The High Life

As time passed, Osmond grew accustomed to his new lifestyle.

It was something unlike anything he could've dreamed of achieving in the past—a life of levity mixed with formality, a life of traveling at the whim of a fun spontaneous girl and dining on the most expensive dinners Sullivan could prepare.

Anytime Osmond found himself outside of the house and alone with Skylar, the two of them were likely one of two places—either doing volunteer work somewhere, or partying in a bar or club. The two experiences were fairly contrasting; when Skylar first took Osmond to a soup kitchen, he merely stood against the wall with his hands cupped, watching as Skylar worked calmly alongside a few other volunteers, all of them wearing hairnets and handing out trays of food to the homeless and poverty-stricken. However, the first time Skylar took him to The Queen's Hive—an expensive club in north Ireville—she danced, sang, drank, and partied like mad, even once dragging Osmond onto the dance floor and forcing him to partake.

He didn't mind, as he quite enjoyed the fun of the job, but he found her routine somewhat strange. Skylar seemed to have no regard for any real jobs or plans for her future; she spent most of her time helping the less fortunate by day and partying insanely by night. He'd never met anyone like her before. Skylar Bernard was an anomaly, to say the least.

During their time together, as summer faded into a chilly autumn, Osmond became familiar with everything about the Bernard house—although, the longer he spent in the home, the less willing he became to call it a house. It was more like a poor man's paradise—a mansion containing a gym, an indoor pool, a garden within a glass enclosure in the backyard, and even a game room, which contained a pool table, dart boards, and even an old Pacman machine that looked like it had been liberated from the 1980s. Whenever Skylar didn't feel like leaving the house, Osmond often occupied his time in the game room, sometimes visiting the gym and occasionally walking in on Skylar's exercises.

The first time he found Skylar in the gym, she was hanging from a pull-up bar, her legs wrapped around it, outstretching upside-down and wearing only gym shorts and a sports bra. Osmond remembered that instance clearly—in fact, he thought about it more often than he probably should—and he remembered marching out of the gym seconds afterward, running his hands down his face and swallowing every excited urge that came to mind, shaking his head and releasing an agitated breath as he did.

But, sometime after this instance—and, after Skylar purchased him a new smartphone, the largest and most expensive phone he'd ever owned—he found himself alone in the gym on a fairly regular basis.

Osmond decided to take this job more seriously than any job he'd ever had—and that was saying something. Whenever he was alone, he'd watch Youtube videos and scroll over protection instructions on his phone, partaking in a few online courses that were meant to teach the basics of being a bodyguard. He read several hundred pages of material, learning all about checking cars for bombs and securing questionable locations before allowing Skylar to enter them. Once at nighttime, he even snuck out of the house to inspect Skylar's Mustang just for practice, holding his smartphone with one hand and using the other to bend down in the driveway. He inspected every inch of the car's hidden nooks, following the video's instructions to the last detail. He often fell asleep watching these instructional videos, and he also regularly propped his phone against the gym's wall, watching the videos while he practiced all the moves he'd learned from the internet, occasionally stopping to hit the punching bag or to lift some weights. His slender body grew a bit more toned in the days to come, his muscles hardening, and he spent most of his downtime mulling over everything he'd learned, sometimes rehearsing it under his breath when no one was around.

During this time—thankfully—nothing about Raymond Salem burdened his new life at all.

The day a repairman came to inspect the cable, he discovered the severed cable cord and began working to fix it right away.

Osmond remembered standing behind the repairman as he fidgeted with the cords in the garage, folding his arms and keeping a close eye on the stranger.

"No offense, but I'm supposed to keep an eye on anyone on the property," Osmond remembered telling the repairman. "Not trying to hover over your shoulder or anything."

"You're fine, you're fine," the repairman had replied. "I think it's good to go. Got the basic package, here…"

Osmond narrowed his eyes at the repairman when he heard this. "Basic package? This is the governor's house, man. Why don't they get all the good channels?"

"Well, I don't know… the governor's almost never home, according to the butler in there," the repairman remarked. "Plus, y'know… everyone's on the internet now. Most people just watch Netflix. No need for six-hundred channels that nobody's gonna bother watching."

"Fair point… but I know for a fact I'd watch 'em," Osmond smirked, sparking an idea. "Especially to get some relevant news. Do you watch the news? It's all just biased garbage."

The repairman laughed and nodded in agreement. "You got that right…"

"Hey." Osmond leaned down next to him, lowering his voice and giving him a mischievous half-smile. "You think you could hook us up with the full package this time around? This is the governor and his family, here. Not to mention, I know Sullivan still watches TV. I've never once seen him use the internet. He and I could use a little extra entertainment, plus some different kinds of news outlets other than the shitty mainstream ones. Y'know?"

The repairman hesitantly agreed to supply the Bernard home with all the extra channels free of charge, and later that day, Osmond was sure to turn the living room's television on just when Sullivan marched into the room. He switched to a non-local news station, a strange channel filled with alternative media like he'd never seen before, which—as he hoped and predicted—wasn't covering anything related to Ireville at all.

Sullivan slowed to a stop behind the couch, eyeing the TV curiously. "I don't believe I've ever seen this station before."

