Captive: A Bodyguard Romance (Hollywood Guardians Book 1)

by Heather Ashley

  "C'mon, it'll be fun," the one I'm pretty sure I've heard Gigi call Candy pouts when I tell them I'm not interested.

  The other one—I think her name also starts with a C—runs her hand down Candy's arm seductively like that'll convince me to stick my dick in them. The thought turns my stomach, and my cock has never been softer in my life. The idea of fucking either one of these girls—or any of the chicks that make up what Gigi refers to as the Cunt Club—is disgusting.

  Not only might my dick fall off, but I'd never go behind Gigi's back like that.

  "You ladies have fun with all of… that," I say, gesturing to the way they're rubbing on and touching each other and moving around them without touching them myself.

  Candy or whatever's eyes harden as she watches me go, not content to let this shit go. "We'll be here when you change your mind," she calls out as I practically run for my bike.

  Yeah, that shit's never going to happen, but I'm putting it out of my mind as I rev my bike and then race toward town, my mind switching over to boss mode.

  With how out of touch I've been with my team and the new developments over the past twenty-four hours, I have so much to catch them up on that I'm not even sure where to start. As the miles tick by underneath me, I realize how much I'm going to have to rely on them to get through this and set Gigi free.

  I've never been more grateful for the team I've built than I am at this moment. I twist the throttle in my hand, anxious to get moving so I can start the next part of my life—hopefully with Gigi by my side.

  “What’s this?” I ask, lifting my eyebrow at medium-sized box Connor’s holding out for me. After an insanely intense conversation with Savage—or Benson as he told me I could call him if I want—my head is fully spinning around Exorcist-style, at least metaphorically.

  Connor’s mouth curved up into a lopsided grin. “If you just open the damn thing, you’ll find out.”

  I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten me a present before, and I’m not really sure how to react to what’s happening right now. We’re sitting on the bed in Connor’s room, and I’m relieved for it to be just him and me.

  Savage asked me to keep our relationship quiet until things get straightened out with the club, so for now, we’re keeping everything the same way it’s been. I don’t exactly have a choice but to trust that he’ll do what he says and let me go when things settle down. During our conversation in his office, he seemed genuinely happy to have the truth out between us. I have to admit the idea of a brother—of family—brings me a level of comfort and peace I didn’t know I was looking for.

  “You know you’re the first person who’s ever gotten me a present before?” I ask him as I slide my fingers underneath the tape holding the box shut and pop the lid open. Connor shifts like he’s excited and can’t sit still, and I let out a laugh.

  “What?” he asks, stretching out on his side on the bed like he’s bored with this whole thing, but I can tell by the look in his eye he’s not. “How has no one ever given you a present?”

  “Well, when I was raised by a woman who spent every last dime she had on drugs rather than things like food, electricity, or clothes, there wasn’t anything left over for frivolous stuff like gifts. And then when I landed here, I became invisible unless someone wanted something from me.” I shrug because it sucks, but it’s also my reality.

  “Well, allow me to start to make up for a lifetime of gift-giving neglect. Open the damn box!”

  I crack up at his tone but try not to focus on the first part of his statement. He’s being sweet, and it makes me feel all melty toward him, which is definitely not good for me keeping my heart out of whatever this is that we have going on. I pluck some bubble wrap out of the box and gasp when I see what’s inside. My eyes fly up to his. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  It’s his turn to shrug and look all nonchalant about it, but his eyes are practically glittering, and I know he’s getting as much joy out of this as I am. Apparently, he’s also good at listening when I speak because when I told him about my dream of opening my own tattoo studio someday, he took it to heart.

  Now he’s given me something at times I never thought I’d have—my own tattoo gun. It’s not a cheap one or a starter gun, either. This thing is heavy, and I can tell it’s high quality.

