Page 24 of The Bodyguard Situation

If Harper still had her phone, this rescue would be simpler. But knowing Micah, I’d guess he’s either destroyed it or hidden it from her. My jaw clenches, frustration mixing with protective fury as I move even closer to the property’s edge.

From my position in the shadows, I study the large house. A muted glow from the TV flashes from the downstairs living room. Upstairs, the primary bedroom’s light spills onto the balcony. Harper sits on the edge of the bed, her head hanging slightly forward, shoulders slumped, as if she’s struggling to stay upright. My pulse spikes as unease knots my stomach. She looks unsteady and vulnerable.

“Fuck,” I breathe out, urgency tightening its grip on me.

With silent precision, I scale the chain-link fence, boots landing with a thump on the soft grass. I hug the perimeter, and my gaze remains locked on her silhouette as I reach the ivy-covered lattice work that stretches upward to the balcony.

The lattice groans but holds firm beneath my grip as I test it. I don’t have time to find an alternate route and go for it. My muscles are tight as I climb upward, and my heart pounds hard.

“Hold on, Harper,” I whisper, determination driving me forward.

Once on the balcony, I pause, my breathing steady as I listen for any sounds inside. The night around me is eerily quiet, filled only with distant waves and wind. I ease the balcony door open and step into the room, immediately seeing Harper more clearly. Her face is pale, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She turns toward me slowly, confusion and relief warring openly in her expression.

“Brody?” Her voice trembles, barely audible. “You promis?—”

“Later,” I interrupt, moving to her side.

Up close, she looks dazed, her pupils dilated, and the faint tremors in her hands ignites a fury deep within me.

“Harper, what did he do?”

“I don’t …” she mumbles, voice trailing off weakly. Her eyes flutter, lids heavy as she struggles to keep them open.

On the bedside table is a mug with a tea bag hanging from it.

I grasp her shoulders carefully, forcing her to focus on me. “Did he give you something?” My words are edged with a control that scares me.

I’m fucking feral. I will fucking kill him tonight.

She nods—a slow, uncertain movement—and points. “Tea.”

My jaw locks tight, anger flaring hot beneath my skin.

“Fuck,” I mutter harshly, quickly gathering her limp form into my arms. “We need to get out of here now.”

Harper doesn’t resist, melting into my hold, her breathing shallow and uneven. As I carefully move toward the balcony, my heart races, as I’m hyperaware of every subtle sound beneath my feet.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper, voice gentle despite the turmoil raging inside me. “I won’t let you go. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

With Harper secured against my chest, I descend the lattice carefully, each movement precise. It creaks under our combined weight, tension knotting my shoulders, but the wood holds.

When my boots finally hit solid ground, adrenaline surges in a wave of relief.

“You’re safe now,” I assure her, moving toward the fence, holding her protectively close. “I’ve got you.”

I carry her the half a mile back to the car, and as we approach, Harper stirs faintly, murmuring, “Brody.” Her fingers weakly grab my shirt, her fragile body trembling against mine.

The white-hot anger nearly takes me over, but it’s extinguished by my desire to shield her from harm.

I carefully place her in the passenger seat and buckle her in. She reaches out blindly, grabbing my hand, and her eyes flicker open, cloudy but pleading.

I’m going back, and I’m going to fucking kill him.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispers, the words heavy with fear and vulnerability. It’s like she can read my thoughts.

My breath huffs out roughly. The need for vengeance outweighs my responsibility to protect her, but her quiet plea pierces me directly in the goddamn heart, forcing clarity through my intense anger.

“Please,” she begs, her voice breaking.

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