Greeted by the Governor

When Osmond marched out of the pawn shop, the sun was setting, and he froze instantly.

His shoe skidded against the pavement as he halted to a sudden standstill, his heart feeling as if it had stopped entirely.

A police car rolled by the pawn shop, cruising past the blue Mustang and coasting easefully down the street.

Osmond gulped, biting his lip and inhaling a slow, shaky breath as it drove by.

Skylar peered up at him from the Mustang's passenger seat. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Osmond mumbled, eyeing the end of the street where the police car had vanished from sight, his heart hammering painfully. "Let's go… I'm ready to meet your father."

"Taco Bell first."

"Right, yeah… Taco Bell first…"

Osmond couldn't flee his old neighborhood fast enough. The moment he started the engine, he drove haphazardly down the street and rolled around the corner, eager to escape from south Ireville while he still could.

Sam was right—he knew better than to visit this neighborhood so soon after the prison break. He couldn't afford to come back here again anytime soon.

As Osmond drove out of south Ireville, and as the sky began to darken, the city lights shone all around them as the convertible coasted down the main road, and Osmond tapped the steering wheel nervously, repeatedly glancing at the rearview mirror and praying that no cops were trailing behind him.

Skylar removed her sunglasses and perched them on top of her head, squinting at him curiously.

"You look nervous," she said.

"Yeah." Osmond gulped, glimpsing at the rearview again. "I am."

"He's just a regular guy," Skylar assured. "Don't let him intimidate you. Trust me, underneath the business and politics, he's just a normal father. Everything's gonna work out fine."

"Hope so," he mumbled distantly.

A short while later, Osmond pulled into the parking lot of Skylar's favorite fast food place, slowing to a stop at the end of the drive-thru.

The line at the drive-thru window was backed up with four cars waiting, and the Mustang rolled up to the end of the line, adding a fifth. The sun was barely visible in the sky now, and Osmond stared upward, hoping he'd return to Highland Drive in time—and hoping no cops would interfere with the rest of his journey there.

Skylar was tinkering with the radio again, singing along to one of her favorite songs and smiling at him as she chanted the chorus, which she'd proudly memorized.

Osmond's attention grew divided; he tried to dwell on his thoughts, tried to focus on the problems he faced, but the sight of her dancing in her seat and singing without a care in the world served as an effective distraction.

Osmond breathed out a laugh. "You're so weird."

"Your face," Skylar snarked.

The drive-thru's line inched onward, and Osmond drove forward a few feet, pulling to a stop again behind the blue minivan in front of him. Then, he glanced at Skylar again, who was nodding along to the music with a childlike smile plastered on her face.

Osmond watched her for a moment, another thought occurring to him.

"Can I ask you something?" he wondered.

"Yeah." Skylar turned down the radio's volume. "What's up?"

Osmond surveyed her closely, pondering on everything that'd happened in the past twenty-four hours. It was all strange—all bizarre, and dangerous, and uncanny—but the strangest thing of all was her.

"Why were you so quick to hire me?" Osmond asked genuinely. "You barely know me—and you were pretty quick to lie to your father and your butler about that, too. I don't get it."

Skylar raised her brows at him, her smile weakening. She let out a sigh and sank more glumly into her seat, pausing to think for a moment.

Seconds after, she met his gaze and attempted to smile again. "Would you think I was totally pathetic if I said… I hired you more as a friend than a bodyguard?"

Osmond took a moment to let this sink in, gliding his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel's surface.

"No," he said honestly. "Believe me—between the two of us, you're definitely not the pathetic one. It just sounds like you're kind of lonely."

"You have no idea," Skylar mumbled, crossing her arms on the passenger door and resting her chin against them.

"Oh, yes I do," Osmond told her, nodding and releasing a cloud of breath. "I really do."

Skylar glimpsed at him.

Osmond returned the look, his expression softening. "Being trapped and alone with no other choice—I get that. After a while, you end up so desperate to break out of it, you end up doing something reckless."

"Like hiring a stranger as a bodyguard," Skylar chuckled.

Or like breaking out of prison, Osmond thought, frowning and sighing.

"Hey… that guy at the pawn shop was your friend, right?" Skylar asked. "When you got evicted, why didn't you just go and stay with him?"

Osmond paused for a split second.

"Well… he couldn't afford to take me in," he said moments later, and this time, it wasn't really a lie. "None of my friends could really afford to let me stay over…"

"Well… I can," Skylar told him, offering him a charming half-smile.

Osmond returned the smirk. "Yeah… you're a damn miracle."

"Friends?" Skylar held out her hand.

Osmond gave it a firm shake. "Friends."

"I feel like we needed to find each other," Skylar thought aloud, gazing thoughtfully into the sky as night slowly approached. "We both needed a friend really bad."

"Yeah… absolutely," Osmond agreed, driving a few feet closer to the ordering window as the van rolled slowly onward. "I'm still not entirely sure what to tell your father, though."

"Dad and Sullivan think that we've known each other for years, and we're just bar friends," Skylar determined. "But last night was the first time I actually saw you fight someone, and after we talked a little bit, I found out you had a background in personal protection. The rest is history. That's the story."

"Right… I also told your butler that I didn't know you were the governor's daughter until last night," Osmond added. "Which technically isn't a lie… but if they ask, that's the story we stick with. I told your butler that you basically wanted to keep your social life at the bar separate from your home life, and that's why you never told me you were the governor's daughter before now. All right?"

"Yep. Gotcha."

As they drew steadily closer to the lit-up menu, Osmond pulled his new wallet from his pocket, flipping it open against the steering wheel and rereading all the material inside.

According to his new credentials, Osmond Williams was a registered bodyguard with an old home address in west Ireville, trained at the Academy of Personal Protection and Security in Nashville, Tennessee. These cards also displayed Osmond's real age, unlike his old Raymond ID. He read over it all numerous times before he had it memorized, then moved to pocket his wallet again—but Skylar grabbed it before he could.

"Hey," Osmond griped.

Skylar ignored him, scanning over the contents of the wallet and revealing an impressed little smirk. "Damn, son. You're the real deal."

