The Bodyguard's Temptress

Chapter 4

Knox

 I watch my little temptress snuggled on the couch with her friend, engrossed in whatever show they're watching. The unfamiliar green beast surges inside me. 

Brandon Lewis. If I didn't know he was gay, I'd slit his fucking throat for holding her like that.

When he started coming around, I dug into his background. Public records, social media, all that. Though he hasn't officially come out, no straight man shares that many shirtless pictures of Chris Hemsworth and Henry Cavill. I don't care how attractive they are.

As long as he remains a good friend and doesn't fuck her over as a business partner, he can stick around.

I have something to take care of tonight, anyway.

I know I warned the dirty old fuck to never go near her again, but hearing my baby girl sob in my backseat has molten lava coursing through my veins.

He should have never touched her in the first damn place. While the logical part of my brain acknowledges that he didn't know she was mine, the possessive, irrational side currently in control demands that he pay.

He should be home soon.

I think I'll pay him a visit.

I park my car a few streets from Johnathon's house. Shredding my tux, I swap it out for a black hoodie and sweatpants. Then, I slung my bag over my shoulder, and tuck my gun in my waistband.

With ease, I jog the four blocks to his house at the end of the street. There's no gate, that's not surprising. I find that men who think they're untouchable often neglect basic safety measures. It's also hard to make enemies when your circle is a bunch of rich, disgusting pigs.

Tonight, however, Johnathon has made himself an enemy.

Scanning my surroundings, I figure out a way to get into the house. This isn't the first time I've broken into a house, and it won't be my last.

A door cam indicates surveillance, which means the windows are likely secured too. I creep around to the back of the house, where another camera awaits by the backdoor.

There's a big-ass pond and pool back here. Guessing he didn't know what to do with all this land. Good thing there's plenty of room for his grave, he's gonna need it.

I grab a rock near the pond and hurl it at the camera, shattering the screen. I crouch in the bushes, waiting to see if anyone rushes out. If no one does, it confirms there's no security here. If they do, it'll complicate things, but I'll adapt.

After a few minutes of stillness, no one comes. Slowly, with my senses on high alert, I emerge from the bushes and approach the back door. It's only secured with a simple coded lock.

Stupid, cocky fuck.

This part shouldn't be too hard. Given his age and excessive drug use, I doubt he'd choose a complex code.

I punch in 1-2-3-4.

The door emits a beep, but doesn't budge.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I can make maybe two more mistakes before an alarm goes off. Urgently, I enter the reverse sequence: 4-3-2-1.

I hold my breath as the door beeps again. This time when I turn the handle, there's a satisfying click. Gripping my gun, I slip past the doorway, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I prepare to confront whoever's inside.

I move deeper inside the ridiculously massive house, looking for any signs of Johnathon's two daughters, eighteen and twenty years old. Of course, I won't harm them. I only have one target.