Page 8

CHAPTER 7

Alana

Panic claws at my chest. I forgot.

Just for a moment, I really forgot.

The routine of getting ready felt like a band-aid over my trauma.

But now, it all comes flooding back.

What if it’s them, the men who took me, coming to finish what they started?

The moment I see Hunter’s sapphire-blue eyes, the fear dissolves.

I forgot about Hunter too.

But I’m relieved he’s here now.

Is this Stockholm syndrome?

Bit fast for it to kick in, to be fair.

He’s dressed in all black again, but with a different leather jacket today.

This one’s more textured.

“Nice try,” he says and I swear, there’s actual amusement flickering behind those eyes.

He steps inside and presses the button to close the doors.

The elevator isn’t small.

But somehow, he fills every inch of it.

God. I need to get laid.

It’s the only rational explanation for why this man sends my ovaries into full meltdown every time he so much as breathes near me.

I’ve only had two real relationships.

The first was my high school sweetheart.

My first everything.

It was sweet, soft and always meant to burn out once life got bigger than us.

The second? A polished trust fund leech who said all the right things…

until I realised he was more into my dad’s money than me.

I found that out too late.

Since then, my walls have been damn near impenetrable.

There’s one casual fling I keep circling back to.

Nothing serious. And every other guy I’ve tried to date recently just gives me the ick.

There’s always a shift.

So, dating is officially benched.

Work’s been way too busy.

I can’t handle disappointing sex on top of that.

And in the meantime, Trevor is safely tucked into my nightstand and he always finishes the job.

So the fact that my body is betraying me for a warm-blooded male who screams danger and is basically a walking red flag?

Yeah. That tracks.

The elevator dings and we walk out toward my car.

“I’m driving,” I say.

His face is unmoved.

He just nods and makes for the passenger side.

“Look,” he starts, “we didn’t have time to go over the rules. I wanted to give you space to rest and adjust, but we need to get this out of the way.”

Ah, fantastic.

Here we go.

“And what are those rules exactly?” I humour him, of course, with absolutely zero intention of following a single one.

I pull up to a red light.

“You stay where I can see you at all times, except when we’re inside your apartment,” he says sternly.

Well that’s fucking impractical.

And a big nope from me.

“And what are your other rules ?” I ask again.

“Just one. You listen to my instructions and follow them.”

“Roger that,” I joke, giving him a mock salute.

Let him believe I’m the obedient type, just for fun.

We drive in silence the rest of the way, the quiet stretching between us.

It’s… actually nice.

His presence is calm.

Grounding. And I kind of hate that.

I pull up to our usual brunch spot and see there’s only one parking space left and it’s a parallel park situation.

I sigh.

I can feel Hunter’s eyes on me.

I try to get into the parking space.

I fail. I try again.

I fail again.

“Shit,” I mutter in defeat.

I glance at Hunter. The tiniest smile tugs at his mouth.

I can see he’s trying to fight it.

Trying to pretend he’s made of stone.

He gently says, “Need my help?”

“Yes,” I grumble and move to get out of the car.

He grabs my wrist firmly, but not hard enough to hurt and says, “Stand somewhere I can see you while you wait for me to park.”

Like fuck I will .

But I just nod.

He gets in the driver’s seat and I walk inside and head to the bathroom.

I freshen up and wash my hands.

The door opens just as I reach for a fluffy towel.

Next thing I know, someone grabs my wet hands and pins them behind me.

I start to panic, but then I catch sight of Hunter in the mirror and exhale.

“What the fuck, Hunter?”

My heart’s beating like it’s trying to escape my chest (for the second time today) and I hate it.

I’m supposed to be getting better.

Stronger.

But I’m still carrying the weight of what happened in that warehouse and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake it.

I know I was lucky. But it still feels heavy.

Still feels scary. The what-ifs keep looping in my head, louder than the world around me, more real than the present.

“You failed to follow my instructions.” His voice is low.

Controlled. But pissed.

“You work for me, remember?” I snap, shaking off the dread with a layer of venom.

“Incorrect. I work for your father. I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

“Pretty sure that excludes a chaperone to the bathroom.” I struggle against his grip.

“You would think. But you’ve just proven that you have absolutely zero survival skills. And you failed to follow my only two rules.”

God, he’s right.

If he were someone else, I’d be in real danger right now.

Something shifts in my chest. The realisation cuts deep.

