Philanthropy Pt. 02

I closed my mouth.

"Buddyguards are a problem. You and I almost became buddyguards. That means we have a relationship. Maybe a buddyguard is just a friend and takes selfies with you or at worse starts having a sexual relationship with you. Fucking is completely out of the question. You and I need to remain focused and impartial. Say one thing right now about that, and I swear I will shoot you."

I stayed quiet but thought back to my cock plunging in her ass for a moment.

"We don't like being called bodyguards. I am a protective agent. But you'll forget that in about twenty minutes and I'll be a bodyguard again. I don't want to take a bullet for you. I really don't. You aren't that special. But my mission is to keep you alive at all costs, and that may mean I need to absorb kinetic energy on your behalf. I won't like it. I'll probably hate you more after, and I will try my damnedest to not get killed doing it. I am not Secret Service. I have not sworn an oath to die defending you. And no jokes about it, okay? That would be fucked up.

"If I tell you to do something, you better fucking do it right away. I don't mean 'pass me the sugar'. I mean 'get your fucking head down or stay in the fucking car'. You'll know I mean it because I will be fucking swearing and using the voice your mother used on you when you were being a particularly nasty little shit."

I swear I saw her shudder a little at this remark. This was all fascinating to me.

"This is a relationship though and requires trust between both of us. Sex erodes that trust. I say that because you keep staring at my tits. Stop that."

"Can I see them one more time?"

She stared at me for a long moment. "Fuck me, you're an arse." She sighed. "Imani said Amber speaks very highly of you. So I won't bitch slap you right now, and perhaps the Percodan is fucking you up. Your eyes are slightly out of focus."

I started to experiment with my focus on things and then nodded when it was clear she was right.

She sighed harder. "My fault. You're a drug lightweight. Most billionaires can take drugs like celebrities. Okay, back on topic. The threat against you is not stationary. It is widespread and persistent. At least it will become more persistent. Likely the Carvers are planning something legal against you. That is always their pattern. That's something you need to deal with, not me. The other pattern -- one that no one can stick on them and prove - is how they systematically destroy their enemies by whatever means available. Through violence. Targeted violence.

"My work is professional, and I am highly skilled. Something as simple as heading to the corner store for a sweet means you need to discuss that with me first. I will detail how that is accomplished. Not you. You will fight me on this. You will argue with me about this. I am telling you right now, I will always be right. It will always be my way, or I may as well shoot you myself. You will say I am taking away your freedom. That is simply not true. I am fulfilling the job you have hired me to do. Never forget that, but you will. You'll get pissed at me. Say I'm caging you or some other bullshit. The expression on my face right now? You will see the same one and hopefully think back on this conversation. This is my I don't give a fuck face. Your cries and pleas will not work on me. In fact, the more you cry and whine, the more disgusted I will become. Which is why I always leave after six months. I will probably be so disgusted with you I may want to shoot you. You may have already eroded three months of my time with you. You are that much of an ass.

"My main job is observation. I observe. I am trained to observe. I will know and recognise all cars and all people moving around you at all times. I recognise patterns and the lack of patterns. This is what I do. But there is only one of me. I cannot see everything all the time and I will miss things. So remember me saying to do what I say when I say it without question? That's because something slipped past me. It will happen. I am not a superhero or invincible.

"Lastly, I will never do anything to cause you direct or indirect harm. Meaning I will not throw you out of a moving vehicle to save your life. I will not shoot the head off someone holding you at gunpoint. That's the movies. This is real life."

She finished her tea and held the empty cup out to me. "Please?"

I took her cup and made a new cup of tea for her. I was thinking the whole time. I understood completely where she was coming from and admired her honesty and brutal no-nonsense attitude. But honestly, I found myself watching her lips and wanting to kiss them. Indian women are so exotic to me. I shifted my cock in my pants and heard Shanti growl a little. I knew I was frustrating her. I was already certain I wanted to keep her around. Her lecture was fascinating, but it was looking into her eyes and seeing the sincerity that sold me. I also sensed a big but here and wanted to hear it. I handed her the tea and watched her fix it.

