat. He hugs me tightly and I whisper, “Who are all these people?”

“These are my friends. They’re all here to celebrate your new home,” he says and pulls away.

I heard nothing about new friends before tonight. He normally told me when there would be someone new in the house. Apparently moving out revoked that privilege. I force a smile at all the people gathered. They are all watching with vaguely amused expressions. “Thank you all for coming!”

Everyone turns back to their conversations and Dad steers me to where two men are standing with a woman near the bar. A male Sparrow is behind the bar and watches us approach with a glass of champagne already poured for me. I take it with a muttered thanks.

“Wren, I would like you to meet Mr. Potter. He’s the CEO of the company that manufactures the biometrics cards in our watches. We’ve been working on some new projects together,” Dad says and gestures to the portly man with an obvious hairpiece.

“Hello,” I say and reach out to shake his hand. He grips only my fingertips and turns my hand so I’m momentarily shaking his hand up and down like a flopping fish.

I look at Dad. He once told me to never go into business with a man who couldn’t shake my hand. Was he seeing this? Gross.

“And this is his wife and son. His son, Grey, runs the marketing for his dad’s company. Isn’t that wonderful?” Dad continues.

I look at the woman and young man next to Mr. Potter. Mrs. Potter has big blonde hair and dramatic makeup. She smiles, but only her lips move. “Lovely to meet you,” I tell her with a smile. She looks me up and down and despite the lack of movement in her face, I can see her close judgement. Ohhkay.

Grey smirks down at me and reaches out a hand for me to shake. He shakes it properly before stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. I shiver in discomfort. It was a weird touch. “Hi,” I say, kind of awkwardly. His hair is also voluminous and combed over to the side. I can’t help but be amazed all three of them have equally terrible hair. Was it a family aesthetic? Like, was this a choice?

“Grey here loves exotic birds,” Dad says. “Perhaps you could tell him about Angelica?”

“Um, sure,” I said. “She’s an African Gray Parrot. I’ve had her since I was a child.”

“Is she really? I would have thought her to be a painted pigeon!” Grey says and looks up at Angelica on Jay’s shoulder behind me.

Was he kidding?

“Pigeon?!” Angelica squawks, clearly terrifying Mrs. Potter. She crouches behind Mr. Potter and lets out a cry.

“Excuse me, I need to speak to…” I trail off and immediately exit the conversation. I feel Dad’s glare on my back as I scurry away, clutching my champagne.

“Wren!” I hear my name being called.

It’s Connie, my dad’s secretary. I smile and approach her. “Hi Connie, it’s nice to see you. Love this dress.”

She looks down at her floral dress and blushes. She’s been working side by side with my dad almost as long as Hawk. It’s been a source of pride for me that my dad kept his secretary as she aged, and he didn’t toss her out when she wasn’t a hot young thing like so many of his friends did. She is undoubtedly beautiful, but her loyalty and cohesiveness with Dad kept her employed with him for so long. She doesn’t let him get away with anything and she keeps him productive.

“Wren, I’d like you to meet my nephew, Carlson,” she says and gestures to a man I hadn’t seen next to her. He is maybe an inch taller than my five foot self and his round face makes me think he’s a teenager. His blond hair is gelled into place and doesn’t move as he nods his head at me in greeting.

“Hi,” I say with a wave.

“He’s graduating this month from NYU,” she says proudly.

Oh, so not a high schooler.

“That’s great! Congratulations,” I say with a big smile.

“Thank you,” Carlson beams. “I hear you’re moving out of the city.”

“I am,” I confirm. “Ready to settle somewhere quiet.”

“I could live nowhere else,” Carlson laughs good-naturedly. “This city is in my blood.”

“Mm, yeah, the pollution gets to us all,” I say sarcastically.

Jay coughs to stifle a laugh behind me. I forgot he was there.

Carlson and Connie stare at me, not understanding my joke.

“Oh, I see Gemma. I have to speak with her. It’s nice to meet you Carlson. Always nice to see you, Connie.”

I duck out of the conversation, eyeing Lance with Hawk against the back wall. If Lance is there, then Gemma is close by. I beeline straight to him. “Where’s Gem?” I ask him.

He points to where she’s surrounded by a group of young men, none of which I know. She’s talking to them and hamming it up. Her celebrity mode is On. She eyes me coming over, and she gives me a “What The Fuck?” expression and excuses herself from their circle. They groan at her departure and she waves demurely back at them. She leans down until our foreheads are almost pressed together and growls, “Why didn’t you tell me this was a meat market?”

“I had no clue,” I whisper frantically to her. “I’m so sorry!”

She snorts a laugh and kisses my forehead. “I guess I must say… be careful what you wish for.”

“I didn’t wish for this!” I hiss at her and down my now warm champagne.

“You complained that none of the men your dad set you up with wanted the connection bad enough to date you,” Jay says behind me.

“Jay, suck a dick,” I spit as a Sparrow switches out my champagne glass with a new one. She gives me a quick look that conveys her awareness of the situation at hand. “Thank you, Sparrow.”

Jay clears his throat. “Your father wishes me to convey the message that you should agree to two dates.”

“Jay, give me your gun. I’m going to kill him,” I groan.

“Babe, I thought you wanted more choices,” Gemma says uncertainly.

“Yeah, but… this feels gross,” I say and wipe my sweaty hand down over my dress.

“Hawk says he’ll help you bury the body,” Jay says and Gemma laughs.

“Well, I brought you both presents,” Gemma says to change the subject.

“Presents?” I ask.

“Yeah, a housewarming present,” she says and gestures to the baskets on the end table.

They’re delicately packed twin baskets of candles, soft blankets, a plant, a bottle of wine each, and… Potty Spray. A loud laugh escapes me, and I clap a hand over my mouth.

“I figured living with a man was going to get smelly and disgusting. Jay, you must spray this in the toilet first—”

“Wren!” Dad’s voice calls out. “Come and meet Mr. Rodriguez!”

“I’m going to miss seeing you every day,” Gemma says, her voice thick.

“Me, too,” I say and fight the tears welling in my eyes.

“I’m so happy for you, though. This is perfect for you, and I will come visit so often you’ll make me a room,” Gemma says with a sniff.

“There’s a pull out bed in the couch,” I say and clasp her hand.

“I’m not bunking with him,” Gemma says and juts her chin out at Jay.

“You’re not,” I laugh.

“Wren!”

“If I don’t see you, good luck tomorrow,” Gemma says.

My throat is too tight to reply.

“Quick, chug that before you go talk to your next suitor,” Gemma says and shoos me off and wipes the corners of her eyes. Lance pulls her closer to him and hands her a tissue.

I join Dad for the next round of introductions after chugging my champagne. A Sparrow shoves a small plate of hors d’oeuvres into my hand next and I steel myself. In the end, I agree to two dates. One with Grey Potter, simply because he was the first to ask and a man with hair like that must have an interesting story. And one with Levi Rodriguez because he didn’t use his height to stare down my dress.

Part Two

chapter thirteen

------

“Just do your own laundry and buy your own food. Otherwise… good luck,” Hawk says and slaps me on my shoulder twice.

I can hear the clacking of expensive shoes before I hear her voice. “Oh, Blue Jay!”

With a deep breath, I steady myself into my stoic mask. Today, I’m allowed to speak to her, but I am going to miss the quiet. She rounds the corner with her deranged parrot on her shoulder. Angelica croons out a greeting of “Hey, big boy.”

“I’m ready to move!” Wren says with a beaming smile at me and Hawk.

“And I’m ready to move you,” Mr. Taylor’s voice rings from down the hall. “Well, accompany you to the security walk through and buy you lunch, I mean.”

Fifteen minutes later, we are in two separate cars and heading toward the new house. It’s closer to my mom’s house and about ten minutes from the hospital where she gets her treatments. I’m happy to be out of the city. Wren lets me drive, citing she is too excited to drive the speed limit. But I suspect she enjoys being passenger princess. I don’t complain because it’s an amazing car and drives like a dream. Wren messes with the radio most of the drive, driving me insane. Again, I don’t complain because I know if I did she’d just turn off the radio and be a brat the rest of the way. I need to pick my battles with this woman. She says she’s excited, and I believe her, but she’s biting the corner of her plush pink lower lip and has a slight crease in her brows. She’s nervous, too.

I drive carefully, not only because this isn’t my luxury car, but because every time I speed up or brake, Angelica screams in the back seat. Wren covered her cage with a sheet, per her vet’s advice, but Angelica does not like any second of the trip.

“Are you excited about homeownership?” I ask as I pull onto her street.

“Yes,” she says in a hoarse whisper.

I park in her driveway at the door to her garage and get out. A large maple tree stands proudly in the front yard and a bright red cardinal makes little chirping sounds in a low branch.

Next to me, Wren scoffs at it and gives it the middle finger. Tears gather in her lower lashes and I stare down at her, massively confused. “I thought you loved birds.”

“Not cardinals,” she mutters.

“You know, I heard once a cardinal is-”

“A dead loved one back to visit. I fucking know!” She snaps. “Well, if she wanted to be here when I get my own house, she shouldn’t have fucking died!”

I pause for a moment as I look her over. Hawk and Mr. Taylor have pulled into the driveway behind me, but Mr. Taylor is on the phone, delaying them. I use the moment to take in Wren. The strong-willed woman in front of me is actually a hurting little girl in stilettos. Her mom has never really come up in our brief conversations, so I’d never seen the far away hurt in her green eyes.

“Hey,” I say in what I hope is a soft, calming tone. “That cardinal is a male.” The urge to reach out and brush the tears from her lashes makes my palms itch and I curl my hands into fists. I can’t touch her. It’s forbidden unless I’m saving her life. And even then, there would be paperwork.

She lets out a giggle on an exhale and wipes her own tears. “I always knew that man who owned my favorite bodega and died last year would haunt me after the bagel incident.”

“Alright, let’s get the security show on the road,” Mr. Taylor says with a jovial clap as he and Hawk approach.

First stop is the garage code. It, like all the exterior doors, has two factored authentications to get in. We set up PINs for me and Wren that will unlock the garage door and the exterior doors of the house. The beauty of being anonymous is I can use my birthday, and nobody knows. A retina scan is also set up. It feels higher tech than it really is. Apple uses facial recognition on the average person’s iPhone. This isn’t much different. That fact doesn’t take away from it feeling like something out of Spy Kids.

With our eyeballs scanned and PIN codes entered, we have access to Wren’s new home. And, I guess, mine as well. It smells like wood polish and something sharply herbaceous. Wren, carrying Angelica in her cage, rushes through the front door. I had gotten a brief glimpse of the place last week, but it’s finished now and we’re the only ones in it.

Hawk and Mr. Taylor remain on the front doorstep while Wren spins around in the foyer and I stand just inside. I can’t help but smile at Wren as she runs Angelica from room to room on the first floor. I follow at a slower pace behind them, watching her explain each room to her bird.

“My room,” Angelica says.

“It’s upstairs we can go loo-” Wren says but stops when she realizes her dad and Hawk aren’t following. “Where’s Dad?”

“On the doorstep,” I reply.

She stomps to the foyer again. “Why aren’t you inside?”

“I wanted you to invite us into your home,” Mr. Taylor says with a grin.

“Why? Are you two vampires? That would explain so much. Come in!”

“What would it explain?” Hawk asks in his quiet, even tone. But he goes unheard by Wren. Or at least unanswered.

“This is my library.” Wren gestures to the room to the left of the hallway. “It leads to the sunroom, and both rooms have access to the big patio and backyard.”

“Very well decorated,” Mr. Taylor praises his daughter. There are bookshelves lining the walls floor to ceiling and a ladder on wheels rests against the far shelves. In the center of one shelf is the rose from Beauty and the Beast, and I smirk under my mask. If Wren thinks she is Belle, then… well, she is kind of correct. I want to say she’s wrong, but having an eccentric inventor dad, separation from the normal townsfolk, a healthy reading habit, and a terrible track history with men kind of qualifies her as Belle. She just needs a Beast.

I turn to leave the room after Wren and my hip knocks into the Tiffany lamp on the small end table. Hawk’s quick reaction time saves me from the headache of Wren’s bitching by reaching out and steadying it. Wren and her dad are already in the living room, chattering about something, so they didn’t see me almost destroy her home in the first ten minutes of co-habitation.

“Watch your ass,” Hawk seethes before we follow the Taylors.

The living room is plush and inviting. The colors are warm and soft, and the couch looks like something I want to take daily naps in. There are, of course, more plants in this room. Leaves of a hanging plant trail along the entertainment stand.

“Is that an Xbox and a PlayStation?” I blurt.

Wren turns and smiles at me. “Yeah, I figured you would miss warfare, and I didn’t know which one played Call of Duty, so I got both.”

“You got those… for me?” I ask, ignoring her bad joke. It may be a small expense for Wren, but two of the newest gaming consoles is no small gift in the world of non billionaires. I haven’t gamed in what feels like decades but my fingers itch with excitement to play. I can’t help but gawk at Wren.

She shrugs, a blush staining her smooth skin. “I might enjoy gaming, too. I’ve never really tried it.”

Mr. Taylor clears his throat, breaking me out of my rising giddiness. I gotta get it together in front of the boss.

“Okay, so through here is the kitchen. Top of the line, but still cute, right?” Wren continues her tour.

The living room leads across the hall and into a brightly lit kitchen. Butcher block counters, a white farmhouse style sink, and stainless-steel appliances line the space. It’s clean and smells like lemons. I think of my mom, who doesn’t cook often, and how she would feel uncomfortable in a space like this. Mrs. Stewart, on the other hand, would say this isn’t a kitchen until it’s stained with tomato sauce and has cooked a Thanksgiving dinner.

Through the kitchen is a dining room with a built-in bar and access to the walk-in pantry. There’s a small, half bathroom off the kitchen. A smaller patio sits behind the garage and is visible through the double doors. It has a large grill and a smoker against the railing. My stomach almost rumbles just thinking about grilling out in the summer.

“And then upstairs are our bedrooms,” Wren says and leads us all back out of the kitchen and to the stairs. The wooden stairs creak slightly under the weight of all of us as we head upstairs. “On the left is my room, and on the right are both Jay and Angelica’s rooms.”

Her bedroom is the largest, featuring a huge wooden fourposter bed, a walk-in closet, a lavish en suite bathroom, and the smallest of the panic rooms. The room doesn’t smell like her yet, but I see her favorite products lined up on the dresser and in the bathroom. Sparrows from Mr. Taylor’s house were here yesterday, setting it all up for her.

I hadn’t been particularly excited to see my room, but I am now. Seeing Wren’s joy at her new space was infectious. “Show me my room,” I say and leave her bedroom.

“It’s the one on the right. You and Angelica share a bathroom between your rooms,” Wren says from behind me. She brings Angelica into her new room, and I hear her showing the bird around. My room is decorated in warm wood tones and soft ivory-colored fabrics. Navy blue sheets peek out from under the white comforter and the artwork on the wall above the bed is a watercolor of a blue jay. I smile at it before seeing the abomination that is the knitted balaclava she had made for me resting on the dresser. My smile falls into a grimace.

A Sparrow had placed new containers of the products I had in my room at Mr. Taylor’s on the counter. The bathroom is beautiful and has a huge, glass walled shower. Double sinks and a long cabinet cover one wall. I can see Wren and Angelica in the bird’s room through the adjacent door.

“She’s hiding,” Wren says to me as I emerge from the bathroom.

“Didn’t the vet say she would need time to adjust?” I ask and look down at the gray bird. Her feathers are puffed up, and she is hiding her face under a wing.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I was just hoping she’d be different.”

“She’ll get used to it,” I assure Wren, and stroke a finger down Angelica’s back. She bristles at the touch but doesn’t swear at me.

After a quick tour of the basement where there is a fantastic home gym, a shower, the laundry facilities, a panic room, and access to the garage, Hawk teaches us how to use the wall-com system. It looks and functions like an intercom, but it communicates with the Crow’s Nest in Mr. Taylor’s penthouse, not just within the house. With a button, we can speak directly to the Crows working the desk. And they can speak back to us.

Hawk explains how the panic rooms work for a bored-looking Wren. Neither one is very large, only built to fit three people at the maximum and one person in the one in her room. It opens with a PIN code and only Wren, me, Mr. Taylor, and Hawk have a code to get into them. I listen, but Wren is right to be disinterested. With all the other layers of security in the house, it’s unlikely a threat would get far enough onto the property to need a panic room.

Mr. Taylor takes us to lunch at a local restaurant to celebrate after the tour and security walk through. The staff and other patrons here in the suburbs are not as forgiving when they see two large masked men as New Yorkers have been. But Mr. Taylor requested a private room, so their terror is cut short when we are seated out of view.

Mr. Taylor orders champagne for the table and demands Hawk and I get the most expensive things on the menu. “You both do so much for our family, and I want to treat you.”

A fantastic steak and two glasses of champagne later, Mr. Taylor looks across the table at me with a serious expression. His green eyes are identical to Wren’s, though his lashes aren’t as full and fluttery. The sense of mischief that often lives in Wren’s eyes is missing, too, replaced with a serious expression. I set down my water and wait for whatever he’s about to launch at me. “Now, Blue Jay, this is the first time I’m not living under the same roof as my daughter.”

“Yes, sir,” I acknowledge, not exactly sure where this is going.

“You are a man, and she is a beautiful young woman,” Mr. Taylor states. My stomach lurches at the implications.

“Oh, my god, Dad,” Wren snarls. “He’s my bodyguard! And if you were so worried, you could fire him… no offense, Jay.”

I spare her only a glance before returning to my eye contact with Mr. Taylor. “Sir, I know the job I’ve been assigned to. Nowhere does it include taking advantage of your trust. Or hers.”

“I’m right here,” Wren mutters.

“I know the anonymity of this job prevents you from knowing much about me, but I can assure you I did not fight overseas for the freedom, rights, and safety of our country just to steal that from your daughter,” I say in a low, serious tone.

Mr. Taylor’s stern expression is one that could easily make anyone sweat through their shirt. It remains for a good five heart beats before a smile curves his lips. “Good,” he says and leans back in his chair. “Is anyone up for dessert?”

“Dad, are you kidding me?” Wren seethes.

“I thought the chocolate cake sounded good,” Mr. Taylor continues.

“Shut the hell up about dessert for a second,” Wren says and holds up a hand. “Did you really just give my bodyguard a lecture about not touching me?”

“I did. Now, chocolate cake- yes or no?” Mr. Taylor asks, looking at Hawk and me.

“You know my answer is yes, Geoffrey,” Hawk says.

“Sure,” I say.

“Ugh, okay, fine. I want mine with vanilla ice cream,” Wren says and crosses her arms over her chest.

****

Later, when Mr. Taylor and Hawk left the house, Wren spent the afternoon reading to Angelica. She hoped it would coax the bird out of hiding with a taste of normalcy. I don’t see Wren until late in the evening when she calls me down for a frozen pizza she made in the new oven. I had finished sending Mom money to pay the bookies when she came to get me from my room.

Something about her looks different. The lighting in the kitchen is warm hued. Maybe it’s cooler at the penthouse.

“Lunch was so big I didn’t think I’d get hungry. But I figured if I was hungry then you were, too,” she says and gestures to the freshly cut pepperoni pizza on the counter. “Eat up.”

“Thank you,” I say and we both reach for a slice.

We both lean against the counter and chew in silence. I take a moment to notice she’s in pajamas. That’s what is different about her. She’s in pajamas and not wearing any makeup. I’ve never seen her in her pajamas before. Her legs are bare underneath her baby blue cotton sleep shorts and the matching tank top does very little to hide the shape of her breasts. I swallow the pizza hard and look away. While her nipples aren’t hard, I can see where the fullness of her breasts come to a point, and it’s almost too much for me to see without ogling her. Her skin is clear and dewy, like she’d maybe put on lotion before coming down for a late-night snack.

We chat a little. Small talk only, and I check in on Angelica’s progress. But most of what she says flies through my brain without sticking. I process almost none of it. I’m too distracted by her long eyelashes and almost invisible freckles. She’s beautiful. I’d always known she was pretty. I’d be an idiot not to see it. But here in the moonlight, eating cheap pizza, while talking about how she’s planning to care for a beloved pet, she’s breathtakingly beautiful. If she was just another girl and not the daughter of a paranoid billionaire, she would surely have her pick of any man she met. Though, any man would be lucky to have a woman who could brute force her way to as much independence as she has in her situation.

If she was just another girl and I was just another guy, she’d never choose me to see her like this.

chapter fourteen

Wren

It takes less than seventy-two hours before we have a nudity situation. It’s my fault, I guess. The door to Angelica’s side of the bathroom is open when I go to give her breakfast. She’s asleep on her mostly covered perch when I go in, so I say nothing to her. Her water is still full from last night, but she needs her breakfast. I am quietly dishing out her food when the shower starts. The sun has just started to rise and thin rays shine through the frosted glass bathroom window… directly onto the naked ass of Jay. I didn’t mean to see him. I only turned in reaction to the sound. Seeing him undressed was not my intention.

But there he is, all smooth, pert ass cheeks and a broad, muscular back. His head is hanging tiredly between his shoulders, so I can’t see his face as he reaches a hand into the shower to test the water. His entire arm is covered in tattoos. What I imagine is called a full sleeve flows up from his wrist to his shoulder. I can’t see the intricacies of it, but I can tell I was right to assume the ink I saw on his neck is part of one tattoo. It’s entirely black ink, and it seems to move with the muscles in his arm as he- oh my god. His yawn is loud and startles me back to reality. He steps into the shower, his hand still wrapped around his cock, and pulls the shower door shut.

My body flushes with heat and shame and arousal and embarrassment. He has a beautiful body. I knew it before I saw him naked- all those muscles and all that confidence. But seeing it bare is an entirely different experience. I know it’s wrong to see him like this without his consent. I know I should leave. But I can’t stop watching. I move to the small cabinet of bird supplies that offers a better view into the partially open bathroom door and pretend to rifle through it. I’ve been starving for any information about the man who lives in my house and here I am getting a very different sort of education.

He strokes his cock slowly from base to head with a little twist of his wrist at the tip. I can’t see much through the foggy glass of the shower doors, but I can see enough. He tips his head back to get his hair wet. His hair is short cropped and looks maybe light brown or dark blond. It’s hard to tell under the water. I can’t see his face and that makes me angrier than I thought it would. A low, soft moan echoes from the shower, and I almost gasp in reaction. Does he moan throughout or just when he finishes? He keeps stroking, so he must not have orgasmed. My mouth waters and I swallow. He lets out another quiet sound as his hand, not stroking his cock, reaches down to his balls.

“Fuck,” he huffs out in a sharp breath.

I cross my legs to put pressure on the growing and throbbing need in my core. I didn’t expect to be turned on by a Jay. But the man in the shower isn’t Jay, he’s a real person. Not the highly paid, anonymous bodyguard. This is the man under the mask. I’m not turned on by Jay. I’m turned on by this stranger.

This stranger who gives a whispered grunt as his hand speeds up and rocks his hips as he comes. The moan he lets out at climax is long and raspy, like he’s holding back. He’s only holding back so I don’t hear him. I’m the only other person in the house. The only other person around to hear him moan as he paints the shower with his come.

It’s not until he shampoos his hair that I realize I need to leave. I close the bird supply cabinet with a soft click and practically run back to my room. My body still feels hot and achy, and I grab my clothes I had picked out and rush for my bathroom. Jay had the right idea. A quick orgasm before we leave for the park is entirely necessary. With shaking hands, I strip off my now damp sleep shorts and panties and sink two fingers inside. I don’t even take the time to remove my shirt or start the shower. I use my palm to grind on my clit as I pump my fingers once, twice, three times before I’m coming into my hand. Now, I’m sweating and I want more. Not from my own hand. I want a man to fuck me. For a split second, I miss Maxwell simply because he had a cock for me to ride.

With heaving breaths, I turn on the shower, finish stripping, and step in. I don’t mind the cold water as I wait for it to heat. It cools my heated skin just a little and I shiver and moan under the water. As soon as the water heats to a tolerable temperature, I take the shower head from its latch and bring the head down to spray directly on my clit. I bite back a moan as I adjust the flow’s pressure to be just right. There’s a seat for shaving in the cold tile wall, and I lift my foot onto it to get better access to my pussy. The water on my clit feels amazing, but I feel empty. Two fingers return to my throbbing pussy and I fuck myself senseless. The best orgasms come when I’m rough and unrelenting. I imagine it would be the same with a man if I could find a man willing to be rough with me. I wonder if Jay would be rough. With those enormous hands spreading me open and his deep voice moaning in my ear. With my eyes closed, I can picture what it would be like. He would turn me around so I can’t see his face and he would grip me hard around the waist as he fucked me in snapping thrusts. I move my hand in the rhythm I think he would use. With a hard bite to my lip, I struggle to stifle the moan that breaks through my silence as I come hard. Hard enough to see stars when I open my eyes again. I blink back the starbursts and swear I see movement in the bathroom.

I still.

In my haste to get into the shower, I’d left the bathroom door open. I struggle to remember if I shut my bedroom door. Did Jay just walk in on me masturbating after I’d just done the same thing to him? The thought makes me almost laugh. I would feel scandalized, but again, it’s my fault.

I shower quickly and exit to hear my phone alarm going off. I’d forgotten to turn off my last chance, no shower or breakfast alarm before I went to feed Angelica. Before getting dressed and putting my wet hair up into a bun, I switch it off. My door is closed, so the shadow I saw must have been a figment of my post orgasmic imagination. I dress in a pair of pale sage linen capris and an ivory lace top, going for modest and demure. Downstairs, I find Jay in the kitchen. He is dressed in his usual uniform and mask, and I wonder if his hair is still wet under the black spandex. I bet it dries tousled. The crisp scent of his soap fills my nose as I pass by him.

“Good morning. You smell nice,” I say breezily.

“Good morning. And thank you,” he says casually.

The sound of his moans echo in my brain and I almost drop my thermos as I approach the coffee machine.

“I made coffee for us to take.”

“Um, thank you,” I say and fill my stainless travel mug.

“Your alarm to feed Angelica was going off. Did you have time to feed her?” he asks and leans against the counter.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t hear it. But yeah, I fed her,” I say and do my best to make casual eye contact.

“Yeah, the shower was running, so I figured,” he says with a shrug. His blue eyes flick down my body before returning to my face. He lifts his mask just enough to take a sip of his coffee, and I watch his throat bob as he swallows before the black spandex is refitted over his sharp jaw.

“Okay, well the birding group meets at eight so we should get going,” I chirp and grab my bag and the lemon tart I made yesterday.

The short drive to the park is silent except for our yawns. There is a bus from a local senior center and a few cars in the parking lot already. My stomach flutters with nerves as I get out. The plastic wrap covering the lemon tart on a cute floral patterned platter rustles in my hands. It’s silly, but I want these people to welcome me into their group. Half of the reason I moved here is for the opportunity to be near wild birds. These people are the closest to experts in the area and I want them to teach me their birding methods.

I hear Jay’s long inhale as he steadies himself to scare the ever-loving daylights out of a bunch of senior citizens. “Stay behind me and maybe they won’t be so scared,” I tell him with a quick glance. He’s holding a coffee mug and what looks like a leather-bound sketchbook.

“Sure, so if they get startled and pull out a gun, you’ll get shot first and I have time to run away,” Jay quips back.

“You think they have guns?” I ask warily.

“I don’t know, but that lady with the walker looks like she’s ready for anything,” Jay says as we approach the loosely gathered group in the same pavilion as last time. They’re all holding little paper cups of what smells like cheap coffee that was distributed from the metal carafe on a table.

“Hello birders!” I greet them happily.

“Not you again,” grouses the old lady with the walker Jay had pointed out just moments before.

“Marjorie,” a man near her scolds halfheartedly.

“I’m sorry about our last meeting. To make up for it, I brought a lemon tart!” I say brightly and set the dessert down on the picnic table and remove the plastic wrap.

“We’re diabetics. That’ll kill us,” one woman says in an unwelcoming tone. That wasn’t listed in the information section on the Facebook group page.

“And I’m a vegan,” another man says.

A few snorts of laughter are hidden behind coffee cups.

I pick my lemon tart back up from the table. Murder and moral boundary crossing aren’t on my agenda today. Well, no more boundary crossings. I cap myself at once a day. A vision of Jay’s peachy ass floats before my eyes and I blink it away.

“Leave it!” someone shouts.

I slowly set the tart back on the table and look around. Jay touches the small of my back lightly as if to say we should leave. I continue anyway. “I would love to join your birding group. Like I said last time I met you all, I’m new to the area and love birds.”

“We don’t need a tart and a bank robber with ragweed allergies,” Marjorie says. Her eyes are a sharp gray and match her tightly curled hair. A soft pink lipstick is carefully painted on her lips and a blush stains her cheeks. Her makeup and hair are expertly applied, and all the women gathered around her have watered-down and clumsy versions of her look. It’s then I realize I’m looking into the judgy eyes of a geriatric It Girl.

“I took Claritin,” Jay supplies next to me.

“And I can bring muffins next week if you don’t like tarts,” I say, knowing full well this bitch had just called me a tart.

“Blueberry,” a man calls out from somewhere behind Marjorie.

“With streusel topping,” I add in agreement.

“Alright, you can stay,” Marjorie says with a bored flutter of her lashes and a dismissive wave of her veiny hand.

“Thank you,” I say with a bright grin. “Where do we begin?”

Birdwatching is as independent as a group activity could be. Everyone is silent as they meander through the park’s paved paths and quietly point out birds they see. Some stay near the pavilion and some venture through the entire park, everyone with little binoculars around their necks and bird books in hand. Jay and I walk the entire park and stick near one man named Frank who kindly whispers names of the birds we see. I scribble notes in my bird journal as we go to make entries for later. We see birds and deer and squirrels with more frequency than I thought possible outside of a Disney movie.

When we get back to the pavilion, the group is packing up to leave. My tart plate is empty when we get back, and I smile. Diabetics, my ass.

“Damn, I wanted a piece,” Jay says as he plops down on the picnic table seat.

“I have another at home,” I inform him with a proud smile.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises casually as he leans back against the table and takes a plastic bag of trail mix out of his pocket.

Ignoring the returned fluttering, albeit more southern than before, I sit next to him and hold out my hand like a cup. “Give me some. I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“I’m your bodyguard, not your snack bitch,” he mutters as he pours some into my hand, anyway.

“I’ll ask Dad to give you a raise so you can be both,” I say and take out my bird journal.

I make entries for each of the birds we saw this morning. Robin, sparrow, house finch, blue jay, house wren, and a goldfinch all get pages. As I work, using my phone to look up facts and writing them in my journal, I notice how quiet Jay is. I enjoy the sound of the birds in the trees and the very distant sound of traffic.

After a few minutes, I think he’s asleep on the job. But, I look up to see him drawing in the notebook he’d been carrying earlier. I can’t see what’s on the page, but his electric blue eyes are focused on the paper as he works. His large hand is curled around a pencil and graphite stains his fingertips. I watch as he uses his finger to rub the page. Maybe I’ll get him sketching supplies. 

“What are you drawing?” I ask, breaking our silence.

He startles only slightly as he looks up at me. He shows me his drawing. It’s a pretty good depiction of the rhododendron bush next to us. The one that houses the robin’s nest. It’s a simple sketch, and he’s been drawing for as long as I’ve been writing in my journal. There’s no way that’s all he has. “What else is there?” I ask.

He snorts a laugh and turns to the previous page. I gasp in horror and outrage. It’s a picture of me. “I was going to get it framed for you,” he says. “Didn’t you just have a birthday?”

The picture shows me hunched over the table, about forty-seven chins, multiple hairy warts, and drool coming out of my mouth. He’s talented, I’ll give him that. Art is supposed to invoke emotion, and this piece made me livid.

“I’m going to kill you,” I grumble and look away from the paper.

“That’s funny because I have all the weapons,” Jay says and pulls the sketchbook back to him.

“I’ll lock myself in the panic room,” I say petulantly.

“Good.” He returns to his drawing.

Probably twenty minutes later, I’m ready to leave. I move to snap my journal shut, but Jay’s hand grips my entire thigh under the table to still me. There’s a bird eating out of his other hand. It’s small with a white and tan body and a black head. In Jay’s hand is his trail mix and the bird is eating out of his palm as if he’s a bird feeder.

We are silent and as still as statues as the little bird continues to eat and look at us. My phone is still in my hand from my most recent Google search, so I open the camera app and discreetly take a picture of Blue Jay feeding a little bird. It’s not one I’d seen earlier this morning, so I need to ask Frank what it is next week.

Part of me is mad he gets this experience, but the other part of me knows this is probably because he doesn’t look like a human all covered up like he is. He probably looks more like a boulder or a tree stump to the bird. I smile as I watch. Jay’s eyes are wide as he watches the bird eat all his shelled sunflower seeds and attempt a few halved peanuts. It pecks at a raisin and one of the M&M’s I hadn’t picked out earlier before giving Jay a little curious look and then flying off.

“That was so cool,” Jay says and dumps the rest of his handful of trail mix into the grass. “Send that picture to me. I want to show my mom.”

“Your mom?” I question as I do as he asked.

“Yes, I have a mom,” he scoffs as he pulls out a hand sanitizer from his never-ending cargo pants pocket.

“You’ve never mentioned her before,” I say as we pack up.

“We haven’t really talked before,” Jay replies. He’s right. It feels strangely like I know him well and don’t know him at all at the same time.

“I guess since we’re allowed to be besties, we should start talking about our families,” I say as we approach the car.

“Wren, we’re allowed to have small talk,” Jay reminds me.

I let out a sigh. “Maybe I don’t know what small talk is.”

“About three giant steps below how you talk to Gemma.”

I giggle and drive us home. 

chapter fifteen

Wren

A quiet Friday morning finds me baking my very first loaf of bread. Sunshine drenches the kitchen as I wait for the alarm to signal the end of the baking time. I hum and water the hanging pots of herbs above the sink. The smell of baking bread and the sounds of instrumental music playing quietly in a sunny kitchen are the exact vision I had for my home. Happiness bubbles in my chest but quickly pops like freshly poured soda when I realize I feel a tinge of loneliness within the happiness.

Putting away the little copper watering can, I look out the window into the yard. Still no birds. I frown, but pause when my eyes catch on Jay. He’s in the backyard, pulling weeds from one of my garden beds. Shirtless. I almost choke on my tongue as I jump to heave my hips onto the counter to get a better view out the window.

Jay’s wardrobe has changed since moving in with me. When we aren’t going anywhere, he dresses comfortably in sweats or basketball shorts and t-shirts. It was a shock the first time I saw him in pajama pants and a white undershirt, but I’ve grown more used to the visual. He, of course, still wears his mask. But the casual wear in the house is a new element. I wonder if he needed written permission from my dad or Hawk to wear pajamas in the house. Now, in blue athletic shorts that hit him mid thigh, no shirt, Nike shoes, and his usual black balaclava, he is a startling sight.

The sun is bright on his sweaty back as he reaches and pulls weeds from the dirt and places them into a wheelbarrow. He seems relaxed as he works. I didn’t ask him to pull weeds, so this is his own choice of activity. I can’t say I’m upset, as pulling weeds is objectively the worst part of gardening. And I’m certainly not upset to see his glistening muscles shift and move under his tattooed skin. My mouth waters and I suddenly want to lick the sweat that slides down his spine. He sits back and lifts his mask with one hand while the other dirt covered hand braces him on the grass behind him. He tilts his head back with his eyes closed like he’s savoring the airflow under the heat of his mask. At this angle, I can’t see the uncovered portion of his face, but I can see sweat dripping down his neck as he breathes.

Should I bring him lemonade? A glass of water?

I pour him a glass of ice water and realize I can smell something burning. Oh shit, the bread! I run to the oven and open it to billowing smoke. With a scream, I close the door, panic rising. I’m going to burn down my house before I even celebrate a month of living here! The smoke alarm blares at the exact moment I look over at my phone on the counter and see I never hit start on the thirty-minute timer.

A voice is shouting through the intercoms, but I can’t understand it over the sound of the smoke detector and my heartbeat. Jay comes flying into the room, his blue eyes wild and searching under his mask as he takes in the smoke and the sounds. I point to the oven, wide eyed and terrified. He runs at me, scoops me up around the waist and practically throws me toward the foyer. The voice is still blaring through the intercom and Jay jams the button and shouts. “It’s the oven. Give me a minute before you call!”

Jay then sprints over to the cabinet under the sink and retrieves the fire extinguisher. He turns off the oven, preps the extinguisher, and opens the door to spray the charred loaf of bread. The fire is out in seconds. He shuts the door and, sweaty chest heaving, returns to the intercom. “No fire, I’ve handled it.”

I’m standing stock still where Jay dropped me, watching in terror. I haven’t moved an inch. The smoke detectors stop their shrill beeping at Jay’s dismissal to the Crows at headquarters.

“Are you alright?” he asks in an authoritative tone. He looks me over head to toe before grabbing my hands to see if they were burned.

I pull my hands back with a jerk. “I- I almost burned down my house.”

“With a reaction time like yours? Yeah, I guess so,” Jay sighs. “What were you even doing, just standing there?”

“I panicked.”

He looks at me for a long moment before turning with his hands on his bare hips to look at the oven. The smoke is still thick in the air, but it’s no longer billowing from the oven. Jay waves a hand in front of his face and coughs.

“Stinky bitches!” Angelica squawks as she lands on my shoulder. She gives a dramatic, fake cough.

“Open the windows, Wren,” Jay says, a softness to his tone.

“Naked Jay,” Angelica croons.

“I’m not- I’m not naked!”

“No, but you’re dressed like a slut,” I say and look him over.

“Shlut!” Angelica repeats as I open the kitchen window.

A pink blush stains his skin just above his mask. “It’s hot out there.”

“In here, too.” I point to the oven.

Jay chuckles. He uses an oven mitt to pull out the loaf pan of ruined bread and sets it on the counter. “Looks great,” he says as the foam from the fire extinguisher drips off and onto the counter with a slap.

I groan and cover my face. Angelica uses a taloned foot to soothe my hair. “There, there. Dumb bitch.”

“Angelica, you’re a shit emotional support bird,” Jay scoffs.

****

After airing out the house and cleaning the oven, I have limited time to get ready for my date with Grey Potter. I don’t want to go on this date. But I also know I’d just been moping about having exhausted the approved dating pool. I could feel two things at once.

Jay and I leave the house, wave to the neighbors, and make it to my dad’s place with only a few minutes before Grey is scheduled to pick me up. Dad and Hawk are still at work, so the house is empty other than the quiet Sparrows and the Crows in the security room.

We wait silently and awkwardly in the sitting room. Jay pulls a granola bar out of his pocket and tears into it.

“You know, you’re allowed to eat actual food.”

“Oh, is your little date going to buy me dinner?” Jay is sarcastic, but his question makes me feel bad.

“I would buy you dinner if you were hungry.”

“I’m too old for you, but thanks.” He gives me a wink and bites the rest of the bar.

