Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

Rewrite. Hope you enjoy it

Chapter 4

(Baylee)

"Can I help you?" Puzzled wasn't the word for how I felt when I laid eyes on the man standing at my door. He wore faded jeans, a tight tee shirt with a skull and a leather jacket. Disheveled hair and he needed a shave; I felt like I should shut the door in his face, but politeness caused just enough of a pause to allow the man to slip inside my door without invitation.

"You're expecting me." A scruffy voice to match the scruffy appearance made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. He wasn't the kind of man I would normally meet in my life and I was immediately terrified. My father had received some threats on his life recently. He didn't give me many details and he seemed more concerned for my life than his own. He ordered me to stay home. Told me to never go outside the gated community without Brock, but Brock was never home, but I couldn't tell him that. Actually my father should already know he was at work – that's when I started to doubt my husband's word.

I didn't move from the door. My eyes watched the intruder's every move – Brock's Bentley came into view. For once I was glad to see it drive slowly through the private road maneuver into the drive.

My husband strolled into the home, pecked my cheek and shook the stranger's hand, then, without words, my husband continued on to his office.

The stranger took a seat in the antique chair that sat for show in the corner of my kitchen, stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head.

Okay? That was strange, but I wouldn't ask the man any questions. Maybe Brock what I'd told him about the conversation I'd had with my father had scared him – I was his wife after all. Losing me wouldn't be easy for him even though there had been times when I had been depressed, feeling like he wouldn't miss me at all if I didn't wake up in the next morning. There had been nights when I'd cried imaging that he would forget me before I was laid in my plot beside my mother and I was sure he'd replace me quickly.

I headed to Brock's office and poked my head in. "Hi." I said meekly.

Brock had his cell phone to his ear and barely glanced at me. "What?"

"That guy? Did Daddy receive another threat? Is there more to it than what he told me?"

"Son of a bitch, Baylee – nobody is after you – get over yourself – you're not as important as you think you are." He turned his swiveled chair away from me and went back to his phone call.

I walked away from his office feeling the sting of held back tears. I went back to the kitchen and my chores. Cleaning every speck I thought I saw and finished the dinner I'd started hours before.

I snuck glances at the man sitting in the corner. His eyes seemed to be on me all the time.

I didn't go out of my way to make the man feel welcome and that ate away at my conscious. I was brought up the right way. I was taught wrong from right in a Christian home. My mother made sure I knew how to be kind and humble. The money doesn't mean anything she had said. We have it today, but that doesn't mean it will be there tomorrow. I guess that's why I always felt out of place with other girl's growing up. I never could act or talk the way that they did.

But I didn't need to do anything that would make my husband cross. Conversing with a man I didn't know, would cause that in seconds. I had to remember that Brock thought I was stepping out on him – that man may be there to test me. Oh, how I wished I didn't live with such horrible thoughts, but I had to think of every scenario. I couldn't afford to make a mistake. I loved my husband and I knew if I tried hard enough I could make up for what I had done to lose his trust.

"You don't have a clue, do ya?" The man had a nasally growl. The gaze I gave him must have revealed my confusion. Damn, I had always been an open book. "I'm your bodyguard."

"And just what are you supposed to be protecting me from?" I hated that I thought there was another reason beside the obvious that he was suddenly there – but Brock obviously thought my father was overreacting – no one had threatened me.

"You tell me."

Maybe it was a trick. Brock was setting me up. Wondering if I would run my mouth about the way he'd struck me.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I shrugged and went back to my work.

"Oh, you don't know?" He smirked. "Well, I'm guessing that little yellow mark around your eye isn't from running into the door."

"Maybe it is." I retorted. I didn't need his interrogation. What was this? Brock's new way to torture me? A way to constantly remind me of the power he wielded over me?