  My stupid eyes well up as I set it aside. I don’t even know what to say, so I launch myself at him instead, peppering his face with kisses through the tears streaming down my cheeks. I’m not sure if he understands what a big deal this is to me. This gift symbolizes my freedom, my future, the possibility stretching out in front of me instead of the monotony of the unfulfilling life I’m currently living.

  His hands find my hips and pull me onto his lap, so I’m straddling him. I look down at him with what must be just a whole face full of wonder. Connor is such a fucking beautiful spirit, and I can’t believe I get to have him in my life.

  While I’m in my own head about how great he is, he’s tugging his t-shirt up and pointing to a small section of skin that’s not inked below his left ribs. “I want your first ever attempt here. I’ve been saving this spot just for you.”

  I blow out a breath, my heart racing at the prospect of someday being able to do that. “Okay,” I agree. “Someday when-”

  He shakes his head. “Not someday. Today.”

  My mouth falls open. “What? No! I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll fuck it all up. It’s permanent.”

  He gives me a look. “You think I don’t know this shit is permanent?” He gestures down at his body which is more inked than not.

  “Right, but seriously. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. Most tattoo artists apprentice under someone for at least a year first. If I do this today, it’ll be all shaky and weird looking.”

  Connor rubs the stubble at his jaw before giving me the full force of his smile. “Soon, when we get out of here, you’ll get to meet MJ. He’s the guy who’s done most of mine, and I might’ve sent him a couple pictures of your sketches. He agreed to mentor you if you want, but I’ll save more skin for then. Now, I want your very first piece. I don’t care if it looks like shit because that’s not what it’s about. It’s about me getting a permanent reminder of this first with you.”

  I lean down and grab his face between my palms, so our noses are touching. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  “Why don’t you think you deserve me being nice to you?” he counters. His mesmerizing hazel eyes flick up to meet mine, and it feels like they’re digging past all my insecurities and defenses to see the real me huddled deep down inside.

  “Where is this MJ guy anyway?” I ask instead, trying to change the subject because I’m not in the mood for heavy right now. I want to enjoy this moment as something good without weighing it down.

  Connor tightened his grip on my hips and sat up, scooting back against the headboard but keeping me in his lap and pressed right up against the hardness in his jeans. “He lives back in my neighborhood near LA.” His gaze turns curious, and he cocks his head to the side like he’s considering if he wants to say whatever’s going through his mind. “How would you feel about moving back to LA with me when I leave? I guess I jumped the gun talking to MJ about you before I even knew if that’s something you want.”

  My mind spun with possibilities. I’ve never lived anywhere outside of the Vegas area, even before my mom dropped me off with the Reign of Chaos guys. Could I go? Would I want to? What did the ocean look like in real life?

  The slight smile on my lips grows as I imagine what life with Connor in such a busy place and by the beach might be like, and before I know what’s happening, I’m nodding like a crazy person. “I think I’d like that.”

  “Yeah?” His voice is hopeful, and so is the look on his face, almost like he doesn’t want to let himself get his hopes up that I might actually want to do this with him. I should convince myself this doesn’t mean anything. He’s just giving me a place to stay until I get on my feet, but there’s a b
ig part of me that doesn’t want this thing with him to be casual or a friends with benefits situation.

  We haven’t talked about what we are to each other yet, and honestly, right now, I don’t have the emotional capacity to handle more when I have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow. So, I just nod and let him crush me against his body, telling me all the things we’re going to get to do once we get away from here. I soak it up, for once, content to relax and let my mind wander with dreams of the future I hoped I’d have one day but never really thought would become a reality.

  Connor loosened his hold on me and moved back, so we were staring at each other. “I want that tattoo,” he says in a serious tone that brings all my nervousness right back up.

  It’s not that I’m completely clueless. The internet has been my only real window to the outside world for years, so I’ve spent more hours than I can count on YouTube watching every video I could find about how to tattoo someone.

