The Bodyguard: A Navy SEAL Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  Cold night air whips my hair around my head, blasting my eyes and making them water, blurring my vision more than it already is from the alcohol. I grip the edge of the window tightly, at least somewhat confident that I could catch myself from falling and scramble back in the window if I slipped. I carefully turn myself around, reaching for the ladder with my right hand. I have to stretch and lean out of the window a little to reach it, clutching the window’s edge like the lifeline it is the whole time.

  The ladder is cold against my hand, but a quick shake confirms it will hold. I suck in a breath and make arguably the dumbest, most reckless decision of my adult life. I let go of the window and nearly have a heart attack as my body swings from the open window to the ladder. I scramble to get my left hand on the ladder and to find footholds for my feet. Once I’m securely in place, I hug my body to the metal, quivering and marveling at how incredibly pissed I am at Jesse for driving me to do something this dumb. Yes, I could have just walked out the front door or waited until he was asleep, but knowing him, he would’ve caught me right away and dragged me back, kicking and screaming.

  I just need a few hours away from him to catch my breath and get away from the suffocating claustrophobia of his sexual presence. It’s starting to feel like every last thought ends in an image of he and I wrapped together in bed, in a naked tangle of sweating limbs.

  Not the right time, a voice in my head warns.

  I make the mistake of looking down and it seems as if the ground pulls even farther away from me. A strong gust of wind actually jolts me to the side and I whimper a little, having to steady myself and start climbing down. I’m very aware that the longer I dangle here, the more tired my arms and legs will get, and the more chance there is of me slipping off, so I had better hurry.

  I move down the ladder one step at a time, giving very little thought to anything but the absolute insanity of what I’m doing. Still, picturing the look on Jesse’s face when he realizes I’ve slipped away from him is at least partially worth the risk of life and limb.

  Once I reach the solid pavement of the alley below, I’m tempted to get on my knees and kiss the lovely dirt-stained, puddle-ridden ground. I look up the ladder and am hit by one final wave of what the hell did I just do before straightening my clothes and waltzing out of the alley and into the street like I didn’t just climb down a building. I check the front of the apartment building before I turn the corner to make sure Jesse isn’t already prowling around, looking for me. It’s only a matter of time before he figures it out, and I’m not sure how far I need to go to evade him, but I can’t shake the almost supernatural certainty I have that he will be able to find me, no matter where I go.

  It’s only about thirty seconds before I realize I have no idea where to go. I left my phone in his apartment, along with all my cards and money. I have no ID, no debit card, and no clue what I’m going to do. I don’t even have the keys to my apartment. I run a hand through my hair and glance behind me at the empty street. There’s almost no one walking around at this hour, but I thought I saw something move into the alley just a few yards behind me. I can’t believe that Jesse could already be tailing me, but if he is…

  I duck into the nearest coffee shop and sit down at a table facing the window and the exit. Once I’m inside, the paranoia starts to set in. I just trapped myself. One way in, one way out. Jesse is going to laugh the whole way back to his apartment at my pathetic excuse of an escape attempt. He might even want to punish me for it. That thought skids across my consciousness like a bullet, bouncing around my skull and igniting fantasies about all the possible directions that could go.

  Stop it. I just ran away from the guy and only five minutes later I’m fantasizing about having dirty sex with him? He’s turning me into a basket case.

  I look toward the guy working the register and realize he’s glaring at me as he mutters into a cell phone. He looks away as soon as he sees me. A chill runs up my spine. I’m just being paranoid. He’s probably glaring at me because I’m just bumming a table and showing no intentions of buying anything. Or maybe he was about to close up and I just kept him from it. I manage to talk myself down and settle back into trying to enjoy my brief respite from Jesse. Except all I can do is feel like a lunatic because I miss him already. I’ve grown so used to him shadowing me in the two days he’s been back in my life, and I’ve already become accustomed to the comfort of knowing he’s my protector. My protector--Jesse Slade. I smile wryly, playing with my fingers idly on the table. I never thought those words would come to my mind after how he ended things.

  That was just a lie to protect myself, too, at least as far as he saw it. All he’s ever done is try to protect me. And here I am, pushing him away and then pulling him back. He probably thinks I’m mad.

  The guy behind the counter must have walked into the back, because I realize for the first time since walking in that I’m the only person in the store. Sitting alone in the small café makes me feel vulnerable and afraid. I’m about to get up and leave, despite the likelihood that I’ll just run into Jesse, but the door chimes. Three men in dark coats and golden goat masks walk into the café, and one turns to lock the door behind him.

  10

  Jesse

  “You need a plunger in there or something?” I yell through the door. Girls have to take shits too, I get it, but Jesus. She has been in there a long time and I don’t hear a thing.

  “Kay!” I shout again, banging on the door.

  I give it about three seconds before slamming my shoulder into the door and busting it open. The window’s open. My heart sinks and I run to the window, pulling myself up to stick my head out and look down. I’m terrified of what I might see, but there’s only an empty alley beneath. And a ladder. A fucking ladder to my left.

