The American Bodyguard ✔️

chapter two

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Zainab's POV.

"He's what?"

Reagan looks uncomfortable as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Come on, let me take you to your brother's, he can answer all your questions. I don't have to be home till 11."

I check the time on my phone, it's half ten. Faisal should be home now, he landed half an hour ago. I usually go to bed about this time, I'm going to need some alcohol to fuel myself tonight.

Faisal's house is only five minutes from my flat, I could walk it (if I wasn't in these killer heels). My brother wouldn't want me to do that, though. Rappers can be controversial sometimes and a lot of guys didn't like my brother stepping onto the scene a few years ago. He has enemies, not the corny type you see on movies, the petty, reckless type that would happily shoot him in a drive-by given half the chance.

My father hasn't exactly made friends by getting to the position of power he is in now. He's squashed a few people to get to the top, and he has his own list of enemies. As an assistant book editor, the authors of the manuscripts that get rejected don't even know who I am or if I've read their work and had anything to do with their rejection. I'm the only person in my family not making enemies, yet I always have a guard with me.

Most days, Reagan is my ride between work and home. He accompanies me to the gym -he works out at the same time I do-, he picks up my shopping with me and is generally my driver as well as my bodyguard. On his weeks off, I get Wrenn. I don't mind him, but I don't have the same relationship with him as I do Reagan. But Reagan is technically on my father's security team, so there are times where another guard steps in if Reagan is needed by my dad.

We arrive at Faisal's house. The driveway is full of flashy supercars. I narrow my eyes at the new McLaren casually sitting in front of the garage. My brother is flashy with his wealth.

Reagan helps me out of the car and walks with me to the front door. It swings open and I smile at Matty, one of my brother's crew. He gives me a quick hug. Faisal's friends are careful to keep contact with me to a minimum. When I was nineteen, I slept with one of his friends. We're not allowed to talk about him anymore, and none of his friends even look twice at me.

"He's out back, come on."

Reagan trails me into the house. It already smells like weed and incense, I turn up my nose and walk through to the garden. My brother is surrounded by his crew, they're all laid back on his expensive garden furniture, a fire pit burning in the middle of them. Faisal sees me and jumps to his feet.

He's still shaving his head, it seems. He has a thick gold chain around his neck, something similar to what you might see on a Pit Bull terrier. I always tease him about wearing a dog collar.

"Z! You're here."

I embrace his lean body, feeling his shoulder blades poke out at me. My brother is slim giving that he spends most of his time working on his music and smoking, he doesn't eat as much as he should, or as well as he should.

"I've missed you," I tell him honestly. "But cut the shit, what's happening with my security guard?"

He looks over my shoulder at Reagan and I feel bad for dropping him in it.

"Don't look at him," I snap. "Look at me. It wasn't his fault, I bullied it out of me. Spill, Zal."

"Alright, alright," he says, holding his hands up in surrender.

I pluck the half-smoked joint from his hand and stamp it into the pavement with my stiletto. Zal glares but doesn't comment. He takes a seat and throws his arms over the back of the sofa he's sprawled on.