Page 8 of The Ruthless Guardian
“He’ll kill me when he finds me. I can’t leave. Are you going to make me leave?”
“No, you can stay until he’s no longer a threat to you. I can take care of that faster if I know who he is and what he wants you for.”
My head drops to my chest. I can’t tell him. I can't admit what I did. “It’s okay. I’ll handle it. Thank you.” I worm my way out of his arms and go back up the stairs before he can stop me. How do I intend to handle my problem? Like I have for the last eight years, by pretending it doesn’t exist.
Chapter Six
Skids
My motivation to work out disappeared when Phoebe started hyperventilating again. All I want to do is find this asshole that scares her so much and kill him- slowly. Whoever he is, he clearly did a lot of damage to her ability to trust and feel safe. The only thing I want to exert energy on is that motherfucker’s face.
The length of her stay is undetermined, but I don’t mind. She’s too terrified to leave, and I don’t want her out somewhere that’s unsafe for her. It’s kind of interesting to have someone else here as well. I’ve never so much as had anyone over for a visit even though I’ve had this place for about nine years now, since I was probably Phoebe’s age.
I did a bad thing too, but my bad thing doesn’t haunt me like hers does to her. My bad thing was for the best. I could’ve planned better, but I wasn’t focused on what might happen after- all I could think about was what was happening at the moment. My parents were becoming a problem for my sister and I. We solved it. I was old enough to get my own house, but my sister went into the state’s care, and then she killed herself.
My dad had been a member of the Restless Kings. They called him Judge. The President back then, a man named Ox, told me if I joined the club he would keep me out of trouble, so I did. Then he found out about my ability to use computers and my paranoia, and he helped me put this place together so I can do most of my work for the club without actually being near the club. Ox passed away four years ago, but Elvis has the same respect for my privacy.
Phoebe’s sitting on the couch bouncing her legs when I come back upstairs. Her hair is falling out of the ponytail she had it in when I picked her up at BIBO. I don’t know what has happened in her past, but she seems to have PTSD from it. My sister did too. I had to learn a lot of tricks to stop her from losing her shit.
“I’m going upstairs to shower,” I warn her. She’s going to want to know where I am whenever I’m out of sight for a while. “You’re welcome to snoop some more. Anything you shouldn’t touch already has a lock on it, so you’re not going to get into it anyway.”
She shakes her cell phone in my direction. “I don’t have any service.”
“Nope. I have a signal jammer. That device sends out thousands of updates about your location all day every day. It knows more about you than you know about you.”
Phoebe’s face hardens. I imagine it probably would be hard now in the age of supreme connection to go from having access to the entire world within seconds, to being completely isolated from everything and everyone. “What if I had someone I need to tell where I am?”
“You wouldn’t. You’re in a safehouse for a reason, sweetheart. Telling everyone where you are and what you’re doing all the time is definitely notsafebehavior.” Not that anyone she talks to is going to give a fuck. None of her friends had returned her texts from the last couple days when I checked an hour or so ago. They aren’t worried she’s going to fall off the face of the earth.
“So you don’t have a cell phone?” she asks, raising one of her dark eyebrows at me in disbelief.
“I do, but mine doesn’t know my location or my favorite food or what I’m going to be doing this weekend.” I still use a flip phone, just like everyone else in the club, for communication with members of the club. Other than that, we don’t have much to do with a cell phone.
I have access to the internet through a VPN server, so I’m not completely cut off from the world. I mostly use my computer for research and working with the club. Nothing from the outside world garners my interest strongly enough to go looking for it.
“And no one knowsyou’rehere?” She really doesn’t understand, but I guess that will come with time if she does stay here for a while.
“Someone does actually. The same person that knows you’re here. Pres.” He knows where I am. Most of the members do as well, but they never come here. There’s no reason for them to visit me.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Pres? You mean my boss?”
Shit. That’s right, she doesn’t know him in the context of the club. She only knows him as the owner of BIBO. “One and the same.” I scrub my shirt over my face. “I’m going to shower now.”
Phoebe’s eyes widen in shock as she turns her head to look around us. “Wait! What if I… What if something happens?”
“What if what happens?”
“What if someone tries to get in?” she asks like this is an obvious thought that should have occurred to me too.
“Okay, listen. I know you’re scared, but no one’s getting in here. They haven't in the last decade, and they aren’t going to in the fifteen minutes it’ll take me to shower.” Which I’d really like to get done before I start to stink.
Phoebe doesn’t look convinced.
“There are alarms and sensors over every inch of this property. If someone gets close, I’ll know about it before they even know what they’re looking at.” That doesn’t seem to work to ease her concerns either. She doesn’t have any reason to trust me to keep her safe, and I’m sure this level of skepticism has helped, but I need her to relax just a little for me.
“Why don’t you come sit in the hallway outside the bathroom while I shower?” I ask instead, hoping to give her something that can calm her. “Then, you’ll be close enough to shout for me if you think someone is trying to get in. Will that work?”
I wasn’t lying. No one has ever even attempted to break in here, but if it makes her feel better to stay close to me, I’m not going to turn her down.