Not because he’s being cruel, but because he’s right.

I don’t know how to protect myself.

I’m still that girl tied up in the dark, completely helpless.

And I’m done with that.

I’m done feeling weak.

I’m done waiting for someone to save me.

I want to learn how to fight.

How to defend myself.

How to never feel that powerless again.

“Fine! Then teach me!” I yell.

It surprises him. He lets go of my wrists.

I miss the contact instantly.

I turn around to face him.

“If I let you teach me how to not die, do I get a little more freedom?”

Not control.

Not trust. Just a sliver of space to breathe.

Space to convince my dad I don’t need a live-in bodyguard.

That I can protect myself.

Ditch the hot dead weight and learn to stand on my own.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Teaching me survival skills will keep me safe. Therefore, you’ll have done your job. And I can use a restroom by myself.”

He’s standing so close to me.

I can smell him. He smells like pine and sin.

I should hate how familiar he smells already.

Like my nervous system’s memorised him.

“Fine,” he says, giving in.

“Monday morning at seven. I’ll train you at the gym in your apartment building.”

“Deal.” I grin like I’m not completely terrified of what I’ve just signed up for.

He follows me out of the bathroom and into the restaurant, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back.

I spot Tessa. She’s outside on the patio between the bougainvillea flowers.

I see two full mimosas on the table and one that’s already empty.

Tessa loves her mimosas.

She clocks me instantly, waves me over and knocks the empty glass over.

Typical Tessa.

“Sorry,” she says, getting up and kissing me on the cheek while the waiters deal with the mess.

I slide into the seat opposite her.

The heat at my back feels noticeably colder now and my eyes search for Hunter.

He’s settling in at a table a few spots away, eyes locked on me.

Tessa follows my line of vision and says, “Is that the bodyguard who stole my room? He is smoking. Please, can someone kidnap me so I can get one of those?”

She jokes, but she gets me.

She knows humour is how I battle my inner world.

“How much do you know?” I ask as I take a big swig of my mimosa.

“Emily phoned me actually. I know everything up until Mr. Handsome came to collect you from her office. Is there more?” she asks, eyes wide and a little excited.

I flag down the waiter and order another two mimosas before turning back to her.

We’re going to need more for this conversation.

“First of all, thank you for handling work stuff. Second… I had a panic attack.”

Her entire face softens.

“Shit, A.”

“I’m okay now,” I say quickly.

“It was bad, but… Hunter was there.”

Tessa sips her mimosa slowly.

“And by there, you mean…”

“He broke down my bedroom door and found me naked on the shower floor.”

She nearly chokes.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair.

“Apparently, I didn’t give ‘verbal confirmation’ in time, so Mr. Military Precision took that as a green light to go full rescue mode.”

Tessa sets her drink down, leans forward.

“And you’re telling me this happened with the very large, very attractive man your father hired to keep you safe and you’re still functioning as a human being?”

I let out a laugh.

“He’s more of an annoyance at the moment. I’ve agreed to let him train me in ‘basic survival skills’.”

Her eyes sparkle with glee.

“Oh, God. Is that a euphemism?”

“Stop. The plan is simple: I learn how to throw a punch, convince my dad I no longer need the human security blanket and get my life back. Or the cops find the guys who took me. Whichever miracle comes first. The sooner I can ditch him, the better.”

Tessa clutches her chest dramatically.

“What, why? He’s sex on a stick!”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now.

She always does that.

Makes the world feel a little less sharp.

“Tessa, I can’t fuck the live-in bodyguard. Do you know how awkward that would be? We live together, hello?”

“So you’re telling me that you’re looking at him, that man sitting right there—” And I kid you not, she actually points at him.

I grab her hand and shove it down.

“—and nothing in you wants to climb him like a tree? Fuck, girl, did the kidnappers take your eyes too?”

I snort a laugh .

Fuck , that feels good.

“No, I do still have eyes. Yes, he is very attractive. No, he’s not my usual type, you know it’s the men in suits for me. Yes, if he wasn’t my bodyguard, I’d be all over him for a quick hook-up. But no. It’s not worth making life any more uncomfortable.”

“Fair enough,” she says.

Our food arrives and we both dig in.

Me with my eggs Benedict, her with her flaky, buttery croissant.

We have another two mimosas.

Tessa pauses mid-bite.

“So, just to clarify… when you say ‘training’… will there be sweat involved? Proximity? Hands-on demonstrations?”

