Page 53 of Bound to the Bodyguard

“Time will reveal all,” the figure beside me said, a cold amusement in his tone.

“Time might be a luxury I don’t have,” I countered silently, my mind working furiously. Whoever these people were, they knew what they were doing. Professional, deliberate. That much was clear.

The streetlights became blurry streaks as they shot past, the world outside morphing into an indistinct haze. Trapped within the steel confines, I was nothing more than cargo, yet my mind remained defiantly free, flickering with thoughts of escape and survival.

“Where are you taking me?” I demanded, voice steady despite the tremor I felt. The masked figures offered no response, their silence as cold and impenetrable as the walls that enclosed me.

My thoughts twisted and turned, landing on Jerome. His face, usually so stoic and unreadable, flickered in my mind’s eye—a beacon of hope in a sea of dread. Jerome, you have to find me.

He wasn’t just a former military operative; he was a man of action, a protector forged in the fires of conflict. If anyone could navigate the treacherous currents, I now found myself in, it was him.

Jerome would say stay calm, assess the situation. I clung to his voice now, using it as an anchor, allowing it to guide my racing heart toward something resembling composure.

He had taught me well—how to read a room, how to spot an exit. Now, I needed to channel his lessons more than ever.

“Please,” I tried again, this time my plea a whisper, “if you’re going to hurt me, just get it over with.”

A snicker from the front seat was the only acknowledgement I received, a sound that sent chills down my spine. My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. They expected me to be afraid, to beg and cry. But I was no damsel in distress; I was a force to be reckoned with—a storm quietly gathering strength.

Jerome will come for me. He won’t rest until I’m safe. Yes, I was frightened, but I was far from defeated. And with Jerome Dawson out there, somewhere, searching for me, she held onto the belief that this was not where my story would end.

“Help! Somebody help me!” My voice was raw, crackling with both terror and defiance. I screamed again, louder, my throat burning with the effort as I thrashed against the restraints they’d fastened around my wrists.

“Quiet down back there!” barked the larger of the two men, glancing over his shoulder with eyes like flint. I could only see the outline of his jaw, set hard and unyielding, but I didn’t need to see more to know that these men meant business.

“Let me go!” I spat out the demand, words slicing through the tense air. I knew the chances of being heard were slim, but I refused to succumb to silence.

“Shut her up, will you?” The driver’s voice was tinged with annoyance, his focus never leaving the road as they hurtled down yet another obscure alley.

“Can’t,” the other man grunted, his attention fixed on the rearview mirror. “He’s behind us.”

“Who? Who’s behind us?” I demanded, though the captors ignored me. Confusion swirled within me, mingling with the fear. I writhed, trying to catch a glimpse through the tinted windows, but all I saw were blurred streetlights streaking by in the night.

“Damn it,” the driver cursed under his breath, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “Faster!”

The car accelerated, and my stomach lurched as if plummeting from a great height. The world outside became an indistinct blur, and inside, the tension was a palpable thing, wrapping around me like a second skin.

“Focus on losing him,” the larger man said, his voice a low growl. “I’ll deal with her if I have to.”

Like hell you will. I wasn’t just a victim; I was Raven Fields, and if there was a way out of this, I would find it. There was no room for surrender in my world.

“Shut her up before I do it permanently,” the larger man hissed, a note of menace threading through his words.

My breath caught in my throat—not just from fear, but from a flicker of recognition. The voice... I had heard it before, hadn’t I? It was rough like gravel, yet there was an odd familiarity to it that gnawed at the edges of my memory. I racked my brain, trying to place it, but panic clouded my thoughts. Where? When?

“Focus!” the other kidnapper snapped. “We’ve got more pressing issues.”

The vehicle lurched violently to the right, throwing me against the door with bruising force as we careened down a narrow alley. I could hear the scuffle of trash cans and the clamor of disturbed rats echoing off the walls. The kidnappers were desperate, their movements erratic.

“Left, left now!” The growl was unmistakable now—tinged with urgency—and I swore I knew that voice. But how? In the high stakes world of business I navigated daily or a fragment from my past?

“Keep your head on straight,” the driver spat back, jerking the wheel again. “He’s still on us!”

“Who’s chasing us?” I demanded, my own voice sharp with both anger and dread. My question went unanswered.

Through the grimy window, I glimpsed shadowy figures flitting by, a dizzying dance of darkness and light as the car zigzagged through the backstreets. They were trying to shake someone, but who? And why did it feel like I should know the answer?

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” The larger man was practically snarling now, the threat in his voice tempered by something else—fear?

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