“How old are you?” I ask. My head tilts as I take him in fully. He has some fine lines around his eyes, but I don’t think he could be more than mid thirties.

“Older than you.”

“Jay.”

“Thirty-four.”

I nod, trying to play it cool. But that little sip of information made me realize how parched I was. It was like getting up in the middle of the night after an evening of drinking and salty foods to take a sip of water, only to then chug until I’m breathless and dripping water from my chin.

“When is your birthday?”

“Wren, that’s personal information.”

“What’s your zodiac sign?”

“Taurus.”

“No wonder you haven’t quit yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tauruses are stubborn. You’re too stubborn to quit.”

Jay nods in agreement, but a shine of amusement in his eyes lets me know he’s about to turn the conversation around. “You’ve also stopped trying to get me to quit.”

My heart leaps a little in recognition. He’s right. I haven’t bullied him since we moved. “That can be rectified.”

“Why did you stop?” His eyes narrow in amused intensity.

“You look good with your shirt off in the garden,” I deadpan.

He laughs and breaks the eye contact we’d been maintaining as the doorbell rings.

I’m not ready. For the date or for analyzing my relationship with Jay. I press a hand to my stomach to quell the weird twirling feeling there.

“Butterflies?” Jay asks, aghast.

“Dread.”

I hear a Crow and a Sparrow answering the door but Jay’s eyes are on me and I can’t move. He looks concerned and unsure.

“Call it off then,” Jay suggests in a whisper just before Grey is shown into the room.

I ignore Jay and stand with a smile when Grey comes in. His hair is even taller than at my party and I fight to stifle a nervous laugh.

“Grey, it’s nice to see you,” I greet him.

“Wren, you look lovely.” He kisses my cheek. His lips are dry and cold. Gross. “I’ve got reservations for us at a nice little place. I, um, does he—”

“Oh, Jay? Yeah, he comes with us,” I say and wave a dismissive hand to my bodyguard.

Grey pastes on an awkward smile, but takes my hand and leads me to the door. He prattles on about the restaurant and the wine menu, and I chirp back at all the right places. In his hired car, I notice he is handsome if I can ignore his hair. He has sharp features and kind, soft eyes. His nervousness around me is endearing and I find myself smiling at his little jokes.

At the restaurant, he lets me order the wine and appetizer. Few of my previous dates allowed such a gesture. It even gives me the opportunity to offer a glass to Jay, who is sitting next to me at our partially set four top table. He looks shocked at my gesture and shakes his head wordlessly with a point to his water.

“So, how is life in the suburbs?” Grey asks with a smirk.

“It’s been great,” I reply. “I really love my neighborhood and my house is exactly what I dreamed of.”

“I don’t know how you survive out there. It seems absolutely… dismal to not have the luxury our lives in the city provide,” Grey says with a self-satisfied flick of his unmoving hair.

“Hm, I’ve found it’s not the city that provides the luxury we experience, but our dad’s careers.” While my tone was sarcastic, my point is entirely correct.

Grey looks at me like he doesn’t understand what I said.

We enjoy some more small talk about our families over our appetizer and wine. Grey is nice, but boring. Between our meal courses, it’s his niceness that convinces me to simply enjoy the date for what it is. Grey and I have traveled to many of the same places and have enjoyed similar experiences abroad. If anything, he would be a fun travel friend if not a boyfriend.

“You know, I’ve been a friend of Maxwell’s since our time in school,” Grey says casually over our main courses.

My heart doesn’t dip at the mention of my ex. Truly, our circles had to have overlapped at some point, and I am expecting him to know Maxwell in some capacity. “Oh?” Is all I can think to say.

“Yeah,” Grey says and puts down his silverware. He wipes his mouth on his cloth napkin and looks around us, ignoring Jay.

“He told me a little about you when I told him we had this date planned.”

Now my stomach dips a little. I sip my wine to clear the sour taste in my mouth. “Hopefully all good. Maxwell and I have known each other since we were kids.”

“I’m willing to make a deal with you,” Grey says. That awkwardness and nervousness from earlier have receded just enough I can see a sharpness in his eyes now. A focus on the topic at hand like this was a business deal and not a date.

Next to me, Jay breaks out of his still as a statue stoicism to give a long sigh. He is quiet enough that Grey likely doesn’t hear him, but I certainly do. I kick his booted foot under the table with my stiletto. With ninja like speed, he traps my foot against the leg of his chair and holds it there so I can’t kick him again.

Grey smiles at me from across the table, and I smile back. “A deal?” I question with a soft laugh.

“Yes. If you promise to get me a place in your dad’s business, preferably the board, I am prepared to promise that I’ll smack you around a bit. Get rough with you.”

I had been discreetly trying to pull my foot from Jay’s hold under the table, but now my heel falls to the floor and I stop yanking. “What?”

“He told me you wanted it rough in the bedroom. And I can bruise you up plenty,” Grey explains, as if he’s describing his plan to further economic growth in business. “If you want, we can get it in writing. I’ll knock you around and you can tell your dad—”

“Grey,” I whisper, completely still.

I can’t believe what he is saying. It is so far from what I want it doesn’t even seem real. Apart from the initial disappointment, I feel nothing.

“You see, my dad’s business depends on your dad’s contracts. I believe in order to inherit my family’s business and take it to the next step, I need to be a part of a bigger venture,” Grey continues, completely unaware of the fact that I shut down.

Jay’s hold on my foot tightens before he releases me, but I don’t move. I hear him mutter into his earpiece, asking for a Crow to come pick us up. For not the first time, I feel a sense of solidarity with Jay. I feel like he is on my side.

Dad explained when I was a teen many people were going to want to be around me simply because of my money and business connections. He said it didn’t make them bad people, but it made them bad friends. He taught me if a person showed me their hand early, then I needed to listen. And I am listening to Grey. He fooled me with that awkward and sweet act earlier. And maybe it is genuine, but his self-importance and greed overshadow those more positive attributes. How unfortunate.

“No,” I say simply and stand up. I place the napkin from my lap on the table and smooth my dress.

And for the second time in as many dates, I leave the restaurant before dessert.

chapter sixteen

Wren

Saturday morning on the patio is quiet and dewy. I have a knitted shawl wrapped around my shoulders while I sip a steamy mug of coffee. I can hear birds in the distance, but the feeders full of seeds, dried mealworms, and nuts remain untouched. Trying not to pout at the lack of feathered visitors, I continue to read my book. The smell of fresh soil fills the large fenced yard, promising a day of yard work, and the morning chill lazily creeps its way out.

I hear a shuffling sound and a yawn as Jay makes his way to the kitchen. He pours a mug and joins me at the patio table. “Good morning,” he greets in a sleep gruff voice.

“Good morning.”

“You’re up early,” he states and lifts his mask to take a sip of his coffee. I see the curve of his dusky rose colored plush bottom lip and quickly avert my eyes until he’s covered back up. Every time he drinks or eats, I’m like a Regency Era man seeing an ankle.

“Mm,” I hum dismissively.

“Did you eat? I can make some eggs,” Jay offers, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” I reply and return to my book. I hadn’t eaten, but the thought of food isn’t appealing to me this morning. I would rather engage entirely in escapism to avoid thinking about my terrible date with Grey last night.

Jay leaves me on the patio while he cooks. I hear him listening to some sort of podcast while he works in the kitchen. The faint rumble of multiple men speaking floats out to me. Angelica even flies in from her current favorite perch in the sunroom and asks him for a snack. He must agree because I hear her call him a “good big boy” before flying back to the sunroom. I smile at her antics. Ever since she came out of hiding in her room, I’ve had to lessen her food at her meal times because she always asks Jay for snacks and he always gives her one. She’s braver this week and is loving the sunroom. It overlooks the garden and much of the yard. It gets the best morning sunlight, and I sat in there most mornings with her, but today I felt compelled to sit on the patio.

When Jay returns, it’s with two plates of food. He sets one down in front of me and then pulls cutlery rolled in a paper towel out of the pocket of his gray sweatpants. “I know you said no, but you get hangry and I don’t feel like dealing with it.”

“Thank you,” I say, not feeling like arguing with him either.

We eat in companionable silence. He had made me scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese and a slice of heavily buttered toast. Store-bought bread, unfortunately, since the oven incident yesterday. When we finish eating, I take our plates back in and bring out the carafe of coffee. I find him relaxed in his chair, one sweatpant clad ankle resting on his knee and a book in his hands. It’s the size of a mass market paperback and the front cover is folded back. He’s about halfway through the book, so the spine is broken. I gasp when I see how he’s treating the book.

“What?” he asks, looking around for the threat.

“You are breaking that book!”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, unfolding it to show me.

“The spine! You’ve killed it!”

He rolls his eyes and relaxes back into his chair.

“Don’t you dare touch my books with your aggressive, meaty fists.”

He cracks the knuckles on said meaty fists.

The blue hood of his sweatshirt covers his head, and he slips his free hand in his front pocket as he returns to his reading. He looks comfortable and I again smell his soap and laundry detergent. I wonder if I could discreetly take one of his more broken in sweatshirts for my own.

We sit in more companionable silence until a bird finally comes to land on a feeder. I see it land out of the corner of my eye and I almost drop my book. Jay needs to see this, so I reach out and grab his large shoulder. He follows my line of sight to see the little brown sparrow standing on the wooden feeder. It nibbles twice at the seeds and I couldn’t be happier at this moment. Finally, a bird! It had been days of waiting and here one is. This is the moment I’d bought my house for. To be surrounded by a quiet garden and wild birds. It is perf—

“Woof woof! Bark bark! Fuck off!” Angelica screeches from the sunroom window.

The little sparrow startles and flies off.

“Angelica!” I scold.

“Fucking hate birds,” Angelica scoffs, and I can hear the indignant flutter of her wings.

Jay explodes with laughter. It’s a husky, loud, and infuriatingly contagious sound. He clutches his stomach as he guffaws until tears stream into his mask.

Angry tears pour from my eyes despite the huffs of laughter that keep escaping my lips. I’m a mess of emotions. On the one hand, I can finally say it isn’t my fault that no birds are coming to the yard, but on the other hand I don’t know how to fix the issue. It was kind of funny to hear Angelica scaring off the birds, and nice to hear Jay laugh like that, but I am still upset.

“I’m sorry, that was—” Jay stops and clears his throat to a more sober tone. “That was really funny. I’m sorry.”

I grab my empty coffee cup and book and stand up. “I’m going to do some more planting this morning. Levi is picking us up at six. We’re staying local and visiting an art show.”

“You sure?” Jay asks, his expression now completely serious.

“Yes, we’re going to an art exhibit.”

“No, I mean, are you sure you want to go after last night?”

“Levi is a very different man from Grey,” I say with a shrug. “I can’t complain about the men my dad chooses for me and then refuse to go out with new ones.”

Jay tilts his head as if to say “If you say so” before returning to his book.

****

Levi picks me and Jay up in his own vehicle. Levi’s dad works for a marketing company my dad hired last year. It’s a smaller business and does well, but isn’t a Fortune 500. Levi’s car is a top of the line electric vehicle and he beams proudly as I buckle into the passenger seat.

“Nice car,” I say because it’s expected.

“Thanks, I got her earlier this month.” Levi beams.

I find it nice to be picked up in a car rather than a limo or with a driver service. It feels different to see Levi driving the car to our date. It’s something I read about in books or see on TV. Except for the massive bodyguard folded into the back seat. Every time he moves, I feel his knees press into the back of my seat. I want to reach behind me and smack his legs, but I don’t want to break the illusion that Levi and I are alone on this date.

The art exhibit isn’t far from my house and I wonder if Levi did a lot of research or if he is from the area. It seems like an event someone would have to be local to know about.

“Are you from the around here?” I ask as we park the car.

It’s an outdoor exhibit, and everyone is parked in tidy rows in a grassy field. I can see the glow of twinkling lights in the distance as the sun begins to set. The area smells like freshly mowed grass and pine trees. Jay stifles a sneeze behind me.

“I’m not, but I have family around here,” Levi explains. I feel special knowing Levi had researched this date.

Jay sneezes again and Levi blesses him and then looks at me. He leans down to mutter, “Is he going to follow us everywhere we go?”

I nod and rummage through my purse. “Yes, he goes everywhere I go.” Locating the travel bottle of allergy medicine, I pass it back to Jay without looking at him. Jay’s warm fingers squeeze mine and seem to linger longer than necessary as he takes the bottle of pills.

Levi looks unsure as he considers the hulking, masked bodyguard, but then looks back down at me and smiles. “Alright, let’s go see some art.”

The art exhibit is run by an art center and features local artists, many of whom were amateurs and had taken a class at the center. I’ve been to many art shows in New York. Most of them by well-known artists who had their art bought by millionaires before the night was over. This is different. These are middle-class people who took classes and are showing off their art to family and friends. It is the best art show I’ve ever seen. No pretentiousness, no ego. Just people and their art. The refreshments are laid out on a long table and still in plastic clamshell containers from Costco.

“Do you like art?” I ask Levi as we move from one painting a woman did of her children to a sculpture made of metal an older man made.

“I love it. I’m more into music, though,” he says.

“Oh? What kind? Do you play an instrument?”

“I play guitar in a band, actually. We do a sort of pop punk, rock reimagining. Think of the old stuff like My Chemical Romance and, like, Blink-182.”

Behind me, Jay made a sound like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Old?” he wheezes.

I ignore him.

“That sounds so cool! I’ll have to come see you play,” I say to Levi.

“Absolutely.”

“Gemma, my best friend, would love it, too,” I say conversationally as we move to the next art piece. It’s glazed stoneware pottery, and I look at a set of coffee mugs.

“Gemma Cox, right?” Levi asks.

“Yup.”

“I saw her at your party. I didn’t realize you two were friends,” Levi says and shoves his hands in his dark jean pockets.

I talk to the artist and offer her a hundred dollars for her coffee mugs. They’re clearly handmade but made with care and love for the craft. The blue glaze she used reminds me of the color of the robin’s eggs I saw at the park. My new favorite color. Her husband and three small children are there supporting her art and she looks back at them with wide eyes when I offer her money for her work. I feel like I should offer more, but I don’t want to be obvious. Instead, I let her wrap up the mugs in newspaper and plastic bags for me to take home. I jot down her number so I can contact her later about a full set of crockery.

I make Jay carry our new mugs and Levi and I move to the next art display.

“So, tell me more about your family. I only met them briefly at the party,” I say to Levi once we sit at a wooden picnic table and sip some fruit punch from paper cups.

He’s sweet when he describes his parents and younger sister. Clearly, he loves his family and respects his parents. All good signs. My attraction to Levi isn’t strong, but he’s nice, respectful, and took me on a pretty cool date. I wonder if my bad dating history is tainting my ability to be attracted to him. Like maybe my heart is trying to protect itself from further pain by pretending not to be attracted to Levi.

We laugh and talk about some of his recent concerts, and I tell him about Angelica. The date is going great and I’m thinking about inviting him to spend the night to explore a further connection. I reach for his hand as we walk through the art displays under the twinkling lights and star strewn sky and he grins at me when our fingers touch.

A man is showing off his leather creations at a table near the end of the art show. He has a stack of leather bound journals, each with designs embossed and branded into the covers. One catches my eye immediately. It’s a rich, dark brown with a bird embossed on the cover in gold. A blue jay.

“Do you sell your art?” I ask the man with a huge smile on my face.

“I do, usually at craft fairs or online. Do you see one you like?” the man asks, his mustache twitching around his own smile.

“This one,” I say and point to the notebook with the blue jay. I look back at my own Blue Jay and see him not paying attention to what I’m buying, but watching the surrounding people.

“I can part with this one for fifty,” the man says brightly.

“Sold!” I give him money, and he wraps it in brown paper and hands it to me with his business card tucked inside.

Jay’s hand reaches out for the parcel and he adds it to the bag with the mugs. I don’t think he saw what I bought because his eyes are still scanning the crowd.

“I didn’t know I was taking you shopping,” Levi jokes.

“Me neither!” I laugh. “I guess now I have my house, I feel the need to fill it with cool stuff.”

The rows of art displays end and we circle back to head for the parking lot.

“I had a lot of fun,” I say to Levi and look at him through my lashes.

“Me, too.”

“Would you like to come over for coffee or a glass of wine?” I ask. It was kind of awkward. I’d never invited a man back to my home before. But the thrill of getting to ask was exhilarating.

Levi smiled shyly and rubbed the back of his neck as we approached his car. “Sure.”

On the ride back to my place, he played me a few of his band’s songs and I truly enjoyed them. “So, you don’t want to go into business with your dad?”

“Nah,” he replies as we turn onto my street. “I’m not interested in business.”

This makes my stomach flutter with excitement. Levi isn’t about to ask me to hook him up with my dad’s business. This is the first date I think I’ve ever had where that didn’t happen. I feel better about asking him to come over now. The only missing piece is a physical attraction, but I am sure I can find something to be compatible with.

We pull into my driveway, and he turns to me as he puts the car into park. I hear Jay unbuckle behind me and mutter our return to the Crows with his earpiece.

“My band doesn’t have an agent right now, and to do that we need visibility,” Levi says as we get out of the car.

“Does your dad do any of your marketing?” I ask casually as I open the door with my code and my scanned retina. I realized belatedly this has the potential to scare men off. It thankfully doesn’t scare off Levi, though.

“No,” Levi says as he looks around my foyer. “I was hoping you could maybe give me Gemma’s number?”

“Gemma?” I ask as I pull two wineglasses from the cabinet. Levi leans against the doorway and watches me in the kitchen.

I hear Jay behind me, setting the bag of purchases from the art show on the dining room table. It’s a quiet thunk and rustle of the bag, like he’s trying to be as invisible as possible. I find it hard not to notice him.

“Yeah, do you think she’d be interested?” Levi asks.

I pull a white wine out of the wine cooler. Red is more romantic, but I don’t want to have stained lips and teeth if I’m going to be kissing Levi.

“Hm, if she’s in town, she might post on Instagram that she’s going to be there,” I say and open the wine bottle. “She’s done that before.”

“No, like… do you think she’d be interested in me?” Levi asks eagerly.

I freeze with my hands about to pour a glass of wine. “What?”

“Is she seeing anyone?”

Jay emerges from the dark dining room, his eyes fierce and set on Levi. I’m still frozen in disbelief when Jay grabs Levi around the biceps and hauls him to the door. Levi is tall, maybe an inch shorter than the hulking Jay, but Jay drags him to the door like a naughty toddler.

“Ow! What the fuck, dude?” Levi swears at Jay as they disappear around the corner.

Jay growls something in return, but I can’t make it out. The door slams shut and Jay comes back around the corner into the kitchen alone. Embarrassment fills me and I feel my face flaming. This Jay has been on three dates with me with three different men and has watched every single one of them end in disaster. He must think I’m the most pathetic excuse for a woman. I had invited Levi into my home with the pretty obvious intention of sleeping with him and he asked me for my best friend’s phone number.

“I—” Jay says, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

“No.”

“Wren,” he starts again, but I shake my head.

I take a stuttering breath in. The sound of my choked breath clues me into my impeding tears. I can’t let Jay see me cry over a boy. And really, I’m not crying over the guy, I’m crying over the embarrassment and frustration.

Jay’s eyes are sad and pitying as I grab the open bottle of wine and push past him to the stairs. I can’t stand the expression, so I say nothing else.

chapter seventeen

Wren

“Lemonade!” a little voice shouts out as Jay and I come back from getting breakfast. We haven’t spoken about my date with Levi last night, but Jay didn’t give me a hard time about eating a brownie for breakfast, so I know he’s still pitying me.

“Is that a real lemonade stand?” I ask as we get out of my car.

“As opposed to an imaginary one? I’d say so.”

“I’ve never seen one before!”

“Ta-da,” Jay snarks and gestures to the four little kids standing around a folding table laden with pitchers.

The stand is placed in the grassy part of the cul-de-sac out in front of Jack’s house. He’s the only neighbor I met before I moved in, and he said he had two kids. Some of these are probably his. All four of them are waving at me and I wave back. There’s a posterboard at their feet with childlike lettering declaring “lemonaid for a trampline $2.”

“Let’s get some lemonade,” Jay says.

“I don’t have any small bills. I don’t think they will have change,” I say and follow him down the driveway.

Jay reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “I have singles.”

“Ooh, bodyguard and sugar daddy,” I tease as I struggle to match his stride.

Jay only shoots me an annoyed look before we approach the kids. They’ve all gone silent as we stand in front of them. They’re staring at Jay warily.

“Hi, I’m Wren and this is Jay,” I say as kindly as I can.

“Are you a ninja?” a little boy with striking blue-green eyes asks.

“Waylon, don’t talk to strangers,” another boy, blond, and probably a few years older, says and grabs the smaller one’s hand. He looks at us through lowered brows like only a wary older brother could.

“I’m not a ninja,” Jay replies, his voice slower and softer than usual.

“What are you then?” a little blonde girl asks. She has purple bubble gum stuck to her chin like she’d blown a bubble and part of it stuck there when it popped.

“I’m her bodyguard,” Jay says and points to me.

“Wike a army guy?” Little Waylon asks despite his big brother’s arm tugging.

“Yup,” Jay says and puts four dollars on the table. “And we’d like two lemonades, please.”

The sticky blonde girl pours the pitcher of lemonade while the older boy holds the cups still on the table. Their combined concentration is endearing and I smile as I watch seeds, half a lemon, water, and a few melting ice cubes plop into the disposable plastic cup.

“You’re saving up to get a trampoline?” I ask as the littlest child, a girl in messy braids, pulls clover out of the grass next to the table.

“Yeah,” the older boy says. “My dad says we can get one if we save up enough for two emergency room co-pays.”

“Do you want a garnish?” bubblegum girl asks.

“Um, yes, please,” I say, not knowing what could possibly garnish a lemonade.

The clover out of the sticky fist of the toddler is the garnish. I grin as they hand me an absolute abomination of a refreshment. I would buy every family on this street four trampolines each to avoid drinking this lemonade. Jay, on the other hand, lifts his mask and chugs the lemonade and spits a few seeds and a clover back into the cup. Squeals of laughter from the children tell me his gross action was the correct one.

“Delicious,” Jay says and puts his mask back down as a woman comes out of a house and calls out a greeting.

“Hi new neighbors!” she says as she approaches.

“Hi,” Jay and I echo.

“I’m Jennifer, Willow and Bella’s mom,” she says and points to the little girls before holding out a hand to shake. “Emerson and Waylon are Jack’s kids. You met him already.”

I shake her hand and say, “I’m Wren and this is my bodyguard, Jay.”

“It’s lovely to meet you. Oh, and I love what you’ve done to the landscaping of your house! Every time the crew was there, I’d check to see what they added. Love the rose bushes by the gate. It’s a great touch,” Jennifer says happily.

I thank her for her compliment and tell her about the peonies in the backyard, which she loves. But as I’m speaking, the kids run away and distribute water guns amongst themselves. The older boy, Emerson, hands Waylon a gun and takes off, running after the girls.

“It was nice chatting with you. I have to get the girls’ bags ready for swim lessons,” Jennifer says and waves before calling to the girls a five minute warning.

“Do you see that?” Jay asks and points to little Waylon. Waylon can barely hold up the huge water gun and can’t reach the trigger. His face is screwed up in concentration and he’s shouting for his brother to wait for him. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Before I can say anything, Jay is jogging over to the little kid and asking for his gun. Jay crouches down and shows Waylon how to hold the gun and helps him get a better grip on the trigger. After he gets the grip down, Jay shows him how to walk with the gun so he won’t be heard by the other kids. Waylon takes to the lesson seriously and adapts to the same posture Jay has before his brother comes around the corner of the house. Waylon’s tongue is sticking through the corner of his mouth as he stealthily approaches his brother and shoots. The water hits him square in the back.

The brothers scream back and forth over whether or not they were on the same team before Waylon turns to Jay to thank him. Jay straightens up and salutes the tiny child before spinning on his heel and returning to me.

“I have a feeling militarizing the neighborhood kids could be frowned upon in some circles.”

“What?” Jay asks. “I didn’t like that the bigger kids had the advantage.”

“Were you a small child?” I ask as we head back to the house. I toss the full cup of lemonade into the trash bin.

“Are you kidding?” Jay laughs. “I was bigger than my teachers by third grade.”

“A gentle giant.”

“I wouldn’t say gentle. I got in my fair share of fights,” Jay says. “It was in detention with the art teacher in middle school that I started drawing.”

“Oh, speaking of drawing,” I say and rush to the bag from the art show. I pull out the wrapped parcel and hand it to Jay.

His eyebrows shoot up as he looks from me to the bundle. “What’s this?”

“I got it for you last night,” I say and bite my lip.

“You were on a date with another man and you were thinking of me?” he teases, but his eyes are serious as he unwraps the paper.

“I guess so.” I shuffle my feet awkwardly. Talking about Levi is the last thing I want to do.

He holds the leather-bound notebook in his hand and strokes his fingers over the gold embossed blue jay. He’s silent as he opens it and runs his fingers over the handcrafted leather book.

“Do you like it?” My voice is a whisper.

His electric blue eyes shoot up to me and all I see is intensity. I can’t decipher the exact emotion there. All I know is that it’s sharp and draws me in like a spell. He takes the two steps to me and wraps me in his arms. The hand not holding the notebook smooths over my hair at the back of my head as he holds me. “I love it, thank you.”

I know I should step back and cut the embrace off. But every single atom in my being is hyper focused on the feel of his warm, hard body engulfing mine. My ear is pressed against his chest, and I can hear his heartbeat and his breathing. My eyes flutter shut and I feel something that was wrapped tightly in my chest unravel in the best way. I bite back an unexpected whimper that accompanies the intense feelings of comfort and … relief. The scent of him fills my lungs as I take a slow, steadying breath. I could stay here all day. I want to stay here all day.

His voice rumbles in his chest against my ear. “You alright?”

I want to say “Yes, I’m okay now that you’re holding me.” But all I can do is nod and try not to choke on the lump in my throat.

Jay pulls away from me, but first places a muffled, masked kiss on the top of my head. The gesture has the tears that were threatening to appear, springing to my eyes. I turn away from him and say, “I’m going to spend the day alone in the garden.”

****

I can’t sleep. With a sigh, I slide out of bed and tiptoe to Angelica’s room. I had been reading to her before bed and I left my book in there. Moonlight slants across the hallway from Jay’s slightly open door. He has a mask hanging on the doorknob in case of nighttime emergencies. I’ve seen it there before. The moonlight is so bright I have to look in his room. His curtains are open, revealing the huge full moon shining directly in.

The view is breathtaking. The full moon over the trees, a slice of the garden outside, and the smooth, muscled back of my bodyguard. He’s on his stomach, his navy sheets bunched around his legs, and his back bare for me to stare at. His face is turned away from me, and his arms are wrapped around his pillow, blocking most of his head. The steady rise and fall of his body as he breathes is hypnotizing. For the second time, I am seeing him as the man under the mask and not Blue Jay. I don’t know his name, but I know he has a secret fondness for sweet coffees, he can draw with alarming accuracy, he’s better at weeding the garden than I am, he has expressive eyes, he’s kind to children, he didn’t run away when I was terrible to him, and he is always on my side.

The train wreck of my date with Levi had me forgetting what Jay said to me just before. He brought up my lack of bullying since we moved. He was entirely right, and I knew it as soon as he said it. It’s a shocking realization. The only break from bullying Jays I’d taken was when I had the flu. And even then, I made Angelica peck the Jay of the week’s hands when he went to care for her.

I stopped being mean to this Jay because I… don’t want him to leave. This one is different. This one gives everything I deal him right back to me and takes it all in stride. It can’t be that I like him. No. It has to be because training a new Jay and getting used to a new person in the house would be exhausting. That has to be it. Getting used to a new Jay’s habits, preferences, and living style would be annoying. That makes more sense. It can’t be because this one- this one- is special to me.

I certainly haven’t been nice to him because I like his sense of humor. Or because I enjoy his company. Or because I have an acute awareness of his body when he is around me. It really can’t be because his eyes on me give me butterflies everywhere. Or because his deep toned laugh feels like a warm hug. And it really, really-oh god-really can’t be because he’s the first person I’ve ever felt truly safe with in body and mind.

I cannot have feelings for my bodyguard.

chapter eighteen

Wren

Thursday is Jay’s day off. A Crow will come spend the day with me until Dad and Hawk come for dinner. I’ve insisted Jay borrow my car when he takes the day off rather than getting an Uber. But it’s early now and Jay is still having breakfast. He’s wearing a pair of brand new looking jeans and a vintage wash, tight, blue t-shirt. It’s stretched around his biceps and when he reaches into a cabinet for a coffee mug, the worn material does little to hide his abs. When he is relaxed, his stomach is soft and not defined, but when he is stretching or otherwise engaging his muscles, the definition and strength are undeniable.

“Hey,” I say and clear my throat as I enter the kitchen from the patio.

“Hey,” he says back in his sleepy voice.

“What time is a Crow getting here?”

He looks at his watch. “In an hour. You gonna be alright?”

I give a petulant look and cross my arms over my pajama clad chest. “You think I can’t go a day without you?”

“Isn’t it weird to have a strange man in your house?” he asks, but his eyes are crinkled at the sides like he’s smiling.

I swallow and look down, surprised by his smile. “Yeah, it totally is.”

Jay snorts and goes back to making his scrambled eggs and warming up some sausage he batch made earlier in the week. I refill my coffee and head back out to the patio to watch over the garden. Jay joins me with the matching mug I bought at the craft show and his breakfast a few minutes later. 

When I purchased the set at the craft show, I hadn’t precisely pictured the mugs belonging to me and Jay. There had simply been two in the same color and I couldn’t buy only one. But over the past week, Jay and I have each claimed one mug. Mine has a slight thumb indentation right where mine goes on the handle. It’s as if the artist had held the mug the same way I do while it was still in clay form. While to some it would seem like an imperfection, to me it’s like the mug was made specifically for me. The glaze on Jay’s mug had bubbled just the slightest on one side when it was in the kiln and the bursts of blue remind me of the flecks of silver in his eyes. While I didn’t intend for the mugs to be assigned to Jay and me, we have settled into the routine of choosing our mugs and drinking from them daily.

We most often have breakfast together on the patio and today is no exception. We’re both sipping our coffee and looking over the yard when a sparrow flutters down and lands on one of the bird feeders. I gasp. Both of us watch, transfixed, as a little brown sparrow digs his beak into the seeds with such ferocity that some goes spilling down to the grass. He turns and chirps up at the trees and then goes back to devouring the seeds. Two smaller sparrows join him on the rungs of the feeder and I could cry with excitement. The two smaller ones open their mouths and the bigger sparrow feeds them seeds.

Angelica is still up in her room as she was asleep when I’d gotten up. Now that she isn’t in the sunroom window to scare off the birds, they are comfortable to come and eat.

When they fly off, I turn to Jay. “Oh my gosh!” I shout and jump up from my seat. “We have birds!”

“We have birds!” Jay echoes and gets out of his chair.

I run down and look into the pan of the bird feeder and see the little empty space where the birds had eaten. Jumping up and down, I squeal out my excitement. Jay is next to me and he looks into the seed pan before his smiling eyes meet mine. Before I can tell myself not to, I jump and wrap my arms around his neck in a celebratory hug. He spins me around and laughs before setting me down. His laugh is deep and wonderful and I want to hear it again and again.

When he sets me down he’s still smiling but his eyes lose some of their crinkle and he blinks into a sad sort of look. We say nothing, but our hands are still on each other. Mine are resting on his shoulders and he’s stooped slightly to be within my reach with his hands on the dip of my waist. My stomach tightens and I feel a heated blush rise to my cheeks. It feels intimate despite us being far enough apart to be acceptable at a middle school dance. With only a limited window to see his expression, I can only try to decipher the look in his eyes. It’s sadness and… longing? Two feelings I am mirroring deep into my bones with a resounding ache.

“Jay—”

The doorbell startles us both.

“A Crow is here.” His voice is gruff as he pulls away from me. The space he vacated feels cold and spikey, and I have to shake my head to dispel the fog.

“Wait, Jay!” I call after him and run to catch him in the kitchen. “I made something for your mom.”

“My mom?” he asks and watches me pull a bundt cake out of the pantry. I have it on my nicest platter covered with plastic wrap.

“Yeah, you said you were spending the day with her, so I made this. Um, tell her I said hi,” I say and hand him the maraschino cherry bundt cake. “You said last week these cherries were her favorite candy and I saw the recipe online, so….”

His eyes have that same sad expression again.

I swallow nervously as I realize I might have just crossed a boundary by accident. I wince. “If you feel like she wouldn’t—”

“No, she’s going to love it. Thank you,” Jay says as the doorbell rings a second time.

He sets down the cake to answer the door. I hear the two men talk briefly before they both come into the kitchen. Jay picks up the cake, quirks his eyebrows at me as if to say “good luck,” and leaves me with this Crow.

“I’m not going anywhere today. Feel free to use the Xbox or whatever,” I dismiss before heading to see Angelica.

****

Jay comes home well after Dad and Hawk leave. Dinner with Dad and Hawk was nice and uneventful, consumed mostly with talk of upcoming charity events and donations I’ve planned. I’m in the library, reading and listening to music when Jay comes home. The Crow is hanging out in the living room, playing a game, and I hear him turn it off when Jay greets him. I feel kind of like a child whose parent just got home and is dismissing the babysitter. It’s not a great feeling as a twenty-five-year-old woman in her own home.

“Everything go okay?” Jay asks the Crow.

“Yeah, Mr. Taylor and Hawk came for dinner, and she stayed home all day,” the Crow replies.

“She asleep?”

“No, Daddy, I’m still awake. You have to read me a story and bring me a cup of warm milk,” I call out from the library.

I can’t see Jay roll his eyes and heave a gigantic sigh, but I know he does it. I just know.

“Alright, man, I’ll head out,” the Crow says, his voice tight with suppressed laughter.

Jay leans against the doorframe of the library and raises an eyebrow at me. “Where you a good girl for Uncle Crow?”

“Big Bitch!” Angelica croons when she realizes Jay is home.

“Angelica, were you a good girl?” Jay asks her fondly as she lands on his shoulder.

“Good girl,” Angelica says and makes a loud kissing sound.

Jay brings her back to her perch and hands her a treat from the bag I left on a bookshelf.

“How’s your mom?” I ask and put my book down.

“She’s alright,” he says after a few moments of silence. He’s not telling me everything.

“You’re hiding something. Is it identifiable or just difficult to talk about?”

He turns to me with what I can assume is a soft smile. He puts his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Both.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs and turns away from me, pausing when he sees the partially empty bookshelf.

“Oh, I made space for you to have a shelf,” I say and pick my book back up.

On the shelf are the three fantasy books he read and left in the living room. He touches the shelf with his fingertips. He slides his hand along the wood like it’s precious. It’s one shelf in a room of bookshelves. It’s barely anything. He bows his head before turning back to me. I quickly avert my eyes and focus down on my book.

“I was sick of finding them everywhere,” I lie.

“Wren—”

“Did your mom like the cake? It was a new recipe,” I say, changing the subject.

“She loved it. She shared it with her nurses.”

“Nurses?” I look up at him.

He nods and puts his hands back into his pockets. His eyes have that intense, unreadable expression he gets sometimes, and I know what he is feeling is so big and clear to him. But I’m not allowed that close. I’m not allowed to know what is making him feel so intensely.

“Well, I’m glad it was enjoyed,” I say and close my book. I stand up to get Angelica so we can go up to bed. I need to leave before I say or do something I’ll regret. Something that would get me into trouble.

As I pass Jay, he reaches out and catches me by my chin. His thumb presses just below my lip as he tips my face up to his. I gasp and look wide eyed up at him. “Hey,” he whispers. “Thank you. For the cake and the shelf. And the notebook.”

“Mhm.” It’s all I can manage to say with his hand on my face like this.

My eyes are fixed on his, and I hear him swallow. His eyes dip down to my lips and my core tightens with a yearning so fierce I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. When his eyes move away from mine, it frees me, and I take in his posture. His shoulders are pulled in and it’s like his body is consuming me. I feel the ghosting touch of his other hand on my elbow. I want him to pull me to him the rest of the way. I want to be entirely consumed by this man.

Angelica makes loud kissing sounds from her perch. Jay jerks his hand away from my face and steps back.

“Oh, Angelica,” I scold awkwardly, and reach for her. “It’s time for bed.”

I don’t look at Jay as I leave, but I hear him swear under his breath. On the stairs, I touch my face where his hand was. I feel hot and needy.

Aching for my bodyguard.

After putting Angelica to bed, I set out fresh water for her. I remember some seeds had been eaten today by the birds outside and I want to refill the feeders for the morning birds. I tiptoe downstairs and out the back door. Quietly, I open the storage container full of wild bird seed. The sound of pounding footsteps gets louder and louder before a breathless and shirtless Jay appears at the back door.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his mask crooked on his face.

“Feeding the birds!” I defend. “I’m allowed in my own backyard!”

His shoulders relax and he waves a hand dismissively before hiking up his red plaid pajama pants from where they were hanging on his hips. He turns and leaves me outside and I hear him rummaging in the pantry.

I fill the birdseed pans before going back in. “Why did you come flying down here? Did you think I was sneaking out or something?”

“I thought you were in your room and then I got the back door open notification and it scared me. I didn’t think you were sneaking out, it just… scared me,” he says, almost defeated.

“Oh, um, sorry, I guess,” I say and close the cabinet he had left open. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he echoes as I leave.

chapter nineteen

Wren

“Individuals detected on property. Wren to enter safe room, Blue Jay to engage.”

I jump awake at the sound of a man’s voice in my bedroom. I scream in alarm. Looking around, I see nobody in the dark room. Quickly switching on the bedside lamp, I scream, “Jay?”

“Repeat, individuals detected on property. Wren to enter safe room, Blue Jay to engage,” the bodiless male voice says again.

The intercoms.

I jump out of bed and run for the bedroom door. I need to get Angelica. There’s no way I’m going into a safe room without her. “Jay!” I shout again.

There’s no need to shout because he’s there. He has a gun in his hands, pointed down at the floor. He’s in his pajama pants, a white undershirt, the black balaclava, barefoot, and in a defensive stance that looks like a soldier’s muscle memory.

“Get back in your room!” he grits out as he looks down the hallway toward the stairs.

“No! Angelica!” I shout and try to push past him.

He growls.

“Please, Jay!”

“Go fast, stay away from windows,” he hisses as he moves to the side. He remains in the hallway, facing the stairs as I rush to Angelica’s room. She’s on her highest perch. Out of my reach.

“Blue Jay to engage,” she imitates the Crow on the intercom.

“Come down, we need to hide,” I say and hold out my arm for her.

“No.”

“There’s a bad guy here. I need you to come with me!”

She ruffles her feathers and hides under her wing at the screech of an alarm. I cover my ears at the offending sound and turn to see Jay backing into the room.