"Nope. The cable guy hooked us up this time," Osmond smirked in response. "If you want the real international news, just watch channel 139. It's a lot more straightforward than the crap on the regular news. Just gives you the basic news and the weather for every region, no crazy controversial nonsense. Well, not as much, anyway."

"Really," Sullivan mumbled interestingly, stroking his chin and observing the TV. "I certainly like the sound of that."

Osmond resisted the urge to plaster on a devilish grin.

His plan worked; in the days and weeks to follow, Sullivan watched only the news on channel 139, which never once covered any Ireville-related news, aside from the weather on the east coast. And Governor Bernard—despite rarely ever returning home—would sometimes watch the news on channel 139 as well. Sullivan advised the governor to watch the non-local news when he came home a week after the cable was fixed, and after that, no one in the Bernard household watched any news aside from channel 139.

Which, as Osmond planned, kept any of them from seeing the face of Raymond Salem on their TV screens.

But this concern was fading away; nowadays, the news of Raymond Salem's escape was no longer a hot topic of discussion amid the town. After a few weeks of police searching for the escaped convict and the media covering his story, a new story about a reputed mobster took over the local news, and Raymond Salem became nothing more than a distant memory. The police searches slowly dwindled, and by the time October came around, south Ireville was no longer being swarmed and invaded by the cops.

This gave Sam and his friends much more freedom to run their business, despite being confronted and threatened by Ricardo Acardi weeks prior.

Osmond didn't dare try to contact Sam again until he was certain enough time had passed. After he opened his new bank account and received his first payment from Governor Bernard—a payment that sent a shudder down his spine, as he'd never been paid so handsomely before—he was quick to wire a large sum of the money to Sam and Orlando, just as he'd promised. Aside from that payment, he had no contact with Sam in the weeks that followed his interview.

And it wasn't due to Sam's lack of trying; throughout south Ireville, he put all his friends on alert, hoping to find some kind of contact information for Osmond and inform him of Ricardo's threatening confrontation, but all to no avail. He had no way of contacting Osmond as of now.

Meanwhile—during Osmond's first two months of the high life—he felt as if it was finally time to contact Sam again.

The day before Halloween, he decided to take the necessary steps to do so. He knew he could simply call Sam—but he also knew that he was working a high-profile job now, and he had no clue if his phone was compromised somehow. He wanted to ensure that his phone conversations couldn't be overheard, and that his phone's location couldn't be tracked. Osmond had already downloaded a wide variety of apps that hid his internet searches and wiped his phone's history on a regular basis, but that wasn't enough anymore. There was only one person who could reprogram the phone in the ways he needed.

Anton, the owner of The Door's Knob, didn't look the part of a technical genius—but he knew his way around technology, especially phones, laptops, and any other devices that sold for a fair price. He knew how to wipe them, jailbreak them, and equip them against hackers and eavesdroppers better than anyone else Osmond had ever met.

So—the morning before Halloween—he awoke with a plan to drive into south Ireville.

He'd drop by The Door's Knob during the day—the slow shift, when Anton was working behind the counter—and he'd have his old friend fix his phone for him briefly before taking Skylar where ever she wanted to go.

To the best of his knowledge, he didn't know of any soup kitchens or food banks she planned to visit today, so there'd be plenty of time for Anton to get the job done.

Osmond dressed in his new usual attire—a dark suit, white undershirt, blue tie, Kevlar vest underneath it all, and the bowler hat placed slightly crookedly atop his head. He double-checked his guns, slid them into their holsters beneath the jacket of his suit, and sauntered out of his bedroom, ready to find Skylar and hit the road.

When he peeked into Skylar's bedroom, he found it empty. Thinking she must've been downstairs eating breakfast with Sullivan, he ventured down the staircase and made his way to the bottom floor—but the moment he entered the spacious room at the front of the house, he stopped dead, surprised to see Governor Bernard and four of his bodyguards standing near the front door.

The governor was speaking with Skylar and Sullivan, and Osmond overheard the word Halloween amidst their conversation. He slowly approached them, and Skylar spotted him, grinning and waving him over.

"Oz, come'ere," Skylar beamed, seeming excited. "Come'ere!"

Osmond stopped a couple feet away, Skylar pulling him closer, and Governor Bernard gave him a nod and a handshake.

"Governor, nice to see you again," Osmond said. "I wasn't expecting you home today."

"No, me either—I just had to stop by and grab some files I forgot," Governor Bernard replied. "I have to take care of a few things before the party. We're all on for tomorrow, yes?"

"Party…?" Osmond mumbled, totally lost.

"I told you about the party!" Skylar exclaimed, smacking his arm. Then, she paused and made a thoughtful face. "Oh, wait… no I didn't…"

"Skylar," Governor Bernard sighed. "Your bodyguard needs to know where you plan to be at all times. You need to keep him informed."

"I forgot," Skylar grumbled, pouting at her father. "Sorry, your majesty…"

"It's an annual thing at Kevron Corp," Governor Bernard explained to Osmond. "We have a Halloween party every year, and Skylar and I always make an appearance. It's a huge event, loads of fun, and you'll meet a lot of the people running the company, too. Oh, and food. Plenty of food."

Osmond laughed and nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Excellent, excellent. Skylar—are you inviting your friends again?" the governor asked.

