Page 21 of Snowed in with the Bodyguard

I slip on the jacket and gloves. The leather feels heavy and protective, and I feel a little less exposed.

Jack secures our bags to the back, his movements efficient and precise. I’m about to swing my leg over the motorcycle when Jack freezes, his hand snapping to the gun holstered at his side. His entire body stiffens, coiled like a spring, and his head tilts ever so slightly, like he’s listening for something I can’t hear.

“Going somewhere?”

The voice, low and menacing, slices through the quiet.

My blood runs cold as two men step out of the tree line, guns drawn. One of them, the taller of the two, has a smirk plastered on his face, his teeth flashing like a predator about to pounce. The second man is stockier, with a scar slashing across his jaw. His wild, darting eyes make my stomach churn with unease.

Jack moves instantly, stepping in front of me, shielding me with his body. His gun is in his hand so fast that I don’t even see him draw it. His voice is low and deadly as he addresses them. “You don’t want to do this.”

The tall man’s expression twists mockingly. “Oh, we do. Your girl’s daddy owes us, and we’re here to collect. If he won’t pay up, she’ll do just fine.”

Jack doesn’t reply. His shoulders square, his stance widening slightly. It’s like watching him become someone else—someone darker, colder. Every trace of the Jack I’ve come to know vanishes, replaced by a man built for war. His breaths slow and measured, his focus unshakable.

“Jack,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t look at me. His entire being is locked onto the threat in front of us.

“Drop your gun, hero,” the second man snaps, his voice higher-pitched and trembling slightly. “Your girl’s not going anywhere without us.”

“I’ll only say this once,” Jack growls, his voice filled with an icy calm that sends a chill down my spine. “Walk away. Now.”

The tall man’s grin widens. “Oh, tough guy thinks he’s Clint Eastwood. Newsflash, cowboy, this isn’t a movie.”

The second man’s finger twitches on his trigger.

Then, it’s like a switch flips.

The world becomes a blur of motion as Jack moves. He fires, his shot dropping the tall man mid-laugh, his grin freezing into a grotesque grimace as he crumples to the ground.

The second man reacts quickly, firing a wild shot, but Jack is already charging toward him, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His shoulder slams into the guy’s chest, sending him sprawling into the snow.

This Jack is a highly trained SEAL with exceptional reflexes.

This Jack has a precision and speed I can only marvel at.

And this Jack is the man I love. Every part of him. The ruthless killer. The fierce protector. The passionate lover.

A second gunshot echoes through the air. The following silence is deafening, broken only by the faint ringing in my ears.

My hand flies to my mouth in horror. For one endless second, I’m terrified that Jack has been hit.

A sob of relief escapes me as he stands, whole and unharmed, looking down at the motionless body of the second man. But my relief is short-lived.

“Holly,” Jack says hoarsely as he turns to look at me. His expression, hard and unreadable seconds ago, shifts to alarm as his eyes drop to my leg.

My stomach plummets as I follow his gaze. A dark stain blooms across the fabric of my pants above my knee. The pain doesn’t hit until I see it, sharp and searing, like a fire has been lit beneath my skin. I clutch at my thigh, my breath hitching as blood coats my gloves.

“Shit,” Jack mutters, dropping to his knees in front of me. He pushes up my pants carefully to inspect the wound. “It’s a graze,” he says, his voice clipped, his words meant to calm, though the edge in them betrays his urgency. He yanks a knife from his belt and tears a strip from his shirt with brutal efficiency. “You’ll be okay, but we need to move. Now.”

He presses the fabric against the wound, tying it tightly around my leg. The pressure makes me wince. “Stay with me, Holly. Just focus on me.”

“I’m fine,” I manage, though my voice is shaky and thin. Adrenaline pushes back the worst of the pain, but I can see the worry etched into his face.

“Fine?” he snaps, his gaze cutting to mine. “You’re bleeding and pale as hell. Let me handle fine.”

Despite everything, his words almost make me smile. “Bossy.”

Jack growls under his breath, guiding me to the bike. “Call me bossy when we’re not running for our lives.”

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