Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) (22 page)

She could already sense him drawing away from her. Everything was ruined. Everything was shit. People had died tonight because of her. This was the least she deserved, to lose her source of strength and protection.

She was almost to her little cell of a room when she had an awful thought. She turned to him.

“You won’t leave tonight, will you? You won’t leave without saying goodbye?”

“Of course not. Don’t worry about that now.”

Don’t worry about it
now
, but he’d be leaving soon. His resigned expression told her everything. She wasn’t ready. She’d never be ready.

But that didn’t matter, because fourteen people had died, and it was at least partially her fault.

Love and Tragedy

T
here was no
big meeting, no legal reckoning outside the overwrought media coverage, just an abbreviated email from Mr. Asshole at MadDance. Ransom wasn’t even copied on it; it was forwarded to him by Liam Wilder.

Festival associates:

The remainder of the European tour has been cancelled. Hotel and personnel allowances will be paid until the end of this week. We thank you for your participation and regret any inconvenience caused by this cancellation.

No mention of the fourteen people who’d died in a muddy field north of Barcelona, or the two who’d died in the hospital afterward, or the numerous injured, many of whom were still fighting to survive their injuries. No mention of the mental anguish of those who’d witnessed the tragedy, like the exhausted twenty year old sleeping in the other room.

Ransom let her sleep while he worked out the next steps with Ironclad. Lola was still under their protection, so they’d flown her on a private jet to London, to an Ironclad safe house where she could wait out the worst of the news cycle frenzy. The media clamored for interviews with her, interviews she couldn’t bear to give. U.S. promoters tried to line up stateside shows, but Lady Paradise remained hidden as the world watched the footage of her staring down at the carnage with her hand pressed over her mouth.

Rave culture and EDM was suddenly under the global spotlight, and the big news stations did top-of-the-hour stories about the drugs, the partying, the relentless music. He watched them on his phone while Lola slept. Many of the reports accused her of inciting the crowd, showing outdated fan footage as evidence, clips of her twerking atop her sound console or diving into the audience. They conveniently left out the weather issues and sound problems, and condemned the “dangerous” EDM scene, focusing on Lady Paradise because she was the most ratings-worthy scapegoat. Even though reporters painted her as a villain, the community stood behind her, and the tragedy spiked a perverse boost in her sales.

When she was stronger, when the worst of the fallout was over, he would escort her home to L.A. Once she was settled in, he’d have to say goodbye and let some other bodyguard take over. She didn’t need his specialized protection anymore, didn’t need someone to rein in her partying ways. She was a different person now, more thoughtful, more cautious and self-aware.

He’d helped with that. He’d reformed her, put her in touch with her inner strength, and he ought to have been proud. But he wasn’t proud. He’d broken the cardinal rule of protection and gotten sexually involved with his client. Not just once, in a moment of weakness, but many times. He’d succumbed to her youth and vitality, and preyed on her loneliness. She was twenty, a kid, and he was a dirty old lecher. An ex porn star. Sad.

The doorbell rang. He’d known his boss would show up once they were in London, but now that he was here, Ransom felt unprepared.

“The media’s found you,” he said as soon as Ransom opened the door. “There are reporters outside. How’s the client?”

“Tired. Sleeping.”

Liam looked around the unassuming, hyper-secure flat, then turned back to him. Ransom tried to keep his expression neutral beneath his boss’s regard.

“Sleeping or sedated?” Liam asked.

“She won’t take sedatives. She’s very anti-drug now, even though she could probably use some. She’s devastated by what happened. She blames herself.”

Liam shook his head as he sat on the couch. “That’s bullshit. I don’t know what they were thinking, packing those kids onto that hill in the mud and rain.”

“It wasn’t a hill.” He took a seat in the armchair across from him. “More like a slope. But they were crazy before the show even started, throwing mud all over each other. When the lights went out, they lost their shit.”

“Did you see it happen? Did you see the kids go down?”

“No one saw it happen. Even the security guys didn’t know.” He swallowed hard. “No one knew. The crowd was surging back and forth and no one realized there were kids underneath. Or if they realized it, they couldn’t do anything about it.”

“I saw the footage of you yelling at the crowd.”

“By then it was too late. By then…” He suppressed a shudder, remembering the twisted bodies revealed when everyone stepped back. “By then, so many of them had already died.”

“Now the tour’s over.” Liam put his hands on his knees and sighed. “I may have an option for you to work with the client a while longer. We put in a contract bid with her label in L.A., since they pay for security when she’s stateside. I haven’t heard back yet, but…”

Ransom wanted to pounce on the opportunity. He wanted to stay with her.

But he knew he couldn’t. They’d continue sleeping together, and he couldn’t guard her properly if his heart was involved. “I don’t know,” he said, because that made more sense than
please, no
.

Liam studied him a moment. “It’s been a tough tour, and an awful week. Maybe you need a break? A leave of absence?”

“No, I…” He’d just spend a leave of absence following her around. “I’ll be fine. I’d just prefer a different assignment. Some time away from the ear plugs and raver kids.”

“The raver kids love you. There are fan blogs about you, you know.”

Oh, yes. The Gilberto and Lady Paradise bloggers, who posted and captioned photos of them together, and even wrote bawdy stories about their sexual adventures. Thank God none of them had discovered his porn background, but it was only a matter of time. He looked his boss in the eyes and said the sentence he’d practiced beforehand. “I think it’s best if I take a new assignment once she’s back in L.A.”

His lips twisted as he said it, because it was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Liam’s brow creased and his mouth turned down in a frown.

“I see.” He looked back at his phone. One of his fingers tapped the side. “Perhaps I should have removed you from the situation after she overdosed.”