"Why bother," Skylar snarked. "They always invite themselves, unless something better comes up. Then, they're nowhere to be found…"

"Osmond, have you met her friends?" Governor Bernard wondered. "Veronica and Chelsea."

"Not yet," Osmond answered. "Sky's tried to make plans with them a few times, but…"

"They always cancel," Skylar groaned. "Because they suck."

"Oh, now, don't be like that." Governor Bernard gave his daughter a pat on the arm. "Your friends all have things to do, Skylar. They're not as available as you are. You can't hold that against them."

"Pfft—yeah right," Skylar scoffed. "Veronica works like three days a week, and Chelsea's been unemployed for—"

"It doesn't matter," the governor interrupted. "They're your friends, and you always have fun with them. You never seem to have a problem with them until they're out of your direct line of sight."

"That's because I never get to 𝘴𝘦𝘦 them again after they 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦," Skylar griped.

Osmond glanced at her, suddenly remembering their conversation during the first night he escorted her to a drive-thru.

Skylar was a fun and generous soul, but beneath that, a fairly lonely one. It seemed her biggest issue with her friends was their neglect to make time for her.

"Well—one way or another, you need to be there tomorrow, which means you need to keep Osmond informed about your plans," Governor Bernard synopsized. "You can't afford to miss Kevron events, and you know that."

Skylar frowned at her father.

Osmond glimpsed subtly between the two of them.

Sullivan—who stood a short distance away in the doorway of the dining area—was also frowning. The butler caught Osmond's eye for a split second, giving him a thoughtful and troubled look. Then, Sullivan turned and vanished into the kitchen.

Osmond made an odd face as he stared after the butler. He didn't notice that Skylar was giving her father her goodbyes, and Governor Bernard was preparing to make his leave.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," Governor Bernard said conclusively, stepping outside as his bodyguards flooded out of the house before him. "Take care, both of you."

Skylar nodded glumly. Osmond gave the governor a formal goodbye, waving him off.

Moments later, when the front doors swung closed and when Osmond and Skylar stood alone in the spacious room, he turned to speak to her—but she quickly broke away, storming into the kitchen with haste.

Osmond sighed, thinking something must've been amiss—something Skylar and Sullivan seemed to understand, but he didn't. He followed Skylar into the enormous kitchen, seeing that she was bent down on the other side of the room, angrily ripping the fridge open and yanking an energy drink from the bottom shelf.

Sullivan stood against the counter with his arms crossed, watching Skylar and sighing.

Osmond stared at both of them, feeling a bit of tension in the air. "Somebody wanna tell me what's going on? Sky—what're you so mad about?"

Skylar took a swig of her energy drink, meeting his eyes for a split second before shaking her head and sighing.

Sullivan straightened up, raising his eyebrows and facing Osmond.

"Miss Skylar's ambitions don't quite align with her father's ambitions," Sullivan explained.

Osmond shot him a strange look. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning he wants me to take over the Kevron Company when he gets too old to run it," Skylar growled into her drink. "I've told him a million times that I don't wanna run the company, but he doesn't seem to care."

Osmond gave her a slow nod, now understanding the problem, though he didn't know how to respond, simply remaining silent.

"Doesn't matter," Skylar exhaled. "I'm gonna end up running it someday regardless of what I want. I just don't wanna deal with that right now."

"Madame, you know he only has your best interests at heart," Sullivan said gently. "You need to think of your future—"

"Why?" Skylar retorted. "I'm already an adult, and I'm already doing what I want with my life. I'm enjoying my life, and I'm helping people. That's as far as I care to think about it. Okay?"

Sullivan released a deep sigh, falling silent.

Osmond's eyes flickered between the two of them, unsure of what to say.

Skylar pressed her back against the fridge, her expression uncharacteristically grave and thoughtful. "I already know what the future is. The future is me taking over the company, whether I want to or not. That's cool—that's financial security, and health benefits, and everything you need to live—but I don't have to worry about that right now. I'm twenty-eight years old, and I'd like to live the way I want to—because, someday, that's not gonna be an option for me anymore. I just wanna enjoy my time while I can before it's all snatched away from me. That's all."

"I understand," Sullivan said solemnly. "It's just… you need to make some effort to learn about the company beforehand. You won't know how to run the business if you're avoiding it."

"Well, I can't help it. I know what my future has to be, but I just don't 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 it," Skylar breathed disdainfully. "The Kevron Company doesn't help anyone. It's just a cold corporation. I always thought I'd do something really good with my life, not just handling business and cash."

"You can do both," Osmond said without thinking.

Skylar and Sullivan both stared at him.

Osmond bit his lip, pausing to think for a moment before he continued. "Running a business and handling money is only the basic structure of the job. What you do with the money makes a difference, too. Part of it has to be reinvested in the company's expenses—part of it goes to your basic living necessities—and the rest of it can go to a charity, if you really wanna help people. All it takes is a mind for financial balance. You just have to divide the funds tactfully, and then you can make a hell of a difference however you want."

Skylar and Sullivan both studied him intently, absorbing everything he said before trading glances with one another.

"He's not wrong," Sullivan shrugged. "Your father's income is extraordinary, Miss Skylar—and if you had that income yourself, you could help whoever you liked."

