Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(9)
“How many is several?”
He stopped walking long enough to look over at her and wish he hadn’t. She was leaning in the doorway that separated her living room from the kitchen. In that lazy, carefree pose, she looked good. Too good. There was something about her standing there with her hair tossed around her shoulders that made parts of his body ache.
“About eight years.”
“And what did you do before that?”
He could tell her that his past was none of her business. But he had no problem sharing what he did because that time—thanks to Sheppard Granger—had pretty much shaped him into the man he was now. He was alive when he could have been dead. And he was making something out of his life.
He looked her straight in the eye and said, “I was in jail serving time for manslaughter.”
CHAPTER THREE
MARGO’S BREATH CAUGHT as she stared at Striker. Had he just admitted to being an ex-con? Was he joking? From the intense expression on his face, she had a feeling he was dead serious. Did Uncle Frazier have any idea that the man he’d hired had a criminal record? For manslaughter?
“How many rooms are there upstairs?” he asked, picking up his duffel bag and moving in the direction of her stairs.
She jerked her head around. “Wait!”
Striker stopped and stared at her. Had hearing that he’d served time freaked her out? It wouldn’t be the first time that someone he had been hired to protect reacted that way to his past. Some saw it as an advantage, thinking that if he had a killer instinct, he had the ability to keep them safe. Then there were others who found it so repulsive they would ask Roland for someone else. Considering Quasar and Stonewall were ex-cons as well, that eliminated Roland’s top three protectors. Hell, that would even eliminate Roland.
Striker, Quasar and Stonewall had met when they’d served time together. From the first, he and Stonewall had been destined to be enemies. Quasar, the youngest of the three by only a year, had pretty much stayed to himself. It had been rumored Quasar had come from a well-to-do family and had confessed to some white-collar crime to keep a family member from going to jail. The three of them had been released from prison within months of each other and had hooked up with Roland, who had started a security business. Since neither Striker, Stonewall nor Quasar had known a damn thing about security, Roland enrolled the three of them into one of the top tactical training schools in the country. In addition, Roland managed to hook them up for a full year with former Secret Service agent Grayson Prescoli, who had a reputation as being one of the best in the business after serving under three presidents. Although they’d initially lacked in-depth knowledge in security, what the three of them possessed was an ingrained ability to survive and a drive to safeguard and defend anyone left in their care.
“You want something?” he asked in a tone that came out a little harsher than he’d intended. He was tired of her just standing there and not saying anything.
“I want to know what happened.”
Striker continued to stare at her. If she was asking for details, he wouldn’t be giving them to her. Instead he wrapped it up in a sentence that, as far as he was concerned, said it all. “Life happened.” At eighteen he’d been found guilty and sent off to prison. He’d lost people he’d cared about as well as a scholarship to play football at the college of his dreams. And he knew he only had himself to blame.
Evidently his answer stumped her, if her expression and lack of response were anything to go by. He continued up the stairs and left her standing there.
Margo watched Striker move up the stairs, momentarily distracted by how well his body fit a pair of pants. He didn’t just have a nice-looking tush; it was sexy and got sexier with his every step. When he was no longer in sight, she shook her head, trying to pull herself together.
His response to her question meant he had no intentions of telling her why he’d been sent to jail. Knowing it was for manslaughter was bad enough. Who did he kill? Why? She wanted to think it had been self-defense, but if that had been the case, then he wouldn’t have been sent to jail, right? How long had he been confined?
The key thing was that he was no longer in jail. He had served his time and she had a feeling rejoining society and rebuilding your life after prison couldn’t be easy. But it seemed like he was doing okay, and she wanted to believe he was good at what he did.
He looked to be in his early thirties, which meant he couldn’t have spent too many years behind bars. But then, how many were too many? How old was he when he’d gone in? When she heard him moving around upstairs, she decided to join him there as well.
*
STRIKER STARED AT the huge bouquet of yellow roses sitting on the desk of what appeared to be the room she used as an upstairs office. Telling himself that knowing who sent them was all part of his security measures to protect Margo, he pulled off the card and read it.
We need to get back together, Margo. Call me. Scott.
Striker shook his head, thinking, What a way to go, asshole. He was more than a little rusty in the romance department, but even he knew that using a few endearing words would have made an impression. Instead this guy Scott had issued an order that he’d expected her to obey.
Had she? Margo didn’t come across as a woman who would say “how high” after any man told her to jump.
According to Roland, Margo and this Scott guy had broken up and she’d left New York for Charlottesville. That had been over a year ago. Evidently Scotty-boy wanted her back.