Driven to Protect, page 2
“I didn’t know you were into car racing, Stanley.” The short-ish white security guard, who’d warned him about the exact thing Stanley had just admitted, said. He wasn’t super short, just short for a security guard, a bit shorter than Paulo’s five eleven. He had light brown hair, clipped in a military style, and a neatly trimmed goatee beard that made his face look longer and his jawline sharper. He moved with the effortless confidence of someone who knew exactly who he was. Paulo pushed the thought away immediately because that was exactly his type.
“You know my step-dad was a mechanic, and we used to watch the S1 together. Those were the days; remember when Socrates Drayton was World Champ?”
Paulo nodded. He hadn’t been born when the owner of his team had won the World Championship, but he knew the history.
“Mechanic? Around here?” the security guard asked.
Stanley roared with laughter. “More of a chop shop than a legit mechanic. My step-sister runs the place now. I was always useless with tools. A danger to myself and everyone around me, Dad used to say.”
Paulo let the conversation wash over him, grateful that the security guard drew Stanley’s attention away from him. He’d come here with the vague aim of finding someone like Stanley to fuck him, but now it seemed like a terrible idea. He wanted to hit something. Well, no, he wanted someone to hit him, then fuck him, and preferably now before he arrived in Brazil where his father had already outlined his plans to make sure there was no repeat of last year. His phone rang.
“You going to get that?” Stanley asked. He shrugged, staring at Monica’s name on his screen. If he spoke to his race engineer, she’d likely scold him, but at least she’d keep his location a secret. He let it ring out to voice mail, then sent Monica a text.
Paulo: I’m okay
Monica: Where are you? People are worried
Paulo: Just need some time out. I’m cool
Monica: Ok. Just don’t watch the news.
Fuck. If he was on the news... He quickly sent Monica a thumbs up, then slid his phone into the chest pocket of his coat. Nothing good could come from him being on the news, even if it was just the S1 channel. He slowed his breathing; just like Heather, his trainer, taught him. Keep his heart rate low. Make rational decisions.
“Do you have a pen?” He’d better sign that hat for Stanley before he bolted back to his real life; at least Stanley would get something out of tonight.
“There’s probably one behind the bar.” The security guard walked away and Paulo tried to ignore the odd sense that floated by, like a cool rag swiped over his face after taking off his fire-proof suit. The most handsome man in the room was the security guard, not Stanley. Stanley looked like a big strong top who’d hold him down while he fucked him—a temporary distraction from his life—while the guard promised much more. He wore loose jeans, paired with a tight black sleeveless t-shirt. The shirt left nothing to the imagination; clinging to lean muscles, and he had a cocky swagger that Paulo adored. Confidence was his catnip because it was the one thing he didn’t have most of the time. The only place he ever felt free and confident was behind the wheel of his car, and even then, he didn’t live up to expectations.
“I’m still kicking out about this. What the fuck is a real life S1 driver doing here?”
Paulo admitted a half-truth. “Just needed some time away.”
“Makes sense. I don’t know how you guys do it. All that travel, and always having cameras in your face.”
Paulo nodded. He’d grown up in the spotlight, a consequence of his family name, but everything had intensified once his father had bought him an S1 seat.
“I bet they’ve already made a ton of memes about your crash today. Shit. That was only today. Are you okay?” Stanley’s sudden concern was hilariously too late, given the way he’d squeezed the bruises on his shoulder from his seatbelt earlier.
“I’m fine. They checked me over after.” It was standard protocol after a crash like that and the hospital had been very thorough. He was a bit bruised, his lower back was a little stiff, and his neck would be sore tomorrow; nothing that Gamble’s team of physios and trainers couldn’t fix. A pen appeared beside his glass of whiskey. “Thank you.” He glanced up at the security guard who nodded. He signed the hat with a personalised note for Stanley.
“I’d better go.”
“Cohen. You go with him. Make sure no one else recognises him,” Stanley said. Cohen. The name suited the security guard.
“It’s fine. I’ll just order a car.”
