My head hurt like a fuckton of bricks had taken a shine to it, but that was the least of my worries, for I was on Mick's bed…using his arm as my pillow! I thanked God for the small blessings: we were fully dressed, alive, and—from what I concluded from my preliminary observation—uninjured.

After two failed attempts to extricate myself from his octopus-like grip, I finally managed to sit up and take in my surroundings. The door was locked, the bed was a mess, and there were no signs of forced entry or anything being stolen. 

The door creaked. "Rob?" 

The high-pitched voice drew my attention. I had wrongly assumed that the door was locked. I wasn't sure who else had been in here. 

I sprang out of the bed. Sprinting towards the door, I blocked it with my body. What the hell is she doing here? "Good morning, Niki. What brings you here? I remember asking you not to let anyone on this floor. That includes you." 

The woman overseeing our meals and laundry cleared her throat and looked past me. "I was wondering what the master might want for breakfast."

"Hey." I snapped my fingers in front of her face. Her wandering gray eyes locked with mine. "Eggs: three, sunny side up, four toasts with their sides trimmed. Two coffees. Black. Thanks."

Anger flashed across her smooth, oval face; there one moment, gone the next. Offering me a fake smile, she turned on her heel and left. 

Locking the door behind me, I entered the wash and caught myself in the mirror. Six O'Clock shadow was a good look on me had it not befriended the sucky hangover, threatening to make me puke. I hated my life sometimes. I glanced at Mick, who was still knocked out. He was my very own sun: the man who kept darkness at bay. Since coming to work for the Carltons, every time I ran an errand that kept me away from him for over a day, I woke up in a cold sweat. Not recalling the nightmares kept me awake the rest of the night. But when I was next to him, I slept like a baby. He was my safe place, which was fucking ironic.

I splashed my face with ice-cold water and got rid of my clothes. Closing the washroom door soundlessly, I took care of the hard-on that had the gall to make an appearance despite the killer headache. A quick shower followed soon after, and I stepped out of the cramped space feeling like a man reborn. 

It was short-lived, the feeling.

"Rob, you're naked." Mick was up. Instead of giving me some privacy or at least looking away, his cool blues surveyed my body with interest. "I have never seen you naked."

"Can you please stop saying that word?" I turned sideways, realizing belatedly that I was now offering him a perfect view of my ass! 

Great going, Rob!

"Pray tell, which word might that be, naked bodyguard?" He asked. Walking towards me, smiling like a Cheshire cat, he winked. "Could it perhaps be… let us see, naked?" 

Turning me around, his eyes roamed over the expanse of my chest. "You have seen me naked a million times. It's high time you return the favor, don't you think?" His deft fingers came up to caress my pecs, paying extra attention to my buds. 

I held back a moan. Before my mask dropped, making a mockery of myself, I had to stop him. Grabbing his hands and abruptly stopping his exploration, I spat. "That's enough, Mick. You have had your fun."

With his eyes narrowed, he gawked at me. "But I thought—"

"I said, that's enough. Now bring me a towel." I freed his hands, and they fell to his sides. "And go take a bath."

The playful smile I adored dropped from his lips. "I know you are straight, dude." He stepped away, taking the warmth of the sun with him. "Don't worry, I won't sully you with my touch anymore."

No! Don't think like that, Mick. Wait, how did I end up here with him wrapped around me? Had I done something to make him think it was cool to fool around with me?

I should have tried to clear the air, or at least, come clean that I had no recollection of the night before, but no, I didn't do that. "Good," I said instead, in a voice barely over a whisper.

Why did I do that? I was a fucking jerk. I was worse than Miles. 

"Here," he said, handing me a fresh towel from the closet at the end of his bed. "Now leave." There was no mistaking that tone. He wanted me gone. 

"See you in a few," I said in my most cheery voice: a meek attempt to gauge his anger level. 

“Yes, Robert. You will.” 

Shit, I had screwed up badly.

Mick turned away from me; it was a sign that he wanted me gone, but I just stood there, watching him grab his underwear from his duffel and disappear into the bath, leaving me feeling like the biggest asshole that ever walked God's green earth. 

When Mick finally arrived at the breakfast counter, the food had gone cold. "What kept you? Are you feeling sick?" I reached over to check his forehead; my hand was swatted away. It hurt, but I couldn't fault him for it.

"No. I am fine. Just hungover."

"Should I ask Niki to—"

"This is fine," he interrupted. Taking a bite of his toast, he smiled at Niki. "I apologize for my lateness, love. Could you please get us our coffees?"

Niki's face flushed. "Of course, master. I will bring it right away," she replied, and when Mick wasn't looking, she threw me a smirk so full of malice that it took all my self-control to refuse her the satisfaction of seeing my misery.

When the offending person was gone, I side-eyed my charge and took a bite of the same toast he had before abandoning it. "I am sorry I lost my temper. I shouldn't have. You know how much you mean to me, don't you?"

"Yes, I know exactly how much I mean to you, Rob." His words, steeped in anger and agony, washed over me. "A relation which should have officially ended the night Maria died and fifteen thousand dollars a month. That's how much."

I brought my hand down on the table, making it tremble. "You know that's not true."

"Isn't it, though? You put up with me because it pays your bills."

Reining in my anger, I tried approaching him again. "Mick, listen. I know I upset you—" 

With his hands fisted at his sides, he rose to his feet, avoiding my touch. "Yes, you did. But that doesn't change the truth." His eyes bore into my soul, stealing my breath. "Take away my last name, then what am I to you!?"

Everything. My everything. The realization was as sudden as it was clear. Mick Carlton was my everything. What of The Watchtower then? There was no way I could give him up to them. They didn't know him like I did. They wouldn't care that he wanted nothing to do with the mafia side of his family. It wouldn't matter to them that he wasn't a part of the Crimson Bay slaughter. 

No wonder they had asked for reports more often for the past three weeks. Once Mick's vacation was over, he would be officially inducted into the family business. And if the Carltons had a hand in the Crimson Bay slaughter, it would be near impossible to save him. Whatever had to be done had to be done now, and only I could do it. Unfortunately, I didn't know how much dirt The Watchtower had on me. I had no recollection of anything I had done before taking up this assignment. What I did know was that not only had the Carltons welcomed me with open arms, they had treated me like family, and as far as Freya was concerned, even the blind could see how much they doted on her.

No, I concluded, the family that had sheltered me for five long years couldn't be involved in the infamous slaughter. It was high time I stopped looking for evidence to incriminate them and return the favor I had received, in secret, of course. I glanced up at Mick's waiting eyes, but try as I may, I couldn't get any words out, none at all.

*****
[Chapter word count: 1438]