The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(49)

“Hank, wait a minute. What was all that about?”

“I need to talk to Simmons,” He seethed lowly, trying and failing to quiet his rage. “That fucker needs to be reassigned.”

“Hank, talk to me.” This time, the desperate note in Juliet’s voice was enough to catch his attention. When he looked down at her, he was surprised to see her eyes wide and her complexion pale.

He’d worried her. No, beyond that. He’d scared her.

As angry as he was, Hank found he suddenly felt like an ass. This woman had been surrounded by violence for most of her adulthood and here he was, perpetuating more.

That wasn’t to say that Crowley didn’t fucking deserve it.

Hank forced himself to take a deep breath. He wasn’t good at explaining things, but this was Juliet. Unless he wanted to drive her away before his time with her was up, he would damn sure have to learn. “He called you ‘damaged’,” He finally managed, his tone gruff with ire. “He doesn’t have the fucking right. He doesn’t know shit about you.”

To his relief, Juliet’s expression, as well as her death grip on his arm, softened somewhat. Frowning, she released him with obvious reluctance before holding the front door open for him. “Hank, I am damaged. It’s not like we haven’t had this discussion a million times before.”

Somehow, her acceptance of the insult only made his blood run hotter. “It’s one thing to think that shit about yourself,” he growled, “But you change. You grow and you change. Crowley doesn’t get to say that bull because he has no idea. He read a fucking file.”

“And you?” Juliet interjected lowly. Rather than accusatory, her words were only questioning. She didn’t look at him, continuing to hold the door open obtrusively. “How well do you know me then, Hank? Well enough to know the truth, obviously.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed as he felt his chest tighten. “What truth is that?”

Juliet began to slowly shake her head. “Come on, Hank. We both know I’m no angel. The things I’ve seen...the people I’ve let die right in front of me...I’ll pay for it someday.”

Where the hell was this coming from? Juliet was stronger than this shit. He had never imagined her the type to play the victim - he had never seen her be this vulnerable. If anything, she wore a cloak of ‘don’t fuck with me’ at least a foot thick most of the time. He was used to her telling him that she wasn’t a product of Solomon’s mindfucking - that the bastard would one day get what he deserved.

This...this was a different story entirely. “What the hell should you have to pay for?” He demanded, his tone low but firm. Reaching down, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You made a mistake, Juliet. But you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t force anyone to suffer. You did what you had to. Hell, I should know that better than anyone. As far as I’m concerned, no one has the right to tell you what you are. Not even fucking me.”

In the end, it didn’t matter what he thought. Sure, they had a lot in common, but only Juliet could decide who she was - who she wanted to be. The last thing she needed was to let a peon like Crowley classify her.

“And what do you think I am?” Juliet’s question came so soft that Hank had to strain to hear it. As her eyes searched his, his stomach twisted. He’d never had a woman look at him like that - both trusting and terrified all at once.

It scared the hell out of him.

“I think you’re one tough motherfucker.” He finally replied, in complete earnestness. “And once we bag Solomon, your life is going to be a gigantic pool of opportunity.”

Hank realized, in that moment, that it was the first time he’d uttered those words out loud. He’d been thinking them for a while. Quite possibly ever since he and Juliet had somehow bridged the gap that separated them.

And he wasn’t referring to fucking her.

Hank had met a lot of women in his life. He wasn’t proud of how he treated them - or the fact that his own mother had nearly gotten him killed on several occasions. He was far from an authority on the fucking female species. That said, he knew a tough-as-nails woman when he saw one, and Juliet was the textbook definition of a fighter.

She was different.

Watching her struggle - her ups and downs, the way she picked herself up after a particularly hard interrogation session and still managed to smile over some new damned clothes...that was a fucking marvel.

One he had to make sure she appreciated. “Don’t you dare fucking hold that door for me,” he ordered lowly, “Or any man. At the very least, you deserve that.” That said, he wrapped an arm around her waist to take hold of the door and boost her through before him, wondering why his stomach felt like it was in free fall.

For someone who wasn’t so good with women and pep talks, he was pretty sure that he had done alright. He could only hope Juliet agreed.



Though Hank had been expecting the call that came from Simmons the next day, that didn’t make it any more welcome. The elder man told him he’d be leaving the following day and to get ready - he’d be making overtures to Solomon Aguiler himself. They were under pressure from above to get the matter sorted out quickly, which usually meant either violence or a quick takedown.

Somehow, Hank seriously hoped for the former. It might not be in his job description, but he was only human. Of course he wanted revenge - for both Juliet and his sister.