Chapter 3: Lena

I feel him before I see or hear him. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands on end, warning me that a predator is near. I force myself to continue scanning the single person meals that Theresa, our chef and general housekeeper, made and stored in the fridge.

Of course, Luis is not one to be ignored. Seconds after I sense his presence a hand lands on the door next to my head, slamming it shut in my face. I'm forced to jump back or get a body part slammed in the fridge. My back brushes against him and I jerk around to face him, pressing myself against the fridge.

His scent assails me, masculine, clean. He's taken a shower recently. My gaze drifts to his long silky black hair, left loose to dry around his shoulders.

"Midnight snack?" he asks, his voice a sarcastic sneer.

I rarely eat at regular times and never with the family, unless we're at a function where it's necessary for me to eat with Manuel. I don't eat with the other staff either. Most of them don't know that I'm not Manuel's girlfriend. They don't treat me like family, but they don't treat me like one of them either.

"It's only eleven." I don't know why I say this. I'm not trying to contradict Luis, but he unbalances me. I try to avoid conversations with him whenever possible, because he takes pleasure in tormenting me.

He snorts his derision and moves back a few inches, dropping his arm away. I'm torn. Part of me craves his warmth, his scent, wants to lean forward, into him. The smarter, more life preserving part of me understands what a bad move that would be. Despite the time of night, the security of the house and the relaxed atmosphere surrounding Luis, he still carries a weapon. His gun is holstered against his side, under his armpit, where he can easily and quickly reach for it if need be. I know exactly how deadly accurate Luis is, having seen him on the range and having heard rumors of his victims.

My own weapon is under my shirt, in my back holster. I don't know who the quicker draw is. It doesn't matter. I couldn't bring myself to kill Luis, and I wouldn't dare to try anyway.

"Why don't you eat with my father?" his lip curls in disgust, the way it always does when he mentions his father and me in the same sentence.

"We eat separately," I answer simply.

"Why?" he demands, unwilling to let it go.

I shift away from him, pressing my ass against the counter behind me as I move. "Manuel prefers it that way."

The ever-present anger surfaces at my use of Manuel's given name, a critical part of my disguise as his girlfriend, a concession not given to any of the other staff. Manuel has gotten me into the habit of calling him by his first name so I don't accidentally screw up in public.

"He does, does he?" Luis sneers.

I edge further away. Screw supper, my appetite is lost anyway.

"If you'll excuse me." It comes out in a mousy whisper and I nearly roll my eyes at myself. For some reason this man steals any backbone I have when he comes near me.

"No, Lena," he drawls my name out. "I don't excuse you."

I stand stock still, waiting for his inevitable tirade. He doesn't fail to spew his usual vitriol my way. He takes the few steps separating us and gets right in my face, his finger pointed at the base of my neck, though he's careful not to touch me. He hasn't touched me since our dance more than a week ago.

"You're nothing but a cheap whore who thinks she can fuck her way into my home. I don't know what back alley brothel my father picked you up in, but when he's finally done with you, I'll take the price of two years room and board out of your ass and dump you right back where you came from." His hard eyes sweep over me, making it painfully clear he finds me lacking.

"Bodyguard," he spits.

My heart shatters at his brutal words. The way it shatters every time he's spoken to me this way for the past few years. Luis is a cruel man and I am nothing but a target to him.

He jerks the fridge door open, reaches in and grabs the first Tupperware container he touches. He shoves it at me. I take it quickly before it can fall to the floor. He pulls his hand away as though burnt.

"Eat something," he snarls and stalks from the kitchen.

I don't pause, don't warm the food up. I turn and run from the room, all the way up the stairs and back into my bedroom. The only place in the house I know is completely safe. No man enters my space.

I sit on the edge of my bed, shaking, head in my hands. His words are poisonous barbs, meant to draw blood. But they hit a little too close to home for comfort. Does he know about my past? Is that why he hates me so much?