The situation
. Ransom’s mind stuck on those words. Lola wasn’t a situation. She was a person, a scared kid who was full of moxie and feelings. He loved her. He would always love her, no matter how inappropriate it was. But he couldn’t say that. Instead he squared his shoulders and shuttered his aching heart. “She’s an…emotionally taxing client,” he said. “She’ll need a bodyguard with his head on straight.”

“What do you mean, ‘emotionally taxing’?”

“She’s just…” He wanted to explain her complexity, her vulnerability, but how to do that without veering outside professional bounds? “As famous as she is, there’s this conflicted person inside her. Not Lady Paradise, but a person who’s lost both her parents, who makes impulsive choices, who’s struggling to grow up, to grow beyond all the fame and immaturity.”

Liam made a sound. “About the immaturity: she’s twenty years old.”

“She plays the guitar when no one else is around, and pours out these songs that could break your heart—”

“Your heart, Ransom?”

The man’s voice stopped him cold. It was a warning. Say any more, and he would have to investigate the nature of their relationship, and shit would come out that Ransom could never explain. An uncomfortably long silence stretched between them. He didn’t dare open his mouth.

“Speaking of immaturity,” Liam finally said, “how do you think she’s doing as far as her drug issues? Will she still need a minder?”

Ransom thought about that, his heart sinking in his chest. Would she remain stable once he said goodbye to her in L.A.? Or would she fall back into her crazy party girl habits? The overdose had scared her straight for a while, but when she was back with her posse, she might forget what he’d taught her. She might even act out in order to reclaim his attention.

This sucked. Holy hell, this entire thing sucked. He’d thought, by the end of the tour, he’d be able to say goodbye. He’d thought she’d be bored of him by then, but the tour had ended too quickly.

“I don’t know if she’ll need a minder. That might be something to discuss with her label.”

“I think it makes more sense to discuss it with you.” Liam leaned back, tapping his knees with a questioning expression. “You spent the most time with her. What do you think?”

“I think she needs someone young to look after her. Someone flexible and energetic. Someone patient. She might go off the deep end again, but I don’t think I’m the best person to deal with it.”

“Why?”

Had he worried about Liam opening an investigation? This was the investigation. His boss’s close regard didn’t waver, and he didn’t dare look away. He felt like he was on the opposite side of an interrogation table. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

“The thing is, she’s just a kid. Like you said, twenty years old. It was hard for me to relate to her in a…in a professional way.”

He met Liam’s searching gaze. He’d told him the goddamn truth, as much as it was a lie. After a moment, Liam scratched his neck.

“She was a pain, huh? Too much of a handful for you? You’re getting old, my man.”

Ransom smiled and said the expected line. “Way too old.”

“The bloggers are going to be sad.”

“Maybe the next bodyguard will be more photogenic.”

Liam chuckled and the danger seemed to pass, even though he still felt on the defensive.

“I have a job in Vegas,” his boss said, looking back at his phone. “Sixty year old soul singer who hits the pills and booze too hard. You could start as early as next weekend. You sure you don’t need some time off?”

“No.”

Liam nodded. “We can take care of Lola from here on out.”

“I’ll see her back to L.A. I promised I’d take her home.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. And once she’s in L.A., we’ll get another bodyguard on the case.” Liam smiled. “Someone younger and more photogenic.”

“Someone more blogworthy,” joked Ransom, even though it was hard as fuck to banter when his heart was cracking in his chest.

A knock interrupted their conversation, along with a strident male voice. “Lady Paradise? I’m a reporter with National News Network. Could you answer a few questions?” Another knock, and a second male voice. “Lady Paradise?”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “I’ll assemble a team to hold the perimeter and keep them out of your face. When Lola’s ready to go home, let me know.” He stood and straightened his tie as the reporter knocked again.

“Lady Paradise?
Lady Paradise?
”

The banging and yelling must have woken Lola. She appeared in the living room doorway in her wrinkled robe, with a grievous case of bedhead. She frowned at Liam, as if the tall, suited man might be the interloping reporter.

“This is my boss,” Ransom clarified.

“Liam Wilder, Ironclad CEO. I came to see if I could help with anything.” He approached her with his hand outstretched, as if he did business with pink-haired DJs all the time. “Don’t mind the reporters. I’ll take care of them on my way out.”

“Good luck with that.”

He paused, holding her hand between his. “I know you’ve had a disheartening week, but I don’t want you to worry about anything. All of this will die down. Everything will be okay.”

Liam had a way of speaking that reassured people even in the most fraught circumstances. He could see his magic working on Lola. Her shoulders relaxed and she almost smiled. Almost.

The reporters pounded on the door again and Liam excused himself to deal with them. A few sharp words, a few legal threats, and they were gone. Liam was great at his job, but Ransom felt like a failure. He’d slept with a client, and now he was going to leave her. It was wrong and terrible, but he had no other choice.

“It’s going to be okay.” He took her in his arms and stroked her hair. “Liam’s right, things will get better. This won’t last forever.”

“I know.” She clung to him, still groggy with sleep. But no sedatives, no drugs. That had been her choice. If he had to leave her, at least he knew he’d changed her for the better.

Small solace, when both of them would be alone.

*

By the time
they left London and flew over the ocean, Lola had finally begun to emerge from her numb haze.

So many people had died. The staff at Ironclad’s Barcelona office helped her send cards and money to their families expressing her grief. A third of them had been returned with furious replies. She forced Ransom to translate those replies for her, even though the words hurt. They accused her of riling up the crowd with some evil, murderous purpose. She knew she hadn’t done that. She’d only been riling them up to help them have fun.