The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(2)

The senator put his whiskey down. “So you’re here to threaten me so I get my son under control, is that it?”

“No.”

He met my eyes, his brow lifting.

“A threat’s too much work,” I said. “Maybe I tell you I’ll beat the shit out of you both if your jackass offspring doesn’t leave her alone. And maybe that works for a few days, or a week, or a month. And that whole time, I have to keep an eye on the little shit to see if I need to make good on my threat. Meanwhile, the fear wears off. You increase security so you know I can’t get to either of you. He gets cocky. And then he escalates, and an innocent girl gets assaulted. So no, I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to tell you what’s going to happen.”

The senator swallowed. His face was an almost expressionless mask, but I was good at reading people. I could see the fear he was trying to hide.

“Owen is going to cease all contact with her. He’s going to stop following, threatening, and harassing her. Stop trying to get her fired or kicked out of school.”

Owen’s balls finally seemed to get the better of him, and he spoke up. “Or what?”

I ignored him, keeping my gaze fixed on the senator. “I’m sure your voters would be very interested to know that some of your campaign funds are being funneled into a privately-held LLC. Not to mention how much of those campaign contributions are coming from organized crime syndicates. I have to say, it’s a bold move to take that much money from both the Russian mob and the Cuban mafia. They’re practically at war with each other. I can’t imagine they’d be happy to discover the senator they paid good money for is also in the enemy’s pocket.”

He paled. Good. He should be scared. If either side found out he was taking money from the other, they’d tear him apart.

“So like I said, Owen’s going to leave the girl alone. Do we have an understanding?”

The senator’s eyes flicked to his son. “If you so much as think about her again, you’re cut off. Do you hear me? Not another cent.”

“Are you serious?” Owen asked.

“Dead serious,” he said, his voice hard. His eyes moved back to me. “I can assure you, Mr. Ellis, my son will no longer be an issue for your client. We have an understanding.”

I didn’t offer to shake his hand. The dirty politician didn’t deserve that kind of respect. I simply nodded once and walked out.

The heavy air hit me like a wall as soon as I got outside. It was humid as hell today, but it didn’t bother me. I’d been all over the world and dealt with just about every weather extreme imaginable. Miami’s tropical heat was nothing.

I put on my helmet and swung my leg over my restored 1940 Indian Chief motorcycle, glad the job was over. This was definitely the last one. I was supposed to be retired, for fuck’s sake. I’d never set out to do this kind of work. But I had a certain set of skills—very Liam Neeson of me, but it was true—and it seemed like every time I finished one job, another one would pop up.

It was always the same thing. A sweet old lady with a nephew trying to get out of dealing drugs, and a dealer who wouldn’t accept his resignation. A family man with a loan shark breathing down his neck. Owen Cudello wasn’t the first stalker I’d dealt with. A lot of my clients had been young women with shitty exes who wouldn’t leave them alone.

I’d never advertised my services. I didn’t have a sign on my door that said Jude Ellis: Personal Security and Professional Problem Solver. It had started with Mrs. Dominguez. Nice lady, but her son had gotten in with some bad people. I’d handled the extraction and gone about my business.

Next thing I knew, someone else had gotten my name. A referral, apparently. The woman’s ex-boyfriend had been on trial—an ex-boyfriend who’d also been involved with one of Miami’s most notorious drug cartels—and she’d been a key witness. She hadn’t trusted law enforcement to keep her safe, so she’d come to me.

And apparently I was a sucker, because I couldn’t say no.

But this was the last job. Mira Salinas was safe from that little prick. And I was going to go back to being properly retired.

I stopped at the café near campus where I’d arranged to meet Mira. She was at a table near the front, wearing a floral dress, her dark hair in a loose ponytail. Her eyes widened with hope when I walked in.

“Oh my god, I’ve been so nervous.” She was jittery, tapping her sandaled foot on the floor. “Is it over?”

I sat on the edge of the seat across from her. I wasn’t going to stay. “It’s over. He won’t bother you again.”

She let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m so relieved. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“It’s no problem.” I stood.

“Wait.” She set her purse on the table and drew out an envelope. “I know we didn’t talk about price, but I have this.”

There was no way I was taking money from a college student. “That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is. I hired you to help me and you did. Take it.”

I held up a hand. “I appreciate that, but keep it. And maybe don’t date any more politician’s sons.”

“Don’t worry. Never again.”

“Take care, Mira.” I slipped on my sunglasses.