Page 8 of The Bodyguard Freed

I can now say with certainty I don’t know him anymore.

I’m shocked at the sight before me.

Kayne’s lethal movements take my breath away. No one in the room could have anticipated his actions. It takes us all a good moment to recover from the shocked and stunned silence we find ourselves in.

I’m the one who responds first. I don’t recognize my voice as I’m screaming at Kayne not to kill Lars Lindberg, the Swedish diplomat.

The whole scene before me is still too bizarre to comprehend.

“Kayne. Stop. Please,” I’m begging him now.

In the blink of an eye, Kayne had leaped from his place across the hall where he had been talking to my father and pounced on Lars before I could say stop.

The deafening crunch of bone breaking made me sick to my stomach. The Swedish diplomat’s howling cry makes me want to throw up. But Kayne doesn’t only break the wrist of the man. He has his hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing until Lars started to turn blue.

A few men try to stop him but he wards them off with his other hand.Even the bodyguards who are armed, are hesitant to take on Kayne. I’m immediately struck that there is a mixture of fear but also respect emanating from the other bodyguards present which makes them inactive as well.

I don’t recognize the coldness, the emptiness in his eyes.

He’s not Kayne. He’s someone else.

The mayhem around me escalates but I silence it. This is between him and Kayne. I touch him, unafraid that he would hurt me no matter how far gone he is.

“Kayne, please,” I say softly. “Look at me.” He turns his attention to me. “Please,let him go.” I try to peel his hand off from around Lars’ throat.

My touch seems to reach him. He looks at me and for a split second I see the old Kayne in his eyes before he reverts to this stranger I don’t know.

He releases Lars.

“Dad,” I cry. My father, beyond shocked, comes to me and helps with Lars. From the corner of my eye, I watch Kayne leave.

We immediately get Lars medical attention. I apologize profusely on behalf of my husband. But I falter. I’m shaking with fear and anger. I need to see Kayne. That’s all that matters. I swallow the rest of my words and flee. My father gives me a comforting look before I leave.He’ll handle the rest he says silently.

Panic that he’s not inside the palace churns like poison in my heart.

But my intuition tells me he didn’t leave. He won’t leave me. Still, my worry soars as I wait for the elevator. Everything is too slow and yet taking the stairs will take me longer.

I’m finally in our bedroom. Kayne is there. He’s removed his jacket and tie. His sleeves are rolled up. His stubble creates a dark ominous shadow against his jaw. He’s equally terrifying and enthralling at the same time.

Relief replaces every other emotion I feel, but it doesn’t last long.

“Why?”

“He touched you. He became a threat.”

“Kayne, he wasn’t a threat. He’s Lars Lindbergh. Everyone knows he gets a little tipsy after a few drinks then leans in too close...” I stop and close my eyes. “You could have killed him.”

“I should have.”

Everything I’ve been holding back, shoving aside because it didn’t fit with the narrative of how I wanted my relationship with Kayne to be, opens up like a tornado around me.

“You can’t just go around attempting to kill anyone that accidentally touches me, Kayne. I’m—”

“I saw the way he was looking at you. There wasn’t anything accidental about him touching you and I will fucking kill him—”

“No,” I shout, pouring every ounce of frustration, my fear, and helplessness into that one word. “If you can’t control yourself in a manner that is required as my husband—”

He stalks toward me. My body tingles. My nipples harden. I’m so wet already I feel ashamed of myself. I forget to breathe. He’s so powerful. So dangerous. Lethal. Cold.

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