Owenby - Twisted Intentions: Westbrook Security Bodyguard Book 1

E ach night, when I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I saw two faces. The love Id lost, and the friend Id failed to protect. And one evening every year, I allowed the pain to slip away and drank and fucked myself into oblivion. Tonight was that night. My birthday.

I rang Vaughn Redd Reddingtons doorbell, then opened the door and stuck my head inside. The mouth-watering aroma of Italian herbs and spices floated through the house.

Yo, Redd!" I called, eyeing the sparsely furnished room as I stepped inside. Even though the door was unlocked, and Redd was expecting me, old habits died hard. Redd, Zayne Wilson, who we call ZW, and I had trained in martial arts together since middle school. We were pretty evenly matched, but it was never a good idea to sneak up on any one of us. And if we were dumb enough to do it, well, we got what we deserved. My bucket list didn't include a fractured arm or a bullet wound.

Back here, Redd yelled from the kitchen.

Redd was a slob. He tossed his clothes everywhereincluding his drawers. I never knew what article of clothing I was about to sit on, but for once, his house was nearly spotless. It didnt even smell like dirty socks and sweaty ass. I was a bit touched that hed gone to some effort to clean up for the party tonight.

Like the rest of us, Redd was a workaholic and didn't spend much time at home. He sure as hell hadnt been graced with a talent for decorating. Why he selected a white leather sofa and matching recliner was beyond me. Who chose white furniture against white walls for fucks sake? Not to mention how easily it showed dirt and stains.

His mom visited every few weeks and cleaned up for him. She was a good woman and recognized the long hours he put in as a bodyguard. Id never admit it to anyone, but that simple gesture made me miss my own mom like crazy. She hadn't lived long enough to see my adult years.

I didnt stroll into the kitchen, I sauntered. Tonight, I was free of all responsibility. I sucked in a deep breath and forced the tension out of my shoulders. This was my time to chill. Normally, my job as a bodyguard had me working on Friday nights, but this was the one day each year I did everything in my power not to.

Redd stood at the stove, humming to himself. I placed the two six-packs of IPA and my bottle of Macallan 25 on the black granite counter. Redd had bought this house specifically for the kitchen. The appliances were top of the line, and it could easily hold ten people comfortably. It was a chefs wet dream.

When Redd was off duty, he loved to cook. And I loved to eat. My stomach was a bottomless pit. If at all possible, ZW and I were at Redds place for dinner any chance we had. The dude had killer instincts for seasoning and spices.

We could wipe out an all-you-can-eat buffet after a workout if left to our own devices. Each of us topped out at six-foot-three and two-hundred-twenty pounds, but we were solid fucking muscle powered by high metabolisms. My chin tilted in the air as a strong whiff of something spectacular made my nose twitch with anticipation.

Zayne nodded at the bottle Id placed on the counter. Nice scotch. He leaned against the island near the fridge, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

It was a birthday present from Franklin Harrington, I replied. It cost a fortune, so I figure I better enjoy it. Man, that smells good. I peered over at Redd. My stomach growled in agreement.

He grinned, his blue eye winking at me playfully. Redd was born with Heterochromia Iridum. Very few people looked at him the first time without doing a double-take or gawking at his different colored eyes. One blue. One brown. He just shrugged it off as no big deal. The girls went nuts over his short, messy blonde hair, muscular build, and angled jawline. But more than that, the ladies flocked to him over his eyes. I swear to God they strolled right up to him, dropped their panties, and spread their legs. Personally, I rarely made time to get laid, but tonight was an exception.

What is it? Lasagne alla Bolognese? I leaned forward, eyeing the tomato concoction.

Birthday surprise. He wiped his hands on the white Star Wars Stormtrooper apron and focused on the multiple pots and pans on his five-burner gas stove.

Its not the only surprise. ZW grinned like a kid plotting an elaborate prank on his brother. He grabbed a Morning Wood beer from the stainless-steel fridge, twisted the cap off, and took a big swig from the amber-colored bottle.

Im afraid to ask, I mumbled. These two were always up to shenanigans. Lets try not to give Mrs. Juniper any reason to call the cops on us this year.

Redd lifted the wooden spoon from the pot and pointed it at me. I rolled my eyes when a big drop of sauce fell to the floor. "First off, Mrs. J moved to Arizona. And you know damn well the cops only made a big show of her noise complaint because her nephew is on the force." Redd returned his attention to the stove and stirred the sauce. "Don't worry, we have everything handled for tonight.

Were doing all the surveilling, protecting, and guarding, ZW added, leaning against the counter and running his hand over his light brown hair. The tattoo of his grandfathers pocket watch peeked out from the sleeve of his black polo shirt.

ZW and his grandpa had been closer than butter on bread until he passed away when ZW was sixteen. He didn't handle it very well, choosing to channel his loss into beating the hell out of guys down at the docks in the illegal fights organized by slimy lowlife promoters. Eventually, someone clocked him in the head hard enough to knock some sense into him and hed gotten his life together again.

On my special day, ZW and Redd always watched my back. Id get shit-faced, they would stay sober and alert. Working security meant I'd made more enemies than friends over the years. And because of that, I was observant every minute of the day. That went for Redd and ZW as well.