Stanley laughed, a big booming laugh. “Not around here, you ain’t. Cohen will get you where you need.”
“I can’t. I need this job. You go, Stanley.”
“Why don’t you both come with me?” Two men—very different types and both attractive—flanking him might be a fantasy come true; one he really shouldn’t let himself think about. It was that kind of thinking that got him in trouble in Brazil last year.
Suddenly, Cohen vaulted over the bar and there was a cracking sound. Paulo spun on his chair. Cohen’s foot connected with the face of a mean looking bald white man. Paulo leaped to his feet. A split second later, Stanley crash tackled him to the ground. All his breath rushed out of his lungs as his back hit the floor. He managed to turn his head to the side to see Cohen fighting two much bigger men. Cohen’s speed—and impressive technique—more than made up for his lack of size. A gun skidded across the floor, spinning past Paulo’s face.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“Stanley owes me.”
“Not his life.” Cohen punched one of the men in the sternum and he bent over. “Now get out.” Cohen twirled a knife in his hand—where had that come from?
“I’ll have your money tomorrow.” Sweat from Stanley’s temples dripped onto Paulo’s forehead. He’d bet anything that Stanley didn’t have the money.
“You’d better.” The two men walked backwards out of Horny’s with Cohen stalking after them. Silence filled the bar and slowly Paulo realised that he was still lying on the floor with a heavy man on top of him. The pain from his bruised ribs shouldn’t be this delicious. His desires were fucked up. What kind of person welcomed pain?
“I came here to get crushed, but I didn’t expect it to be quite so public.” Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, judging by the surprised way Stanley’s eyes flashed.
“Sanchez. I’m so sorry.” Stanley scrambled to his feet. It was inelegant and clumsy, but then Stanley was a mountain of a man.
“I’m okay.”
“You drivers always say that, even after the worst crashes.” Stanley’s big grin was adorable, and the perfect reminder to Paulo that S1 was the life he’d always wanted. Being one of the world’s twenty best drivers was the life he’d chosen, and yes, the press liked to talk about his father’s money which made him doubt whether he deserved to be there, but it was still his dream regardless of how he’d gotten there. He was a race winner this season. To be here—running away from fame with the excuse that he wanted to hook up with a stranger—was childish. Cohen stuck out his hand and Paulo grabbed it, even though he was perfectly capable of bouncing to his feet without the help. A bolt of electricity shot up his arm and he knew exactly what he needed.
Focus. He wasn’t going to fuck up again because he would drive like he deserved his seat, like the race winner that he was. Tomorrow he would fly to Mexico, then after the race—and the podium he would earn—he had a fortnight until the circus that would be his home race in Brazil, and he wasn’t going to let his father control the narrative around it again. He wasn’t going to succumb to the pressure and fuck up like last year. What he needed—understanding washed over like a brilliant lightness—was his own security guard, his own protection that would prevent it happening again. If Cohen was much too short to look like a bodyguard, that was irrelevant. He’d just taken on two much bigger men and won.
Paulo needed him. Cohen—who didn’t look threatening—yet was surprisingly fast and fierce for his size. Desire swirled awkwardly in Paulo’s torso, and he pushed the sensation away because it was just the adrenalin in the aftermath of the fight. Yes, Cohen was confident, cocky, and most of all competent. The fact that he didn’t fit the typical mould of a bodyguard, and that Paulo had a thing for people who were surprising, only added weight to his decision.
“Work for me.” Paulo focused his stare on Cohen, so it would be obvious who he was talking to.
“What?”
“I need a bodyguard and you’ve just shown that you’d be great.”
Stanley bounced on his feet. “Oh my God. Do it, Cohen.”
Cohen glanced around the room, not in a nervous way, more like he was still doing this job, still focused on Horny’s, and not Paulo’s offer.
“I’ll pay you more than you get here.”
Cohen’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Wouldn’t be hard.”
“Do you have a passport?” Paulo spent most of the year travelling. His bodyguard would need all the proper paperwork and it would be better if Cohen could fly to Mexico with him tomorrow.
