Chapter Four – Spitfire


Edward pulled up to an estate that doubled as a secret rehabilitation center for the rich and notorious. The center's staff was discrete, and they should be considering the amount of money people paid to be treated there. In the sixty years since it had been in business, only one resident's identity was compromised. The center compensated the family, then the people involved in the indiscretion—that leaked the information— eliminated.

The center had a zero tolerance, and all members of the staff had background checks that rivaled those conducted by the CIA. Rumors indicated that a former agent worked for the center.

The center was considered neutral grounds, and no one with an addiction or mental illness was turned away for the right price. Anyone attempting to hurt a resident while under their care was met with a swift and brutal end.

A Las Vegas family in the 1970s tried to kidnap the son of a rival, unsuccessfully. Less than forty-eight hours later, every member of the Las Vegas family was dead. Since that incident, it became an unspoken rule: everyone was to respect the sick and unstable while on center grounds.

The guard at the main gate waved Edward through after his vehicle's thorough inspection indicated he had no weapons. The main building, a vast mansion boasting over a hundred rooms, including four kitchens and three game rooms, was made of red brick and mortar.

Once inside, Edward asked for a report on Jasper's temperament from one of the nurses. Even though Jasper's withdrawals had recently subsided, the first time Edward visited, upon his arrival in Washington, his brother had been despondent and refused to speak with him.

"He's an ornery, asshole." A fellow resident stated as Edward walked toward Jasper's room. His stringy hair hung over his obsidian eyes, his russet skin clammy with sweat, and he stunk like last week's trash bin. A smile widened his full lips, making him appear a bit younger than Edward's initial assessment. "I like him."

Edward cocked an eyebrow, but instantly stilled when he recognized the tattoo on the man's left arm. It was a well-known mark of a hired gun, and immediately put Edward on alert.

The man's eyes narrowed down to slits, his forefinger rising to his lips. "Not even the all- knowing center knows who I am."

"As I told you before, Collin," Dr. Banner interrupted, acknowledging Edward with the dip of his chin, "we are well aware of who and what you are."

The doctor in charge of the day-to-day operations of the center looked distinguished in a gray three-piece suit, complete with an old-fashioned pocket watch. The gray in his blond hair did little to mar his aristocratic appearance.

Collin wavered on his feet, nearly tumbling into the doctor. "Doc! How the hell are you? Do you know who this man is?"

"No, and neither do you." Dr. Banner apologized to Edward, guiding Collin down the hall toward the sessions rooms Edward visited the first time.

He looked back to Edward. "Your brother has locked himself in the library. I'd rather not break down the doors again."

"I'll take care of it." Edward turned down the hall, determined to put someone on the inside as a precaution. He understood that even hired guns needed rehab and therapy, but Collin was too close to his brother, and the timing did not feel coincidental.

.

.

.

Edward felt exhausted after leaving the center, and he needed coffee. First, he had to stop at Riley's house to trade vehicles; his Bugatti was heading home that day. His visit to see Jasper ended horribly, with his brother threatening Edward's life and having to be sedated before he hurt himself or someone else.

Dr. Banner felt it was best for Edward to put off another visit for a while, but promised to call if Jasper asked for him.

On his way back home, Edward made the mistake of calling his mother, since she knew of his plans to visit Jasper that morning. It hurt him to hear the tears in her voice when he told her what he had witnessed.

Would Jasper ever recover? Edward knew it was a distinct possibility that the road to recovery might never end for Jasper.

Even if Jasper seemed better, their father would never allow him to assume position as head of the family.

The throne, as some referred to it, was something Edward never wanted. There was more freedom as a second, until Jasper had a child, at least. Now, that was all a moot point.

Edward sighed heavily. He needed to hear a friendly voice, deciding to call his baby brother. After speaking for several minutes about Jasper and other shit, Emmett turned to the subject of Edward's quest to find a wife.

"What exactly are you doing to find the right kind of woman?" Edward's brother asked. "Are you sitting on your ass? How is it possible that you haven't met anyone yet?"

