Red

Seven-thirty? Not bad. I throw the duffel in the first taxi I come across and hop in. A little rest at last. I draw in a deep breath. Portland feels like home after surviving terrible hours in Belize. Two sleepless nights plus the crispy weather in the mountains? Never a clever combination.

And now, with all the luck in the world, I cravingly need the warmth of a certain woman, just as a heart needs a beat. I've dreamed awake of her flimsy body and how perfect she feels in my arms. The fragrance of her skin lingers on me even now, and I want to see her so badly tonight.

I'll hold her so tightly, kiss her lips like there's no tomorrow, and then—God, she'll be the end of me. I sigh again as I slam the car door. But with all the lies and secrets, she'll surely hate me when she knows who I am and the real reason behind my presence in her life.

Behind the steering, the old man quits whistling and pivots his bored gaze at me after I'm all set in the backseat. Although I feel extremely tired, my heart is still trotting like a miniature horse, excitement being one of the reasons.

"Kings Heights," I deadpan while doffing the black cap off my head.

Home, then shower. I can't see that beautiful and stubborn Spanish woman like this, can I? Good grief, I can still smell the scent of blood and mountain bugs. She deserves better than a sweaty guy who's been on guns and runs for two days consecutively.

No, she deserves the best and I'm far from being one.

As I think of her plain requisition to have me spill my identity and everything I'm hiding from her, my head becomes as messed up as a jigsaw puzzle. It's going to get pretty ugly. I know what a mule she can get so I'm into a long ride-or-die situation.

Surely dying isn't an option.

Slowly the taxi scampers through the urban civilization, away from the Airport. It's raining cats and dogs as we go, and I wonder what she's doing right now. Probably holding her mobile like a hysterical wife. My old man knew better so I remember vaguely about his complaints.

"Again with this fucking traffic!" yells the old man behind the wheel.

Ignoring him, I close my eyes. The ultrasound pic Mia sent me yesterday pops into my head and I smile. Heck, I don't know why it constantly makes me smile despite the terror surrounding my relationship with her.

"For God's sake! Who wants the damn rain now?" The old man is still talking, cursing out as if he's the only one with issues.

Horns blare outside but I'm too occupied with my trance to pay a tiny ounce of attention to the traffic and rain. Being a father is a lot to handle. A child surely can't be a Winchester Model 70, nor a Glock 17 that I can handle fluidly with eyes closed.

It ought to be the most difficult mission of my entire existence and it scares the shit out of me whenever I imagine Mia's flat tummy turning into a big belly. First, she's married, and second, I'm hiding a lot from her, and third, her shitty husband is not a nobody.

What have I gotten myself into, God?

"You're a Hunter, son. Don't ever forget that it's a must to cherish and protect those you claim you love, or else you'll be nothing but a sleazy excuse for a man. And I didn't raise a weakling!"

I didn't know the meaning of these words engraved in my heart for over fifteen years until I met her. Strong and fragile at the same time—what is she made of? She never failed to amaze me each time I looked her in the eyes, 'cause I knew she was trouble from the very first day I met her.

Over three months ago, right outside her big mansion, is where I met her for the first time and she was a viper.

"I told you I don't want a damn bodyguard!" Teeth clenched, she told her husband in a low voice.

Trying hard not to be heard? I smirked mentally until our eyes met. Dark and sharp like samurai—if only looks could kill.

"Relax, butterfly," replied the husband while running his knuckles against her seemingly soft cheek.

She winced at his touch, a hint of rusty displeasure in her eyes. I frowned. Lover's quarrel or worse? It was concerning, but none of my damn business.

Patrick Kingston faced me. "Name is Red. Not sure if it's the real one or not, but who cares? I just want you protected, sweetheart. Please say hi, because whether you like it or not, he'll be your bodyguard," he told his wife.

I swear she wanted to roll her eyes.

Then it dawned on me that she truly despised having a bodyguard. But who wanted to guard some Mrs. Billionaire, either? Certainly not me. Good grief, I didn't want to tailgate anyone, let alone some gorgeous woman with killer looks that can shame Cleopatra.

It's all Marlow's fault! That sneaky bastard.