“Time’s up,” he says and grabs me by the elbow. He pulls me along and I can hear a small, tinny sound coming from his earpiece. “All doors should be locked,” he responds to it.

We walk down the hall quietly and quickly, but I can hear a door opening somewhere. My knees practically lock up at the sound. My entire body feels like electricity is coursing through me, making it difficult to manage around the shaking. The trembling in my legs is making it hard to walk, just like a nightmare. But this is real life.

“Fuck,” Jay whispers as we turn into my room. He hauls me to the safe room door and opens it. “Shut the door behind you.”

The room smells like new plastic and paint and metal. A blue tinged light flicks on overhead and two steps back has the backs of my knees hitting a shallow bench. I catch myself on the wall. My sweaty fingers slip on the metal and I sit down hard on the bench. The jarring movement has me coming to my senses.

All those times Dad insisted someone was going to kill me to get to him. All those years spent hidden away in a tower like Rapunzel. All that disdain for having a bodyguard and the resentment for the stifling presence. He was right that whole time.

I hear Jay mumble something into his earpiece before glancing back at the open safe room door. “Wren, shut the door,” he whispers. He stands poised with his gun extended toward the open bedroom door, ready to open fire to defend me.

Jay is right. In order for the safe room to operate as designed, I need to shut the door. I need to shut the door with him on the outside. But why, though? So he can get into a shoot off with the intruder? Without the immediate backup of Crows? No way. Not a chance.

It’s not even a thought I have time to consider. It’s all instinct and fear that drives me to step out of the safe room. I grab the back of Jay’s shirt at about the middle of his shoulders. The shirt is damp with sweat and plastered over the muscles of his back when I grip and tug him backward. He’s in a steady stance, but he moves back in order to not lose his aim at the door.

“Wha—”

I finally pull the door shut. With Jay inside. The little blue light, as bright as the one in the refrigerator, is all that illuminates the wide eyes of my bodyguard as he turns to face me. He flips the safety on and sets his gun on the bench now that he doesn’t need it.

The room is quiet, save for our ragged breathing. And the faint sound of orders being shouted into Jay’s earpiece.

I stare up at him, feeling out of control and terrified. His eyes are wide and bright with disbelief and shock as they bounce to all points on my face. Every time my chest heaves to pull in a breath, my braless breasts brush against his abdomen.

The continued shouts over the earpiece breaks the spell and Jay winces. “Copy that.”

He looks up at the ceiling of the little metal room and takes a long breath.

It’s then I realize I may have made a mistake. I was so scared to lose Jay I might have just gotten him in a position that would get him fired and I’d end up losing him, anyway.

I lift my fingers to my lips. “I’m so sorry. I—”

He rests his hands on the junction of my neck and shoulders and his thumbs stroke over my jaw. The words die on my lips. He shakes his head, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“She pulled me in, sir,” Jay says.

The room is so quiet and our breathing is slowing enough that I can now hear my dad’s voice clearly. “You were not hired to hide in the safe room with her!”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Jay says. His eyes are on mine again and I can see his irritation with me in the bright blue.

“Local police are arriving in thirty seconds,” a Crow says monotonously. “Two perpetrators are on the property.”

“How’d they get in?” Dad asks.

“The back door, sir,” the Crow replies.

My heart plummets and I close my eyes tight in a grimace. Something hard pushes against my forehead and I open my eyes to see Jay resting his forehead against mine. His eyes are closed as he takes one more deep, steadying breath.

“Oh no,” I whimper. It’s my fault. Someone almost attacked me and it was my fault.

“The perpetrators seem to be looking for valuables, sir,” the Crow says.

“Valuables?” Dad asks.

“Yes. They picked up the gaming consoles from the living room, a laptop from the library, and they’re pulling out the silverware now,” the Crow explains.

I pull back the slightest bit and look into Jay’s eyes. We both share a confused expression. If these people broke in to steal stuff and not hurt me, then who are they?

“Local police are on location,” the Crow says.

“Hawk and I are twenty minutes out,” Dad grumbles.

Everyone is silent as the police deal with the intruders. Dad and Hawk are on their way here and the Crows are monitoring from the cameras. Jay and I are listening for any movement outside the safe room, but the walls are so thick they’re practically sound proof. There could be gunfire in my bedroom and I’m not sure if we’d hear it in here.

My heart rate remains elevated, but here, in the safe room with Jay, I don’t feel unsafe. I feel protected. These intruders might not have been after me at all. Angelica is probably safe in her room, waiting for a calm down treat.

A few minutes pass and Jay backs away from me. The air in the panic room is stuffy and warm, but I still miss the heat of him so close. I wrap my arms around my ribcage. He leans against the wall and gently knocks his head against the metal.

“Jay, I—”

He holds up his hand to tell me to wait while he messes with the earpiece. Likely muting his line. He lowers his hand and looks at me. His eyes are sad as they rake over me. “Why?”

“I couldn’t stand—I didn’t want—do you know how hard it is to train a new Blue Jay?”

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. I’ll talk to my dad and Hawk. It’s my fault, not yours. You were doing your job, and I messed it up,” I ramble.

“They saw me get pulled in, they know,” Jay says.

I hug myself tighter, dreading the lecture from Dad and the disappointment from Hawk. Jay’s eyes fall, unbidden, to my chest. I see his lashes flutter as his eyes droop to half mast and then he blinks and looks away. I look down and see that my arms wrapped around my middle have pushed up my boobs, and both are about to pop out of my thin sleep camisole. Both areolas are even visible over the top of the light blue fabric like dusky pink half circles. I drop my arms and my erratic heartbeat turns to butterflies in my stomach. He was checking me out.

Jay likes my tits.

Well, that’s new. And exciting.

“Both perpetrators have been apprehended. Blue Jay, you will be needed by the police when Hawk lets you out. Wren will need to be escorted out by Hawk as they believe this to involve Blue Jay on a personal level,” Crow says in the monotone used by all staff.

Jay and I both stare bug eyed at each other.

“Me?”

“You?”

“Copy that,” Jay says into the earpiece.

“What did you do?” I whisper shout at him as I smack his chest.

“I- I have no clue! I have only told one person other than my mom about this job, not about you or your address. And he’s a cop!” Jay stammers and puts his hands on his hips.

“Where were you on your day off?”

“I was with my mom. I told you that. I took her to her treatment program, to dinner, the grocery store, and then brought her home. Nowhere in that time did I mention your name or where you live.”

I sigh. “I believe you.”

“Thank you. And… thank you for saving my life,” he says.

I make an awkward sound of dismissal.

“No, I know your intention was to save me from getting hurt.”

“Just didn’t want to have to train another Jay. The next one might chew loudly or hate birds.”

Jay’s eyes soften at the corners and I’m pretty sure he’s smiling. I roll my eyes and stomp my foot.

“Fine. You’re welcome.”

“Hawk and Mr. Taylor are on premises,” I hear the Crow announce.

I look Jay over, head to toe. “Prepare yourself. Your ass is about to be chapped.”

“Oh? Even though it’s your fault?”

“I’m his little girl and I can do no wrong.”

“Hm. Well, we’ll see.”

“It’s Hawk you’ll have to worry about,” I remind him as we stand side by side and face the door.

I hear Jay swallow hard as the door beeps and then opens.

Dad has me in his arms for a tight hug in a flash. Opening the door brings a huge relief as the swirl of cool air fills my lungs. Jay is rushed away to the cops and Hawk and Dad remain with me. Dad sits me on my bed while Hawk stands by the door, his hand resting lightly on his holster.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I insist.

“Someone broke in. You could have gotten hurt,” Dad says and examines me closely, as if inspecting a car for scratches.

“Well, I wasn’t hurt because of all the security protocols we have in place for this very reason.”

Dad shakes his head and sits down next to me on the bed. “I can’t remember the last time I was so scared. Well, actually, I can, and you’ll have to excuse me for my overreaction.”

I nod and sniffle back some tears. He’s talking about when my mom was murdered and the killer delivered him her body. The catalyst to his paranoia for my safety. He’d been telling me how scared he was about me moving out in ways that felt stifling and restrictive. But I wasn’t listening the way he needed.

“Ugh, Dad,” I huff and wipe my tears. “I was safe the whole time because of Jay and the safe room. It all worked. Our planning worked.”

“Except Blue Jay was supposed to engage with the intruders,” Dad snaps.

“Two against one?”

“He’s highly trained and highly paid to do this.”

“Dad, if someone is going to be coming after me to get to you, they will not be amateurs. It seems like these people were amateurs.”

“And he still hid.”

“No, I pulled him in, and you know it.”

Dad stands up and looks out the window. “I knew letting you two talk would change things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I grit through clenched teeth.

“It means I knew it would change how you behaved around each other,” Dad says and turns back to me. “I knew you’d get attached.”

“No,” I argue. “He’s my bodyguard, and his job is to keep me safe. Well, silly me for feeling safer with him around! I pulled him into the safe room because I knew with him in there with me, I was safe.”

Dad considers me for some time before he looks at Hawk. They exchange a wordless conversation with one glance.

“I think it would be best if you were assigned a new Blue Jay,” Dad says.

“No!” I shout and stand up.

Dad and Hawk watch me closely.

“No, please, I trust this one. He’s the first one I tolerate enough to stop being horrible to.”

Dad scoffs a disbelieving laugh, and Hawk’s eyebrows disappear in the top of his mask.

“You’ve been… nice to Blue Jay?” Hawk asks skeptically.

“I wouldn’t say nice, exactly,” I mumble.

“Ultimately, it’s going to be up to Safe House,” Hawk says to me and Dad. “Even if you both advocate against his removal, Bradley can still take him off the job or fire him.”

“I’ll talk to Bradley. It wasn’t Jay’s fault, I promise,” I say.

“You can try. But there’s no need,” Dad says and waves his hand. “I’ll talk to him. Now, pack a bag. You’re coming home for the night.”

chapter twenty

Wren

I’ve been back at Dad’s place for an hour and a half before I get restless. I’m in my old, mostly empty bedroom and the little clock reads two thirty-three in the morning. My second cup of chamomile tea is cold on my nightstand. I am without Jay and Angelica. A Crow is staying at my house to watch over the investigation and take care of her. It isn’t good to keep moving a bird like Angelica, especially just after a move and her finally coming out of hiding. She is safest at home.

I didn’t see Jay after he went to talk to the police, and Dad and Hawk whisked me away from my house. But as I flip and flop on my bed restlessly, I find myself wanting to see him and figure out what happened. I pick up my phone and text him.

Me: Hey are you up?

Jay: yeah, I finished with the police like an hour ago.

Me: you okay? What happened? Who even were they?

Jay: here, I’ll just come to your room.

I sit up just as there is a quiet knock on my door. My heart leaps in my chest as the door opens.

“Hi,” I say and bunch my blankets on my lap.

“Hey,” he says and shuts the door behind him.

I set my phone on the bedside table and scoot over so he can sit next to me. He slides into the bed, though he doesn’t cover up with my blankets. We both lean back against the headboard, and I watch him settle in. In the dim, rosy light of my bedside lamp, his eyelashes look almost gold.

“So, tell me what happened?” I nudge him with my knee.

He yawns. “Well, first you need to know some back story. My mom unfortunately had gambling problems and was involved with some bookies. She owes them a lot of money. It’s half the reason I took this job, actually.”

“Where were you when she got involved with them? Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I was deployed overseas. I didn’t know it was happening,” he defends.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t know.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “I know. I probably shouldn’t have said that even now, but I think I’m getting fired.”

“Dad and I will talk to Bradley and maybe you won’t. But go on with the story,” I say.

“She got involved with some bookies and I’ve been slowly paying them off with each paycheck. Well, I didn’t see them today when I dropped her at home. But they saw me in your fancy ass car. They followed me back home later and were hoping to steal the car and some other things. They had no clue I was working security or who you are. According to their statements, they only saw me coming and then Crow leaving. They didn’t know you were there or even noticed the masks on me and Crow.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “This is so dumb! The one night I forget to lock the back door and someone breaks in. Not because of my dad and his money, but because of you and your money!”

“Yeah, hilarious,” Jay grouses.

He’s wearing a new pair of pajamas and smells freshly showered. The scent of him is calming, grounding, and I feel the anxiety of the evening finally dissipate from my chest. I take in a slow breath.

“You alright?” he asks just above a whisper.

“Totally,” I say. “Though, can you maybe stay here?”

“I’m staying down the hall. I have a meeting with Safe House in the morning.”

“No, I mean, like, in my room?” I pick at a thread on my blanket and don’t look at him.

I hear him swallow, but he says nothing.

“I got really scared when they broke in and, well, you’re my bodyguard. I feel safer with you around.”

“Wren,” he exhales.

“Please?” I whisper, still not looking at him.

He doesn’t move or speak. I’m not entirely sure he’s even breathing. Finally, looking up at him, I find him staring at me with a furrow in his brow.

I scoot over even further on the bed so he has more room. “See, I’ll give you the bigger side of the bed.”

“Fine, only because I’m exhausted,” Jay says and reclines down next to me.

We wiggle and move as we settle into bed next to each other until we’re both under the covers and decidedly not touching. Jay moves to turn off the bedside lamp when my phone chimes. He glances at it.

“What’s Gemma texting you about so late?” he asks as he switches off the lamp.

“Give the phone to me. I told her some of what happened. She’s probably worried,” I say and hold out my hand.

“No, go to bed. She knows you’re safe.”

“Jay, she’s probably curious.”

Jay imitates a high-pitched voice with the Transatlantic accent Gemma and I love to use in our dramatic playing. “Oh darling, I’m ever so worried you chipped a nail while hiding in a closet with your handsome devil of a bodyguard!”

“Stop it,” I giggle and sit up.

“Were the intruders eligible bachelors? Did you ask them—oof—darling, did you ask them if they had any single friends?” Jay continues even after I scramble to grab my phone and elbow him in the stomach.

He knocks my phone out of my hand and I jump to straddle him to reach it now on the far end of the bedside table. He grunts in effort and lifts me by my hips so I’m hovering over his body and I can’t reach the phone.

“Stop,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of holding me in the air.

“Fine-uh, I’ll text her in the morning,” I groan. “Let me down.”

“Um,” he says, but doesn’t let me go. His eyes look calculating, like he’s thinking really hard about something.

“What’s wrong? Put me down,” I pout.

He doesn’t let go of me, even though I wiggle.

“Stop,” he says again.

He’s not letting me go, so I reach down and pinch his nipples. Hard. He yelps and drops me.

Directly onto his fully hard, pajama covered cock.

We both shout. Him in pain and me in shock.

I fly off of him and back onto my side of the bed. I don’t know what to say. It was the exact opposite of what I was expecting to happen.

“What the fuck? Why are you hard?” I whisper shout as he scrambles to sit up and get out of my bed.

His eyes are wild and wide as he holds his hands out, palms to me, as if I were attacking him. “I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t help it!”

“What was it? Pretending to be Gemma or…?”

“Your-your boobs.”

I look down. They’re covered and well behaved. “What about them?”

“I remembered how they looked… in the safe room when they almost came out of your shirt,” he grumbles.

“My boobs? You got turned on by your bosses boobs?”

He makes an indignant sound. “I wouldn’t say that you’re my boss.”

“Oh?” I say lightly and lift my top so I’m flashing him my tits. I don’t know why I did it, but they are out now. On full display for my bodyguard.

His bright blue eyes drop to my chest for a second before he closes them and tips his head back to the ceiling. A low groan of annoyance and desire emanates from his chest. The sound sends a thrum of arousal to my core. The attraction I feel for him isn’t entirely one sided and that knowledge had me wet.

“Sit back down,” I demand in a soft voice.

He does exactly what I tell him. He sits on the edge of my bed, his eyes still closed. His hands rest on his knees and he curls them into fists, gripping the cotton of his pajamas. I can see the bulge in his soft pants, and I know he’s still turned on. He could leave right now. He could decide this is inappropriate, that he isn’t interested in me. But he obeyed my command. He didn’t leave.

He wants this.

For a moment, we aren’t Wren and Jay, bodyguard and heiress. We are just a man and a woman with some insane chemistry in a dimly lit room in the middle of the night. Does he actually want this? Is he feeling the same way I am? Maybe it’s the tension reduction after our close call today. Maybe it’s some sort of trauma bond. But I don’t care. I want….

“I want you to open your eyes… if you want to,” I whisper as I stand in front of him and pull my light blue sleep camisole over my head. I give him the out, the option to deny his consent.

He opens his eyes, and I watch as his pupils dilate in reaction to the low light. Then he looks down at my breasts and the black of his pupils almost entirely overtakes the blue. My whole body feels feverish under his gaze. It’s forbidden, naughty. I feel myself trembling as I step closer to him. My thighs brush against his knees and he looks back up into my eyes. He tilts his head just the slightest bit, making me think he’s curious. Curious about what I’m going to ask him to do next. Curious about what I’m about to do to him.

“I want you to touch them,” I breathe.

His hands clench so tightly in his lap that I hear at least three knuckles crack. His brow creases and his eyes look like he’s… begging me. That warmth I had felt all over my body is now resting damply between my thighs. I am uncomfortably wet. So much so I am sure he’d be able to see it soaking through my thin cotton shorts if he looks.

Finally, his hands uncurl and he ghosts the lightest of touches over my skin on my arms and sides. He touches me so lightly it feels like a breath, a shadow. Not his large hands. I shiver and let out a little choked whimper.

I can’t see his mouth because of the mask, but I can tell it’s open as he gasps and brushes his fingertips over my nipples. His breath is loud and ragged in the room and I can feel warmth through the mask. I moan high in my throat and shiver again. It’s a pathetic, needy sound.

His hands, when they finally grab me, are hot and strong. After the light, ghosting touches, his skin feels like a scorching brand. He cups my breasts and squeezes. We both moan at the touch and my hands go to his mask. I want it gone. I want it off.

“No,” he rasps and twists his neck so my hands break their hold on the black fabric.

“Jay,” I whisper.

“Please,” he says with a shaking exhale.

“I need—”

“Wren, we can’t.” His hands drop from my breasts and land on his thighs.

Tears of frustration well up in my eyes and I whine, “Please, one kiss.”

“Fuck! Just one. It has to be only one,” he growls and reaches over for the little lamp. He switches it off so we’re entirely in the dark.

My heart is racing as he straightens back up. I can hear his uneven breathing as he struggles to maintain control. I appreciate his control, but I want him unchained. In fact, I want to be the one that unchains him.

But he’s right.

It has to be only one kiss. If I’m championing for him to keep his job tomorrow, I have to make sure we both survive tonight. He pulls me by my ass so I’m straddling him and we’re hip to hip. I can feel that hard length of him in his soft pants and I can tell it’s as big as the rest of him. I moan at the contact and I feel his cock twitch.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, and lift his mask up to his eyes.

His breath is hot on my face, and his hands are shaking on my hips. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was shaking in fear. But I’ve seen him ready to take on intruders to protect me. He isn’t scared. This is restraint.

When our lips touch, we both moan. It doesn’t remain a closed mouth kiss for more than a second. His tongue plunges in to touch mine in slow, deliberate strokes. Like he’s showing me how he’d fuck me. I grip the back of his neck with both of my hands and roll my hips against his. His deep, rumbling moan echoes in my mouth and I smile.

Just one kiss, he said. So I don’t unlatch from him as I writhe on his lap. My clit is swollen and when I rub against his hardness, it sends zings of pleasure through my entire body. I could come just like this.

Our lips and tongues never stop their sucking, licking, savoring war. His hands on my ass grip me so tight it almost hurts as he helps me dry hump him. And “dry” is a stretch of the definition as I am so wet the cotton of both of our pajamas is rubbing together in a sopping, sliding mess.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he whimpers low in his throat against my lips.

“Shut up and come in your pants,” I growl, but my voice cracks, showing my desperation.

He exhales on every downward thrusting movement of my hips and every one of those exhales comes with a guttural sound. I can tell he’s getting so close to coming just by his sounds. I want to drink in the noises he makes, so I pull away from his lips. His voice is naturally deep, but as he reaches his orgasm, it cracks and strains and I fucking love it.

He’s thrusting from below and feeling his muscles move and quiver has me seeing stars. I cry out, my body curling in on itself, and the only thing keeping me moving is his hands on me. He directs the movement and the speed now as I grip his neck. I rest my mouth on his jaw and let him whimper and moan in my ear.

“Fuck,” he moans. “I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” I whisper. “Give it to me.”

He gives two more thrusts before I feel a bloom of warm wetness between my legs, and he shudders out a long, choked moan. I catch the sound with another kiss. We said only one, but this one is to muffle the sound of his orgasm.

His chest heaves and his hands leave my body. I feel him lean over to turn the light back on. His mask is back in place, but I can see pink on his cheeks and his eyes are hooded and lust drunk. I commit the sight to memory.

With a smirk, I reach down and touch the combined wetness where we’re still touching. Lifting my fingers to my mouth, I suck them clean. His eyes flutter shut and he shudders in aftershocks of pleasure.

“You did so good for me,” I praise him.

His eyes flash with a lusty intensity.

“Mmhm,” I say and lick more come from my fingers. “You were made to come in your pants for me like a teenager. You’re delicious.”

“Fuck,” he says and rests his forehead against mine. Our breath mingles together even through his mask.

His mask.

He’s my bodyguard.

“I think it would be best if you went and slept in your room,” I resign and pull back.

He blinks some awareness back into existence. “Yeah, uh, yeah definitely. Wouldn’t want to accidentally wake up inside you or something.”

“That would be very detrimental to your job.”

He squints and makes a humming sound like he doesn’t agree. “You know, I have to disagree. Since you’re my boss and all that. Judging by how you soaked me just with some light touch, I’d say you’d enjoy it.”

I hop off his lap and go to my door. I open it with a flourish and gesture for him to leave.

He stands and pulls at his wet and sticky pajamas a little. “Are you feeling better now, Wren?”

I consider his question. “You know what? I am. Guess I just needed a good ride.”

He stops in the doorway to drop a masked kiss to the top of my head. “Glad to be of service.”

chapter twenty-one

Wren

“So, how was your weekend?” Gemma asks, her voice full of sarcasm as I sit in front of her in our usual seat at The Beanery. “Wait, no. Boys, sit together. I need to hold my best friend’s hand while she tells me about her terrible weekend.”

Jay and Lance share a look as they coordinate their seating to have their eyes on the doors, the crowd, and their employers. Once they settle, they both take twin sips of their coffees.

“Okay, spill.” Gemma’s hand is warm and soft over mine. 

I take a long, fortifying sip of a vanilla latte. I’d forgotten how good their drinks were here. “The weekend started off with a date. It was Grey Potter, you know the—”

“Jimmy Neutron hair, yes,” Gemma says, deadpan.

Jay snorts a laugh into his coffee and then excuses himself, patting the droplets of caramel away from his shirt.

“Right, that one. I had hoped for an interesting date. Anyone whose entire family has hair like a cartoon has to have a cool story,” I explain.

“You do not need to validate your choices of dates to me,” Gemma says with a palm held out. “I am Queen of Questionable Cock.”

I chance a glance at our bodyguards. Jay’s eyes are sweeping the cafe, but a slant of amusement touches the corners. Lance is also looking at everyone in the cafe, but his expression is pinched and almost sad. “Well, with your judgement behind me… he really only wanted a position on Dad’s board.”

“Ew,” Gemma grimaces and bites into her croissant.

“He offered a consolation though,” I sigh. “A little… deal.”

Gemma lowers her brows as she looks me over. “A deal.”

“He agreed to beat me during sex.”

“He what?!”

Even Lance is looking at Jay to get his reaction. I can’t see Jay’s expression, but Gemma pulls me by the hand to look at her.

“You tell a guy you want to get kinky in bed and he tells all his friends you want to be abused? Girl, that is not okay,” Gemma says, gripping my hand.

“I know.”

“No, like, that’s really not okay. I feel like we need to talk to Maxwell,” Gemma says and looks over at Lance and Jay again.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m done with all the guys in that scene,” I say and shake my head. “It also wasn’t my only date this weekend.”

“Oh no,” she sighs and leans back in her seat, still holding my hand.

“The second was Levi. He’s a musician and seemed so… normal. I mean, he is the most normal date I’ve ever had. He’s nice. He took me somewhere thoughtful, and he drove me himself. I even asked him over after. I was fully ready to sleep with this man.”

“But…”

“But he was more interested in getting your phone number,” I finish.

Gemma grimaces again and makes a sound of disgust. “That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.”

I shrug. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, but my name is attached to it, so it feels like I’m responsible,” Gemma says and rubs her thumb over my knuckles. “Babe, I love you to bits, and it hurts me to see you feeling lonely.”

“Lance, cover your ears,” I direct over to him.

“Why?”

“Because she’s going to say something dirty,” Gemma says.

“I’ve heard it all, little lady,” Lance defends. “Nothing you say could offend me.”

“Please,” I say with puppy dog eyes.

“Why does he get to hear it?” Lance grumbles and points to Jay.

“He already knows,” I say.

Jay kicks me under the table. The metal toe of his boot hits my shin and makes it throb painfully. I kick him back even harder.

Lance glares at me and covers his ears dutifully. I look back at Gemma, who has an expression on her face like she already knows what I’m about to say.

“Who started it?” Gemma asks looking between me and Jay.

Jay’s head tilts and his eyes narrow in warning.

“I think I did,” I say, ignoring his warning.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers, her eyes wide and a grin curling her lips.

I laugh and sip my cooling latte.

“Was it good?” she continues, with a hand up and blocking Jay’s view of her lips.

“It wasn’t full…” I look around to see if we were being heard. Nobody was looking at us besides our two glowering bodyguards. “It wasn’t full sex. We just made out and like humped each other.”

“Is that second base?” Gemma asks.

“I have literally no clue.”

“Well, I have to know. Is it big?” Gemma blocks Jay’s view as she asks.

I shake my head with a laugh.

“It’s not?!”

“I mean, I think it’s proportional? I didn’t see it!” I defend Jay’s “honor” with a laugh.

“You mean massive, because he’s massive,” Gemma says and forgets to cover her mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Jay mumbles. “I need to go to Safe House to fill out paperwork for the incident last night. Chug your coffee.”

“A lady never chugs,” Gemma says loudly and dramatically.

“Please, I’ve seen both of you suck down cocktails in seconds,” Jay grouses.

Gemma gives an outraged gasp, garnering attention from the surrounding people. “The gall of that one! Send him out to pasture and get yourself a new Blue Jay.”

I giggle and chug the rest of my room temperature latte.

“Can I uncover my ears yet?” Lance grunts.

“No,” Gemma says and turns back to me. “I’ll call you later, babe. I need more details.”

I kiss her cheek and stand up. Lance complains to Gemma about keeping his ears covered and Gemma snarks something back but I can’t hear her anymore. Jay walks just behind me to the door where a Crow has a car waiting.

“Drop me off at Safe House and then take Wren to Mr. Taylor’s for the afternoon,” Jay directs the Crow.

“Wait, no,” I say as my stomach lurches with sudden and intense anxiety.

“What do you mean? I could probably get you into your dad’s office, but if he’s in meetings, a Crow would have to wait with you,” Jay says.

“I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t want to be away from you,” I whisper so the Crow can’t hear me.

Jay shifts in his seat to face me more. His eyes are intense and questioning.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m feeling anxious. After what happened last night with the intruders and stuff,” I say and shrug it off as nothing. I know the threat is over and it wasn’t even a real threat to me to begin with. And the Crows are all trained in defense. But would one step into the line of fire? Maybe its because of our sexy encounter last night and simply I’m hooked on this man. Either way, I don’t want to leave his side.

“Don’t dismiss it,” he says and inches his hand closer to mine on the seat. His pinky brushes mine and the bit of contact has me feeling more grounded. “I didn’t know you were struggling.”

“I wasn’t until you said you were leaving me,” I whisper.

His eyes soften with understanding. “You’d be safe with the Crows.”

“Logically, I know that.” I sigh, trying to settle my nerves.

“Hey, Crow, we’re both going to Safe House,” Jay says to the driver.

Crow looks at me in the rearview mirror. “She’s not allowed in Safe House….”

“Yes, I am,” I defend, sounding more petulant than I intended. “I want to have a meeting with Bradley after last night. I need to let him know something important regarding my security.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Crow says. He clears his throat and looks back at Jay. “Since you haven’t done this before, I feel like I have to tell you she’s not allowed in your office.”

“She can meet with Bradley while I do my paperwork. I won’t be long,” Jay dismisses with a wave.

He settles back into the seat next to me and I chance a look up at him. He’s looking down at me and I feel a blush rise to my cheeks. We have discussed nothing about last night. We spoke a little last night about the scary parts, but the sexy parts remain undiscussed. It’s fine by me because what would I even say? Would I tell him I’m developing feelings for him? That would go over well. I don’t even know this guy’s name or what his face looks like.

But what I do know is I don’t want to be separated from him. I wouldn’t feel safe without him despite all qualifications of the person who takes his place. He put himself between me and a threat without a second thought. It’s what every Jay is trained to do but seeing it in action influenced me in a way I had not expected. And that was all without considering the sounds he made as he came in his pants under me.

A thrill runs through me as I process a little of last night. He listened to every one of my commands. He did everything I told him to, like a good little soldier. A laugh almost bubbles up as I realize he took every degrading comment I made when I was trying to get him to quit in stride because he likes it. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he knows he likes to be bossed around and degraded. I wonder what else I can get him to do.

With little thought of anything else, I pull out my phone and start researching ways to degrade and dominate my bodyguard. Putting Jay through hell has reached a new, sexy, and exciting level.

chapter twenty-two

Wren

Pulling up to Safe House, I lock my phone and slide out after Jay. The offices are on the top floors of the building, and we take a silent elevator ride with a few other men. Jay nods to each of them and they all greet him as Blue Jay. I look at each of them and wonder if they’ve been Jays before. Bradley and Dad told me I’d exhausted all of Safe House’s security personnel, so they likely had been Jays. I’m staring at them intently, trying to recognize their eyes and the shape of their brows, but I can’t place them. I’ve had so many Blue Jays over the years.

The elevator dings and we approach the reception desk. The young woman looks up at Jay and then me with an expression like she’s about to laugh.

“Oh, you’re here on official duty,” she chuckles. A light flirtation on her face gives away her total crush on Jay.

“Yeah, is Bradley in?” Jay asks her.

“He’s in meetings all morning. I can leave him a message?” She raises an eyebrow at Jay and bites her lower lip.

I cut in front of Jay and make direct eye contact with the receptionist. She is wearing an impressive set of lash extensions and I almost back down. She’s beautiful. “Can you tell Bradley that Wren Taylor is here for him?”

She smiles, knowing exactly who I am. “Sure, sweetie. He won’t get the message until he’s out of his current meeting, so make yourself comfortable.”

Jay takes me by the elbow and gently steers me to a quiet corner near a door away from the reception desk. We sit down and I grab one of the magazines on the table and cross my legs. I’m wearing a cute pink and tan tweed skirt today. I left little of my clothes at dad’s house and was at the mercy of my own procrastinated donation bag. Flipping through the magazine quickly, I look for one of Gemma’s campaigns.

“Wren,” Jay says on a breath.

“What?” I snip.

He chuckles quietly and rubs a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I pretend not to notice him and hold out the magazine spread of a perfume campaign Gemma did. Her big eyes and signature pout shine under the fluorescent lights. “Aha, here she is!” I wave the magazine at Jay and then toss it back onto the glass table.

“I think marking your territory by pissing on my shoes would be more effective than being a bitch to every woman we meet,” Jay says just above a whisper.

“Would that work?” I ask and uncross my legs to lean toward him. “Would that tell you and every other woman you’re mine?”

Jay swallows at my husky tone. His eyes jump to the security camera in the corner.

“Wren,” he warns.

I smile and lean back in my seat and pick up the magazine again. “Why am I not allowed in your office?”

“My identity is not anonymous in this building. I have things with my name on it in there,” he says as he adjusts himself in his seat.

“That girl knows your face?” I snap.

“She does.”

“And your name?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know anything else about you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hm.”

“She certainly doesn’t know what I sound like when I come.”

I pause. A jolt of adrenaline sparked in my chest and my clit simultaneously. “Good.”

Jay scoffs and stands up. “Okay, we can go to my office, but nobody can see you in there. I want to get this paperwork over with so we don’t spend all day in this building.”

He looks around before opening the door to a bland and liminal hallway. He leads me down to a wooden office door. There’s no nameplate on the door and I’m mildly disappointed. Jay opens the door and pushes me in before shutting it behind us. The lights flicker on with a buzz and he rushes to his desk.

“Don’t look at anything,” he says gruffly.

I sit in one of the two chairs that face his desk. I know Safe House Security serves other clients, ones that may see their bodyguard’s face, but it still feels foreign to be in his space like this. He has a bookshelf that is mostly empty against one wall and a window overlooking the city on another. I stand and move to the window as he prints out a paper from the printer next to his desk. He rummages around in a drawer and I see him pulling out a pen and a stapler. He’s working quickly to get this done, but I also hope he gets distracted enough so I can snoop around.

A scribble of a pen fills the room, and I look over his wide shoulder. He’s writing about the incident from yesterday. “You guys hand write these?”

“Yeah. The less we digitize, the better. It’s all scanned in and kept very private by our tech geniuses, but the initial reports are all on paper.”

That’s when I see it. In a messy pile of paperwork, what looks like a paycheck stub is sticking out.

exander. “Alexander?”

He whirls around in his seat, his knees knocking into mine and jostling me. “What?”

“Is that your name?”

“Middle.”

“Cute.”

“Thanks, I’ll let my mom know.”

“They put your middle name on paychecks?”

Jay turns and looks down at his pile of papers on his desk. He shuffles them together and hides his name entirely. “Last name comma first name middle name.”

“Interesting.”

A knock sounds at the door and I gasp, whirling as the door handle turns. Jay grabs me and shoves me under his desk. My head knocks against the edge of the desk and I hiss in pain as I kneel on the floor. It’s the kind of desk where there’s a filing cabinet on one side and a solid wall of wood on the back and other side, leaving only the one opening for the desk user to put their legs. It’s a cramped, dark space.

The door opens and a man’s voice greets, “Hey man, how are you? I heard there was an incident at the Taylors last night?”

“Yeah, it got handled by the local police,” Jay says and shifts in his office chair.

I’m kneeling on the floor, facing him, with his knees on either side of my head. I had set out to find ways to degrade him, but yet here I am, on the dusty floor, wearing his kneecaps as earmuffs. And not in a fun way.

My shoe is pinching me, so I shift as quietly as possible. Jay looks down briefly in reprimand.

“You know you don’t have to wear the mask here, right?” the guy chuckles.

“Oh, right. I—uh, forgot,” Jay says and I hear a whisper of fabric as he takes off the mask. He rolls his chair closer to his desk so I can’t look up and see his face. This movement also brings me closer to his spread thighs and his bulge.

“The worst part of the mask was the mask acne. I hated that thing,” the guy says, and it sounds like he’s leaning against one chair in front of Jay’s desk. That guy is a previous Jay. I wonder what got him to quit?

“It’s easy to manage. Use an antibacterial soap and tea tree oil in a moisturizer,” Jay says conversationally.

Well, since I’m down here on the dirty floor, I might as well torture Jay. I creep my fingers up his leg and I feel all of his muscles tighten in reaction. The guy says something, but I’m not listening. I’m watching Jay’s cock twitch in his pants.

“Yeah, one of the Crows was over while I was out and totally fucked over my streak,” Jay says, his voice calm despite the clenching of his muscles.

“I was wondering who was playing. He wasn’t using the mic,” the guy laughs.

“It was a C-Crow,” Jay stutters as I use my index finger to lightly draw a circle around his bulge. He jumps in his seat and uses his huge knee to press my head into the side of the cabinet. He has my head pinned and that only prevents me from biting him. Which I wasn’t doing. Though, that would have been a good idea.

I grip his thigh.

“Well, do you think you’ll play tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do. I h-have to meet with Bradley soon to d-discuss the incident and what we learned from it,” Jay says, his voice hitching. I have his junk in a firm grip under the desk. The warmth of his body and the hardening flesh under my palm have me wanting to clench my thighs together.

“Don’t stress, man,” the guy says, misunderstanding Jay’s stutter to mean he’s nervous. “What’s the worst he could do? Reassign you away from the demonic princess?”

I squeeze harder and Jay’s hand comes down to grip my wrist. His hand encircles my entire wrist, and he squeezes so hard I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I let go of his package and he loosens his hold on me. He doesn’t let go of my wrist. He holds it against his thigh.

“She’s not so bad,” Jay says and leans back in his seat. If my head wasn’t pinned, I’d be able to see his face. He’s teasing me. I use my free hand to wriggle up his pant leg and pinch his calf. “She just needs to be put in her place.”

The guy snorts. “I’d like to see the balls on the guy who dares.”

“I got permission to talk to her once we moved to the house, and she responds well to a firm hand,” Jay says and kicks at me under the desk. I pinch him harder.

“Who would have thought?” the guy chuckles. “She still with that Maxwell guy?”

“I would prefer not to gossip about my client, if you don’t mind,” Jay says firmly.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry, man,” the guy says, clearly chastised.

“It’s alright. It’s just that she’s been through a lot recently and I feel bad for the girl,” Jay replies. He had me in the first half before he made me mad with the second half. I don’t want his pity. I want him on his knees.

“Fair enough. Hey, I’ll leave you to your paperwork. See you online tonight?”

“Sure,” Jay says. “Shut the door on your way out. I need to focus.”

The door shuts and I hear Jay putting the mask back on. I shove the wheeled chair back and he lets it roll, lifting his feet. I crawl out from under the desk.

“You know the movie The Ring where the girl crawls out of the TV? That’s what you look like right now,” Jay says as he straightens his mask.

I shove his chest and his eyes spark with amusement. I grind my teeth and look down my nose at him. “When we get home, I’m punishing you for that.”

“For what? Keeping us from getting caught in my office unsanctioned and getting me kicked off your case?”

“For making me get on the floor.”

“Where else would you—”

“Punished.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mistress.”

“Oh, fuck. Yes, Mistress.”

I smile and step back. “Finish your paperwork like a good boy.”

He immediately goes back to his work, scooting his chair to his desk.

“‘Needs to be put in her place’ my ass,” I mutter under my breath as I try to dust myself off.

****

After meeting with Bradley and ensuring him I didn’t fault Jay for the attack and I was the one that pulled him into the safe room, we went back to Dad’s for a late lunch. Bradley was able to see us briefly between meetings and was more thankful I wasn’t demanding a new Blue Jay than he was irritated that Jay had attracted the intruders in the first place. I guess I deserve that after the hell I put his company through on a regular basis.

Dad’s house is quiet, as usual. But the Sparrows prepare a nice chicken salad for us. We eat quickly and then go to the Crow’s Nest for a quick security briefing. I let Jay do all the talking. I’m too busy staring at the cameras showing my house and mapping out the blind spots. Every entrance and window are visible, but most of the interior isn’t in view. I know they can turn the cameras. That’s how they could see what the intruders were up to last night and they could turn to see the oven fire when I tried making bread. But, generally, none of the cameras are pointed inward. Perfect.