Edward rolled his eyes as he parked in front of the cafe he'd visited previously. "I did as you suggested, toning down what I wore, no expensive brand name clothing."

"Let me guess, you couldn't give up your watches?" Emmett was aware how much Edward loved his watches. He often set out to steal them, just to see if Edward would notice, and to piss him off, of course.

Edward always noticed when someone touched his things. And he made those who dared pay, even his brother.

"One look at the Rolex or the Royal Oak, the women started flocking to me." The scene at the grocery store still made him shudder. "It didn't matter that I had on old fucking jeans and a plain T-shirt. They knew I had money."

"A watch isn't enough to attract gold diggers, not with your ugly mug? Did you get something else to drive as I suggested?"

He sent his Bugatti back home with one of his men earlier that day, trading it in for something less ostentatious.

"My car is on the way home as we speak."

"Aren't you supposed to be the smartest one of us? If you were driving one of those cars and wearing a hundred thousand dollar watch, it wouldn't have mattered what clothes you had on, Edward." Emmett sighed. "Where are you going anyway? Art galleries again?"

"Some classy places." Edward refused to tell his brother about his trip to the grocery store, knowing Emmett would never let him live it down.

"Stop going to fucking bars." Emmett sounded stressed, not that Edward blamed him. Their father was about ready to insist Edward return home.

Some shady shit was going down with the Rossi Family, and Alec was proving elusive. Their contractors already said they'd do the hit for free, but it mattered little if the slimy bastard couldn't be found. Nobody had been able to find him.

"What did you buy to drive?" Emmett loved cars, always wanting to test drive something new or work under the engine of one.

"A fucking truck." Edward was not at all pleased with the situation.

"It better not be a pricey one; some of those fuckers can go up to sixty-five grand, more with custom additions."

"It's five years old, with worn upholstery, and a dent on the tailgate." Edward hated it, but if it helped find the right woman, he'd bear it.

"I wish I would've seen your face when you first drove that fucking piece of shit." Emmett's guffaws made Edward hang up.

He didn't have time for his brother's teasing. What he needed was coffee; it'd been a hell of a day already.

His family tended to forget he wasn't in the same time zone anymore, calling much too early most days, as was the case that morning when his mother rang before dawn.

He had finally settled into a modest home outside Seattle. The family-oriented community was picturesque and something you'd see in a travel brochure. The air smelled damn good; it even felt different from back home.

He answered his cell phone the second Emmett called back.

"What you hang up for?"

"You're acting like an ass, Emmett. Do you think I enjoy finding a wife like this? Acting like someone I'm not? Think about it. I'll basically have to lie my ass off to her."

"Shouldn't be too hard. You're a fucking pro at deception." For once, Emmett sounded serious. "But I get what you mean. Not exactly the best way to start a relationship, with a lie."

"Exactly." Edward ignored the handicap parking sign and went into the small cafe that was in the middle of an expansion. The brunette with the spectacular ass, who caught his eye last time, had gone inside, but she had disappeared before he finished his call with his brother. Something about her made him stop and stare. He hoped to see her again.

After a quick look around, disappointed the woman was still nowhere in sight, he ordered a drink and a brownie for his sweet tooth.

"Here you go." The barista, a blonde cutie probably still in college, handed him his coffee and pastry. He winked, causing her to blush. She, of course, was too young for him. She even reminded him of one his young, sweet cousins back home.

Then, he realized he couldn't even entertain a wife like her; he'd corrupt the fuck out of someone so wholesome. No, what he needed was a woman who straddled the line. None of that Madonna/whore shit. He wanted someone essentially good, but seasoned enough to handle the bad. Perhaps someone who didn't mind getting her hands a little dirty, too.

It was complicated to explain, even to himself. "You're an idiot."

He took a seat near the back wall of the cafe, facing the front door and windows, always on alert. When he chose the small community, his people researched the area and some of the inhabitants. They wanted no surprises, and kept track of their enemies and potential rivals. If one of them stepped into Washington, Edward would have one security team with him in seconds, and another crew within twenty minutes.