  That fucking… insane, wild bitch. Did she seriously climb down the ladder on the side of a fucking thirty story building just to get away from me?

  I grab my Glock and holster it as I rush out the door, passing the elevator in favor of the stairs. I’m tearing down the stairs as fast as I can, rounding corner after corner blindly, making enough noise to wake the whole building and not giving two shits. Something black blurs in front of my face and pain explodes in my chest.

  I’m leveled. Stairs slamming into my back as my full-speed descent is stopped suddenly and without warning. My vision spins but I see a figure looming over me. He’s wearing a thick black jacket and mask, but I can tell even under all the clothing that he’s big. He waits for me to stand, fists clenched at his side. I see the hint of a tattoo on the back of his hand. A snake’s tail coiled around the tip of a sword. It’s the same tattoo Liam used to have on his hand. Exactly the same.

  Impossible.

  I stand slowly, mind replaying the hiss and trail of smoke as the rocket tore through the dry Middle Eastern air and slammed into the wall. The last two members of my squad were behind that wall, one of whom was Liam. They died behind that wall. I saw the explosion and the rubble. I knew there was no way anyone could survive an explosion like that. I still remember digging through it, trying to find their bodies after the fighting was through. I was stained to the knees in blood, but I dug like a fucking lunatic, trying to find them.

  The man stands below me, arm still outstretched from where he clothes-lined me. I crack my neck, flexing my fists. “Where did you get that fucking tattoo?” I growl

  He laughs metallically from behind the mask, voice distorted. “You were always observant, Slade.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” I ask, stepping closer to him.

  “You can call me The Jackal.”

  The laughter in his voice pushes me over the edge. Makayla is out there alone right now and this asshole is wasting my time with his games. I would like nothing more than to make him hurt as much as possible, but I don’t have time. I reach for my gun and he moves in expertly, avoiding my attempt to push him back and twisting my arm under his grip. He strips the gun from my holster and I barely stop him from
taking full control of the weapon. My arm is straining in his hold and I can feel the tendons in my shoulder hyperextending. A few more seconds and he’ll have my gun.

  Whoever he is, he’s good. He has training. Advanced training. I knee him in the thigh, wincing as the movement yanks my arm even farther out of place, but the distraction gives me time to flick the magazine catch and it clatters to the ground just as he pulls the gun from me. I know there’s not a bullet in the chamber, so the weapon’s useless now. I kick the magazine farther away from him and turn and punch him in the jaw as hard as I can, but the thick mask does more damage to me than I do to him.

  He headbutts me, still squeezing my shoulder tighter and tighter until it feels like it’s about to fucking burst. I focus on Makayla and fight through it, bracing myself as I slip his grip with a risky maneuver and then throw my body into him and ramming his back into the wall. I rip the mask from his face, snapping the leather strap behind his head that holds it in place.

  We both freeze as I look eye to eye with a fucking dead man.

  Liam Hartley.

  “You died. I saw you die.”

  He grips me by the shirt and pushes me back, turning until I’m the one pinned to the wall now. “Unfortunately for you, I lived.”

  I shake my head in confusion, mind replaying everything that happened and coming up short with an explanation. “I looked for your bodies.”

  “And then you stopped looking, and so did the rest of the rescue team that came for you. I woke up two days later, nearly fucking dead from thirst. The insurgents pulled me out and… well, see for yourself.”

  He shoves me back into the wall and takes a step apart from me, opening his coat and lifting the black shirt beneath. His torso is ripped and corded with muscle, but thick scars crisscross his body in more places than I can count. I realize one of his eyes is cloudy too, sightless. One of his ears is missing.

  “Liam…” I say, gut wrenching to think that I did this to him.

  “No. You’re right. Liam is dead. I’m the fucking Jackal, and I’m not going to let you off easy by killing you.” He drops my empty Glock and flashes the Desert Eagle holstered at his side.

  I push down the crushing guilt and confusion that threatens to overwhelm me and focus on what matters most. Makayla. I can already see it in Liam’s eyes. He’s never going to forgive me. He’s not the same man I left behind that wall. I reach for his gun while he thinks I’m dazed. I slip it from his holder and point it at his forehead.

  His eyes are ablaze with the kind of fury only a man who has lost most of himself can muster. He steps into the gun, making the barrel dig into his forehead. His hand grips mine and he hisses through clenched teeth, spraying spittle. “Do it. Fucking kill me twice. Fucking do it.”

  As much as I want to end him and ease my mind about making Makayla that much safer, I squeeze the barrel release and flip the safety latch with my forefinger, disassembling the gun in three swift movements. I pocket the barrel and push his chest back, scooping up my Glock and magazine before leaving him where he stands, still sucking in heavy breaths through clenched teeth.

  That was for the old you, Liam. But if I see you again, I won’t hesitate to kill you.

