Page 34 of The Bodyguard

“She’s unraveling,” Mitch said. “But she won’t admit it. Won’t ask for help. And if I push, I lose her.”

“And if you don’t, she dies,” Royce added. “Hell of a place to stand.”

A quiet passed between them.

Kingston was the first to break it. “So, why are you really here?”

Mitch looked at them both, unblinking. “Because I want her. And I don’t know if I can protect her the way she needs if I cross that line.”

Royce barked a short laugh. “You crossed it when you started making her tea.”

Kingston smiled faintly. “Or when you turned down Bridget last time she offered to scene with you.”

A voice purred nearby. “He turned me down twice, actually.”

Mitch didn’t need to turn his head to know who it was. Bridget, one of the bartenders and a former sub he’d played with on and off years ago, leaned against the far pillar like she’d stepped out of a noir film—tight dress, arched brow, and a glass of scotch she wasn’t drinking. Her fundamental problem was she was a better bartender than a submissive.

“Miss me, Mitch?” she asked, running a cleaning rag over the bar top.

He didn’t blink. “No.”

Her smile faltered. “You’re not even curious?”

“Not anymore.”

Kingston glanced up at her. “Club etiquette applies, Bridget. He’s not available.”

“I was just saying hello.”

“Say it and go,” Mitch said, calm and flat.

Bridget lingered a second longer, then turned, heels clicking back behind the bar. Mitch watched her leave, not because he was interested, but because he wanted to be sure she did.

Royce gave him a long look. “You really are all in, huh?”

“I don’t do halfway.”

“That’s why this is going to wreck you if it goes sideways,” said King.

“I know,” Mitch said with a nod. He finished his coffee and stood. “Thanks for the perspective.”

“Anytime,” Kingston said. “But don’t wait too long. You keep pushing her, she’ll either break... or bolt.”

Mitch nodded once, then stepped out of the lounge and into the cooler air of the club’s upper corridor.

His phone buzzed. Not the work line. The encrypted Cerberus alert.

He pulled it from his pocket and read the message.

Donato left the loft. Solo. Tracking her now. Possible unauthorized movement.

His blood went cold.

He keyed in a return ping and accessed the live feed. A camera caught her ducking into one of the L stations near Lakeshore. No security, no escort. Purse slung high. Focused. Intent.

There was a second message attached to the alert:

she received a call from a burner. Claimed to be a whistleblower. Sent location. She didn’t tell anyone.

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