"Yeah… you could go down to the soup kitchen and hand out wads of cash if you wanted to," Osmond added with a chuckle. "You're looking at this the wrong way. I know people who would kill to have that job, Sky—and trust me, none of them would 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 anyone with that money. Not like you would. I think you're perfect for the job. You could run it with some sense of morality, which is something most businesses don't really have."

"Absolutely," Sullivan agreed with a nod. "And that's precisely why your father wants you to run his company—because you're a good person, and you'll run it in a way a lot of his employees wouldn't. You'll have everyone's best interests in mind, unlike most folks who work in those competitive professions."

Skylar's eyes shifted uncertainly between the two of them.

"It just sounds awful," she sighed. "I don't wanna live the way Dad does. I don't wanna be too busy to live my life anymore."

"You won't be—because you're not gonna be governing the entire state of Tennessee," Osmond reminded her. "If you take on this company, you're not gonna be taking on all of your father's work—you're only gonna be taking on about half of it. Besides, I can help you."

Skylar squinted at her bodyguard, pushing away from the fridge and approaching him. "Oz… do you know how to manage money like that? Like you just explained?"

"Uhm… yeah, to some degree," Osmond told her.

Skylar stopped before him, her large eyes shining with curiosity. "Have you ever run a business before? You sound like you have."

Osmond's heart gave a nervous skip. "I, ah… I helped a friend run a small business at one point. It wasn't nearly as big as the Kevron Company, but… I do have some idea of how to distribute money based on necessity."

Skylar and Sullivan both seemed to be eyeing him intently now.

Osmond took in a breath and spoke on. "I'm not saying I want any ownership of the company, or anything. I'm not after that. I'm just saying… if you ever needed help figuring out the hard numbers, then I can help with that, no problem."

"Well… there you have it, Miss Skylar," Sullivan said with a whimsical smile. "If you do elect to take on the company someday, you'll have all the help you need, so long as you keep Mr. Williams around."

Skylar stared into Osmond so intensely, she could've been glaring directly through him. Then, she revealed a slow, beaming smile.

"You're just too damn awesome," Skylar marveled, pulling Osmond into a quick hug. "I think I could deal with it if you helped me out."

Osmond flashed a smirk. Skylar grinned and adjusted his hat for him, then wheeled around and faced her butler.

"Sully—you're coming to the party tomorrow," she stated. "Make sure you're ready."

"Oh… why, does your father want me to serve again?" Sullivan sighed tiredly. "You'd think the most prosperous company in the state would be fully staffed for a party…"

"No, dummy—you're coming as a 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 this time," Skylar told him. "All three of us are guests. I made sure they put you on the list."

"Did you?" Sullivan asked with a warm smile.

Skylar laughed and pulled him into a hug. "Yeah, you're family. But you have to dress up. It doesn't have to be a big costume—but you have to wear something Halloweeny. A tie with skulls on it, maybe. Whatever."

"Absolutely—thank you," Sullivan agreed. "You're too kind."

"Hey… if you find a tie like that, get me one," Osmond said, snapping and pointing at Sullivan.

The butler responded with a lazy salute.

"Let's go. I'm gonna call Veronica and see if the girls can hang out today," Skylar said, ushering Osmond out of the room. "As if I didn't already know the answer… but it's worth a shot. Seeya, Sully."

Osmond and Skylar stepped out of the kitchen and marched across the crimson rug, both of them sliding their sunglasses onto their faces before stepping out of the house.

Osmond did a quick surveying of the car before sinking into the driver seat, Skylar sitting beside him, and they began the journey out of Highland Drive.

As usual, Skylar listened to music and mouthed along to her favorite songs. The cool autumn breeze washed over the roofless car as Osmond cruised through north Ireville, buildings, windows, and nearby vehicles glistening in the late morning sun. He drove with ease, wearing a calm smile as the Mustang coasted down the main road.

It'd been a long time since he felt any nervousness while driving through the city. No one was looking for Raymond Salem anymore—and besides, Raymond was gone forever, and Osmond was now living his life in peace. Everything was perfectly, wonderfully all right.

"We're gonna stop off at The Door's Knob, all right?" Osmond said loudly, speaking over the music and the wind. "We're not gonna be there long—I just wanna pay off my old tab, now that I can finally afford to."

Skylar nodded and displayed two thumbs-up.

Then, as another song began, she grinned broadly and cranked up the volume. Osmond recognized the song instantly—it was their song, the one they always sang in unison whenever it played on the radio. He traded smirks with Skylar, and then, they began.

"𝘚𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯' 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦…"

It was bizarre; more so than any other time he drove on a regular basis, he enjoyed this the absolute most, and it wasn't because he was drinking with his friends or hitting mailboxes with a baseball bat—no, that was a time long gone, a stupid and childish type of fun enjoyed by Raymond, not Osmond.

This—driving with Skylar and mumbling along to her rampant singing—was a much more peaceful joy, a sense of serenity he never thought possible. Long gone were the days of running guns with low-lives, and long gone were the days of enduring anxious encounters in prison and suffering from nightmares of Benny's death.

It felt as if years had passed since then—and now, Osmond felt more at peace than ever.

"Help my body run," Osmond mouthed along with the song, gripping the wheel and focusing intently on the road before him. "I'm running for my life…"

Time passed as he drove, and when the song was over, Skylar turned down the radio's volume and pulled out her phone, making a call and holding it to her ear. Seconds later, she spoke.

