Guarding January (2 page)

“Yes. Yes, he’s out on Friday afternoon.”

“I can meet him at the door to the rehab center and stay by his side from then on.” He’d spend tomorrow wrapping up any loose ends: shut up his apartment, let his sister and mother know he might be slow to answer communication, all that stuff. That would free him up to do the walk-through of LJ’s place on Thursday.

“I can get you all the background stuff you need. How much are you asking for your wage?”

“I realize I’ll be getting room and board, but I’ll be on duty twenty-four/seven, so that also has to be taken into account. A thousand a day.”

To her credit, she didn’t even blink. “Fine. He uses once, and you’re out. No second chances.”

“Understood.” He came to his feet and held out his hand. “I’ll keep him safe, Ms. Heard. Even from himself.”

“That’s your job. Talk to my secretary about the details. She’ll get you what you need.”

“Will you let LJ know I’m picking him up, or am I meeting him cold?”

“I’ll let him know. He isn’t good with surprises at the best of times.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you. You won’t be disappointed.” He gave her a tight smile and headed out.

He was going to have to drop Reg Storm a thank you note for suggesting the job to him and giving him a reference. Looked like this one was going to be a challenge, which was how he liked it.

“D
O
I
have to go?” Jeff stood at the door of the room he’d been living in for eight months. Eight months he’d been safe and happy in there. Eight months he’d been able to be just Jeff, instead of Lord January. “Jim, can’t I just stay?”

“Oh, honey, you know you can’t. You have all the tools to do this. You do.” His sponsor and the man who had become a friend stared at him, smiled.

“You look like Santa Claus when you do that.”

“Shut up.”

They looked at each other, and then they cracked up, leaning together, and if he cried a bit, Jim didn’t say a word.

“Come on. Donna sent a car for you, to take you home.”

“She sent a babysitter.”

He couldn’t even complain—he probably needed one—but couldn’t it be Jim? Couldn’t he stay there where he was safe?

“You have my number, Jeff. Use it if you need it, okay? I mean that.”

He nodded, wrapped his hoodie around him, iPod in the pocket, put his sunglasses on, and hunched inside the fabric.

Jim gave him a short, hard hug, then walked him out the front door. Out into the world.

He winced away from the sunlight, tugging his hood down farther. “My things?”

“Already in the car, sir.” A mountain of a man threw him into shadow, and a huge paw was held out. “I’m Rye.”

“I don’t shake hands. Sorry.”
Jesus, Donna had hired a giant.
“I’ll call, Jim, okay? Soon?”

“Anytime, Jeff. I promise.”

The giant waited until he started down the walk, then paced him. “We’re the dark gray SUV to the right of the gate.”

“Okay.” He kept his head down, making sure the light and the long-range lenses couldn’t get to him.

He had to admit, having the Hulk walking next to him gave him some cover to hide behind, made him feel less exposed. Didn’t mean he suddenly wanted the babysitter, mind you.

The walk down the path seemed to take for-fucking-ever, but at last they were at the car, his minder opening the door for him and bundling him in. The door shut with a very final sounding click, and in seconds they were driving away from the one place he knew was safe.

Jeff put his earphones in and turned the music up loud, the noise pounding in his head.

He stayed in his cocoon until the door opened, his new bodyguard’s hand touching his arm. Aside from really tall and really built, the guy had short brown hair, like military cut almost, and a square jaw you’d expect some tough bodyguard to have. His new bodyguard’s eyes were surprisingly blue, like bright and alive. Jeff slid his gaze from the guy to the house.

Home sweet home. Goodie. He stood, the garage quiet and still. There were two doors down there—one to his rooms, one to the rest of the house where everyone else was. He grabbed his guitar, then headed to the door on the left, heading upstairs without a word.

Rye—that was what the guy had said his name was, right?—kept up with him, right behind him on the stairs like a shadow.

“These are my rooms.” He knew Donna would have had them searched, emptied of anything—uppers or downers.

“I know. Hell, the whole house is yours, LJ.”

He didn’t bother to argue, but he knew better. The guys in the band came and went, the groupies, people who called themselves friends. Technically his money had paid for the house, but it was a part of Lord January’s image and had very little to do with him.

