Saint Botero (Male P.O.V)

October 14, 2074

After pressing the doorbell to Quinton's house twice, I slipped my hands into my pockets. A slightly muffled jingling filtered through the cracks in the door while the ceiling fan overhead lavished my heated skin in cool currents.

I started to sit on the white wicker sofa when the outdoor lights came on, illuminating the entire wrap-around porch. Seconds later, the door came open, and a young woman stepped out.

A smile lit up my face as I quickly closed the distance and pulled her in for a quick hug.

"Nia, what are you doing here?" I asked, pleasantly surprised by her appearance.

She laced her arm with mine and led me into the living room of the large two-story house before answering. "I missed my big brother."

Quinton scoffed as he entered the room, making Nia roll her eyes.

"Don't believe her lies." He said without any heat behind his words. "She only stopped by to run up my bills and steal my food."

Even though he was complaining, a wide grin remained on his face.

"That's not true." She argued, planting her fist on her hips.

"The three bags of dirty clothes sitting on my laundry room floor say differently." He dryly retorted.

She stuck her chin in the air and boldly stated, "Those were there before I arrived."

Quinton slowly nodded before saying, "And that." He pointed to the center of his black leather sectional couch, where a white basket overflowing with lacy undergarments resided.

Her cheeks flushed red as she slowly lowered her head and sniffed. "My uh... answer remains the same."

Instead of giving her brother a chance to respond, she guided me into the kitchen. Quinton followed behind us, lightly chuckling, but didn't bother to respond.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Nia asked me as we sat down at the white marble island counter.

"I don't think I should. You and Quinton hardly get to see each other. I don't want to intrude on your bonding time."

She was a full-time student at Florida State studying to obtain a psychology degree. Even though she was only a sophomore, her already demanding course load made it difficult for her to visit.

"You're not intruding, Saint," Quinton laid his hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing. "You're always welcome here."

Smiling warmly, Nia nodded her head in silent agreement with her brother.

"Okay, I'll stay," I said, my voice coming out thick with emotion.

Even though they rarely spoke of my open invitation to visit whenever their actions always made sure I felt at home here.

"Good. We're having..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked over at Quinton for assistance.

"Leftovers!" Grinning, he clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "There are some ribs, macaroni and cheese, okra, and chicken wings, sitting in my fridge from a small get-together with the boys in my unit last Friday. So I'll heat them up. Maybe... make a salad, and then we're good to go."

"Great." She monotonously said. "Well, Saint and I will catch up while you do that."

"Catch up? That's just an excuse for you to be nosey."

She glared at the back of his head while he pulled a few aluminum containers from the fridge.

I tugged on a lock of her hair, getting her attention. "How's school?" I asked.

"Good, good. Except..." She suddenly became interested in her lime green painted fingernails. "My English Literature Professor, Ms.Stafford, has no life and takes it out on us. She's assigned three separate papers, all due in a month. If only she had a man or something to get her off our backs."

"Hey." Quinton softly chided while placing the containers into the oven. "Don't sa-"

Nia sharply gasped and turned to me with a smile playing on her lips. "Saint, you're single. Maybe you can go out with her."

Quinton's brows pinched together as he slammed the oven close. "Nia, you can't set him up with your professor! Besides, he's already practically dating someone."

"Whoa, whoa!" I reeled back, holding up my hands. There wasn't a doubt in my mind he was referring to Abella. Yet it was way too soon to assume a relationship was forming when we hadn't even had one normal conversation. "Nothing has happened between Abella and me. She's an old friend that has recently become a client."

Quinton's eyebrows shot up at the words old friend. Thankfully he refrained from commenting.

Old friends might not be the best way to categorize our relationship. My tendency to act out had squashed any chance of friendship. She was more a girl from the neighborhood that was unimpressed with my childish antics. Judging from our previous meetings, it seemed that admirable trait had carried on into adulthood.

"I never said it was Abella," he replied with a cheek-splitting grin.

I softly cursed under my breath.

"Busted!" Nia sang while laughing.

I fell back against the chair, knowing there was no chance to escape their interrogation now. They would grill me until they got every bit of information from me. Lying wouldn't work because they were the ones that knew me best. In addition, Quinton made his living from getting to the truth of things. If he couldn't detect a lie from his friend of ten plus years, he should consider a different profession.

Nia's laughter suddenly stopped, and her expression turned serious. "Wait a minute. Did you say she's your client?"

"Yes. She hired me not too long ago."

I stopped myself from mentioning our almost chance encounter at Club Luster. It would only encourage more teasing from the pair.

Nia looked between the two of us. "Is everything okay?"

"We can't give you any details," Quinton replied. "All we can say is that she's going through a rough situation, but we're doing everything we can to help her."

A frown marred her features at his response. "I'm going to go call her." She said, rising to her feet and going into the next room.

I glanced over my shoulder, ensuring she was no longer within hearing distance, before whispering, "What were you doing at Rusty's?"

Quinton didn't answer straight away. Instead, he went to the refrigerator, opened it, and sifted through the contents for a solid minute before finally answering. "Trying to get information from an informant."