  Watching it online and doing it in real life are two very different things, though. It’d be like cutting your own hair after watching a how-to video, only at least hair grows back. No matter how much I think I know right now, what he’s asking me to do is almost guaranteed to be an absolute mess.

  That doesn’t stop my heart from beating faster when I think about how much confidence he has in my abilities, though.

  “Are you sure? Like really, really sure about this?” I ask again while I nibble on my lip. His eyes, of course, hone in on the action like a heat-seeking missile, and I feel him hardening underneath me again. I feel a little giddy at how much chemistry there is between us.

  He gently lifts me off of him and scoots down the bed, lying flat on his back and pointedly looking at the unmarked patch of skin again.

  “Okay, okay. Anything I want?” I ask, my lips curving up into a grin because I know exactly what I’m going to put there if he lets me.

  He bobs his head and closes his eyes. Apparently, he expects this shit to happen right now. I wipe my sweaty palms on my tank top and climb back down to the open box, pulling everything out to take stock of what I’ve got. Then, I hop off the bed and grab my sketchbook, refreshing the mental picture of the tiny bird I want to put on his skin.

  It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

  The little bird symbolizes exactly what Connor represents to me—freedom.

  I grab a ballpoint pen and move back over so I’m sitting right beside him and then lean over, bracing my arm on his abs so I can get the best angle to sketch out my idea on his skin. Once I’m happy with it, I go into the bathroom to wash my hands before I pull on gloves, and then I wipe the whole design off his skin with rubbing alcohol.

  Blowing on his skin, I watch as he shivers, and I swallow against a wave of arousal that washes over me. He’s so goddamn hot I can’t seem to help to get turned up to an eleven whenever he’s close enough to touch… or see.

  Or sniff.

  Ahem.

  Once his skin is dry, I redraw the design exactly how I had it and take a deep breath to try and steady my hands. I wonder if Connor’s fallen asleep, but when I look at his face, I find his hazel eyes watching me.

  “I’m just gonna…” I say as I grab the bottle of black ink and load the reservoir and plug in a seven-round liner. I hold the gun up to my face so I can see exactly how far the needle is hanging out of the tip and twist the grip to adjust it, but I’m only going off of what I learned on the internet, so I’m sure I look more competent than I actually am.

  “You’re doing great,” Connor praises, and I roll my eyes before laughing. At this point, with the amount of ink he has on his body, he probably knows more about how to do it than I do. I dip the gun in ink, but then I remember a trick I learned in one of the videos I watched and set it down, running back into the bathroom to grab some antibiotic ointment and rubbing it on his skin to help the needle glide across the design.

  I brace my hand down on one out of the six-pack abs he’s got and ignore the jolt of heat that I always feel when I touch him. Right now, I need to focus, so I take a deep breath before pressing the needle into his skin.

  I know nothing about shading human skin or any more complicated aspects, but I have a steady hand when I draw, so I think I can manage something simple without making it look like a kid got ahold of a Sharpie and attacked this beautiful man.

  With one last deep breath, I lower the needle to his skin. He doesn’t so much as flinch when the needle pierces his skin for the first time, and I quickly get lost in the work, outlining my design and keeping my hand steady. Once that is done, I let out a sigh of relief. Filling in the middle wouldn’t be nearly as tricky as making sure the outline wasn’t wonky.

  I jumped up and rolled my neck, loosening the muscles and finding that I was actually having a lot of fun. Connor wasn’t talking, content to close his eyes and let me work. Running into the bathroom, I grabbed a paper towel from under the counter, hurrying back over to the bed and dabbing the extra ink off before I started the next step.

  Time melts away while I fill in the rest of the design, and before I know it, it’s over. I clean off the excess ink and rub some of the antibiotic ointment over top of it before sitting back and staring at the very first tattoo I’ve ever done.

  It totally looks way better than I thought it would, and I’m stuck with this feeling of pride that I don’t know if I’ve ever felt before.