Osmond tried to confiscate it, but Skylar held it out of his reach, continuing to read over it.

"You lived in west Ireville?" she asked.

"Yeah, before the eviction," Osmond replied. "Gimme that. There's no money in it."

"Tch, please. I don't need your money—I just wanna do a little background check on the stranger I hired. So sue me."

"All right, fine, knock yourself out…"

"Wow. You're only twenty-nine years old? You look older."

"Thanks…"

"I'm twenty-eight, just in case it comes up in conversation with my dad. We need to seem like we know each other pretty well. It would look weird if you didn't know how old I was."

"All right. What do you want?"

"Whaddo you mean, what do I want?"

Osmond snapped his fingers and pointed to the lit-up menu of the drive-thru, which was now directly aligned with the Mustang.

"Oh." Skylar handed Osmond his wallet and leaned over him, reading over the menu intently.

Osmond reared back as she hovered closely over him. Skylar leaned on the driver door as she spoke with the fast food employee over the intercom, her body tenting closely over his lap, her breast grazing lightly against his torso.

As she talked to the intercom and made her order, Osmond took in a heavy breath, inhaling a whiff of her rosy scent and feeling his heart jolt.

"What do you want?" Skylar turned to face him, her nose inches from his.

"I want you to get off me," Osmond mumbled.

"What do you want to 𝘦𝘢𝘵?" Skylar clarified. "I'm buying for both of us."

"I… I don't know. Anything. Surprise me."

"Okay."

Skylar faced the intercom again and added on to her order.

Osmond leaned back as far as possible, turning away and not allowing himself to inhale another whiff of her scent. He hadn't realized it until now, but he knew there would be a whole new problem arising during this job, one that didn't involve police or crime families. His heart pulsated excitedly the longer she lay overtop his lap, and he knew he felt an attraction to her. God, his hormones might land him in hot water…

When Skylar finished making her order, she straightened up and returned to the passenger seat. Osmond let out a huge breath after she moved away from him. He gave her a quick glance, then drove forward again.

"You're trouble," he murmured.

"What? Why?" Skylar shot back. "What did I do?"

Osmond gnawed softly on his bottom lip, glaring forward and not replying.

When they finally arrived at the window, the employee leaned outside, not bothering to greet them or speak. The young man had a deadpan expression, merely holding out his hand and waiting for the payment.

Osmond and Skylar exchanged glances, then stared at the young man.

"Gimme my food first, Ricky," Skylar demanded.

The young man named Ricky scoffed at her, lowering his hand and vanishing into the window.

Osmond gave Skylar a questioning squint.

"He's an asshole," Skylar explained. "I don't like him. I like the third shift guys better."

"How often do you come here?"

"All the time."

"How are you not enormous?"

"Because I'm always working out in my dad's gym."

"Your dad owns a gym?"

"No. There's a gym in the house."

Osmond opened his mouth to reply, pausing in astonishment. He then shook his head and chuckled. "Of course there is…"

Ricky returned to the window holding a massive brown bag filled with wrapped burritos, tacos, and two plastic canisters of nachos. He handed Osmond the bag so carelessly, it nearly fell from his grasp.

"Hey—easy," Osmond grumped.

Ricky scowled at him.

"Hey, Ricky, where's my drinks?" Skylar said expectantly.

"Coming right up, rich bitch," Ricky snarled, turning and vanishing into the restaurant again.

Osmond placed the bag of food in between the seats, he and Skylar both glaring up at the window angrily.

When Ricky returned with two large fountain drinks, Osmond inhaled a deep breath, calmly taking the first drink and handing it off to Skylar. When he took the second drink—he reached out and grasped Ricky's wrist with a viselike grip, yanking the boy further out the window and glaring heatedly into him.

"This is the governor's daughter, here," Osmond snarled through gritted teeth, offering the boy a cold smile. "You better treat her with some respect from now on… 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬."

Ricky's eyes widened. He yanked his hand away and withdrew into the window, staring at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

Osmond laughed. "Don't look so scared. I was kidding, just like you were. Understand? Are we all friends now?"

Ricky slowly nodded.

"Good." Osmond took Skylar's credit card and handed it to Ricky. "Here ya' go."

Skylar was gaping at Osmond in shock.

When Ricky walked off to swipe the card, Osmond sighed, and Skylar flashed a beaming ear-to-ear smile.

"Oh my God!" she giggled breathlessly, smacking his arm. "I can't believe you did that!"

Osmond gave her a smooth smirk. "Yeah, well… people like him are garbage. Some people are just gonna judge you for having money. People used to judge me for not having money. Some people are just asses. To hell with 'em."

"Oh, man, we're gonna be awesome friends," Skylar smiled at him. "You're just awesome."

Ricky returned seconds later and handed him the credit card and receipt, and Osmond was sure to give him a grin and a wave before driving off.

He knew it was risky to act out in such a way—to seem threatening to anyone while the police were searching for him—but he also knew that most people wouldn't likely call the police on the governor's daughter and her own personal bodyguard. Besides, even if such a scenario occurred, Osmond now had all the identification he needed to deal with that situation.

Perhaps he didn't need to fear the pursuit of the police so much. After all, they were searching for Raymond Salem, a low-down gun-runner who no longer existed. He'd still have to be careful and show caution, of course—but he was a new man now, and he had a new lease on life. He wouldn't live in the same fear that dominated him when he ran from the prison. He'd simply have to find a balance between living freely and living carefully.

And Osmond—unlike Raymond—would succeed in that effort.

"Oh… you really are trouble," Osmond snickered as he drove up the main road. "You make me reckless… and I can't afford to be reckless."

"Hey, I didn't make you do that!" Skylar proclaimed, still grinning. "Now go back and do it again! I bet you anything he peed his pants!"

Osmond let out a cackling laugh. "No, I'm not gonna do it again. I shouldn't have done it the first time—but people like him piss me off."

"Me too!" Skylar exclaimed.

They met eyes, sharing another brief stare, both of them smiling. Then, Skylar turned up the radio's volume again—and this time, they both sang along to the music, neither of them stopping until they finally arrived at Highland Drive.

