Page 14 of Unguarded

I remain rigid, not stepping back from the passenger side of the car as Monroe settles in. He chuckles and shakes his head before climbing into the car.

Brooks and I ride in the black SUV with Zade’s bodyguards. The driver stays close behind the sports car until Zade hits the gas pedal and speeds ahead of us. I shift on the leather seat. The back of my collar starts to irritate my skin.

Finally, we pull up behind them at the front of the restaurant, a team of paparazzi and fans already out front in anticipation of celebrity presence. The valet opens the door for Zade, another one getting Monroe’s. I step out of the SUV with Brooks on my heels. She starts to climb out right as we reach her door. I extend a hand, which she grasps tightly before expertly maneuvering so that she doesn’t reveal anything to the cameras.

The glamorous smile on her face is instantly lit up by a hundred flashing lights. Her slim fingers grip my hand tightly until Zade finally comes to her side and offers her his arm. She takes it, releasing me, and they walk toward the door. I remain close to her, shielding her from the swarm.

My heart rate finally slows as I watch her from four feet away from their dinner table. My eyes sweep the restaurant occasionally.

Zade orders a five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. He takes another photo of Monroe holding up her glass. I study him more closely than necessary, unable to shake the uneasiness in my gut. He treats her like she’s a prop in his world.She plays the part perfectly, but it’s the same version of her the fans get. I wonder which one is real.

Something about the way he looks at her makes me not want to let him leave my sight. When he asks for the check, she’s laughing at something he said and finishing her wine. Her eyes briefly meet mine before she stands and turns. I follow her toward the back of the restaurant. People gawk at her as she passes, whispering among themselves.

I wait outside the door of the ladies’ room for her. When she exits, another woman is with her, latched on to her arm. Monroe is chatting with her animatedly, gesturing with her hands.

The woman looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her name. She has long, rich brown hair and is wearing a scandalous top, which barely covers her nipples, with sheer, loose pants. The woman eyes me like I’m up for auction, her gaze trailing up and down my body before she turns to Monroe.

“Who’s the newb? I want a bite.”

She reaches out toward my forearm like she wants to touch me. I back away from her before she makes contact.

Monroe tilts her head to look up at me with her bright blue eyes. “He’s mine. Sorry.”

Her melodic voice washes over me. I like the sound of her claiming me way too damn much.

I stare back into her steady gaze until she smirks and continues sashaying back to the table.

“Lucky bitch,” her friend groans.

Once they finish up, we head toward the nightclub. It’s not far, and when we pull up, the crowd of onlookers is muchbigger and more animated. They’re clamoring over each other for a better viewing position.

“He told all his followers they were going to be here together tonight,” one of Zade’s bodyguards mutters.

A growing headache spreads from the back of my skull. I reach for the pistol at my hip. Feeling the blunt, hard metal underneath the fabric soothes my anxious mind a fraction.

This is just like any other mission. Secure the target.

I’m out of practice, but switching back to a military-mode mindset is the only way I can get through this. The biggest difference is, the things I did as a Green Beret weren’t in a crowd of people holding cameras in my face.

As soon as they reach the front entrance, Zade stops the car and opens both doors. The fans go wild when he exits the flashy red car. They surround it and him, begging for his attention and reaching their phones out to take selfies with him.

They won’t move out of the way so that our SUV can pull up behind them. At least twenty feet stretches between us and them. When I see Monroe start exiting her side of the car, I open up the door to the SUV, and the other bodyguards follow, realizing we’ll have to shove our way through the crowd. I don’t waste time, pushing through the people grappling for the star couple like it’s their last day on earth.

“Hey!” a man shouts at us as Brooks and I force our way through.

“Watch it, asshole!” another one calls.

I keep my eyes trained on Monroe. She turns with a bright smile toward a fan who wants a selfie, but soon realizes there are too many of them clawing for herattention. They’re pushing in, so close that not even Zade can get around the car. His bodyguards are trying to get to him and failing due to the mass of people.

Panic begins to rise inside me when I’m still six feet and ten bodies away from her. I see the alarm in her wide eyes as she scans the faces. I’m a head taller than most of them, and once she meets my gaze, I surge forward quickly, but to no avail. The crowd doesn’t part; they only squeeze in on her more closely.

Get back in the car, I mouth to her, knowing she won’t hear me even if I shout.

A woman boldly reaches out to caress the fabric of her gold dress, but Monroe jerks away from the contact and slides back into the car. She tries shutting the door, but it senses the prying arms and hands and automatically goes back up.

I grab the person in front of me by the shoulders and physically haul them to the side despite a roar of protest. The next one is a male photographer. I snatch the strap of his camera, yanking him back until he nearly falls. I keep moving forward, using brute strength and bulldozing my way through the crowd as if they were a herd of cattle surrounding a pile of cubes.

They’re no better than animals.

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