"Hi." Bright dusky brown eyes stared back at me. Attention grabber. "I'm Mia, and just so you know, I'm not really pleased about this arrangement at all. But either way, I just hope you'll stay in your lane and I'll do mine. You push my button, you're fired," she said sternly.

Okay, are we on a mission to scare Jesus Christ from making his grand, long-awaited return or something? Not bad, though. Not bad at all. She was fierce, and big boys need some tough adventure once in a while, right?

"Crystal clear, Madam," I replied.

Madam? Yeah, whatever. We can call her that. Let's just do what we came here to do and leave. Three months. Just three months and I'll be off.

"Good. I have an important meeting at eight in the morning. I'll be delighted if you could make it in time . . . Red!" she told me, challenging and mischievous sparks radiating from her eyes.

Worked for a fashion company? Yeah, she did her job justice if I considered the six-inches heels she was wearing effortlessly, and the figure-hugging dress that enhanced her—Ahem!

It wasn't an easy task to ignore her fine body that would urge any virile man to strip her mentally. I wasn't innocent either. My blood is fucking hot and she's a real deal.

"As you wish," I deadpanned.

"Good." She left after giving me a very long scrutiny.

By the time I had all the important details about the whole Kingston family, including her.

Frankly, I thought she'd be either a bratty type of a woman—shopping four times a week, and changing hair color and nails at least once a week. Or a submissive wife—doing everything Mr. Kingston orders, since he pays for her credit cards and cars, and even built a goddamn company for her.

But fuck no! The madam proved me brutally wrong. She's neither bratty nor slavish. She's a masterpiece of work, in need of no Kingston to pay for her credit cards or car services. She walks like a boss and does everything like a boss because she's the boss of her own company.

But boss or not, she's still a woman who cried in silence because of a cheating piece of shit she calls her husband. Yeah, he's a man—simple and clear—and fancying pretty skirts is genetic as many of my kind would proudly think. But what else did he want for a woman?

The Madam was nearly perfect. But who knows? Maybe she was just a pretty face but deeply as shady as fuck. I thought to myself as her heels echoed, and her curves sashayed distractingly.

But that was enough! I didn't come to Portland for this fruitless debate about her beauty and marital drama. I was here to do my job and pass like a shadow.

"Is this the address?" asks the grumpy man behind the wheel.

Finally! I was about to grow bald if I stayed another minute in his taxi. I lost count of the number of complaints he had been rumbling about throughout the ride.

"Yeah." I grab a wallet and do the needful.

Home at last.

A cold shower has never felt this liberating as I'm finally in the bathroom. Mia Vera conquers my thoughts no matter how hard I try to diverge them into something else. Can I tell her everything she wants to know? Definitely not. Maybe only what she needs to know.

It's for her own good.

Still charging, my mobile rumbles on the nightstand as I exit the bathroom. I firm the towel around my waist and stride over. Now it feels good. A breath of relief jumps off my lips but a frown flits on my face when I see Luca's call. What happened to Mia now?

I tap on 'Accept'.

"If you have knocked her again I swear I'm gonna kill you," I snap as I recall the last time he stopped her from entering the Kingston House.

"Not now, buddy!" Luca sounds tense and in a rush. "Something happened to little Madam!" he says.

"What happened?" I exhort, my heart booming uncontrollably at the mention of her.

"I don't know. That's the problem," he answers and tires screech loudly at his end. He's driving. "The cops arrested her just a few minutes ago and I'm tailing their car. I'm not sure what trouble she got herself—"

"What? Did you say arrested?" I feel the hairs standing at the back of my neck. Luca gives me a hummed yes. "Why would the police arrest her?"

"Bruh, I don't know! But I heard the redhead was found dead in her apartment this morning–"

"The redhead?" What the fuck! "You mean Anne?" I think I'm losing my mind.

"Yeah."

"Fuck!" I growl frustrated, running a hand through damp hair. "Find out which precinct they're taking her to! I'll be there ASAP." I hang after a second or two, and my blood boils as I breathe.

What have you done, Mia? Or is it another dirty game from the Kingstons?  

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A/N: Surpriseee! I know I'm utterly new with writing Male POV, but I hope you've enjoyed reading about Red as you've waited so long for this.