Page 84 of The Bodyguard

Mitch slammed the cuffs on with military precision. Coop and Nick closed in seconds later, Cerberus agents sweeping the area.

Faulkner was done. Mitch stood slowly, breathing hard, muscles burning.

The crowd noise had shifted. The panic had ebbed, replaced with scattered applause. Andi was back at the podium. Unflinching.

Mitch watched from the shadows, blood still roaring in his ears. She stood tall, fierce, still catching her breath but refusing to break.

She wasn’t a politician up there anymore. She was something else.

Not a figurehead—a force.

And this time, when Mitch looked at her, he didn’t just see someone he was sworn to protect. He saw the woman they’d never touch again.

The rally was still humming with raw nerves and adrenaline when Mitch made it back inside the atrium, holstering his Glock and adjusting his jacket.

Cerberus had locked down the perimeter, swept for remaining threats, and discreetly moved Faulkner into private custody, pending a quiet handoff to federal agents with less loyalty to donor networks. Outside, Andi’s speech—defiant, fearless—had turned chaos into momentum. But in here, behind the curtain of civility and applause, the real bloodsport was still being played.

Mitch adjusted his earpiece and stepped through the narrow hall that looped behind the press platform. His knuckles were bruised. The scrape on his temple hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He didn’t care. He moved with one purpose now—and that purpose was standing ten feet ahead, arguing with a communications aide while trying not to sweat through his overpriced blazer.

Wexler.

His tone was tight. His smile tighter. The man had the air of someone who’d just seen his carefully stacked tower of bullshit begin to collapse. The aide excused herself quickly, slipping into the shadows, which left Wexler alone… exactly where Mitch wanted him.

Mitch didn’t call out. Didn’t announce himself. He just walked straight up and stopped, inches from the man’s face.

Wexler turned, startled. “Langdon.”

Mitch didn’t blink. “You’ve got two minutes.”

Wexler tried for condescending, but it fell flat. “If you’re here to posture, I don’t have the time.”

“This isn’t posturing,” Mitch said. “This is clarity.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that Wexler had to tilt his head back slightly to hold eye contact. Mitch lowered his voice to a whisper—slow, quiet, intimate. Dangerous.

“I know what you did. The raid. The press leak. The payments from Faulkner. He orchestrated the whole thing. You were his marionette. We’ve cut the strings. You’re screwed.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wexler said. But his voice shook. Just enough to betray the lie.

Mitch leaned in, breath cold against the man’s ear. “I don’t need a confession. I have proof. And the woman you tried to silence? She just survived a second assassination attempt and still finished her damn speech. So here’s the deal.”

He paused, letting the silence grind down hard.

“I told you before if she dies—so do you. But let me tell you now… if you so much as touch another piece of her world, if you so much as breathe in her direction, if one whisper of your operation resurfaces, I will bury you in a grave your donors can’t dig you out of. You will be exposed, prosecuted, and made to choke on the very public you tried to manipulate. And if that doesn’t happen fast enough?”

Mitch straightened, jaw locked.

“I’ll end you myself.”

Wexler swallowed hard. He didn’t reply.

Mitch gave a tight nod. “Your two minutes are up.”

He turned without waiting for a response, shoulders loose, blood still thrumming like war drums beneath his skin.

Andi was waiting just outside the atrium—flanked by Maya and two Cerberus agents, but fully in control. Her lips were tight. Her eyes locked on his.

“You got him?” she asked.

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