  11

  Makayla

  Two of the masked men stand by the door, as if guarding it while the third sits across from me. My heart is pounding out of my chest and everything in me screams to run, but I’m afraid a sudden movement might set the men off. For now, the safest course of action is to try as hard as I can to remain calm and let this play out. Just moments ago I was hoping Jesse wouldn’t find me, and now I’m wishing he would hurry up and get his ass here.

  “Makayla,” says the man across from me. His voice is distorted by some device inside the goat mask, just like the man’s voice in the stairwell. “I can’t reveal who I am without risk of endangering myself and my associates,” he says, gesturing to the two men by the door who slightly incline their heads. “But we are not here to hurt you.”

  I feel a slight hint of relief, but I’m not ready to believe them. Not yet.

  “I wanted to wait until I had more information, but I don’t know if I will have time to learn more,” says the masked man. “But someone you trust wants you dead. My friends and I are part of an order. It was founded by fans of the show and we never wanted anyone to get hurt. At least most of us didn’t. Then money started coming from somewhere and our order splintered.”

  I shake my head, not understanding. “Order? None of this makes sense. Why would someone want to hurt me?”

  “Like I said. I don’t know as much as I would like. I only know that word has circulated within the order about a hefty reward for your death, and some of the information provided to aid any who would make an attempt on you is too sensitive to come from an outside source.” He stands abruptly, motioning to to the two men by the door to unlock it. “Be careful, Miss. Pierson. This is the last time I will contact you.”

  I sit in stunned silence as the three men silently file out of the café. My head is spinning and it has nothing to do with the wine I drank earlier, which is all but gone from my system. It all feels so unreal, like one of the plotlines from Stalked. I keep expecting to hear “cut” called from the shadows and turn to see the crew getting ready for the next shot. But it’s just me, the empty café, and the dark street beyond.

  Someone I trust? That’s a relatively small group of people. I can’t even think of what sort of sensitive information there is about me to give away. I guess my address or my schedule might qualify, but it’s not as if a determined paparazzi couldn’t figure either of those out. I bury my face in my hands, trying to clear my mind, to get a reprieve from the constant stream of doubts and questions that have been bouncing around my skull since I first saw the stalker in the gold mask. I laugh a little humorlessly. Actually, the mental strain really only began to be too much when Jesse came back into my life. I think I could handle the threats more easily than I can handle his broad, beautiful…

  I blink a few times, sighing and standing. The past two days have been bizarre, and the last hour has been stranger still, but it’s not like me to sit and wallow or feel sorry for myself. I’m going to do the smart thing. The logical thing. Someone wants to hurt me, so I’m going to go back to the bodyguard I’m paying a small fortune for. I’m going to be as mature as I can about the fact that he’s deadly attractive and doing all kinds of things to my emotions. I’ll either figure it out or I won’t, but the most important thing for me to do is get somewhere safe. I’m a big girl. I’ll figure out the rest.

  I step outside just as someone big crashes into me, squeezing me to his body.

  “Kay,” Jesse says, relief clear in his voice. He wraps a protective arm around my back and leads me down the street, eyes hard with determination.

  I cling to him, not proud of how good it feels to be back within his protective circle, but accepting it for once. I squeeze him tight. “We have to get out of here,” I whisper, still not confident those three masked men really had my best interests at heart.

  “I know,” he growls.

  A taxi slowly pulls onto the street ahead. Jesse tries to hail it, and when it seems clear the taxi isn’t stopping, he motions for me to stay put and jogs into the street, pulling out his gun. My breath catches. What the hell is he doing?

  The taxi screeches to a halt. He moves to the driver’s window, leans down, and says something in quick, clipped tones. I see the driver nodding furiously and then he gets out of the car. Jesse hands him a card and claps him on the back before shoving him toward the sidewalk. He waves me toward the car.

  I approach hesitantly. “You’re just stealing his car?”

  “I’m borrowing it. Get in.”

  I take the door handle and sit in the passenger seat. “What if he calls the cops?”

  “Then he won’t get the money I promised him.”

  “Oh,” I say quietly. “But what if--”

  “What the fuck were you
thinking?” he snaps, throwing the car in reverse and turning us around so that we’re driving away from his apartment.

  “I was overwhelmed and embarrassed,” I say. “I just wanted some space to think and I knew you wouldn’t let me.”

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

  The way he’s talking to me like a child irks me, but I notice the blood on his face and the way his breathing is pained. He’s also holding his left arm a little tentatively. “What happened to you?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  “It looks like nothing happened pretty hard, then.”

  He licks his lips, ignoring my sarcastic tone. “You said we had to get out of there. Did something happen?”

  I cross my arms. “Nothing happened.”

  He glares at me briefly before looking back to the road. “One of the stalkers was waiting for me in the stairwell when I came after you. I knew him.”

  “He wasn’t wearing a mask?”

  “He was. At first.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Someone I thought died a long time ago.” He shakes his head, twisting his hands on the steering wheel and squeezing until his knuckles go white. “I left him there. Everything that happened to him was because of me.”