Home > Wolf's Mate (Wind Dragons MC #5)(4)

Wolf's Mate (Wind Dragons MC #5)(4)
Author: Chantal Fernando


“I don’t like the fact that there are all these fuckin’ people coming in and out of the house,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Talon said I’m in charge, so don’t bother arguing. The chef has to go, and no one else is coming inside. The night guard I will check out myself, and if I approve, he can wait outside; he has no reason to step inside the house.”

Shayla surprises me by shrugging again and saying, “I don’t give a crap. Do what you want.”

I exhale and walk out of the room. I change the code on the fence, and I change the locks on the doors. To really protect the little spoiled princess I need to be able to control the environment, who enters and who has access. When Greg arrives with dinner, I thank him but tell him he no longer needs to bring the food—that I will sort it out. He seems a little suspicious but agrees and lets it go. I carry the plastic bag of food to the kitchen and search through it, happy when I see tonight’s menu is apparently Japanese.

“Did he bring my katsu chicken sushi?” she asks as she enters the room.

I shrug and nod toward the bag. “Have a look for yourself.”

She opens the bag and pulls out a box. “Sweet,” she murmurs, then grabs some water from the fridge. I have no idea how she’s being so casual about everything—including having me in her presence—without even batting those long-ass lashes. Maybe she doesn’t realize how dangerous a situation she’s in, but still, she seems completely at ease, even though she has people out to kill her. People so dangerous that she needs high security and has to remain hidden.

“You can have the rest, this is all I wanted,” she says, walking out of the kitchen. I watch her leave, gritting my teeth. Something about her just sets me on edge. It takes me a few minutes to figure out exactly what it is—she reminds me a lot of my ex-girlfriend Eliza. Eliza came from money and thought she was better than everyone else. She was a spoiled, entitled bitch, but because she was my first girlfriend, my first regular pussy, I let her lead me by the balls. Yeah—Shayla might be beautiful, but she definitely isn’t my type. I like women who aren’t so high maintenance and used to having their way. This week is going to drag on, but at least I can keep myself busy sorting out the clusterfuck that is Shayla’s security detail.

Let’s just hope she doesn’t drive me insane before the week is over.

 

 

THREE


Shayla


I WATCH from the corner of my eye, pretending to ignore his very existence, as he storms around the house as if he owns it. There’s something different about him from the others who have been sent to protect me. I’ve seen him check the locks on the windows and doors more than once, and I can tell he’s questioning the way things are being run around here. It seems like he’s taking the job pretty seriously, even though I know for a fact that this isn’t what he does for a living. From what I gathered from Talon, Vinnie is some badass biker just using his life experience to protect me. But I trust Talon, and if he says Vinnie can be trusted, then I believe him.

“Who does the cleaning?” he suddenly stops and asks me, running his hand over his shaved head, his brown eyes pinned on me. Seeing as we haven’t been doing much of the whole communication thing, his question catches me off guard.

“Why?” I ask, lifting my head up to look at him. No one has ever asked me that before.

“Answer the question,” he says, not looking impressed. “If you get a cleaner or some shit to come in, I think you need to reassess your priorities, because a little mess is better than you being fuckin’ dead.”

My eyes widen at his outburst. I have a feeling this guy really doesn’t like me, although I’m not sure why exactly.

“I do the cleaning,” I tell him, looking away and painting my toenail a bright red. I don’t know what his deal is. I finish painting the nail, then glance up again, wondering why he’s still standing there glaring at me.

“The place is spotless,” he points out, looking around.

I dip the brush into the bottle, then say, “I like things clean.”

I can’t sleep if the place isn’t spotless. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been very organized and tidy. On top of that, I like to keep busy, and being stuck in the house all day doesn’t give me very many options. Since my father landed in prison, work is out of the question. No one wants an accountant—an uncertified one at that—whose father is in prison for fraud. Besides, I like to clean when I’m stressed out, or angry. It helps calm me.

“You clean,” he says slowly, sounding surprised. “I’d have thought you’d be used to having a cleaner, or something.”

“I did have a cleaner when I lived with my dad,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

I can actually feel the judgment pouring off him. He thinks I’m spoiled and is surprised by the fact that I can keep a tidy house. Like he said before, though, I haven’t really got much else to do. I’ve been taking some college business and marketing classes online, for a degree, to keep me busy. If I’m not studying, I’m reading, cleaning, or working out. I feel like I’m in prison, just a really fancy, expensive one. I can leave the house if I take someone with me, but all my previous bodyguards have preferred that I just stay home, probably so it was easier for them to do their job. Still, what I wouldn’t kill to be able to walk outside that front door freely and without being paranoid that someone is coming for me at any given moment.

I don’t complain though.

This is my life right now, but it’s only temporary. I just need to suck it up and know that so many other people have it worse than being trapped inside a luxurious house. Some people don’t even have a house. At least that’s what I tell myself.

“So you spend all day tanning by the pool, demanding food, and painting your fuckin’ nails?” he asks, looking extremely put out.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” I ask, scanning his face. I don’t bother to point out the fact that I’ve already told him that I clean the place. It’s not like I’m sitting on my ass doing nothing, and besides, what else am I supposed to do? “You haven’t even been here for a full day and you’re judging me? I’ve been living like this for weeks now. Do you think I enjoy being locked up?”

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