Page 18 of Snowed in with the Bodyguard

With a quiet exhale, I carefully slip out from under her, making my way down the hall to the bathroom. The silence is thick, only broken by the soft creak of the old cabin’s floorboards beneath my feet.

Holly gave me her innocence, trusted me enough to gift me something she can never take back. And because of that, I know I’ll destroy anything that tries to come between us.

I step under the hot shower, grateful for the propane water heater I installed. The water courses over my head, washing away the remnants of last night, but it does nothing to quell the resolve burning within me. Every instinct is honed toward Holly’s protection. Whatever her father’s business has unleashed on her will have to come through me first.

I brace my hands against the wall, letting the water spray over my back, enjoying a few moments of solitude as I go over our options. We crashed in the wilderness. We’ve taken refuge in a cabin I hoped I’d never have cause to utilize. I need to figure out our next move.

Shutting off the water, I quickly dry off and slip into clean clothes. The mirror’s reflection shows me the same hardened features, the thick beard covering my jaw. No matter how much I try to wash it away, the truth is written all over me: I’m a man who’s crossed a line. There’s no going back, and I don’t want to.

Returning to the living room, I throw on a coat from the closet and tug a worn beanie from the pocket over my damp hair. I head out the back, scanning the woods that stretch beyond the cabin and the driveway up front. There are no tracks in the snow, nothing to indicate we’ve been discovered. Maybe we’ve bought ourselves another day, maybe even enough time for her father to send reinforcements.

But I know better than to hope for miracles. Her father’s empire is collapsing, and he can’t afford to have a visible interest in us. If we’re going to survive, we’ll have to rely on ourselves.

I make my way to the shed beside the cabin. The door groans as I push it open, shadows casting deep pockets of darkness inside. As my eyes adjust, I see the classic motorcycle stowed away, a relic of my younger days. It’s not the ideal escape vehicle, not in the dead of winter with snow covering every inch of ground, but it’s better than nothing. The motorcycle isn’t just a relic; it’s a lifeline I’ve kept here for emergencies. I’ve always believed in having a backup plan for every situation, and this cabin was built on that principle.

The bike is a classic Yamaha XT500, rugged and built for off-road terrain. I chose it for its simplicity and reliability—no fancy electronics, no high-tech bells and whistles that could fail when I need it most. The kind of machine that will run on grit and determination, just like me. It’s a bike you can fix with basic tools, and I’ve stocked the shed with everything I’d need to do that.

I keep it here for reasons that go beyond practicality. For one, it’s quieter than a car and easier to maneuver through narrow trails or rough terrain. It’s not ideal in the snow, but if we have to leave the cabin and go somewhere cars can’t follow, it’s our best shot. The bike’s off-road capabilities mean it can handle forest trails, riverbanks, and even the uneven terrain of the mountains if necessary.

And then there’s the personal reason I keep it around. The motorcycle was one of the first things I bought after I left the SEALs, back when I thought I might have a life where I could ride for the hell of it, feel the wind on my face, and leave the past behind me. That dream didn’t last long. Life pulled me into a different kind of grind, but I never could bring myself to let the bike go. It’s a reminder of something simpler, something freer. Even if that freedom is a distant memory now.

I crouch beside it, running my hand along the seat, checking for any signs of wear or neglect. It’s in good shape, ready to go if we need it. But the snow makes it a last resort, and I know it. Riding it in this weather would be risky—not impossible, but not exactly a smooth ride.

Standing, I glance toward the cabin. Holly doesn’t know it yet, but this bike is our way out of here if things go south. It’s not perfect, but in a world where perfection doesn’t exist, it’s good enough. And good enough is all I need.

I make my way back inside, closing the door quietly behind me, running through different scenarios in my head.

Moving quietly to the kitchen, I open a drawer and pull out the small key with a vintage fob attached. I slip it into my jeans pocket—better to keep it on my person in case we need to move fast.

I heat water and grab the instant coffee, powdered creamer, and granola bars. As the coffee brews, I sit at the small table, waiting for the machine to finish, watching Holly as she sleeps. A smile tugs at my mouth—the woman could sleep through a tornado. I’ve spent two years watching her from a distance, learning her habits, her preferences. I remember every small detail.

For a moment, I let myself picture a world where none of this happened. A world where she isn’t a target, and I’m not the man hired to protect her. Where I can love her freely without constantly looking over my shoulder. Fuck, I want that life with her more than anything. But does she? Last night, we talked about forever, but she’s accustomed to the best of everything. Would she want the simple life I can offer?

I pour two cups, adding a bit of creamer to each. She takes her coffee with cream, no sugar. Carrying the cups and the chocolate granola bars to the sofa, I set them on the small table and ease beside her. Her soft breathing fills the room with a sense of peace, a brief respite from the danger lurking outside. I brush a stray lock of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger on her warm skin.

Holly stirs, a small smile crossing her lips as she tries to pull the duvet over her head. “Let me sleep, Jack,” she mumbles, her voice thick with drowsiness. “I’m so tired.”

I chuckle softly, a warmth spreading through me that I haven’t felt in years. “I’m sure you are. But we’ve got some decisions to make. And there’s food.” I gesture to the coffee and granola bars, hoping it will coax her awake.

She rolls over, inhaling deeply as she blinks her eyes open. They light up as they fall on me, and then the mug of coffee. “Oh, now this is worth waking up for,” she murmurs, wrapping her fingers around the mug like it’s the answer to all her problems.

I pass her a chocolate granola bar, watching as she tears open the package, takes a bite, and lets out a satisfied hum. “This is the good stuff,” she mutters between bites.

I grin, the simplicity of the moment a stark contrast to the chaos we faced the night before.

After a few sips of coffee, she meets my gaze, her expression softening as she comes fully awake. “So, what’s the plan?” she asks, her voice more focused now.

“I’m going to try to reach your father,” I reply, the words heavy. “Figure out what he wants us to do, where he wants us to go.”

Holly leans back against the headboard, her expression darkening. “I don’t want to go back to him, Jack. I’d rather leave the country, start fresh somewhere he can’t find us. If he’s the reason all of this is happening, I don’t want any part of it.”

I understand her reluctance. Her father’s influence has cast a shadow over her entire life. He isn’t a man who inspires loyalty or affection, and the truth is, she’s witnessed more of his flaws than his strengths. But still, running isn’t as easy as it sounds.

“Leaving the country isn’t an option without passports,” I reply, my voice gentle but firm. “And there’s nowhere you can truly disappear these days. Everything tracks us.”

A sad smile touches her lips. “I have my passport. I keep it in my bag—always have, just in case. I just… The only people tying me here are my mom and brother.”

My chest tightens as I see the cracks beneath that smile, the faint tremble in her lips she probably doesn’t even realize is there. Holly Kemp, the mob boss’s daughter, the woman who’s lived her entire life in luxury, isn’t as untouchable as she seems. Sure, she’s grown up surrounded by everything money can buy—designer clothes, extravagant vacations, cars that most people only dream of. But it’s all been a golden prison, her life dictated by her father’s whims, her every move monitored and controlled.

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