Page 17 of The Bodyguard (Club Southside #10)

16

ANDI

T he crowd in Jefferson Park pulsed with energy. Hundreds of people packed shoulder to shoulder, banners waving, voices rising, the hum of collective defiance thick in the air. The makeshift stage had been erected that morning, backed by a string of campaign signs and flanked by portable speakers borrowed from a nearby community center. Nothing slick. Nothing polished. Just raw, unfiltered presence. Exactly what she needed.

Andi stood center stage, palms gripping both sides of the podium. Her heart pounded beneath her loose-weave jacket, the heat of the early evening sun mixing with the fire burning in her chest. Sweat trickled down her spine, but she didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Her voice was steady when it cut through the mic.

She started to move into the speech she had planned and then thought better of it.

“Do any of you mind if I take off my jacket? It’s a bit warm.”

Andi removed her jacket with a flourish, revealing her toned arms and jade green silk tank top spilling over the waistband to her black silk pants to the roaring approval of the crowd. She shook her shoulders. “That feels a little better. Now, let me tell you what I want not only all of you to hear, but my detractors and opponents. They want me to back down. To be afraid. To run."

A murmur spread across the crowd. Not confusion. Agreement. Anticipation.

She leaned in, voice rising.

"But I didn't build my career on fear. I built it on the truth. On showing up. On fighting for every person who's ever been told to sit down and stay quiet."

Cheers exploded from the front rows. Behind her, the Cerberus security detail tightened their formation, eyes scanning every angle. And just off to the left, partially hidden in the shadows of the rally tent, Mitch stood like a monument.

He was in all black, arms folded across his chest, his sunglasses reflecting the crowd like armor. But his focus never left her. She could feel the weight of his stare like a current against her spine. Watching her. Measuring her. And beneath it, she knew what he was thinking.

He hadn't wanted her to do this. Too public. Too vulnerable. Too soon after the shot at the museum. But she’d insisted, and Maya had been all for it. And now, as she locked eyes with the audience, with her city, with the people who believed in her because they saw themselves in her, she didn’t regret it.

"Let me make this clear," she said, her voice sharp now. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until every vote is counted. Not until every neighborhood has a seat at the table. Not until every developer who thinks they can buy this city is reminded that we don't roll over for bullies."

The roar that rose from the crowd nearly swallowed her whole. Signs waved. Hands clapped. Somewhere, a drumbeat started up. Andi stepped back from the mic, her heart hammering, her breath shallow. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t in weeks.

When she finally stepped down from the platform, grabbing her jacket and flanked by her team, sweat clinging to the back of her neck, she caught the look in Mitch’s eyes as he approached. Approval, but more than that, pride. Oh, it was muted and controlled, but it was there. Etched in the set of his mouth. In the way he walked straight to her without scanning the rest of the area first.

"That was a calculated risk," he said.

"Yep, and it paid off."

He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

Before she could say more, someone stepped between them. A girl. Maybe nineteen, maybe twenty. Her jeans were too big, her sweatshirt had cut-off sleeves and was oversized. She had a campaign flyer clutched in one hand and fear etched into every corner of her face.

"Councilwoman Donato?"

Andi blinked, shifting instinctively into public mode. "Yep, I’m Andi. What's your name?"

The girl glanced behind her, then back again. Her voice was a whisper. "Lacey. I... I think I need to tell you something."

Andi felt the shift in Mitch before he moved. He was at her shoulder in a blink, gaze locking on the girl with quiet intensity. She nodded once to reassure him, then turned back to Lacey.

"Don’t mind him. He’s big, hunky and absolutely one of the good guys. What did you want to tell me?"

The girl looked like she might bolt. She wrung the flyer in her hands until it bent. "Someone offered me money. Last week. To say I saw you buying something. Drugs. I guess. Said all I had to do was go online, make it sound real. They even gave me the words."

Andi went still. The crowd noise dulled to a low throb in her ears.

Lacey swallowed hard. "I didn't do it. I couldn't. But I thought you should know. They said if I changed my mind, they'd still pay. They gave me a number."

Mitch was already pulling out his phone, snapping a quick photo of the number Lacey held out on a torn scrap of notebook paper.

