Page 6 of The Bodyguard Situation

“Dealer’s choice. Have your pick,” I say, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

I imagine Easton mentally browsing through my collection, inevitably landing on my mint-condition ’67 Corvette and the ’69 Roadrunner. Both treasures, both worth the sacrifice to keep his peace and my sanity, both vehicles he wanted but I bought first. Things don’t make me happy. Money doesn’t make me happy. At this rate, I’m not sure anything could.

“Are motorcycles included?” He’s pushing his luck.

“Anything with wheels,” I say, picturing him already eyeing my ’51 Vincent Black Lightning. He knows my collection almost as well as I do because he wanted many of them. “And to sweeten the pot, I’ll even have them delivered from my warehouse straight to your garage.”

A reluctant sigh of agreement follows. “Fine. That’s a deal I’ll take any day of the week. But be careful. That car only chooses you when it’s time to fuck around and find out. Guess you’re about to have the ride of your fucking life.”

“Noted,” I reply dryly, already feeling the thrill of the hunt creeping back into my veins. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Brody,” he says abruptly, pulling me back. “Be careful. And if shit hits the fan, call me. I can send resources.”

“Will do, but it won’t be needed.” I disconnect before he can drag the conversation somewhere else.

I drop the phone onto the bedside table and move to my laptop to review the intel I managed to scrape together late last night after I arrived. Addresses, properties, holdings—all tied to Micah Rhodes or his shell corporations.

I stand and stretch, adrenaline pumping beneath my skin. My duffel bags sit ready, and clothes are stuffed alongside my gear. Being prepared is key, even if it looks more like a kidnapping than a rescue. This is a war against Micah Rhodes, and I’m determined to win. It’s personal. Very fucking personal. He’s a predator, and he will harm her. I can’t let that happen.

Harper’s in this town somewhere. I can feel her.

A single daisy sits in a vase by the window, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. Thoughts of Eden drift in and out of my mind. Grief is now a permanent resident in my soul, intertwined with regret. She broke it off. Eden ended us, and afterward, I decided to hide from the world.

Had I been in the city the weekend she was killed, things could’ve turned out differently. Instead, I’d isolated myself in Tennessee—at one of the only places that’d ever felt like home to me. My cabin in Sugar Pine Springs was a place where I always went to escape from the world when it felt too fucking heavy. I went there to heal. Had I known we didn’t have more time, I’d have never left the city.

I imagine how different things would be now if I had met her for that drink and we had the conversation she wanted to have. Maybe we’d be together, married, with a family. Or maybe we wouldn’t. It’s the what-if that haunts me and the final message she left on my voicemail.

I wasn’t available though. I’d given up on her, on us, and the little time we had left slipped through my fingers. Now, she’s not here.

I can’t let anything happen to Harper.

Scanning through my notes again, I zero in on a particularly secluded estate one of his shell companies owns near the water—high walls, gated entrance, but also grand in nature. My gut instinct says it’s the type of place he’d take Harper to impress her.

I sling my bags over my shoulder, slipping on my baseball cap and dark sunglasses.

Easton’s Charger sits in the motel parking lot, sleek and defiant. I place my shit in the trunk and snap it closed.

As I settle behind the wheel, the engine roars to life, like a beast eager for battle. I rev it once, twice, then pull out onto the open road, leaving rubber on the pavement. The power beneath me is intoxicating.

“Ready or not,” I mutter, eyes narrowing as the highway and sunlight stretch endlessly before me, “here I fucking come, Harper.”

2

HARPER

“Are you okay?” I ask, my throat tightening with worry.

His lip is swollen and busted from the chaos earlier, and there’s a dark bruise forming under his left eye. Every time I look at him, my heart sinks, and guilt curls inside me like a strand of wire with razor-sharp barbs. I’d thought tonight would play out differently than it did.

“Yeah, baby girl. I’m so much better now.” His soothing tone usually calms me, but tonight, it feels off.

As Micah drives us away from New York City, like he’s running from his demons, he interlocks our fingers, then presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles. My mind is a jumbled mess, and there is a thick fog that just won’t clear. I feel nothing but confused, so I try to replay the events to figure out where it all went wrong.

The evening had started out perfectly. The garden behind Asher’s place was full of spring flowers. Their scent mixed with laughter and the soft glow of the city at night. I was buzzing with excitement as Micah and I shared our engagement news. But Billie’s reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. Her crystal-blue eyes—which are usually so bright for me—dimmed, replaced by something unreadable and almost dark.

“She’s just jealous,” Micah says now, squeezing my hand, as if he can read my thoughts. His voice is soft and patient, but he grips the steering wheel with his other hand very tightly. It’s the micro anger I start to notice. “I’m really sorry. I wanted tonight to go differently for you, Harper. I know how much it meant to you to tell her.”

The scene plays back in my mind—Billie’s shocked face and Asher’s bloodied knuckles from hitting Micah. Everything feels …wrong.

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