The moment night fell completely and Osmond pulled up the governor's elongated driveway, his smile waned, and he felt a tinge of his nervousness returning. He parked behind Sullivan's black car, as well as two black SUVs that had arrived sometime while he and Skylar were gone.

It seemed the governor had returned home.

Osmond swallowed, powering the engine off and gazing up at the mansion, the grand and intimidating Bernard home.

The moment he marched into the house, he'd have to carry himself with a sense of purpose and importance that Raymond never had. He'd have to uphold everything his new credentials painted him up to be. The governor of the state of Tennessee awaited him inside.

His heart began to throb. He finished his burrito and crumbled up the wrapper, glancing at Skylar, who was still nodding along to the music as she ate. She was only half-finished with her second burrito, but she didn't bother finishing it before leaving the car. When she walked up the sidewalk toward the front doors, Osmond sighed, hesitantly following suit.

"Y'know what," Skylar mumbled as she chewed, sauntering toward the house with ease. "You're gonna put all my other friends to shame, I swear. We've gotta meet up with Veronica and Chelsea. I'm gonna show you off to them as soon as freaking possible."

"Mhm," Osmond mumbled vacantly, eyeing the white double-doors and taking a deep breath.

"I'm serious, dude," Skylar said, grabbing the doorknob and giving him a smirk. "My friends are flakes. They're the kind of people who only stick around for the good times. They wouldn't stick up for me like you just did."

Osmond stared at her, attempting to return the smile. "I know the feeling. I've had friends like that before."

"Yeah—whenever you need them, they're nowhere to be found," Skylar complained, nodding with him in agreement. "But whenever they need something from you, they come running in no time flat."

"Yeah…" Osmond thought of Benny, frowning at the doors. "I hear you."

He waited for her to open the doors, but Skylar stood still with her hand on the knob, staring into him intently and reading the uncertainty off his face.

"Stop being nervous," she ordered.

Osmond gave her a look. "I can't really help it."

"Yeah, you can—sing the song again," Skylar insisted, nodding and humming to the song they were singing a short while ago. "Let the worries wash away, and just lose yourself in the flow. Sippin' on straight chlorine, let the vibe slide over me…"

"You're 𝘴𝘰 weird."

"Shh—just sing. Or hum, if you want. This beat is a chemical, beat is a chemical…"

Osmond sighed heavily.

He hummed the song very faintly, inhaling several calming breaths, and as he did, Skylar smiled. Then, she opened the double-doors and led him into the house.

As they ventured into the spacious entry room and marched over the rug, Skylar began to sing louder, and Osmond hummed quietly alongside her. They drew closer to the dining area, Osmond replaying the song in his mind, nodding along to it and attempting to live only in the rhythm, not the worries of meeting the governor…

By the time they reached the dining table, Osmond was smirking again, and Skylar was singing like mad—but they both fell silent when they spotted Governor Bernard.

The man sitting before them was of average height and build, and the moment Osmond laid eyes on him, he knew exactly where the bottle of dark brown hair dye upstairs had come from. Contrary to the old governor, Bill Lee, Governor Bernard's hair was cut shorter, very neat and with a much darker shade, the same brown as the dye, and he had the same deep blue eyes as his daughter's, though his face was less rounded and considerably more serious. He wore a suit similar to Osmond's, and he was calmly dining on a dinner of smoked salmon with a side of greens. Two bodyguards stood at either side behind him, both of them dressed entirely in black, wearing sunglasses and two holsters containing handguns.

Osmond summoned every ounce of his strength to appear as calm as humanly possible, despite his heart now thrashing rampantly beneath his new Kevlar.

Governor Bernard glanced up from his plate, surveying Osmond and gently wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Skylar glimpsed between them, then approached the governor and gave him a quick hug.

"Hey, Dad," she uttered.

"Hey, sweetheart." The governor's eyes remained fixed on Osmond, staring into him with an unreadable glare over his daughter's shoulder.

Osmond gave the governor a polite nod and wave, saying nothing and feeling almost lightheaded. The governor was dog-eyeing him as if he'd just broken into the house uninvited, and Osmond couldn't read the man's stare at all, which was a rarity for him, as he was usually decent at reading people. He prayed to God that Governor Bernard wasn't overanalyzing him right this very moment, mentally comparing Osmond's current appearance to the image of the goateed man depicted all over the local news…

When Skylar straightened up and rejoined Osmond's side, she took another bite of her burrito.

There was a thick tension in the air now, Osmond and the governor examining one another. Sullivan quietly entered the room from the kitchen, his eyes landing on Skylar.

"Oh… Madame," Sullivan sighed, giving her burrito a disdainful look. "Your dinner is prepared, and you've ruined your appetite."

Skylar looked down at her cheap fast food, slowly stopping her chewing and lowering the burrito. "Sorry…"

"Skylar, go upstairs," Governor Bernard requested, his tone just as indecipherable as his visage.

"Dad…" Skylar glanced between him and Osmond again, seeming torn.

"Just go upstairs, please," Governor Bernard insisted, wiping his fingers on his napkin, his eyes still locked on Osmond. "I'd like to speak to your friend alone."

Skylar gave Osmond a final glimpse before irritably marching out of the room.

No one spoke until they heard her footsteps slowly echo out of earshot up the rounded staircase beyond the wall.

Once Skylar was gone, the governor gave his two bodyguards a subtle nod.

Then, the two men in black marched around the table, encircling Osmond from both sides.

Osmond's heart skipped several beats—and his life flashed before his eyes, running from the prison and fleeing the apartments, the hundreds of drives to the Tennessee state lines, every meet-up with the crooks who'd buy his guns, the dark closet of the yellow trailer with the diamond door—and this was it. He was caught, and it was over; he'd be arrested and shipped back to the Ireville Correctional Facility with no hope of ever walking free again.

The men placed their hands on him—but they made no move to detain or handcuff him.

Instead, both of them began patting Osmond down from head to toe, frisking him thoroughly and almost invasively.