"Veronica—hey," Skylar said. "Yeah—no—sorry, I'm in the Mustang. Yeah, it's the wind. What're you doing today? You guys wanna hang out tonight?"

Osmond glimpsed at her as she talked into her phone.

"You finally called on a good day, girl," the voice of Veronica spoke into Skylar's ear. "We were all gonna hit the clubs tonight. You wanna come raise some hell at the Hive?"

"Oh my God—you're actually free today?" Skylar beamed in disbelief. "It's about damn time! Oh, but listen—I've been at the Hive a lot lately. Can we go somewhere else?"

"Yeah, girl, whatever you want—as long as it's fun."

Skylar paused and pondered on this, turning to Osmond as the wind made her hair dance about.

"Where should we go?" she asked him.

"What—you're asking me? I don't know," Osmond replied.

"Maybe Dollywood," Skylar said. "Do you like Dollywood?"

"I don't know," Osmond shrugged. "Never been there."

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵…?" Skylar gasped. "You've 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 been to 𝘋𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 before?"

"No," Osmond mumbled in response. "I could never afford it when I was younger, so… I just never went."

Skylar gaped at him in shock.

Then, she held up her phone again and spoke to Veronica with a new sense of determination in her voice.

"Veronica—we're going to Dollywood this afternoon. Oz has never been there, and we have to fix that."

"He's 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 been to 𝘋𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 before?" Osmond heard Veronica's voice echo from the phone, the same exact tone as Skylar's. "Oh, hell, girl—we're gonna take his ass to the Tennessee Tornado, first fuckin' thing."

"Nooo—we can't do the best thing first," Skylar argued. "I wanna ride the Mystery Mine before we do the Tennessee Tornado."

"Which one is Mystery Mine? I can't remember."

"It's the one that's indoors. Mystery Mine is an indoor rollercoaster. It's really dark and enclosed, like it's supposed to be scary. Remember? Me and you rode it when we were in college. Chelsea was there, too—and she got so scared, she peed her pants a little bit."

"Oh yeah… maaan, she screamed like a little bitch!"

Osmond glanced at her again, this time feeling a tinge of uneasiness.

He wasn't remotely afraid of heights or carnival rides—but the idea of an indoor and enclosed rollercoaster didn't sound appealing at all.

"Okay—we have to stop somewhere real quick, but after that, we're gonna drive out to Pigeon Forge," Skylar stated, shooting Osmond a smile. "Oh my God, I'm so excited—I haven't been to Dollywood in forever! Dude, I'm so excited to take Oz there!"

Osmond tried to return her smile, not entirely succeeding.

"We're finally gonna meet this sexy-ass bodyguard," Veronica remarked a bit too loudly.

Osmond gave the phone a sudden double-take, narrowing his eyes at it.

Skylar's smile faded, and she quickly turned away, holding the phone further from his earshot.

"Veronica, shut up!"

"Why? Can he hear me?"

"Veronica—"

"He doesn't know you've been texting us and talking about him nonstop for almost three months straight?"

"Veroni—"

"'Cuz he's sure as hell gonna know now! Especially after he meets us!"

"𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱!" Skylar hissed, lowering the phone and hanging up on Veronica abruptly.

There was a pause.

Osmond continued to drive, saying nothing, though he now wore a sly, subtle smirk.

Skylar leaned on the passenger door, watching the world go by and avoiding his line of sight.

"I'm a sexy-ass bodyguard, huh," Osmond muttered a few minutes later. "Good to know."

"Shut up," Skylar laughed anxiously, her cheeks burning red.

Osmond spared her a glimpse, his smile growing.

The drive continued on for a while, and when Osmond pulled around the corner of Southern Avenue, he spotted The Door's Knob at the end of the street.

The Mustang rolled past the sidewalk and the alleyway, where Osmond first met Skylar many weeks prior. He cruised into the parking lot and slowed the car to a stop near the bar's entrance; it was a small building with a worn brown roof, white walls and a single door in the front, no windows in sight.

"God… it feels like I haven't been here in forever," Skylar commented as she rose out of the car, swinging the passenger door shut.

Osmond hesitated, gazing up at the familiar old building. "I know the feeling…"

He stepped out of the Mustang and followed her inside, pulling the stiff white door open and marching into the darkened interior.

To the left were pool tables, to the right dart boards, and directly ahead was the bar, where a gathering of regulars were sitting and conversing over their beers. This wasn't the busy time of day; most of Osmond's memories of this bar consisted of flashing neon lights, blaring music, deafening chatter, and the occasional fight he'd help to break up. He rarely ever visited this place during the day, much less the morning. In fact, this might've been the first time.

"Go shoot some pool," Osmond requested, pointing to the nearest pool table. "I won't be long."

Skylar slipped off her sunglasses, giving him an odd look before wandering off toward the pool tables. Osmond inhaled heavily, surveying the inside of this once-regular environment, eyeing every inch of the old place from behind his dark lenses.

It was much darker in here than it was outside, but he didn't want to remove his sunglasses. The search for Raymond may have dwindled to an end, but he still didn't want to act carelessly. After all, a lot of people in south Ireville would recognize him upon meeting his eyes—especially inside The Door's Knob.

