Page 124 of The Bodyguard

Aidan speaks to the detective.

I walk over and hand them Gina’s gun.

“I know you need a statement from me, but I need to go with her,” I tell the detective.

He glances at Aidan, and I can tell they know one another. In fact, I recognize him, so we’ve probably dealt with him before.

Who knows? I can’t fucking think. I just need to be with Savannah.

Adian nods.

“Go. We’ll get your statement tomorrow. You were the shooter, correct?” The detective asks.

“No. He arrived first. I unarmed her,” Aidan says.

“Got it. Go.” The detective nods his head toward the door and I’m through it one second later.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

AIDAN

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And this is why love is too damn crazy for me to be bothered with. Even dating is a pain in my ass. Imagine if I met someone like Gina who lost her damn mind and shot someone. Or had my girl kidnapped like Josh experienced.

Clearly, Ryder is in love with Savannah. God knows how it’s going to work out. She’s the biggest movie star in the world. This isn’t a Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner fucking movie.

I don’t want to see my friend with a broken heart, but I suspect it’s coming. Whichever way it works out.

There was a lot of blood.

If Savannah lives, I’m not sure there is a happily ever after for them. God, I wish he’d kept his distance and not fallen in love with her.

Or maybe I’m projecting.

Maybe it’s me who wishes I’d not let someone into my heart long ago.

A long time ago. Ten years.

Enough time to have gotten over her. But apparently becoming a US Marine and serving my country, starting a business and dating what feels like three hundred women still hasn’t put enough space between us.

I still see her beautiful face when I’m thrusting into a woman. Trust me, I know how fucked up that is.

I’m not sure I believe in love anymore.

Yet...

Maybe I’m as fucked up as Gina, not being able to let her go.

“That should be enough for now,” Detective Stewart says, flipping his notebook closed. “So this is Savannah Sinclair’s house, huh?”

I shake my head. “She might be dead, dude.”

“God imagine. Like some kind of Marilyn Monroe tragedy.”

Fucking dickhead.

“I’ll send Ryder down to the station in the morning.” I say, glancing around. I spot Savannah’s phone and walk over, lifting it off the charger.

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