She took another sip and sighed. "Okay, the hard part. You'll need to make a choice here and it won't be easy. I could provide protective services for you for the next six months. No problem. After the six months, I will find a replacement for me for you. Here's the problem. I will deflect multiple attempts on your life over that period. I may be successful each and every time. After I leave, those attempts will continue and likely become more focused and with more intent. My replacement will have a truly hard time of it. I know this because I know the Carvers. This is the legal way to approach this. I am telling you in the end they will be successful. Unless they fuck up and expose themselves legally and the police can become involved. But remember, even from jail they can reach out and fuck you. And so far, they have yet to fuck up legally. We might get them angry enough through their own failure to cause them to slip, but I doubt that. They have waited over a year for revenge in some cases. i just outlined the defensive approach. Totally legal. I predict you are dead within a year.

"The other approach is more offensive. We need to flip a switch. Get them focused on you hard. Remember when I said the threat was widespread? If we can focus their actions, it becomes easier. We pick the path they follow and ambush them. This has worked for me many times before. This means taking the fight to them. Kicking them where it hurts and making sure they know who kicked them. This is illegal, but I promise you with my skills nothing will ever come back to stick on you.

"I've already formulated what I call the Mean Girl Offensive. Its petty, meanspirited shit that will rankle them and start making them do crazy shit. If you agree, you need to realise it paints a huge fucking target on you. In neon colours and glow in the dark shit. And they will come at you. In doing so, I will be exposed for the first time and they will seriously ramp their shit up. That will fail too, because, well, I'm really fucking good, Peter. They will cross the line and make mistakes at this point. They will be desperate to accomplish their goal, which will be to destroy you. I have only one question, since I assume you'll agree to pursue the offensive approach. Are you willing to let people who come after you die?"

Her question caught me off guard, and I stammered.

"Come now, big boy. Did you not hear me? Killing people is hard. It goes against everything we are wired internally to do. It takes massive amounts of training to push soldiers to kill. This is done through repetitive training where their actions become automatic through discipline. Reinforce the need to protect your fellow soldier, or your country, or whatever. Something more powerful than causing a death. Even then, soldiers crumble. PTSD and all that horrible shit. This is not accidental death where you can assuage your soul with bullshit about how it was an accident and not your fault. Blah blah blah. This is premeditated murder. We kill them before they kill you. Think about it. I'm going to leave you here so you do think about it before you answer brashly. I need my clothes and some other shit. That means I need to leave to get them. I'll be back in an hour."

She threw back her scalding hot tea without a hitch and set down the cup. "Call Imani when I'm gone. Tell her to tell you what she knows. If we are doing this, you need to know the type of person I am. When I walk back in here, I'll know your decision right away. I'll see it in your eyes. Bye, Peter."

She got up, grabbed her black bag, threw on her hoody and left the condo. She had a key card to my condo in her hand.

I sipped my coffee and grimaced at how cold it now was.

* * *

Later that day, when Shanti failed to materialise, I headed to the local grocery store for more meat and potatoes for my soon to be live in bodyguard. Thoughts of Shanti kept entering my mind and just how lethal she was. She had a calm menacing presence around her, and it excited me. I was thinking long and hard about what she said to me. Was I willing to let people die? People who wanted to harm me? Fuck yeah, I was. And yeah, I didn't call Imani. I already had a good feel for Shanti. I knew what kind of person she was.

I was in the checkout line, which was abnormally long for this time in the morning and was realising I had to be more aware of my surroundings. I was thinking I had to be more observant like Shanti when a light tap on my back startled me so much I might have made a very unmasculine sound. I spun around to find a wide-eyed, slightly frightened, Dana standing there.

My first instinct was to check her out once my brain clicked who it was. She was wearing tight Lycra pants and a technical t-shirt that bared her midriff. She had a bellybutton piercing with a small gold ring with a diamond on it. Her stomach was toned and tanned, and I wanted to run my tongue all over it.

I swallowed and stared at her. Her pixie haircut was still stunning and exposed her cute little ears. Her freckles stood out, and I wanted to lick them too. Jesus, what's wrong with me?

She was speaking to me, and I found my eyes already roving to the wonderful space between her legs. What is it about young, beautiful women that got my blood racing? Right, tits and ass. Shameful and typical male shit. I was proud of myself. I finally looked up and found her smirking at me. She liked being checked out. By me.