I nearly jump right off the bed when a heavy fist hits my bedroom door. I realize who it is right away. Only two people come to my room looking for me, Theresa, whose knock is soft and Manuel, who has a heavier, more decisive hand.

I jerk the door open and find my boss standing on the other side, his dark gaze troubled. I know what he's here for. The only thing he wants from me at this time of night.

"Manuel?" I ask softly.

"Meet me in the gym," he says shortly and walks swiftly away.

The command to meet Manuel in the gym is not an unusual one. Nights seem to be when he prefers working off some steam, and I'm usually up. I disarm and change into a pair of bike shorts and a tank top. I run down the stairs and down the hall on the main floor, entering the gym first. Over the years I've learned that Manuel despises waiting, so I make sure I'm quick and always ready to go when he is.

I take my place on the mat and wait. Manuel arrives moments later wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a T-shirt. He kicks his shoes off and stands opposite me. He nods and I take my stance, legs spread, slightly apart, hands up, fists clenched. Manuel will expect full effort; if I hold back, he'll pummel me into the ground. I've learned this the hard way.

Without warning, Manuel launches himself at me, aiming a fist at my head and a sweeping kick toward my knees. I dance backward, blocking the fist with my forearm. Before he can launch another attack, I dance to the side and aim a fist at his side. He absorbs the impact with a grunt but moves quickly away before I can follow my first hit with a second.

We spar for 45 minutes, Manuel taking the brunt of my attacks. Although, when I lose attention for a single second, he does get one solid hit to my chest, throwing me on my back. I move quickly, rolling away from the kick he aims at my ribs. I grip him around the ankles and fling my leg up, wrapping it around his and causing his knees to buckle.

He hits the mat hard beside me. I quickly roll on top of him, sending an elbow into his throat, then pulling his arm between my legs, twisting it into an arm bar. He struggles for a few seconds and then slams his hand into the mat.

I release him immediately, rolling back and up onto my knees. I concentrate on my breathing while watching Manuel. He'll let me know if he wants to keep going. After a moment, when we've both caught our breath, he shakes his head, indicating our sparring session has reached an end. I climb to my feet and offer him a hand.

"You need someone who can match you," Manuel grunts, climbing heavily to his knees. "Not an old man."

I rub the middle of my chest where he managed to connect a solid hit. "You punch pretty hard for an old man."

He smirks. "You wouldn't have stood a chance if we'd done this twenty years ago."

Manuel wouldn't have taken on a woman twenty years ago. I don't say it out loud, but it's the truth. Manuel has told me himself that women are meant for one thing only. The defection of his wife doesn't help his opinion. Though, his views on women seem to have mellowed with age.

"You should spar with Luis." Manuel reaches for his water bottle and chugs half of it in one go. "It would be interesting to see who comes out on top."

I remain silent, quietly waiting for my dismissal. A sparring session between Luis and myself will never happen.

"You don't agree," Manuel says bluntly, reading me as well as he always does when I don't reply to his comments.

I let out a small sigh and shake my head. "Luis doesn't spar with women."

"He would make an exception if I ordered him."

I lift alarmed eyes, silently asking Manuel to drop the idea. If he orders Luis to spar with me, I will get hurt. Luis won't pull his punches, he'll allow his anger to override the point of the exercise and destroy me. Even if I am a match or better than Luis, I won't be able to fight back the way I need to if he comes after me with murderous intent. He is my boss's son.

"One day you'll have to learn to work with my son. Find a way past his anger and you'll discover a fair and loyal man."

I remain silent, looking down at my feet. Seconds pass, ticking by with painful slowness.

Finally, Manuel releases me. "You may go." Before I reach the door, his soft voice calls out, "Sleep well, Lena."

I frown as I climb the stairs up to my bedroom. Manuel doesn't cross the line with me. Ever. Not even to wish me well, or a good night. His small moment of affection feels strangely significant.