Osmond resisted the urge to let out a massively relieved cloud of breath, holding his hands upright as a sign of compliance. "Okay… that's fine, just… be careful. I have two firearms on my person. Feel free to take them."

The two bodyguards slid the baby uzis from Osmond's holsters, studying them briefly before placing them on the table, out of Osmond's reach. They pulled the spare mags from Osmond's pockets and scooted them across the table as well, and then, the skinnier of the two bodyguards pulled out Osmond's leather wallet.

As the bodyguards took turns reading the contents of the wallet, the governor eyed the uzis interestedly, intertwining his fingers and wearing a thoughtful expression.

"That'd an odd choice," Governor Bernard remarked, nodding at the guns. "Not standard issue for most in the personal protection business, by any means."

"Well, I just… I find that faster fire tends to be more efficient when lives are on the line," Osmond told him. "I've got a permit for those. Sorry, I probably should've disarmed before walking in here…"

"You should have," Governor Bernard agreed. "But, I do appreciate how straightforward you're being so far. Let's see where this goes. Take a seat, please."

The bodyguards stepped away from Osmond and returned to the governor's sides.

Osmond slowly sank into the seat across from the governor, inhaling another slow, deep breath and trying to force himself into a state of full composure.

The tension in the air seemed to double as the governor surveyed him intensely.

Osmond did his best to appear calm and confident, not knowing for sure if he was succeeding.

During this silence, Governor Bernard flipped his wallet open and began reading everything inside. Seconds later, he rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch, then turned to his butler.

"Sullivan—turn the living room TV on, please," the governor requested. "I'd like to watch the weather while we talk."

"I'm afraid the television is out of commission, sir," Sullivan replied. "It's showing only static. I've already called a repairman, and he'll be in tomorrow to figure out the problem."

"Damn. Well, all right, then," the governor sighed, returning his attention to the wallet.

Osmond's head went light again, thinking of the TV and the news broadcasts. He forced the thought away and kept his attention on the governor.

When the governor finished reading everything in the wallet, he placed it beside his dinner plate and met Osmond's eyes again.

"This is impressive," Governor Bernard commented, tapping on the wallet. "What's someone with your credentials doing hanging around in south Ireville? Just out of curiosity."

"Well… I found myself with a lot more free time after the Game Layer closed down," Osmond replied slyly. "It's an old hangout spot from my younger days. The Door's Knob, I mean. I spent a lot of time there even when I was employed. It's more of a sentimental place, I suppose. I know a lot of the regulars there. Including Skylar."

"I see." Governor Bernard enclosed his hands, pressing two fingers against his lips as he pondered. "Could you give me a detailed run-down of what happened last night? I couldn't get all the details out of my daughter. She's a bit hypomanic, as I'm sure you've noticed…"

"Right, well… when it got late, a lot of us were leaving the bar," Osmond told him. "Skylar went her own way, but I saw a few guys following her to her car, so I decided to step in. One of them got belligerent with her, so…"

"So you fought them off," the governor synopsized.

"Yes… still got the scars to prove it," Osmond replied with a breathless laugh, revealing his reddened knuckles and tapping the light-brown bruise on his jaw. "I hit the first guy, and he went down. The second guy came at me, and I tackled him, managed to pile-drive him before the third guy popped me one. He pulled out a blade and he nearly got me, but I just managed to disarm him before he could do any real harm. I knocked the wind out of the third guy, and Skylar and I hopped in the car after that. I got her out of there as fast as possible."

The governor nodded quietly as he listened. His eyes were now fixated on Osmond's hands.

"That's a lot of damage from a fist fight," Governor Bernard observed, nodding at his knuckles, which were still covered in tiny scars from his prison escape.

Osmond glanced at his hands, then let out another laugh. "Yes, well… the blade did a little harm, I'll admit. Better my hands than my throat."

"Fair point," Governor Bernard agreed. "It's impressive that you were able to handle all three of them singlehandedly."

"I've done it plenty of times in the past," Osmond replied truthfully, thinking of all the violent altercations he'd stepped into during his time as Anton's bouncer.

The governor nodded again, squinting at Osmond's head. "Are you wearing my butler's hat?"

Osmond gulped.

"Oh—pardon, sir," Sullivan spoke up, stepping toward the table. "I gave him that as a gift. It was the best gesture I could offer, after he assisted Miss Skylar."

"Oh, all right." Governor Bernard gave his butler a nod, leaning back in his seat.

Osmond resisted the temptation to give Sullivan a grateful glance. He didn't imagine that the butler would cover for him, but he was thankful for it nonetheless.

"Well… you have all the paperwork, all the experience, and all the proof," the governor disclosed. "So, I'll make this as brief and frank as possible. Mr. Williams, why do you believe you're the right person to look after my daughter?"

Osmond took in a stressed breath, trying to assess his thoughts faster than he'd ever had to before. If anyone would've asked Raymond Salem a question like this, he would've likely replied with the blunt truth—that he simply needed the money and the shelter, and he just needed a job to get by.

But he wasn't Raymond Salem anymore.

What would Osmond Williams say?

"Because… this job… is my absolute passion," Osmond began, straightening up, cupping his hands, and giving the governor a firm and confident stare. "I've done well to protect my previous client, and I'm confident I can protect your daughter even better. She's a close friend of mine, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I'd never let anything happen to her."

Governor Bernard paused for a moment, absorbing his words and wearing a deep, profound expression. Then, he let out a breath and sat fully upright, scooting his dinner plate away and returning Osmond's intense gaze.

"You know, Mr. Williams… a lot of people would say that your personal relationship with Skylar might compromise your judgment on the job," the governor stated. "But I wouldn't say so. Looking at you now—wearing that bruise, and those torn-up hands—I know you're passionate enough to do the job. You've proven that in a way few bodyguards would. You've already done the job before you were even hired."

Osmond listened in polite silence.

"If you can keep a level head, and if you prove yourself competent in the days to come… then, I'd say… you have a bright future ahead of you," Governor Bernard told him, flashing a smile for the first time tonight. "We'll see where this goes. I'll need you to write down the number of your previous client, and I'll be giving him a call. After that… I think it's safe to say… you've got the job."

