W\\CKED

How The Hell Do I Ditch This Bodyguard??

Abrams sat in a high-backed chair behind the thick wood desk in his private study. He was flanked by Griffin, who snuck me a reassuring wink. 

Juliet and I were seated in front of the desk, with Brandon standing between the two of us.

"There are rules," Abrams began, arms resting on his desk, hands clasped together in a single, sharp-knuckled fist, "to knowing the truth."

I planted my legs on the desk's surface, relaxing into the deep cushion of my chair. "Whatever you say, boss."

Boss Abrams' gaze snapped from my thigh-high boots to Brandon, who immediately reached out.

I jerked my feet back before he made contact. Then I crossed my legs, letting my short skirt ride up my thigh just to see if it'd get a rise out of the implacable bodyguard. With his shades on, it was impossible to tell.

"Rule Number One: You don't talk about what you've been through with anyone. We will provide cover stories as needed."

"You mean, I shouldn't tell Mama a nocturnal, blood-sucking hellion tried to strangle me?" I replied so very innocently.

He was not amused. "As far as your mother knows, you stayed at the dance until ten last night and then slept here without incident. She's on what we call the 'uninitiated' side of Blythe Security."

My eyebrow raised. "Uninitiated?"

"The side you were on forty-eight hours ago," he replied. "Ignorance."

"The side made of people you think can't handle the truth."

"Truth is a dangerous toy to let the masses play with."

"People can't defend themselves from monsters they don't know exist."

"There were fewer victims when fewer people knew the monsters existed."

"That makes no sense."

Abrams asked, "How do you think Kaydrien met Dae?"

"At one of his stepfather's clubs?"

"They met on the internet, which has become a vast hunting ground where the undead troll for those who are naive enough to fall for promises of immortality. Victims are given a version of the 'truth'—the version they want to hear. Then they are lured to a meeting place where they are turned into enslaved corpses instead."

"Which is why you guys should be out there screaming the truth through hacktivists and apps and viral headlines instead of keeping your existence off the internet."

"We are not the version the masses want to hear. In our version, humanity is losing a long and bloody war with a supernatural force that cannot be eradicated."

"But if you tried—"

"I'm tabling this argument. You're here to learn the rules; there will be time to debate them when you better understand the reality you've been dumped into."

I was hitting his brick wall of no at this point, so I dropped the subject.

"Rule Number Two: You work for Blythe or you work for Blythe."

"Tough choice. Can I think it over for a few years?"

"We have policies in place against embroiling targets in the war we fight, but after conferring with the board—"

"You answer to a board?" I was amazed he could stand answering to anybody.

"I run the board," he corrected.

"That's more like it," I cheered.

I could swear I heard a small chuckle escape Griffin, but his expression remained solemn.