“Yes. I visited my sister in France last year.”
“Can you start now?”
“I’ll need more than that.”
“Like?” Paulo loved that Cohen’s instinct was to negotiate, even when it was obvious this was the best job offer he’d likely ever get. Working for Paulo was a huge step up from here, and yet, Cohen still knew his value. It was fucking sexy. No, not sexy. The man was about to work for him. The confidence was exactly what Cohen would need to succeed as Paulo’s bodyguard. Yeah, his offer was one hundred percent about Cohen’s skill as a protector. Paulo blew out a short breath.
“How much will you pay me? What about a contract? Medical benefits? A job description?”
“If you come with me now, I’ll give you a twenty-k signing bonus and we can work out the rest tomorrow.”
Stanley gasped. “Just fucking do it.”
“Okay. But I want all the medical benefits.”
“Agreed.” Paulo stuck out his hand and Cohen shook it, tingles flying up Paulo’s arm again. For an athlete who had complete control over his body, it was unnerving to have an unregulated response to a simple touch. But he needed to get back to his hotel. Tonight had been a good lesson; it was time to grow up and take control because he’d chosen S1 and that choice meant dealing with everything that came with being a driver. Fame. The press. Having to ignore his grubby unconventional desires. Being pansexual wasn’t the issue—not for him, although it would be for his father—it was the shame in wanting to be powerless during sex. His desires weren’t what everyone expected of him.
“I hope you like travelling, Cohen. You’re going to see the whole world.” Stanley clapped Cohen on the back. “Remember us when you are being all glamourous.”
A frown flashed over Cohen’s face, something that looked a bit like regret. “Yeah, alright.”
“Hey, Stanley. How much money do you owe?” Paulo asked.
“Four hundred.”
“Shit.” Four hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, enough to justify at least two angry men sent to hurt Stanley.
“Yeah, I mean you probably earn that in like half a second, but it’s a lot to me.”
Oh. Stanley meant four hundred dollars, not nearly half a million. “Let me pay your debt.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“You just saved my life, Stanley. It’s the least I can do.” It wasn’t technically true. He would’ve been fine without Stanley tackling him to the floor and lying on top of him, although the experience had been a hint of what Paulo had come here to find, so ... same thing.
Stanley’s face glowed with a blush. “Ahh, thanks.”
“There’s an ATM on the next block, near where I parked my car. Give me a moment, and we can go together.” Cohen disappeared behind the bar, and out through a door.
“He’s probably going to get Dean for what that’s worth. Hey, it’s closing time.” Stanley called out, and one of the men playing pool nodded. The only other two men in the bar left. Paulo hadn’t even noticed them until now. “Thank you so much for offering to do this. Cohen deserves to be somewhere better than this shit hole.”
“It’s fine.” Paulo wanted to say something inspiring to Stanley, but he had no clue where to begin.
“Let’s go. Dean will lock up.” Cohen reappeared, followed by a flimsy looking old man with a blank expression. “Dean owns the place. If it turns to shit, it’s his fault.” Then Cohen squared his shoulders and marched out of Horny’s, leaving Paulo and Stanley no option but to follow, completely justifying Paulo’s decision to employ him.
Chapter 3
A twenty thousand signing bonus. Fuck. It had better not be a fucking scam because Cohen had just quit his job on the promise of a signing bonus that almost equalled what he’d earn in a year at Horny’s. And it wasn’t just about money; this job was his chance to get away from Texas and the constant threat to his existence. Jesus—breathe, Cohen. Stanley wouldn’t be this excited about meeting Paulo Sanchez if he wasn’t the real deal. Plus, Sanchez had known about the car race and the accident without watching the television. Cohen walked towards the ATM with Stanley and his new boss following him; he wasn’t employed to protect Sanchez yet, so he strode away without watching him. He watched everyone else though. Habit. The main street was unusually quiet, even for a Sunday night. The unsettling worry that he’d made a life changing choice on a whim wouldn’t go away, like he was either about to get scammed or he was going to be thrust into something massive with no warning. Either way, it wasn’t great. He liked to plan and understand the threats around him so he could mitigate against them. The temptation to pull out his phone and do an internet search on this whole situation clanged in his head like a loud bell. He stopped at the ATM, standing with his back to the wall, so he could watch the world while Paulo extracted money from the banged-up machine for Stanley. Paulo covered his hand as he typed in his pin, and then handed over the money to Stanley.