Osmond leaned forward and gave him a grateful nod. "I appreciate you giving me this opportunity, sir."

Governor Bernard extended his hand over the table, giving Osmond's a firm shake. "Welcome to the family, Mr. Williams. We'll be keeping an eye on you—but, honestly, I think you'll do just fine here."

Sullivan supplied Osmond with a pen and a notepad, allowing him to write down Sam's contact information as the interview concluded.

"Let me escort you to your room, sir," Sullivan said, moving toward Osmond. "Unless you'd like some smoked salmon first."

"Oh, no—Sky fed me already," Osmond replied, standing and giving the governor a final smile and nod. "Thank you, sirs. Goodnight."

The governor's bodyguards took the liberty of returning Osmond's guns to their holsters before handing him his wallet and spare mags. Afterward, Governor Bernard gave Osmond his goodnights, and Sullivan led the newly hired bodyguard out of the room.

Osmond quietly followed the butler up the rounded staircase, the two of them wandering down the dark hallway of the second floor before reaching the final staircase. Halfway up the staircase, Sullivan suddenly stopped, turning to Osmond and giving him a stern stare.

"I do hope you'll uphold your position," Sullivan said seriously. "I don't know you well enough to trust you, but I do know you're very competent. Miss Skylar rests in your hands now."

"I'll guard her with my life," Osmond affirmed. "Thanks, Sullivan."

"Not at all, sir. Goodnight. Feel free to keep the room you used last night," Sullivan disclosed, turning away. "My room is just across the hall from Mr. Bernard's room on the second floor, if you need anything."

"Thanks. Night."

"Goodnight."

Sullivan spun on his heel and glided back down the stairs.

Osmond stared after him for a moment, then faced away and climbed the rest of the staircase, wandering up to the darkened third floor and revealing a wonderful smile as he did.

Everything seemed to go well—and thus far, he was in the clear.

As long as he stayed the course, everything would work out fine. This place—with its enormous halls and expensive dinners, giant bedrooms and the coziest beds known to mankind—this was his new life. So high he ascended, so very suddenly, and all just by chance. The mere thought of it was unreal, that he transformed from a poverty-stricken criminal who crawled his way into the business of gun-smuggling into a clean-cut, responsible, and well-qualified bodyguard, trusted to protect the governor's own daughter. Sam was right—most people didn't get a second chance, especially not one like this.

Words couldn't do Osmond's mood justice now. He felt as if he was floating up the stairs rather than walking, feeling positively high on life.

New life, new man, indeed.

When he reached the top, he spotted a figure standing in the darkness before him.

Skylar stood just outside of her bedroom in the middle of the hall, facing the staircase and giving Osmond a long, expectant look.

"Well?" Skylar asked, stepping toward him. "What happened?"

Osmond's smile grew as he approached her. He flicked his collar, strolled forward with a sense of swagger, and opened his arms in a presenting manner.

"Say hello to your new bodyguard, Miss Skylar."

Skylar beamed at him, leaping forward and trapping him in a quick hug.

Then, she led him into her bedroom and gestured to her game console, where she'd already started playing one of the games she'd purchased from Sam.

For a while, Osmond sat at the edge of her bed and played video games with her. They joked and laughed, until Osmond found himself winning each game. When he glanced to the side, he realized that Skylar had fallen asleep in the middle of the game, lying across the bed on her stomach, her arm dangling off the side, fingers still coiled loosely around her controller.

Osmond watched her peacefully for a moment before slowly reaching his feet. He pulled up her fluffy white blanket and folded it sideways, covering her up before turning off her bedroom's light and quietly slipping out of the room.

Rather than collapsing on the bed from fatigue and dwelling on a series of frightful recent memories—this time, when Osmond peacefully retired to his new bedroom, he felt much less out of place, as if he was truly welcome here, as if this room would be his home for many days to come. The room was dark, spacious, and comfortable, and he meandered inside and slid off his tie, scanning himself up and down in the mirror and admiring his new look yet again.

This was the life of Osmond Williams—a man so different from Raymond Salem, it could have boggled his mind.

The late summer breeze shifted his white curtains as he cracked the enormous window open, sparing the mirror another glance before removing his hat and sliding out of his suit jacket. He fell to his back atop the gigantic bed, spreading his arms and gazing into the ceiling fan, his white button-up now unbuttoned and allowing the fresh air to sweep over him, his bulletproof vest still fixed onto him tightly.

For a while, he merely gazed upward with a softened expression, his silver-gray eyes shining with profound contentment, feeling more comfortable than he thought possible in a place like this, a place so very different from all the homes he'd ever had in the past.

Strangely, he felt a pinch of guilt as he pondered on the recent events of his life. He didn't usually feel guilty for lying or breaking the law—throughout most of his life, it was a normal routine for him, his own way of surviving—but now, strangely, he didn't like the idea of acting that way anymore.

After all, that was a trademark routine for Raymond, not Osmond. He knew he had to lie to some degree—he couldn't spill out the uncensored truth, that he was an escaped convict who'd accidentally killed one of his best friends seven months ago—but the thought of lying to Governor Bernard put a sickened knot in his gut. It wasn't because of all the power the governor held, and it wasn't because Osmond feared being discovered or incarcerated.

No, it was simply because the man trusted Osmond with his own daughter's life.

Still—perhaps everything Osmond said during the interview didn't have to be a lie. Maybe this job truly could be his passion, and maybe he could make a living protecting others from now on rather than selfishly running illegal goods and selling them to the highest bidders. All his life, he lied, schemed, and stole to get ahead—but arriving in this marvelous place and being handed a wonderful new identity made him realize something; he didn't want to be that selfish, angry, and conniving person anymore.

Maybe—just maybe, during this new life—he would fashion himself into a decent person this time, and he would become the type of man who honestly deserved the great fortune he'd received. Perhaps redemption wasn't beyond his grasp, so long as he continued reaching for it.

After all—wasn't that the whole point of a fresh start?