  As soon as I think about it, I start to overthink it, and then I start to worry about if Connor will like it or what he’s going to think about the whole symbol of my freedom thing. That seems like a lot of pressure to put on a person, and I know he’s attracted to me, but I don’t know if it’s more than that for him. I know it’s in his nature to want to help people in trouble, and I also know he didn’t come here looking to take on my problems.

  As happy as I was a few minutes ago, my mind is spiraling into a negative self-talk spiral that I keep falling further into. Connor must see something in my face because he sits up and cups my chin in his big, warm palm. “Hey,” he says gently, bringing my attention fully to him.

  “I figured you’d stick me with a dick or something,” he teases to lighten the mood, and I snort-laugh in a really unattractive way.

  “I wish I would’ve thought about that.” I laugh, and he’s officially broken me out of my freak out.

  He looks down at the tiny black bird and gets this soft smile on his face that makes me want to climb into his lap and pull his arms around me and never leave. “Big fan of birds, are you?”

  “More like what they represent to me,” I murmur, and I sort of hope it comes out quiet enough that he can’t hear me, but no such luck.

  “And what would that be, my little demon?” When he looks up at me, his eyes are practically gleaming with amusement, the a-hole. I try not to preen at the whole my thing because my vagina does not get a vote on how attached I get to this guy.

  Nope, not at all.

  “Freedom,” I say simply, with a casual shoulder shrug that’s trying a little too hard to play off as nonchalant, but it’s the best I can do.

  “And why would you put one on me?” he pushes, and I narrow my eyes.

  “Do you always ask this many questions when you get a new piece?”

  He chuckles this deep, vibrating sort of laugh that I feel worm its way under my skin. “People always ask for the story behind them, and this time I don’t have to make one up. You get to do it.” He looks way too happy with himself about it, too.

  With a sigh, I give him what he wants. “It’s because I always dreamed about leaving, but I never really thought it would actually happen until you swept in here and told me you’d make it happen no matter what. It’s because when I look at you, I see possibilities and hope, and I choose to believe that means something for my life. You mean something for my life. It may be cheesy as hell, but you make me feel like I’m going to get to spread my wings and fly for the first time in my life. So, a bird is how I visualize that.”


  My cheeks feel like they’re burning as he looks at me so intensely it’s like he’s trying to devour me with his eyes. That look is all sorts of dirty, and I can’t tell if it helps cut the seriousness of what I confessed or makes the tension even worse.

  Before I can jump on him, my phone chimes. The only people who have the number are Savage, Lola, and Tiffany—oh, and Connor, but he’s right in front of me—so I know my intense but fun morning is about to come to an end. I peel off the dirty gloves before reading the text

  Lola: Tiff’s gotta bail. Think you can help me with lunch for the club?

  Ugh, I hate lunch duty, but I can’t leave Lola hanging. Besides, my brother—yep, still crazy to say that—told me I should keep up with whatever I’d been doing before I found out the real reason I’ve been stuck here. With a sigh, I texted her back.

  Gigi: Give me a few, and I’ll be down.

  “What’s up?” he asks, probably noticing the seriously cranky vibe I’ve suddenly got going on.

  “Lunch duty,” I say as I slide off the bed and straighten my clothes.

  “Want me to go with you?” Connor watched me slip into my flats and run my fingers through my hair from where he still lay flat on his back on his bed. His expression is more serious, and the mood in the room changed completely with the reminder that I’m still trapped here, and he has a job to do.

  I wave him off. “You’ve got stuff to do, and I won’t be alone down there. Besides, Poison and Brutal are both still down with their injuries from what Benson—sorry, Savage—told me and the others would have to be complete idiots to try anything right now.”

  I can tell he’s thinking about it and coming to his own conclusion but nods even as his jaw tics. Yeah, I hate it, too, big guy. Someday soon, this won’t be my life. I’ll degrade myself serving the masses until then. It’s not like I have much of a choice.