Page 34 of Bound to the Bodyguard

Panic clutched at my chest as I darted towards the walk-in closet. My breath came in ragged gasps, each one a silent testament to my terror. I’d always taken pride in the spaciousness of the closet, a personal sanctuary lined with meticulously organized apparel and accessories reflecting my success. Now, it promised a sliver of hope for concealment.

Heartsick with dread, I shoved aside hangers draped with silk blouses and designer dresses, burrowing into the false safety behind us. Purses—relics of my red-carpet appearances—tumbled down around me, creating a makeshift barricade. I wriggled further back, cocooning myself under cashmere and snakeskin.

Please don’t let them find me. I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle my breathing. Every sound was magnified in the confined space, each creak and murmur from the house below, underscored by the pounding of my heart.

Then came the heavy footsteps—the thunderous approach of danger personified. I froze, eyes squeezing shut as if by denying sight I could ward off the reality of my vulnerability. The intruders’ presence was like a physical weight, pressing down on me through the floorboards.

The footsteps grew louder, closer—a merciless rhythm that marched in time with the escalating fear that knotted my stomach. Somewhere within the cavernous rooms beneath me, voices rose—a garbled mess of shouts and orders that held no meaning other than an impending threat.

Jerome, where are you? The question clawed up my throat, but I swallowed it back. He wasn’t here; I was alone. Alone with the suffocating darkness and the ominous echo of boots on tile, each step an omen of what might come next.

Survive. Just survive.

The march of boots on wooden stairs sets a cadence to my rising panic. I bury myself deeper under the luxurious garments that once brought me joy but now offer a meager shield against the unknown. The rhythmic thuds grow louder, reverberating through the walls and floor, closing in on me like a tightening noose.

“Upstairs,” I heard a gruff voice command from below.

Please, not here. Not like this.

My breaths come in shallow gasps, my hands trembling as they clutch a silk blouse to my chest. The fabric does little to absorb the sound of my pounding heartbeat, which threatens to betray my hiding spot.

Footsteps fan out across the second floor, the intruders methodically searching each room. The dread coils tighter within me, squeezing the hope from my chest with every passing second.

Then, without warning, the bedroom door crashed open, and the world seems to pause on its axis. My sanctuary violated, I held my breath, prepared for the worst.

Chapter 22

Jerome

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel, jaw set in grim determination. The speedometer needle was pushing further to the right, edging into territory that spelled recklessness. But I didn’t flinch. Time was a luxury I couldn’t afford, not with Raven’s life potentially hanging in the balance.

Come on, come on. I urged the car forward as if it could respond to my desperation. Hold on, Raven. I’m coming.

The landscape blurred past me, trees and fences merging into a continuous streak of green and brown. My mind replayed the last conversation I had with Raven, my voice a mixture of steely resolve and barely concealed anxiety. It was unlike me to show any hint of fear, which only served to fuel my own concern.

Suddenly, the familiar outline of Raven’s property loomed ahead. Without hesitation, I slammed my foot onto the brake; the tires screeching their protest as rubber burned against the asphalt. The high-pitched howl pierced the quiet countryside, sending birds scattering from the nearby trees.

“Damn it!” I cursed as the car fishtailed slightly before coming to an abrupt stop at the front entrance. I threw open the door, the metal clanging loudly in the silence that followed the echo of tortured tires.

The scent of burnt rubber hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint whiff of danger that seemed to emanate from the house itself. I shook my head, trying to clear it, to focus on the task at hand. I needed to get to her to ensure she was safe.

My boots hit the gravel with an urgency that matched the rapid drumming of my heart. I paused for a fraction of a second, allowing my trained eyes to sweep the area—left to right, then right to left—etching every detail into my mind. The overgrown pathway, the wind whispering through the trees, the distant rustle of leaves—all registered as potential threats.

“Nothing out of place... yet,” I muttered under my breath. My inner voice, a constant companion, echoed my thoughts. Stay sharp, Dawson. This isn’t a drill.

I approached the imposing iron fence, its spikes reaching towards the sky like the fingers of a giant trying to snatch at the clouds. I knew better than to waste precious seconds searching for an entry point; time was a luxury I couldn’t afford. With practiced ease, my hands found purchase on the cold metal, and I hoisted myself up with a fluidity that defied the bulk of my muscular frame.

“Come on, muscles, don’t fail me now,” I encouraged myself silently, feeling the strain in my biceps as we bore my weight.

The ascent was a dance of precision and power—each movement deliberate, each breath measured. At the apex of the fence, I paused, balancing effortlessly. For a moment, I was a statue cast in iron, a silent guardian against the backdrop of a darkening sky.

“Almost there, Raven,” I whispered, envisioning her face, fierce and beautiful, as if she could hear me. With a swift motion, I swung my legs over and landed on the other side with a soft thud that barely disturbed the stillness of the evening.

“Let’s hope that was the hardest part,” I thought, brushing off the insignificance of the physical obstacle compared to what might lie ahead.

And with that, I surged forward, propelled by duty and the unspoken promise made to the woman who had somehow managed to breach the walls I had built around my heart.

My hand shot to the holster at my side, the leather a familiar comfort against my palm. The weapon slid out with seamless precision—a cool extension of my own resolve—as I flicked off the safety. My fingers wrapped around the grip, firm and unwavering. “I’m coming for you,” I breathed, the words a silent vow that tethered me to the mission at hand.

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