-----

During the time when Osmond drifted off to sleep in the Bernard home—Sam had just closed up his pawn shop early, retiring to the back room alongside his friends and dealing out a fresh hand of poker cards.

It was a slow night on Eastern Avenue—one of the nights Sam would always take advantage of. Gambling on poker sometimes earned him more money than any pawn shop business on a slow day, and beyond that, he and his friends had much to discuss.

Ever since the incarceration of Raymond Salem, Sam took on the task left behind by Osmond—leading the gun-running business and calling the shots. It wasn't the most stressful job in the world, especially for an illegal profession, but he and his friends felt that would likely change soon, judging from the Acardi-related gossip they'd been hearing as of late.

Carlos, Anton, and Mack were seated in a crooked circle around his old table in the back, taking their cards and surveying them silently. Cigarettes smoldered slowly in the middle of the table, where the ashtray sat half-full of cigarette butts, everyone's beers still cold after being popped open only minutes ago.

Mack was easily the largest, a six-foot-four southerner with a giant bushy beard. Carlos was nearly the same monstrous size, a severe-looking Mexican with numerous tattoos up and down each arm, a thin black mustache curling around his mouth and bleeding into his stubble, his long dark hair tied in a ponytail and lying over his back. Anton was about the same size as Sam, but just a bit taller, his cocoa skin mostly covered by a hoodie, a black bandana wrapped around his bald head.

Just after passing out the cards and shuffling the deck a second time, Sam prepared to take his seat—but the phone in his jean pocket began to vibrate before he could.

He sighed, reaching into his pocket and preparing to turn the phone off—but then, he hesitated, suddenly remembering what Osmond had told him earlier.

He might get a call from a very important person soon, and that was a call he needed to take.

Swallowing another sigh, Sam held up a finger to his friends, then pulled out his phone and marched out of the room.

The shop was empty, the sun having set outside. He stared at the screen of his smartphone, seeing that the call came from a restricted number. He then paced up and down the narrow space between his pawn shop's counter and the shelves behind it, letting the phone ring a few times before answering.

"This is Samuel," Sam answered formally, making a caustic face as he paced, half-expecting the call to be from another ally out of state, or perhaps a member of the Acardi family. Those were usually the source of calls from untraceable numbers—criminals looking to talk business.

But there was no criminal on the line—it was a voice he'd heard a few times on TV, the voice of the governor of Tennessee.

"Sam, this is Curtis Bernard," the governor spoke from the phone.

Sam stopped pacing, sparing his phone a surprised glance before holding it to his ear again. He knew to expect this call, but it was somewhat shocking nonetheless.

"The governor?" Sam asked, knowing full well the answer.

"Yes, Governor Bernard," the governor responded. "I'm calling because you're listed as a reference for Osmond Williams. You were his last client, as I understand it."

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," Sam nodded and began pacing again. "He's excellent at what he does. Honestly. Couldn't ask for a better meat shiel… haha… bodyguard. He's a great bodyguard."

Just then—Carlos, Anton, and Mack all leaned out of the back room, hearing the word governor and perking up with interest.

They all eyed Sam questioningly, and he gestured for them to remain quiet.

"How long did he work for you?" Governor Bernard inquired.

"About two years, give or take. I had to let him go when I stopped getting record deals. Oh, he did save me from a drunk at a concert once. This dude with a broken beer bottle tried to rush the stage and come at me, but Osmond tackled him and restrained him in a second flat. He's real good. Real good."

"I see. Any regrets?"

"What, with the music career or the bodyguard? Because the career sank like a brick, but the bodyguard was my best decision during that whole failed fiasco of a career."

"Ah, that's good to hear. The part about the bodyguard, I mean."

Sam let out a laugh. "Anything else you need to know, Governor?"

"No, no, not right now. I might call you again tomorrow with some follow-up questions, but I think I'm satisfied for the time being," Governor Bernard said conclusively. "Have a good night."

"You too. Don't let the politics ruin the rest of your summer."

"Absolutely, I won't. Goodbye."

"Seeya."

Sam hung up and slid his phone into his pocket casually, turning to his friends as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Carlos, Anton, and Mack all exchanged faces, then gave Sam a stare as if they'd never seen anything like him before.

"What the hell was 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 about?" Mack asked.

"Homie—when the fuck did you start getting calls from the goddamn 𝘨𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘳?" Anton breathed in disbelief.

"Since when do you know any bodyguards?" Carlos questioned, narrowing his dark eyes strangely at Sam. "Why's the governor calling you?"

Sam maintained his usual detached and sarcastic expression, though now, he was flashing a faint smirk. "Because Ray-Ray's making it big out there, long story short. He's working for the governor now, and he needed a reference—so if anyone asks, I used to be a shitty underground rock star with a narrow-faced bodyguard. All right?"

The three of them traded confused glances again. Sam laughed.

"I thought Ray-Ray was on the run," Anton said in a hushed voice, wiping his nose and giving the pawn shop's entrance a wary glimpse. "What, you heard from him?"

"Yeah—he came by today. Dude has undergone a transformation, lemme tell you," Sam snickered. "Looks like a completely different person. He has a whole new look, new name, new creds—hell, he's even got a new walk. He's really not the same guy anymore."

"How'd he end up working for the damn governor?" Carlos exhaled, sounding astonished. "He's on the run, and he ends up with a government job?"

"He met the governor's daughter, just by chance. She wanted to hire him, so he came by here and got the creds he needed," Sam explained. "Me and Orlando had to pull that shit off in record time today—but it's gonna be worth it. This is gonna help cover our ass as much as his. Plus, I am gonna get 𝘱𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘪𝘥…"

"He got a new name, too?" Mack wondered.

"No—Raymond wasn't his real name, apparently," Sam told them. "He's using his birth name nowadays. Long story. The point is, we don't have to take in an escaped con—he gets to start a new life with a kickass job—and to top it all off, we have a friend working closely with the owner of the Kevron Company. So, if Mr. Bodyguard hears any interesting gossip that might affect our business, he's gonna whisper that shit our way. You follow me? It's a win-win-win."

They all nodded, seeming to understand.