The establishment was rather small but cozy. Warm earthy tones filled every space, classic paintings and prints adorned the walls, while fancy lamps hung over every table. The noise from construction was loud, but thick sheets of plastic kept out the dust.

Edward couldn't see what was going on behind the opaque curtain, which made him nervous. Was someone watching him? Suddenly, a hand shot out from behind the sheet, pushing it aside to pass through.

The brunette he'd first seen the week prior smiled at the barista behind the counter.

Edward loosened the grip on his gun, tucking it a little deeper into the holster along the small of his back. His instincts were way off, for some reason. The woman had all kinds of alarm bells ringing in his head, but she also had his body responding in distinct ways.

His mouth went desert dry.

His pupils dilated.

His muscles tensed, ready to move toward her.

His cock stirred for the first time in months.

She moved with a grace he'd only seen in dancers. Her hair was darker in the warm lighting of the cafe, but he remembered it had red hues in the sunlight. The bouncy waves fell to the middle of her back, as she loosened them from her ponytail. She laughed at something the barista said, throwing back her head, exposing her beautiful, unadorned neck. Her full breasts and backside were as mesmerizing as the rest of her. Yet, it was the warmth in her eyes that drew him to stand like an idiot in the middle of the cafe.

He wanted to know her name, and to ask why she glared at him.

For some unknown reason, the barista pointed a finger at Edward, as they whispered, or maybe even conspired, against him.

The brunette's dark eyes narrowed even farther, focused on him alone.

Edward cocked an eyebrow in question, unsure what he'd done to deserve the woman's anger or suspicion. Had she recognized him? It was probable; though, his family rarely made national news. They liked working behind the scenes as much as possible.

She shook her head, in what he recognized as annoyance, a scowl forming on her full, pink lips. She took several steps toward him, but a commotion at the cafe's entrance diverted her attention.

Edward's hand reached for his gun.

He sat down, feeling even more idiotic as the woman ran to help an elderly couple with the door. She gave them warm smiles, but glared at him from over their shoulders.

Edward had no idea what to do, other than to shrug. He hadn't done a thing to earn her ire. Or had he?

"Someone parked in the handicap spot again." The old man grumbled some more, hanging his jacket and hat. "Bet you it's one of them a-holes from the country club, always thinking they can park wherever they want."

The young woman wheeled the old man's wife farther inside the building. "I have no doubt he's… How did you say it? An a-hole?"

The old woman patted the younger one's arm with her withered, age-spotted hand. "Henry tries not to cuss, says he worries about my sensibilities. But let's call it like it is, whoever parked there is an asshole."

The brunette giggled, telling the barista she'd cover the older couple's drinks. She stayed with them for a few minutes and answered some questions about hercafe's renovations.

It wasn't long after leaving the couple that she disappeared behind the plastic sheeting. Reappearing a minute later, armed with a sheet of paper and a small box.

"Bella?" The barista's wide eyes turned to Edward, but only for a moment. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"The only way for an asshole to know what he did was wrong, is to point out the obvious." The woman didn't give Edward another look; she just walked out the front entrance.

Edward thought about following her, but decided it was best to do a little reconnaissance first. Other than an obvious temper and gorgeous body, he knew nothing about her.

It wasn't long before the woman returned to scream at the top of her lungs. "Hey, Paul! Get your ass out here."

The rest of the customers all seemed more amused than upset about the disruption. Some of them were laughing, others just smiling at the woman.

A rather large, young man, at over six feet tall, dark skin, and even darker hair, appeared from behind the plastic curtain within seconds. Sawdust covered his upper arms, and he dusted it off, which the little spitfire didn't seem to appreciate.

Paul, or whatever she called him, grinned cheekily. "Sorry about the dust, boss. What's up?"

"What did I tell you about taking up the handicap parking spaces?"

Paul groaned. "Come on, boss. I had a lot of stuff to lug inside this morning." The kid couldn't have been more than eighteen or so; heavily tattooed arms, fuzzy facial hair, and thick eyebrows. "It's only a couple inches."

"I'm not asking about your dick size, Pauly." That earned the woman a few snickers from a table nearby.

The kid blushed, throwing his hands up in the air with a huff.

