Page 98 of The Bodyguard Situation

Then he swivels abruptly, shifting the barrel of his gun toward Micah, voice hardening to lethal steel as he says, “If you don’t get in your fucking car right now, I’ll blow your damn head off myself and end this.” His voice rises, echoing with a promise that even Micah can’t ignore. Nick pulls the trigger; a bullet whizzes through the trees. “You think I’m fucking joking? I’m a great shot.”

Micah steps back abruptly, running a hand through his hair, as if regaining control. He meets my gaze one final time, his voice cool and utterly devoid of emotion, saying, “This isn’t over, Brody. Harper belongs to me. One way or another, I’ll make sure she remembers that.”

My fist clenches tighter around the grip of the gun, but I hold myself in place, refusing to rise to his bait.

“The next time you fucking dare come near her, you won’t walk away. That’s a promise. Where is Mia?” My voice remains dangerously calm, my eyes never leaving his face.

Micah smiles, and I see pure evil. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

Micah gives me one last glare, then turns toward his car. The engine roars to life, tires spinning violently, sending a spray of dirt and gravel, as he speeds away, leaving a cloud of dust hanging heavy in the air.

I watch until his vehicle disappears down the mountain road, every muscle in my body still coiled with rage. Before I can even exhale, I spin toward Nick, my gun trained firmly on him, my heart hammering violently in my chest.

He mirrors my stance, gun aimed steadily at my chest. Neither of us blinks. The air between us is tense, crackling with anger.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” I shout, my voice ragged and vibrating with rage.

Nick’s eyes are blazing wild. “Because ending him ends you and Harper, you dumb fuck.”

We stand locked in place, the forest echoing with our harsh words. Nick lowers his gun, though the intensity never leaves his expression.

“You pull that trigger, and it’s all over, Brody,” he says, his voice steady. “He wins. You lose. Harper loses you.”

My chest heaves as I lower my gun, the weight of Nick’s words sinking into me, shattering the adrenaline-driven rage that consumed my thoughts. He’s right; I nearly crossed a line I could never come back from.

“You don’t think he’s trying to trap you? No telling who he told he was coming up here.” Nick shakes his head, frustration and concern written on his face. “Get your shit together. We can’t protect her if you go rogue.”

I exhale heavily, dragging a shaking hand down my face, forcing myself back into control. The helicopter has vanished beyond the tree line, taking Harper to safety. But even as relief loosens the tightness in my chest, dread quickly fills the emptiness it leaves behind. I’m not with her right now. I can’t protect her if we’re apart.

Micah’s threat echoes chillingly in my mind—a cold, stark warning that he’s far from finished.

Unfortunately for him, neither am I.

25

HARPER

My pulse pounds violently in my ears as the helicopter jerks upward, and my breath catches, strangled by fear. I’m helpless, trapped behind cold glass, forced to watch the distance stretch between me and Brody. The earth falls away, swallowing the last solid connection I have to him, my palms pressing against the window, as if I could somehow claw my way back down to him.

“Brody!”

My scream dissolves instantly, devoured by the relentless roar of the rotors. He stands below, rigid as stone, facing Micah head-on, weapon drawn. Even from this height, I can see revenge radiating from him, a violent promise held in every muscle of his body.

My breath fogs the glass, and I smear it away, unwilling to lose sight of him for even a heartbeat. I ache to be on the ground beside him, standing united, but instead, I’m powerless, suspended above this nightmare, every cell in my body screaming to go back.

Movement below jerks my attention, sending ice shooting through my veins. Brody turns his head, and I see sunlight glinting off the metal in his hand. My heart slams brutally against my ribs as terror slices through me like a blade.

“No,” I whisper, trembling fingers pressing harder into the glass, as if that could somehow bridge the distance. “Brody, don’t?—”

Micah halts abruptly, a moment of hesitation before his familiar arrogance returns, moving forward again, every step a taunt. My fists tighten into helpless balls, nails digging into my palms, drawing tiny, crescent-shaped marks of pain. This can’t be happening. Not again. Not now, not when I’ve just found everything that matters.

Then the world shifts violently, shattering what little composure I had left.

A second figure emerges from the trees, stalking silently toward Brody, a dark silhouette unmistakable against the bright clearing. My breath catches, terror exploding white-hot through my chest, squeezing my lungs painfully tight. A gun is aimed directly at Brody’s back. He’s outnumbered.

“Brody!” I scream as if he could hear me, my voice cracking on his name. I pound against the window, as if my desperation can shatter it. Tears spill hot and uncontrollable down my cheeks, blurring everything into a distorted nightmare.

A rush of adrenaline pulses through me, and the helicopter banks away, pulling the terrible scene from my sight. A violent wave of nausea surges through me, bile rising harshly in my throat as I fight the devastating helplessness flooding every nerve ending.

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