“Give me your number. We’ll keep in touch about Horny’s.”
“Best day of my life, Sanchez. Say hi to D’Grieg for me.”
Paulo stretched up on his toes and kissed Stanley on his cheek. “Later and thanks.”
Stanley, who’d tucked the money away quickly, held his fingers to his cheek where Paulo had kissed it.
“My car is this way.” Cohen ignored the buzz of jealousy in his gut. If Paulo was telling the truth, he was about to become Cohen’s boss. He couldn’t let himself care who Paulo kissed. A peck on the cheek. Honestly, what did that even matter? It wasn’t until they were in his car, with Paulo sitting in the passenger seat, that Cohen spoke.
“What did you mean you’ll keep in touch about Horny’s?”
“I’m going to buy it and Stanley will run it.”
“Seriously?” Cohen knew the bar was struggling. Dean could barely afford to pay him every week, drinking most of the meagre income. But he still couldn’t comprehend a stranger walking in and buying a whole bar. Imagine having enough money to piss a bunch away on a crappy bar in the Dirty Six. Or on a signing bonus for a bodyguard ... except Cohen knew he was worth every cent; he just needed to find someone who recognised that. Paulo saw him. What a buzz. He couldn’t let himself believe it just yet. Soon.
“Yes.”
“What now?”
Paulo didn’t answer for a long time, so Cohen just drove in circles around the block, trying not to think too hard about how much gas this was costing him.
“The job is simple. You’ll be my personal security guard and will travel everywhere with me.”
“Everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Cohen didn’t want to sound ignorant, but he knew nothing about car racing.
“Series One consists of between twenty-one and twenty-five races each year, and each one is in a different country. There are only three races left this year; Mexico, Brazil, and Abu Dhabi. Then there’s the winter break and pre-season testing before the new season starts in March. You can take personal leave during the winter break and the summer break, but you need to be with me for every race and every public appearance.”
“Okay.”
“Didn’t you say you’d visited your sister in France?”
“Yes.” Lilly-Anne lived in Paris, but he withheld the information for a moment.
“You’ll be closer to her. I live in Monaco, so you’ll need to move there. I’ll subside your rent as part of your pay. Will that be fine?”
Cohen let himself smile a little. If this was real, his sister was going to be so thrilled. Stanley hadn’t been joking when he’d said Cohen would see the world. “Yes.” His voice cracked slightly and he covered it up with a cough.
“Good. First to your place and pack, then we’ll get started.”
“Wait. Do you want an ice first?” Cohen usually grabbed an ice from Jim-Jim’s Water Ice after work to help keep him awake for the long drive home to the suburbs.
“A what?”
“An ice. It’s bloody hot and I usually grab one on the way home from work.”
“Okay. We need to go to your place, so you can pack.”
A little while later, they stood outside the iconic Jim-Jim’s Water Ice. The tiny little shop window was hidden in the side of the lottery building, with only a weird statue on the sidewalk to give any indication that something special was in the building.
“I always get Dragons Blood.” Cohen loved the strawberry with coconut flavour, plus it was one of the only ones on the menu with an interesting name.
“I’ll have mango.”
“That’s their best seller.” Cohen probably shouldn’t tell his potential new boss that his choice was boring. He ordered them both and gave the graveyard shift worker a decent tip. If he was about to get paid properly, he could pass it forward. Soon enough they were back in the car with their selections. Cohen put his in the centre console and began the drive home as he’d been instructed. Once he was on the freeway, he’d be able to eat some to keep him awake in this muggy, oppressive heat.
