The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(17)
He was used to people being afraid of him. Growing up, Hank had always been the biggest and baddest kid on the block. He had used that reputation to protect his kid sister, his family - such as it was - and anything else important to him. Unlike all the other idiots with half an ounce of bulk, however, he hadn’t used his size to terrorize. That said, he couldn’t remember the last person, save Simmons of course, who stood up to him in his day-to-day.
Maybe he was too used to what he did. Getting in with drug-dealers and murderers didn’t exactly make for a peaceful disposition. But something about Juliet Brown caught him off guard. When he accused her of being soft, she threw his assumption back in his face and, shockingly enough, revealed how she’d escaped.
Solomon himself had shot her. He kept his bird in a cage for eight fucking years and then turned on her? Hank knew most people thought he was heartless, but even he could admit that was cold. The mansion had been under attack. Didn’t the bastard have something better to do than gunning down women?
Then again, Hank knew first hand that Solomon Aguiler didn’t have any reservations about killing innocents.
“Hank.” He was jogged back to the present when he realized Simmons was speaking to him. “Where is she now?”
“In her room.” Hank grunted, glancing down the hall. “She hasn’t come out since yesterday.”
“Since you neglected to call me and tell me the safehouse needed stocking?”
Hank glared at the phone. “Look, man, you’re asking me to deal with his woman. His. You have to know how fucking hard that is for me.”
“It’s your job to do hard things, Hank,” Simmons fired back. “If they weren’t difficult, they sure as hell wouldn’t be assigned to you.” His superior exhaled a long sigh and Hank could all but imagine him drumming his fingers against the desk as he dealt with him. Simmons was a man of infinite patience and, on many levels, Hank could respect that - even if he knew little about it. “Compton, listen to me: Solomon has screwed you both over. Instead of having a pissing contest about who’s got it worse, why don’t you let that be what you concentrate on? We all know the man needs to be put away. Isn’t that more important than petty squabbling?”
Hank massaged his temples, where he could feel a headache starting. “This is why you should have put someone else on this.”
“There’s no one better than you, Hank. I know how much this means to you.”
One would think that’d be a reason not to put him anywhere near Juliet Brown...but here he was. “Right.”
“I’ll be there for your first session in a few days. Think you can last until then?”
Considering that Juliet probably wouldn’t come out of her room, Hank didn’t think it would be an overwhelming issue. “Whatever.”
“Good man.”
When he hung up with Simmons, Hank found there wasn’t really much to do. He was supposed to check in with Bosh and Crowley every hour, on the hour, but that got old quick. He couldn’t imagine Solomon Aguiler moving heaven and earth for one woman - not now that she was out of his reach.
But that did raise the question: What kind of woman was Juliet Brown? Solomon Aguiler was an infamous womanizer. While Hank didn’t believe, for one second, that he’d even been faithful to Juliet, one had to wonder: what made him keep her around for eight fucking years? That was the real mystery.
Hank wasn’t a man who liked to remain idle. When he wasn’t running FBI errands he was usually outside of the city, burning off energy hiking and fishing. He could tell that being stuck in this tiny little cabin was going to make him stir-crazy - especially if he only had Simmons to talk to. When he’d agreed to work with the man on a case by case basis, he had never imagined anything like this.
Sitting idle in the middle of nowhere on top of what could possibly be an amazing asset - or the greatest waste of time he’d ever conceived of.
Hank was still half sure that he was going to have to convince Simmons that Juliet didn’t have much use...but the notion was slightly less solid after her little outburst the previous day. Maybe it was the tears. Hank wasn’t used to seeing women cry, and he was personally of the opinion that you had to literally be made of stone to be able to watch a woman suffer.
Juliet Brown was suffering, that much was certain. What she’d shown him wasn’t crocodile tears or a tantrum, but, instead, a show of desperation.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
Day two in the cabin was quiet. Hank dozed off a few times in front of the TV and presumed that, during those times, Juliet must have snuck out to eat. He himself only had some soup and a sandwich - he had never been very much of a cook. At some point or the other he checked in with Bosh and Crowley one final time before turning in. The two were rather green for his taste, and their obvious dislike of him didn’t help. Hank had already given them an earful for neglecting to send Juliet right back to him when she ventured beyond the safety of the cabin, but, with nearly half a mile of driveway between he and them, neither man had seemed very apologetic.
Ironically enough, Hank could see the parallels between he and Juliet’s situations. Hank had never needed people to like him. Going into his arrangement with the FBI, he’d known he would be the black sheep. The other agents were wary of him because he didn’t have a fancy accent and wear a suit - and because he wasn’t scared to get his hands dirty. But did they know shit about him?