Jay, touching my elbow, brought my attention back to the men in the room. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking if you felt you needed increased security?” A Crow asks. “Hawk and your dad wanted me to ask.”

“No, no, I’m alright with Jay,” I dismiss. “It was handled well, and I feel confident in our ability to prevent it from getting that far again.”

“Thank you,” the Crow says with a bob of his head.

“Oh, were you working last night?” I ask.

“I was. I made the announcement to your speaker,” he says.

“It was too loud. Your voice was distorted, and I had a hard time understanding the emergency. No fault of yours. I think the speakers are turned up too much,” I say. “Thank you for repeating yourself more than once. It’s like you knew I was confused.”

A blush forms over his mask. “Well, I just figured that being woken up in the middle of the night would be confusing on its own. You’d need to hear the instructions more than once. I certainly would.”

“Yes, we’re all sleepy at nighttime. Are we settled?” Jay snaps.

“We’re settled,” the Crow says.

Jay steers me out of the security office and down the hall to the front door.

“Now who’s pissing on whose shoes?” I whisper to him.

“Shut up.”

Part Three

chapter twenty-three

------

Neighbors are outside as I park Wren’s car in the driveway. Their crossed arms and watchful eyes follow us as we get out. I sigh. This is about to get tense. “Incoming,” I mutter to Wren as we shut the doors. I’ll pull the car in later when everyone is calm.

“What?” she asks, stilling her walk.

“The neighbors.”

“Why?”

“Um, probably because of the police presence last night.”

“Oh.” She deflates.

I want to run her into the house and lock the door to avoid the confrontation with the neighbors she’s grown to like. But there would be no reasonable explanation within my job description to do so.

“Excuse me!” a voice calls from the street.

Neighbors are approaching the driveway and a Crow informs me, “Three known individuals approaching the driveway at Wren’s nest.”

“Copy,” I say irritably into the earpiece. As if I’m not staring these people down right fucking now.

Wren smiles brightly at them as she meets them at the end of the driveway. “Hi neighbors!”

“Hey, so is everything alright?” Jennifer, the mom of the two little girls, asks. Her face is smiling, but her eyes are pinched at the corners. She has her arms crossed over her chest despite the heat of the day.

“Yeah,” Wren tries for a self-deprecating tone. “Everything is fine. Just a misunderstanding.”

“One cop said it was a break in,” another neighbor says.

“Well, it was,” Wren replies.

“Then how was it a misunderstanding?”

“Um, well, they misunderstood the house to be empty,” Wren says awkwardly.

“I’ve lived here for thirty-five years and there has never been any break-ins,” an older woman says. I’ve seen her get the paper and her mail before, but I haven’t seen her interact with any other neighbors. The Crows, of course, have all of her information on file and are likely checking for any recent arrests or public social media posts as we speak.

“Oh, um, well—”

“Is this going to be a common occurrence?”

“No!” Wren insists, her hands out in a placating gesture. While I know she’s trying to soothe her angry neighbors, she needs to not put both of her wrists out for anyone to grab and control her. I pinch the fabric of her flowy tank top and tug lightly to give her the quiet message to step back. 

“We’ve never had someone in the neighborhood to need their own personal security before, and we’ve never had any break-ins. You see how we’re making these connections?”

“I see.”

“Some of us have small children.”

“I know.”

“We feel unsafe.”

I step in. “Excuse me, the incident was a break in and a case of mistaken identity. I assure you, it will not be a common occurrence.”

“Mistaken identity?” Jack, the father of the two little boys, scoffs.

“Who’s identity? Hers or yours? We only know her first name and we know nothing about you!” the old woman laughs sardonically.

“All I can say now is that the situation has been dealt with. The individuals who broke in have been apprehended and it will not happen again,” I say and wheel Wren away from the angry neighbors.

“I’m sorry,” she calls back to them, tears filling her eyes, as we walk up to the house.

“There’s nothing more you could say, Wren,” I tell her as she struggles to open the door with her code. I reach over her head and punch in my code, use the scanner, and the door swings open.

Wren goes directly to the kitchen and opens a bottle of wine. I inform the Crows in the Nest of our location as I lock the door behind me. I hear the cork pop and my chest constricts. She’s a wreck emotionally and last night I… fuck. The tight feeling in my chest spreads into an ache. It had been an amazing and confusing and sexy as fuck experience. I deeply craved more from her. If it wasn’t for the security cameras, I’d have her up on the counter with my tongue between her legs. I glance up at said cameras as I enter the kitchen.

She pours me a glass and hands it to me. I’ve never been a wine guy, but something about the jammy tasting red she likes has me changing my mind. We sip in silence, but I sense that she’s deep in thought. A shallow crease is nestled in her brow. I want to smooth it away, but I know it’s best not to. My free hand curls into a fist at my side.

“The things that are supposed to keep me safe are responsible for the people around me feeling unsafe,” she says after a time. Her voice is raspy and I see tears welling on her bottom lashes.

I say nothing.

“The break in they’re talking about wasn’t even my fault!” she exclaims with a sarcastic laugh.

“It was because of me. I’m sorry,” I say and set down my wineglass. I royally fucked this up. I’m not meant to be with Wren in any capacity outside of professional and I had gotten too comfortable to see it. This house isn’t mine. This life isn’t mine. The garbage life that is mine followed me here and put her at risk. I’d been here playing fucking house with… with royalty and forgot that I was a shit covered peasant until the reek of my real life followed me. God, I am such an idiot.

“No, I’m not upset with you. It just… you have to see it from my perspective,” she says and waves off my apology.

I want to feel relieved, but the humble pie is fresh in my belly.

“Truly, I’m not mad. Think of it this way. I am considered to be unsafe in the world. Right? Accepted belief held by my dad. So, I get security in the form of video surveillance, panic rooms, and a Viking warrior who can’t process cheese and plays video games—”

“Hey!”

“And that security brings the threat to my doorstep.”

“Accidentally.”

“Right, but more than would have been there without you.”

“You can’t say that for sure. If you were here unprotected, who knows what you’d face?”

“Jay, you clearly drank the Kool-Aid at the orientation meeting for this position,” she scoffs.

“It was Earl Gray Tea. Hawk’s favorite.”

“Low key, if you ever need anything from him, brink him a sugar free vanilla London Fog,” she says fondly and shakes her head. “But do you see what I’m saying?”

“Sort of. I think. You believe you’d be safer without protection?” She’s wrong, of course.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes I think that. But is my safety more important than the safety of the people around me?” She asks and drains her wine. “Is my safety more important than my happiness?”

I consider her words. Her father would easily answer that to him her safety is more important than anyone else’s and he has the financial means to make it happen. Maybe tucked away in the city, Mr. Taylor could get away with the security when her life was lived within his reach. But here, where everything is expected to be peaceful and safe, it certainly brings attention.

“It feels like I’m always going to be left outside of any meaningful relationships. Not just romantic, but like, friends and good neighbors.”

“You have Gemma.”

“Yeah, but her life is fucked up, too. Neither of us will ever have normal. And that’s what I want. Normal.”

“What do you think would fix it?” I ask, knowing there’s almost nothing that I can do to help her.

“I wonder—not for the first time, remember all the bullying—if not having a bodyguard would allow me to have a more normal life. If I was just more aware of my surroundings and able to take care of myself, I could have normal relationships,” she says, but doesn’t look at me at the end.

Since the break in, she’s had a hard time separating from me. I find her actions to be the opposite of her words. If she doesn’t want a bodyguard, then why the attachment? Is it possible that she just wants… me? Or, rather, her vague idea of who she thinks I am.

“Is that why you learned to shoot and take taekwondo?”

“Yes.”

“So fire me.”

“What?”

“Fire me.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she laughs.

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t punished you yet. I promised you, earlier.”

“Punished me?” My gut twists in a way I’m not entirely sure is fear.

“Yeah, you got a guy to break into my house and got my neighbors mad at me,” she says with a pout but a devious twinkle in her eyes.

“I am truly, deeply, sorry for that. Had I known—" I break off with a sigh and hang my head. Guilt still eats at my guts.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me how fucking sorry you are.” She leans across the kitchen island and her gaze narrows on me.

“How?” That feeling I pretended was fear is actually excitement. Arousal. I lean across the island to be almost nose to nose with her. Remembering how she dominated our encounter last time has my cock eagerly springing to attention. Her control and domination is hesitant, clumsy. But the desire is there and I’m intensely interested in the development.

I know what she wanted from her little ex boyfriends. I know she wanted it rough, and they wouldn’t or couldn’t give it to her. But I also know she craves control and for someone to take care of her at the same time. Apparently, what I need is a tiny ass woman who thinks she can boss me around until it’s my turn to lose control.

“Take off your clothes,” she whispers.

chapter twenty-four

Wren

“The cameras,” he rasps, and looks up at the one in the corner of the kitchen.

“You are in a blind spot,” I say smugly.

Jay pulls away from me with a disbelieving look as he takes out his phone. I watch as he opens the camera app while I pour myself another glass of wine. He looks around him in the kitchen before I hand him a Sharpie marker from the drawer below me. The cameras are mostly aimed at the doorways and the view of the room is mostly reflection in the windows, but only a minimal window is completely blind to the cameras.

“Mark the blind spot you’re in,” I prompt.

He only raises one dark blond eyebrow as he takes the marker from me and gets to work.

I have an idea. A devious idea. When I looked up degradation kink earlier, I amassed a few mental notes of things to do to Jay. And he certainly deserves it today.

While he discreetly marks off on the floor where the camera no longer sees him, I get out my recipe for blueberry streusel muffins. When he finishes, he looks at me, confusion and wariness in his eyes.

“You forgot to undress.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says and lifts his shirt over his head, careful not to move his mask.

“Mistress,” I coach.

“Sorry, Mistress,” he says and drops his black henley on the floor. I’d seen him without his shirt many times now, but something about the way the golden light of my kitchen shines in his chest hair has me crossing my legs. I’d never been partial to body hair on a man before, but here I am, wanting to lick along the dark blond path down his chest, over his stomach, and below his pants.

He unbuckles his belt while I feign disinterest and pull out the stand mixer. I hear the rustle of fabric and I look over to see him in a pair of navy blue boxer briefs. His pants and socks are in a pile with his shirt.

“Those, too,” I say simply.

“Wren.”

“What?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why? Do you have a weird penis?”

“No! I just thought… I don’t know.” He shrugs.

“Oh, you wanted the first time you strip for me to be special?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, and spots of a blush stand out on his chest, creeping up under his mask.

“You seem to forget this isn’t a special time. You’re being punished,” I say stonily as I pull the glass flour container from the cupboard.

He removes his underwear, and I don’t turn to look at him until all of my ingredients are arranged on the counter. Making him wait five minutes while I work is supposed to be embarrassing torture for only him, but I also feel the ache of anticipation. His body is spectacular. His abdominal muscles have a soft band of comfort and when standing at attention, his thighs touch. Neither trait takes away from the fact the man is an absolute unit. Knowing for sure now he was in the armed forces, I realize his body is a carefully honed weapon. Despite weeks of tasty food and lots of video game time, his Adonis belt still points to his cock. A shiver of desire drips down my spine as I take him in, keeping an impassive expression on my face with great effort. When I’d rode his pajama covered cock last night, it was difficult to assess his size. I’d assumed big because, well, everything else on him is big. And that hypothesis is proven correct. Thick and long, it appears to be proportional to the rest of him, but still massive compared to the average man.

“Good. Now wait a moment, I need to get something,” I say and pass by him and up the stairs.

With a gleeful excitement, I rummage through my room to find my remote controlled bullet vibrator, a bandana, and a hair scrunchie. I need to improvise just a little. I stop in to check on Angelica momentarily. Her door is open, as she has free rein in the house, but she most often hangs out in the sunroom or her room.

“Hi bitch,” she greets.

“Hi baby girl,” I say. I check her water and her food bowls. “How are you?”

“Good girl,” she croons.

I smile at her. “Want a sweet potato treat?”

“Berries,” Angelical replies. “Big Bitch.”

She makes a Blue Jay cry and I laugh. “I can have him come and give you a berry treat later. He’s busy.”

“Get the hell out of my shower, bird!” Angelica repeats in a near perfect imitation of Jay’s angry voice.

I snort. “Yup, he’s busy.”

Leaving her with a sweet potato treat anyway, I head back downstairs. Jay is waiting in the same place I left him, and his eyes track me down the stairs and to where I kneel in front of him. He’s no longer hard, and he places a protective hand over his cock.

“Let go of it. It’s mine,” I snap.

He slowly removes his hands to clench at his sides. His cock twitches as it hardens before me. I watch with one raised eyebrow and my head tilted like I’m critiquing an art display. I hum with curious intrigue as it lifts. He huffs out a self-conscious laugh, but his cock still hardens. He shifts his stance slightly and his hands clench tighter at his sides.

“Are you having a hard time not shoving that fat cock down my throat?” I tease and look up at him.

His blue eyes are on me, bright like sapphires, as he nods slowly.

“Hm, too bad I have other plans,” I say, and unveil the bandana, vibrator, and hair scrunchie.

“What are you doing?” he asks, hesitant humor in his voice as he looks over my tools.

I don’t respond verbally. Instead, I get to work fastening the bullet vibrator to him with the hair scrunchie. It’s not the easiest job, but I get it held in place, and he chuckles breathlessly. Then I use the bandana to tie a, for lack of a better word, hammock for his balls. It holds them tightly up to his cock. I barely touch his skin as I work. Likely a disappointment for both of us, but I have things to do.

When I finish, I stand and lean against the counter. I sip my wine and look at him. The sight of all his muscles, his hard and eager cock, and his piercing blue eyes have me contemplating running him up to my bedroom. From the pocket of my leggings, I take out the remote control. I only used this toy once with Maxwell and it wasn’t as fun for him as it was for me. Now, with it simply strapped to my bodyguard, I am having more fun than its previous use. I switch it on, and he grunts and jerks his hips.

I giggle and then bark out, “Kneel!”

He obeys immediately, his hands gripping his thighs. I switch off the vibrator.

“Does that feel good?” I ask him. It’s an honest question.

“Mmhm,” he sighs and nods.

I turn it off and his body visibly relaxes.

“Could you come from that?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Stay there, and watch me bake,” I direct, feeling powerful.

“Do I get a taste?” he taunts, his double meaning clear.

“If you’re a good boy.”

He shifts on his knees and looks at me with an irritated expression. I narrow my eyes at him moving around, but then I remember he’s older than me. Kneeling for an extended period probably hurts his thirty-four-year-old knees. If I listen closer, I could probably hear them popping and cracking like Rice Krispies. I smirk and go get him two cushions from the dining room chairs. I plop them down in front of him.

“For your old man knees,” I state airily.

He scoffs, but moves them into place. I flit about the kitchen, beginning the preparation of the blueberry streusel muffins I promised the birdwatching group. The click of the oven turning on is one of my favorite sounds. I love baking in this kitchen. I especially love baking in this kitchen while my bodyguard is kneeling, naked, and waiting for me. I switch on the vibrator and listen carefully for his sharp intake of breath. I can’t help but grin when I hear it. As the buzz and his breathing fill the room, I slowly tie a floral apron over my tank top and leggings. I switch off the vibrator and slip the controller into my apron pocket.

I hear his hands slide across his skin and I spin to see him gripping the base of his cock not covered by the bandana. “Let go.”

“Fuck.”

“Hands behind your back.”

He rolls his neck while he looks at me with an intense glare. It’s like he is barely controlling himself from jumping up, ripping off the toy, and taking back control. Hard.

Instead, he listens like a good little soldier. I give him a small smile as he obeys my command.

While the oven preheats, I wash my hands and then mix some sugar, flour, a touch of cinnamon, and melted butter together and set aside the sandy mixture for the streusel topping. I wipe my hands off on my apron and switch on the toy. He whimpers and I bite my lip. I open a package of butter I had coming up to room temp and dump it into the bowl of my stand mixer. His second whimper ends in a growl and I switch off the toy. Can’t have him coming yet. I measure out some sugar for the bowl and set the mixer to cream the butter and sugar together. While it’s mixing, I sneer at Jay and imitate his whimper.

“You sound like a pussy,” I taunt.

He rolls his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” I snap angrily. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

He doesn’t respond, only stares defiantly at me.

I stomp to him and see he has precum leaking from the tip of his cock. I reach down and swipe it up with my index finger and lift his mask with my other hand. “Suck,” I direct and shove my wet finger in his mouth.

He glares at me, but obeys. The feel of his tongue swirling over the pad of my finger has my pussy clenching around nothing. The palm of my hand is pressed against his chin by the mask and I feel the stubble of his facial hair. I want to rip the mask off and see if it grows in blond. But I don’t.

I pull my finger from his mouth with a pop and move to the sink to wash my hands.

The butter and sugar are well creamed together now, so I add in the eggs, vanilla extract, and milk. Flour, baking soda, and salt are next. I switch on the vibrator and listen to the sounds he groans out while I make sure the ingredients get mixed properly.

It sounds like he’s just about to come. This is the longest the toy has been on and he’s moaning low in his throat like he’s already lost to the pleasure. He barks out a growl of anger and disbelief when I switch it off. I’ve never heard a man growl before. I have him reduced to animal sounds and I have barely touched him.

Pride and power drive me to keep the edging going. I don’t even look at him as I pour the fat and juicy blueberries into the mixer bowl. I let the mixer give a few rotations of the paddle to fold in the blueberries. Switching back on the toy, I pluck out a blueberry covered in batter.

He is slightly leaned forward as the toy buzzes against his skin. His chest heaves for breath as his abs contract and release over and over. Though his body seems to be lost in the sensation, his eyes are on me as I approach him. I put the batter covered blueberry on the floor in front of him.

“Eat it.”

His eyes flash with disgust. He doesn’t know, but I had Sparrows come in and deep clean the house after the break in. He doesn’t know I had them bleach the absolute life out of the house in every room the intruders had touched. So, his disgust is warranted. I switch off the toy.

“Oh, do you think you’re worth a plate?”

“No, Mistress.”

“That’s right. Eat.”

He lifts his mask to uncover his mouth and leans to pick up the berry.

“Ah, no hands.”

He exhales sharply before bending down further and using his tongue and lips to pick up the berry. I see a flash of the side of his pink tongue as his lips surround the berry. He slurps up the berry and sits back on his heels, chewing. He licks the batter from his full lips and I’m treated to the sight of them wet and pouty.

Fuck.

“Are these the berries from the farmer’s market?” He asks.

“Yes,” I say lightly and spin back to my baking. My blueberry plants along the stone path in the backyard are still too young to produce anything other than little sour berries.

“They’re very juicy.”

I don’t respond. With a flourish, I switch on the toy and he groans low and long.

While humming a song I heard on the radio earlier, I put the lacy, paper cupcake liners into the pan. The sun is setting and bathes the entire kitchen in an orangey, golden light. As a stream if it shines in, I rotate the little pothos clipping in water I am hoping to pot soon on the windowsill. Behind me, Jay swears repeatedly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck,” he says while panting.

“No.” I turn off the toy.

He slumps over and his head and sweaty shoulder rest against the door frame. He can’t go very far in any direction. The cameras would see him in their periphery. His ability to relax is very limited.

I give him just a minute to breathe while I spoon the batter into the cupcake liners. After putting the mixing bowl in the sink, I turn to him. “Beg for it.”

“What?”

“Beg. Did I stutter? Have you never heard that word before?”

“Beg for what? What will you give me?” His voice is gruff, like he’s been running on the basement treadmill.

I drop the spoon into the sink with a clatter and run to him. Stopping short of bowling him over, I grip his face hard between my hands and give him a mean look. “If you kneel before me and you see how good I’ve treated you. If you tell me how much you love this and need to come, then I’ll let you. You’re being punished for getting me into danger and for making the neighbors mad. I want to see this pretty boy beg for it.”

His eyes flash with something like excitement and relief before he closes them and catches his breath. “Please let me come. I’m sorry for putting you in danger. You are so kind and beautiful and—ah!—perfect. You allow me to live in your home and be in your presence—fuck—please, let me come. Please, I’ll do anything for you to let me c-come!”

I switched on the vibrator as soon as he called me beautiful. I let him continue to whimper and beg until I remember the muffins. Turning off the toy, I return to my work.

Once the streusel is on top of the muffins, I put them in the oven with a timer set for twenty minutes. Jay is still panting when I return to him, but this time I bring a chair with me. He eyes it warily until I stand in front of it, drop my leggings and pull aside the flowered apron.

I’m barely within the blind zone of the cameras. I’m not stupid enough to think that if any Crows were watching they wouldn’t know what was happening. But I’m hoping they aren’t watching so closely that they will notice. Every time I’ve encountered Crows in the Nest, they’re scrolling on their phones, watching a movie, or reading. That’s what the door and perimeter alarms and codes are for. We set off an alarm and then they’ll look. Someone comes on the property, then they’ll look. They’re not watching me like TV. And I’m kind of banking on that.

The wood of the chair is cold against my bare ass as I sit facing Jay. His eyes zero in on my pussy as I open my legs. “Show me how much you think I’m kind and beautiful and perfect,” I taunt.

He lunges at me while ripping his mask up to his nose. His lips and tongue on me are a shock to my system, even though I saw them coming and even asked for them. He licks one flat and firm stripe up my slit and then takes the full of me in his mouth and sucks. I squeal and grip his head with one hand and reach blindly for the remote with the other. Locating the remote, I turn on the vibrator and look down to see his eyes roll back. He groans against me, muffled by my body.

“Show me how good it feels,” I moan and grip him harder.

A finger swirls at my entrance, and I gasp as he pushes into me. His knuckle bottoms out and he curls a second finger to my entrance, pushing even slower than the last time. I buck against him. Just two fingers and I feel stretched. Fuck, this man is massive.

“Jay!”

“Please don’t stop the vibrator!” he begs, voice cracking. It’s a real beg, too. Not just platitudes and role play. It’s a genuine plea from my absolutely wrecked bodyguard.

“Why should I listen?” I try to taunt through my mewling moans.

“Please, Wre-Mistress. Oh, God! Please don’t stop!” he continues, and I swear I see his eyes watering.

I look down at his cock and see the vibrator is still in place. A line of precum has leaked out in his desperation. The sight of him undone but still under my control and his face slick with my arousal has me rocking my hips against his eager tongue and lips until I explode. I flood his hand and mouth as I writhe and moan. Even at the height of my orgasm, I have enough awareness to hear him reaching his own peak.

He cries out against my skin and his eyes screw shut. The hand not touching my pussy is clenched tightly in my tank top as come shoots from his cock and coats my legs. He shouts out his release and then rests his head against my thigh.

We both relax against each other and I stroke over the top of his mask as if it was his hair. I want it to be his hair. I want it to be his skin against my leg and not his mask. I want to see the face of the man that just had me seeing stars in the kitchen.

Jay reaches down with a grunt and yanks on the hair scrunchie holding the vibrator in place until it slides off, buzzing loudly against the floor. I giggle and press the off button while he chuckles and unties his balls.

He sits back on his haunches and we stare at each other. I don’t know what to say other than for the roles to reverse and for me to start begging. Begging him to take off his mask, to let me know him, to let me love him. Because even after bullying him and making him move out of the city, making him give up time with his friends and family, forcing him to be anonymous almost twenty-four seven, he remains by my side. Loyal. Willing to defend me. Willing to take a bullet for me. Willing to kill for me. Because I am deluded enough to think that if his job didn’t require him to follow me to bird watching and through failed bakes and gardening chores, he would choose to continue to be with me. I want him and that reality so desperately it breaks my heart to not be allowed to have it. To have him.

“Jay,” I whisper.

He must sense my heartbreak and my desperation because he nods and pulls me off the chair to kneel in front of him. He wraps me in his still trembling arms, and I do my best not to cry into his chest. The scent of him, warm, salty, and clean, is the most comforting scent to me. He kisses my head as he holds me, stroking over my arms.

I pull back and look up into his sad eyes and cup his masked jaw in both hands. He swallows and knocks his forehead against mine. I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say.

“I know, baby. I know,” he murmurs.

But how could he know I have been falling for him? That this was supposed to be a celebration of our attraction and sexual chemistry, but could instead be the crash and annihilation of my heart? How could he know?

I need air.

The timer goes off for the muffins.

chapter twenty-five

Wren

“Who is responsible for this coffee?” I ask, nose wrinkled as I sip from the paper cup.

“Sally at the center makes it,” Marjorie replies.

“Is she here?” I ask and look around. Everyone is congregated under the pavilion sipping coffee and eating pastries. The last of the morning dew still clings to the grass, and I now know the group has snacks first because one too many of their members have slipped and fallen on the damp grass.

“No, Sally is a bitty who works in the kitchens,” Marjorie says, waving her manicured and blue veined hand at me.

Frank clears his throat disapprovingly.

“Well, she makes terrible coffee,” I mutter. I stir the somehow grainy and weak but burnt tasting brew in my cup.

Jay tries to pour his into the grass with no one other than me noticing.

The muffins are a hit, of course. “Please tell me your recipe,” Mary-Ann says as she pats her lips with a napkin.

I open my mouth to say I printed copies of the recipe to give out, but Marjorie cuts me off. “It’s her mother’s recipe.”

“It’s not. I don’t have a mom.”

“Your grandmother’s then,” Marjorie continues with a suspicious look.

“None of those, either,” I say and narrow my eyes back at her.

“Well, who do you have?”

“A Dad… and a Hawk,” I reply.

“Is that a gay marriage thing?” Frank asks as he eats the last bite of his muffin.

Jay snorts a laugh and sprays streusel crumble onto his lap.

“No, Hawk is my dad’s bodyguard,” I answer while kicking Jay repeatedly from my seat at the picnic table.

“Are you ever going to tell us who you and your dad are?” Marjorie asks, always suspicious.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I told you, Jay would have to kill you,” I say simply and shrug.

Jay shakes his head next to me while all the frail, geriatric bird lovers look the armed, black clad and masked Viking of a man up and down.

“Ehh,” Frank grunts and looks disapprovingly at Jay. “A man like you should serve our country, not be the shadow to some little girl.”

“I did, sir.”

A rustle in the bushes catches everyone’s attention. We quiet immediately and look. Frank gasps quietly. “The robin chicks are fledging!”

Everyone gathers together silently to watch the nest in the rhododendron. The blooms are fully open, showcasing a deep magenta color, and I can see the bottom of the nest. We’re not close enough to spook the birds, but nobody moves a muscle or makes a sound. We watch as two little robins hop up to the edge of their nest and clumsily fly away. A third one hops up and goes to fly… and falls.

It’s not a far fall, and it hits a few branches on the way down. Everyone stiffens as we watch it tumble to the ground. My heart clenches and I feel like crying. Did we just watch a bird die? But no, it’s alright. A collective sigh goes around the group as we see the little robin get up and ruffle its feathers before clumsily taking off in flight. I watch it until it’s out of sight in the sunny field.

Everyone is excitedly chatting about the robins and how much of a treat it was to see them fledging. I clean up the plates from the muffins while Jay goes around and helps gather mobility aids for those that use them. I’m one hundred percent sure these people can grab their own canes and walkers but enjoy having the help of well-muscled Jay. He gets lots of bicep squeezes from the old ladies while I clean up the crumbs and napkins.

Jay and I wander through the park, and I make Jay look in my bird book to identify birds we see. I watch them through binoculars while Jay puts a long blade of grass between the pages of the book to mark a new bird. At one point, Jay insists he sees an owl and rips the binoculars from my hands, almost decapitating me with the strap that is still around my neck. It’s not an owl, it’s a plastic shopping bag, and I make sure to be a total brat about it.

The morning is normal. We haven’t spoken about last night. We haven’t discussed what it means for us. And I’m not sure if I want to yet. I’m not sure if I’m ready to admit I’m falling in love with a man I barely know anything about. I can’t even pick him out of a police lineup… unless he was naked. Then I could probably do it given the opportunity for a close inspection.

After our walk in the park, and all the seniors get back on their bus, we sit at the picnic table and enjoy the heat of the early summer sun. Jay sketches in his journal and I work on my bird book. We’re not visited by any birds today when Jay pulls out his plastic bag of trail mix. But I hold out my hand to him expectantly. He sighs and reaches back into his pocket and produces a second bag, heavy on the chocolate and dried cranberries.

“Good boy,” I praise as he hands it over.

He looks at me over his journal, but I only spare him a glance. His eyes on me are heated, and I realize now would be a perfect time to have a discussion, but I chicken out.

“Should that bird have stayed in the nest?” I ask him instead.

“Technically, it would have been safer,” Jay says, immediately catching on to my metaphorical question. His eyes turn sad and I make a point of not looking at him again as I scribble into the corner of my bird book.

“How would it learn to fly or find food? Its siblings had left it behind. It was going to be alone,” I say, fighting the tears that want to well up.

“It fell, Wren.”

“Yeah, and it got back up. It was fine.”

“But it could have—listen, Wren, you are not a robin,” Jay says and snaps his journal closed and spins to face me on the bench. “You are an heiress. People are cruel. Look at what happened to your mom and her bodyguard. Don’t underestimate someone who feels entitled to your money or your dad’s success.”

Tears are well and truly filling my eyes now. I thought he understood my feelings about this. I thought he stood by me on my grief over feeling left behind and unwanted.

“Hawks and crows and other bigger birds will attack robins’ nests. Robins have predators, too.”

He shakes his head and leans toward me, eager for me to understand him. “Those attacks aren’t senseless. It’s for food, water, and territory. It’s part of their nature. The people that would be attacking you are doing it out of greed and anger. It’s different.”

I understand what he’s saying. But understanding and accepting are completely different concepts. I’ve always understood my dad’s motivations to keep me safe and guarded. I get it. But accepting that I’ll never have normal, never have love, never have easy safety, have been hard pills to swallow.

I sniffle. “There has to be a compromise rather than staying in the nest.”

“I think this is your compromise. You have your own space and your own life.”

“Sure. I thought so, too. But now it feels like nobody will compromise enough to be with me. Nobody will deal with the security concerns and the anonymity because they see me as worth it. I’m not… nobody thinks I’m worth it.” Tears flow down my cheeks and I move my bird journal back after little wet circles bloom outwards on the paper.

Jay is silent. Part of me is begging him to say that he sees me as worth working for and part of me is begging him to agree with me. After a few moments of silence, he places a warm hand over mine and squeezes. “One day you will be worth everything to someone.”

chapter twenty-six

Wren

Thursday afternoon’s time in the sunroom is being spent organizing some charity events. I bounce between a few phone calls and web conferences with different organizations and the woman who serves as one of Dad’s accountants. As the charity and community outreach coordinator, I do a lot to manage Taylor Industries’ charitable donations and functions.

Angelica sits on a window perch shouting, “Fuck off bird!” and barking every time one lands on the feeder closest to her. Until she sees something of interest and she whistles. “Big bitch!”

The window is open, but no answer comes. Big Bitch is her name for Jay. Is he outside? My phone is on Do Not Disturb, so I didn’t see the notification come in that the back door was open. I swipe away the notification now and look up to see her move to a closer window perch. She whistles again. “Big Bitch!”

“What Angelica?” Jay’s voice sounds from the yard.

I grin at his annoyance.

“Naked!” she croons back.

I almost knock my laptop to the ground in my haste to get to the window. He’s not naked, he’s shirtless and wearing his little, slutty work out shorts. He’s pulling the lawn mower out of the shed, clearly about to do yardwork. “Call him a slut,” I murmur to Angelica.

“Shlut,” she says to me.

“No, ssslut,” I coach to emphasize the s.

“SSSLUT!” she screeches out to Jay.

I collapse into a fit of laughter, sitting down hard on the floor next to the big window.

“Where’s your mother, bird?” Jay growls angrily just on the other side of the screen.

Angelica points with her talon at me on the floor.

“Hey, if you’re going to get your bird to demean me, then you can do your own damn yardwork,” he barks down at me on the floor but breaks off into a laugh.

He leaves me to my giggles as he goes back to the lawn mower. I hear him start it up and I go get myself a glass of lemonade to watch the show. The last time he mowed the lawn, he had his shirt on. This is a new treat, and it deserves a respectful audience. I pull up a chair next to Angelica and sit back to watch the show.

Jay is wearing his black balaclava, his little running shorts, and a pair of grass-stained sneakers. He gets three lines in before the summer sun causes beads of sweat to form on his skin. Beautiful. Standing ovulation, or whatever. I send a quick video of Jay to Gemma and she immediately sends back the hot face emoji and then a video of Lance half under her sink as he fixes one of the pipes. His shirt is hiked up to the middle of his stomach from the movement and I’m shocked to see he’s absolutely ripped despite his age. “Love this for us,” she replies, and I laugh before putting my phone away.

Angelica eventually leaves the window perch, and I don’t pay attention to where she goes. I’m too transfixed by my scantily clad bodyguard. Sweat drips down his back and I work very hard to remind myself that I cannot lick my bodyguard. It would be an HR violation, or something. Instead, I watch his muscles shift and move as he works. At one point, he bends down and reties his shoelace and I am gifted with the sight of his ass in his little shorts. Licking my bodyguard is likely an HR violation, but biting? Biting has to be accepted. With an ass like that? Come on.

I can’t see his ears, but I wonder if he has earbuds in. Is he listening to a podcast? Music? An audiobook? I know he listens to rock music while he works out in the basement. That I can hear throughout the entire house. I bet he listens to historical nonfiction. Maybe some mass market, male led, fiction. The paperbacks he reads are fantasy. We had just picked up the next one in the series when we were at the store. I’ll have to ask him what he listens to.

I have to ask a lot of things about him. There’s so much I don’t know. Which makes me feel like a girl with a school crush because being so intensely attracted to someone I know so little about is… silly. It’s juvenile. And I feel deluded enough to think I know his soul. Not his past, not his world, not his name. But him. It’s the height of delusional and I know it.

He stops mowing mid way through a line and looks at his phone that was squeezed into a pocket in his tiny shorts. Turning off the mower, he answers the phone. I can’t hear his conversation, but I see him run a hand over his mask and look toward the house. He hangs up and jogs to the house. I meet him in the kitchen.

“Hey, uh, my old neighbor needs my help. Do you think we could head to the city a bit earlier today and swing by her house?” He asks, hesitance clear in his voice.

“Yeah, of course. Is everything alright?” I ask.

He pours himself a glass of lemonade and chugs in down in one gulp. “She’s an old lady, and she fell and broke her porch railing. She doesn’t have anyone else to help her.”

“Oh, of course! Is she hurt?”

“She sprained her wrist, and her knees are bruised up. She was seen by a doctor already, but she needs that railing,” Jay says and puts the glass in the sink.

“I’m ready to go now, so let me know,” I say and start closing windows.

He showers and dresses and is ready in ten minutes. He takes my bag of taekwondo equipment from me and puts it in the trunk. I let him drive since he’s the one who knows where we’re going.

“Tell me about your neighbor,” I say while he drives. I breathe deeply, relaxing in his presence.

“Her name is Mrs. Stewart,” he says fondly. “She helped raise me. She’s like a grandmother to me in every way but blood.”

“I’m glad you had that.” From the bits and pieces I’ve heard about his life, it sounds like it was tough. To have someone who looked after him and his mom was really special.

“She watched me when my mom was working late. I don’t remember her husband, but he died a few years after me and Mom moved in next door. She never remarried or dated, but she became so important to me and Mom. I don’t think I would have made it as far as I have in life without her.”

“She sounds like a great person.”

“That she is. So, when she calls and says she needs her porch railing fixed, I’m there.”

We pull up to a little bungalow house with a broken patio railing and Jay parks us in the street. He hums like he’s thinking and looks around before moving the car over a house length. “I have to take my mask off. I don’t want to scare her.”

“Oh, um, I won’t look,” I say. A complete lie.

“Yeah, fucking right. Stay here, I won’t be long. Honk if someone approaches the car. Maybe recline a little or something,” he says before getting out of the car.

He jogs away from the car, and I see him stuff the mask into his back pocket. My eyes are laser focused on his head. I only see the back of his skull from here as he runs a hand over it to smooth down his hair. Blond.

Like blond blond.

I smile. I knew it. His eyebrows and eyelashes are darker than the hair on his head, but I knew he was a blondie. As he turns to walk up the sidewalk to Mrs. Stewart’s home, I catch sight of his ear and jaw. An ear is an ear, but from here it looks cute enough. Strong jaw line. But I knew that already. I’d felt it with my fingers.

He knocks on the door and an old lady answers it. She has one arm in a sling but otherwise looks well. They embrace and she looks down the street to the car I’m currently sitting in. Should I wave? Jay looks over briefly and I totally miss the opportunity to see his stupid face. I was too busy looking at the old lady.

They chat for a moment before she gestures to a toolbox that was already on the porch and he gets to work. She sits in an old wicker chair and talks to him while he works. They both are smiling and laughing while they talk. It’s nice to see him so happy. And see him, I certainly do. Though it’s just the curl of the corner of his mouth as he laughs and speaks. Even from here, I can tell he is handsome. I’m too far away and at an angle so I can’t see the exact way his lips fit on his mouth, if they’re always full and pouty or if that is reserved for kissing and sucking. He has a long nose with a good bump in the middle, but I can’t see how it fits with his face. I can see everything and nothing at the same time.

After craning my neck for far too long, I sigh and sit back in my seat. We’re parked in front of a little house with a fresh coat of paint and a new-looking fence. A school bus pulls up and two little girls skip down the stairs and up the driveway. A woman greets them at the door with a smile and smooths their hair down affectionately as they come in. My heart squeezes with the reminder of what was stolen from me. But I wave it away and wonder if that is Jay’s old home. The house on the other side of Mrs. Stewarts is another bungalow with a tidy lawn. It must be that one.

I scroll on my phone and respond to a few follow up emails from my calls earlier today while I wait. It isn’t long at all before the door opens and Jay slides back in as he tugs his mask on. The car shakes as he plops down into his seat.

“That was fast,” I say.

“Yeah, it was an easy fix. I just put the existing railing back up and into new holes.”

I say nothing, I just look at the house we’re parked in front of.

Jay doesn’t move out of park. He clears his throat. “It’s that one.”

He’s pointing to the house with the fresh paint and fence the little girls went into. “Oh? Your mom….”

“Doesn’t live there anymore. She has an apartment nearby,” he says. There’s tension in his voice and I look up at him. “She moved while I was deployed. So, uh, I came home… homeless.”

“Oh.”

“It’s part of why I took the job with you.”

“You don’t have to explain it like you’re coming clean to me.”

“It just feels like I… owe you information.”

“You don’t, but I’m happy to hear anything about you,” I say, just above a whisper.

His eyes are intense on me, and he takes a deep breath that he puffs through his lips. The force of it bows the mask slightly as he turns back to the road and pulls us out of our spot. “You know my mom got into the medical and gambling debt.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she lost the house.”

