Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
They’re targets.
Men that I will fucking take out before they breathe on Jane. And after what happened with her recent friends-with-benefits, my duty to Jane is unquantifiable.
On the beach, I end up glancing back at her.
She leans some of her weight into Maximoff Hale, her best friend. He’s been scanning the beaches almost as much as security. Preparing for threats like he’s another bodyguard. Truth is, I’d welcome Maximoff on the team. But he can’t be on it.
Not when he’s a part of the famous families that we protect.
I try to scan the water, but my strict gaze drifts back to Jane, just as Maximoff wraps a strong arm around her shoulders. She whispers in his ear, a smile attached to her words.
He laughs back.
My stomach drops a bit.
For one second, I wish I could be in earshot. Don’t fucking wish that.
Her smile seems to fade faster than usual, and slowly, her gaze begins to wander across the beach.
To the dark sea.
And then, her big blue eyes land right on me.
I blow out another rough breath through my nose. Never breaking eye contact.
Call her over.
Point-blank, I’m not sure how. This feels personal on some level, and it’s against my fucking job to make a personal move. I can’t interrupt her time with her family.
There are rules in security. Rules that help her just as much as they help the team, and I won’t disobey them.
My jaw hardens, tendons in my arms and neck pulling taut. Muscles burning. I cement to the shoreline like the rest of the 24/7 bodyguards. Water rushes against the heels of my boots. I never shift out of my position.
Call her over, I’m still thinking.
But I’m immobile.
I can’t move.
Can’t disobey.
Jane quickly diverts her gaze, her neck reddened, frustration in her next hot sip of beer.
I breathe in another coarse breath.
We used to have a better working dynamic. She’d talk my ear off, and I’d listen. Now she says nothing, and I still say next-to-nothing.
Eight months.
I’ve been Jane’s bodyguard for eight months, and I’ve been put on a silent treatment for almost two of those. Any other client and it wouldn’t bother me, but I’ve grown used to Jane rambling to herself and filling the quiet.
I’m with her close to 24-hours a day. Replacing her light-as-air voice with silence has been fucking unbearable. It doesn’t feel good knowing that I fucked it recently. I blew a short fuse even shorter and I made a mistake that I’ve never made before. I shouldn’t have punched Farrow.
My fault.
It’s all my fault.
I suddenly spot movement on my three. I glance at the shoreline.
Banks nods his chin to me.
Good timing.
Focusing on the team has always kept my mind right and off things I shouldn’t be fucking contemplating.
Banks treks over to my position, boots sinking in wet sand. Carrying nothing more than a radio and a gun, both clipped to the waistband of his slacks. Sweat stains the abs and armpits of his white button-down.
I’m dressed in a black button-down. Professional. I’m not representing these billion-dollar families in fucking flannel. Not unless I’m off-duty. Or away from the parents.
Banks sidles next to me. He’s gnawing on a toothpick like a damn llama.
My hard gaze narrows on him before I continue hawk-eyeing the beach. Something’s wrong with my brother.
He’s been trying to quit smoking for years, and the only time it looks like he’s about to bite a toothpick in five halves is when he’s craving nicotine.
He glances at me briefly, and then scans the darkened sea behind us. “You have any ibuprofen on you?”
My brows pull together while I survey the families. “You have a migraine?” I dig into my pocket.
“No, fortunately.” He threads his arms over his chest. “This is just the kind of pain associated with me being a dumbass.” His eyes flash to me. “I think I threw my back out.”
I’m rigid, and concern grips my muscles. “When?” I pass him a packet of ibuprofen behind my back, as covertly as possible.
Without looking at me, he slips the medicine in his back pocket. Banks doesn’t like the team knowing he’s dealing with any kind of pain.
“Earlier today,” he answers. “During the whole celebration.” He cocks his head back to the sea. Referring to when Omega was horsing around. Shoving and tackling guys in the water. Because Farrow Keene was reinstated to the security team.
My eyes drill into pinpoints, just thinking about Farrow.
Again, shouldn’t have punched him.
Can’t shake that fucking truth.
I take a constricting breath, my nostrils flaring.
Banks notices, and he opens his mouth to speak—we both suddenly look to our eleven. At the sand dunes.
Three temp bodyguards are gawking directly at us. They’re fresh blood. Newly-hired, just for this vacation.
Which is why their eyeballs are popping out of their faces. Staring at us like we’re six-foot-seven woolly mammoths. It’s not because we’re tall or attractive or unshaven—or an extinct prehistoric fucking species.