When Selené Cortez told her crime boss fiancé that she would rather die than marry him, she meant every word- she just wasn't expecting him to call her bluff. Now, making his bodyguard, Anya, fall in love with her might just be the only thing that w...
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"I'm fucked," Anya said underneath the dim, flickering light of a streetlamp. The sound of water lapping at the dock in the lake nearby was the only noise in the empty parking lot besides her sudden declaration.
Her friend Marco dipped his head out of the back of the truck he was unloading to smirk at her.
"What did you do this time?" He looked amused, something that didn't help how sick to her stomach she felt.
Sure, it might have been funny if she had heard about someone else going on a date with their boss's fiancée. Their extremely dangerous crime boss's fiancée. That would suck for that poor bastard. It wasn't funny when it was her own life on the line.
"I'm so fucked. I hope you're enjoying spending time with me right now, because I'm going to be dead soon. Maybe worse than dead. Who fucking knows what he's going to do to me when be finds out I—"
"Okay, can this wait for just a second? he said as he pulled another box from the truck and walked out holding it in his tan arms.
His curly black hair was pulled up into a bun that sat just at the base of his neck under a discreet black baseball cap. Ayna was wearing an identical one.
He met her eyes, and suddenly she couldn't hold it back anymore.
"I went on a date with Trey's fiancée last night," she blurted out.
"You, what?!" His voice was nearly a shriek.
The box he held in his arms clattered to the ground, and Anya could hear the glass vials inside shatter and spill.
"Ah, fuck," he said, slapping the side of his head.
"Nice going Marco," Anya said.
"Well, don't say shit like that to me while I'm carrying stuff! I mean gaddam."
Anya nudged the box with the bottom of her boot, making the broken glass inside clink and rattle. A wet stain was beginning to spread out along the bottom edge of the box.
"Now what are you going to do about that?" she said.
Marco disappeared back into the truck, and Anya heard him pushing something heavy, a dull metallic scraping sound inching towards her. He appeared with a large blue crate. There was a note written on the side of it in permanent marker that read 'for disposal'.
"I'm just going to throw it into the ocean with this poor bastard. Wait! Let me put some gloves on!"
He did a sort of goofy little jog back into the truck and came back out pulling nitrile gloves on to his hands. It was a mystery to her why Trey had ever hired someone who was such a vacant pretty boy, although he was fun to talk to. Anya always thought that God must have really been looking out for this man. There was no way she could ever be so lucky.
"You're not already using gloves? Why are you handling over a million dollars of stolen insulin without gloves? Trey can't protect you from everything you know."
