Reluctant Client- Guardians, Inc. Series- Book 1

Reluctant Client- Guardians Inc. Book 1- Prologue

And a smirk moved across his mouth. No power problems here.

The state-of-the-art automatic gate quietly rolled open, and he drove through. His gaze went to the digital display on the dashboard. Despite all the delays, he was still a few minutes early. Like usual.

Because MJ hated being late.

After all, 'Time means money' was Miles Jennings' mantra. One that had served him well over the years.

The Sons of Liberty shared that mantra but had one of their own too. Mistakes cost time and money. And knowing that either became irreplaceable once it was gone, this group took care with the spending of both.

Two mistakes occurred in these past weeks, and MJ realized the dire consequences of not being useful to these associates. Even if the reasons behind them served another purpose. "Let's just say time and money will no longer be a concern," he said, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

Even his music failed to soothe him.

But maybe that was best. Distractions were unwise now that he drew nearer.

He shifted in his seat and looked around, noting the secured construction perimeter with an impenetrable security fence. It would be wise to be concerned, and MJ could definitely be called sensible, as well as ambitious and resourceful.

After all, getting to this level within the organization had not been an easy feat. And since the plan was to continually rise higher, that meant serious damage control tonight. "I'll figure something out." He rolled his shoulders as an expression of dire purpose reflected back in the rear-view mirror.

The light-grey, Bentley Mulsanne parked up ahead had its motor running. Two dark construction trailers stood side by side‒like sentinels‒just behind the parked car. Low illumination concealed the surrounding area, making it a good place for dark deeds.

With the other car's tinted windows, it became anyone's guess on how many were attending tonight's meeting.

Easing behind the waiting car, MJ parked and switched off the vehicle's motor.

The Bentley's driver door promptly swung open. A man in a grey-colored uniform stepped out. MJ remained seated and watched as the chauffeur opened the back passenger's door with a smooth competence, even while holding the closed umbrella in his hand. As if he matched the movements to an inner song playing in his head. MJ suspected something classical, like Winter of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, represented that one's personality well.

Schooling his features to remain neutral became difficult. That man, Michael Arenald, with his uppity attitude, continued to get on MJ's last nerve. He let the clenched fists of both hands relax and shook his head. Allowing those thoughts to reign over him would do no good.

When the chauffeur moved away to provide a discreet separation from the man now exiting the car, MJ took his cue, jumped out of his vehicle, and walked toward the contact.

On the newly formed concrete curb, a man stood waiting.

By his outward appearance, he looked like an opera lover. The formal attire of the white tailored shirt and impeccable bow tie contrasted sharply with the glossy black tuxedo jacket and matching slacks. Stealing a glimpse down at his off-the-rack business suit, MJ wondered if it appeared utterly inappropriate in comparison.

But his smile gleamed with confidence, nonetheless, as he greeted his boss. Reaching out to shake hands, he called out, "Good evening, Mr. Black. I hope you've had no difficulties with the roads tonight."

The man ignored the outstretched hand, instead adjusting the cuffs on his pristine tailored jacket. Only after completing this task did he look up to meet MJ's guarded expression.

"I don't have difficulties, Jennings-"

"Call me MJ-"

"Jennings." The quiet yet clipped tone reflected his dislike for the interruption. "If I become aware of concerns or difficulties, well... the employee is no longer the best and will no longer be of use to me." He shifted to address his chauffeur. "Is this not so, Michael?"

"That is correct, Sir." He bowed slightly in respect. His voice held a refined quality to it, with a strong posh accent.

The distinguished gentleman turned away from the chauffeur to address one of many underlings within the organization. "I had assumed that the little matter we discussed at our last meeting would be completed."

MJ cleared his throat before replying, "I did meet with some resistance. However, recent steps in place will secure success in the upcoming weeks. You will not be disappointed. Not only will the task be completed very soon, but I have set in place a tool that may have other uses for us in the future." In his smooth tone, he clearly relayed his certainty.

His mentor nodded slowly in thoughtful reflection. "Yes. I read your report. I can see where you might believe that is true. Although now, it will be much harder to complete without exposing others already in place." His voice got intensely quiet. "This issue needed results promptly."

"Well... Yes. I understand. But I want to explain in detail my recent endeavors that will rectify this slight delay immediately." MJ's voice stayed clear and strong. His smile remained confident.

Mr. Black pivoted on the sole of his shoes and began walking back toward the car. The chauffeur glided forward in synchronized timing, ready to hold the door open for him. A short, inaudible murmuring transpired between Mr. Black and his chauffeur before he disappeared into the car's interior.

Michael, the very efficient driver‒or anything else the organization required‒shut the door silently and moved to stand before MJ. One hand rested on the bottom of the wood finial handle, pressing the tip of his umbrella tight to the sidewalk. The other hand casually tucked into his front pocket, resembling a picture-perfect stance of what a gentleman looks like.

"Regrettably, your services are no longer required," the chauffeur said.

Unaware of the gun and too late to do anything about it, MJ's body jerked with the two shots fired. The silencer on the weapon concealed most of the sound, eliminating any concern or curiosity in the neighboring area. The bullets passed through his lower abdomen and became lodged in the construction trailer behind MJ's collapsed body.

Back inside the dimness of the Bentley's interior, a cough broke the silence. "What do you want me to do with this?" Mr. Edward Sharpe sat in the plush sedan's interior, facing his new immediate supervisor.

"Make it go away," Mr. Black directed. "Take the lead. Make the adjustments we talked about." Sharpe reached for the door handle and let himself out, pausing when his employer added, "Keep the Tahoe. But do not... alter my directives as Mr. Jennings did."

Sharpe headed for the trailer to dig out the evidence embedded in the exterior wall. He went around the building and got the other supplies needed for this errand. "Black's shadow certainly thought of everything," Sharpe muttered, pushing aside the heavier items to get to the folded tarp. His gaze went back to his new car.

A sweet ride indeed, and no reason to get it dirty so soon.

Another glance toward the street showed the car and the elite organization's third in command long gone. Their lofty ambitions of world dominance had no time for cleaning up messes.

That's why a man like him would always be needed.

With careful steps, Sharpe made his way back to the curb. Two bullet shells got picked up and placed in his coat's pocket as he went to spread out the brown, waterproof material next to the reposed body.

Groaning nearby, MJ knew that calculated design and not poor shooting provided the present results of his wounds' location.

His death was meant to take some time.

This story is available on another platform. You can find out all about this book and the Guardians, Inc. Series on my Instagram page: l.b.brookes

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