Page 31 of Unguarded

“Definitely.”

My stomach does a backflip, preening with his praise. I freeze when he drops down to one knee in front of me, grabs my shoe, and lifts it up to balance it on his knee. I didn’t realize my laces had come untied. He carefully knots it into a bow before placing my foot back on the ground. My stomach does a flip.

“Better be careful, Redford.” I lean toward him, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re on a dark road that could lead to you becoming a fan.”

He opens his mouth to reply as he stands upright, when a crowd of bodies spills through the hallway. The man at the forefront of the mass of people has bright purple hair and is wearing a T-shirt with my face on it. He’s taller than the rest of them, with broad shoulders and a camera hanging around his neck. His eyes widen the instant they land on me. His finger rises to point at my face.

“Monroe Blue! Monroe Blue! It’s really her!” he shouts.

The others stop chattering among themselves and turnto face me, where my feet have frozen to the concrete floor. A beat of silence passes by as recognition crosses their faces. Cash is the first to move, taking a step in front of me.

Panic ensues. The horde surges forward, led by the man with purple hair. I can’t even count how many there are because they’re coming in fast from a hallway to the left with no end in sight. It looks like a scene fromThe Walking Dead. The only words I can make out that most of them are speaking are my name. The rest is fast-spoken Korean, which I don’t know.

Cash reaches a hand back toward me, and I instinctively grab for his fingers. He turns to Brooks, Ember, and Danny.

His voice immediately morphs into a deep, commanding tone. “Join hands and block their path. I’m taking her back to the dressing room.”

His hand clamps tighter around mine, spinning me around and directing me back the way we came. He keeps his body in between me and the mass of fans, whose voices are rising in volume and echoing through the hallway. We walk quickly to the dressing room, which has a lock on the door.

Ember, Danny, and Brooks know exactly what to do. I hate when it happens, but this wouldn’t be the first time Ember has had to physically stand between me and a crazed fan who might just want a picture but risks causing a dangerous stampede without the proper planning, location, and parameters to keep me and all of them safe.

“Cash! Behind you!” Brooks yells toward us.

I glance back in time to see the man with the purple hair nearly upon us, his camera raised and flashing. Cash is already standing between me and the man. He dropsmy duffel bag as he flips his body around. He uses his right hand, which I’m holding, to position me a step behind him as he pulls back his left fist, launching it into the nose of the man. A sickening crack—the distinct sound of a bone being crushed—reaches my ears. It happens in slow motion. The thick veins in my bodyguard’s forearm and the cold look in his eyes are permanently etched into my memory.

The blow knocks the fan out cold, his big body crumpling to the ground in a heap, camera crashing down with him. My mouth gapes open in pure shock. Cash grabs my bag and tugs on my hand, pulling me closer to his side and whisking me down the hallway again without a second look at the man. My heart is pounding out of my chest at the speed of a galloping horse.

What the fuck is happening?!

Cash’s hand tightens again, squeezing my fingers together. He passes by my dressing room door without even a pause.

“Where are we going?” I ask, looking behind us once more. I can still hear the noise from the crowd echoing down the hallway.

I don’t even know where another exit is from here. As far as I know, this hall leads us right back out to the stage I just performed on.

“Somewhere safe, away from here,” he says, eyes sweeping the empty halls.

He turns abruptly down a hallway I’ve never been down before. The sign on the door saysEmergency Exit Only—Alarm Will Sound. Cash pauses at the door, releasing my hand and dropping down to his knees to unzip my bag.

“Where’s that hoodie of mine you stole?”

I don’t have time to be embarrassed or answer because it’s on the top of the stack of clothes, waiting for me to sink back into once we are safely in my limousine on the way back to the hotel. He hands it to me, zipping the bag back up.

“Put it on,” he clips.

I obey, slipping the cozy sweatshirt over my head. He slowly exhales, reaching down to tug the hood over me. His eyes search mine for a brief moment. I can see the rage boiling over in their inky green depths. His jaw tics as his heated gaze dips down to brush over my lips before he turns toward the door, grabbing my hand tightly again and snatching up the bag. This time, he interlaces our fingers and squeezes gently. I squeeze him back, and my heart pounds for more than one reason.

He pushes the handle to open the door. I brace for the sound of a loud alarm, but nothing happens.

“Fucking safety protocols, my ass,” he grumbles.

Despite the fear of the unknown and what might lie in wait for us outside, I have no choice but to follow him out into the chilly Seoul night. He seems to know exactly where we are, which is a damn good thing because I’m as lost as a stray puppy.

And with a left hook like his, who could possibly hurt me?

He keeps me close behind him as we quickly walk along the side of the building. There’s a high fence on our right side, stars directly above, and the building we exited to the left. Directly ahead of us are streetlights and police officers directing traffic as fans wait for Ubers or make their way toward the parking lot and the public transportation system.With the crowded streets, Seoul’s travel relies heavily on mopeds.

As we approach the crowd leaving in a steady, calm stream, icy fear slithers up my spine.

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