The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(59)

“Aren’t you?” Solomon spat, his gaze narrowing. “You’re not Hank Compton? Head of the detail that’s protecting my little fucking flower?”

Shit. Shit. He didn’t work to hide the horror on his face, and Solomon’s grin confirmed that alone had given him away quite nicely. “That’s right. I know all about you, cabron. Nice little FBI rat singing your praises. Tell me, you enjoy her nice, hot little holes? Cause they belong to me, motherfucker.” The gun pressed into Hank’s temple hard enough to leave a bruise, but that didn’t keep him from staring down the deranged man before him. He hadn’t seen Juliet in months but he still talked about her like she was an object.

Like she belonged to him.

Hank’s cover might have been blown, but he’d rather die than help this fucker get his hands on Juliet. “Shoot me.” He seethed, all but shaking with rage. “I’ll take a bullet before I’ll do a fucking thing to help you.”

This was the man who’d killed his sister. The man who meant to cage Juliet for the rest of her life. He wasn’t going to bow down to this fucking monster.

“Oh we’re not going to shoot you yet.” Solomon reassured him, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “I’ve got plans for you, pendejo, and they involve you alive. If only for a little while.”

Hank said nothing when five guys burst into the room to restrain him. He didn’t fight, knowing that he had little chance of taking them all down, in addition to the men populating the rooms on the floor below. For the first time in the history of his working with the government, someone had ratted him out.

Ratted Juliet out.

And now he could do nothing to help her.

**

The cabin was a flurry of activity. Even three days after the incident at the convenience store, there were still five agents in the house and eight surrounding - one of which was Simmons himself. Bosh was sent to the hospital the moment Simmons arrived and he had announced, with no small amount of ire, that the man wouldn’t be coming back.

Juliet was far from innocent. She knew that this was all her fault. If she hadn’t insisted on going out, then Bosh would never have gotten hurt...and Crowley would still be alive.

Juliet now spent most of her time in her room. Thankfully, Simmons hadn’t been cruel enough to add insult to injury. The fact that she’d been indirectly responsible for a man’s death was punishment enough. That, and apparently, the shopkeeper had died as well.

As well as Angus “Blackjack” Creed.

Juliet found no consolation in his death, however. There was too much collateral damage for her to even begin celebrating. Despite the fact that she hadn’t thought highly of Crowley, she shed a few tears for him, as well as for the shopkeeper she hadn’t even known. The man has saved her life, and she’d never be able to thank him.

She barely had a moment’s privacy now. There was always a man posted outside her open door, and shifts overlapped so there was no chance of her having even a single second alone. Besides dealing with the death of an agent, Simmons was also coming to grips with the fact that an attempt had been made on Juliet in broad daylight. Obviously, Solomon didn’t give two shits that the FBI was protecting her. He was willing to do whatever it took to get her back.

Which meant that her detail had to be tripled.

Juliet couldn’t blame Simmons for being mad at her. She’d deliberately left the cabin without his permission and put herself and other agents in danger. Of course, at the time, Juliet had never even begun to consider that Blackjack or anyone for that matter would stumble upon her. The city was huge and no one ever led her to believe that Solomon was combing every fucking building in sight for her.

She would hope Hank would tell her if things ever got that serious.

Speaking of Hank...she hadn’t heard anything about him from Simmons now for almost two weeks. When she tried, tentatively, to ask for information, the elder man told her that her privileges had been revoked when she put herself in danger. Though she supposed she couldn’t blame him for his decision, that didn’t stop her from cursing him behind his back.

Of course Hank would be away when something like this happened to her. While everyone around Juliet assured that she’d acted both admirably and in self-defense, she had huddled in the corner of her room the afternoon after she returned to the cabin, remembering the crazed look in Blackjack’s eyes as he came towards her. She had nightmares soon after, and when she woke, it took her a few moments panicked tension to remember that Hank wasn’t there.

A few days later, Juliet was at the point of begging for information on him. She couldn’t remember just when Hank’s life became more important than her own, but the writing was on the wall. She’d had a close encounter with Solomon’s right-hand man and all she wanted to know was that Hank was still safe.

Her worry kept her up at night. Of course, the agents roaming the woods around the house didn’t make anything easier. Every hour, on the hour, flashlights shone into her window and an agent peeked in on her. Simmons’ hushed voice from the living room seemed to drone on and on ad infinitum, and when she finally fell asleep, her slumber was restless and filled with dreams that made her toss and turn.

At least until she was abruptly woken around three in the morning.

“Juliet. Wake up.” When the coverlet was snatched from her, she started awake with a gasp. Simmons stood over her, his expression grave. He was still dressed in the suit she’d seen him in earlier that day, his hair mussed. “Pack your things. We’re changing locations.”