“That’s so sad, Jay. I’m sorry.”

“And when I came home, I didn’t know she had moved. I didn’t know she was even sick. She had hidden it from me so well on leave and on phone calls I didn’t know until I showed up at that family’s door looking for her.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah, it sucked, but Mrs. Stewart helped me out.” He tries to shrug it off, but I can’t get past it.

“I can’t watch those military homecoming videos because they’re so beautiful and make me so emotional,” I say, getting choked up. “And you didn’t get that and now I’m crying for a whole other reason. Jay!”

Jay can only shoot an amused glance at me as he merges onto the highway. “I’m so sorry my traumatic event is upsetting you.”

“No, I’m upset on your behalf! You should have had banners and balloons! A cake!” I’m verging on hysterical.

“Thank you,” he says quietly and reaches over to squeeze my hand. I trap it tight between mine and he looks at me again. This time, his eyes are soft and a little sad.

chapter twenty-seven

Wren

Master James is sure to roast me when I show up for class. Jay parked my car at Dad’s and had a Crow drive us from there. It’s been probably a month since I attended Taekwondo. But I want to get back into the swing of things and going to class before the weekly dinner at Dad’s works out great. Despite Dad canceling this week, of course. Instead, I have plans to meet up with Gemma. We are overdue for a date.

“Oh, look, Wren has deemed self-defense as important this month,” Master James teases as I approach him. He’s smiling despite his jab. “How’s your practice with Blue Jay going?”

I look back and see Jay lounging in the parents’ viewing area, scrolling on his phone. I snort. “Uh, it’s going well, sir.”

“You haven’t practiced a bit,” Master James groans, seeing right through my lie. He pauses a moment, his eyes on Jay. “Wait, is that the same one?”

“It is,” I reply.

“Oh, fuck, Wren,” Master James says with a wince.

“What?!”

“Anyone with a brain is going to figure that out!”

“Okay, first of all, how dare you? And second, no, they haven’t.” I start my stretches.

“Are you allowed?”

“No?”

“Wait, does he keep the mask on?” He chuckles.

I throw a quick strike, followed by a kick. Both of which he blocks with casual ease and a laugh.

After class, Master James has me stay back again. “Blue Jay! Come attack Wren.”

I hear Jay’s boots hitting the ground as he takes them off for the mat. Then I hear his gun being set on the chair. I keep my padded helmet on because I’m not in the mood for a concussion. With my back to both my instructor and Jay, I wait to be attacked. As one naturally does when being attacked on the street.

The attack comes quickly. Strong arms band around me, pinning my arms to my sides. I kick back wildly and use my helmeted head to bash into Jay’s. He drops me when I get a good head smash in, but my feet only touch the ground for a second before he has me flipping and landing on the ground on my back. The air whooshes from my lungs and I struggle for a second to get a breath in. Jay is standing over me with a victorious look in his eyes. I kick up at his crotch but he catches my foot, having expected the attack. He lifts me by my ankle so I’m dangling upside down.

I screech in indignation while Jay and Master James laugh. Jay lowers me the two inches to the ground carefully and I get up, righting my uniform.

“This is why you need a bodyguard,” Jay says, his eyes amused but kind.

“And,” Master James says. “This is why we talk so much about awareness in class.”

I nod and take off my helmet. My hair is sweaty and all over the place.

“I hope to see you next week,” Master Jay says and claps me on the shoulder as he goes to the front desk.

I glare at Jay and turn to go to my locker to get changed. But that stupid victorious look in his eyes has me feeling mad. I make it halfway across the space before I turn around and see Jay bending to get his boots back on. I see my opportunity. Target: locked. With long, quiet strides, I make it to him while he has one boot on and he’s bent over tying the laces. I jump on his back, my forearms across his neck.

Master James looks up from the desk and laughs before returning to his work.

Jay straightens to standing and his long fingers wrap around my arms. I bind my legs around his waist and lock my ankles together so I don’t slide. Jay goes down to his knees too slowly and controlled for me to think I am actually choking him out, so I squeeze harder. I feel his air cut off this time. I can hear the way his breathing stops. It’s only a matter of seconds before he should pass out.

Instead, he lays back and squashes me under his weight. Now we’re both not breathing. He moves his hands to my sides and tickles me. I try not to let go of his neck as I giggle breathlessly. He has to be close to passing the fuck out by now. He turns his head to the side and gets in a big lungful of air. Fuck. I’m about to let go of him when his hands leave my sides and he brings them up to grab me under my arms and flips me over his head like a backpack. My back slams into the mat between his legs and I stare at the ceiling.

For the second time in five minutes, I am devoid of any air in my lungs. Jay’s smug blue eyes are staring at me, upside down, as I struggle to get in a breath. I reach up and almost poke at his eyes with two fingers.

He laughs and stands up, offering me a hand. I smack it away and stand on my own.

“That was good. You caught me off guard,” he praises, barely out of breath.

“Shut up,” I call as I head to my locker.

Outside after I get dressed and brush back my hair, Jay and I are waiting for a Crow to come get us. After the intruders came into my house, I feel less resistant to having Crows drive us around in the city.

Jay is looking around, his eyes scanning the street and every car that goes past us. I stand close to him as we wait. We never end up waiting long, but there’s a lot of traffic today.

“With all that contact, I’m surprised you didn’t come in your pants again,” I tease him.

His eyes don’t leave his scan, but I see his lashes flutter in annoyance. “That’s because I’m saving it for your face.”

He freezes.

I pause in shock and, admittedly, delight.

He looks down at me with a sorrowful wince. “I’m sorry, that just came out.”

“I’ll say.”

“I was focusing on the job and my filter was down.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I liked it.”

A black car pulls up, and a Crow gets out of the passenger’s seat to open the door for me. I politely greet them and smile. Jay says nothing. His eyes are glued on me until we’re safely ensconced in the car and both Crows are talking quietly between themselves.

“You like hearing me talk dirty?” his voice is low and rough as he murmurs to me.

“Love it.”

“Then do you want to hear about how seeing you all pink and sweaty from fighting had me fucking hard as steel in my pants?”

“Yes.”

“Or how I couldn’t help but feel so fucking dirty as we watched the bird group eat those muffins?”

That one got a giggle out of me despite the blush that had creeped up.

Passenger seat Crow turns around and Jay quickly moves away from me. “Dinner with Gemma?”

“Yes,” I croak out and give the name of the upscale restaurant Gemma is being paid to promote on her social media pages.

Gemma and Lance are already sitting at a quiet, secluded table when we arrive. Gemma and I kiss each other’s cheeks in greeting before sitting down.

“I already ordered a bottle of wine,” she says as we settle.

It’s not just wine, it’s a very expensive bottle of champagne. “Oh?”

“Remember how I signed with Noody, the shapeware company?”

“Yeah,” I say as she gestures for the waiter to come over.

She allows the suspense to build in true Gemma fashion while the waiter opens the champagne with a pretentious flourish. I stare at her as the man works and Jay and Lance both chuckle. The waiter pours us each a glass, startling slightly when he looks at masked Jay, and describes the location of the vineyard and the background of the wine. Lance clears his throat and the waiter promptly leaves.

Gemma sips her champagne and moans her approval.

“Gemma, I am going to kick your ass,” I threaten through my teeth.

“I’ll be doing their primary campaign. I’m going to be the face of Noody!” Gemma crows.

“Oh my gosh! Gemma! That’s fantastic!” I screech and hug her tight.

“I’m so excited. I’ve been having some trouble booking since… well, you know,” she says and wipes her happy tears. She’s referring to a time she puked backstage at fashion week. A bout of the stomach flu was not welcomed by the designers. It didn’t deter her from making bank on her brand partnerships on her social media, though.

“You’re merging the worlds of social media influencing with modeling and I’m so proud of you!”

I take a sip of my drink and look at the guys. Lance is looking warmly and proudly at Gemma as he drinks his champagne before he begins his guarded sweep around the restaurant. Jay is doing a sweep, but I notice his arm is on the back of my chair. A shiver of warmth goes through me and it’s not from the alcohol. His arm on my chair is a signal of his claim on me to everyone in the restaurant, and I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

We order tiny, fancy meals Jay will surely ask to stop for tacos after. Gemma talks happily about her plans with Noody and I am ecstatic to listen. There’s a slight tug on my hair and I look over to see Jay absently twirling it in his fingers. The soft pull on my hair has my eyes drooping in pleasure and I look up at Jay. He’s watching new customers come through the doors, cataloging them, before moving on to the rest of the sweep.

“So, did it happen for real? Like all the way to third base?” Gemma says abruptly.

I focus on her mischievous expression. “What?”

She points between me and Jay.

“Nothing.” My quick, barked response doesn’t even make sense.

Gemma looks almost offended. “Are you kidding?”

Jay quickly moves away from me like he just realized he was practically draped over me with his hand tangled in my hair. “Gemma, there’s nothing—”

“Liars!”

“Gemma, that’s a strong accusation,” Lance lightly scolds her, but his eyes track our movements and my blush.

“Please, don’t tell anyone,” I whisper hoarsely to both of them.

Gemma squeals with delight, and Lance’s face slackens with shock.

Jay leans down to whisper in my ear. “If he tells our boss, I’m cooked.”

“Please,” I say to them again.

“Well, I’m sure as shit not telling anyone,” Gemma snorts and sips her champagne. “This is the first time I’ve seen you happy in ages. I’m not fucking that up for my best friend. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say, my voice tight with emotion.

“Lance,” Gemma barks. “Tell my best friend her secret is safe.”

Lance startles slightly and stares at me and Jay. “I will not be the one who outs you two to Safe House. But you need to think about this objectively. Can you still protect Wren if you are distracted?”

“Yes. I am not distracted,” Jay insists. I say nothing about how his hand had been tangled in my hair and nowhere near his holster.

“Was the break in at her house due to—” Lance starts. While a flare of indignant anger rises in me, I realize he is right to wonder if the break in happened because Jay was distracted.

“No,” Jay cuts him off. “Nothing had… happened yet. I told you how the break in happened.”

Lance nods and sits back in his chair. “Alright, your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you,” Jay and I both say.

Lance’s eyes crinkle with a smile as he shakes his head at us. “I’m happy for you kids.”

“Wait, Lance, it never occurred to me since you work at Safe House you’ve seen his face.” I change the topic.

“I have.”

“And you know his real name.”

“Yes.”

“Is he handsome?”

Lance groans and rolls his eyes.

“Of course he is!” Gemma says and gestures up and down at Jay’s body. “I work with male models all day and only the ones who are actually good looking hold their bodies the way he does. It’s all in the stance, the posture.”

Jay shrugs. “I was a pimply, big kid with anger issues in school.”

“Who wasn’t in high school?” Gemma says dismissively. “You were a hottie underneath.”

Jay laughs. A good, big laugh. “I was absolutely not.”

“Sure, okay, but is he hot now?” I ask Lance.

“Cover model,” Lance replies.

Jay tips his head down to me and gives me a dramatic wink, and clicks his tongue behind his mask. I giggle.

“Wait, he keeps the mask on for sex?” Gemma finally catches up.

“We haven’t…” I trail off.

“Then what have you—” Gemma cuts off and looks around. “We need a sleepover, and I need the details.”

“Absolutely,” I agree.

“If she sleeps over, do I sleep over?” Lance asks Jay. “I never slept over when she stayed at Mr. Taylor’s penthouse. There were always Crows around.”

“Yes, boys get a playdate, too,” Gemma says with finality.

Gemma and I bow our heads together and giggle as we finish our champagne. My best friend knows about Jay. She approves and is happy for me. The evening couldn’t get any better.

chapter twenty-eight

Wren

Two weeks later, a thunderstorm has me kept awake. Angelica hates storms and I soothe her so she doesn’t pluck any feathers out in her anxiety. When she finally settles into her cage that is draped with blankets and the door propped open, I creep downstairs to the sunroom. Storms in the city differed completely from storms here and I almost can’t get enough of them. Everything in the house rattles with each clap of thunder and lightning reflects off every shiny surface in the house.

With the windows open and the lights off, I enjoy the smell of damp earth, wet herbs, and electricity. Only a creamy beeswax candle perched in a vintage crystal candlestick holder lights the room between lightning strikes. I hold a book on my lap, but I can’t bring myself to open it yet. My mind is occupied with thoughts of Jay. It’s been weeks since we stepped over the line in our relationship that separated us from bodyguard and client to lovers. There had been lingering touches here and there, but no more discussions on what we were to each other and no more kisses.

Not that I don’t want it. I do. And I know he does, too. But there is so much that needs to be said, and we had spent so many days busy. I had a charity banquet to help organize for dad’s work and a charity golf tournament to run. Meanwhile, Jay had to take a few days off to be with his mom while she had a procedure. It was successful, and he says she’s doing well, but the stress and worry had captured a lot of his attention. I wasn’t about to add to his stress with a defining the relationship conversation.

This evening, before the storm rolled in, we spent our first quiet evening together in weeks in the living room. He played a video game on the big TV and I read the book currently perched on my lap. We barely spoke other than to goad the other into refilling drinks or making more pizza rolls. I had wanted to talk to him, to kiss him, to touch him. But I didn’t want to shake up the peace of the balmy summer evening.

Tomorrow, we have no plans other than yard work. I have tomatoes and herbs that need to be harvested. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to him. Maybe when he is shirtless and sweaty in the backyard, I’ll pin him down between the rows of vegetables and ride him.

“Are you okay?”

I shriek. My book slides off my lap and noisily hits the floor.

“Oh my god, it’s just me!” Jay says and holds his hands up in front of him.

“You scared me!”

“No shit! What are you doing down here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say as thunder rumbles and shakes everything in the room.

Jay nods and sits in the chair next to me.

“Angelica alright?”

“She hates storms. But she’ll be alright.”

We were quiet for a moment as thunder rumbled again.

“You seemed to be engrossed in your book.” He points to the book still on the floor.

“I was thinking.”

“About?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

The chair creaks slightly as he sits up from his lounged position.

“Yeah.”

“What… were you thinking about?” His voice is low and gravelly.

I snort. “Well, I was thinking about pinning you flat between the tomatoes and the cucumbers and riding you.”

Jay makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and choking on his saliva.

“But, I realized we should probably talk first,” I finish and slide my eyes away from the window to look at him.

His body is tense, like he’s about to run from the room or pounce on me. Either being a valid response to me bringing up having a define the relationship talk in the middle of the night.

“Talk.”

“Yeah, talk.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

“Mm,” he makes a sound of understanding. “Like whether you’d be riding my face or my dick in the garden?”

I laugh. “No, I feel… conflicted.”

He says nothing, but his eyes don’t leave me.

“I feel stupid, really. I don’t even know you. But I feel like I know you. See how stupid that sounds? And it’s making me feel like an idiot with how much I’m attracted to you. I can’t even see your face.” My voice is almost hysterical.

His posture relaxes as he takes a deep breath. “What do you know about me?”

“I know you like the blue mug with the bubbles in the paint. The lighter blue is the same color as your eyes. I know you secretly like sugary sweet coffee drinks but pretend not to, so I order it for you and you always finish it. I know which maps you refuse to play on Call of Duty. I know you like fantasy books and you dog ear the pages and bend the spines. I know you like to be bossed around sometimes. I know you like when I bake stuff with fruit in it the best. And I know you dote on Angelica because you’re kind and loyal. Your mom and your neighbor are important to you and you still talk to guys you went through basic training with.” My voice trails off when I make eye contact with him. The yellow candlelight makes his eyes look gray and casts long shadows from his lashes. It makes me pause. I can only see his eyes, as always, but I feel like in that moment I am looking at the man beneath the mask again. And for the first time, he is looking back.

“Sounds like you know me pretty well,” Jay whispers hoarsely.

“Am I a stalker?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. I hear his huff of a laugh behind the mask. “No.”

“I don’t know your name, your face, or how you feel about me, but I know all of that stuff. It sounds stalkerish.”

He bobs his head from side to side and makes a considering sound. “Maybe a little. Or, and hear me out, this might be kind of crazy, but it sounds like a woman with a crush on her anonymous bodyguard that she spends every day with.”

I giggle as some of the tension leaves me when I realize he’s not running away.

“You don’t need to know my name or my face to really know me,” he says, his voice warm. “And you certainly don’t need those things to know how I feel about you.”

My stomach bottoms out as I watch him slide out of his chair and kneel before me. He maintains eye contact with me as he kisses the inside of my thighs and gently spreads my legs to accommodate him. My lacy pink nightdress hitches at my hips where his fingertips lightly caress the waistband of my panties.

“But if you want, I can tell you my name,” he whispers against my skin. I can feel his breath despite the mask and I shiver at its warmth.

My lower stomach tightens and my core warms. I want to rip that mask off of him so badly. “Yes.”

He lifts his mask to expose his mouth and jaw, and his answering grin makes my heart skip. His teeth are white and straight except for slightly turned bottom teeth, showing he didn’t have braces growing up. His lips are plush and smooth. I can smell minty toothpaste and ChapStick as he places a kiss on my skin.

With gentle hands, he slides my panties down my legs before tossing them behind him. He doesn’t break eye contact with me, so the regret at not wearing cute panties lasts only half a second. Now bare to him, he looks down at me. A rumble sounds in his chest like a groan or a growl, but is drowned out by the sound of thunder around us.

I can’t tell if I want him to put his mouth on me or tell me his name more. So, I wait with trembling thighs and heavy breaths for him to stop staring at my pussy. He looks back up at my face and smirks. I could come on the spot at finally seeing that smirk on his lips. But I don’t. I swallow hard and grit out, “Be a good boy and do something.”

His eyes flash with indignant heat, but his smirk doesn’t falter as he leans down and licks a curve into my pussy. He sits back and looks up at me with a raised eyebrow.

The moan that had crept up stops in my throat. “What?”

“What letter was that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I’m spelling my name. What letter was that?”

My brain is scrambled from seeing his smile and his smirk and one singular swipe of his tongue on my pussy. “Um, an O?”

“Nope, try again.”

He bends back down and does the same curving movement. It curved but didn’t form a complete circle. “C”

He hums an affirmative sound and then licks a hot, flat tongue up my slit. I moan and try to relax back into the chair. He sees me shifting and caresses my hips. Once I stop moving, he looks up at me expectantly and does another curving shape. This time, his tongue makes a complete circle.

“O”

Another affirmative hum and then a flat swipe. The broad movement must be like an eraser on a chalkboard, erasing my nerve endings’ memory of the previous letter. Except instead of erasing the pleasure, it mounts it higher. I bite my lip and look down.

“You better have a short name or I’m going to come before you’re done spelling.”

He chuckles and bites my inner thigh, and I squeak in protest.

He swipes a long line down and then another line. I can’t tell how long or if it goes back up or out because that first line directly touched my clit and my body is lit up and buzzing like a neon sign.

“V”

A negative hum. He repeats the letter, again swiping over my clit.

“T?”

He hums a no and repeats the letter.

“L!” I practically shout.

An affirmative sound before he licks up my arousal before it drips on the chair below me.

A straight line and then another line. Fuck, both times centered on my clit.

“P?”

A negative hum and a repeated letter.

“Y?”

“Are you getting these wrong on purpose?”

“N-no, you just keep touching my clit and I’m about to come.”

“Focus, Wren.”

I cannot focus any more than I am at this moment. My entire body’s attention is centered on my clit. Someone could gnaw off my left arm, and I wouldn’t notice because I am so focused on the man licking his name into my pussy.

“T?”

“Yes!”

What were the other correct letters? The man is trying to tell me his name and I can barely remember my own right now. COLT.

“Colt?” I ask in a whisper.

“Almost,” he replies.

I already know the answer. The one remaining brain cell that wasn’t electrocuted with pleasure is still working. But I am not about to shout out the answer without coming on his tongue first.

He does another circle. This time I guess wrong on purpose.

“U?”

Negative hum. Another circle, this time slower.

“O?”

Positive hum. Flat swipe. One more touch to my clit and I’m going to come. My entire body is tensed and sweating. My core pulsates and I feel myself drip to the chair. He dives to catch it. My hands are trembling as I reach out and hold his head. I want to run my fingers through his hair, grip him and hold his mouth to me. But the mask is in the way.

He zig zags his tongue against me once more and I shatter. I cry out and writhe in the chair, my entire body alight with my climax.

“Colton!” I shout, and I feel him gasp against me.

He sits up and his hands grip my hips with an almost bruising force. “Say it again,” he growls.

“Colton,” I breathe.

His posture relaxes a fraction of his desperate rigidity.

“Colton.”

He brushes back my hair and holds my face. The expression in his eyes is so unguarded it feels like I can walk right into his heart and make a home there. And I realize maybe I already have and that’s what he’s trying to tell me.

Emotion clogs my throat and I try to swallow as I slide my hands up his shoulders and neck to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. His hair is soft against my skin, slightly damp from either sweat or lingering from an earlier shower. My thumbs brush the skin in front of his ears and feel the smooth skin of where he must have just shaved. I smell aftershave and shampoo on him and I want to bury my nose in his neck.

“Colton.”

He breaks into a smile and rests his forehead against mine.

“I love the sound of my name on your lips.”

I kiss him. “Colton.”

Another kiss. “Colton.”

He groans and lifts me out of the chair as he stands. I wrap my legs around his hips before we both freeze.

“Wait, the cameras!” Colton hisses, panic in his eyes.

“They face the windows and doors, you know that. But the stairs are in view, so when you sneak into my room, go quickly,” I say as he sets me back onto the floor.

“You go up, and I’ll close up the house and check the locks,” he says before patting me on the ass to get moving.

I blow out the candle and he tsks in irritation behind me in the dark room.

“You could have left that for me.”

“Boo-hoo,” I say and flick on the light switch as I leave the room. 

chapter twenty-nine

Wren

I scurry up the stairs and into my room. I brush my teeth and hair and light a few candles for ambiance. When Jay—Colton comes in, he’s no longer wearing his t-shirt. Dressed only in a pair of black basketball shorts and his balaclava, he looks more like the lethal, masked Viking man than ever before.

“Just returning this to you,” he says and tosses me my panties I left downstairs.

“Oh, thanks, I can’t sleep without them,” I say dryly as I catch them.

He chuckles and climbs into bed with me, lifting his mask to kiss me. The taste of me is still on his tongue and I smile as lightning fills the room.

“Lay down,” I demand, and move off the bed.

He obeys instantly. Once on his back, his erection tents his shorts.

“Is that mine, Colton?” I ask and point to his cock.

“Only if you say my name again.”

I jump onto the bed and straddle his middle. He’s being a brat, so I pinch his nipples.

He lets out a yelp and bats my hands away. “Ouch! Fuck!”

“Too much?” I ask him, worried I’d crossed a line.

“Oh, shit. Uh, no. You just shocked me, that’s all,” he says, pushing up onto his elbows.

“Okay, well, tell me if it’s too much. Safe word is ‘unicorn,’ or hum any song by Britney Spears,” I say.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Wait, why unicorn?”

“Because I like them,” I say and pinch his nipples again.

He yelps. “Okay, and why Britney?”

“Because it’s funny. And your mouth might be busy,” I say and shove my panties in his mouth, effectively gagging him from any more of his bratty questions.

“You are no longer my bodyguard. You are my personal sex toy. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted,” I say and scoot back on his body so I can lick down his trail of chest hair. I’d been dying to do this since he first mowed the lawn without a shirt. His muscles quiver under my touch and I feel his leaking cock against my chest through his shorts. He moans.

“I’ve seen your cock before, but I didn’t get a real good look at it,” I say with curiosity as I hop off of him and slide his shorts down.

“You weren’t wearing any underwear?” I ask, shocked. “You are such a slut coming to my room without panties on.”

He snorts a laugh around his fabric gag.

With his shorts off, he’s fully naked, save his mask, on my bed. He’s massive. With his head on my pillow, his feet almost dangle off the end. I need to get a bigger bed if he is going to spend any more time in it. His arms are curled under his head like a pillow and his biceps look bulky. They’re probably bigger around than my ample thighs. And I haven’t even looked at his dick yet. It bobs as he realizes where my eyes are. The pale skin where his shorts cover him while doing yardwork doesn’t take away from the beauty of the bronzed and tanned rest of him. It gives another layer of vulnerability to his submission to me.

“Hm, who knew my bodyguard was packing this weapon the whole time?” I say as I straddle his thighs and get down to look at his cock closely. A drip of precum rolls over the ridge of his head and I lick it up. He moans and his hips jerk beneath me.

“So responsive,” I tease.

I take him into my mouth, and he goes entirely still. He doesn’t even breathe for a moment before he groans long and low. It sounds like he’s trying to talk through his gag, and I pause a moment to make sure he wasn’t humming a song. He’s babbling unintelligible nonsense and I smile. I suck him, and spit on his cock until he’s well lubricated and sweating.

“Are you clean?” I ask him.

He nods.

“Me, too. And I’m on birth control,” I explain. But he knows that. He’s been with me when I opened my mailed prescription.

I move so my pussy is just above his cock, and he rips the panties out of his mouth and grips my hips. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gravelly but sincere.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Fuck yeah,” he says and loosens his grip on my hips.

I lower myself onto him and even the feel of his crown at my entrance is big. I hesitate for a moment. All of my previous partners have been average sized, and that is just fine. My issues with them were never the size of their cocks, just how they failed to use them. But Jay—Colton is huge. I adjust my knees on the mattress and look down as I take the head of him into me.

A sharp breath escapes me as I push down on him. The stretch burns and my legs start to shake.

“Hey, hey, slow down. It’s okay,” Colton soothes and rubs his hands up and down my thighs.

His eyes are soft and his body relaxed as he gently caresses me. He brings a hand up and uses his thumb to brush against my clit. When my arousal leaks around the head of his cock, he gently guides me further onto him. We both are breathing hard, our breaths sawing in and out of us like we’ve run a marathon.

“Fuck,” I whimper.

“I know, you can take it,” he croons.

He keeps his thumb on my clit, rubbing in circles, as I slowly sink down on his cock. Inch by inch. Once I am fully seated, I open my eyes again.

“Breathe,” he says, his eyes like liquid heat on my body. He lifts my nightdress over my head while I acclimate to the feel of him inside me. The burn gives way to a comforting sense of fullness, and I rock my hips experimentally. Now, fully naked for him, his hands roam over my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Rocking on him, I bring myself close to an orgasm quickly. I bite my lip and look down at him. “How do you like being my sex toy? Do you like how tight my pussy is? How wet it is?” I moan and tip my head back as I ride him. “Do you like how I ride this fat cock?”

“Yes,” he groans and his hands tighten around my thighs.

“Don’t come yet, I’m not done with you,” I command.

“Yes, Mistress,” he says almost sarcastically.

“You mouth off to me again and I’ll gag you again,” I warn as I ride him.

He quirks an eyebrow in challenge. Brat.

“Open your mouth,” I demand breathlessly.

He obeys, and I tilt his chin down before spitting in his mouth. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to send a message. He jerks back against the pillow like I’d shocked him, his eyes flaring with anger and excitement. I shove his mouth closed with a snap of his teeth. “Every word out of your mouth to me or about me better be words of adoration and worship.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he says. That look of anger and excitement giving way to an almost feral, unchained look. His grasp on his control is slipping. His hands are tight on my body like he is regulating himself more than my movements as I ride him.

I want to see him off that tightly leashed control. He followed my every demand, and it is his turn to demand of me. I want to feel his body as he lets it have everything it desires. This man is muscle on top of muscle and he let me use him. He trusts me. And I trust him.

“Since you’ve been such a good boy, after I come, you can have control,” I say and run my hands over his chest.

“You sure, baby?” he asks despite the hitch in his breathing.

I nod. “I want you to fuck me the way you want to fuck me.”

Without another word, he helps me grind against him as I climb higher and higher to my orgasm. I hear my own moans and his groaning praises, but I can’t do anything other than crash headlong into an orgasm. It starts in my core and ricochets through my body to my fingers and toes, arching my back and forcing me to scream my release to the candle lit ceiling.

Barely on the other side of my climax, I’m roughly flipped over until he’s on top of me. I blink open my eyes, not realizing I shut them, and see his brows drawn together to form a crease and his still unmasked mouth open as he fucks me hard and deep. I tilt my hips to keep him from painfully bashing my cervix, but otherwise let him do what he wants.

When feeling returns to my hands, I run them over his body, feeling his sweaty skin. He kisses me deeply. His tongue delves into my mouth in a searing, claiming kiss. I moan against his mouth and I see his tattooed arms shaking where they’re planted on the bed.

“You take it so well, baby,” he whispers. “Look at it. Look how good.”

I look down and see his cock and his surrounding patch of hair shining with my release as he pumps into me.

“You came so good on my dick, baby.”

A shuddering moan escapes me as I begin to reach for another orgasm.

He wraps a hand around my neck and squeezes. I was already breathless, so it takes next to no time before I’m seeing spots. He lets go so I can breathe. “Holy shit, princess, you like that,” he says, awe in his voice.

I nod.

“Look at us now,” he almost chuckles.

His hand squeezes again, and I watch as my pussy gushes with arousal around him. I would laugh at my body, but the pleasure is too much and his hand is still around my throat.

“You look beautiful being split in half and choked,” he growls. “Fuck, I can’t get enough. Soak it, princess.”

And that I do. Another orgasm rushes over me, this one on the edge of painful as his hips stutter in their brutal fucking.

His moans fill my ears as he rests his forehead against mine. His half-finished praises and exaltations accompany me as I return to my body post orgasm.

“So good—oh, fuck, you feel—I’m going to—perfect, baby.”

With a growling groan, his thrusts take on an upward tilt as he comes. I hold him tightly to me as he fucks me through his orgasm and slows down. On shaking limbs, he pulls out of me and lays down, his face still buried in my neck, kissing me over and over. We still cling to each other as we catch our breath. He tugs his mask back over his mouth and looks at me. His eyes are crinkled in a smile as he brushes my hair away from my face.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

“Perfect,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder.

He chuckles.

“What?”

“I had pictured so much better sex than missionary for you,” he laughs.

“Oh, um, sorry,” I say self-consciously.

“No! Fuck, no. I meant what I wanted to do to you. I had always hoped I’d have it in me to be… more adventurous with you since I heard about your issues with—”

I laugh, cutting him off.

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t good. I was just so excited to finally… you know,” he says self-deprecatingly.

“Jay, I mean, Colton, you did great. That was amazing. The best I’ve ever had. Really. It’s not the position, it’s… everything else.” I stroke his chest, my fingers swirling in his chest hair.

“Oh, the choking, got it,” he says jokingly.

“All of it,” I yawn.

“No yawning yet, I need to clean you up,” he says admonishingly.

“I’ll shower in a minute.”

“Who said anything about a shower yet?” He asks mischievously as he extracts himself from my arms and slides down the bed.

I cringe and laugh. “Ja—Colton!”

Where the last time his mouth was on my pussy, his mission was to get me to know his name. This time, his mission is to get me to know his devotion. And I understand now. It’s not just my body, my access to money, or my influence. He is devoted to me, Wren. He doesn’t want a seat on my dad’s board or a contract with his company. Colton wants to watch birds, eat homemade bread, play video games, read fantasy books, dote on my pet, and suck his own come out of me.

And I am truly, unmistakably, desperately in love with him.

chapter thirty

Wren

A dramatic gasp wakes me up with a start.

“Bitch! Big Bitch!” Angelica squawks from the end of the bed.

“Get out, bird,” Colton groans from where his head is currently half under a pillow to block out the morning light.

I giggle as Angelica flaps over to stand on his back.

“Ouch! Your fucking demon talons!”

Colton shoots up, and she flutters in the air to avoid him.

“Berries!” she cries indignantly.

I look at the clock on my nightstand. We’re an hour late for her usual breakfast time. I slide out of bed, pulling the sheet a little with me.

“Naked!” Angelica gasps as she stares directly at Colton’s bare ass. She turns her head to me. “Naked!”

I giggle and pull on my bathrobe. “Angelica, when a mommy and a daddy….”

Angelica interrupts my joke with an upsetting and also accurate imitation of my voice, crying out in pleasure.

Colton laughs and pulls on the black basketball shorts from last night. “I’ll get coffee started. You feed the bird.”

“Alright, Angelica, let’s go,” I sigh and raise my arm for her to land on me.

I feed her breakfast and fill her water before hopping in the shower. Part of me doesn’t want to wash the scent of Jay—I mean Colton—off me. But the other part knows it is gross. I shower quickly and wind my wet hair up into a ballerina bun. Dressed in running shorts and a flowy tank, I’m ready for a day of yard work.

Jay is sitting at the little table on the patio, a carafe of coffee on the surface. A plate of cheesy scrambled eggs and toast sits in front of my place. “Good boy, getting me breakfast and coffee.”

His spine straightens when he hears my praise and I realize while he may be a trained weapon, I hold the trigger. “It’s eggs and toast. Coffee should still be hot.”

“Mistress.”

“Coffee should still be hot, Mistress.”

“Lovely,” I say and sit in my seat.

“You look beautiful this morning,” Colton says over his mug. His blue eyes are warm and flirtatious. I want to dive into them.

“Thank you. You’d look better without the mask,” I tease.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a huff of a laugh. “We have to maintain some semblance of boundaries.”

“I wish we wouldn’t,” I say.

“Fire me,” he challenges.

I pause. I could fire him. He’d likely stay right here with me, right? We were past that, right? Right? But then, how would he pay for his mother’s treatments?

Fuck, I’m so dumb. I can pay.

Gemma is coming over for our sleepover tonight. I’ll talk it through with her. Colton and I are so new, and I want this to go well. I need another opinion on what to do. I pocket the thought for later.

Colton gets up to put his plate in the dishwasher. He’s also freshly showered. I can tell by the scent of his soap in the air when he moves. He’s wearing a pair of blue shorts and an athletic tank top. I admire his body as he bends to close the dishwasher. Where we sit at the table is not in view of the cameras. If we sat on the other side, our faces would be visible in the security camera. It hadn’t been an intentional seating arrangement, we’d chosen because these seats overlook the bird feeders. But now, I am thankful for the choice.

“Crawl,” I bark out as he turns to come back out to the table.

He slowly gets to his knees, his eyes locking with mine.

I turn in my chair and open my legs. Slowly, I run my fingers over my thighs and slip under the fabric of my shorts. I’m already wet from watching him.

He crawls to me, his eyes never leaving mine except to watch my fingers dip in and out. I slide my shorts off, leaving me in a pair of gray panties. Something about seeing him on his knees at my command has me so turned on I’m already soaking the cotton.

“Stop. Watch me come,” I command. My other hand slips down and plays with my clit while I fuck myself.

He stops crawling and watches me. I see him swallow and adjust himself in his shorts.

“Pull it out. I want to see you.”

He obeys instantly and goes back to a crawling position. The waistband of his shorts and boxer briefs are tight enough under his balls it’s holding his cock against his stomach. Precum leaks and drips slowly to the floor. I grin and bite my lip.

“Touch yourself.” I demand.

He wraps one hand around his cock and slowly strokes it. His eyes flutter in pleasure but remain on my pussy.

I look down to see the growing wet spot on my gray panties and almost laugh. I’d never been as wet as I have been for this man. And I don’t even know his face. Holding off on coming until he does proves to be difficult because I think he’s also holding off until I climax. We both edge ourselves a few times before I finally decide to let the next wave happen.

He crawls closer as my hands work furiously under my soaked panties. I feel my arousal wetting the chair below me and his eyes follow drips to the patio floor. He looks up at me as he sits back on his heels. His eyes roll as he comes hard. The first jet lands on his chest, the second and third reach his mask at his chin, the rest coat his stomach and hand.

Seeing him covered in his own release finally tips me over that final edge into bliss. I bite down on a cry of pleasure as I watch him slowly pump and squeeze the last drops of come out of his cock. My pussy clamps down on my fingers, and I feel more arousal pouring from me.

“Fuck! Come clean me up,” I gasp at him as I extract my hands from my panties.

Colton eagerly crawls the rest of the way to me and roughly strips off my ruined panties and lifts his mask. His mouth is on me before I can catch my breath. I squeal at the overstimulation. He sucks at my clit, massaging it with his tongue so well I’m coming again in record time.

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with his hand. We breathe heavily and smile at each other before he puts his mask back on. His smile, the part of it I can see, is bright and full of contentment. When the day comes that I can see the entire thing, I know it will be blinding.

We finish our breakfast and Colton goes down to the basement to work out. I’m not allowed down there when he’s working out because he takes off his mask. While he’s busy, I get cleaned up and start a loaf of sourdough from a starter I picked up from a local bakery last week. Princess Dill-dough has been treated like a pet for the week and I finally have the time to bake with her. A loaf has been in its last proof in my fridge overnight and I set the oven to preheat.

While the oven is heating, I decide that regardless of if I fire Colton from being my Blue Jay or not, I still want to help him with his mom. I feel bad I hadn’t done it earlier. In my world, it is odd to not be asked for money. A Blue Jay has never asked before, but practically everyone else has at some point. Gemma did only that one time when her purse got stolen in Rome, which I don’t count as her actually asking for money. That was Gemma being Gemma overseas and unsupervised.

With determination and a first name, I call the hospital system near where his mom lives. I call as Colton’s employer, who wants to make a surprise gift of paying off his mom’s medical debt. I let the poor lady on the phone know I am not allowed to know the last name, but I give his mom’s first name I overheard once, “Sandy,” and say she has a massive, blond-haired and blue-eyed son. The woman on the phone is mildly annoyed until I tell her I will pay the entire debt and have the company make an additional donation to the hospital system. She puts me on hold while she contacts the treatment center we believe his mom is in. The hold music clashes with the rock music that echoes through the house from the basement gym.

“Do you know if he is recently home from the armed forces and brought in a cherry cake and lemon scones for the nurses?” the woman asks with a laugh.

“I do know! Yes, he just got home, and he brought in bakes!” Because I made them, but that’s irrelevant.

“Alright, then we know for sure who Sandy is. Also, I’ve sent an email with your information to our donations coordinator, and they will be in touch soon,” she says. The information she was given is Wren Angelica, my fake name for coordinating events and charities for Dad’s company.

After I give her the payment information to cover the entirety of Sandy’s bill, I insist all future treatments be charged directly to the company. I’ll be sure to give our accounting team a heads up, but they typically know if I authorized it, it’s not frivolous. I send the emailed receipts over to the person who handles our charitable expenses and am pulling the finished loaf of sourdough out of the oven as Colton reappears.

He’s freshly showered and hungry again. He opens the fridge while humming over the smell of the bread.

“It’s still hot. I just pulled it out,” I say as I knock on the bottom to check that it’s done.

“Wait, what does this mean?” he asks as he pulls out a glass container of leftovers. A Post-It note with “WET” is attached to the outside.

“It means it is mine. My initials, see?”

“Oh, wet. Because you’re always wet.”

“Right. The other container is yours,” I say and narrow my eyes at him until he puts my container back.

“‘BJ’ is mine?” he scoffs.

“Blue Jay. I didn’t know your name when I wrote it.”

