Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
He’s asked the question many times before, and once again, I can only shrug.
It doesn’t feel like I’ll ever smile again. Not with Mom gone. She was the heart of our family, and since her death, we’ve all become zombies, just getting through every day as best we can.
Cillian pulls me into a hug and murmurs, “I wish I could make you feel better, poppet.”
Since the shooting, Cillian’s become more than just my guard. He’s the only friend I have now. Because he was there, he’s also the only one I can talk to about my fears and sorrow.
Dad and Sean suffered their own losses, and I don’t want to saddle Dad with my miserable feelings whenever he’s home from his business trips. Sean’s four years younger than me, so I have to be a strong big sister for him.
The thought makes me pull back from Cillian so I can look up at him. He looks like a scary version of Colin Farrell, tall, dark, and always dressed in a suit.
But instead of being afraid of him, he’s the only person I feel safe with.
“There is something you can do for me,” I whisper, hoping he won’t say no.
The creases around his eyes deepen as the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Just name it, poppet.”
“Teach me how to shoot a gun and how to fight.”
A frown forms between Cillian’s blue eyes, but after a couple of seconds of thinking about my request, he nods. “If that’s what you want.”
“I need to be able to protect Sean,” I give him my reason, and it makes the lopsided smile I’ve grown fond of over the years, stretch over his face.
“You’re right,” he agrees as he slips his arm around my shoulders. We begin to walk, then Cillian says, “First, I’ll teach you how to fight. We’ll leave learning how to shoot a gun for when you’re a little older.”
I know it won’t be of any use to argue with Cillian. He never says anything he doesn’t mean, and there’s no changing his mind. With Cillian, what you see, is what you get.
“Okay.” I feel a flicker of excitement for the first time since the shooting and ask, “What will you show me first?”
“How to throw a decent punch.”
The corner of my mouth lifts slightly, and Cillian notices it. He tugs me closer to his side, then whispers, “I’ve missed that smile.”
Glancing up at the man who saved my life, my smile grows. “Thank you for always being here for me.”
For a moment, he gives me a sideways hug. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, poppet.” Cillian’s the only one who calls me poppet, and honestly, in some ways, he’s the most important person in my life. I love my father and brother, but Cillian’s the only one I can lean on.
It’s like he filled the empty space in my heart Mom left behind.
“Love you, Cillian,” the words fall easily over my lips.
“Ditto, poppet. Ditto.”
Chapter 2
DAMIEN
The Past - 18 Years Old.
Zashchitnik.
I’ve been raised in a family of elite protectors. Defenders. Custodians. Guardians. We go by many names, but the official title for the job we do is Custodian.
Watching my older brother, Demitri, graduate from St. Monarch’s Academy as a custodian for Alexei Koslov fills my chest with pride. I use the term graduate loosely. The bidding night is kept secret until twenty-four hours before the ceremony takes place.
The Koslov family placed the highest bid for Demitri, which will serve as my brother’s first payment for his services. It’s the only time we don’t have a choice. We have to be paired with the highest bidder. Not that it’s a problem. Alexei was determined to have Demitri as his custodian, and he paid five million euros to ensure he got him.
Glancing at Alexei’s younger brother, Carson, I mutter, “You better bid double that for me.”
Carson lets out a chuckle. “If you’re better than Demitri, then I will.”
That will happen in five years. We can only attend St. Monarch’s once we turn twenty-one.
Demitri and Alexei walk to where we’re sitting, and it makes us rise to our feet. I envelop my brother in a hug and murmur, “I’m proud of you.”
Demitri has ranked as the best custodian, setting new records in fighting and weaponry. It’s my goal to beat them. My brother pats my back, and pulling away, his eyes meet mine. “This weekend, we celebrate.”
It will be my last weekend with Demitri as he and Alexei are leaving for New York on Monday. There’s a sad twinge that mixes with the pride I feel for him, but I shove it aside, knowing it has to be done. We’re adults now, which means our lives will take us down different paths.
I shake Alexei’s hand to congratulate him, and then we leave St. Monarch’s. As we reach the armored jeep and Alexei walks to the driver’s side, I ask, “Why doesn’t Demitri drive?”