"My boy workin' at Kevron hasn't heard anything yet," Anton told Sam. "But he only works with the labor motherfuckers on the bottom floor, so he's probably not gonna hear much. All I know is somebody from the Acardi family's been workin' at Kevron for the past ten months or so, and he crawled his way up the ranks inside that motherfucker. I think he's an executive manager now, or some shit like that…"

"Fuck. You got all this info, but you never got his first name?" Sam griped. "Who the fuck taught these dipshits how to gossip? It'd be a lot easier if we knew which one of the Acardis was working there. We'd know who to keep an eye on."

"This shit ain't good, man," Mack grumbled, glaring downward and stroking his beard. "If he's a manager in that company now, that gives him more control. The more control he has, the easier it's gonna be for him to scrape a little merchandise off the top of Kevron's good shit."

"And once they have a regular flow of ammunition, they're gonna come for the gun business next," Sam growled, wearing a deep grimace. "Which means they're gonna be our fucking enemies in a second flat. We have all the connections—all the hookups—and if the Acardis wanna start doing the same business as us, they'd have to squeeze us out in order to make that work. They'd have to take over."

"Hey—my cousin said he bought some ammo off an Italian vato a few days ago. I just heard about that earlier today," Carlos informed. "If that Italian fucker was an Acardi, then they've already got some ammunition flowing."

"Fuck. Fuck…" Sam clasped his eyes shut and massaged his temples, utterly stressed now. "Then they're gonna move in on us any 𝘥𝘢𝘺 now…"

"Oooh shit," Anton murmured, patting Sam's arm and pointing across the shop. "Speak of the devil, and they'll fuckin' appear…"

Sam wheeled around and followed his trail of vision.

He, Anton, Carlos, and Mack all spotted a group of suited men standing outside of the pawn shop's glass doors.

There were four of them, and three of them wore white suits and shirts. The fourth wore a black suit, and he stood at the head of the crowd, his short black hair combed forward, his bangs just barely tenting over his dark, deadened eyes. The leader—the man in black—had a long tribal tattoo crawling up the left side of his neck, a tattoo Sam instantly recognized, a trademark of the banished Acardi leader.

Sam stared at the doors, releasing a long, distressed sigh.

The Acardi leader tapped gently on the door, wearing a large silver ring that hit loudly against the glass. He met Sam's eyes and raised his brows expectantly, as if waiting for the doors to magically open before him.

Sam traded glances with his friends before moving across the shop, unlocking the glass doors and allowing the Acardis to enter.

The leader in black sauntered inside, followed by two men in white who looked completely identical, down to the reflective sunglasses and the dark blonde, slicked-back hair. The twins stopped at either side of the leader in black, and behind them was the largest man of the group, a large stocky man with a rounded, ovular face, folding his arms and making his white suit crinkle under the force of his meaty arms. All four Acardis wore identical silver rings on their fingers.

"Ricardo," Sam said, giving the leader in black a nod.

"Sam," the leader—Ricardo—replied with a two-fingered salute. "It's been a while. Haven't dropped by in months."

Sam said nothing, pocketing his hands and waiting for further explanation for their arrival. Carlos, Anton, and Mack all slowly inched out from behind the counter, gathering behind Sam in a manner similar to Ricardo's followers.

Each group spent nearly a full minute merely examining one another, a palpable tension spreading throughout the pawn shop's atmosphere.

"Yeah… it has been a while," Sam said with a thoughtful nod, cocking his head and giving Ricardo a curious squint. "I was beginning to wonder."

"Oh yeah?" Ricardo smirked interestedly. "Wonder about what?"

"Wondering where your business is if it's not with me," Sam said grimly. "Why the breach of routine? Use to be, you'd swing through Ireville and meet up with me. You'd get your guns, and you wouldn't stay in town for longer than a week. Tops."

"Oh, now… don't get all personal on me," Ricardo muttered ominously, wearing a smile that didn't look much like a smile at all. "I've got some things moving. Broadening my horizons, so to speak. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Sam's eyes narrowed into slits.

Ricardo maintained his empty smile as they shared another tense stare.

"I'm just curious. It affects my income when one of my biggest buyers stops buying," Sam told him. "What's the deal? What, your father doesn't want my guns anymore?"

"My father and I aren't working together anymore," Ricardo replied, his vacant smile weakening just the slightest bit. "He has different ideals of how to conduct business, so… he's gonna keep running things up north while I do the same elsewhere."

"Sounds like you fucked up and he kicked your ass to the curb," Sam replied with a dry laugh.

Ricardo glared at him, now harboring no hint of a smile whatsoever.

Sam tried to play it off, smirking in a friendly sort of way, though it still appeared somewhat sarcastic. "Listen, buddy—I just don't like the things I've been hearing. No offense to you or your family, but things work differently here. This isn't New York, this isn't Vegas, and this isn't LA. This isn't some giant war zone of crime families trying to strong-arm money and power away from each other—this is just a simple place with a fixed routine. It works for everybody. It works for me, it works for you, and it works for everyone else who buys and sells. So, when somebody starts acting like they wanna 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 the routine and fuck everything 𝘶𝘱 for everyone, that bothers me. It's my responsibility to keep this shit running."

"Is it?" Ricardo queried, giving him an odd stare. "I thought it was your buddy Ray-Ray's job. Oh, no… that's right… he got busted like a goddamn amateur. I'm surprised you fucking people are allowed to handle toy guns, much less real ones. You and your little buddies can't compare to us. We actually know what we're doing. If you spent a single day trying to run this same business in New York, you'd know what I mean."

"The south is a freer place, brother," Sam remarked. "When it comes to guns, anyway. I don't need to know your way of doing business—you know why? Because your way doesn't 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 here. Ireville has its own routine, and I'd advise you to leave it the fuck alone."

"Well, friend… I came here to advise you to do just the opposite," Ricardo glowered, taking a fearless step toward him, his dark eyes burning angrily. "Because when shit starts changing around here, it would be in your best interest to back away quietly. If you wanna keep drawing breath on this planet after the fact."