She glared at him, instantly making him stand down. The spitfire was about a mere five-seven; though, the boots had a heavy sole on them. Maybe closer to five-five, yet she made Paul squirm under her lethal glare.

"I told you more than once that you couldn't do that. Mr. and Mrs. Cope had to park down the street because you didn't leave enough room for them to take out her chair properly."

"There's another space." The kid wasn't exactly angry, more embarrassed than anything. Sheepish even. "I'm sorry." He waved over the woman's shoulder at the aged couple who smiled and waved indulgently at the boy. "See, they're cool."

"The other space was taken by some asshole without a card or plates."

"Oh, damn." That got the boy's attention. "You do the usual?"

The usual? Then Edward cringed when he realized why she appeared so angry with him. He was the asshole parked in the handicap space.

"Never mind that." The woman handed Paul a huge set of keys. "Move the truck now, please." She patted his arm, giving him an indulgent smile to show there were no hard feelings. Then, her eyes went glacial again. "Don't do it again, got it?"

"Sure thing, boss." Paul jogged out the door.

Edward decided he needed to man up and move his truck, too.

He stopped at a nearby table, offering the elderly couple something to eat for their troubles, after apologizing profusely for taking up the space. The woman, who had noticed him glancing toward the spitfire, decided to give him some vital information.

Bella, the beautiful brunette, according to Mrs. Cope, was very single and staring at them from behind the counter.

"She needs someone to go with her when she travels. Not that she's gone away in a while; poor thing is always working. If not, she's helping her father." Mrs. Cope leaned toward Edward, whispering, conspiring. "He had some kind of accident, hasn't been able to leave the house since. She needs someone to take care of her every once in a while."

Edward glanced over his shoulder, but Bella quickly averted her gaze.

"I'm afraid her first impression of me won't give me a chance in hell, ma'am." He gave Mrs. Cope a charming smile; the same one he used on his grandmother to earn him sweet treats as a child.

The old woman's crinkled eyes looked into Edward's, then thoroughly inspected his body. "I don't think you have a thing to worry about, young man." She gave him a flirty wink, her husband chuckling beside her. "With that smile and those fine looks, she'll be putty in your hands in no time."

Edward bent to kiss Mrs. Cope's hand. "Then I will use them in hopes of winning a date." He listened to a few more pieces of advice from Mr. Cope before searching out the fiercely protective cafe owner.

Unfortunately, according to Jessica, the young, blonde barista, Bella ran to the bank.

Edward knew he couldn't wait for her to return, having to check in with his father and his security team in less than an hour.

He walked out to his truck, not surprised to find something on his windshield. A ticket was what he deserved for parking in the handicap zone, considering how far away the Copes had to park because of him. He could only imagine the trouble Mr. Cope had to get the wheelchair out. No wonder Bella was upset. He wasn't worried about the ticket; the truck would come back clean and under the name of Edward Anthony Masen, his assumed identity for the time being.

Walking closer to his truck, he realized it wasn't a ticket on his windshield, but a note, with something attached to it. Wary, since he was under no immediate protection in the small town, he approached with caution. Upon closer inspection, he read the note.

In clear, block print were the words:

PLEASE DON'T PROCREATE

The items attached to the note: a strip of condoms.

Laughter, deep and rich, tumbled out of him, and for the first time in years, he blushed like a schoolboy. His eyes watered as he walked around to his driver's side door, looking down to find something else that made him laugh harder.

In colorful chalk, she had outlined the area around his truck and labeled it along the sidewalk and the street with: ASSHOLE PARKING.

Edward glanced around, wondering if she was watching him. Finally, he spotted her across the street, buying what appeared to be flowers.

Her glare was gone, and it was obvious, she was trying hard not to grin at his laughter.

"I surrender." He bowed elegantly, which he felt she would appreciate. The weathered books and historical artwork in the cafe depicted a different era, classical. Something told him, though, there was much more to the woman. He intended to learn everything about her. "Until tomorrow."


AN: I skipped the scene with Jasper for a reason, we'll eventually see him again. What do you think about the rehab center?