But my knees buckle, my body paralyzed.
He eyes me wildly, then sweeps me into his arms and sprints toward the stage exit. I wrap my arms around his neck, breath coming fast, heart outpacing my pulse.
Offstage, his eyes sear into me, heat rolling off them … or perhaps anger.
“When I tell you to move, you fucking move,” he screams, setting me back on my feet.
No one’s spoken to me like this before, especially not a bodyguard. But the fear in his voice isn’t about control—it’s about losing me. Concern etches his face, raw and unguarded, louder than anything he can say.
I nearly fall when he tries to let me go, his grip the only thing keeping me upright.
“You wounded and didn’t tell me?” he grunts, eyes and hands sliding slowly over me.
“No,” I manage, hands still gripping his neck. “But don’t let go of me. Not yet.”
Chapter
Two
MAVERICK
The suited guys come over—the ones who’ve given me the creeps ever since we got here.
“She’s okay?” Edwin Crowe asks. Something about the tone of his voice, the look on his face, gets a permanent spot in my memory.
I’ve observed the talkative man more than I care to since arriving on this job. No insults or shouting. No cruelty in tone. He speaks like an HR rep or a lawyer. He gives off the air of a concerned caretaker around the main act, Mia Love.
Everything about him is inauthentic. Fake as fuck. Thin-framed and gracile, eyes sharp as a vulture’s beak—watching, waiting. But words precise enough to cut.
Crowe doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t threaten. He just … waits.
And people act scared shitless around him. Because what he represents—success, fame, the music industry—is far more terrifying than any one man could be.
“Need to move her fast. Get her safe,” I grunt.
“We can take it from here?—”
I grimace, eyeing the men. Something about this isn’t right.
Grayson’s voice blasts in my ear. “Shooter down. Local PD taking perimeter. EMS staging. Holt, you still have eyes on the asset?’
More like arms locked around her. “Asset safe and secure,” I reply.
“Good,” my boss grits between clenched teeth.
The woman in my arms shakes, her perspiration-kissed body melting against mine. She grips me like a fucking lifeline in shark-infested waters. My eyes meet hers, a question on my lips.
But I already know the answer. She’s not ready to stand alone yet, to feel the weight of it all. So, I hold the space with her, let reality sink in slowly.
“Don’t let me go,” she whispers, staring up at me. And then, there’s what she doesn’t say. The disparaging look toward the suits. Like her eyes plead,Don’t leave me with them.
I should say something. But I’m no good at that.
Instead, I nod. Nodding’s never gotten me in trouble.
An hour later,Lone Star Security debriefs with the police. My arms still feel warm where Mia Love filled them. I try not to think about it, though my gaze sneaks her direction more than once. I catch her watching me back.
“Thanks to Holt here,” Grayson says, drawing my attention back. I grunt, setting my jaw. “Wouldn’t advise taking down an asset that abruptly. But a concussion’s better than bullet holes.”
