Page 22 of Snowed in with the Bodyguard

He helps me onto the seat, his hands firm but careful as he adjusts my position to keep weight off my injured leg as much as possible. Grabbing my helmet, he helps me put it on before donning his. Then he swings onto the bike in front of me, the leather of his jacket creaking as he leans forward and starts the engine.

“Hold on tight,” he says, glancing back at me, his eyes fierce through the visor. “And if anyone else shows up, duck.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, holding on as tightly as I can without hurting my leg. “Don’t stop,” I whisper. “No matter what.”

Jack doesn’t reply, but the hard set of his jaw tells me everything I need to know. With a sharp twist of the throttle, the bike surges forward, the snow spraying behind us as we tear away from the cabin.

The wind whips around us, and my leg throbs with every bump, but I grit my teeth, focusing on the steady warmth of Jack’s body against mine. The trees blur past us, their shadows stretching like specters in the fading light.

My thoughts swirl, questions forming like storm clouds. How many more men are out here, lying in wait, tracking our every move? I take a deep breath, pushing away the questions I have no answers for.

The trail twists and turns, but Jack handles the bike with expert precision, his focus unshakable. I close my eyes, trusting him completely as we speed away from the danger behind us.

When the trail finally gives way to a narrow road, relief washes over me. We’re alive. We’re moving forward. And as long as I have Jack, I know we’ll find a way to survive.

Finally, after a few hours, Jack takes a right, turning onto a narrow road that winds through the dense trees. Shadows stretch across the ground, casting an eerie glow as the forest closes in around us.

After a few miles, the trees part, revealing a cabin nestled in a clearing. The motorcycle crunches to a halt on the gravel driveway, surrounded by towering trees and the faint glint of a frozen creek in the distance.

Jack pauses at a set of heavy gates, punching a code Gabriel provided into the keypad, and they swing open. He doesn’t wait for them to close behind us, guiding the motorcycle swiftly up the winding path toward the cabin nestled deep in the forest.

The safe house is larger than Jack’s cabin, sturdily built and designed with security in mind. Its dark wooden exterior blends seamlessly with the surroundings, and the solar panels on the roof glint faintly in the fading daylight.

Jack pulls up, cuts the engine, and pulls off his helmet before helping me with mine. “We’re here,” he says softly.

I manage a faint nod. The pain in my leg radiates with every heartbeat, and every muscle in my body aches.

Jack climbs off the motorcycle and gently lifts me into his arms. I don’t protest because I’m like a rag doll, having lost the feelingin my limbs. The steady strength of his hold is the only thing keeping me sane right now.

Another keypad, another code, and the cabin door opens with a slight creak, revealing a modern interior outfitted with everything we need to survive—and stay hidden. Supplies are stacked neatly along the walls: medical kits, food, blankets, and weapons. It’s a fortress disguised as a home, and I send a silent prayer of thanks to Gabriel.

Jack carries me straight to the oversized leather sofa, setting me down with a tenderness that feels out of place compared to the chaos of the last few hours.

His hands linger on my arms, his gaze locking onto mine. “I’m going to take care of you,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I’m too exhausted to do more than nod.

Moving quickly, he grabs a medical kit from one of the supply stacks. He kneels beside me, his jaw tight as he surveys the blood-soaked makeshift bandage on my thigh. The sight makes my stomach churn, but Jack’s calm presence keeps me steady.

“This is going to hurt,” he warns, pulling a pair of scissors from the kit to cut away the fabric around the wound. His touch is gentle, but the sharp sting of air hitting the exposed injury makes me hiss through my teeth.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.

“You don’t have to be,” Jack mutters, his focus laser-sharp as he examines the wound. “Clean shot, no bullet left inside, but it’s taken a chunk of flesh with it. You’re lucky.”

“Define lucky,” I joke weakly, earning a small huff of laughter from him.

Jack cleans the wound with precision, his movements efficient but careful. The antiseptic burns like fire, and I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.

He glances up at me, his expression softening. “Almost done,” he murmurs, pulling out a roll of gauze. “You’re tough, Hollyberry.”

I manage a faint smile, the pain dulling slightly as he wraps the wound securely.

When he finishes, he sits back on his heels, wiping his hands on a towel. “You’ll need to rest that leg, but you’ll be okay.”

Moving to the stone fireplace, Jack gets a fire going with the logs and kindling stacked beside it. Soon, the living room is filled with its crackling warmth.

He pulls a blanket over me from the back of the sofa and presses a water bottle and painkillers into my hands. “Take these. They’ll help with the pain. I’m going to hide the bike and secure the perimeter.”

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