“Wet BJ. We make a pretty good team, if I say so myself,” he says, and rips open the container to eat the Chinese leftovers cold.

“Colton Alexander,” I say thoughtfully. “What’s your last name initial?”

“T.”

That would have been nice to know before I made the phone call today.

“Wet cat is an even better team name,” I laugh.

He makes a high-pitched purring sound as I take out the bread knife. I saw into the bread, and I’m almost too excited to do it neatly. For some reason, sourdough has become the hallmark of the cute cottage core lifestyle. I don’t think I’ve had it before. Even though it’s super trendy, I don’t think I’ve ever ordered it anywhere. So, to make it today, before spending the day gardening, in my cute kitchen with sunshine in the windows, it is a pinnacle of my happiness.

Colton pulls out the butter dish and a knife, and I slide a freshly sliced piece across the counter for him. It is steaming as he slaps a pat of good yellow butter on it. I slice my own while he takes a bite. I’m buttering my slice when he stops moving.

“Is it so good you’re immobilized?”

He swallows it hard. I cringe at the sound.

I take a small bite. It is very sour. The butter doesn’t even touch the flavor. It is so sour my eyes water and my lips almost pucker.

“Hey, babe, nice try,” Colton tries to soothe. His eyes are watery too and he’s reaching for the cold Chinese food again. “Texture? Ten out of ten.”

“It’s so bad,” I say sadly around the wad of Sourpatch Sourdough in my mouth.

“Spit it out before you puke!”

I spit it out with a dramatic heave and wipe my eyes.

“Maybe… we don’t like sourdough?” he suggests.

“Can we be cottage core aesthetic without sourdough?”

“I don’t know what this means, but yeah. If it tastes like that, then we can totally be whatever you want to be without… that.” He shivers as he points to the bread.

I groan and rest my head on the counter.

chapter thirty-one

Wren

The kitchen island is laden with snacks, and the refrigerator is stocked with drinks. Colton is finishing up putting away the books and blankets we had strewn about the living room, and I wait by the door with Angelica perched on my shoulder. Her talons feel sharp on my skin, so I move her over.

“Stop it,” Angelica demands.

“You stop it. Your nails hurt,” I murmur back.

She digs them in harder.

“Ouch! I’m going to put you outside with the wild birds if you do that again.”

Angelica clicks her beak threateningly in my ear.

Colton comes around the corner while talking into his earpiece. “Thank you.” Then to me and Angelica, “You two fight like siblings.”

My retort is interrupted by the doorbell.

“Gemma and Lance are here,” Colton provides unnecessarily.

I squeal and open the door. Gemma hasn’t been to my house yet, so she’s looking all around the outside. Lance is approaching the house, holding both of their overnight bags and looking mildly irritated.

“Babe!” Gemma screams and pushes into the house and hugs me tightly. “Your house! You have a house!” She kisses all over my face, leaving prints of her red lipstick all over.

I giggle as she lathers me with kisses and squeezes me tightly.

Angelica makes a sound like she’s clearing her throat, and Gemma turns the kisses to my parrot.

“I’m not kissing you,” Lance says to Colton.

“Then my cherry lip balm was for nothing, thanks,” Colton replies.

“Hello, Blade,” Lance greets Angelica.

“Lance,” she says curtly back.

“How come we’re all called ‘bitch’ and Lance gets his name?” Colton asks her.

“My name is Blade,” Angelica preens. Lance is the only person who obliges her own chosen name, therefore he is the only one she calls by their name.

Gemma and I giggle as I pull her through the entryway and to the kitchen. I give Gemma and Lance a tour of the house and soak in the praise of my best friend. Having her here is one of my favorite things.

“You made so much food!” Gemma says when we return to the kitchen.

“And every single item is unhealthy and delicious,” I say, and hand her a plate.

“Lance, get that wine I brought,” Gemma demands.

“Oh, I forgot,” Lance says and finds their bags. He comes back with a bottle of wine, a small box, and a bottle of amber liquid. He hands Gemma the wine and the other items to Colton. “Got approval for us to have some of this, too.”

The men go out to the patio where I see them light up cigars. I wrinkle my nose.

Gemma entertains me with a story about a recent photoshoot she had with an influencer in the city while we fill up our plates with food. There are pastries, mini pizzas, appetizers from two of my favorite local places, tiny cakes, and so much chocolate. We eat in the sunroom so we’re far from the plumes of smoke from the guys. Our first plates go quickly, and Angelica moves to her perch.

It’s not until Gemma and I take a plate of chocolates and a second bottle of wine up to my bedroom that we talk about Colton. We hear occasional faint laughter from the guys as they grab something to eat in the kitchen.

“So, tell me,” Gemma prompts with a sly grin.

I feel the blush burn on my cheeks.

“Oh, my god!” she squeals.

“Stop it!”

“No, you are totally obsessed with Jay! Tell me!”

I pour us more wine. “Well, his name is Colton.”

“Colton,” she says and swirls the wine in her glass. “I could moan that.”

“I did last night.”

“Tell. Me. Everything!”

I regale her with the broad strokes details of how Colton and I started. She listens with rapt attention and many interruptions for questions. My wine never goes empty with her holding the bottle and refilling my glass.

“With his tongue!” she screams and kicks her feet.

“I had a hard time remembering the alphabet.”

“Could you remember your own name?”

“Barely. I knew what name to moan, and that’s all that matters.”

“Well, was it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?” she asks, her expression serious.

I nod. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

“It doesn’t sound like he was rough with you.”

“Not really. I’m not sure if that’s what I need now. Do I like that? Sure, yeah, it’s fun. But I don’t know if I need it.”

“What do you mean?”

“With Maxwell, for example, I wanted him to get rough because it would have meant his feelings for me were big. I thought that passion would feel… extreme. But now I wonder if what I was looking for was trust?”

“And who else to trust but your bodyguard?”

“Exactly. I think because I genuinely like him as a person and I trust he’ll keep me safe, I don’t require a test of that trust? Ugh, I don’t know how to explain it. I still liked when he choked me. It was still exciting. But I don’t need it?”

“No, I get it. You don’t need him to prove anything to you. You already know it.”

“I mean, I definitely test him,” I giggle. “I made him crawl to me this morning.”

Gemma screams her delight.

“You girls alright?” Lance’s voice calls up the stairs.

“We’re fine!” Gemma and I both yell back.

“Okay, so I have a crush on Lance,” Gemma says, not looking at me.

“What?!”

“Yeah, I guess falling for our bodyguards is contagious,” she says, and a blush covers her face and neck.

“Have you…?”

“No, nothing,” she groans.

“Why not?”

“I keep hesitating. He’s fifteen years older than me, for one thing.”

“Colton is like nine or ten years older than me,” I say with a shrug.

“We sure have a type, don’t we?”

“Older men who will not waste our time? Yeah,” I say, and we break into fits of giggles.

“Tell me about the crawling!”

“He likes when I get bossy.”

“Dominatrix style?”

“I think?” I say with a hesitant shrug. “He enjoys being degraded and used.”

“That’s why he stayed!” Gemma cackles. “All those times you bullied and degraded him before would have sent other Jays packing. He stayed because he thought you were sexy and fulfilling his kinky desires.”

I laugh. “That’s why I stopped trying to get him to quit. He liked it and it didn’t rile him up.”

“Or it did, and you weren’t ready for how it riled him,” Gemma adds.

I groan and bury my face in the pillow I had been leaning against.

“So how does this translate to your relationship?” Gemma asks and twirls my hair.

“In what way?”

“Do the dominant and submissive roles carry over to your non sexual life?”

“No. Nothing has really changed there,” I reply. “We pretty much keep it to the bedroom. Or, really, just sexy time activities. And I let him off leash once I’ve had my fill. I let him take over.”

“He’s a switch?” Gemma asks.

“A switch?”

“He can switch between a dom and a sub.”

“No, I gathered what it meant. I just… I don’t know. I guess?”

“Honestly, I think that would fit your needs best. You’re a woman who likes to have control when it suits her needs and is happy to give it up under the right circumstances,” Gemma explains. “You’re a switch, too. Sometimes you need a strong person to put you in your bratty place, and sometimes you need to be in charge.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I think it’s healthy and balanced.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” I narrow my eyes suspiciously at her.

She snorts. “Why do you think we’ve been best friends since we were practically toddlers?”

“Uh, we have the same kinks?”

“No, we complement each other’s needs. Sometimes you are the friend in charge of planning our adventures and sometimes it’s me. Sometimes you’re the one crashing out and making a mess and sometimes it’s me. When we’re both fucking up, well, we know we can just come back in a few days and try again. And when we’re doing great, then there’s almost nothing the two of us can’t figure out. We’re unstoppable.”

We cuddle under the covers together, our smooth legs tangling together and our hands clasped together. We’re murmuring about what movie to watch when Colton and Lance appear in the doorway.

“I knew girls did stuff during sleepovers,” Colton says as he looks us over.

“Arts and crafts?” Lance asks, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Heavy on the scissors,” Colton deadpans.

Gemma and I giggle and snort. Lance’s eyebrows disappear into his hair.

“We only ever made out the one time, at… was that Theodore’s party?” Gemma asks me.

“Bethany’s sweet sixteen party. In the hot tub with Theodore there. That’s why you’re confused.”

“Oh, that’s right! But it was at Theodore’s graduation party that we, you know.” She stops to waggle her eyebrows.

There were no other instances where we made out or anything else. But I catch on to her ruse. “When you… with your-?” I giggle and bite my lip.

“When she what with her what?” Lance asks and comes into the room.

Colton remains leaning on the doorframe with a look that could melt the clothes off of anyone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Gemma tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“Know? No. Seeing is believing,” Colton says, a challenge in his tone.

Lance laughs. “Anyway, we were just coming up to let you both know we locked up the doors and we’re going to play some video games. If you need to go outside or leave the house, talk to us first.”

“You’re tucking us in, Daddy?” Gemma teases in a high-pitched voice.

“Sing me a song!” I demand with a childish pout.

“I want a story!” Gemma adds.

“A glass of milk!”

“Rub my back!”

“Another story! Don’t skip pages!”

Lance rolls his eyes and waves a hand at us as he leaves.

“They’re both brats,” Colton grumbles as he moves back to let Lance exit my room.

“Their daddies didn’t spank their asses enough growing up,” Lance says to Colton.

“Hm, well, it’s a good thing we have you two, now isn’t it?” Gemma pipes up next to me. I pinch her side under the blankets as both Lance and Colton stop and slowly turn to face us. Lance looks unsure, while Colton looks like he’s promising that spanking for later. Gemma and Lance’s gazes are locked on each other and I watch as he goes from unsure to curious to that same promising look as Colton but for Gemma. Her hand snakes to mine, and she squeezes me until he breaks the eye contact.

The guys leave saying nothing else and we wait until we hear the TV starting up downstairs before we say anything.

“So, about you and Lance?”

Gemma squeals and ducks her head under the covers. I pat her head.

“Wait, did you eat anything with beans?”

I laugh and wiggle my butt under the covers. “No, but basically everything we ate had some sort of cheese.”

She screeches and scrambles out of the covers and leans back against the pillows like she’s in a coffin. “He’s so handsome.”

“He is.”

“He’s so nice to me.”

“He’s employed by you.”

“So is Jay! I mean, Colton,” she challenges me and goes up on her elbow.

“I know. I’m just walking you through the same questions I have to see if we come up with similar answers,” I explain.

“He’s a lot older than me,” she continues.

“I don’t think men have biological clocks like women do,” I say. “So his age doesn’t matter.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I never said I wanted to have his babies.”

“I know, so his age extra doesn’t matter.”

She groans and covers her eyes.

“What else would his age change? He already goes with you everywhere and on every vacation and work trip. It’s not like he can’t keep up with you.” Now it’s my turn to twirl her hair. The silky blonde locks slide smoothly between my fingers. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you can teach him all the references to pop culture as you see fit.”

She giggles. “In order to date me, you must be able to sing all the Hannah Montana songs.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Ugh, he’s got a nice ass,” Gemma says and sighs into my hair twirling.

“Objectively speaking, yes, he does.”

“I had a terrible day last week. I didn’t tell you about it because I think I was just hormonal and tired. But he held me and let me cry on his chest and then slept on my couch to make sure I was alright.”

“Gem! That sounds serious!” I admonish her. “You could have called me.”

“It really wasn’t serious. Just pre-period hormonal stuff,” she says dismissively.

“That was nice of him to stay with you.”

“When he was holding me, he was saying the nicest things to me and stroking my hair. He didn’t need to, but he did. He could have dropped me off at home and left like he usually does when I’m done for the day. Instead, he held me and let me cry on him and then stayed until morning. I made him breakfast and everything.”

“Next time, offer him pussy for breakfast instead of eggs and see what happens.”

“Is this what Daddy Issues look like?” she asks me.

I cackle. “I think this is what being cared for by good men looks like.”

“Wicked. We should do a podcast about it,” she says in her Frat Guy voice.

“Bro, nobody knows relationships like we do.”

“Bro, we sure know how to get good tits.”

“Bro, and ass. The both of them are totally caked up.”

chapter thirty-two

Wren

Gemma is asleep next to me in my bed. We had drank some more wine, ate more chocolate, watched a silly and romantic movie, whispered about Colton and Lance, and then got ready for bed. It had been too long since we’d had a sleepover, and I was still buzzing with love and excitement an hour after Gemma started snoring.

We had discussed at length my creepy stalker behavior at paying his mom’s medical bills. But overall, she was supportive in the decision. Her input was that I should have discussed it with him first to avoid any overstepping or undermining. She was probably right, but I had already done it.

I turn over and stare out the window at the clear, starry sky. I hear the clang of dishes downstairs and I almost panic. The alert tone for the door system on my phone is set to a sonic boom level more suited to someone’s grandma’s phone in the grocery store, so I know nobody has entered the house. I remind myself by looking at my phone and not seeing an alert. It’s probably Colton or Lance. Getting out of bed, I decide to make my sleeplessness their problem.

Creeping down the stairs, I see the reflection of Colton in the darkened windows. I see the back of his head and can tell his mask is on but pushed up to keep his face exposed. I wait at the doorway to the kitchen, hoping to see him turn around and catch at least a glimpse of his face. He notices my presence before I get so lucky. He stiffens and pulls the mask down before turning around.

“How did you know I was there?”

He points at the kitchen window. “Your reflection.”

I can hardly blame him. That’s exactly how I was spying.

“Was hoping to catch a glimpse of your face.”

“Too bad.”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Cleaning up,” he says with a gesture to the sink full of the dishes that didn’t fit in the dishwasher.

“Yeah, but it’s almost two in the morning. I could have finished up after some coffee,” I say and move to tie off the full trash bag.

“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get something done.” He shrugs and starts the water to wash the rest of the dishes by hand. I put in a new garbage bag and gather the remaining trash.

We’re silent until he turns off the sink faucet. “Why are you awake?”

“I also couldn’t sleep.”

We both look at each other for a second before Colton braces his hands on the edge of the sink and lets his head hang between his shoulders.

“I assume that means you talked stuff out with Lance?” I ask and lean my hip against the counter.

“Yeah.”

“Let me guess, he said to leave me alone. You’re too old for me, too good for me, too normal for me—”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“He said we need to make a plan for me to exit your security team so we can be together,” he says and turns to me.

“Then I’d have to have some other Blue Jay here. It would be you, me, and some other guy. Remember, I hate having a Blue Jay,” I spit out and cross my arms.

He exhales with a shake of his head.

“Do you trust my safety with another guy?” I challenge and raise my chin.

“Fuck no. I don’t care who hires him,” Colton says with a snarl of disgust.

“See? You can’t leave.”

He scoffs.

“Who would feed Angelica her treats?”

“Ask Lance. He’ll help,” he says, amusement in his voice. “And I’m not leaving, leaving. I just wouldn’t work here. I would still be here in the evenings and mornings. Maybe you could have a nine-to-five Blue Jay.”

Now it is my turn to scoff and pout.

“And I wouldn’t be working for your dad anymore, so we’d need to work out how I contribute to the bills. Maybe pay rent—”

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Take. Off. Your. Clothes,” I demand slowly.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve insulted me and talked about leaving. I need to punish you.”

He quickly sheds his clothes, careful to keep his mask on. I can’t tell if his haste to get undressed is founded in his eagerness or his obedience. Maybe it’s both. I bite the corner of my lip to keep in a smile.

“You’re not leaving me and putting me into the hands of another man,” I say, and get as close to him as I can without touching him. My neck is tilted almost all the way back to look up at his face, but it doesn’t take away from the power he hands over to me with his submission.

“And the only fucking rent you ever pay me is with this,” I finish and grip his dick hard in my fist. He hisses out his pain but doesn’t move, other than an involuntary flinch. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

I grip him harder and I hear him catch a shout in his throat.

“Yes, Mistress,” he amends. I let go.

“Good boy,” I croon. “Now finish those dishes.”

Colton moves to pick his clothes back up, but I stop him. “Uh-uh-uh, naked.”

He finishes the dishes and wipes down the counter in silence while I watch and sip a mug of herbal tea. Watching his muscles shift and move as he works will probably never get old. It’s a special treat when he drops the drying towel on the floor and has to bend to pick it up. I groan behind him and he chuckles.

Once he’s finished, I slide him the empty mug from my tea. He cocks an eyebrow at me and sets it in the sink. When he turns back to me, his eyes are hooded and smoldering. With only a glance down, I see he has grown hard and straining.

“Stroke it,” I demand.

He obeys. A slow tight stroke over his cock has his breath catching and his abs clenching. When he’s relaxed, the grooves of his abdominal muscles are not visible, but when he tenses up, the lines show in the scattering of hair. On every downward stroke, his muscles become visible and he lets out a breath. I could watch this show for hours, but I want to play tonight.

“Stop.”

His hands drop from his cock immediately.

“Is Lance in bed?”

“Yeah, I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Guess you’ll have to show me you can be quiet.”

His eyes widen. “Wren, what if they come down here?”

“Then they’ll see you being a whore,” I say and approach him. “My whore.”

“The cameras,” he says hoarsely.

“Nobody is watching us,” I say confidently and lower myself to my knees.

His cock bobs near my face as his muscles quiver with excitement. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to grab my head and slam himself into my mouth. I am just as eager as he is. Lifting my hands to his thighs, I lightly caress over his skin and make him shiver. Goosebumps rise and I rake over the little bumps with my nails.

Inhaling, I smell his soap and the remnants of laundry detergent. I’m thankful he is clean. Though I wonder if making him wash his junk in the kitchen sink would be a suitable form of degradation. Too eager for this to push him anymore, I lean in and lick a stripe from the underside of his base to his tip. He groans and his hands flutter by my head before going back to grip the countertop behind him.

I lick my lips to lubricate them and look up at him from under my lashes. He’s tall enough that I have to crane my neck slightly to get him in my mouth. His eyes are on me intently, hooded and wanting. I lick up the little drop of pre-cum and he tilts his head to the side and exhales a moan. He’s begging me with his eyes, and I am filled with lustful power.

“Fuck, baby,” he whisper moans as I take him into my mouth. He’s heavy, thick, and warm. His skin is soft against my lips and tongue as I bob my head. I cover him with saliva so it’s easier to take him in to the base. I get him to the hilt, my nose buried against his blond curls.

He whimpers. “Hold it like that, don’t move. Oh, fuck, your mouth feels good.”

I follow his order and his thighs quiver. I’ve barely done anything, and this man is about to explode. Vaguely, I wonder when he was last sucked off to completion. It couldn’t have been recently if this is how he is reacting. Victory at this realization has me feeling generous.

“Take what you need from me,” I say after pulling off of his length.

A second later, his hand is in my hair at the back of my head and the other cupped around my throat. I wonder if he can feel himself in there. He’s clearly trying not to be brutal in his thrusts, but my eyes are watering at his barely controlled thrusting.

“So good… I’m sorry. Yes, that’s it… you’re perfect, princess. Oh God—yes,” he murmurs and whimpers until his words grow unintelligible.

Unable to resist the sights and sounds and sensation of him losing control, I bring a hand down and into my panties. I’m wearing a pair of sleep shorts and panties, but I’m already soaking them. Swirling my fingers around my clit, I moan around him.

His eyes go unfocused as he fucks my mouth. While I’ve never had complaints about my oral skills, having him take what he needs and use me is a breath of fresh air. Or lack thereof, really. Black spots dot my vision as he’s too far down my throat for me to even breathe through my nose. He eases back when I tap his thigh.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can I keep going?” he asks while I suck down air.

I answer by putting him back in my mouth. He pets my hair back and breathes out a laugh before he continues with slow, even thrusts. Less deep thrusts that leave me room to swirl my tongue and suck and swallow. His thighs begin their trembling again and I reach up my free hand to cup his balls. He groans and growls when I sync up, squeezing his balls with hard sucks on his cock.

“I’m going to come. Can you suck me through it?”

As much as I enjoy bossing him around, the way he knows exactly what he wants is also just as sexy. I feel my climax creeping up, so I stop swirling my clit and reach lower to dip two fingers into my already wet entrance. I spread my legs and ride my hand, feeling my arousal soak my clothes. Previously to Colton, I’d only been able to come this much alone after edging myself for a while. It took build up, intense arousal, and skill. But here I am, gushing into my hand on my kitchen floor while my masked bodyguard fucks my mouth. I haven’t even orgasmed yet.

“Can I? Can I please come in your mouth while you suck me?” he begs because I haven’t answered him.

I nod once, careful not to bite him, and he strokes my hair back from my face. I moan as another rush of arousal comes and I hear it hitting the floor. He notices now and his eyes widen. “Oh my god, you’re… while you—fuck!”

He grips my hair and throat tightly, and I suck him as hard as I can. He holds his breath like he’s trying to stifle his moan. His eyes roll back before he closes them tightly. He’s so far back in my throat now his come goes right down to my belly and I don’t even have to swallow. I feel him pulsing against my tongue while his legs vibrate on either side. His hands are even shaking in my hair.

The eroticism of his orgasm has me tipping over the edge, and I come. My fingers are pressing right on the spot I need to come hard. I don’t relent. I am not gentle with myself. There’s a puddle below me and I’m now only held up by the cock still in my mouth and the hands in my hair.

On shaking legs, he gets to his knees. His cock slips from my mouth and his hands move down my neck to caress my shoulders and arms. He slumps against the kitchen island and catches his breath.

My ass is in the cooling puddle of my come and I shiver. “Clean up my mess,” I demand through my trembling voice.

He looks at me with a cocked eyebrow and tilted head. He points lazily to the dishtowel just over my shoulder.

I scoff. “With your mouth.”

“The floor is dirty,” he argues.

“You were the one to mop in here earlier. Are you saying you didn’t do a good job?”

Despite the mask, I can see his jaw clench. Somehow, implying he didn’t mop well strikes more of a nerve than demanding he lick my come off the floor. He pushes himself into an all-fours position and gets his masked face close to mine. “I did a great job.”

“Do another good job and I’ll let you come again.”

“I can’t come again,” he says self-deprecatingly.

“You can. You’re not that old.”

“I said nothing about my age. I’m just tired and had some bourbon earlier,” he defends.

I giggle and move out of the puddle so he can clean it up. He lifts his mask to his nose and lowers his mouth to the floor. He licks up some of my come and I squirm where I’m sitting. It’s so hot my pussy pulses, wanting more.

His ass is in the air as he works and my molars itch with the urge to bite his peachy cheeks. I slide across the admittedly well mopped floor to be behind him. He sits up on his heels and cranes his neck to look back at me. “What are you doing?”

“Checking out your ass.”

“Why?”

“I’ve wanted to bite it for a long time. Now get back to work.”

He laughs and goes back to cleaning the floor. When he bends over, I watch his glutes shift. He moves so his knees are closer together, like he’s growing shy under my gaze. This is probably close to degrading for him. Probably goes against every instinct to be so vulnerable with his body. I should be nice.

Should.

I bite my lip as the proverbial angel and demon on my shoulders war it out. 

I’m not sure who wins because I’m chomping down on the globe of his left ass cheek while my hand grips the right. He jerks forward and almost shouts in pain and shock. “Fucking piranha!”

I giggle and unlatch my jaw from his flesh. I didn’t draw blood, but there’s a clear definition of my teeth. Pulling back, I realize his hole is right there. I hadn’t thought about doing anything.

Until now.

He jerks and straightens his arms, craning his head back after I spit directly at the top of his ass crack. “What are you doing now?”

“Playing with your body,” I reply as I watch the glob of spit travel down to his hole. “Do you remember your safe word?”

“Uh, it’s unicorn,” he gulps nervously.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” I croon as I circle his hole with my index finger. Swirling my spit around.

He hesitates a moment before he leans back down to the floor and, therefore, opening himself up more to me.

“That’s a good boy.”

“Fuck,” he exhales. The sound echoes against the floor.

I add more spit until my finger is well lubricated. Thankful I chose short nails for gardening season, I press slowly into him. He hisses in a breath and his hips twitch forward and away from my intrusion. Keeping a firm hand around his upper thigh, I press in to the first knuckle. His body feels hot and tight, and I vaguely wonder if this is what a pussy feels like for a dick.

He keeps up a steady stream of swearing but he doesn’t safe word. He’s so talkative and I keep an ear perked for the stop all contact magic word. This man is easily more than a hundred pounds heavier than me and over a foot taller. He’s trained in heaven knows how many combat tactics. I could be thrown across the room in the blink of an eye.

But he doesn’t stop me.

Sweat beads along his spine as I work my finger to the second knuckle.

“That’s it, baby. You can take me,” I whisper in awe of the man in front of me.

“Wren Elizabeth,” he halfheartedly warns.

“Colton Alexander,” I mock back at him.

He huffs a strangled laugh and I see him shaking his head.

His knees slide outward a little, and I see his heavy erection hanging between his legs. My hand on his thigh would be better used there. I think about angles for a minute and decide reaching through his legs would be best. When my hand wraps around his cock, he lets out a choked whimper.

With some more spit, I work my finger all the way in and start curling it. Looking for the spot that’ll make him scream. Both hands set to pleasuring him, I watch the sweat dripping down his back. He moans against the kitchen floor, his head resting on his forearms.

When his moaning turns to a deep growling sound, I work him harder and faster. “Fucking come on the floor. Look at this slut getting fucked on the kitchen floor. Ass full of his boss.”

It’s only one finger, but it sounds dirty to say. I bite down on his cheek again, careful to not overlap the bites. He lets out a sound I can only describe as a snarl as his hips tip. I feel his cock pulsing in my hand and his ass clenches on my finger. He’s coming and I slowly work him through it. I pull out of him gently, careful not to hurt him.

With a growl of effort, he has me flipped on my back before his cock is even done spraying. He slams into me in one easy thrust. I was so focused on him, I didn’t realize how heavy and wanting I was. His cock in me feels like a relief for an ache I hadn’t known was there. With his thumb on my clit, he fucks me hard and fast. I was already strung so high it’s seconds before I’m coming with a squeal. I buck against him uncontrollably, but he uses that strength he didn’t exert before to keep me pinned against the floor. He slows his thrusts as I come back to my body. The sound of our fucking is wet and dirty.

He kisses me, his mask still pushed up to his nose. I can taste myself on his lips and I moan again. He pulls out of me and we lay side by side on the wet and sticky floor as we catch our breath.

“Holy shit, I’ve never….”

“Me neither,” I reply and curl into his bare chest.

He kisses my head gently and we say nothing else until the air conditioning cools the sweat on our skin and makes us shiver. Wordlessly, but kissing and touching whenever we pass each other, we clean up and take turns showering in the basement. It’s almost dawn, but I head back up to bed with Gemma, and Colton settles down on the couch.

With a heart bursting with love and happiness, I fall asleep immediately.

chapter thirty-three

Wren

My phone ringing wakes me up. Did I miss a meeting with someone from Dad’s company? Does Gemma need me? I groan and grab the device from where it is charging on my nightstand. “Dad-Home Office Line” is lighting up my screen, but the call ends before I can answer it. “Step-Mommy Hawk” pops up next.

“Hawk?” I answer groggily.

“Yes, here’s your dad,” he says hurriedly. The phone shuffles before Dad speaks.

“You need to get home. Your identity has been leaked,” Dad says, the worry clear in his voice.

I bolt upright in bed. Gemma murmurs next to me, reminding me of her presence, and I see her silent phone lighting up with message after message. I shake her awake.

“What?” I gasp. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get to control all of your interactions anymore,” Dad says irritably.

Hawk’s voice grumbles in the background and Dad gives a resigned sigh before I can even gather a response.

“I mean to say there’s too many variables right now to identify who did it. But my building is surrounded by press, and our team is being inundated with calls,” Dad says, more calmly now.

Gemma is sitting up next to me, rubbing my back while she yawns.

Colton and Lance are both in the doorway. Lance is putting on his belt, and Colton is typing away on his phone. Clearly, they’ve gotten the same wake up as I have.

“What should I do?” I whisper.

“Have Blue Jay take you home. Call Gemma, she’s being—” Dad starts, but I hear Hawk tell him something. “Oh, well, have Lance bring her here with you.”

“Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Gemma is looking at her phone, a crease in her brow, when I hang up.

“Name and photos,” Gemma says as Lance and Colton come in. “A cute one from a few years ago in LA. Photos of us together. Oh, look, you guys feature, too.”

Colton leans over to look at Gemma’s phone and she hands it to him. I don’t want to see it. I’m not sure how to feel about this.

“Gossip rags are excited. Doesn’t look negative overall,” Colton says as he scrolls, he hands the phone back to Gemma.

“I’m so sorry if this is because we were seen together,” Gemma says, fingers pressed to her lips and tears forming in her eyes.

“No, we’re always so careful,” I say and rub her sheet covered knee. “And even if it was, I’m not upset with you.”

She shakes her head and the tears fall. “I’m not leaving your side today.”

“I wouldn’t let you anyway,” I say and look up at Lance, who nods. “You being named as the best friend of a billionaire’s secret daughter doesn’t bode well for your security.”

Her eyes widen. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“I’m sorry,” I sigh.

“I’ll have my PR people and my agent at your dad’s place when we get there. Together we’ll figure something out,” Gemma says and picks her phone up to get to work.

“Get dressed. I’ll make coffee,” Colton says as he and Lance leave the room.

Gemma and I quickly get dressed. She does my hair and makeup in case we’re seen, and I hear the guys on their phones and planning our arrival at Dad’s. We’re down and putting on our shoes in thirty minutes. Angelica’s food and water were already full and her space clean when I went in. Colton must have seen to her while I was getting dressed.

Colton doles out coffees and some of my lemon poppyseed scones for everyone to take to go and we all run to our cars. The street is quiet, only the neighborhood kids are out playing in the grass. They call out their greetings to Ninja Jay and he waves back as we carefully pull out of the driveway.

We’re silent until we reach the highway. I am numb and overwhelmed at the same time. Sure, this was always a possibility. Sure, I’d wished it had happened many times over. But now that it’s happening for real, I’m full of apprehension. I fidget with the radio and switch it over to play music from my phone and then back to the radio when I can’t decide on anything.

“You alright?” Colton asks quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“What are you thinking?” he prods.

I sigh. “I’m thinking that I’ve wanted this to happen so many times. Especially when all my friends left for college or careers and I was out of approved friends and dates. Every time I got accidentally featured in an article online or a post with Gemma and everyone was wondering who her friend was, I considered telling the truth. I thought no longer being hidden away would be freeing. And I guess it is? I don’t know.”

“I’m getting updates from headquarters occasionally. Do you want to know what I’m being told as your security? Maybe that’ll help you.”

“Sure, lay it on me.”

“Consensus on the internet and a few morning shows is that they’re confused why you’ve been hiding and excitement at seeing someone new. We have a team working on scouring the internet for any signs of threats, but it’s just the usual grumbling. ‘Who cares about billionaires’ and ‘is she his legitimate child or his young new girlfriend.’”

“Ew,” I complain.

“No organized threats on any public forum, though. When we get to your Dad’s building, we’re to meet Crows at the service entrance. They’ll get us inside. You’re to report to the dining room.”

“Ugh, there’s that many people there we need to use it as a conference room?” I roll my head against the headrest.

“Yeah, it’ll be Mr. Taylor, Hawk, you, me, Gemma, Lance, your personal lawyer, a lawyer from Taylor Industries, PR for Taylor Industries, Gemma’s PR, Gemma’s agent, and I think someone else from Safe House.”

I groan and sip my coffee.

We’re quiet as he navigates traffic until he reaches up to his earpiece. “Understood. All is well.” He gives headquarters our exact location down to the mile marker.

“What now?” I ask.

“Your dad is incredibly worried. He’s been pacing since he got word we left your house. Hawk is trying to calm him down by telling him where we are.”

I want to be annoyed. Well, I am annoyed, but I am also deeply sad. Grief does that sometimes. Sometimes it itches like a wool sweater on a sunny winter day. It’s annoying me to be sad. I wish Dad would calm down and not be so overbearing, but I understand his pain and his grief after losing Mom. I know letting me live outside the city where he has as much control as a billionaire could have over his adult daughter went against every anxious, grief-stricken instinct in his body. And now, at first word of a threat to my safety, the man is spiraling.

Gemma and Lance are behind us the entire way to Dad’s. Once we pull up to the building and circle the block a few times, Hawk and the Crows agree we’re just going to have to deal with the crowds. Even the back entrance is swarmed. With input from someone in public relations, we decide going in the front will look more confident and going in through the back would give a shameful or suspicious air to my entrance. Colton parks the car outside the front of Dad’s building and a masked Crow comes running around to Colton’s door to take over driving to park the car. Colton rushes around to my side of the car and opens the door. Crows are lined up with local police, creating a tunnel to the front door. Lights are flashing in my face and people are screaming for attention. Reporters shout and ask why I’ve been hiding for so long. Who am I to Mr. Taylor? What role do I play in the company? How do I know Gemma? And other probing questions. Colton’s hand on my back is the only thing reminding me this is real. This is happening.

I hear more screaming excitement, and I try to spin around to see what the matter is. Colton stops me and a Crow opens the door for us. “It’s just Gemma getting out of the car. She’s fine.”

We wait in the elevator for Gemma and Lance. Gemma gives one last demure wave and small smile to the crowds waiting as she enters the building. She gives the air of a beautiful woman going into a business meeting. I admire her ability to set the tone without saying a word. Her smile falls instantly once she’s inside, and she rushes to hug me in the elevator. Lance steps in and the doors close.

“I’m so sorry, babes,” Gemma says and kisses my cheek.

“That was insane,” I say.

“It was a bit more than I expected, but you did well.”

“I didn’t smile or anything. They’re going to think I’m a bitch,” I groan.

“No, we can spin it. I promise, twenty minutes with my PR team and they’ll have you right as rain,” Gemma says confidently.

The doors of the elevator open to chaos. People are on their phones, pictures of me are being debated over, Sparrows are setting out coffee and pastries, Crows are watching security cameras and listening to audio, two TVs have been brought in and are playing news coverage of me walking into the building. And there, in the middle of it all, is Dad. He’s still in his pajamas, his hair a mess, and his eyes wide and red. Hawk has a hand on his shoulder and is speaking to him in hushed tones.

Dad looks up when the doors close behind me and I see the tension drain from his bones. He mouths my name and I’m running to him. Everyone stops their work when I run past them, but I don’t care. I hug Dad tightly.

“I’m here. I’m okay. I’m safe.”

“There hasn’t been that many people outside our home since.…”

“I know.”

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

I pull away from Dad and look around. Everyone is staring. Dad has been falling apart in front of all of these people all morning. While they are all part of our team, they’re still eyes watching us as we have an intense and emotional moment.

“Let’s leave this crowded space for a little,” I say, and look over at Hawk. “I’m going to help him get dressed and then we’ll go to his office. We’ll call you and Jay in when we’re ready.”

He gives a curt nod, relief in his aging eyes. I give him a thankful look as I usher Dad out of the room and to his bedroom.

chapter thirty-four

Wren

“What a mess,” Dad says as he pulls a pair of slacks and a polo out of his closet.

“Yeah, it’s like you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet,” I tease.

He shoots me a tired Dad look and goes into his bathroom to change. I sit on his bed while he takes a quick shower. I listen to the water running and stare at the picture of him and Mom on his nightstand. It’s my favorite picture of them. Dad had just proposed to Mom in an Olive Garden on Valentine’s Day. It was before he made his start as a mogul in the tech industry. She worked at a wildlife sanctuary and he was fixing computers. The picture is a grainy selfie taken on an old digital camera. Mom’s cheeks are rosy from crying and they both have the biggest, goofiest smiles on their faces. Now, as I look at it, tears fill my eyes.

Her loss isn’t recent, but her loss started this whole thing. It’s the whole reason I’ve been hidden away my entire life and guarded twenty-four seven. Losing her is inextricable from the decisions Dad made for my security. And now, as my security is being called into question, her loss feels fresh again. It’s been a while since I have cried about losing her, but right now it feels like I’m being forced to face that grief again.

I decide now that if I’m going to face grief head on and publicly, then I’m going to do it honestly. While he’s showering, I step out and flag down one of the public relations staff members, a woman named Sarah, who has her hair in a topknot. She looks like someone who will get the job done. I ask her for a printout of as many articles that have been posted since my reveal. Good or bad.

She smirks and hands me a manilla folder. “This is everything up to date as of fifteen minutes ago.”

I knew she’d be the one. I thank her and hurry back to Dad’s room. He’s coming out of the bathroom, dressed and looking more refreshed. Dad glances at me, to ensure I am still present and safe, before moving to the same picture of him and Mom I’d just been looking at. He touches the frame fondly before opening the drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out a small, clear cube. It’s the size of a ring box and I can see something inside. He gestures for me to sit in an armchair near the window. He sits in one opposite, both of us still quiet.

The cube is placed on the small coffee table between us. It’s solid, maybe resin or glass, and suspends rings and a blob of metal. I look at it and recognize Mom’s wedding and engagement rings fused together and Dad’s wedding band overlapping them slightly. The metal blob is ugly and looks like—I gasp.

“That’s the bullet that took your mother’s life,” Dad whispers.

I move away from the offensive cube with a scowl and tears.

“It’s upsetting to look at, yes,” Dad agrees, his voice tight. “But it’s important to our discussions today.”

I relax only slightly and use the collar of my button-down blouse to wipe my tears.

“Wren, I need to first start our conversation with an apology. I know life hasn’t been as easy as many would think our wealth affords us. And I know it’s because of decisions I’ve made and the prices I’ve inadvertently paid for us both. Your individual freedoms are part of that. I’ve always felt being claustrophobic and safe was better than dead. You have not felt that way, and I guess everything is about to be put to the test. I am sorry if my choices have made your life uncomfortable.”

“I’ve never not understood why,” I say and gesture at the bullet and rings.

Dad nods solemnly.

“I get it. Why would you risk losing me in the same way you lost Mom? It makes sense and I’ve always been very aware of that. But I don’t think I’m at risk in the same way she was. You were getting threats before she was killed. When was the last time you received a threat?”

