Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(11)

He’d never reject someone’s request for help. I can’t even remember the last time I asked him to help me with anything.

Most likely never.

We both hook my fitted sheet onto the corners of the mattress, and then I toss him a pillow and the black pillowcase.

I stare at him for a long moment, and his daggered green eyes lift to my brown. We slow down, and neither of us needs to speak to be aware of the taut air.

I know the source.

He knows the source.

It’s sex. Sex is the untouched topic.

Maximoff Hale is the most eligible bachelor in the country. It’s public knowledge that he frequents nightclubs and bars. It’s my job to hide how many one-night stands he has from the media.

The security team gossips, but Declan never shared with anyone how many people Maximoff fucks. I’m now supposed to safeguard that mystery. And whoever he wants to sleep with, I have the distinct responsibility of not only meeting them.

But interrogating them.

I’ll get them to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement. I’ll stand guard at his bedroom door in case something bad happens. I’ll be there until they leave. I’ll even escort them out of his townhouse.

I’m the one who has to protect his cock. And his heart.

“You can trust me,” I tell him.

He shakes my pillow into its case. “I have to trust you. There’s a fucking difference.”

I pop a bubble and tilt my head back and forth, considering both statements. “You’ll see that you can trust me sooner rather than later. I work for you now. Not your mom.”

Those words loosen his shoulders a fraction. The whole security team often refers back to the parents since most of the Hale, Meadows, and Cobalt children are still underage. Out of fear of parental wrath and subsequent termination, many bodyguards would snitch on Maximoff in a heartbeat.

I won’t.

I fear none of the parents or the possibility of being fired. Three years, nearly 24-hours a day protecting his mom was no joke. She’s shy, a sex addict, and her gangly build and soft features make her look perpetually young: round cheeks, shoulder-length brown hair, and green eyes like Moffy. Hecklers see her as an easy target.

I’ve been spit in the face numerous times. I’ve taken right hooks to the jaw, uppercuts to the ribs—all meant for her. I’ve broken a fucker’s cheekbone and was subsequently sued. Though, he was the one who tried to reach beneath her dress.

I’ve disarmed gunmen, knife-carriers, and hecklers wielding plastic water pistols, bags of glitter, dildos—any hard projectiles. I’ve driven Lily out of passionate crowds that rocked her car. I’ve cleared thousands of rooms and bathrooms before she entered. I’ve made sure no one in the fucking world would put a hand on her.

I live by my actions, and my actions say: I’m the best at whatever I do.

And if someone really wants to fire me, they would’ve done it years ago whenever I turn off my coms and leave blanks in my daily “where did you go” and “what did you do” write-ups. That standard practice serves more to ignite gossip in the security team than to protect my client.

Maximoff tosses my pillow down. “So what is this, a promotion or demotion for you?”

I tuck in my black comforter. “It’s a transfer. Everyone on security earns the same amount of money. Except you make more if you’re a lead of a Force.” I wipe sweat off my forehead with my bicep, the heat not dying down.

Moffy uses the hem of his shirt to rub his own forehead. Revealing his cut abs. Damn. I casually avert my eyes.

I pop another bubble with my gum. “But this little housing situation is a definite demotion.” I look up and smile as he uses his middle finger to point at the door.

“There’s the exit if you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle anything, Maximoff.” I bite my gum into a wider smile. “I’m stating a fact. This townhouse is old and small. Where I lived before was brand new and a mansion.” The Hales, Cobalts, and Meadows families live on the same street in a rich gated neighborhood. Not far from here.

Philadelphia suburbs.

One street over in that same neighborhood, they bought two eight-bedroom mansions just to house the 24/7 bodyguards. Security Force Alpha and Epsilon all currently room there; basically the ones who protect the parents and the underage kids.

Omega, those of us who protect the eighteen-and-older children, are the ones spread out.

Our movements mimic our clients. We don’t choose where we live. We just live wherever our clients do, and bodyguard shuffles happen.

Someone quits to start a family or concentrate on their kids. Someone is fired for incompetence. Someone wants a life-change. Whatever the case, the three security leads will shift many of us once a vacancy appears.

That person just happened to be me this time.

I never became a part of the “cliques” of Security Force Alpha. Because I hate cliques. And I was too much of a maverick to be accepted by the older, regimented bodyguards. Now that I’m a part of Omega, I’ll see Alpha less, which is perfectly fine with me.

Moffy tucks in the last corner of my comforter. “So when security found out you’d be my bodyguard, no one sent you condolence cards or told you that you’d be better off rocketing to the fucking moon?”

He’s fishing for information on how security perceives him—because Declan obviously told him shit. “No one had time to send me cards,” I say. “But if they did, most would say good luck trying to steer that ship.”