Andi took the girl’s hands in her own, ignoring the trembling. "You did the right thing coming to me. Are you okay?"

Lacey nodded, but tears welled in her eyes. "I didn’t know who else to tell."

Andi took Lacey’s hand in hers, squeezing gently. "You told the right person. You’re safe now. I promise."

Mitch handed off the note to one of the other Cerberus agents with a quiet instruction, then looked back at the girl. His voice was calm. Measured. "Do you know what the man looked like? Or the car he drove?"

Lacey nodded quickly. "Black sedan. Dark windows. He never got out. Just rolled down the window. He wore a hat. Glasses. I think he had an accent."

Andi felt her stomach twist. Someone had tried to use this girl as a pawn. Some kid from the South Side with probably no political stake in the game beyond a few bucks for rent or groceries.

Mitch caught her eye, and she knew. This wasn't just smear tactics. This was coordinated. Ongoing… and it wasn’t over.

But Lacey’s hands in hers were real. Her fear was genuine. And so was her courage.

Andi leaned in. "You matter, Lacey. And I won’t let them use you."

The girl nodded, wiped her nose with her sleeve, and turned to go, one of the Cerberus agents following discreetly behind.

Andi didn’t speak for a moment. Neither did Mitch. But when she turned back toward him, her voice was steady.

"We’re not just fighting for headlines anymore. This is about legacy. About who gets to own the truth."

Mitch looked at her like he was seeing her all over again.

Andi straightened her spine.

"They tried to use her to take me down. I’m done playing defense."

She turned toward the car. She headed toward the next fire to be put out. And Mitch? Mitch was already moving in step beside her.

* * *

The loft was silent when they returned. Not the tense kind of silent—just still, like the space itself was waiting to exhale. The weight of the rally lingered on her skin like the last bite of adrenaline, still burning beneath the surface.

Andi dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her boots. Mitch followed in silence, locking the door behind them, double-checking the alarms out of habit. He had said little since the car ride. Just watched her the way he always did—carefully, intensely, like every breath she took mattered more than his own.

She turned to face him.

He looked like sin in shadow. Black T-shirt stretched across his chest, veins in his forearms raised from tension he hadn’t let release. His jaw was tight. That muscle by his temple twitching again. Still keyed up. Still scanning.

“Mitch,” she said softly.

His eyes locked on hers immediately.

She walked toward him slowly, letting every step be deliberate. Her voice came low. Sure. “I don’t want comfort tonight.”

He didn’t move. Just watched.

“I don’t want to be held or reassured or protected.” Her throat tightened slightly, but she pushed through. “I want you to take me. All of me.”

Mitch’s chest rose once, sharp and deep. His voice, when it came, was dark and gravel-rich. “You sure?”

“I’m not asking to forget,” she said. “I’m asking to feel everything. But on your terms. No armor. No fight. Just us.” She stepped in close, lifted her hands to rest lightly on his chest. “I trust you. Show me what that means.”

Something in him snapped then—but not violently. Not like glass breaking. It was more like a lock unclicking. A gate swinging wide.

“Bedroom,” he said. Low. Commanding.

She obeyed without hesitation, removing her tank top and pants as she entered the bedroom.

The ropes weren’t silk, but they might as well have been. They coiled around Andi’s wrists like promises—strong, unyielding promises that whispered stay still, stay open, stay mine. Mitch tied her to the headboard with the kind of precision that made her stomach clench and her pussy throb. Her arms were stretched just enough to remind her she couldn’t move, but not enough to hurt. And fuck, she didn’t want to move. She wanted to be his goddamn canvas, his plaything, his to ruin and rebuild.

Her body trembled like a live wire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch. She felt no fear—no, this was anticipation, pure and filthy. Her breasts heaved with every shallow breath, the thin fabric of her tank top doing fuck-all to hide her hardened nipples. She was already wet, already desperate, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Mitch stood at the edge of the bed, fully fucking dressed, like some kind of sadistic tease. His eyes raked over her like he was memorizing every inch, every curve, every secret. His gaze felt like fire, like it was peeling her skin back layer by layer until there was nothing left but raw, quivering need.

