Willing Captive(9)

And that blows.

When you have a job like mine, you expect to come across contracts that you don’t like from time to time. Solution? Get it done quickly and forget about it. I’m being paid a lot, and I mean a lot, to babysit Miss Delilah Flynn for as long as it takes, so unfortunately, the quick and forget thing might not be happening.

I’m sorely regretting the decision I’ve made. I should’ve passed this job on.

Without a word, I place my hands under her arms and lift Delilah up onto the kitchen counter top. She yelps then growls, “Would you stop picking me up like I’m a freakin’ sack of potatoes!”

Leaving her, I open the cabinet above the pantry, take out the first-aid kit, and bring it over to her. She looks down at the kit with obvious confusion but doesn’t say a thing. I lift her leg and place her foot to rest on my thigh. It’s then she sees her scraped and bloody knees and mutters, “Of course. Great. Just great.”

Dear god, please give me strength to make sure that I don’t become the threat against the girl I’m trying to protect.

This little woman is grating my nerves something fierce. With her smartass comments and talking back, I’m gonna go nuts locked up here with her. Especially when I’m technically not allowed to let her out of my sight for as long as this thing takes. And I don’t know how long that’ll be. As far as I know, the threat hasn’t actually been confirmed just yet.

I tear open an antiseptic wipe, and as soon as I press it to her knee, she squeals then bursts into laughter while trying to kick me away. “No!” She quells her laughter and scowls, “No. Give it here. I don’t like people touching my knees.”

Shaking my head, I wonder why she didn’t just tell me she’s ticklish. I hand her the cloth and she carefully wipes her knees until they’re clean. I take out two square bandages and hand them to her. She places them on her knees and jumps down from the counter.

Shit. Now she actually looks like a kid. Skinned knees and all. And I feel like a prick for checking her out earlier. I know she’s not underage or anything, but firstly, it’s not professional, and secondly, I am not going there, so I shouldn’t even be thinking about her like that. I never get involved with anyone I protect. I distance myself as much as possible. It maintains a clear mind.

Boo carries over a plate full of sandwiches then excuses herself. She’s on watch until midnight, so we won’t see her again until then. As soon as Boo walks out, Rock walks in and jumps up on the counter, semi-glaring at Delilah. “You tried to knock me out, woman.”

Her eyes widen in acknowledgment. She swallows her mouthful of sandwich before she speaks. “I knew that was you in my room! What the hell was with the freaky-slow head shake? Of course I tried to knock you out, bonehead, you kidnapped me!”

“Hey now, we did that for your protection. And by the way, you might’ve connected with my face, but you’ve got a weak hook. All you did was piss me off, babe.” He grins.

“I am not weak. I’m badass.” She scowls at him. Her lips pout a little. It’s pretty damn cute. “And don’t call me babe.”

Fuck.

Rock lifts her hands high into a boxing stance. She watches wide-eyed with complete interest as he shapes her fists the way he wants ‘em. She stands taller and mimics his pose. “What you wanna do is hold ‘em high, but not right in front of your face, just high enough so you can deflect any incoming blows. You might not deflect ‘em all, but you will stop some of ‘em. So what you gotta do is…” Rock looks up at me smiling. His smile fades when he catches the look of disbelief on my face. Clearing his throat, he leans down to Delilah and says, “We’ll continue this lesson later.” And then he’s gone.

Delilah looks up at me while finishing her sandwich; she speaks around her mouthful. “Will you please stop fart-assing around and just tell me what’s going on?”

Picking up another sandwich, I bite into it and watch her. She rolls her eyes at me and nibbles at the rest of her sandwich. I have to show this girl that she can’t demand things of me. There are reasons I do things the way I do them. I do not explain myself to anyone apart from my superior, Mitch. A question sits upon the tip of my tongue, and I just can’t seem to stop myself from asking. “Why don’t you like to be called Delilah? It’s a nice name.”

She scoffs, “Yeah, right.” She swallows the last of her sandwich before picking up another. “Okay. So you know the Bible, right?” I nod. “Well, whenever we were in church and there would be reference to the story of Delilah and Samson, everyone would stare at me. And I mean everyone. Even the freakin’ priest. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. I prefer Lily.”

“What’s the big deal about that story?” I ask confused. I’m not religious but my mom is. She’d box my ears for not knowing. We were a church going family.

Picking at her sandwich and avoiding my gaze, she answers, “Delilah betrayed Samson. She was basically a nark. She used her sex appeal to her advantage and deceived Samson. She watched while they humiliated him, and that sucks because Samson was a good man. His only crime was falling in love. And she f*cked him over…f*cked him right up the ass.” She looks up at me, eyes blazing. “Delilah was a gold-digging whore.”

Still confused. “But that’s not you.”