I groan.

“Stop.”

“Will there be… grappling?”

“Tessa.”

She grins like the menace she is.

“I’m just saying. What’s a little hand-to-hand combat between emotionally unavailable adults? He’s already seen you naked.”

I groan.

“Please, don’t remind me.”

I shake my head, laughing despite myself.

God, I missed this. I can always count on Tessa to bring me back to myself.

“But, I do need to get laid. It’s been a while. When is Tristin coming to visit you again?”

Tristin is Tessa’s brother.

He’s three years younger and has that charming, golden-boy energy, always trying to play peacemaker.

He loves her. Looks up to her, even.

Calls her ‘Tess’. Sends her updates.

Invites her to holidays she never RSVPs to.

He’s constantly trying to bridge the gap between them and their father.

She never says it, but I know she appreciates it.

Even if she never crosses the bridge.

Because she built her own.

And she made it fireproof.

And Tristin? He also happens to be the only friends-with-benefits situation that’s ever actually worked for me.

He lives in another city, but he pops in for visits every now and then.

No drama, no strings.

We’re just really good at scratching each other’s backs.

Figuratively… and literally.

We never talked much—just a few polite exchanges before clothes hit the floor.

Mechanical. Predictable.

Afterward, he’d offer me water like it was a business transaction, scroll through stock updates on his phone and fall asleep without ever touching me again.

That was the appeal, I guess.

Sex without stakes. No intimacy.

No risk. Just a moment of control.

“He’s not in town for another two months, babe,” Tessa teases.

“Guess you’ll have to scratch that itch with Mr. Bodyguard instead.”

I blush.

“Stop that! Trevor will just have to work overtime until your brother gets back.”

“Double gross,” she says, making a face.

“Double yum.” I reply, my tone teasing.

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“I reached out to Jenyx’s manager again regarding the collaboration with Rock & Metal . But, surprise, her manager’s still ghosting me. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, they vanish again.”

Jenyx is the hottest sculptor in the game right now.

Hotter than any artist. Even Banksy in his prime.

Every brand is scrambling for a chance at a collaboration.

I thought we could be the perfect match for her style, edgy and raw.

Her sculptures have a fierce, almost rebellious energy, with an added layer of elegance, crafted entirely from silver.

The metallic sheen gives her pieces an otherworldly quality, as if they could come to life at any moment.

She doesn’t do interviews.

Doesn’t show her face.

Just drops silver masterpieces into the world like breadcrumbs for the obsessed.

I can’t help but frown slightly, but it’s not really disappointment.

I knew it was a long shot.

“Yeah, I figured. Jenyx’s always been elusive.” I shrug, my tone light.

“Would’ve been amazing for our Winter Launch party, though.”

We’re having our Winter Launch party at a local art gallery this year.

Instead of using models, we’re planning to display the jewellery pieces on sculptures from local artists.

I really wanted Jenyx to create the centrepiece, showcasing our hero designs from the collection on one of her sculptures.

Tessa gives me a sympathetic glance.

“I know. But I’ll keep trying. Ryan also reached out to me again…”

Ryan is the creator of VYBE , an exclusive brand based in New York with both a retail store and a strong online presence.

The brand is all about curating smaller collections from local and global designers.

Their online store is nearly always sold out and shopping in-store requires an appointment.

Ryan’s been chasing a meeting ever since we crossed paths at a small business conference in Bali last year.

He wants to get Rock & Metal into VYBE , but I’ve been putting it off.

To be honest, VYBE isn’t something I’m interested in right now.

I like that our brand feels small, unique and personal.

I’m not ready to lose that for the sake of expansion.

“He’s not giving up is he? Send him an exclusive invite to our Winter Launch party. I’ll turn him down in person, if he ends up making the trip.” I smile, shifting the conversation away from work.

“How’s the new apartment my dad set up for you?”

“It’s perfect!” she beams. “You and Daddy Ashby are way too good to me. Big windows, modern furniture and no grumpy Salem to terrorize me at 3 a.m. every morning. I just miss you.”

I laugh.

“Hopefully you can move back in soon. I’ve got a plan and I think it’s going to work.”

We finish our food slowly, letting the conversation drift.

I feel held by laughter, by routine, by the soft safety of a friend who knows how to stitch me back together without ever asking where I broke.

Which is the real magic of Tessa.

She never tries to fix me.

She just makes sure I don’t fall apart alone.