"I thought so," I muttered, lying my folded arms on the cold countertop. "You must be desperate."

Exhaling deeply, he stared into the fridge. "I am. We need a break in this case."

"Do you have any leads?"

"Nope. They left behind no clues." He gathered the fixings to make a salad in his arms before nudging the fridge door close with his foot. After setting his load down, he grabbed a large bowl, a knife, and wooden tongs before continuing, "All we know is that they're fanatics of the game."

"Dang!" I shot to my feet and paced the length of the kitchen. "Did you check nearby cameras? Maybe they caught something."

"It's not my first day on the job, Saint. That's one of the first things we did." He snapped, chopping a tomato into thin, perfect slices. "We even checked nearby cars to see if they had dash cams installed. And we still found nothing."

I let out a long deep sigh as my feet came to a stop by the head of the table. The manilla folders and papers scattered across half its surface piqued my curiosity. Figuring they might pertain to the case, I stepped closer. A quick peek wouldn't hurt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Quinton mixing the salad. Taking advantage of him being distracted, I went through the files. One of the crime scene photos caught my eye. Stunned by the horrific sight, I stared at it unblinkingly.

A caucasian woman wearing a sunflower print yellow dress lay face down in the street. Slightly tangled and splayed around her head were long ash brown locks. A dark crimson pool formed underneath her, filling the cracks in the pavement. The aftermath of the numerous gaping holes in her back.

Parked on her right side was a burgundy sedan. It was one of many cars in the garage. But this one was slightly different. Bloody bits of flesh peppered its gleaming silver bumper, and spray painted on the hood in black were the words, 'Mission Failed'.

"Hey!" Quinton barked.

"What?" I muttered, still looking through the pictures even though he caught me red-handed.

Something smacking against the side of my head made me stop mid-motion. My lips curled upward at the red oven mitt landing on the papers.

"Don't be looking at those." He quickly came from behind the island and gathered the papers before taking them into the small office off the kitchen.

"Why not?" I asked when he reentered the room.

"Because you're not a cop," he pointed out, but I wasn't willing to concede to defeat just yet.

"A fresh pair of eyes could help."

"That may be true, but they won't be yours."

"Wow." I breathed out and dramatically clutched my chest as if his harsh words wounded me.

"If you were my partner, you could have access to our intel and be better able to protect Abella."

I paused and pondered his words. The offer tempted me for a fraction of a second, but I steeled my resolve. "Give it up, Quinton. I'm never going to become a cop."

It was an old argument. One Quinton often cycled back to every chance he got.

"Why not?"

"It's just not for me. Besides, I make way more money as a bodyguard. And I have the luxury of selecting my clientele."

When an image of Timothy Parish jr. popped into my head, I involuntarily flinched, and my smile faltered. Aside from him, my clients weren't all bad.

"Bu-" The house phone rang from the other room, cutting him off.

We looked through the doorway to see Nia going to answer it.

"I can just keep coming to you when I need something," I said, bringing his attention back to me.

Crossing his arms, he cocked his head to the left. "Is that the reason for your visit tonight?"

"Yes. Well... not entirely. I also came for the free food." I teased.

He lightly chuckled before his expression turned serious. "What do you need?"

"I need some information on someone."

He returned to stand behind the counter, stroking his chin along the way as he thought it over.

"Who?" He finally asked after what seemed like forever. In reality, it was only a minute or two.

"A man by the name of Luther Reed."

He slowly bobbed his head. "I know him. We're in the works of getting his gambling operation shut down." He paused and looked me dead in the eyes as he asked, "Is he the reason why you suddenly disappeared at Rusty's?"

I kept quiet for a second, contemplating whether or not to reveal the truth. Abella probably wouldn't like it if I spread her business, even if Quinton was a friend. But I needed information about this Luther guy before I could proceed further.

"Yeah, Abella's father met up with him."

"Why were they meeting?"

I looked to the side and sighed deeply before turning back to face him. "Her father made a bet, and let's just say if it doesn't pan out, Abella and her brother are going to pay for it."

"Fuck!" He breathed out, letting his head fall back, and his eyes drift close. For an entire minute, he stayed that way until his eyes suddenly popped open, and he fixed his gaze on me. "Wait a minute, Saint. Are you telling me you still accepted the job knowing she's in trouble with a bookie and a serial killer could be after her?"

"Yes."

At the time, I hadn't given it a second thought. Most people would have refused the job, given the high risk of dying, while others would have bled them dry of money. I hadn't done either. My only concern was keeping them safe.

"Would you still be this committed if this was a stranger?"

I paused long enough for him to form a conclusion of his own.

"None of that matters. I promised to protect them, and I plan on keeping it."

"Since when do you make promises?"

I clamped my lips shut, refusing to answer and my silence inadvertently revealed the truth.

I never made them. Abella had me doing all sorts of things after only a few minutes in her presence. This could be dangerous for my body and my heart. I couldn't afford to let my blossoming feelings distract me from doing my job.

"You're in trouble." He declared, knowing the truth without me having to say one word.

Inwardly I agreed, but I would be damned if I admitted it out loud and gave Quinton the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

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Thank you for reading!❤

8-5-22