CHAPTER THREE

Asher's Pov

I've swam through the deadliest rivers in the country, taken a shot in the chest, and trudged through enemy territory with a broken leg, and I survived. But nothing had prepared me for this new hell.

“You'll be protecting the Young Master.” The old man in front of me said in a posh American accent.

Young Master? Seriously? Who even talks like that?

“I trust you're good… no, excellent at your job, yes?” He asked, twisting the ring on his finger.

He was nervous. Good.

I leaned forward and smiled. “If I wasn't good at what I do, we both wouldn't be here.”

Gabriel chuckled softly. “Why, yes.”

“Cut to the chase, Foster.” I said, reaching for my cigarette.

“Sorry?”

“Why does a billionaire want his grandson protected by a man like me?” I grinned. “You know my reputation very well. I was blacklisted from the force and I have a rep for violence and not following orders. Why on earth did you not choose a proper bodyguard?”

“Because it's you,” Gabriel's eyes hardened. “You have a terrible reputation but not a terrible record. Unlike the others, your clients have never lost their lives. Not a single one. I think we made the best decision hiring you.”

My grin widened. He looks like a scared little man but he's a fighter on the inside.

I tossed my cigarette butt in his glass of water and rose to my feet.

“You'll be meeting the Young Master today at noon in the mansion. Don't be late.” He called behind me.

I replied with a lazy drawl. “Aye, aye, captain.”

I arrived at the Booker’s family mansion in upstate New York an hour later. The meeting was supposed to be held at noon but I don't give a shit about punctuality.

The mansion came into sight and I maneuvered my SUV throughout the gate as soon as the security cleared me.

The place looked like it cost tons of money : a stone water fountain, a giant polished building, and the whole shebang. I've seen a lot of places but this one impressed me especially the little paintings in the cupid statues littering the entrance. Whoever painted those was good.

“Mister Donovan?” An old man in a tail coat, obviously, the butler, said as soon as I got out of the car.

“The one and only.” I tipped my invisible hat.

“This way, please.” He said, leading me into the building.

I followed the butler past red carpeted hallways and paintings of European aristocrats until we got to our destination.

I paused. Was that classical music?

“Young Master Caden is inside,” he said, tapping on the door.

There was no response.

I kicked the door down with my boot, earning a glare from the butler, but who cares? They have enough money to fix it.

I walked into the room, greeted by the smell of paint and wine.

Something caught my eye and I grinned. There he is. That little fucker.

His white singlet clung to his lean muscles and his trouser was low around his waist, showing a little bit of skin when he moved. He was so lost in his painting that he didn't notice me standing behind him.

Just then, he froze and turned. For a moment, he just stared at me. As if realizing what he'd done, he killed the music and looked past me.

“Albert, who the fuck is this?” He asked.

Of course, the butler’s name is Albert. Fucking predictable.

“This is the new bodyguard.” Albert replied softly.

Caden looked back at me, his babyblue eyes glaring at me like I was some dug underneath his shoe.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” He hissed and returned to his painting.

The flowery patterns looked similar to the ones I saw on the cupid statues. Don't tell me he's the one that paints them. This asshole has a talent?

“Traffic.” I shrugged. That was a goddamn lie.

“Well, state your name and schedule and get the fuck out of my room.” Caden said, resuming his painting.

That was rude.

“Are you sure you want to talk to me that way?” I asked in a deep, gravy voice. This boy better not push me.

Caden dropped the brush and turned to face me. “Just get this over with and talk.”

I noticed the bandage wrapped around his right arm. An arm he should've lost.

“The name's Asher Donovan.” I had just begun when the little fucker turned towards his painting, ignoring my existence.

“Would you look at me when I talk to you?!” I barked.

Shit. I never lose my temper. False. I never lose my temper that easily.

“I'm all ears, American.” Caden snorts.

“It's Asher, you British snob.” I hissed.

Now, he looked at me. Gotcha.

“Is that how you talk to your employer?” He rose to his feet.

I grinned. “My employer is your grandfather…”

“...who is dead so I'm in charge now,” he interrupted me with a glare. “You speak to me with respect, American.”

“For the love of pizza, it's Asher.” I hissed.

“I'll make sure not to remember that.” He grabbed a white towel and brushed past me. “Albert, send the American on his way. We're done here.”

Like hell we are.

I grabbed his arm and pinned him against the wall.

He seemed so small, so delicate, so easy to break. When he struggled against my larger form, I brought my knee underneath his crotch.

“Young Master!” Albert cried out.

I ignored the ass-kisser and focused on the little shit in front of me. “I know 30 deadly moves that can kill you in an instant.”

I'm not kidding.

“So why don't you kill me?” He challenged.

“Because that'll be too easy.” I grinned.

“Let go of me, you brute.” He slammed his head against mine. That didn't hurt at all.

“Let go!” He hissed again and I wanted to hear the sound of his hot voice.

Wait a minute. Why do I find his accent hot? What is wrong with me today?

I pulled away from him as if I'd been burnt and stared at him. With his big blue eyes and lush pink lips, perfect pale skin, and golden hair falling in curls around his heart-shaped face, Caden looked like a fairytale prince — young, rich, and regal, the opposite of me in every goddamn way.

Jesus. Why does that sound gay? I'm straight!

“If this is how you handle your clients then you're fired, Asher.” Caden hissed.

His smooth tenor voice rolled over me like a velvety caress. There must've been something in that cigar I smoked earlier because what the fuck is wrong with me? And why am I getting hard just by hearing him say my name?

“Young Master, you can't…” Albert is interrupted again. This time, it's me.

“You have to move.” I said.

Caden blinked. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“Your house.” I gestured around the room. “It’s a security nightmare.”

“I’m not moving.” Caden punctuated his words with a sharp hiss.

I glowered at him beneath my thick, dark brows. “If your killer knew you'd be at the launch, don't you think he or she would know where you live?”

Caden's eyes went round. “What?”

I turned to Albert. “He needs to be in a safe house. Lucky for you, I know the perfect place.”

Albert hesitated for a moment before he gave me a curt nod and dashed out of the room, probably to snitch to Gabriel.

One hour and 20 minutes later, we were on our way to the safehouse.

“This safehouse better be safe.” Caden mumbled as he scrolled on his phone.

I nearly grinned.

Little did he know that he was moving in with his killer.