1. Survival

“Go die in a hole, asshole!”

Charlie ducked just in time.

The thick physics textbook flew at him like a brick disguised as homework, slamming into the wall behind him with a thud. The thing was huge, the sort of book that could double as a doorstop or something.

Only Sky would use a book as a weapon, Charlie thought.

He was lucky this time. Sky did not always miss. In fact, she usually did not. When Sky Foster aimed, Charlie was often the target, and she had the kind of accuracy that made people flinch before she even threw anything.

Sky Foster.

The fiery blonde with eyes so green they could probably stop hearts if she cared to look up long enough. She was not just sassy, she was a full blown hurricane in designer sneakers.

Charlie secretly called her his princess.

Ridiculous, really.

She was not his. She would never be his.

Because Sky Foster was the daughter of River Foster, the notorious Mafia boss who ran the Crimson Serpents with a smile sharp enough to cut glass. And Charlie. He was the hired help. The bodyguard assigned to keep her out of trouble, or at least to try.

No matter how fast his pulse jumped every time she tossed her hair or threw something at his head, he had no business looking at her that way. She was born into a world of power and luxury, and he was just a kid hired to be her shadow.

And yet, he could not stop himself from pining for her in secret, watching her when she did not know he was looking, pretending the sound of her laughter did not undo him every single time.

It was kind of fucked up, really.

Even now, as she hurled school supplies and insults with alarming accuracy, Charlie could not help falling in love with her all over again.

“I wish your dick would fall off and get eaten by Lambert!” Sky shouted, her ponytail bouncing with fury.

Charlie looked at Lambert, Sky’s thirteen-pound Jack Russell terrier.

“That would be terrible for his digestion,” Charlie replied calmly, eyeing the small dog sleeping by the fireplace.

Lambert cracked one eye open, gave a single unimpressed woof, and went back to snoring like an old man on painkillers.

Sky made a face like she wanted to throw the terrier next but could not be bothered. “Lambert would handle it better than you.”

“Lambert does not condone violence,” Charlie said. “He prefers treats.”

Lambert woofed again, louder this time, as if to agree that treats were indeed the only acceptable form of conflict resolution.

Sky groaned. “You see? Even he is sick of you.”

“That is inaccurate,” Charlie said, crouching to give the dog a pat. “He loves me. We bonded over mutual trauma.”

Lambert licked his hand once, then sneezed directly on his wrist. Sky smirked.

“Wow. Deep bond you got there.”

Charlie wiped his hand on his jeans. “This is how he shows love,” he said grimly.

Sky rolled her eyes so hard Charlie feared for her sinuses. This was not the first time she had threatened violence on him or his various body parts, and it would not be the last. It usually happened whenever he said the one word she hated most: no.

This time, the explosion came because he refused to take her to an underground club.

It was not that he enjoyed denying her things. When he looked into those bright green eyes, every instinct told him to give her the world.

But he had to draw the line somewhere. A smoke-filled basement full of criminals and bad lighting was not on the list of acceptable hangouts for a seventeen-year-old.

Besides, her father had already said no. And when River Foster said no, it was not up for debate. Charlie knew better than to let her convince him otherwise.

His job came first. His loyalty came first, even if it meant crushing down every stupid, impossible feeling he had for her.

“So you really are not going to take me there?” Sky asked, still fuming.

“No.” Charlie’s voice was firm but never harsh. He could handle her temper, but he would never raise his voice at her. Not if he could help it.

“Then I guess I will have to go without you,” she declared, crossing her arms as if she had just won a small war.

Charlie sighed. “I doubt that is possible.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, you think you are so good at your job, do you. You think nothing gets past you. You do not think I can slip away from under your thumb and go anywhere I want if I really wanted to.” She waggled a finger at him, green eyes flashing like a warning light.

Lambert barked once, sharply, as if to show support.

Charlie gave him a look. “Do not encourage her.”

“Fuck you!” Sky shouted.

“I would rather not,” he said, his neck starting to feel hot.

She crossed her arms harder, glaring at both of them. For a beat, the corner of her mouth twitched, like she could not decide whether to throw something else or laugh. Charlie pretended not to notice his pulse doing cartwheels.

Sky was angry. So angry.

Her chest heaved, cheeks flushed a bright pink. Her lips were slightly parted, wet and red, plump enough to make his mouth ache in a way he swore was strictly against the rules.

Charlie shook his head hard, as if he could knock the improper thoughts loose and send them flying out the door.

She was his boss’s daughter. She was not for him. He was not good enough to be her friend, her equal, let alone her boyfriend. He repeated it in his head like a prayer, in the hope that repetition could root out desire.

She was not for him. Not for him. Not for him.

Lambert growled softly at the silence, tail flicking, as if even he could sense the tension building in the room.

“Why are you just standing there like a dumbass? Get out of my room right now before I scratch your eyes out,” Sky snapped, jabbing a finger toward the door.

That snapped him out of his thoughts. Charlie moved before he could argue with his own pulse. Lambert gave a low woof, almost like he was escorting him out.

He backed toward the doorway, kept his face neutral, and left her alone and seething.

Another day survived by the Mafia Princess.