Page 27 of Bound to the Bodyguard

I strained against the ropes binding my wrists, gritting my teeth against the burn. No use. Whoever had taken me knew what they were doing.

Panic and adrenaline warred in my gut as I thought of Raven unprotected, vulnerable. I had failed her.

A door creaked open, spilling light into the dark room. I blinked at the silhouette in the doorway, eyes adjusting to take in the person’s features. Tall, broad-shouldered, face obscured by a black mask.

“The famous Mr. Dawson,” a gravelly voice purred. “How fortunate that you stumbled into our little trap! Now, tell me—where is Ms. Fields?”

I set my jaw, refusing to betray Raven’s location. Not now, not ever.

The man tsked, shaking his head. “Loyal as a dog, I see. No matter.” He pulled a knife from his belt, the blade glinting under the dim light. “We have ways of making people talk.”

A cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the knife. This was going to be a long night.

My heart pounded as the man approached, knife in hand. I strained again against the ropes, panic rising in my chest, but escape was impossible.

The man grabbed my shirt and sliced upward with the knife, the blade slicing through fabric and skin. I gritted my teeth against the sting, refusing to give my captor the satisfaction of a cry.

My shirt fell away in tatters, leaving my chest bare. The man tilted his head, eyeing the web of scars that crisscrossed my torso. “You’ve seen battle,” he mused. “Good. That will make this more interesting.”

He slid the tip of the knife down my collarbone and over my pec. Not hard enough to cut but enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The man smiled, slow and menacing. “Tell me where she is.”

I said nothing. In response, the man pressed the knife into my skin, just below the ribcage.

“Where is Raven?” The man twisted the knife, and I couldn’t hold back a strangled cry.

“Go to hell.” My vision swam as blood trickled down my torso, soaking into my jeans.

The man tsked again. “I was hoping we could do this the easy way.” He leaned in close, rancid breath hot on my cheek. “But we have all night, and I’m going to enjoy every scream.”

I braced myself as the man raised the knife again, gleaming red in the dim light. I wouldn’t break. I couldn’t. Raven’s life depended on it.

I blinked awake with a start, heart pounding. For a disorienting moment, I felt the ghostly sensation of a knife slicing into my skin.

Then I realized I was in Raven’s study, slumped in an armchair. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows. I ran a hand over my bare chest, finding smooth, unmarred skin. Just a nightmare, then. One that had felt all too real.

The envelope crinkled as I shifted in the seat, and the events of the afternoon came rushing back. I straightened, scanning the room for any signs of Raven. Her laptop was closed on the desk, her bag slung over the back of her chair, but she was nowhere to be seen.

A floorboard creaked behind me. I whipped around to find Raven leaning in the doorway, watching me with an unreadable expression. She had changed into a form-fitting skirt and loose white button up blouse, the top few buttons undone to reveal a hint of cleavage. There was a slit up the side that went all the way to her hip, putting her long, toned legs on display.

My mouth went dry at the sight of her. Heat crept up the back of my neck as I realized I was still shirtless.

“Did you need something?” Her tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent there I couldn’t quite decipher. I cleared my throat, trying to will away the lingering images from my dream.

“No, I—sorry. I must have dozed off.”

I’d be staying up until all hours of the night doing security sweeps and hadn’t been getting much shut eye. Falling asleep during the day when Raven was counting on me could be disastrous. Never again.

Chapter 18

Raven

The glass tabletop reflected the Los Angeles skyline as I leaned forward, my fingers splayed across its smooth surface. My agent, and also ex-husband, a silver-haired fox of the industry, was prattling on about opportunities that would have once made my heart race with excitement.

“This role is practically written for you. The protagonist is strong, independent. You’ll not only star, but also produce if you want.” His eyes gleamed with the prospect of success.

“I like the sound of that, but I need to know more about the creative team. I won’t sign on unless the director’s vision aligns with my own.”

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