Osmond meandered toward the bar. A few of the regulars gave him odd looks, and he understood why—as this wasn't a place for suits—but he, unlike they, recognized them all instantly. In fact, he was certain he could name every regular who sat at the bar now.

He moved past the eyeballing regulars and leaned over the bar, speaking to the woman behind it.

"Hey, Alice. Anton here?" Osmond asked her.

"Yeah, hun—hang on a sec." The woman called Alice nodded and stepped into the back room.

Moments later, Anton emerged from the darkened back room, his big brown eyes narrowing oddly at Osmond.

It'd been a long time since Osmond laid eyes on him—but Anton looked the same as ever, with a bald head covered in a black bandana, a baggy white tank top, even baggier jeans, and a sleek black hoodie, unzipped. The same old Anton style.

"Can I help you, man?" Anton asked suspiciously. "What're you, a health inspector?"

Osmond let out a breathless laugh, slowly sliding his sunglasses downward. He slipped them halfway off, leaning forward and just barely revealing his eyes, his gaze meeting his friend's and no one else's.

Anton blinked, his mouth drifting open. "Oh…"

"Yeah. Lemme holla atcha," Osmond muttered softly, motioning to the back room.

Anton silently stepped aside, allowing him to march behind the bar.

Osmond glimpsed back at Skylar briefly before following Anton into the back room.

Unlike Sam's back room, Anton's didn't contain any weaponry; it was everything you'd expect of a bar, fridges, coolers, boxes of beer, and more. The most suspicious thing in the room was the enormous metal cooler that sat directly across from the employee door, a cooler that was—as Osmond remembered—used for much more than refrigeration. The cooler contained numerous cooled beers, as one would suspect—but many of the beer boxes also contained gigantic zip-locked bags of marijuana, which Anton sold regularly.

Osmond strolled up to the giant cooler and leaned on it, clipping his sunglasses to his collar and pulling his phone from his pocket. "I need a favor. I need you to—"

"Hold up, homie." Anton held up a hand. "Sam's been lookin' for you. You didn't leave him with any contact info, and there's some shit going on—"

"Yeah, listen—I'm working for the governor now," Osmond stated. "I wanted to call Sam, but I don't know who might be listening to my phone calls. I don't know how all that government spy shit works, and I'm not taking any risks. That's what I need your help with. I need to make damn sure that nobody can listen in on my calls or track the phone's location."

"Okay—fine—gimme that."

Anton snatched the phone away and went to work on it instantly. He sank into a chair that was placed against the wall, speaking to Osmond as he tinkered with the phone.

"Listen, man—the Acardis are making moves now. One of them almost shot Sam a while back."

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵…?" Osmond exhaled. "What the hell happened?"

"Yeah. This dude with a neck tattoo came into the pawn shop and started making threats," Anton informed, holding down three of the phone's buttons, a long string of numbers running up and down the screen. "I didn't know him, but Sam did. He was a regular from New York that Sam used to deal with. Apparently, this motherfucker's plannin' on taking over the game out here. He told us to back out before we ended up dead."

"Shit," Osmond breathed. "Who was he? What was his name?"

"Ricardo," Anton mumbled into the phone. "We know the Acardis are pulling ammo from somewhere—most likely the Kevron Company—and we know they're plannin' on taking over Kevron even more. And they're plannin' on taking us out of the equation. I'm pretty sure that Ricardo motherfucker is their leader."

"What's he look like?"

"Dark hair, dressed in black, and that ink on his neck—it looks like a tribal tattoo, black lines and shit. It's at the bottom-left side of his neck. You wouldn't see it if he wore a suit with a half-decent collar."

"Son of a bitch… and they're already pulling ammo? Are you sure?"

"Not completely, but he implied it. And we know the Acardis have an employee at Kevron, so they could steal ammo from the inside if they wanted to. All they'd have to do is pay off a few grunts to smuggle some merchandise out the back door once a month or so. But Sam is pretty damn sure that Ricardo ain't satisfied with just skimming off the top. Sam thinks that Ricardo's gonna try to strong-arm the Kevron Company into givin' him a full supply."

Osmond fell silent, his expression profound and disturbed.

The Acardis and the Kevron Company—the connection between the two was troubling, indeed. If the Acardis really were skimming ammunition from Kevron's supply, it meant that Sam, Anton, and all of Osmond's other friends would soon be in danger of a hostile takeover. Not to mention, if the Acardis wanted to sweeten their ammunition deal with the company, they might do something drastic, maybe even targeting Skylar and using her life as leverage. It was no wonder Governor Bernard was so very insistent on her having a bodyguard, especially if he was aware of any of these troubling rumors. If things continued down this path, no one would be safe.

"Okay… let's not get ahead of the game," Osmond sighed, speaking more to himself than Anton in an attempt to calm his anxious thoughts. "We can't get worked up right now. We don't know for sure what's going on…"

"Yeah, we do," Anton replied flatly. "They flat-out told us to get out of the game, or they'd kill us. And that girl you're protecting—she's the company owner's daughter, man. Do you seriously see this shit playing out well for any of us?"

Osmond let out a stressed cloud of breath, pressing his back against the cooler again and sliding into a sitting position. He cradled his head as he sat on the cold concrete, dwelling on the grave possibilities and grimacing at the floor.