Sam let out a caustic laugh, perking his brow and giving Ricardo an amused look. "Is that a threat? Ric, your family's big, but they're not the grand majority. You really think you're gonna force all us homebodies out of business? Are you familiar with the ol' southern saying, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺? You're not from here. You're not part of us. And you're sure as 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 not gonna grab any kind of 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 here."

Ricardo flashed another small, emotionless smile.

Carlos was hovering angrily over Sam's shoulder like a dog ready to pounce, Mack and Anton doing the same close behind.

Ricardo's followers—the burly man and the twins—had inched forward as well, glaring into Sam's friends and waiting for an altercation that might or might not transpire.

"Tell me something, Sam," Ricardo muttered in a low, grave tone. "What good is a gun without a bullet?"

Sam stared at him, rearing back slightly and not replying, his eyes sparkling with realization.

Yes, Sam and his friends ran guns—they had more firearms than they knew what to do with half the time—but ammunition was in much shorter supply.

The same couldn't be said for Ricardo Acardi—that is, if the Acardis succeeded in siphoning ammunition out of the Kevron Company.

If the Acardis had access to the Kevron's ammunition, it would certainly tip the scales in their favor. Perhaps Sam had numbers and homebodies on his side—but Ricardo was in the process of obtaining all the firepower he'd need for a hostile takeover, and that would bring nothing good for Sam and his friends in Ireville.

"I don't wanna kill you, Sam—but I will if you're still standing in my way." Ricardo spared Sam a final serious glare before turning on his heel, preparing to take his leave. "Do yourselves a favor and get out while you can. This is your only warning. You're not getting a second chance."

Sam stared into the back of his head, releasing a scoffing laugh. "I'm not the kind of guy who needs a second chance. My first chance is more than enough to work with, 𝘸𝘰𝘱 𝘣𝘰𝘺."

Ricardo froze at the door, his back still facing Sam. The twins in white traded glances from behind their sunglass lenses, and the burly man gave Sam a searing glare.

Then, Ricardo slowly turned, peering over his shoulder and meeting Sam's eyes again. "Now, that was uncalled for."

"Welcome to the neighborhood," Sam smirked, tossing his hands out and snickering. "You don't like it, go the fuck back where you came from."

"You boast about the south as if it's the best place in the world… even to defend your little racist remarks," Ricardo growled, turning fully and facing Sam once more. "All the while, you're standing with a n!gger and a sp!c like they're your equals. I just find that a little fucking weird."

"You wanna say that shit again, bitch?" Anton snarled, stepping forward and rounding on Ricardo. "Say that again—I 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 you, motherfucker."

Sam's arm shot out and held Anton back. Carlos tried to advance forward, and Sam jutted out his other arm, nudging Carlos and Anton away as they seethed furiously at Ricardo. Mack helped to keep Anton and Carlos from leaping into a fight, clasping each of their jackets from behind and keeping a viselike hold on them.

Ricardo's men reached into their jackets and prepared to draw their weapons—and Sam slowly raised his hands, giving Ricardo a firm look.

"No, no… come on, now," Sam uttered cautiously, gently motioning for Ricardo's men to hold their fire. "Let's all just… calm down."

"Why?" Ricardo sneered, sauntering forward and smoothly sliding a handgun out of his own jacket. "You seem really insistent on getting the last word—so go ahead. You can have the last word. Make it count, though—because they're gonna be your 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 last words."

Ricardo stopped less than a foot away, brushing the barrel of his gun against Sam's stomach.

Another horrid wave of tension exploded through the silence following his menacing words.

Anton and Carlos were hopping mad, lingering over each of Sam's shoulders and baring their teeth, their hands in their pockets, ready to draw. Mack kept a firm grasp of the two of them, keeping them from advancing any further, and Ricardo's men were all ready to draw their guns as well.

Sam's arms were held low, but slightly outstretched, continuing to hold his friends back as he returned Ricardo's cold stare in full.

"It'd be a lot easier to just nip this shit in the bud right now," Ricardo hissed, pressing the gun firmer into Sam's abdomen. "To just kill you and be done with it… and to just go ahead and get you out of the fucking way. But, unfortunately for me, that's not the plan. Because, see, up north, we actually 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 things. That's how this is supposed to work. What you're doing—it's just a bunch of country boys playing gangster, and it's a fucking insult to me. You're a goddamn insect compared to me—you understand?"

Sam said nothing, his head raised, eyes burning into Ricardo's.

"I don't think you heard me. You are a goddamn insect compared to me. Do you understand?" Ricardo repeated, forcing the barrel of the pistol even deeper into Sam's stomach. "Tell me you under—"

𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘢-𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Ricardo sighed and swiftly stuffed his gun back into his jacket.

Behind Ricardo and his gang, a skinny young man had opened the pawn shop's door, leaning halfway inside and giving Sam a questioning look.

"Hey, you still open?" the young man asked, unaware of the severity of the situation inside. A couple more newcomers lingered outside behind him, and they all stood on the sidewalk just outside the pawn shop, wanting to enter the store and browse the aisles.

Sam glanced at the new arrivals, then back at Ricardo. The two of them shared a wordless message through heated eye contact, and then, Ricardo prepared to leave a second time.

"Yeah—we're still open," Sam confirmed, nodding at the young man and his friends. "Come on in. We're open until ten tonight."

The young man nodded and led his three friends inside. They walked past the Acardis, examining the electronics section.

Ricardo paused at the door, giving Sam a final glare.

"Get out while you can," Ricardo growled warningly. "Like I said—no second chances."

At that, Ricardo pushed the doors open with a ching-a-ling, and he and his gang finally marched out of the shop.

The new customers continued chattering and browsing the shop mindlessly, not feeling the leftover tension after the Acardi confrontation.

Sam lowered his arms completely, relaxing his shoulders and releasing a massive cloud of breath. He, Anton, Carlos, and Mack continued fuming at the glass double-doors long after Ricardo and his gang left eyeshot.

Moments later, Sam flashed an expression that was unlike his usual visage, one completely void of any sarcasm. He glared at the doors severely, exhaling an angry breath and mumbling a last, furious utterance.

"No second chances needed, bitch. Not for me."