Dancing With Danger

By: Cristina Grenier



“Do try not to hurt yourself with over thinking,” Dorian remarked, making his voice sound bored and disdainful. He needed to hide his fear. The police were on the way. If he could just keep things going until someone intervened then he would be fine. In theory. There was only one Breckidge, after all.

Now the guard looked angry, and he took a step closer to Dorian, gun still raised. “You think you’re so clever. Always thinking you’re better than the rest of us. You just wait. As soon as we have the money, I’m gonna put a bullet between your eyes, Kingston. Right in that brain of yours. Just wait.”

“Mm, well, you’ll excuse me if I’m not very afraid of empty threats.”

“You—!”

But whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the single ringing shot of a gun and the bullet that slammed into his side. He was down in seconds, bleeding out on the pavement, and Dorian had to fight the urge to collapse himself.

He looked up and saw Carlos standing there with a mild expression on his face, gun held in his hand.

“Apologies for the wait, sir,” Carlos said.

“No need to apologize. I’m just glad you came.”

“I realized rather quickly that no real bodyguard would have you out in the open that long. Plus I could hear snatches of the conversation.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Dorian murmured. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for a week, but the wailing of sirens in the distance was a pretty good indicator that the police had arrived, and Dorian had been through the aftermath of this enough times to know that it was going to be a good long while before he got to relax.

He sighed and leaned back against the SUV, pushing fingers into his hair.

“Sir… Dorian,” Carlos began, and Dorian held up a hand.

“I know. I remember how this goes.”

“Very good. I’ll call ahead and make sure that Anita has something ready for you to eat when we get back home.”

“Thanks, Carlos,” Dorian said with a sigh. “And thanks for…” he motioned to Breckidge’s body. He didn’t know if the man was dead or alive, and at this point, he didn’t much care either way.

“Of course, sir. I may only be your driver, but I am tasked with keeping you safe the same as anyone else in your employ is, and beyond that, losing you would be more than a professional loss.”

It was as much of an affectionate statement as Dorian was likely to get out of the stoic man, but Dorian knew what he meant. He offered him a small smile as the flashing lights of the police cars and the shrill whine of sirens cut into the peaceful moment and heralded the end of Dorian’s reprieve.

Now it was time to straighten up and pull his wits about him so he could recount what had happened over and over again. There were bodies everywhere, which looked bad, especially since Carlos had shot one of them, but Dorian already knew that the local police were familiar with his story and his family.

There wouldn’t be any legal trouble, just headache after headache. And when he got home, there would be the tedious task of firing his entire security team.

He wasn’t going to be able to leave the manor for a good long time, at this rate.



***





Chapter 2: Breaking Point



“If you don’t like it, you can get outta my house!”

The shout was so loud that it shook the trinkets on the shelves and rattled the windows of the small house. In the middle of the living room, Andrea Samuel stood, hands clenched into fists at her side, face red with anger. Her teeth were gritted together so tightly that she could hear the groan of her jaw, but she knew that if she opened her mouth, she was going to say something she’d regret.

Instead she let out a slow breath and sidestepped the broken bottle in the middle of the floor. Apparently, trying to get her mother to stop drinking vodka from the bottle in the middle of the day was acceptable grounds for her mother to throw the bottle at her.

Luckily Andrea’s reflexes were sharp, and she’d managed to jump back before the bottle could hit her, instead watching as it shattered on the floor, the remnants of the liquor splashing on her bare feet.

Her mother stood near the couch, breathing like a winded animal. Her nostrils were flared, and there was a wildness to her eyes, that Andrea didn’t like.

The drinking was old news, as was the yelling, but the throwing things was new, and if her mother was going to add physical abuse to go with the verbal and emotional varieties she inflicted on her regularly, then she wasn’t going to stick around for it.

The house was in her mother’s name only, anyway. The bills and mortgage might have come to Leandra Samuel, but Andrea was the one who made sure they got paid. She was the one working two jobs just to make sure that they had enough money to cover everything each month, and to be quite honest, she was tired of it.

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