“Eyes open,” he ordered, his voice low and gravelly, the kind of tone that made her pussy clench hard enough to ache. She blinked, her lashes fluttering for a second, but she obeyed. Looked right at him. Didn’t look away, even when she wanted to hide from the intensity in his stare.

“Say it,” he said, stepping closer. His fucking presence was suffocating in the best way, like he’d already wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed. “Tell me what you want.”

Her voice was a whisper, shaky and broken. “I want you to claim me. To remind me I’m yours. That this…” she tugged gently at the ropes, her wrists straining just enough to make her gasp, “… is my choice.”

He exhaled like she’d fucking gutted him, and then he was on her. He used his knife to cut her bra and panties from her body, leaving her bare and vulnerable and his. Her tits bounced slightly as the fabric came off, nipples hard and begging for his mouth. But he didn’t touch them—not yet. No, he just stared, his eyes dark and hungry, like he was fucking devouring her with his gaze alone.

“You’re beautiful when you surrender,” he growled, his voice rough and primal. Her stomach tightened at the words, her hips lifting slightly off the bed like a goddamn plea.

And then his mouth was on her ribs—soft at first, just a kiss that made her shiver. But then his teeth grazed her skin, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. She squirmed beneath him, her pussy dripping now, the scent of her arousal thick in the air. He worked his way down her body, slow and deliberate, his tongue teasing the peak of one breast before he sucked it fully into his mouth. Her hips jerked, her back arching as she moaned his name.

He didn’t stop. He licked and sucked and teased until she was writhing beneath him, her pussy throbbing with every flick of his tongue. He moved lower, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips as he settled between her thighs. She could feel his breath on her sex, hot and damp, and she nearly came just from the expectation alone.

When his tongue finally pressed against her clit, she cried out, her body bowing off the bed as he wrapped his hands around her thighs and settled in. He didn’t tease her—no; he devoured her like a starving man, his tongue fucking relentlessly as it swirled and flicked and drove her closer to the edge. Her orgasm hit fast and hard, tearing through her like a freight train. She screamed his name, her thighs trembling as he didn’t let up, pushing her into a second wave of pleasure that left her gasping and begging.

But he wasn’t done. He pushed two fingers inside her pussy, curling them just right against that sweet spot that made her see stars. He fucked her with his fingers while he sucked her clit, driving her into a third orgasm that left her sobbing in sheer ecstasy. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, soaked and tight and so overly stimulated and sensitive she thought she might pass out.

Only then did he stand, his cock straining against his jeans. Slowly, he removed his clothes—his eyes never leaving hers. She watched, wild-eyed and trembling, as he did so, freeing his cock—thick, hard and fucking perfect. He stroked himself once, twice, groaning low in his throat as he covered her body with his own, settling between her thighs, lining himself up with her dripping pussy.

And then he was inside her, filling her in one brutal thrust that made her scream. He didn’t go slow—no; he fucked her with a raw, primal urgency that left her breathless. His hands gripped her hips, holding her still as he pounded into her, each thrust hitting so deep she felt it in her fucking soul.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” she gasped, her voice shattered. “I’m yours.”

He kissed her then—hard and desperate, his tongue claiming her mouth as thoroughly as his cock claimed her pussy. She could taste herself on his lips, the mix of their moans and breaths a symphony of pure lust and need.

When he came, it was with a low groan against her neck, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his release. He stayed buried inside her as he reached up and untied the ropes, his hands gentle now, reverent almost. He collapsed against her as she pulled him into her arms, both of them slick with sweat and cum and the remnants of what had passed between them.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly, Andi said, “You scare me.”

Mitch went still.

She didn’t pull away. Just laid her head against his chest. “Not because I don’t trust you,” she whispered. “But because I do. Because there’s a version of this where I lose you. And that terrifies me more than anything.”

He pulled her tighter, his voice low against her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

They lay like that for a long time—enveloped in the silence, the aftermath, and everything left unsaid.

But she felt it now. This wasn’t about fear. Or sex. Or power. It was about belonging —the kind that didn’t come with chains, only choices.