Following him right to his bedroom, Rye put his bag from rehab down at the end of his bed.

“So…. Are you hungry?”

“No.” He moved to sit in the huge overstuffed chair in the corner. “I think I’m just going to sleep. I’m not sure what Donna wants you to do, but I’m going to just rest for a couple of days. I don’t want company.”

“I’m not company. I’m your bodyguard. Whither thou goest, there shall I go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He was never leaving this room.

Ever.

And even though he knew that was a lie, it was the one he was sticking with right now.

“Then neither am I.” Rye, the giant, smiled down at him. “Except maybe to make you a sandwich. Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“I’m not hungry. Make yourself at home. I assume someone got you a room?”

“Somebody who? It’s just you and me.” Rye sat on his bed.

“There’s staff—a cook, housekeeper, all the people. Someone let you in.”

“The housekeeper comes in once a week now, and everyone else has been sent away. Ms. Heard didn’t feel you needed the distractions.” Rye dug into his pocket and pulled out a little ring of keys. “I let myself in.”

“Oh.” Jeff pulled the hoodie down farther, found another playlist on his phone, and put the earphones in, the music battering him, drowning out the world.

He wanted to go back to rehab.

He wanted to be safe.

“I’m going to make a sandwich and bring a chair in to sit with you. I won’t be long.”

He nodded and waited for Rye to leave. Then he went to the closet, took his shoes off, and grabbed a blanket. His stashbox was in the safe, right there, and he didn’t look at it. He just needed to have it in case.

He curled up in his chair, hid under his blanket, and went to sleep.

Once today was over, he could work on tomorrow being over too. One day at a time, and all that bullshit. Still, it was all he had.

G
OD
, R
YE
was bored.

Fucking bored.

Four days of bodyguarding January, lord of the fucking vampires, and all they’d done was sit in this room. There was only so much Candy Crush a man could play without feeling de-masculinized.

LJ was still and silent. He’d eaten once in four days, had one huge bottle of water a day, taken a few bathroom breaks, and mostly stayed in that chair, hidden under a blanket.

It was creepy.

Hell, the kid was creepy. Big dark eyes, long dark hair, skin pale as milk except where the ink covered him.

Rye wanted to feed him the world’s biggest ham and cheese sandwich, slather him in suntan lotion, and take him out into the sun. It was hard to believe this kid was the same bad boy rock star he’d seen in the YouTube vids. This guy was tiny and bruised and barely breathing.

Phone light filtered out from under the blanket, so he knew LJ was awake. That was something.

“So how about we go for a swim today? You’ve got that great pool out there, just… sitting.”

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ve already been.” He was up at dawn, working out and doing laps. Keeping fit. “But I’ll go with you.” He stood and went over, tugging the cover off LJ.

Those huge, near black eyes stared at him, the bruises underneath a deep, dark blue. “Pardon me?”

“Let’s go swim. Get some fresh air. Frankly, you need it, buddy.” He was allowed to do what he wanted, though. As long as he kept LJ clean.

Clean had to mean healthy, right? Eating, drinking, showering, moving around. Wasn’t the guy supposed to want to make music or something?

He held out his hand. If LJ didn’t take it, he was putting the kid over his shoulder and carrying him down.

“I don’t go outside in the sun.”

“Maybe you should start. Ten minutes and a sandwich, and I’ll let you come back up here to hide some more.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. I just have to not use. That’s it.”

“Actually, no. I’m also supposed to keep you alive. And this isn’t living. So take my hand and come downstairs with me, or I’ll make it happen.”

“Shoo.” LJ pulled his legs up under his chin, bent back to his phone.

Well, that made it easier to pick LJ up.

Bending, Rye slid his arms beneath LJ’s shoulders and knees, then picked him up.

“What? Put me down! I said no!”

Christ, the kid couldn’t weigh a buck and a quarter. How much had Ms. Heard said he’d gained in rehab? How much had he lost in the last few days?

Rye should have done this sooner.

He ignored LJ, kept carrying him down the stairs.

As soon as they left his quarters, LJ went stiff, silent. The bigger part of the house had been party central, and Rye had flushed everyone out, had the place cleaned top to bottom, made sure there weren’t drugs or booze anywhere.