"Um, hi Dana. How are things?"

"Good. I guess. What are you doing here?"

Ah, small talk. An art I completely suck at. "Groceries? I need more... things."

"Things?" She glanced into my cart and saw it piled with the contents of the meat section with two large bags of potatoes piled on top. "That's a lot of things. You feeding an army?"

I looked back at my cart and realised how it must look. I turned back to her. "Kind of. How'd you escape your condo?"

"Escape? Good word for it. Mom and dad never let me leave. I'm getting good at sneaking out. Anyway, mom gave me a list of things to pick up."

I saw then she was holding a hand cart and inside were some fruit and packaged food. And a bottle of wine.

"Wine? Are you old enough?"

She glared at me. "Almost. I'm eighteen."

"Right, so no."

"I'm almost nineteen!"

I reached into her cart and pulled the bottle out.

"Hey! That's mine! Give it back!"

I glanced at the label and saw it was a cheap local wine. Ten bucks a bottle and sure to burn going down. I took the bottle and placed it in my cart and saw I was soon up for checkout.

"Give it back!" she hissed.

I smiled at her and held a finger up to my lips. Her perfect little mouth made an "O" shape, and I immediately thought of a good use for that mouth. I shook myself mentally and turned to my cart and started placing my items on the belt as the guy ahead of me paid and left with his groceries.

The guy behind the cash started swiping my items across the scanner. He looked up at me through greasy hair that badly needed a wash and a haircut. "Discount card?"

I shook my head.

"That'll be $257.23. How will you be paying?"

"Debit."

I paid and watched the packing guy place the last items in two paper bags. I waited for Dana to check out her items. The greasy cash dude told her the amount, and she froze. I saw she had a folded twenty in her dainty little hands. I looked at the cash register and saw she didn't have enough money. I pulled out my wallet and grabbed a fifty and handed it to the guy.

Dana broke out of her trance. "No! That's not necessary, I'll just remove some items." She was looking around embarrassed and blushed deep red when she saw people staring at her.

"It's okay, Dana. I owed your dad that fifty, remember?"

She stared at me for a moment and then understood what I was doing.

"Ah, right. Yeah. Thanks, Peter."

The cash guy completed the transaction and handed Dana the change after looking at me first. I nodded.

Part of me was trying to figure out how the hell she thought she was going to pay for the food and the wine. Not smart. She grabbed her bag, and I wrapped my arms around my two bags and then with a small feat of strength managed to grab the two bags of potatoes with each hand. It wasn't heavy -- just awkward. She was looking at me like I was using super strength.

"Come on. Let's walk back together," I said and started toward the exit.

"Can you carry all that? It's a couple of blocks to the condo."

"I'll be fine. Come on."

Once outside, I asked her to take back her bottle of wine.

"You didn't have to do that. The wine and the money."

"Yes, I did."

We walked in silence for a bit. I realised I was walking too fast and slowed down for her. She was breathing a little heavy.

"I'll pay you back. I promise. It was all mom gave me."

"Don't worry about it," I replied, and added that nugget to the 'Why I Hate the Carvers' list.

"I can make it up to you," she said quietly.

I stopped on the sidewalk and she took two steps before she realised I had stopped and turned to look back at me. "That's not going to happen."

"Why not? Don't you find me attractive?"

"You're eighteen. That's why."

She frowned, and it looked cute. "I don't understand!" That was a whine and her cuteness fled and I felt a stirring of anger.

"Leave it be. Come on." And I started walking again with her beside me.

"Amanda said its fun."

I looked sideways at her, but she was focused on the sidewalk. Up ahead I could see our condo and couldn't wait to get back home and leave this temptress behind me. "Amanda said what is fun?"

I could see colour rise in her cheeks. "You know."

"No, I don't. Spell it out, little girl." She shot a look at me and I saw the flash of anger. Touchy little girl, I thought.

"Blow job," she whispered, and looked around in fright that someone might have heard her.

The sidewalk was empty.

"A blow job? What is Amanda saying to you?"

"Nothing."

