Page 25 of The Bodyguard Situation

“Fine. But this isn’t over. He will fucking pay,” I promise her firmly, gripping her hand briefly before shutting the door, the sound echoing across the empty parking lot, mixing with the rushing waves.

Every muscle in my body screams to turn back, to make Micah suffer for fucking drugging her, but Harper’s safety comes first.

This time, that bastard gets a free pass. Next time, he won’t.

We leave this godforsaken town, and the night is endless. Headlights carve through the darkness as I push the Charger harder, every mile creating more distance between her and the nightmare she’s leaving behind. Harper sits curled in the passenger seat, head resting against the window, eyes closed. She’s pale, breathing shallow, forehead damp from whatever Micah gave her.

My knuckles whiten against the steering wheel every time I glance at her. I’m careful to watch for signs of distress, but the steady rise and fall of her chest reassures me she’s stable—at least for now.

After nine gruesome hours of driving, my eyelids grow heavy, the adrenaline finally slipping away. I spot a neon vacancy sign flickering weakly in the distance, and when I’m closer, I pull into the parking lot of a small roadside motel.

The gravel crunches beneath the tires, the noise barely stirring Harper. Her head wobbles slightly, eyes cracking open.

“Where … are we?” she mumbles, then clears her throat as she struggles to focus.

“Somewhere safe,” I promise, my voice gentle. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I watch her from the window inside the tiny lobby as I secure a room. The manager slides me the keys, and I quickly return to the car. As I drive over to the room across the parking lot, I see the tobacco-stained mini blinds dip down, knowing we’re being watched. I offered her $2,000 to pretend like she never saw us. Just in case anyone is searching. She haggled me for double.

When I open Harper’s door, she tries to move on her own, but nearly falls. I catch her easily, lifting her into my arms. Her head nestles against my shoulder, and I ignore the unsettling longing that fills my chest.

The motel room is small and simple, decorated in shades of beige and pale blue, faintly smelling of tobacco and disinfectant. It’s the type of place people rent for a few hours to rest because it’s in the middle of nowhere.

I set Harper on the bed, and the mattress barely flexes. She opens her eyes and coughs.

“Oh God,” she whispers, panicked, and I know she’s about to puke.

I scoop her back into my arms and rush her to the bathroom. I set her down, allowing her to grip the edge of the porcelain sink just in time. She trembles violently as her stomach empties itself.

I rub slow circles against her back, whispering, “It’s okay. Get it out of your system, Harp. Just breathe.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

After several long moments, she sinks against me, exhausted. Without thinking, I reach for a washcloth, wetting it under the cool water. I carefully wipe her face, cleaning away tears and lingering sweat. She looks up at me, eyes glassy, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she says weakly. “Looks like I’m still Little Miss Disaster.”

I don’t say anything—because it’s not the time. Instead, I help her back to the bed. She sits, eyes half closed, swaying.

“My body is on fire,” she says, tugging weakly at her clothes, clearly uncomfortable.

My heart constricts because I know she can’t manage alone. I swallow, carefully removing her clothes, fingers light and respectful. Her skin is damp, and I notice how her hair sticks to her forehead. Her eyes droop heavily as exhaustion threatens to claim her.

“My hero,” she breathes, barely audible.

I keep my eyes averted, fighting to control my breathing. This isn’t the way I ever imagined touching her for the first time—with her vulnerable, scared, trusting me to take care of her.

My anger pulses again, fierce and protective.

I guide her under the blankets, covering her with just the sheet. “I want to go back tonight and fuck him up.”

“Stay,” she whispers, reaching out weakly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I brush gentle fingers over her forehead until her breathing evens and she drifts away. We’re seven hours away from my cabin in the Smoky Mountains, and then we’ll be safe. There’s only one way up the mountain and one way down it. If Micah comes, I have a bullet with his name on it.

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