Page 30 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
I stop by the corner of the back veranda, where the pool glistens under the fading sky. Bailey’s in a chaise near the edge, a towel wrapped around her legs, a book in her lap she hasn’t turned the page on in twenty minutes.
I watch her from the shadows. Not to be creepy. Not to intrude. Just to make sure she breathes uninterrupted. That sheexistswithout consequence.
People like David hate that kind of freedom. They can’t stand the idea that the women who survived them could ever smile again, stretch again, let their guard down without asking for permission.
She doesn’t know I’m watching. That’s fine. She doesn’t need to. My job isn’t to make her feel protected.
It’s to make sure sheis.
Even when she thinks she’s alone. Especially then.
I wait until she heads inside, then circle once more, checking every door and lock. Every window. Every shadow line. I can’t sleep when I don’t know the edges of a place. It’s like a ritual for me. A way to guarantee safety, even if only for a night.
Each of us have our rituals. I’m watchful. Wesley’s in ops, probably still tracing Jeep registrations across three counties, like he’s hunting for the holy grail. Sean’s upstairs reading old intel like it’s gospel, probably praying he’ll see something he missed.
Security and religion have a lot in common that all boils down to a single thread—protecting what’s valuable. A body or a soul. Until now, I had no idea I was a religious man. I found religion the moment I tasted that gift between her thighs.
If someone tries to take Bailey’s peace away again—tries to make her fear her own home, her own body, her ownjoy—I’ll end them. No warnings. No mercy.
Just me and the silence that comes after.
9
BAILEY
I haven’t touchedthem in two days. That has to be some kind of record.
It’s not because I don’t want to. Ido. God, I do. I walk past them in the halls and my skin prickles with memory. Sean’s hand at my throat. Huck’s mouth on my thigh. Wesley’s voice like thunder in my ear.
They’re still watching me the way they always have—eyes heavy, full of heat and promise. But I don’t let them near me. Because now I don’t know who else is watching.
I’ve always had a healthy respect for paranoia. Comes with the job. You don’t grow up a pretty girl in LA, break into Hollywood, and stay sane without assuming someone is always watching. Someone’s alwaystrying.
But this? This is different. Someonesucceeded.The photos—God, the photos. Just thinking about them makes my stomach twist.
It wasn’t just the violation, though that’s bad enough. It was theintent.Someone got close enough to see us, to capture thoseexact moments. Someone wanted me toknowI’d been seen at my most vulnerable. Not as an actress. Not even as a woman. But as a thing to be used and exposed.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that being exposed in the wrong way is a career death sentence.
So no more private sessions. No more closed doors and open mouths. No more Bailey on her knees, begging for three men she can’t afford to fuck. Not if David—or whoever—wants to play this game until something leaks.
I won’t give him the ammo. Even if it kills me.
The kids pull up ten minutes later than they were supposed to. Not unusual. Not enough to make me panic. But I still open the front door before the SUV even comes to a full stop. David’s driver, Eric, never makes eye contact anymore, so I don’t bother to acknowledge him.
Maeve hops out first. She’s always first. Eleven going on thirty. Her braid is looser than she likes, and there’s a faint smear of something red across her cheek that might be ketchup or might be blood.
“Hi, Mom,” she says, rolling her eyes at nothing.
“Hi, baby.” I kiss her forehead, glance over her shoulder. “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s being slow.”
That’s when I see Eli, still strapped into his seat, staring at nothing through the window.
The smile dies on my face. I walk to the car and open the back door. “Hey, sweet boy.”
He doesn’t look at me. Just unbuckles himself and climbs out in silence. Elineverclimbs out in silence.
