On my toes, I placed my right eye to the peephole. Once I got a glimpse of the guy, I dropped back to my feet and stood, staring at the thick door in front of me. There was no way in hell I was opening my door to an unknown Caucasian man who appeared to have just escaped a super-max prison.
He was at least six-eight and about as wide as my door, with a thick dark beard that matched his short hair. His wide eyes had stared unblinking into the peephole, waiting for me.
“Ma’am, the name’s Sam. Arjen sent me to escort you and see if you needed help. Said you’re moving in today.” His voice projected loudly through the cracks of the doorway.
How the hell had he gotten into my gated apartment complex and the building?
I’d prepared to drive to the location myself once I found the courage to leave my apartment, but it appeared my stalling had come to an end. I stood in place as uncertainty filled me with doubt about the path I was set to embark on. It was too late to pretend that I wasn’t home, the man had already spotted me peeking at him. I prayed.
God, please get me through this. Please take my hand as I start my walk through the valley of the shadow of death because this man outside my door looks like he is on a first-name basis with the devil. Amen!
Due to living life as an Evans, Psalm 23 was one that Mecca and I prayed often. The visible shake in my hand caused me to fumble with the lock as I was assuredly opening my door for the devil’s nephew.
The alarming whine that came from the door as it creaked open didn’t help my nerves. The tall man loomed, his pale skin covered in tattoos, his serious blue-eyed gaze aimed and raking over me. I jumped back with a start when he reached towards me, my heart doing figure eights in my chest.
“No need to be afraid. I’m your protection.” His words were offered to comfort me, but they did nothing but send me down a path filled with wicked ideas. A teasing hint of mischief reached his eyes as I took the keys he’d offered me. I supposed my confused expression prompted him to keep talking.
“Keys to your new car,” he stated like it was something I should have expected. I already had a car. I eased further back when he moved to reach into his back pocket. A black credit card was presented next. I lifted my gaze from the card and met the man’s stare.
“Arjen may be intense, but I can guarantee you, he takes care of his,” the man stated. His words were doing nothing to take away my confusion, only added to the mounting concerns plaguing my brain.
“Are you packed and ready? If not, I’ll wait.” He hadn’t moved to enter my apartment, but his presence was no less stalking. I stood gawking at him until I understood he was waiting for an answer.
“I’m packed. I just need to shut down my computer.”
Finally, I accepted the black card from him and stepped aside so he could enter, but he didn’t move.
“No, ma’am. I’ll wait here. I’m glad you’re already packed.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t need or want to meet Arjen’s rampage for being alone with you.” He made the statement under his breath, but I caught the gist.
I had briefly met my future husband who’d had a dangerous air about him, but he hadn’t appeared to have a crazy streak. As a matter of fact, he had been a well-dressed gentleman. Arjen Vallin possessed a dangerous reputation, but this big man made it sound like I was marrying an overprotective psycho. What had my father gotten me into?
I marched into my office first, shutdown, and packed up my computer equipment before I entered my bedroom and retrieved the two pieces of luggage I had packed the night before.
My shoulders dropped while taking in one last glance around my apartment, filled with what had been familiar and comfortable to me. A sad smile touched my lips at the site of the first painting I had done at twelve, a homeless man feeding his dog.
The three remotes I needed to flip through channels on my wall-mounted flat screen sat in a neat line on the arm of my couch. The television had never been aligned properly and tilted down on the right side. The dent in the cushion of my black leather couch where I would always tuck my feet under me was visible at a distance. The expensive glass and marble in-table was a gift Mecca donated to the place when I first moved in.
A deep inhale and a silent prayer did nothing to keep my emotions at bay as I turned and walked out of my old life.
Sam, my new bodyguard, handled my luggage, and I followed him, taking my first stroll into the unknown. He stopped me at a box-style Mercedes SUV and pointed at the area where he wanted me to stand. I stood as directed, but remained unsure of how to compute what was happening. He loaded my luggage into the back, lifting the heavy bags like they were nothing but foam.
Once my bags were secured, he pointed to a new black Mercedes S560 parked next to him that was so deliciously classy, I gawked.
“Keys,” Sam stated. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Ma’am, your keys. That’s your car,” he informed, pointing at it.
My lips fell apart as my eyes swiped back and forth between him and the car, my expression causing a smirk to brush across Sam’s lips.
“Told you. Arjen will take good care of you,” he stated.
Finally, I fished around in my purse and found the keys I’d been handed and aimed them at the car. Sam’s presence had stunned me, so I hadn’t paid attention to the big blaring Mercedes emblem on the keys he had handed over.
I had never dated a man for his material possessions or for what he could purchase for me, but, in this case, I was taking whatever Arjen wanted to give. I didn’t want to marry him. Therefore, I would take all of the expensive gifts he’d give, and this car was at least making me smile.
The car flashed opened with a bright welcome as the eighty-degree Colorado sun made it bling. I wasn’t doing badly in life with my above-average apartment in a safe neighborhood, and my used Nissan Maxima, but this was an upgrade that had me salivating.
I reached for the door handle, but Sam beat me to it, opening the door for me. Since it was only him escorting me, it made me wonder who had driven my new ride to this location.
“Make all your necessary adjustments and honk the horn once when you’re ready. Follow me closely, if you need to stop, honk twice.”
“Okay,” I replied as I slid onto the buttery gray interior. The new-car scent had me closing my eyes as I inhaled deeply. I honked when I was ready and followed Sam, the car taking a little of the sting away from what I might face with my impending marriage.
The forty-minute trip went by seamlessly. However, the glow of my new car started wearing off as scenarios of what I might face at the end of the trip played out in my head.
Was this car the beginning of a trend that was meant to keep me quiet?