It was quiet, almost echoing, as he moved into the huge great room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows. He kept going, heading for the pool. He knew there were towels out there and had no qualms over what he was about to do.

The place was a shrine to decadence, to excess, and LJ didn’t look at anything, just hid in his hoodie, his baggy clothes.

“Pool,” Rye said, as he went out into the huge backyard with its enormous pool set into the place to look like a pond.

“Very nice. I want to go in.”

“Exactly, you’re going in. We both are.”

“No. Inside. I want to go back inside.”

“No, the pool, a bit of fresh air. If I put you down, will you strip or run?”

“I don’t want to get wet. I want to go inside. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re not living, LJ. You’re just… fading away, and I gave my word I wouldn’t let you go.” With that, he dumped LJ into the water.

LJ flailed, fighting with the heavy, too-big clothes for a second before just going limp and sinking to the bottom.

Jesus Christ.

Rye took off his shoes and jumped in after LJ.

Stupid little fuck.

He grabbed at the hoodie, but LJ slipped away, leaving him holding the fabric. Growling, he let the hoodie go and grabbed for LJ.

The little bastard was quick, scrambling up the stairs and running for the house.

After jumping out, Rye gave chase, grabbing LJ just before he got to the door. He pulled the kid up against his body. Skin and bones, that’s what LJ was.

“Let me go! Let me go! I haven’t done anything bad!” LJ struggled against Rye, fists battering at him.

This was more life than Rye’d seen out of the kid since he’d picked him up, and he simply held LJ, let the kid work the anger out.

It didn’t last long—it couldn’t, LJ wasn’t eating—and then the kid just passed out, pale as milk.

Christ.

Fucking Christ.

Rye laid LJ down on a deck chair and grabbed a thick towel from the little cabana. Then he stripped LJ quickly and dried him off.

LJ finally came back to. “I… I want to go back.”

“Back where?” Rye looked into that pale, pinched face.

“I want to go back to the hospital.”

“You have a life to live.” A tour that started in less than two months.

“I want to go back.”

“It doesn’t work that way, LJ. You know that.”

He wrapped the kid in the towel, but didn’t bring him back upstairs yet. LJ curled into a tiny ball, almost disappearing under the towel. Acting on instinct, Rye grabbed LJ and tugged him against his body.

“I don’t—” The too-skinny body just shuddered.

“Shh. Shh. Just warming you up, okay?” He needed to get heat and food and water into LJ, needed to. He gathered LJ up again. “Kitchen. Food. We’ll get something in you.”

“N-n-not hungry.”

“Too bad. Your body is starving to death, and if I let you die from malnutrition, your manager is going to hunt me down and carve me up.”

“Not hungry.”

Stubborn boy. “I got that. You’re still eating.” Maybe a milkshake. There was ice cream in the freezer, milk in the fridge. Fresh berries. Oh, that would make a great smoothie.

Once they were in the kitchen, he sat his towel-wrapped burden down.

LJ looked around the room, wide-eyed. “It’s bigger than I remember.”

“When was the last time you were in here?” Rye took some bread out to make a couple of sandwiches and buttered them.

“Long time. I don’t cook.”

Or eat, apparently. “No? I like it.” Cooking was easy, and then you knew what you were putting in your mouth. He pulled tomatoes, lettuce, and sliced turkey breast out of the fridge, along with the mayo and mustard.

“I’m going to take a shower. I’m cold.”

“We can go back upstairs when I’m done with the sandwiches.” Sandwiches were totally portable. And he wanted to keep LJ out of the bedroom he was hiding in as much as possible.

“This is my house. I don’t need fucking permission to take a shower.”

Rye put the sandwiches together, not pointing out that LJ hadn’t made a single move to actually get up off the stool he was sitting on.

Finally, LJ got up and headed for the fridge and got a bottle of water, towel dropping away.

Pale-as-milk skin broken by dark tattoos Rye wanted a closer look at, and so fucking skinny. Definitely a grown man, though. Wait. “Is that metal in your prick?” It was amazing he hadn’t noticed earlier, but then he’d been trying not to notice anything.