He’d frowned at the unfair threat. “They could have hurt you.”
She’d turned away, frustration a half-roar low in her throat. “They could have hurt you!”
“That’s enough.” He’d run the back of his hand along his jaw, still stinging from a punch. “You’re reacting like no one’s ever cared about you before.”
She’d fallen still.
“Frankie,” he’d said, in a weird form of angry begging. “You can’t settle five full-grown men on your own.”
“The manager said something like that when I applied.” She’d rounded on him, fists clenched by her sides. Her eyes had blazed. “Said my presence is intimidating, but that I don’t possess a physique that demands respect.”
“So why did he hire you?”
“I told him to come at me like he meant it. He did.”
“And?”
She’d held his stare. “And I got the job.”
Kris had taken a step back. “Show me.”
She’d scoffed. “Get serious.”
“Show me.”
Scowling, she’d said, “You’re ordering me around now?”
“Yes.”
She’d paused, almost seeming confused. “Fine.”
Kris had doubled over before he knew she’d moved. His triceps throbbed and a second later, he’d been stomach-down on the concrete, his arm twisted behind him, her knee pressed against his spine.
“Again,” he’d said, standing, attention raking over her body as if—now that he knew to look for it—he’d be able to see the strength and skill concealed like a blade in her lean form.
“That was the gentle version.” She’d stood back without looking at him. “I refuse to hurt you to prove a point.”
“I don’t want you to do this,” he’d said. She was still new to him, but every part of him rioted against a job that put her in danger. “Can’t I prove that point?”
“No.” She’d turned her back completely. “I need the money—not you doubting my ability to earn it. Don’t turn up when I’m on the door. Don’t join my fights. Let me do my job, because if you put yourself at risk like that again, I’m out of here. I’m not kidding.”
It had driven him mad, but he’d done as she’d asked, and she’d carved herself a reputation in their town for taking down threats hard and fast. A bouncer to be reckoned with, respected.
Made sense, didn’t it?
That she’d be a good fit as his bodyguard.
He’d never been more than a job to her anyway.
The city lights blurred as Frankie sniffled and ran the back of her wrist under her nose. She was all decorum, hunched on the top step of one of Kira City’s landmarks, falling apart at two in the morning. It was her adolescence all over again. This had been her secret spot in her younger years, mainly because her dad had never managed to find her here.
Wryly known as The Scepter, the cobbled steps ran half a dozen blocks upward from the city center toward the palace. An unforgiving climb that struck straight and true, the angle of the hill concealing an entire stretch of civilization and creating the illusion that it led right to the palace gates.
It didn’t, obviously. Any straight stretch of steps that long and steep would be a public health hazard. Tourist slips on step, falls two and a half miles. Dropping her head between her knees, Frankie considered tipping forward and seeing how far she rolled. The pain might finally stop her from replaying everything Kris had said to her.
I haven’t known you at all.
You lied to me. You used me.
I blame you.
What the fuck, Frankie?
I never want to see you again.
She tried to get a hold of herself, shoving the heels of her palms against her closed eyes.
He’d reacted so visibly. Skin pale, features torn. Pulling at his hair as if he could pull her lies out of his life. It had taken every reserve of control not to buckle and admit the truth.
He was training to be the king. Royalty had standards and she couldn’t even be scraped off the bottom of the barrel.
Kris might refuse to acknowledge the expectations that came with his position, but she didn’t have that luxury. Her job was to stay focused on the man he would become. Royal life would apply pressure and demand he endure it. He’d shift his weight, stance widening, and take it on until he’d reformed beneath it. Give it a year, maybe two, and the cowboy inside him would hardly exist.
He’d be shaped into a king.
With duties.
Only after Mark’s official abdication and Kris’s coronation would Philip raise a critical matter of business. The thought alone dampened Frankie’s pillow at night, but she knew by the time that conversation took place, she couldn’t be on Kris’s radar. He’d need to set his sights higher and use his God-given charm and sexual appetite to replenish the royal line.
Pain crushed her and she gave a strangled sob.
Tonight, she’d started that process. She’d cut him off in every way. No friendship. No attraction. Nothing left to salvage. If he believed he’d been nothing but a job to her, he’d pull back. Block her out and move on.
Then she could focus on her overflowing priorities. Ensure Mark and Ava were effectively cocooned outside of the public eye. Continue to gently steer Tommy toward public appearances. Stop Kris from getting into trouble. Manage the security of the palace. And continue her investigation into the balcony collapse that had killed the late royal family.
Quit, a defeated part of her yearned. This mess is too big. Just leave.
But she couldn’t.
Resolve thickened like a scab over that yearning. She’d never quit. Working for the royal guard was an opportunity she’d shaped for herself. It was her chance to live an honorable life—to prove her own decency.
And she hadn’t proven it yet.
The tread of footsteps from below had her stiffening. Swiftly wiping her eyes on the sleeve of Hanna’s shirt, she looked up with a scowl.
“Chill, babe. It’s just me.” Zara Nguyen was regarding her with grim sympathy as she climbed the final few steps and sat beside her. She wore a light dress and flip-flops. Easy summer clothes to roll into after being rudely woken in the night. She extended her hands and a pile of chocolate bars rained down on the step between Frankie’s feet. “Supplies.”
Frankie sniffled, cheeks heating. “I didn’t ask you to come.”
“Yeah, well.” Leaning back on her palms, Zara gave a small smile. “Women-in-need is kind of my thing.”
God, was that how Zara saw her? Frankie set her shoulders, sitting straighter.
They’d met months ago while helping with Ava’s escape, and soon after, Frankie had offered to deliver weekly self-defense classes at Zara’s women’s shelter. In that time, she’d warmed to the woman’s crass friendship—obviously more than she’d realized, since she’d messaged her earlier.
Shit hit the fan with Kris. Falling apart without class at top of Scepter. Coffee tomorrow?
And Zara had found her.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Frankie said, cheeks still hot as she swiped up a chocolate bar. “I shouldn’t have messaged you. This is nothing. I overreacted.”