Page 58 of Bound to the Bodyguard

“Right here, Raven. Always,” I replied, the promise etched into every word. And though I couldn’t follow her into the ambulance, my commitment was unyielding. Whoever was responsible for this would answer to me, and I would not rest until Raven’s world was secure once more.

The sudden shrill ring of my cellphone sliced through the cacophony of sirens and authoritative commands, a glaring intrusion into the tumultuous silence that had settled in my mind. My eyes flicked to the screen, narrowing into sharp slits upon recognizing the caller ID—Raven’s ex-husband. With one last glance at Raven, being carefully loaded into the ambulance, I pivoted on my heel and stepped aside, creating a bubble of privacy amidst the public frenzy.

“Talk,” I bit out as I answered the call, my voice low and edged with a barely contained fury.

“Jerome, I just heard about Raven. Is she—” he began, tone laced with feigned concern. “Look, I’m worried about her too, okay? I know we’ve had our differences, but—”

“Save it. You’re the last person she wants to worry about right now. What do you want?” I demanded, my gaze shifting from the darkening sky back to the ambulance’s flashing lights, a silent sentinel of urgency.

There was a pause on the line, a hesitation that did not go unnoticed. “I wanted to make sure she’s alright. And...to tell you that I might know something about what happened.” His voice held a note of cryptic significance now.

“Go on,” I said tersely, jaw setting firm. The protective instincts honed over years in military service flared up, preparing me for whatever revelation might come next.

“Let’s just say...an old acquaintance of mine has been asking questions about Raven. Questions that didn’t sit well with me,” he continued, careful and calculating.

“Who? Spit it out, or so help me—” My patience frayed, each second of evasion tightening the coil of anger within me.

“His name is Alex Delaney. We did some business deals together in the past. He’s got connections, Jerome, the kind that could orchestrate...this sort of thing,” he divulged, the gravity of the situation pressing down like a physical weight.

“Connections? What kind of connections?” I pressed, my mind racing to connect the dots, tracing potential threats on the web of Raven’s complex life.

“Let’s just say he’s not someone you want to cross. And he’s been obsessed with Raven since the moment he saw her picture in the papers with me.”

“Stay away from her. And if you’re involved in any way...” I left the threat hanging, a promise of retribution that needed no elaboration.

“Believe me, I want no part of this. I just thought you should know.” His assurance came quick, perhaps too quick, and my grip on the phone tightened until the casing creaked.

“Thanks for the tip,” I grumbled, ending the call without waiting for a reply. I pocketed the phone, my mind already strategizing, mapping out my next move in this deadly chess game. Whoever was behind this would soon learn that targeting Raven Fields was the gravest mistake they could make. I was on the hunt now, and my resolve was ironclad.

I had just slid my phone back into my pocket when the unsettling staccato of shutters broke through the sirens’ wail. Like vultures to carrion, paparazzi swarmed around the perimeter, their cameras flashing a relentless barrage of artificial lightning that cut through the twilight haze.

“Raven! Raven Fields, look this way!”

“Over here, Raven! How do you feel after your ordeal?”

I felt a surge of disgust. These parasites with their lenses and shouted questions cared nothing for Raven’s well-being—only the story that her trauma could sell. My jaw clenched. I placed myself like a shield between the intrusive lenses and Raven’s vulnerable form.

“Back off!” I barked, my voice slicing through the clamor with the sharpness of a commando’s knife. “This is a crime scene, not a press conference!”

One particularly brash photographer edged closer, the greed for the perfect shot evident in his eyes. I stepped forward, an immovable force, radiating authority honed from years of military discipline. “I said back off,” I repeated, low and menacing.

“Come on, man, we’re just doing our job,” one of the paparazzi protested, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“Your job doesn’t include harassing a woman who’s just been through hell,” I countered, his stance unwavering as I scanned the area, ensuring no camera had a clear shot at Raven.

“Let the police do their work and give her some damn space.” My words were punctuated by the weight of my presence, commanding respect—or at least compliance.

A reluctant shuffle of feet followed my order, the photographers retreating a few paces, their murmurs an undercurrent to the wail of sirens and the distant orders of law enforcement. I didn’t relax; my eyes remained vigilant, my protective instincts fully engaged. I’d stand guard over Raven Fields until she was safely out of sight, away from prying eyes and insatiable curiosity.

“Jerome, you need to let the professionals handle this,” a uniformed officer said, his hand resting on my shoulder. But the touch felt distant to me, my mind racing with thoughts of vengeance and protection.

“Listen,” my voice was a low growl, tinged with barely contained fury, “I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to find him, the bastard who did this to her.” My jaw clenched as I made the vow, every syllable a promise etched in steel.

“Jerome, focus on Raven right now,” another voice chimed in, but his words were drowned out by the incessant drumming in my head—a rhythm that spelled retribution.

“Raven needs you calm,” the officer insisted, but I was already moving away, my gaze locked onto the ambulance where Raven sat, vulnerable and shaken.

“Hey,” my tone softened as I approached her, brushing aside the paramedic’s objections with a look that brooked no argument. I knelt beside her, taking her hands into my own—a lifeline amidst the chaos.

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