Page 19 of Bound to the Bodyguard

A gasp escaped me, a sound drowned by the blood roaring in my ears. Vulnerability stripped me bare, leaving me exposed in a way no script ever could. My hands trembled, and I clutched the phone tighter, as if it were a lifeline rather than the very thing that tethered me to this nightmare.

“Keep them talking, Raven.” Jerome’s voice cut through my panic, low and steady. He had moved without me noticing, now only steps away from me, his gaze never straying from my face. “Don’t hang up.”

“Jerome...” I whispered, finding a measure of solace in his proximity.

“Ask them what they want,” Jerome instructed calmly, his hand signaling for me to stay engaged. There was a plan behind those intense eyes, a strategy forming even as the danger loomed closer.

Every instinct screamed at me to disconnect, to sever the vile link between me and the caller. But Jerome was right; we needed information. Swallowing down the bile of fear, I spoke again, each word laced with forced composure. “There must be a reason for all this… what is your end game?”

“End game?” The caller mused, dragging out the moment with cruel leisure. “I want you to remember this feeling, Raven. Remember it when you’re alone, remember it when you think you’re safe. You’re never alone, not anymore.”

“Stay calm,” Jerome murmured, close enough for his warmth to brush against my cold dread. “We’ll get through this.”

His assurance was a lifeline, a reminder that I was not facing this horror alone. With Jerome by my side, I dared to believe we might just survive the twisted game I had been unwillingly cast into.

Why me? In the whirlwind of my thoughts, I tried to discern a motive, a reason someone would watch me so intimately, invading the sanctuary I had built from years of sweat and sacrifice. Was it random or meticulously planned? Was I just a pawn in someone’s sick game?

“Raven, ask them where they are.” Jerome’s command pulled me back from the edge of hysteria.

“Where are you?” My voice betrayed none of the chaos inside me; it was a skill honed on countless stages and sets.

“Close enough,” the caller replied, a smirk audible in the tone.

Jerome nodded, the ghost of a smile acknowledging my courage.

The uncertainty gnawed at me, each second stretching into an eternity. I was a woman who thrived on control, yet now control was slipping through my fingers like sand.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

“Alright, we’ve almost got them,” Jerome whispered, his hand reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. The touch was brief but filled with promise—the promise of safety, of action.

“Almost” wasn’t enough for me, but it was something. A sliver of hope to cling to as I faced the unknown with nothing but my wits and the man who’d sworn to protect me.

“Is this some kind of game to you?” My question was deliberate, baiting the caller. Every word was a step on a tightrope, every sentence a gamble.

“Life is a game, sweetheart,” the caller retorted, and the use of ‘sweetheart’ felt like a violation, an intimate term twisted into something grotesque.

Jerome ended his call with a finality that echoed in the quiet room. He met my gaze once more, and this time there was an unspoken message in the depths of his intense eyes: help was on the way. With a few more silent strides, he was back at my side, his presence a comforting fortress.

“Fine, we’ll play,” I responded to the caller, every syllable laced with feigned interest. Inside, I was anything but interested—I was terrified, angry, and above all, resolute that I would not be broken by this twisted caller’s games.

“Good girl,” the voice cooed, and I felt Jerome’s hand tense on my shoulder—a reflex of protection, a silent promise that he was there, no matter how dark the game became.

“Are you having fun yet?” I pressed on, throat dry, thoughts spiraling.

“Definitely,” the caller replied, tone dripping with sadistic pleasure. “It’s not every day you get to play with someone as... renowned as Raven Fields.”

The way they said my name—it was personal, intimate even. This wasn’t some random stalker; this felt targeted. My eyes darted to Jerome, his jaw set, his eyes scanning the room as if he could somehow spot the danger through sheer will.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Patience,” came the chilling response. “All in good time.”

Jerome’s hand was a steady presence on my back now, grounding me.

“Let’s make a deal,” I offered, my internal plea for safety clashing with the boldness of my words. Please, just slip up. Give me something to use against you.

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