CHAPTER 2: JENNA.

The ring was a total showdown.

Jenna Smith dodged a straight fist, went under, and counter-attacked by driving her fist into her opponent's ribs.  The man – all built and muscular, folded like a cheap suit.

"You may want to tap out now," she muttered.

He didn't.

Instead he came at her again, more desperate to redeem his pride in front of the crowd.

Jenna took a step to the side, caught his arm, and slammed him down.

. 

The crowd went nuts.

Someone with the voice of a young teenage boy shouted "Way to gooo!!! destroy him, Jenna!"

while someone else booed. 

This wasn't a personal attack or fight with an enemy. Everyone who came into the ring understood it was purely business.

The boxing match was an underground event hosted by her friend Biggie, who promised a five thousand dollar prize to the winner from the bet money of people who just wanted to be entertained on a sunday night. 

Jenna needed that money desperately. Her father's previous dialysis session had drained all her savings, and the hospital bills weren't going to pay themselves.

So she fought, with everything in her – every contender as they came in, never going down without a fight.

The referee counted to ten. The man beneath her didn't move.

It was over.

Jenna, feeling victorious, accepted the towel someone shoved into her hand. Sweat dripped down her face, and her knuckles were bruised. Her body ached in several places….

But she'd won…As usual.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Biggie's voice echoed through the underground arena, "your winner…still undefeated…Jenna fucking Smith!"

The crowd lost its mind.

Jenna didn't smile. Smiling wasn't her thing. Instead, she caught the envelope of cash Biggie tossed at her, tucked it into her leather jacket, and slipped through the crowd toward the exit, headed for her motorcycle.

She was halfway to the door when her phone rang.

It was a private number.

She almost ignored it. Almost. But something…her instinct she'd learned to trust during her years as an escort, the one that kept her alive when men got too obsessed, told her to answer.

"Jenna Smith," a man's voice said. "This is Helena Creed's office. We'd like to offer you the position."

Jenna stopped walking. She had to be imagining this.

The Creed Empire. She'd applied with little to no hope, desperate to get something, after the fifteenth rejection from other prominent security firms. 

Her resume was impressive. Five years of martial arts training, a black belt in Taekwondo, and so many other skills, but it was the note from her very recent instructor in Karate, that had apparently done the trick this time.

"Jenna Smith is the most dangerous woman I've ever trained."

"I... got the job?" Jenna asked.

"Yes you have," the voice confirmed. "Report to the Creed mansion tomorrow at 8 AM. When you arrive, ask for Kai."

The line went dead.

Jenna stared at her phone for a long moment.

This is it, she thought. This was the breakthrough she had been hoping and praying to get.

A real bodyguard job, one even better than the security firms she had applied to which could give her a bigger paycheck – enough to keep her father alive and maybe, just maybe, save up for the Marina Guard Institute, she'd been wishing to get in.

She didn't know yet that the job was a lie.

---

The Creed mansion was a show of old money and wealth, and from her first sight of it, she was wowed as the pictures from the blogs did no justice.

Jenna parked her motorcycle in the parking lot, somewhere in between the parked Bentleys and Rolls-Royces, and walked into a home that probably cost a million more than her entire apartment building. 

The security guards gave a double glance at her tattoos. The receptionist stared at her a moment too long before realizing herself. The assistant who led her to Helena Creed's office kept a full three feet of distance, her nervousness so obviously written all over her face.

Jenna was used to it. She'd been stared at her whole life. First for being too feminine, back when she wore designer dresses and heels that made men lustfully beg. 

Now for being too un feminine, and intimidating in her combat boots and general appearance.

She couldn't win. So she stopped trying.

"Ms. Smith."

Helena Creed was exactly what Jenna expected. It looked like old money. Smelled like enough power and control laid right in her palms. The woman sat behind a desk the size of a small car, her hands rubbing gently the snow white fur of a fat gloomy looking cat.

"Sit."

Jenna sat.

"I read your file. It’s Impressive I must say.."

"Thank you."

"Your instructor claims you're the most dangerous woman he's ever trained. Is that true?"

Jenna met her gaze. "Yes."

Helena's lips almost gave out a smile. "Good. Because your job isn't to protect my grandson from criminals."

Jenna waited… Her attention peaking up.

"Your job is to protect him from… well… gold-diggers."

What?

Helena slid a folder across the desk. Inside were photos of beautiful women. Two of which she may have seen on TV. Their names replaced with numbers, beside their photos

"These are his approved dates," Helena said. "Women who know how to keep their mouths shut.."

"And the women not on this list?"

"Leeches. In every sense of the word." Helena's voice became firmer. "Your job is to keep them away, and always watch out. If he tries to be sexually involved with someone not on this list, you stop him."

Jenna stared at the folder. Her disappointment and annoyance rising, she felt like flipping the table but she would probably have to repay with her entire savings, which was not up to some people's salary.

Jenna rubbed her palms together in deep thoughts, as Helena waited.

This wasn't a bodyguard job. This was dignified babysitting. And she needed a real guard experience recorded in her resume.

"I'm not sure I can…"

"One million dollars."

Jenna's mouth closed.

"Yearly," Helena continued. "And other benefits."

One million dollars.

That was more money than Jenna had expected to be paid. It was more than enough for her father's treatments, more than enough for the Institute, and more than enough to finally breathe from constant worry.

"I'll take it."