Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
"This is Ronan," I growl into the phone.
"Hey, brother," Elliot "Trick" Tricone says. "What's shaking?"
"Shit, brother." I blow out a breath, smiling despite myself. It's been a hot minute since Trick and I talk. We were in boot camp together a lifetime ago. He's retired Special Forces now. "It's good to hear your voice."
"Heard they finally let your ass come home from the program in California," he says quietly. "Welcome back, brother."
"Thanks," I mutter, striding my bare ass toward the bathroom. It doesn't feel like much of a homecoming, but there is no going back for me. PTSD is a bitch of a mistress. She's been kicking my ass ever since Somalia. Once I was discharged from the hospital, I went straight to a program in San Diego for soldiers like me, those who have seen and done highly classified shit and have the trauma to prove it. I've been there for most of the last year, trying to work through my shit.
"I know you're still settling, but Asher told me you were looking for work," Trick says.
"Shit, yeah," I say, stopping halfway to the bathroom. "If I have to stare at the goddamn walls, I'm going to lose my mind. I wasn't made for this shit."
Trick chuckles. "I feel you. They prepare us for war, not what the fuck comes after."
"True story," I mutter. Fighting and killing and giving orders, I can do. Keeping people alive is what I'm best at. But sitting on my fucking hands all day, every day? I've never been good at that. Even as a kid, I sucked at it. And I joined up when I was eighteen. Been in since. Needless to fucking say, retirement is not off to a great start.
"A friend of a friend is looking to hire an around-the-clock bodyguard for a high-profile client, a musician," Trick says. "You been watching the news?"
"As little as possible. What musician?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.
"Winter Pyke."
Well, shit. I haven't been watching the news, but I wasn't born under a rock. Two days ago, someone tried to kill her while she was on stage. They shot one of her band members and caused a stampede at her show. It's hard to live in Nashville and not know about it since it's all anyone is talking about. Hell, it's hard to live in this town and not know her name. It's everywhere and for good reason. The curvy little songbird can sing her ass off.
"You interested?" Trick asks.
Interested? Fuck yeah, I'm interested. Every time I hear her voice, my dick is interested. There's something fascinating about her. Her amber eyes and mysterious smile make my heart beat a little faster when I see her pop up on the television. It's goddamn ridiculous because a man like me doesn't stand a chance with a girl like her. She's a superstar. I'm a washed-up former Ranger still sweating through nightmares every night.
But that's not what Trick is asking me.
"Yeah," I grunt, shaking my head to clear it of the bright-eyed little blonde songbird. "Yeah, I'm definitely interested."
"Can you be on Music Row in two hours to meet with her and her management team?"
Two hours? Guess I'm skipping my run and the gym this morning. And the stack of boxes in the other room still waiting for me to figure out what to do with them.
"If you don't think you're ready to tackle this, I can find someone else, brother," Trick says, misinterpreting my hesitation.
"I'm ready," I growl. "Was just trying to figure out what I need to accomplish between now and then. I just rolled out of the bed. I'm still bare-ass naked."
Trick chuckles. "Get your old ass in the shower. If she hires you, you'll be plastered all over the fucking papers. She's on every news channel and every gossip site in the country right now. Probably most overseas too."
"Jesus," I mutter. "Do they have any suspects?"
"Not that Kasen shared with Dane," he says, referring to his boss, Dane Robertson. I'm guessing Kasen is Kasen Alexander, the country musician. I don't know the full story, but Dane and Kasen's wife, Olivia, were briefly engaged a few years ago. She married Kasen and Dane married Sienna days later. Trick never shared the details, and I didn't ask. It's not my business. But I guess they still keep in touch. It's hard not to when you run in the same circles, I suppose. There are only so many billionaires in this state. "Says she's shaken up pretty bad though."
I shake my head, continuing into the bathroom. Poor girl is probably traumatized. Who can blame her? Being hunted is a hell of a thing. Out there in the mountains, I knew what I was facing, and it fucked with my head. I was trained for it. I spent two decades serving my country, and there were times when the mental exhaustion alone had me ready to just walk out into an open field and let them come and finish me off. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, let alone an innocent girl like her. She isn't a soldier. She didn't sign up to fight a war or play war games. She's just a curvy little songbird, trying to chase her dreams.