Our Bodyguard|18+

Thirty nine

"What took you so long?" I pull on my seatbelt as Kenna slams the the car door harshly to a shut.

"Work, baby. And here...I got this." She produces a tiny flash drive from the inside of her leather jacket. "Security footage of all the guests who attended the dinner party thrown by her majesty, Elena, on none other than her own birthday."

I roll my eyes while clutching the gear shift of Red's jeep. "And why the fuck would I want to know anything about Elena's celebration to her miserable 50s or whatever?"

Kenna grins at me. "Why else? The mystery caller was there on that day. In other words, we got our guy; we just need to look."

"Well, so much for the needle in a haystack, " I remark tiredly. "I bet it was a bunch of guests."

"Nah! It was only friends and family, not more than fifteen people," Kenna informs me. "But what's interesting is the fact that Elena went to see Patrick on the same night, which happens to align with the date you went to end your marriage with him in the mansion. Does anything ring the bell?"

"The same day the hooker girl died," I murmur, trying to ignore the monstrosity of the situation. A murder. I shift in my seat, facing Kenna properly. "What if Elena was in the mood for some romantic rendezvous with her ex husband, the man she could kill for, and found out he had another young peacock in his nest…which is the penthouse where Patrick takes his bimbos?"

"Or maybe she went to confront him for missing her party? We both know she's vane," Kenna probes, laughing soundlessly at her conspiracy theory. "And then she finds him with another peacock, your words, and loses her mind, and the worst happens? She could've killed the girl, Mia. She's insane, right?"

"Maybe, but no," I reply, ransacking my brain. Elena seemed furious today. Traumatized, yes, but furious. She must've seen something she didn't like at all. "What if Patrick lost control while having sex and defiled that poor girl to submission which led to some kind of erotic death?"

My heart rate pumps and fear pulses through me so frivolously. But it is a possibility. 

"Why are you saying that?" Kenna asks.

I swallow thickly. "Patrick had a tendency of choking me while having rough sex, not something I'm thrilled to discuss with anyone," I say with difficulty, and Kenna's face furrows attentively. "There was a day I felt like I was gonna die but I managed to push him off me on time. He was drunk, and God knows how animalistic he was, driven by a high libido that had me sleep in the guest bedroom for a week, afraid he might lose it again. Well, in the end he promised to never come on me while drunk and we made that a law until the end."

"That's... diabolically gruesome, Mia," Kenna whispers, and although I can't admit it loudly, the memory still sends a cold shudder down my spine even right now. 

"Well," I breathe, reclaiming my shaken composure, "my theory is that when Elena saw the body, she flipped, she began blabbering nonsense about calling the police and accusing Patrick of murder, and in order to contain the situation, Patrick or his men decided to gag her with a holy beating."

"Which explains why she couldn't come back to her house until three days later?" Kenna says.

"What are you talking about?"

"According to the maid, Eliot came here twice asking for Elena after the birthday party, claiming her phone was off and it wasn't normal," Kenna explains. "And then two days later Elena returned home all beaten up, refusing to talk to anyone until Smith showed up today for the questioning, which she herself arranged."

I guess the pieces are fitting in slowly but surely. Elena wanted to testify.

"In that case," I propose, "our only way to get to the truth is by making Elena confess everything she knows—especially things she can't tell Smith because they may incriminate her."