"Stay behind me," he commands, turning slightly away from me.
“W-wait,” I stutter out. “Who are you? Who arethey? Are you kidnapping me? What is this about? I’m just a teacher, I swear I haven’t done anything wrong.” All of my questions come out in a rush, my words tripping over each other as they tumble from my lips.
He faces me once more, those magical eyes locking onto mine. “I’m Atlas. Your new bodyguard.”
That’s all the information he volunteers before giving me his back. He takes a step forward, and so do I, gripping onto his tactical vest so I don’t lose him. Atlas moves with grace and purpose, like a sleek panther in the night seeking refuge.
I don’t know how I’m still standing after the crash and nearly being abducted, but Atlas's strength and stability must be providing a shield around me. Taking a deep breath, I decide to trust him.
2
ATLAS
The Syndicate scum are already unconscious, their bodies slumped against the cold asphalt like discarded trash. I don't give them a second glance. My focus is singular, a laser-tight lock that hasn't wavered since I first laid eyes on Kienna at the edge of the parking lot.
She isn't just a client or a target to obtain. Kienna ismine. The realization isn't a thought, it’s a biological imperative. I’m not just going to protect her, I’m going to possess her. She’s too damn young for me, in her early twenties, whereas I’m closer to forty than I’d like to admit. It doesn’t matter, though. Nothing is going to take her from me, not our age gap, not the improbability of us ending up together, and sure as hell not the Syndicate.
"We need to move," I say, my voice steady despite the surge of possessive adrenaline flooding my system. I make the call to the team, setting the wheels in motion to extract her completely. She’s going to my fortress, the safest place I know.
The space between us is charged, thick enough to touch. As we move toward my bike, the world feels smaller, restricted only to the few feet of asphalt we occupy. I can feel the heat radiating off her, a stark contrast to the cold wind whipping around us, and my body hums with the effort of not turning around andengulfing her in my arms, holding her tight enough to wipe the fear from her eyes forever. Every instinct I have screams at me to claim that space, to mark it as exclusively mine.
I turn abruptly to check the perimeter, the sudden shift in my weight and the sheer scale of my gear nearly knocking her off balance. She gasps, a soft, startled sound, and I’m on her in a heartbeat. My hands snap out, gripping her shoulders to steady her. I don’t just hold her; I lock her in place. The contact is electric. My fingers sink into the soft fabric of her sweater as her frame trembles under my touch. She tenses immediately, going rigid as if bracing for impact. For a long moment, I hold her there, grounding her, letting her feel the absolute, immovable reality of my protection.
"Can we... stop at my place?" Kienna asks, her voice shaky but determined. She’s staring up at me, those wide, trusting eyes doing something to my composure that I don't like. "I have things. Clothes, essentials… my cat."
I tense at her request, knowing the men who were following her know exactly where she lives. "Negative. Too much risk. We go straight to the safe house." I don’t tell her the safe house is actuallymyhouse, but she’ll find out soon enough.
She bites her lip and looks away from me. I find I don’t like when her crystal blue eyes aren’t focused on mine. When the enchantress meets my gaze once more, a tiny spark of sass twinkles in her eyes. Jesus, what that does to me.
Kienna pokes a finger into my chest, right over my Kevlar. "Big, strong bodyguard, right? Surely you can handle a quick trip to grab a bag and a tabby?"
She’s teasing me. The audacity of it, the fire she’s showing, ignites something dark and hungry in my gut. I want to cage her, to keep her hidden away where no one can touch her, but I’m already caving. "Fine. But you stay within arm's reach. Every second."
I mount my motorcycle and guide Kienna to swing her leg over and sit behind me. I watch her climb onto the bike, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. The late-afternoon sun catches the wild, honey-spun waves of her hair, turning it into a halo of gold that contrasts sharply with the frantic reality of our situation. She’s not wearing anything particularly sexy or revealing, but nothing could hide the curvy, mouthwatering lines of her frame.
When she glances back at me, those wide, piercing baby blues are practically daring me to lose my composure. She’s pure trouble wrapped in soft curves and sharp wit, the kind of distraction I can’t afford but can’t seem to look away from either.
I cup her waist to steady her, my gloved hands dwarfed by the delicacy of her frame, and the contact sends a jolt straight to my core. She settles in close, and as I kick the engine to life, the roar vibrating through the frame, she wraps her arms firmly around me.
“Hang on,” I shout over the rumbling engine as it roars to life. Kienna squeezes me harder, her warm thighs pressing against the outside of mine.
The ride to her place is a blur of city lights and adrenaline. With every turn, her grip tightens, pressing her body flush against my back, and I find myself hyper-aware of every point of contact. The thin layers of leather and denim feel like an agonizing barrier.
I catch myself wishing they weren’t there, wanting to feel the heat radiating from her skin against mine without the constant, maddening reminder of the life I’m trying to protect her from. We cut through the traffic, a singular unit moving against the chaos, until we skid to a halt in the alley behind her building. I cut the engine, leaving behind a silence that feels heavier than the noise.
Her apartment is small, smelling of vanilla and something uniquelyKienna. An eclectic mix of thrifted furniture and colorful pillows greets me as I make my way around her space. She has dozens of sloppy crayon drawings and finger painting disasters hanging on her fridge, no doubt from her young students.
Kienna dashes from her bedroom to her bathroom, gathering things into a large backpack, while I sweep the perimeter, weapon drawn.
A blur of orange fur launches itself from the top of the bookshelf. It lands on my shoulder, claws unsheathed, and I have to fight the urge to instinctively neutralize the threat.
"Mr. Kit-Kat!" Kienna gasps. The talons of the furry monster loosen their hold on me and he hops to the floor with a smug look on his face.
The cat is huge, a walking hairball with eyes like daggers. We have a standoff, man to beast, both of us posturing. He hisses, a low, guttural sound, and I stare him down, unimpressed. He sits down a few feet away from me, looking like an orange triangle of doom with the light of the bathroom silhouetting his frame.
A sound cuts through the tension, syphoning the breath from my lungs. It’s a light, bubbly laugh that parts the proverbial clouds. Kienna is clutching her side, looking at us as if we’re putting on a show. That sound… it hits me harder than any bullet ever could. It’s sweet, genuine, and completely at odds with the violence I’ve spent my life surrounded by.
“We are not taking thatthingwith us,” I inform her, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