"Okay… I've been looking after her for months now, and nobody's made a move on her at all," Osmond informed. "Has anybody made a move on you guys since they showed up at the pawn shop?"

"No—but that doesn't mean anything," Anton argued, opening the back of the smartphone and fidgeting with something inside. "That just means they're biding their time, workin' on whatever plan they've got in motion."

"Or it means we're being paranoid," Osmond suggested. "If the Acardis tried to take over all our business—that would be a fucking mess. They don't know all our contacts, where the drop-off points are, or the meet-up spots, or anything. They don't have the means to take over the business. They don't have the contacts and the locations. It's just not in the cards for them."

At that, Anton's eyes flicked up from the phone, landing on Osmond's intently. "Homie—do you really think those mafia motherfuckers wouldn't resort to torture to get that info? All they'd have to do is snatch one of us up off the streets and start slicing off our fingers until we gave them all the information they needed."

"I really don't think it's gonna come to that. We've never had to deal with any crazy shit like that before."

"Yeah—that's because we've never had the fucking mob moving in on us before. These assholes aren't like the same as all the dumbasses we usually deal with—they were with the mafia, Ray. And nobody fucks with the mafia."

"Don't," Osmond said, giving him a stern stare. "Don't do that. Don't call me Ray anymore."

Anton let out a sigh and shook his head. "Whatever, Ray-Ray. You can't run from who you really are. Nobody can hear us back here, anyway…"

"It doesn't matter," Osmond said straightly. "I don't wanna be called Ray anymore—period."

"A'ight, man, whatever you say…"

They both went quiet, Anton making numerous changes to the phone's inner mechanics.

Osmond sighed and folded his arms over his knees. This situation disturbed him for numerous reasons; there was a possibility that a lot of people he cared about would end up in danger soon. He wasn't sure how likely that was, but the fact that the possibility existed at all was enough to put a knot in his stomach.

Plus, being reminded of these problems and updated on the troubling signs brewing—as well as being here again, on the slummy side of town inside The Door's Knob—it seemed to pull him back into his old mentality. It made him feel like the angry and hotheaded man he once was, and he didn't like that one bit.

No, he didn't want to be a part of this anymore—and he certainly didn't want to be that person anymore—but, as fate would have it, the problems of his old life were connected to the problems of his new one, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Except for dealing with the problems whenever they eventually arose.

Osmond spared some time to mull over the dark thoughts.

Then, as minutes passed, he slowly returned to reality, his calmness resurfacing.

No, he needn't worry about all this—after all, no one had made a move on Skylar, and no one had acted against any of his old friends since the pawn shop incident months ago. Today, he would drive out to Pigeon Forge with Skylar and enjoy an afternoon of fun before the Halloween party at Kevron Corp tomorrow. That was his reality as of now—and that was all that mattered for the time being.

Osmond's gaze fixated on Anton as he ripped something out of the smartphone, carelessly flicking it across the room before piecing the phone back together.

"You better not break my phone," Osmond grumbled.

Anton smacked his lips and scrunched up his face. "Man, please—I know what the fuck I'm doing. That's why you come to me and nobody else, now ain't it?"

Osmond smirked. "You know it."

Anton turned the phone on and began swiping away on the screen.

After making a few more changes, he stood and handed the phone to Osmond. "There ya' go, man. It's supped up and ready to go. Untrackable and unhackable, baby."

Osmond stood and pocketed his phone, sliding a fifty from his pocket and passing it off to Anton. "Thanks. Appreciate it."

"No worries—just keep an eye and ear out, man," Anton told him. "Nobody knows what's gonna happen—but it ain't gonna be good, whatever it is."

Osmond gave him a conclusive nod, and the two of them marched out of the back room.

When Osmond returned to the bar, he found that Skylar was playing pool alongside numerous guys—all the same guys who'd been sitting at the bar a short while ago. One of them was trying to teach her some trick shots while another man was standing uncomfortably close behind her, wrapping his arms around her and trying to adjust her posture so she could shoot better.

"Oh, for…" Osmond hissed, marching over to them and shooing the guys away from her. "Back off. Move it. Go on. Show's over."

"Hey… we're just playing pool," Skylar told him. "They're not doing anything, Oz. We're just having fun."

"Yeah… they're 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 to," Osmond grumbled in response, his eyes shifting between the men around him. "Come on—time to go."

He pushed her toward the door, ignoring the irritable shouts of the men behind him.

Osmond and Skylar sank into the Mustang again, and he started the engine, driving away without hesitation.

For a little while, they were both silent as Osmond drove down main roads and stopped at red lights, making his way toward the interstate that would lead him toward Pigeon Forge.

When he found himself cruising down the interstate's fast lane, he sighed heavily, mulling over everything he heard from Anton again and wishing he could cleanse his mind of the issues completely.

He loved his new life. All the complications of criminality were in his past.

Or rather, he 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 them to be in the past.

But, perhaps this new lifestyle was simply destined to merge with these unpleasant things. It wasn't meant to be a cushy job, after all.

Besides, Osmond knew more about criminality in Ireville than most in the personal protection business did—which put him in the perfect position to plan around any moves one might make against the Bernard family, however likely or unlikely those scenarios might've been.