“Wren, I receive threats every single day,” Dad insists. “I am one of the richest men in our country. That comes with the territory of being wealthier than the rest of our population. It doesn’t matter how much I donate, how much I give back, there will always be someone resentful and hurting. There will always be someone who thinks hurting me or my family will give them relief or more success.”

“Sure, I’m not saying we don’t need security in general. But let’s look together at all the recent articles posted since I got revealed,” I say and open the manilla folder.

Inside is the original article ousting me. Its tone is neutral, with minimal information and very little speculation. There are a few photos of me, clearly cropped from a photo where Gemma was the focus, and one with her and me together. To be fair to Gemma, the only time I was photographed in public was when someone had recognized her, so naturally she was in these photos. And naturally, there are articles questioning who we are to each other. There are articles identifying brands of clothing, makeup, and accessories I’m wearing in pictures. I’ve never been so unsure of my personal style as I am in this moment, but I flip to the next article. This one questions my role in Dad’s business and correctly identifies me as Wren Angelica, the charity coordinator at Taylor Industries. This leads to speculation and investigation on the publicly declared charitable donations Taylor Industries has made and pins my name to the person who does it all. It’s not just me working in that department, and I make a mental note to correct that.

We flip through a few more articles and see Sarah and the PR team have attached social media posts that have gained the most traction on multiple platforms, including QR code links to video posts. I use Dad’s phone and we watch all fifteen videos on various apps. There’s two that speculate something is wrong with me and that’s why I’m hidden away, and one says I’m a lazy princess. Part of me is offended, but I also know given the very little information they have of me, they are well within their rights to wonder something negative.

Overall, the reception is akin to finding out America has had a hidden princess this whole time. It’s giving Mia Thermopolis in The Princess Diaries. I used to make Hawk watch that movie over and over with me and told him it was his training material to watch Joe. I giggle at the thought and want to go get him to tell him the Queen is coming… to Grove High School.

“What are you laughing about?” Dad asks, looking at me like I’ve completely cracked.

“Just realizing how absurd this all is,” I say and shake my head.

“Well, I guess it’s as positive as we could ask for,” Dad says and scrubs his hands over his face.

“What are you thinking going forward?” I look out the window. I can’t see the crowds on the street from up here, but I can see the reflections of the police lights as they work to control the crowds. We should have the Sparrows bring down coffee and order lunch for them.

Dad is silent for some time. I know he’s thinking as he runs his thumb over his temple. “Well, my instinct is to put you up in a secure location. Somewhere in Europe, maybe. But I realize my instincts are purely fear based and selfish and how we got into this mess to begin with. So, my dearest daughter, what are you thinking?”

I smirk at his term of endearment and settle my eyes on him. He’s finally asking me what I want. Finally, considering my feelings. I will not waste this opportunity. “Security is important. I’ve never not thought that. And previously to being outed to the media, I would have said no more live-in, twenty-four seven Blue Jay. Use security for outings and special occasions. Door alarms on my house and panic rooms are fine. But now I’ve been outed, I think we can simply step down to unmasking our security and staff. That is the biggest thing that’s going to make people not trust us.”

“You know how I feel about that,” Dad says and shakes his head.

“Mom knowing Seamus and his family is not what got her killed, Dad.” I keep my voice gentle, but serious.

Tears well in his eyes and he looks away. “She spent her last minutes begging for his life, not hers!”

“Yeah, because she was a good person, Dad.” I try to keep the tremble out of my voice, but I fail. “That man had decided to kill them and nothing she said was going to change that. I believe if she had promised to hand over the entire company to him, he still would have killed her. When we make a statement, I’m sure the PR team is going to tell us we need to seem likeable and like good people. And having personal security that looks like bank robbers will not help.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “Many countries have law enforcement in masks.”

“Yeah, but not here. Do you know how often I have to buy people’s coffee or dinner because the masked, mountainous man behind me scared them?” I laugh. “Jay makes kids cry.”

Except our neighbor kids. They love him. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make.

“So, unmask Blue Jay and Hawk… and Crows and Sparrows?” Dad asks hesitantly.

“Yes.”

“For the purpose of not scaring people?”

“I think the word we’re about to hear a lot is ‘optics.’”

“You’re going to have to convince Hawk.”

“Well, I think I’ve already convinced Colton.”

“Who?”

“Jay.”

Dad groans. “Oh, Wren.”

“I love him, Dad,” I whisper.

“What?” Dad’s eyes are wide and hopeful. Not the reaction I was expecting after telling him I’m in love with my bodyguard, but I’ll take it. He reaches out to my hands and holds them tightly.

“I love him. And I want to be allowed to see him,” I say hoarsely around the lump in my throat.

Dad lets out a laugh mixed with a cry and pulls me into a hug on his lap. I feel both small and too big to fit on his lap at the same time. He kisses my cheek and my hair.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack with all this up and down today.”

“Well, crunch some aspirin, because your dining room looks like a war room.”

Part Four

chapter thirty- five

Colton

Wren and Mr. Taylor disappear into his room. I watch her go before I see Hawk murmuring to a Sparrow. The woman nods and takes up a position standing next to Mr. Taylor’s bedroom. I quirk an eyebrow at Hawk, but he focuses on me. He jerks his head and I follow him. Nobody questions us as we walk through the crowded penthouse to the security room. People part around us instinctively as we pass by them.

Hawk brings me to his office and sits at his desk. “Close the door.”

I do as he demands and sit in one of the wooden chairs before his desk. It’s shockingly quiet now the din of the million and five people in the home has been cut off. My ears ring slightly in the silence.

“Are we increasing Mr. and Ms. Taylor’s personal security?”

“Ms. Taylor- shut the hell up, boy,” Hawk grumbles and roughly spins his computer monitor around so I can see it. Despite the wobbling of the screen from his push, the picture is clear. It’s me, ass naked, doing dishes. The angle is odd because the focus is on the side door to the patio where the grill is. But there I am, naked in front of Wren. She’s sitting at the island drinking her tea.

“I, uh, kept the mask on.” Those are the only words that come from my mouth. I know I’m in for it. I know I’m about to get my head handed back to me by Hawk. Served up in my own boot. My balls as a garnish.

Hawk stares at me. Only his eyes are visible, of course, but I can tell his entire face is stone. I try not to shift in my seat.

I didn’t even want this job to begin with. I try to remind myself. Unsuccessfully. My mouth dries out and I swallow roughly.

Hawk lets loose a long breath before he turns around and fiddles with the electric kettle on the shelf behind him. While he works, I stare at the picture on the screen. As much as I’m dreading getting fired, I objectively see this picture is hot as fuck. Wren’s posture is that straight-backed, graceful one she gets when she’s bossing me around. I’m practically drooling on instinct. My dick is half hard. I’m fucking Pavlov-ed for this woman already.

Hawk pours water from his kettle into two mugs and the scent of Earl Grey tea fills the room. He slides me a mug, and the licorice scented steam warms the mask on my face. I bounce the tea bag in the water just to have something to do with my hands.

“This smells like licorice,” I mumble.

“Licorice is anise. This is bergamot.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t ruin my tea.”

“I—I’m not. I’m just trying to make small talk.”

“There’s a picture of your ass on my computer screen and you’re trying to make small talk?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hawk huffs an annoyed sound and suddenly I feel like I’m being disciplined by a father. He gets up from his chair and pulls down a floral box, about the size of a shoe box, and gently places it on the desk in front of me. “Open that. And don’t get any tea on it.”

I slide the mug away and open the lid. There are cards, pictures, movie stubs, a few Lego, rocks, acorns, dried flowers, and a child’s drawings. It looks like a parents’ memento box. I pull out a few items after an encouraging nod from Hawk. The cards are Mother’s Day Cards, many clearly made in school.

“Whenever her class made cards for their mothers, she made one for me. It stopped when her schooling stopped doing this type of craft and she forgot. Then she did it again as a moody, angry, grieving teenager,” Hawk explains.

I snort a small laugh. Of course she did that. Next is a small photo album with a Disney Princess on the front. Inside are pictures of Wren as a small child. A dance recital, catching snowflakes on her tongue, swinging on swings, what looks like a spelling bee, a gangly sweet sixteen party, baking with Sparrows, and a graduation picture. And featured in almost every single picture is Hawk. Many with Mr. Taylor and many with who I presume to be the Blue Jay of the time.

“That little girl may not be my blood, but she has a place in my heart as if she were.”

I look up at Hawk, shocked. Is he about to murder me for touching her? Am I about to die right here? I survived serving and defending my country for over ten years in some of the most dangerous locations and missions to be taken out by an old fart defending his not-daughter’s honor?

“She is very special,” I say and gently place the photo album back into the box of mementos. I close the lid, so my blood splatter won’t taint little Wren’s memories. It’s the least I could do.

“I have unfortunately seen more from this encounter,” Hawk says with an audible scowl. “So I know this was a consensual… event.”

“Correct,” I blurt. “I would never—”

“I understand. Her father has not seen this, nor has he been informed of your involvement with his only daughter.”

“Thank you.”

“You can do it.”

“I’m not showing him this,” I say and gesture at the picture.

“No, God no. You idiot,” Hawk says and rubs a hand over his masked face.

“Okay, I’ll tell him, but maybe not today.”

Hawk nods in agreement and is silent for a moment while he sips his tea. I mirror him, hating the flavor of the tea. I hadn’t realized how accustomed to the sweet, creamy coffees I’d become until I was trying to drink tea.

“Is this relationship purely sexual?”

“No, it’s more,” I insist. “She’s… amazing.”

“I knew being allowed to talk to her would change things. Truly, this is almost the exact thing I spoke to Geoffrey about.”

“You thought I’d fall in love with her?”

“Love?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hawk’s eyes crinkle and he laughs. Loud and hearty. I don’t think I’ve even heard so much as a chuckle from him. Not one giggle. And here he is guffawing, tipped back in his chair, hands on his belly.

I wait patiently for his mirth to subside. The idea of being killed right here right now has not settled enough for me to laugh with him. It’s true though. I’m in love with Wren. It’s possible I’ve been in love with her since the first time she tried to embarrass me. It’s possible I’ve been in love with her from the start. She’s kind, giving, tenacious, intelligent, an outstanding balance of humble and proud of herself. And she’s beautiful. So damn beautiful. All day, every day. From the moment she wakes up, bleary-eyed and desperate for coffee, to elbow deep in garden dirt, to drenched with rain while pulling in the outdoor furniture cushions, to laughing with Angelica, to falling asleep on the couch while I play video games, to coming on my cock. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, inside and out.

If I’m being fired, then my sadness only comes from the shame of having to tell her father what I did behind his back as his employee. I’m not leaving Wren’s side for a second. She’s it for me.

“You better treat that girl right, boy,” Hawk says finally.

“Absolutely. I intend to.”

“Some things will need to change in terms of security. But I believe things are already about to change with her exposure,” Hawk says, settling back into business mode.

“Of course.”

“Do you have an idea of who leaked her identity?” Hawk asks.

“Where was it leaked first? That might help me.”

“Business News and Gossip Rag simultaneously,” Hawk replies.

I sit back in my chair and think of Wren’s recent dates. “She had two unsuccessful dates in recent months.”

“Dates? I thought you and her were involved.”

“Yes, they happened before she and I became romantically involved. They were both men approved by her father and are documented by our security. Levi Rodrieguez and Grey Potter,” I explain. “Neither date ended well.”

“In what ways? Our records only list that there were no other contacts,” Hawk says as he types on his now righted computer.

“Potter wanted a business connection with Mr. Taylor. A place on the board, if I remember correctly. And Rodriquez wanted a connection to Gemma Cox.”

“None of these sound any different from her other dates, unfortunately,” Hawk says with a sigh.

“Well, uh, I need to share some highly personal and sensitive information to make context be known,” I say.

Hawk’s eyes settle on mine narrowly.

“I wouldn’t ever tell you or anyone this information. But seeing as I believe it pertains to the leaking of her private information and identity, it is important.”

“Understood, proceed.”

“She enjoys a, uh, less than gentle sexual experience and Potter knew about it from her relationship with that Maxwell guy.”

Hawk stiffens in his chair. “How rough? Did they hurt her?”

“No, she, uh, likes a dominant and submissive relationship. That Maxwell guy was not interested in the dynamic and used it as a source of shame for her. He was not nice about it. And apparently he told Potter. Potter offered to beat her around during sex in exchange for a position on Mr. Taylor’s board.”

“And I assume Wren did not take this well?” Hawk says, his voice is void of any emotion.

“No, she exited the date before its natural end. Very much like her break up with Maxwell,” I continue.

“Documentation states ‘sudden end to excursion facilitated by Ms. Taylor,’” Hawk reads my note.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how much to keep private for her and how much of it pertained to her safety,” I say and shift in my seat.

“No, you documented correctly. Even with this information, we would not have foreseen the actions by whichever one may have done this,” Hawk dismisses.

Relief floods through me at his statement. I’m not in trouble. Well, for this.

“We will consider all three men as suspects from now on. I will continue to keep the information that is sexual private. And I will not share with Mr. Taylor. Especially since you are now involved with his daughter. It will be enough of a shock and knowing his sweet daughter is involved in kink and fetish activities would send the man into an early grave.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say as we both stand to go back to our position outside the Taylors’ rooms.

“Wait, when I marry Wren, will that make you my mother-in-law?” I ask with a grin.

Hawk smacks the back of my head. I laugh as we exit the security room.

chapter thirty-six

Wren

Dad and I move to his office and call in Colton and Hawk. Both are right outside the bedroom door, so finding them isn’t difficult. Dad sits behind his desk and I lean against the bookshelf behind him.

Colton and Hawk settle into the chairs before the desk after Dad gestures for them to do so. They both have twin expressions of confusion and concern, and I smile. If there were ever two men who were solidly in our corner, without question, it would be these two.

“Well, I’m going to get right into it,” Dad says and leans back in his creaking leather desk chair. “Before we make any significant changes to our lives and the business, we need to come to an agreement on security.”

“I already have additional staff from Safe House working the doors and floor security. Local police have been outside this building and the Taylor offices controlling traffic and pedestrians since the news break. I have two Crows and an unmarked local police car outside Wren’s home. I can have someone in the home with your permission, Wren.”

“Yeah, they can enter. Tell them to check on Angelica’s water and give her some snacks,” I say.

“There’s an open bag of berry snacks in the cupboard in her room,” Colton adds.

Hawk immediately pulls out his phone and sends off a text. When he puts his phone away, Dad speaks again.

“Thank you, Hawk. Now, remove your mask,” Dad says, the smile audible in his voice.

Colton’s head snaps between me, Dad, and Hawk. His eyes are wide, matching Hawk’s.

“Geoffrey, I don’t understand,” Hawk says slowly. “Am I being let go?”

“No! Why would you think that? Hawk, if Wren and I are about to be… exposed, then it’s only fair that you no longer live in secret as well. How can we expect you both to remain anonymous when we are no longer similarly protected?”

“Respectfully, this is the opposite approach to appropriate security,” Hawk says like he’s reasoning with a child.

“You two are not going anywhere and security isn’t reducing in force. We are simply reducing our, as Wren put it, ‘creepy militant’ levels,” Dad explains.

Colton and I lock gazes, and I smile. His eyes are soft on me, still curious, but more accepting.

“We’re about to be in the public eye a lot more,” I add. “And I feel like all the PR people in the dining room would agree hiding your face makes it seem like you’re hiding your actions. Or, in our case, hiding our actions behind the masks of our security. That’s the exact response we’re going to try our best to avoid. It’s going to be hard to seem likeable and relatable if we’re constantly asking people to disregard the Viking sized men in scary masks behind us.”

Colton chuckles, but I can see he agrees with me. 

Hawk takes a deep breath and lifts his hands to his mask. He untucks the material from the collar of his black button down. “I’m about to be in breach of contract. This better not be a trap.”

Dad laughs, loud and deep. “No, Hawk, this is not entrapment. We’ll draw up new contracts.”

Hawk lifts the mask over his head and my heart lifts, seeing his face for the first time. He’s about the same age as dad, his skin showing the signs of aging around his mouth and eyes. His face is stern but kind as he looks between me and Dad. Hawk’s hair is short cropped and a salt and pepper color. It’s messy from the balaclava and he runs a hand over it.

“Hello old friend, what’s your name?” Dad asks, smiling.

“My name is John. John Lark,” he says.

“You mean you had a bird name this whole time?” I practically shriek.

Hawk laughs. “Yeah, I did.”

His laugh is a sound I’ve heard before. Rarely, but certainly a sound I’m familiar with. Now, seeing it on his face, I’m almost emotional. This man has been in my life since the death of my mom. He’s been the stand in for every Blue Jay I made rage quit. He background checked every friend, teacher, coach, and date. He loves London Fogs with sugar free vanilla. He likes rock hard biscotti. He listens to jazz music and once showed me he knows how to polka dance. He shed a tear standing next to my dad for every dance recital and piano concert growing up. He once attended a parent teacher conference when Dad was stuck in a meeting. This is the man who has been on the receiving end of my snarky Mother’s Day cards for years.

I rush around the desk and hug him tightly. He pats my hair and I sniffle into his shoulder. He still smells like the same soap he has always used. And his favorite tea. I inhale it. Because as little as I’ve known of him, I’ve known a lot too. And he is a part of my life almost as much as Dad is. If I’ve learned anything from my life with Colton these past few months is knowing someone doesn’t require their face or their name. It’s so much more in the little things.

“Oh, Wren,” Hawk, or John, sighs and smooths my hair back.

“It’s so good to finally see you… John,” I say and pull away.

“It’s good to be seen by you,” John chuckles and looks from me to Dad.

Dad is staring at the man that has been his closest companion for twenty years. He’s smiling, but there are tears in his eyes. He sniffs and looks from me to Colton. Then he smiles wider and nods. “Alright, Ha—John. I think we should give these two some privacy. We can draft some new contracts for the security and house staff.”

They both leave and the door shuts quietly behind them.

“Take it off,” I demand of Colton.

He laughs. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“What if you think I’m ugly?”

“Your magic tongue and your peachy ass would make up for it.”

“Wren.”

“Please, I want to meet Colton,” I practically beg him.

He stands from his chair. I grip his hands in mine. I’m shaking with anticipation. He brings my hands to his mask covered lips and kisses them.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he whispers.

“Me neither, but I’ve wanted this for so long,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I’ve wanted to see your face since the moment I saw your eyes. You walked into my bedroom that first day and your eyes were… alive. You’re so expressive here.” I touch around his eyes and brows. “I always knew how you were feeling. No other Blue Jay has been so real, so alive.”

Colton gets to his knees and looks up at me. His gaze is soft, serene. He looks at me like he adores me. Like I’m worth the trouble.

My shaking hands tug at the bottom of his balaclava, pulling it from the collar of his black henley shirt. I lift it.

I close my eyes.

I take a slow breath and drop the mask.

He exhales a soft laugh and his hands come around my thighs.

My heart pounds and my stomach clenches with nerves.

I open my eyes.

A gasp escapes me.

He stands up, a smile on his face.

Sharp jaw, full pouty lips, good nose with that fantastic Roman arch, defined cheekbones, and the brightest, most expressive blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s beautiful. His smile is wide and cocky. Like he knows he’s hot. Like he knows how wet I am just looking at him.

His blond hair is messy and static filled from the mask and I want to run my hands through it.

“Hi, I’m Wren Taylor,” I say and hold out my hand.

“Hi Wren, I’m Colton Taggart.” He shakes my hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet the man I’m in love with,” I say, just above a whisper.

His eyes widen and his lips part in shock. His entire face is as expressive as his eyes. “You love me?”

My breath catches in my throat. “I love you, Colton Alexander Taggart.”

“Good, because I’m in love with you, too,” he says and bends down to kiss me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my hands in his soft hair as I kiss him. I don’t want to close my eyes. I want to take in every angle of him. I want to memorize this beautiful man kissing me. He laughs as he spins me around in the center of Dad’s office.

We laugh and kiss. It’s uncoordinated and awkward, but I want nothing else than to be in this man’s arms. With eager hands, I touch his face, his hair. I feel his long blond lashes as they fan his cheeks. His stubbly jaw as he kisses me. The silky hair at his nape.

When we stop kissing, we’re still grinning like idiots in love. The pink tinge to his cheeks is addicting, and I want to stare at him all day until it’s time for bed. Then I want to see his face as he comes undone and whimpers and moans the way I so desperately love.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “I’m going to grow a beard. It was too itchy under the mask.”

“You’ll look great. You are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

He blushes harder.

“I’m not kidding,” I say. “I can’t wait to see this face on the body I’m obsessed with.”

His eyes go molten and he bites his lip. “Oh, yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see what you look like when you come.”

“Hm, well, that can be arranged,” he says and grips my hand in his.

A knock sounds at the door.

“You two ready? Everyone’s waiting,” Dad calls.

“Later,” Colton says with an exhale and kisses me chastely before we head out to plan. 

chapter thirty-seven

Wren

“You were this hot the whole time?” Gemma’s voice is loud in the silent room we enter.

Nobody is moving as they all stare at both Blue Jay and Hawk, now unmasked as Colton and John. I can’t help but snort a laugh.

“You were right, Gemma,” Colton grins.

“Do you want a modeling job?” she asks and waves over her agent.

“No, he works for me,” I say and cross my arms.

Bradley House clears his throat. I didn’t even know he was here. I glare at him in a challenge to take ownership of Colton. He doesn’t say another word.

“Everyone, I know you’ve all been working very hard on managing this crisis and I am so very thankful for each of you,” Dad says, bringing order back to the room. “Wren and I have come to the agreement, with the help of our personal security, to unmask our staff. We feel that if we are to be liked and respected, we need to be more transparent. Wren has been hidden away for so many years, and I imagine it’s going to take a strong effort to make it known this wasn’t something done in shame or for any other nefarious reason. To do that, she said we need to be less creepy. And less creepy we will be.”

The room is silent again, save for the squeak of someone erasing a white board.

“Well then. Let’s get started!” A woman with a severe blonde bob says. She shuffles some paperwork onto the table and waves us over. “Hello, Ms. Taylor, I’m Anna Glenn, your lawyer.”

“Oh, hi, I’ve only spoken to you through email,” I say and shake her hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she says, her voice curt and no nonsense. She jumps right into a spiel about paperwork hiring the team in the room to work with me as an individual rather than an employee of Taylor Industries. We sign contracts and one of Dad’s lawyers helps her and a PR expert draft an official statement about my identity and my role in Taylor Industries. Dad and I interject with a few pieces of information or phrasing and the statement is submitted to the media.

Another lawyer sits with Bradley House, drawing up contracts for the Crows, John, and Colton. The girl who got me the folder of media headlines and links is working with another PR expert, Gemma’s agent, and Gemma. Through it all, Colton is next to me, holding my hand.

The afternoon passes and an article and video interview are agreed upon. Representatives from two media sources are scheduled for tomorrow and the lawyers get to work on contracts for that while the PR employees write out the scripts.

Dad has everyone leave so we can have a quiet, late dinner after the chaos of the day. Our dinner is served by an unmasked Sparrow. I had almost forgotten about the house staff who would be unmasked as well. The Sparrow’s name is Jennifer, and she’s the one who was wearing the cute nail polish after the last spa day.

“You should call your family and let them know,” Dad says to Colton over dinner. “I assume they know very little about your job and who you work with.”

Colton nods. “Yes, sir. My mom knows I work security and I remained masked and anonymous. But she doesn’t know who, and she has yet to guess correctly.”

“I imagine wherever Wren is candidly photographed from now on, you will be, too. You might as well let her know before someone else tells her,” Dad reasons.

“Yes, sir,” Colton agrees.

“He’s obedient. I wouldn’t know what having an obedient child is like. That’s a good boy, right there,” Dad jokes with John.

Wine spurts from my nose. I cough violently while laughing.

“Jesus, Wren,” Dad scolds as Sparrow Jennifer rushes over with more cloth napkins. I take the napkins and do my best to wipe up.

John isn’t looking at me, a ruddy tinge to his cheeks and neck.

Colton’s expression is incredulous and horrified. While Dad speaks to Jennifer about bringing out some more water, Colton leans down to speak to me. “John caught us. In the kitchen.”

“Dad?” I ask, equally horrified now.

Colton shakes his head and glances up at the older men at the table.

“I will call my mom in the morning,” Colton says quietly as we resume our dinner.

John, Colton, and I all refuse to look up at each other.

“Well, I think we’ve had better conversations when half of us were wearing masks. Should Wren and I put them on now?” Dad says, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“I’m just super tired,” I say, not lying at all. “It’s been an endless day. I’m going to bed.”

The chair scrapes the floor as I stand and make my hasty escape. Totally leaving Colton to endure the awkwardness of the room on his own. He’s a big boy and can handle it. Maybe he can chalk it up to a form of degrading foreplay. In my room, I get ready for bed. Before Colton can sneak into my room, I’m out cold.

****

Morning is just as busy as yesterday afternoon. But today, it involves a film crew in the living room. A full spread of pastries, coffee, and fruit is in the dining room, and I help myself. I hear Dad in the office, and I join him, carrying my plate and coffee.

Hair and makeup arrives and they get to work while I talk with Dad and the PR team about the interviews and the vision. An hour later, I’m all made up and look great. The intended effect is Girl Next Door But Super Rich, and I think they nailed it.

I sit in front of a news reporter, Missy Anderson, under the bright lights. We’re in the living room, the fireplace behind us, and in the winged back chairs I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually sat in. The anchor smiles as she speaks to me, keeping me feeling safe and comfortable as I talk. She asks about my life in secret, friends, schooling, my involvement in Dad’s business, my love life, Gemma, and my loss of my mom. I feel like I talk with her for hours. I tell her all about the charities I’ve worked with, the initiatives I’ve taken in the name of philanthropy, and why I chose each cause. It feels great to come clean, to explain our actions, and to be known. Fame and notoriety have never been what I wanted, but I’ve always known I’d get it as soon as I was discovered. It’s part of being the daughter of a tech mogul.

Dad speaks with her next, then Gemma, Bradley House, John, and then Colton. They keep the room quiet, and I’m not present with anyone else while they talk to Missy, only the team of lawyers and PR employees. The idea that she is interviewing John and Colton is terrifying, but the PR girl, Sarah, assures me it’s simply to get their faces out there since they’ve always been photographed in the masks.

Gemma stays with me tonight, and she holds me as we watch some of our comfort movies. Tomorrow morning the article goes live and the interview airs in the evening. I’m a mess of nerves and Gemma is with me to weather the storm. Colton comes in to deliver us a bottle of wine and a kiss on my forehead (and Gemma’s after she pouts) before he leaves.

I know he wants to spend time with me. I want to be with him, too. But I want to be with him in our home. Not under my dad’s roof. I know if I were to walk into his room, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of him and I want him to moan and scream without restraint. When I get to see his face as he whimpers in pleasure, I don’t want it to be in this penthouse. I want to have the windows open, wind chimes singing in the late summer wind, the scent of the garden wafting in, and him spread out on my floral printed sheets.

So, with Gemma, I will remain tonight.

Excerpts from the transcript of Missy Anderson’s interview with Wren Taylor and company aired on Mornings With Missy.

MISSY: Would you say that being friends with the top secret Wren Taylor had its challenges?

GEMMA COX: Sure. But she’s fantastic and worth it.

MISSY: What makes her fantastic?

GEMMA COX: Wren has been my friend since we were children. Our dads are business partners and friends and knew we would be soul sisters. She is the only person I know who will look past the mask and see the real person underneath and love you for it.

MISSY: That’s a wonderful trait to have. Speaking of masks, tell me about being around her masked security. I bet it was awkward.

GEMMA COX: Not at all! Most of the time they didn’t talk to us, just remained around in case they were needed. I wasn’t around when Molly Taylor was murdered, but knowing the story made their security make sense. Blue Jay—the name for her personal security—was often a different person, and wasn’t allowed to talk to us about anything not security related.

MISSY: I’ve heard about this revolving door of bodyguards. Would you say Wren is difficult to work with?

GEMMA COX: That is a question better reserved for her current Blue Jay.

****

MISSY: So, Blue Jay-

COLTON TAGGART: You’re allowed to call me Colton.

MISSY: Alright, Colton, we’ve heard it has been difficult to work with Wren Taylor. Is that true?

COLTON TAGGART: Who said that?

MISSY: Gemma Cox.

COLTON TAGGART: Gemma is sort of correct. Wren has been hard, but not in the way you’d expect.

MISSY: Well, color me intrigued. Tell me about working for her.

COLTON TAGGART: She’s an amazing woman. Caring, giving, strong, independent, and so incredibly intelligent. She has spent most of her life in hiding and with big, scary, masked security around her. It’s, understandably, taken a toll on her patience. She wanted to get rid of her security, so she worked very hard at making everyone before me quit.

MISSY: A princess on the loose?

COLTON TAGGART: She wished.

MISSY: Until you?

COLTON TAGGART: You could say that.

****

MISSY: How many Blue Jays did Wren Taylor go through?

BRADLEY HOUSE: Too many. My entire staff and then some.

MISSY: Sounds like a difficult customer.

BRADLEY HOUSE: Yes, but still a favorite in the company. She is well respected even among the Blue Jays that stepped down.

MISSY: Well, she makes you a lot of money.

BRADLEY HOUSE: I’m going to stop that line of conversation there. The Taylors experienced a tragedy that lost them Molly Taylor, a wonderful friend of mine. That same tragedy lost me one of my employees who was a young father and a veteran of our country. Seamus O’Valley was a great man and his loss is still felt today.

MISSY: So, you’re saying the Taylors are more than customers?

BRADLEY HOUSE: Absolutely. They’re family.

****

MISSY: It must have been isolating as a young girl and then a young woman to be hidden away.

WREN TAYLOR: Of course.

MISSY: You had Gemma.

WREN TAYLOR: Yeah, I had Gemma. When I was younger, I had more friends. All children of my dad’s work associates. But as we all got older and developed interests and moved for schools and jobs, the numbers dwindled. Then it was just me and Gemma.

MISSY: And Blue Jay.

WREN TAYLOR: Yes, I was never alone.

MISSY: Boys must have loved that.

WREN TAYLOR: Boys did not.

MISSY: You might as well have dated the Blue Jays.

WREN TAYLOR: Colton is the first bodyguard I’ve been allowed to speak to non-professionally.

MISSY: Oh, non-professionally. Tell me more.

WREN TAYLOR: When I moved out of my dad’s home, I convinced him and Hawk—his bodyguard—that I should be allowed to speak to Blue Jay so we weren’t just silently orbiting each other 24/7. And we got to know each other.

MISSY: When you say got to know each other….

WREN TAYLOR: He’s the love of my life.

****

MISSY: Mr. Taylor, how are you doing with all of this attention on your daughter?

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: I am certainly worried about her safety.

MISSY: Her safety is how this all started, isn’t it?

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: Correct. After what happened with Molly, her safety has been my primary focus.

MISSY: And now that she’s out, you worry someone will hurt her?

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: Every father worries about their children. I am not special for that feeling.

MISSY: But you are special for being one of the wealthiest men in the country.

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: We give back as much as we can and my employees are well taken care of. There’s no point in hoarding wealth.

MISSY: And is Wren’s job spending that wealth?

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: Wren has been our charity and community outreach head for years. She has a team of people that work with her to identify charities, give money, organize events, and create funding streams.

MISSY: I heard something about a mobile spa company?

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: Yes, that is one of her many projects. She learned children all over the city can’t access haircuts before the start of school, so she funds a company that offers free haircuts. They’ve since branched out to several different locations.

MISSY: One of many?

GEOFFREY TAYLOR: Yes. Your initial statement about spending money is correct. But it’s not all on purses and shoes.

****

MISSY: What do you think about all the attention you’ve been getting these last few days?

WREN TAYLOR: That’s a complicated question, really. The simple answer is that I’m hesitantly excited. But the longer answer is that this has forced me and Dad to face our grief over losing Mom all over again, so it has stirred up that sadness. And there is an actual concern for safety when your dad is one of the most successful men in the country. People who are hurting often lash out at those they assume to have more. On the other hand, I spent so much time growing up contemplating outing myself to the world. Trying to get rid of Blue Jays. I thought my life could be normal. And while I know I’ll never have the normal life I craved, I’m excited to not hide anymore. I hope that I will be accepted.

chapter thirty-eight

Wren

The street is empty and quiet as we return home after three days at Dad’s penthouse. A whirlwind of interviews and appearances occupied our time from before sunrise to after sunset and there are more scheduled for the coming weeks. But tonight, we’re finished through the rest of the week and weekend.

I can see a few neighbors peek out their front windows as we get out of the car. I don’t blame them one bit. In fact, I wouldn’t blame them for running over here and smacking me. I had hidden my identity from them and made them feel unsafe in their own homes. Only for them to find out my dad is basically one of the richest men in the country. I owe them all trampolines, at least.

A golden evening light has settled over the homes and the goodnight calls from the birds surround us as we enter the house. It’s so quiet compared to the chaos we’d been involved with in the city. I sigh with relief as we shut the door behind us and we both remove our shoes in the entryway. The quiet is only interrupted by Angelica squawking at a Crow, who is positioned in the house as security. As we approach the living room, I see the Crow arguing with Angelica over his dinner leftovers.

“Hey, you two,” the Crow says. He’s unmasked, young, and has short, brown hair.

“Hello,” I say, looking at Angelica, who is frozen, holding on to a French fry in her talon. “Angelica, put that down right now.”

“Ugly,” Angelica says, dropping the fry and flying to land on Colton’s shoulder.

“That’s Jay,” I explain, trying not to laugh.

She makes a blue jay sound.

“Yeah, Blue Jay.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Colton interjects. “It’s me.”

“Naked?” she questions and knocks her beak against his cheek.

“Naked face,” he acknowledges with a nod.

“Ugly Big Bitch,” she says and flies back to the plate of fries.

“You have a new name,” I say to Colton.

He grunts and then turns to the Crow. “Hey man, how are you?”

They shake hands. “Wren, this is Fallon. He’s been a Crow for some time now.”

“I was a Blue Jay once upon a time, too,” he says as we shake hands.

“Oh yeah? How’d I get you to quit?” I ask with a grin.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Well, the final straw was when you made me hold the basket while you shopped for sex toys. I was afraid you’d hit me with a sexual assault case.”

“How evil did you think I was? I would have done nothing to get any of you in actual trouble. You just perceived the trouble,” I explain.

“I couldn’t risk it. I need the job,” he says with a shrug.

For the very first time, I feel bad about the way I treated previous Jays. Here I thought I was playing harmless pranks on them and making them mildly uncomfortable and they were fearing legal repercussions and losing their livelihoods.

“Oh,” I murmur. “I’m sorry. I never wanted… wow, I’m an asshole.”

Fallon and Colton both snort out laughs.

“Well, we all knew why you were doing what you were doing,” Fallon says. “We really only hated your guts when we were the ones in the Blue Jay position. We had a weekly email at Safe House recounting your antics. You did a real number on the guys, and we were… equally impressed and scared.”

“Oh god,” I groan and cover my face.

Colton laughs again and rubs my shoulders.

“Some of the guys you got to quit your post have been high-ranking service members, long time body guards, and some seriously experienced armed forces members. We often joked that your skills were wasted in hiding,” Fallon adds.

“How? All I did was tell people you butt chug your morning coffee!” I exclaim.

Colton and Fallon exchange glances. “The knitted balaclava is a torture implement,” Colton says. “The sex shop escapades, not to mention the BDSM club on mask night, the coffee thing, Angelica’s general existence….”

“You used to crash your car on purpose,” Fallon adds. “At least three times you staged fake kidnappings. Your karate instructor would make us fight you and then you’d cry about sore muscles to your dad.”

“To be fair, that is all the instructor and not Wren,” Colton says.

“Well, the complaining to anyone who would listen that we beat her up was not fun. She also once had a Blue Jay on a diet of only tuna casserole for an entire week.”

“That’s disgusting, Wren.” Colton scolds me, but I grin.

“He had scoffed at my dinner, so I made him eat it every day to gain some empathy,” I explain.

“Said like a true sociopath,” Colton mumbles.

I elbow him.

“Well, Fallon, thank you for being here while I was away. I appreciate you.”

“Of course. There’s been no incidents in the neighborhood. A few neighbors stopped by, mostly the kids looking to play with the ninja.” Fallon shrugs. “A Crow, I think Weller, will be stationed outside all night, just in case. He won’t come in unless he’s needed.”

“And the cameras?” I ask.

“Only external and inside the panic rooms,” Fallon says with a nod. “Hawk had us turn the other ones off.”

As Colton walks Fallon out, I’m mostly preoccupied by the lack of cameras in the house. I would have to make sure the curtains are closed before I jump Colton’s bones, but that is a small price to pay.

“Big Ugly Bitch,” Angelica squawks as she sits on Colton’s shoulder as he pulls out a drink from the fridge.

“That’s not very nice, bird,” Colton says as he pops the top of his soda.

“Peachy ass,” Angelica croons and looks over his shoulder.

“You taught her to say that,” Colton accuses me.

“Angelica has a mind of her own,” I say as I open the pastry box to see the damage left by the Crows.

“Yeah right. How many potato sweeties did it take?”

“Only three,” I say and flutter my lashes at him.

“You better run,” he threatens with a shine of excitement in his eyes.

I squeak and run upstairs to my room. With a quick pull, the curtains close. The room is dark save the little peeks of gold light around the curtains. Colton stands at my dresser and slowly removes his weapons from their holsters. I sprawl on my bed on my belly and watch him as he places each weapon carefully on the wood surface. He moves my bottles of lotions and perfumes over, making space for his guns.

“I want a shower,” he says as he unbuckles his belt.

“Oh?” I ask, shocked by his change of pace. He chased me up here and now he’s wanting to slow down.

“Yeah,” he says as he strips off his henley. In the soft light I see his body revealed and marvel at the sight. A deep inhale of his scent mixed with the bundle of garden grown lavender on my dresser has me realizing he is right to slow us down. His body isn’t new to me, but this is the first time we’ve been alone since he’s been unmasked. This is a moment to savor and treat with reverence.

I sit up on the bed and watch him strip down to nothing. Deep, calming breaths and silence. He smirks, and I am thankful I get to see it. Those plush lips and the curl at the corner as he smiles has my heart skipping a beat.

Mine.

“Would you like to join me?” he asks, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Sure,” I whisper and slide off the bed. Maintaining eye contact, I slowly take off my clothes.

Only when I’m fully naked does he look over my body. I shiver, but not from the temperature of the room. My nipples tighten as he approaches me, and I stand up tall to better reach him.

He kisses me like it feels like coming home to him. It’s exactly how I feel, so I return the kiss and match him. Home isn’t my dad’s penthouse anymore, despite living there my entire life. Home isn’t closure on my mom’s death. Home isn’t the crowds of the city. And home certainly isn’t the media swarms and interview requests.

