Die for You

Chapter 6

cover photo: Say hi to Miss Armstrong. 😍

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"Well, are you just going to fucking stand there or are you capable of speaking? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Actually scratch that, not refreshingly honest, just fucking rude.

"Rebecca, that's not very fair."

She turned towards her father, finally releasing me from her glare, "What's not fair daddy? She bursts into a private meeting brandishing a fucking gun, 'shoots' Pieter and me with her little toy."

'Spoiled fucking bitch.'

"Becky, love, he did deserve it. And you know because of that, I'm going to fire him after this."

"God's sake daddy, open your eyes, she's a bloody liability. Sort it out, ok? I'm going to my room to pack some things. I have a meeting with the representatives of Raman Srivastava in London in the morning; I'll need to prepare for it if we want them to sign the deal."

Even I know that name, Srivastava is head of India's Border Security Force, heavily criticized for his alleged attitude towards muslims and commander of a unit that regularly receives complaints for 'unauthorized' excursions across India's borders. If Armstrong Industries has a deal with them, that is a lot of shells, bullets and bombs they're likely to sell; and a lot of enemies all over the world they're likely to make.

She literally knocked me out of my thoughts by leaving the room, slamming her shoulder into mine as she passed. I looked back at her in shock as I regained my balance.

"Don't mind her Miss Sarocha, she doesn't like surprises my Becky and as you probably know, we've been getting some threats recently. She's just a little jumpy."

I inclined my head at him, "Sorry about this Mr Armstrong, I was trying to prove a point. Mr Porter sent me here to prove that I, that we, excuse me.. were good enough to work with you on your protection. I read that you're competitive, you like things that are active and dramatic. I could have given you a presentation or a fancy speech about what we can offer you, but I thought you might like proof of how lax your current provider has become."

"I had no idea your bodyguard would take it badly...or your daughter for that matter."

'Now why did I mention that spoiled brat again?'

He laughed at me, a broad belly laugh, "Damned if you're not right Miss Sarocha, or can I call you Freen? James told me that you are a talented and creative proposition. He told me that you'd be perfect for the role, I'm glad to see he wasn't wrong. Now you said you wanted to talk to me about my lack of security. So I'm all ears."

He gestured me into the chair that his daughter had so recently vacated as I retrieved my shoes, and the pistol, and sat down. He walked over to an expansive bar that was built into the wall and fixed himself a large Scotch before turning and offering me a drink.

"No, thank you, sir, I don't think that'd be appropriate."

"Freen, call me Rob, everyone else around here does."

"Again, sir, thank you; but I'm not sure that'd be appropriate."

He smiled at me and returned to the large oak desk that took up a huge portion of the end of the room in which we were sitting. "So Freen, apart from the fact that you've already managed to 'kill' me and a member of my family today, what can you tell me about my security?"

I leaned forward in my chair and spent the next ten minutes telling him all about the dangers he faced in his property; the open access, the lack of surveillance cameras in key areas, and finally about how lax the people that were guarding him were.