Maybe his new life wouldn't be as peaceful as he thought—or, maybe it would be just as serene as he expected. As of now, there was simply no telling which way the wind might blow.

"Oh—before I forget," Skylar spoke up, lowering the radio's volume. "Don't hook up with Veronica, regardless of what she says or does. Okay?"

Osmond gave her a strange squint from behind his sunglasses. "What?"

"She's guy-crazy," Skylar informed. "And her dating history is psychotic. She's super controlling and jealous. She makes a good friend, not a good girlfriend."

"O… kay," Osmond mumbled. "Noted. Anything else I should know about your friends?"

"Yeah. Veronica's really fearless and outgoing—and Chelsea's the opposite. Chelsea is super shy and giggly, and she's a little bit chubby, but don't say anything about that. She's not 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 chubby. She's just 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 chubby. Oh—and when Chelsea warms up to you, she might try to play matchmaker and hook you up with her other girlfriends. Just a fair warning."

"So your friends are just as weird as you are. Gotcha."

"They're not weird… not… not 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 weird. They just care way too much about dating."

"And you don't?"

Skylar sighed and shrugged. "I have money. I'm not allowed to date anyone."

Osmond shot her another odd glance.

"People with money can't honestly date anyone," Skylar explained. "I learned that the hard way. All the guys I've dated spent more time with my credit card than me. Two of my exes stole from me on a regular basis. So… I'm just not allowed to have the real dating experience. Not like my friends, anyway. People see me, and they see a free ride, nothing else. It's like I don't exist… I'm just an ATM…"

Osmond nodded in silence, saying nothing, feeling a faint spark of guilt and wondering if he fell into the same category.

Quite honestly, he'd been using her as a free ride since the day he met her—but he wasn't the same as all the men who used her in the past. After all, Osmond wasn't acting out of greed—just survival. He was using Skylar because he had no other choice whatsoever, except returning to prison for the rest of his life. He was trying his damnedest to do his job effectively, too—and unlike any sleazy ex-boyfriends, Osmond certainly wasn't getting any sex out of the arrangement. Besides, he'd grown to truly enjoy her company—and he'd never once touched her credit card, nor had he ever considered doing so.

No, he decided—he wasn't the same as the assholes of Skylar's past.

Osmond was far from perfect, but he was an improvement compared to her previous companions, at the very least.

"If we ever see any of your exes out in public," Osmond began, revealing a sly smirk. "Point them out to me, and I'll fuck 'em up."

Skylar grinned and snickered. "You can't do that…"

"Oh, hell yes I can," Osmond stated. "We'll just say they put their hands on you—then, bam, I'm just doing my job as a bodyguard. That's what we'll tell the cops when they show up and find severed fingers all over the crime scene, all right?"

Skylar laughed and shook her head. "You're crazy!"

"Yeah—so what?" Osmond chuckled. "We have that in common. You picked a stranger up off the streets and made him into a bodyguard—what d'you expect?"

Skylar sniggered and swiped her bangs.

Osmond gave her another glimpse, a more thoughtful one, pondering on the troubling gossip regarding the Acardi family—and now, he also had the night of his escape on his mind, the night he met Skylar for the first time.

Yes, it was an impulsive and dangerous act on her part—to pick up a stranger off the streets and invite him to work for her—and he was damn grateful for her reckless act of kindness. Still, her impulsivity seemed to bleed into all her tasks, from partying like mad every night to letting creepy old rednecks put their hands on her at The Door's Knob.

It was something he both liked and hated about her; Osmond loved how she gave everyone the benefit of the doubt upon first meeting them. He loved that she never judged him, that she honestly gave him a chance at a new life when she had no reason to do so, no reason to help or trust him.

But, her impulsiveness around strangers might make his job much harder if the Acardi situation grew complicated.

If Skylar chose to give an Acardi the benefit of the doubt—if she chose to trust one of them blindly, the same way she had Osmond—she certainly wouldn't get another best friend or bodyguard afterward. No—she couldn't afford to act so openly with strangers anymore, especially not with these problematic events transpiring behind Ireville's public eye.

"Sky," Osmond muttered, staring straight ahead and tapping the steering wheel.

"Hm?" Skylar cocked her head at him.

He took a deep breath. "You know you can't usually just pull people off the streets like you did me. Right?"

Skylar stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… you can't just trust people right off the bat like that," Osmond elaborated.

"Well… if I didn't, then I never would've met you and made you my bodyguard."

"Yeah, I know that… but it was a lucky coincidence that you and I met when we did. I needed a job, and you needed a bodyguard, so it all worked out. But that was just lucky. It wouldn't happen that way every time. The next time you trust a stranger like that, they might turn out to be a serial killer, or… a kidnapper."

"I know," Skylar said, making a strange face at him. "You don't have to spell all that out for me. I know how the world works."

"Yeah, well… just be more careful from now on," Osmond advised. "Hiring me was a risk. Thankfully, I didn't turn out to be a serial killer or anything—but you can't take any risks like that anymore."

"I know, I know… sheezus… where's this coming from?"

"Nowhere." Osmond's voice was distant, his eyes fixed forward behind reflective lenses.

Skylar gave him an odd glance, falling silent and turning the radio up to full volume once more.