Home is here. On the quiet, treelined cul-de-sac, with Colton. With birds chirping their goodnights, the golden glow of a summer evening, the scent of lavender and him.

His hand slips into mine and he leads me to the bathroom. He turns on the water and I put out two clean towels. I set the lights to a dim glow, wanting the calm ambiance of my bedroom to follow us here.

In the shower, we remain silent. I lather my hair with shampoo and Colton moves my hands away to massage my scalp. A soft moan escapes me and I close my eyes. His fingertips massage my scalp in firm circles.

“Is it disrespectful to say coming home from the media frenzy feels like coming home from war?” I ask quietly.

He chuckles softly and kisses my soapy forehead. “It was very stressful. One minor slip up could have cost you your reputation and your dad’s livelihood.”

“Perilous work,” I say sarcastically.

“But you did great.”

I hum as he tilts my head to rinse my hair.

We finish washing ourselves and I slip out of the shower while he’s rinsing off. I braid my hair back to keep it off of my skin while he steps out and towels off. His eyes are on me and I watch him in the mirror as I bend over the sink to get closer to the mirror, feigning looking at my lashes and brows. His eyes zero in on my ass and he bites into his lower lip, his lashes fluttering.

“Dry off and get on the bed,” I whisper.

He roughly towels his hair, making the short, blond strands stand on end before dropping the towel on the floor. He doesn’t quite listen to my demand this time, and stops to lift me into his arms. Quickly, he strides to the bed and throws me on the covers. I barely have time to squeal at the movement before I’m bouncing on the mattress. His body covers mine and the damp heat still clinging to his skin has the scent of the soap overpowering the lavender in the room.

He kisses me somewhere between reverent and harsh. His lips pull at mine and his tongue reaches farther into my mouth. Like he can’t get enough. His breath saws from him and his arms shake on either side of me.

With a smile, I push at his chest, and he rolls to his back. I climb over him and straddle his waist, his hard length resting against my ass. His hands grip my hips and my heart jumps in my chest at seeing him below me. His eyes dilated and lips parted, the look of desperation creeping in.

My hands press into his pectorals as I lift myself over his erection and settle so his cock is resting against my pussy. I slide over his cock, using my arousal and his pre-cum as lubricant as I recreate what we did that first night. Though, this time we’re naked and this is far from dry humping.

He moans deep in his throat and cranes his neck to watch his cock slide between my labia in a slippery movement. I could come from this, but my core clenches with wanting more. I want him inside me more than I’ve wanted anything before. His shaking hands on my hips suggest he feels the same.

A pink flush has crept up on his cheeks and neck and I haven’t even taken him into my body yet. His lips are full and wet and I want to bite them. I lean down to do just that and he whimpers against me. “Fuck.”

I giggle and pull back from him to look into his eyes. His pupils entirely encompassed the electric blue in the dim light of the room. The only light now comes from the bathroom as the sun has officially set on the neighborhood. I stare into his eyes and my heart thrums, knowing this man loves me. And I love him.

He’s seen me at my worst. I was rotten to him and he stayed. He watched rejection after rejection and didn’t leave. He watched my world be upended, and he adapted with me. He was willing to risk his life for me. He suffered through his term as Blue Jay to fight for a space in my life as Colton.

“I love you,” I say to him as I finally slide him into my body. Finally bringing him home.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes flutter shut and he moans. When I’m seated on his length, he can speak again. “You’re so beautiful like this and I love you, too.”

I giggle at the clumsiness of his words as I lift and lower myself back onto him and swirl my hips. This time, we both moan. I swirl my hips again and he lifts me up and pushes me back down.

The corded muscles in his neck and arms quiver with the effort of holding himself back. He’s trying to go slow. To be gentle. I swirl my hips again, trying to get used to the stretch of his cock in me before I let him loose. While I know he would never hurt me intentionally, I don’t want him to even have to think about my comfort when he fucks me.

He pushes up to catch my lips with his. It’s clumsy and our teeth knock, but I love it. His breath fills my lungs as he moans and whimpers. I pull back to see his face as I fuck him slowly. Torturously. I’d wanted to see his face so badly while we were fucking and now I can.

He’s fucking beautiful like this. Pink cheeks. Fluttering lashes. Bitten lips. His jaw clenches as he tries to bite down on a moan. Mine. He’s mine.

“Colton,” I moan as I settle into a seated position on his cock.

“Princess,” he answers.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“What would you call what I’m doing?” He raises an eyebrow and gives two quick bouncing thrusts of his hips.

“Making love.”

He smiles and settles back into the pillows. He lightly traces his fingertips over my thighs and hips. “Yeah, it is making love, isn’t it?”

“I love it. But…”

“You are ready for fast and hard?”

I nod.

A mischievous curl of his lip accompanies his grin. He gives me less than a second before I’m literally flying through the air. He bucked his hips so hard I’m off his cock and in the air. Just before I land back on the mattress with a squeak, he swings one of his legs out from under me. I bounce once and land on my knees and elbows and his cock is thrust back into me from behind.

The thrust is so forceful I fall forward onto my face in the pillows. I want to laugh, but the air is stolen from my lungs as he grips my hips and slams into me a second time. The only sound that leaves my mouth is a high-pitched whine as he growls and fucks into me.

I slide toward the headboard with the force of his thrusts and I grip the sheets in my fist to keep myself in place. He wraps a hand around my throat to keep me in place and snarls in my ear. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

I can’t reply to him. His grip on my throat is so tight I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. My pussy clenches around him. I instinctively try to suck in air. He has control over my entire body right now, and I trust him. He will not hurt me.

A loud crack sounds in the room and a searing sting blooms on my left ass cheek.

Okay, so he will not hurt me in a way I don’t like.

“Fuck, this ass is so perfect,” he growls as he squeezes the stinging muscle.

He brings the hand from my ass around to rub my clit and I see stars. Not only from my lack of oxygen, but from my orgasm. He lets go of my neck as I come, and the flood of oxygen is an amazing accompaniment to my climax. It’s like I’m breathing him in as I come. The breath I take pulls him into my lungs and accepts him as part of me. Not just a part of my heart. But a part of my very existence.

I open my eyes and I’m now looking up at him. He must have flipped me over as I came, because he’s thrusting back into me and moving my braid off my face.

“There you are,” he says in a breathless but soothing voice. “I want to see your face as you soak the sheets around my dick.”

I reach up, desperate to touch him. Any part of him. My fingers reach his chest, the skin warm and sweaty. That flush spread to his chest and the skin below his blond hair is just as pink as his cheeks. He grips my thighs in his hands as he pounds into me with even, deep strokes.

My breath is still labored but I’m able to whimper his name.

“Come on, baby. Let me see you come again,” he rasps.

I keep one hand on his flexing chest and snake the other to my clit. I’m strung so high it’s going to take extra stimulation to get me over the edge. He continues his thrusts, and I circle my clit fast and hard.

“That’s it, beautiful. Let me see you. Oh, fuck, you’re amazing.”

As my toes curl against the sheets and my orgasm peaks, I attempt to keep my eyes from squeezing shut. I want to see him watch me. I want to see his face as I come. His eyes roll back moisture gathers beneath me and between our joined bodies.

I can’t help it. My eyes close and my back arches off the bed.

“That’s a good girl. Keep going. Don’t stop touching your clit. Good job, baby. Oh, that’s a good fucking girl,” he says through clenched teeth, his voice cracking with effort.

I’m immobilized, frozen at the peak of my orgasm. My core is clenched so tight and hard my muscles are feeling fatigued. I’m overstimulated, but he’s just about to come. A breathy whimper against my skin accompanies every thrust as he falls forward. His snapping hips drive into me in a clumsy, desperate pattern.

I place a kiss on his sweaty neck and collarbone, the only parts I can reach. He turns his head and kisses me breathlessly. He moans into my mouth before saying, “I’m coming!”

The need to see him come undone outweighs my desire to kiss him. I pull back to watch his face. His mouth falls open on a moan and his eyes flutter and roll, his brows drawing together. If I was less overstimulated, I could come again just at the sight of this man emptying himself into my pussy. I feel spurt after spurt of his release and his moan ends in a growl. I watch as his abs clench and unclench and his arms shake with the power of his orgasm.

He gives one last jerking thrust before he pulls out of me and lands next to me on the bed. He kisses my sweaty shoulder and I shiver at the sudden lack of stimulation. My legs tremble and I giggle, looking down at my vibrating flesh.

His eyes follow my gaze and he smiles smugly. He grips my thigh in his hand and bites his bottom lip. “Hell yeah.”

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” I giggle and snuggle into his chest.

“It’s alright. I’ll get you one of those garden scooters we saw at the greenhouse a couple of weeks ago.”

“You say that like I’m never going to walk again,” I tease.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” His response is gravelly and deep. “I plan on being deep inside this pussy every night. Fucking you until you can’t breathe, let alone walk.”

Despite the overstimulation of not five minutes ago, my pussy clenches with arousal again. I scoff at him and give two dramatic sighing breaths. “Seems like I can breathe just fine.”

“Brat,” he chuckles and has my knees pressed into the mattress next to my head before I can think of another taunt. I’m folded in half and each breath I take is shortened and not enough air.

He licks from my ass to my clit before sucking hard. His eyes are lit with a grin as he bites lightly on my oversensitive clit. I want to scream, but I can’t breathe enough to do it. Instead, I grip his hair tight in my fist and wheeze out “Asshole!”

Colton sucks and massages me to one last orgasm before carrying me to a hot bath with lavender, chamomile, and aloe vera from the garden. He lowers himself into the steaming water behind me and I lay back against his chest. He’s almost obscenely too big for my clawfoot tub, but with one leg draped over the edge, and my body resting on top of his submerged leg, we make it work for a while.

In the soft lighting of my bathroom, wrapped in the arms of the man I love, I feel entirely safe and at home.

chapter thirty-nine

Wren

We arrive to find the birdwatching group getting out of their senior center van on a balmy summer morning. The rattling of the wheels of the many walkers interrupts the sounds of the park’s birds as the old birders head down the sidewalk to the pavilion.

“Good morning!” I say as I approach them with pep in my step. The large platter in my hands is laden with freshly baked lemon scones and a basil frosting drizzle. Colton trails behind me with a banquet sized coffee brewer full of some amazing coffee, a shopping bag full of sweeteners and cream in the crook of his elbow.

The senior citizens are quiet but watchful as Colton and I set up a small coffee and pastry display. The employee of the senior center who drove the van today provides us with paper cups before hopping back into the van to scroll on their phone.

Once everything is set up, I turn to the gathered group. “I brought coffee today. Sorry I missed last week.”

“I feel unsafe with him out of his muzzle,” Marjorie says and points at the unmasked Colton.

Colton growls at her playfully, but at least three old people startle. Marjorie only glares at him with no true heat in her eyes.

“I, for one, feel it is a pleasure to know someone so rich that still loves nature,” Frank says.

I sigh, realizing they are owed an explanation. “Everyone, my name is Wren Taylor. Yes, my dad is Geoffrey Taylor. This is Colton Taggart. He’s my personal security.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” one of Marjorie’s friends, Nancy, asks.

“I am,” Colton replies for me.

There’s a collective sound from the gathered group. Some in celebration and some groans of defeat as they all pull out what look like blue carnival tickets. There are people raking in tickets with laughs and whoops of celebration.

Colton shifts on the bench next to me. “What are those?”

“Our center does an event on Friday nights and we pay for our drinks with these tickets,” Marjorie explains as she pockets a wad of blue tickets into her quilted top’s pocket.

“Wait, you guys were placing bets on us being a couple?”

“I said there is no way a single girl wasn’t trying to climb that tree of a man no matter what his face looks like under the mask,” Marjorie says with a waving gesture at Colton.

“And I said a man would be a fool to not tie himself to a woman that can bake like you, even if she dresses like a haunted babydoll,” Frank says as he folds a strip of blue tickets into a neat stack.

I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing a pink and white lace shift dress and some strappy sandals. “It’s supposed to be grandma chic, cottage core.”

“I’m a grandma and I’ve never worn something like that,” Marjorie says and shakes her head.

Colton chuckles next to me.

“On that flattering note, have some pastry and coffee.” I pout and help Colton serve the people who have a harder time getting around.

Everyone enjoys the pastry and coffee, and I’m inundated with questions about my life. I answer as much as I can within my own personal boundaries and do my best to steer conversations back to the person I’m talking with.

The sun is out in full force and the grass is dry by the time we’re finished with our snack and we’re ready to go find some birds. “Before you all scatter, there’s something I want to tell you,” I say before everyone gets up. “I looked into your senior center and talked to your director and heard many of you have outstanding medical bills, need home repairs, experience food insecurity, and need individual help.”

“Yeah, we’re old and this economy stinks,” Frank grumbles.

“All the issues you’ve shared with the staff at the center and asked them for help with have been paid for. If there’s something you haven’t shared with them but you need, please talk to their outreach coordinator and she will help you.”

A few gasps, but mostly shocked silence fills the shelter.

“The food pantry you all use at the center has been stocked and is staffed with nutritionists that can help with things like diabetes and heart health. And a mobile spa company I love dearly will come to the center to help with personal care once a month.”

“Why?” Marjorie asks.

“Because you let me join your group,” I reply simply, but I hold Marjorie’s eyes.

She reaches across the table and grips my hand in her wrinkled and blue veined one. “You’re a good kid. I’m glad the world gets to know you.”

It’s the first nice thing she’s ever said to me and it renders me speechless. Everyone scatters to walk the paths or to sit on the benches surrounding the park. All of them insist on hugging and taking a picture with me before they go. I know these images will end up blurry and on their Facebook pages, surrounded by Farmville and Candy Crush posts, but it’s a comforting place to be.

Colton is tricked into practically carrying almost every old lady over the smallest puddle on the path to the wooded area. The beaming smile on his face says this is the easiest chore. He gets muscle squeezes and kisses on the cheek and even a few booty pats from the more ballsy old ladies. I laugh and wait for him to be done, my bird book in hand.

“Did you look in your bird book?” he asks as he jogs over.

“No, why?”

“Look what I did,” he says and takes it from my hands to open it.

Every journal entry for each type of bird we’ve seen on our adventures is now accompanied by a small sketch. I gasp as I take the journal from his hands and flip through. He must have done it in the time we were in New York. The sketches are so well done I would have thought they were printed into the book if I hadn’t bought the book blank.

“Colton!” I whisper as I flip through each page. “You’re so talented!”

He shrugs.

“No, don’t shrug it off! I want prints of basically all of these and put them in frames around the house!”

“I could do some bigger ones, sure,” he says and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Well, now I want to see what you have in your journal,” I say and point to where the leather-bound journal I bought him at the craft show rests on a picnic table.

“No, that’s alright. Let’s go see if we can find that tufted titmouse,” he says and pulls my arm toward the woods.

“What’s in there that I can’t see?” I ask and narrow my eyes suspiciously.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

I drag my heels in the gravel and he’s forced to stop or let me fall. I yank out of his hold and hit him with a strike to the neck. He chokes and scrambles after me. I evade two more grabs and make it to the table. I hold his journal in my hands. I must remember to tell Master James at my next taekwondo class. The leather of the journal is sun warmed and soft. I look up at him with doe eyes. “Can I please look at it? I won’t be mad if there are more pictures of me with five hundred chins.”

“I only did that one and you totally deserved it that day,” he defends, his eyes still on the journal.

“Then what is it? Pictures of other women?”

He shakes his head.

“Naked women?”

He shakes his head again.

“Naked men?”

“No! Ugh, fine, just open it,” he says and flops down on the picnic table bench.

I sit next to him and open to the first page. It’s a sketch of me with Angelica on my shoulder. My arms are crossed and I look like a petulant toddler. On the next page, it is more of the same pose, but in some I am wearing a pirate’s hat and eye patch. Angelica with a wooden leg on my shoulder.

I giggle as I move to the next page. It’s me and Gemma at a table. Probably the coffee shop based on the mugs in front of us. Our heads are bowed together as we’re laughing. The picture is just pencil on paper, but it encapsulates the joy and love we have for each other.

The next few pages are pictures of things we’re growing in the garden with pressed pieces of the plants taped to the pages. Then a few pages of Angelica. Her hiding her beak under her wing, her preening, eating a snack, and one of her staring out the window. In a tidy scrawl is a list of some of her favorite things to say, primarily curse words and snippets of viral sounds from social media. Some of the pages are cut from another journal and taped into this one. The earlier pages are all additions.

But most of all, there are pictures of me. Smiling, sleeping, angry, sad, with makeup, no makeup, eating, and smiling over a mug of coffee. Each of these pictures takes up an entire page. Me in the garden, sunbathing, reading, curled on the couch, watering plants, baking. Pictures of me holding a whip, ropes, and handcuffs with a hard look on my face. I giggle as I look at these.

“Is this your wish list?”

“God, yes,” he groans.

“There’s none of you,” I say.

“My face was a secret, remember?”

I nod as I flip through a few more of me and Gemma and Angelica. A few more pressed plants.

“It’s like a journal of me falling in love with you,” he murmurs.

“Which one was when you knew?” I whisper as tears fill my eyes.

“For sure it was… here,” he says as he takes the book from me and finds a page before handing it back to me.

In the sketch, I’m looking up at him, my eyes wide and my fingers pressed to my lips. There are tears gathered at the bottom of my lashes, and my expression is fearful and sorrowful. My hair is in a messy bun on my head and I’m wearing pajamas. My nipples are poking through the thin shirt.

“It’s when you pulled me into the panic room,” he explains.

“When I almost got you fired?” I ask with a laugh through my tears.

“Mhm.”

“When my nipples had you hard as rock hours later?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He grins and pulls me to kiss him.

“Not in front of the birds!” Marjorie calls as she comes back into the pavilion.

chapter forty

Wren

A cardinal is chirping nearby and the distant caw of a crow serve as a musical background for our morning coffee. We’re quiet in the calm light of early morning. I have an interview in the city later this evening for a fashion magazine, but I want to get some gardening in before we leave.

Colton stands from his seat and goes into the yard. I watch him walk up and down the rows in the garden as he sips his coffee. He’s wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants and his camo print garden Crocs. One hand in his pocket and one around his mug as he peruses our crops. I haven’t been out there yet this morning. Colton has always done a security sweep of the yard before I’m allowed off the porch. Over the months of living here, the perimeter sweep has morphed into him moseying around the garden.

He goes down the small gravel path that leads to the fruit bushes and I watch the sun glisten on his bare shoulders. He tosses the last few dregs of coffee out of his mug into the roses and turns back to the berry bushes. I frown. There haven’t been more than a few flowers and small, sour berries on the bushes and I gave up hoping I’d get anything from them this year. Berry bushes typically need a few years to mature before they produce any fruit, according to the research I did. But Colton appears to be doing something to the plants.

A few moments later, he comes back with a wide smile and a coffee mug full of blueberries. I gasp.

“No way!”

“Yes way, now make me more of those muffins,” he demands cheerfully as he sits back down at the table.

“Next batch. These we need to enjoy in their pure state,” I say and pluck one out of the mug and pop it into my mouth. It’s sweet and juicy, maybe a little more tart than I’d prefer, but I grew them. I grew these berries. They came from my yard and from my work. And, I guess, Colton’s work. But directed by me.

His phone rings just as he chews his own berry. He sighs as he answers it. “Hello? Yes, this is him. I sent the check last week. What do you mean?” He looks at me suspiciously. “All of it?”

Oh, right. His mom’s medical bills!

“Okay, thank you. You too. Bye,” he says into the phone before hanging up. His eyes never leave me.

“I forgot to tell you,” I say innocently.

“Wren, you can’t do that,” he groans and scrubs his hand over his face, scratching at the beard he’s been growing.

“Well, I did.”

“When?”

“It’s funny you should ask that. It was before you were unmasked. I tracked down your mom with your first name and a description of your ass.”

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“Sort of?”

“I can’t accept this. It’s too much,” he says and grips my hands in his.

“You can totally accept it. You deserve it,” I insist.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I love you. I wasn’t sure if I was going to fire you to unmask you or not, and that would have messed with your income. I didn’t want your mom’s treatment to get paused even more. I even got some information on a rehab and a new apartment closer to us. And, this will have to be a secret, but if you get me the bookie’s contact information, I’ll arrange for a cash drop.”

“Get dressed. You’re meeting her now.” He stands up and pulls me up with him.

“Now?”

“Yeah, you need to look her in the eyes when you tell her you’re about to change her life,” he says and pulls me into the house.

“Colton,” I laugh. “Let me get my folder from the office and you can look it over first. There’s some important information in there.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” he says, his eyes swimming with a sadness and desperation. “She’s… she’s the only family I have. I’ll owe you for the rest of my life and I know that, but I’ll do anything to get her healthy.”

“No, Colton. You won’t ever owe me. This isn’t something you’ll ever have to feel indebted to me for. I need you to understand that. If anything, I owed you for everything you’ve put up with working for me and-and for keeping me safe. And for being a big part of home.”

“Home.”

“Yeah,” I say and shift awkwardly on my feet.

He smiles and kisses me before pushing me up the stairs. “Get dressed.”

I dress in a robin’s egg blue sundress and a pair of white sneakers and meet Colton in the kitchen. He’s rummaging through the cookie tin and assembling a plate for his mom. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug his ass and thighs and a tight green t-shirt. His hair is styled with a matte clay one of the glam squad members got him hooked on at a previous interview. He smells like freshly applied deodorant and cologne. I breathe him in.

We head out the door with a craft paper bag filled with a cookie plate and a little banana bread loaf I had in the freezer and he texts his mom we’re on our way. As we’re heading out the door, he informs the Crow’s Nest at Dad’s place we’re leaving for the address of his mom’s apartment.

The drive isn’t long, but I’m nervous. I knew I’d meet his mom eventually, but I figured there’d be more scheduling involved. I had hoped to have her over for dinner. Impress her with my cooking or something. But here we were, walking up to the brick apartment complex.

Colton presses a button on an intercom. “Hey Mom, we’re here.”

A buzz sounds and the door unlocks. Colton opens it and leads me to his mom’s apartment door. The hall smells like stale cigarette smoke and a mixture of foods, but when his mom opens the door, it smells like coffee and vanilla. She is a tall woman compared to my slight frame, but she is curled in on herself like she is feeling weak. Her smile is warm and bright as she looks from Colton to me.

“Hi, baby boy,” she says and greets her son.

“Mom, this is Wren,” he introduces me and steps aside.

I hold out my hand to shake hers, but she clucks her tongue and pulls me in for a hug. Her embrace is tight despite her weak appearance. I hug her in return, despite feeling awkward.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she says as she pulls back to look me up and down. “I’m Sandy, Colton’s mom, and I’ve heard so much about you.”

I flinch. “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t very nice to him.”

She looks confused for a moment. “He never said a negative thing about you. Now, come in, I’ve made coffee!”

The apartment is small and cramped with old furniture not fitting for the space. But Colton and I sit on the couch while Sandy brings over mugs of coffee.

“It’s been a busy few weeks for you two, hasn’t it?” she asks from the kitchenette.

“It sure has,” I reply.

“I knew Colton was working for someone high profile, but I never imagined. The mask, the code name- gosh, it was like he was James Bond!”

I giggle and Colton rolls his eyes.

Sandy puts the baked goods we brought on a platter and I look around the space. While it is cramped, it feels homey. There are pictures of Colton as a child everywhere and a more recent one of what looks like his bootcamp graduation. I peer at all the pictures while Colton blushes next to me.

Sandy rejoins us and we chat about the city, our garden, and I tell her about Angelica. She’s excited to meet Angelica, and we plan for her to come over one day.

“Mom, we’re here today because I got a call from the hospital’s billing department. Wren here has paid for your treatments,” Colton says.

Sandy is quiet for a moment as she processes this. “What?”

“I, um, love your son, and I wanted you to be taken care of. You see, I thought I was going to have to fire him and I didn’t want—”

“You paid my bills?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh,” she says before breaking down into tears.

“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped,” I say and swallow around a tight, dry throat.

“You are an angel,” she sobs.

Colton snorts.

“An angel,” she insists, ignoring her son. “Thank you! Oh, thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

“I knew he was in love when he talked to me about the birds outside my hospital room with a smile on his face. Who smiles while talking about pigeons?” She cries and holds my face in her hands. “You are an angel to me.”

“Mom, Wren wants to help you more than just bills,” Colton says just above a whisper. He told me this would be the hardest part of the entire conversation. I can’t tell if his lack of faith in her is based on reality or not, but regardless of the outcome, I am here for him.

Sandy pulls away from me so she can see both of us. Her eyes narrow in worry. “What else could there be?”

“We want you to go to rehab,” Colton says, slowly and evenly. Like he is bracing for backlash.

“It’s a therapeutic spa with a focus on sobriety and wellness,” I explain, hoping the luxury would be more tempting.

Sandy is quiet as she gathers up the empty coffee mugs and used paper napkins. As she works in the kitchenette, I hold Colton’s hand. His head is bowed and his brows bunched as we wait for her to kick us out.

I can tell that’s what he thinks is about to happen. But something about the way Sandy’s eyes linger on the baby pictures and children’s clay finger pots lined up on the windowsill has me thinking she’s going to agree.

It’s close to ten minutes before she returns to the worn recliner chair. Her face is set in a determined look I know well because I’ve seen it on her son’s face. “You know, I’ve never had a professional manicure or a massage.”

“That happens to be a special interest of mine,” I say.

Her lips curl into a smile, very like her son’s, but her eyes don’t change from their serious expression.

“I’ll go,” Sandy says, and I feel Colton jump next to me.

Colton’s hand is slick with sweat in mine and I squeeze him.

“I need to be alive and well for my son’s wedding to an angel,” Sandy finishes with a sly look at her son.

“Oh my god, Mom. You can’t say that!” Colton groans, sounding like an embarrassed teenager.

I laugh, knowing she’s just goading her son.

“I know, baby boy. Yes. I will go to rehab,” she finishes and looks at me. “Thank you.”

“After rehab, we’ll discuss with your doctors the next steps for your treatment,” Colton says. “Because Wren and I want to continue to help you and support you.”

Tears mist across Sandy’s eyes again and she blinks them back with a nod.

“Also, how much do you still owe the bookie?” Colton gruffs.

Sandy’s eyes widen as she looks between him and me. I look away, realizing she’s ashamed of this.

“Five grand,” she whispers.

“We will have it in cash by the weekend,” I say. “And then it’ll be over.”

Sandy makes us a frozen pizza and lemonade for lunch and even brings out the baby album. I’m delighted to see it. I know there’s one somewhere at Dad’s place, but I don’t know that I’ve ever looked through it.

“I’ve had enough baby pictures for a while,” Colton groans as I coo over a picture of his preschool graduation.

“How often are you looking at baby albums?” I laugh.

“Apparently, you’d be surprised,” he says and finishes the last slice of the pepperoni pizza.

I cock an eyebrow at him.

“Hawk- er, John, has an entire shoebox full of mementos and pictures from your childhood. He gave me the ‘hurt her and I’ll kill you’ speech,” Colton explains.

Sandy and I exchange glances. I did not know he had that. And I had no idea he felt so strongly about me.

“I didn’t know that.”

“He loves you like his own family,” Colton says, and cleans up after our lunch.

“I kind of feel robbed,” I say as I gently hand Sandy the baby album.

“This Hawk guy is another bodyguard?” Sandy asks.

“My Dad’s. Hawk is the name of the position, like Blue Jay. But Hawk has always been the same man,” I explain to her and twirl a loose string on the couch cushion.

“Many years, then?”

“Yeah, like twenty,” I murmur.

“Well, of course he sees you as family. He’s watched you grow up,” Sandy says.

“I was never allowed to see him as my family. He was staff. And not in an ‘I’m better than you’ kind of way, but in a ‘I can’t know you for our own protection’ way.”

“It sounds like this protection kept you from having trusting relationships.”

“Well, I trusted Hawk, of course. It was his job to protect us,” I say.

“A different kind of trust. Like… emotional trust,” Sandy explains and puts the baby album back on the shelf.

I shrug. “Maybe. Yeah. I mean, I have a few people. My Dad, for one. And my best friend, Gemma. Now I have Colton.”

Sandy nods and looks over at Colton, who is leaning against the kitchen counter, watching us talk. “I hope letting the world know you opens you up to new and wonderful relationships. Security is more than just physical.”

“Not too many relationships,” Colton grumbles from the kitchen.

Sandy and I share a smile before she turns back to Colton. “Speaking of people who are like family to us, Mrs. Stewart saw you on TV and is mad you didn’t call. She was by here yesterday.”

Colton rolls his eyes.

“Seems like we have another stop to make,” I say, and stand up. “I’ll have to let her know when to expect contractors there to restore her front porch.”

“Wren, you need to stop,” Colton chuckles.

“No, if she is your family and your mom is going through the trouble of getting healthy to walk you down the aisle at our wedding, then Mrs. Stewart is my family, too.”

Sandy cackles, and Colton groans, realizing he’s outnumbered. We leave Sandy’s apartment and I think about what she said. Of course, having strong protections and boundaries in place kept me physically safe. But not allowing people the chance to know me prevented me from experiencing the feeling of emotional security and trusting relationships. I had spent so much time hoping someone would see me as worth the effort of going through the security hoops but nobody was ever close enough to know me enough to take that risk. To do that work.

With Colton driving us down the road, sunlight in his hair and a soft smile on his lips, I peek at the picture Sandy slipped into my hand as we were leaving. It’s little Colton, probably six or seven years old, in the bird sanctuary my mom used to help run. There’s a fat, brown wren in his hand as he smiles shyly at the camera. There’s a shiny yellow sticker with a cartoon blue jay on it that says “I’m a protector!” proudly placed on his Power Rangers sweater.

And there next to him, smiling fondly, in a staff uniform, is my mom. 

epilogue

Wren

A knock sounds at the door, and I look over myself in the mirror before I answer. My hair is in big barrel waves and my makeup is demure and classic. I tighten the belt of the white satin dressing robe before opening the door just a crack.

“Hey, how are your nerves now? Do you need a cocktail or a mimosa?” Cassie, the wedding planner, asks. She’s wearing a gray pantsuit and is accompanied by one Crow and a Sparrow.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I reply through the crack in the door.

“Okay, well, just ask if you need anything. Have you heard from Colton? His mom is looking for him and he needs to get dressed,” Cassie says and uses a stylus to check something off on her tablet.

“I don’t know, but I need a bit more time for quiet contemplation,” I say with what I hope is a shy expression.

“Don’t worry, you still have thirty minutes until we come and get you in your dress.”

“Thank you.”

“The rest of today is going to be loud and busy. Get in all the quiet time you can before it’s time to walk you down the aisle,” she says encouragingly before giving a little wave.

I close the door and lock it after I hear three sets of feet head back down the hall. Earlier, I had been nervous. That part is true. I am very excited to be marrying Colton, but also nervous to be the center of so much attention. Cassie is the best wedding planner out of all the ones we met with over the past year, and she suggested a few moments of quiet time. Prayer. Meditation. A half of a Xanax. Anything to center me before I got into my wedding dress.

I, however, know only one thing could bring me peace today.

And that thing is currently naked, bound, gagged, and blindfolded on the floor of the bridal suite of our wedding venue.

“You’re needed in the groom’s suite to get dressed,” I tell him as I approach him from behind. I check his blindfold. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, after all.

He grunts through the cotton of his own boxer briefs currently shoved in his mouth.

“I’m not done with you yet,” I say and move to be in front of him. He’s kneeling on a throw pillow from the ornate chaise lounge, and his body is trembling from the edging I’d been putting him through before our interruption.

Sweat slides down his chest and in the abdominal muscle ridges that keep appearing and disappearing with each heaving breath. His arms are bound behind him and his shoulders roll with effort.

“Are you ready to come for me?” I whisper in his ear.

He hums an affirmative sound.

I slide the silky dressing robe fabric over his face and shoulders as I take it off. “I want you to paint my skin with your come. I want to put on my dress and walk down that aisle to you with you all over my skin.”

He moans as I wrap my hand around him again. It takes less than five strokes to get him to suck in a sharp breath and shudder out his release. He groans, low and long, as his come sprays over my chest and stomach. I catch the drips of it before it reaches my lace panties and rub it into my skin.

“I’m rubbing it in,” I narrate to him. “Now, I want you to lie back and let me return the favor.”

I untie him quickly so he can lie back on the floor, his head now resting on that throw pillow. I bring his right hand up to my pussy as I straddle his abdomen. The angle is awkward and unnatural, so he adjusts us quickly and uses one hand on my clit and the other fucking into me.

I squeal and he smiles around the cotton gag. His hums around the black fabric are encouraging sounds. I didn’t know someone could hum praises, but he sure can. It’s not long before I’m coming. Coming hard after edging him for at least twenty minutes. I was so turned on by his sounds and the sight of him at my mercy that it took very little stimulation to get me painting his chest.

As I come down, he smacks at my pussy with a deep chuckle, making more of a mess. I rub my come into his chest in the same way I’d done his. He sighs contentedly. Gently, I pull his underwear out of his mouth, and he stretches his jaw a few times before he smiles at me, still blindfolded.

“Ready to go put on your tux?” I ask and kiss him.

“So ready,” he rasps, and runs his hands up and down my thighs, still spread around his hips.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” I say with one more kiss before I get off of him.

“Well, let me go get dressed and we can get going,” he says in a bratty tone.

I spank his ass as he stands up. He yelps and then laughs.

“Thank you,” I breathe as I hand him his clothes.

“Princess, I knew you were going to need me before the ceremony. Why do you think I had a blindfold in the first place?” he chuckles as he dresses, said blindfold still in place. 

I hadn’t even thought of that. I was just so eager to see him after I texted him about feeling anxious. Seeing him, albeit blindfolded, at the door to the bridal suite was a balm to my spiky nerves.

“Oh,” I say.

He chuckles and turns to reach for me. His hands clasp my bare shoulders, and he walks his grip up to my chin. He leans down and kisses me slowly. “Let’s go get married.”

****

I can’t see him yet, but I know he’s there. My arm is looped through Dad’s and I can’t tell who is shaking more while we wait for the wedding planner to cue our walk.

Limited media has been allowed inside the venue, but none are in the vestibule with us now. It has been more than a year since my reveal to the world, and the public unveiling of the culprits of the leak, but I continue to be a person of interest in tabloids and fashion magazines. While nothing negative has been printed since Dad threatened Maxwell and Grey with the ruin of their families’ businesses if they spoke about me again, the world maintains a watchful and interested eye. My exposure to the world was done because of the fragile egos of weak men, but my relevancy is maintained because of my uplifting contributions to public service, my unwitting fashion influence, my shenanigans with Gemma, and of course the anticipation of my wedding to my bodyguard.

“Take deep breaths,” Dad hisses to me.

“You take deep breaths,” I snap back.

“We sound like we ran here.” He tugs at his tie.

“Should we run out of here?” I ask.

“What? We’re running?” Dad says, fear in his voice as he tugs me toward the exit behind us.

Two Crows stare at us with horrified expressions, but I tug Dad back to the chapel doors with a laugh. “Thanks for being my ride or die, but I really want to do this.”

Cassie looks at us, amused, as she listens to the music in the chapel. The procession is scheduled to be long, despite the low number of people in the bridal party. Accommodating Marjorie’s new cane after a recent fall added a good three minutes to the processional. She is one of my bridesmaids and Frank is one of the groomsmen. Their walk down to the altar is the slowest, but it gives ample time for guests to enjoy the skilled quartet orchestra. Next is Colton’s friend Matt, accompanying Mrs. Stewart, who also needs a few extra moments to make it down the aisle. Then, Gemma with Lance. Our maid of honor and best man. Gemma was a shoe in and would have been mortally offended if she wasn’t my maid of honor. Lance was shocked at being asked to be best man, but he was honored to take part.

At first, I felt left out and embarrassed at not having a large bridal party. Really, my first thought was only Gemma. But then I realized that while my friendships are not conventional, I still have people I value, love, and trust the way anyone can hope for with a friend. Then, the decisions for my bridal party became a lot easier.

There’s a flower girl and ring bearer wrapped in one bird shaped package. We spent months practicing what she needed to do, and Angelica is ready. Cassie takes a vintage looking golden cage from a Crow and opens it at the chapel door.

Angelica gives an excited squawk and flies from the cage with a flutter of her wings.

“If she flies away, you’re without wedding bands,” Dad mutters as we watch her fly down the aisle. Everyone claps for Angelica.

“Don’t be silly, Lance has the real rings,” I whisper back as Cassie holds up her hand and silently counts down from five for me and Dad.

The music changes, and Cassie gestures for us to walk. This is it. I’m walking down the aisle, about to marry the man of my dreams. Dad walks before I do and encourages me along with a little tug. The walk is long down the aisle of the large chapel, and I try to keep my eyes focused on Colton up at the altar.

The veil I’m wearing covers my face and obstructs my view so I focus mostly on what I assume to be Colton’s shape. I should have practiced walking with tears in my eyes and a lace veil over my face, because if it weren’t for Dad’s guiding arm, I think I would accidentally keep walking.

Dad and Colton shake hands, and I hear the rumble of their voices before I feel Dad leave to go to his seat. Colton chuckles, and his voice now echoes throughout the chapel as we face each other. I tuck my lips into my mouth to contain my giggle. Colton lifts my veil, and his handsome, smiling face is clear. His expression is amused but obviously saying, “Really?”

“I thought about a white balaclava, but it would have smudged my makeup,” I say, forgetting I am also now wearing a live microphone.

The guests in the chapel break out into laughter. Most in attendance are Crows, Sparrows, and people who have been in our lives long enough to know about the masked staff. My joke about the veil didn’t escape anyone.

Our carefully selected officiant talks, but I can’t hear him. Staring up into the electric blue eyes of the man I love has me feeling overwhelmed. This is the face I loved before I even knew, the eyes I saw the world with first, the man who both protected and submitted to me. The man who wasn’t scared off by an insecure and hurting woman. The man who stepped up in every way I needed and also kneeled at my feet when it mattered. The man that gardened with me, birdwatched with me, and ate every single thing I baked. The man I’d be with for the rest of my life.

About the Author

Cat Austen is an emerging romance author based in Ohio. She lives with her husband and their two boys. She enjoys gardening and baking and is a voracious reader of romance novels.

You can find Cat on TikTok, Instagram, Threads, and Facebook. For updates on new releases, ARC opportunities, exclusive content, and pre-orders, subscribe to her newsletter at

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Titles by Cat Austen

Convergence- August 2022- a polyamorous, contemporary, romantic suspense. Forced proximity, bi-awakening, college aged characters.

Aisle 5- November 2022- a contemporary, erotic, romantic comedy. Small town, hetero couple, BDSM, adult characters.

Solace- August 2023- book one in a polyamorous mafia trilogy. Dark romcom, bi-awakening, morally gray adult characters. 

Spite- November 2023- book two in the Solace series.

Strength- April 2024- book three in the Solace series.

Check out catausten.com, subscribe to newsletter at catausten.com/subscribe, and follow on amazon.com for all new releases.