"You just said..." I sighed. "Never mind. Not gonna happen. Change the subject. Tell me about yourself. What do you do?"

"Do? What do I do? I sit in the condo all day and practise. Or I'm at school. In between I am chauffeured and watched everywhere. Dad never lets me be alone unless I'm home."

I noticed she was struggling to hold her one small bag and still breathing a little hard. She was totally out of shape despite her thinness. "What school?"

She named a private school in the city I was slightly aware of. "It's all girls. Thank God I'm in my last year. I can't wait to move on."

I had images of nubile eighteen-year-old schoolgirls having orgies in the bathroom and felt my cock stir. "Private school. Interesting. How are your marks?" I immediately felt stupid for asking that. I suck at small talk. Did I mention that?

"What are you, my dad?" she shot back, and I saw her startled look, and the blush on her cheeks grew a little deeper.

"Ah, daddy issues, I see."

"Fuck off! I do not."

"Your dad is an ass, do you know that?"

She shot me a look that was not nice. "Fuck off."

We walked in silence and would soon be home. "What do you practise?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Seriously. What are you practising?"

"You'll laugh."

"I won't. I promise."

We walked a bit more before she answered quietly. "Violin."

I couldn't help it. I stopped and started laughing. That was so completely unexpected. It was so cliché. So... so... Carver. Those uppish pricks. I realised Dana was standing a little away from me in obvious anger. She was vibrating. "That is fucking hilarious!" I managed to say.

"You're a fucking asshole!" she almost shouted. "I'm really good! Stop laughing! You promised!"

I managed to control myself and started walking the rest of the way home. "I can see you in your condo playing away! Who plays violin these days? I had no idea that was still a thing!"

"You don't know anything. I'm good. Really good, and you know what? Mr Asshole? I don't give a flying fuck what you think."

The laughter abated, and I wondered what she actually sounded like. Maybe she was good. But seriously, private school and violin lessons? What century is this?

"So, you are still talking to Amanda?" I asked to change the subject.

She shot me a look I couldn't figure out. "Why do you ask?"

"She's my friend. I'm curious."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Yes. She's helping me with some things."

"Like what?"

"None of your fucking business, that's what."

I chuckled. "So testy. Such a mouth. Are you and Amanda smooching?"

"SHUT UP!" she shouted. A couple leaving our condo building looked at her in shock and hurried past. Dana looked embarrassed, keyed the entrance lock, and rushed inside to the elevators.

I caught up to her at the elevators just as the doors opened. We entered, and she moved away from me and managed to push our floor with a little exertion of trying to balance her one bag.

"You need to work out," I commented, watching her catch her breath.

She glared at me.

"You have been huffing and puffing all the way from the grocery store and all you are carrying is one small bag. You're eighteen. You should be able to run circles around the city."

She said nothing.

I sighed. "Talk to Amanda about a fitness expert. They can come to your condo and start you on a programme."

The elevator car was rising fast, but not fast enough for me.

I could feel her glaring at me, so I hummed a little tune. This was fun.

The doors opened, and she hurried out. Just as she was about to enter her condo, I called out to her. "Come by for a coffee. I'll explain what I mean about working out."

She looked surprised at me, and I saw a little smile appear before she was inside her condo and gone.

Damn, I shouldn't have invited her over...

I was just finishing up putting my groceries away when my front door opened. That had never happened before, and I jumped in fright. No one can just walk into my condo. When I saw Shanti stroll in, I heaved a sigh of relief.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Nice girly squeak you have there."

"Jesus. You scared me. No one has ever just walked into my condo before."

"It's good you're scared. Keeps you on your toes. Speaking of which, I watched you go get groceries. Then chatting up that skinny kid next door. You trying to fuck her?"

"What? No!"

"She's trying to fuck you."

"No, she's not. She wants to blow me."

Shanti dropped her duffel bag on the hardware floor, and I heard a muffled metal clank. "She wants to blow you?" Shanti started laughing hard and after a bit I smiled at the humour.

"Yeah. Amanda put her up to it."

Shanti chortled. "You are one fucking piece of work."

"Fuck you, too."

"Wow, so testy!"

"What's in the bag?"

She gave me an appraising look. "Some things. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."