The Bodyguard's Temptress

Chapter 26

Knox

"Babygirl, are you sure you're comfortable with this?" I ask, my eyes fixed on the grimy-neon-lit sign of the bar. It's the spot where her piece-of-shit ex texted her to meet him.

The place looks like it's seen better days—better decades, even. The building is covered in graffiti, and the flickering light from the sign cast an eerie glow on the otherwise darkened street. It's the kind of place where scum like her ex feel at home, where they can drown in their vices without judgment. 

Everything in me is screaming for me to pull her back, to stop her from going through with this. But Natasha insisted she was the only bait that would lure him out, and damn it, she's right. There's no way he'd fall for anything else without being spooked.

My nerves are on edge, especially with her being back in Chicago. But she made a valid point. If somehow someone managed to breach my cabin, I'd be too far away to protect her, and Brandon? He's not ready to handle that kind of threat. Not yet.

But letting her walk into this shithole? It feels like sending her into the lion's den, and just crossing my fingers and toes to make sure she makes it out unscathed. 

"I'll be okay, Daddy. I promise," she says softly, trying to ease the tension that's coiled tight in my chest.

"I told you already...Trenton isn't dangerous," she adds, feeding me the same line she's been repeating all night since we left the cabin.

She doesn't understand. To me, anyone who even thinks of threatening her safety is dangerous. A bullet-in-the-head kind of dangerous, and that's only because torturing him isn't an option with her tagging along. 

"What's the plan?" I ask, more for my own sanity than because I need to hear it again. 

I just need her to be prepared.

 I can't lose her. 

She rolls her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "I don't know, I think I may have forgotten it after the last time you made me repeat it back to you."

"Babygirl," I growl, not in the mood for her to be acting like a brat. There's too much on the line here.

She huffs, the smirk fading. "Lure him to the back of the building so you and Brandon can knock him out and throw him in the trunk."

Brandon snorts from the seat behind her. "That should be easy enough. Just wave a bag of cocaine in front of him, and he'll probably follow you out like a dog."

"You both are taking this too lightly," I snap, the edge in my tone sharper than I intended. I know I sound like a father scolding his children, but they need to grasp the severity of this situation. 

Natasha's eyes widen, but she nods, her expression turning serious. "Sorry, you're right. Brandon, stop playing around so much. You're getting me in trouble."

"What?" Brandon asks incredulously. 

I growl again, shifting my focus back to her. "Babygirl, what's your safeword when you need me?"

"Hazelnut," she answers without hesitation, her voice steady and sure. 

"Good girl."

She touches a hand to my face, her fingers warm against my skin. Leaning across the middle console, she kisses me softly. "I love you," she whispers against my lips, so quietly I almost didn't hear it. But before I can respond, she's out of the car, and heading into the bar. 

For a second, I'm fucking stunned. Did she just tell me she loves me for the first time and bolt out of the car like a bat out of hell? My heart slams against my chest, the words hanging in the air, unfinished. I should've immediately been able to follow up with, "I love you too," but she didn't give me a chance. I swear, when this is over, I'm going to spank her ass so raw, she won't be able to sit down. Of course, not before I tell her how fucking in love with her I am. 

With my heart still pounding from her words, I reach into my glove box and grab the Smith and Wesson I keep stored there.

 "Brandon, take this." I pass it to him, and his eyes widen as he takes it, holding it gingerly like it might explode in his hand.

"Listen, I need you to know how to protect her when something happens to me," I continue, my voice low and serious. "You feel that lever on the side?" He nods, his fingers brushing over the safety. "Good. That's the safety. Keeps you from accidentally killing one of us. Don't touch it unless you intend to shoot."

As I'm talking, something catches my eye—a black car idling at the end of the alleyway, no license plate, windows tinted so dark you'd need an X-ray to see inside.

Interesting.

That's no coincidence. Not at 3am, and not with her ex expecting her to be alone.

And there are no security cameras back here, no witnesses. 

No one to answer her cries for help. 

"It looks like we'll be practicing a little sooner than I thought," I mutter, more to myself than Brandon. "Tuck the gun in your jeans and stay close."

Pulling my hood over my head, I step out of the car, the cold night air biting at my skin. I grip the gun at my side, the metal cool and familiar in my hand. With a tilt of my head, I signal for Brandon to follow. He hesitates for a split second before climbing out, tucking the pistol into his waistband.

The alley's shadows stretch long and dark, swallowing us as we slip closer to the car. Every step is measured, every sound amplified—the distant hum of the city, the rustle of a plastic bag drifting through the wind, the muffled bass thumping from inside the bar. My pulse pounds in my ears, every instinct on high alert.

I glance back at Brandon, whose face is pale as fuck but set with determination. He shadows my steps, his breath coming in shallow pants.

Once we're about ten feet away, I assume the driver is either sleeping or not paying any goddamn attention to their surroundings. We should've spooked them by now.

I gesture for Brandon to follow me behind a dumpster. Moving cautiously, I step out of the shadows, slipping one of my hunting knifes from my pocket and plunging it into the back tire. The hiss of air escaping is the only sound as the tire rapidly deflates.

I move around to the driver's side and slam the butt of my gun into the window, shattering it in a shower of glass. The driver jerks awake, his eyes wide with panic. The passenger stirs, confusion flickering across his face as he blinks himself into alertness. 

"Hey man, what the fu-"

I shoot the driver in the head, the silencer muting the shot to a dull thud, and then turn the gun on the passenger, putting a bullet between his eyes before he can react.

"Brandon, put on these gloves and help me move their bodies to the backseat," I order, my voice cold, detached. I hand him a pair of latex gloves from my pocket, and he slips them on, his hands shaking slightly. 

We work quickly, hauling the dead weight of the bodies into the backseat. I can practically smell Brandon's fear, but he doesn't flinch as he helps me. Once I brush the glass from the front seat, I settle into it, grabbing the phone from inside the cup holder. I turn around and grab the driver's hand, unlocking his phone with his fingerprint. 

And there it is—A string of messages between him and Trenton Barnes. 

Him: Ready?

Trent: Ya, be ready to grab her. She's meeting me here in 30. 

Him: Fuck ya. You sure she will fall for this?

Trent: She's a dumb naive bitch. She'll fall for anything. Both Shadow man and her Daddy are willing to pay for her. Let's see who's willing to pay more. 

Him: I can fuck her first though, right?

Trent: I don't care. Her pussy is already run through. Have at it. 

Him: Bet.

By the time I finish reading, my blood's boiling, every muscle taut with rage. Fury burns through me, hot and all-consuming. This motherfucker's lucky he's already dead—if not, I'd take my time making him beg for it. 

As for Trenton, I'm going to make sure he regrets every fucking day he's been on this earth.