POV Owen
I fucked up.
No, I didn’t just fuck up. I took a sledgehammer to the best thing that ever happened to me and called it protection.
The heavy bag takes another hit, leather cracking under my knuckles like it owes me money. Sweat drips down my face, mixing with something that might be tears if I was the kind of man who cried over his own stupidity.
But I’m not crying. I’m destroying gym equipment because it’s either this or putting my fist through a wall, and I’ve already been evicted from two apartments this year.
Two days. Two fucking days since I watched her face crumble when I called myself her bodyguard instead of… what? Her boyfriend? Her lover? The guy who’d burn the world down to keep her safe?
All of the above, apparently.
The irony tastes like battery acid. I destroyed us to protect her from Lucille, and now she’s out there somewhere without any protection because daddy dearest kicked me to the curb and she’s too hurt to accept a replacement.
Smart girl. Too smart for her own good.
Another punch. The chain rattles, and I imagine it’s Lucille’s neck.
The worst part isn’t that she hates me—though that’s pretty fucking devastating. The worst part is that she has every right to hate me. I took something pure and real and beautiful, and I murdered it with words designed to cut deepest.
Christ. Even thinking the words makes me want to vomit.
She was never nothing. She was everything. Is everything, even though everything is fucked beyond repair.
My angel. My beautiful, bratty, impossible angel who made me believe I could be something other than a killer for hire.
I hope she forgives me someday. Not because I deserve it—I don’t—but because carrying that much hate will destroy her from the inside out, and she’s too good for that kind of poison.
Another combination. Left hook, right cross, uppercut that would’ve dropped a rhino.
What’s she doing right now? Probably retail therapy with that loud mouth friend of hers. Jamie’s good for her—keeps her grounded, makes her laugh, doesn’t let her take herself too seriously. Unlike certain bodyguards who somehow managed to fall in love with their assignments and fuck up everyone’s lives in the process.
Maybe she’s at class, pretending to pay attention to whatever boring economics bullshit they’re teaching while really thinking about how much she hates me. Maybe she’s in her room, crying over some asshole who doesn’t deserve her tears.
Maybe she’s already moving on. Maybe there’s some college boy with trust fund hair and daddy’s connections making her smile the way I used to.
The thought makes me hit the bag hard enough that the chain creaks ominously.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number, which usually means work. Might as well take it—not like I’ve got anything else going on besides slowly destroying my knuckles and my sanity.
“Yeah?”
The screen flickers, switches to video call without me accepting it. Technology’s getting too fucking smart for its own good.
Then I see her.
Noelle. Tied to a chair, duct tape across her mouth, eyes wide with fear and fury. There’s a bruise on her cheek that makes my vision go red around the edges.
“Hello, darling.”
Lucille steps into frame like she’s accepting an Oscar instead of revealing she’s kidnapped the only person on earth I give a shit about.
“Miss me?”
“Let her go.” My voice comes out flat, deadly. The voice I use right before I kill people. “Now.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Lucille’s smile could cut glass. “You see, I’ve been thinking about our little conversation. About how you chose this spoiled little princess over professional courtesy.”
“She has nothing to do with this.”
“She has everything to do with this.” Lucille moves closer to Noelle, trails one finger along her cheek. Noelle flinches away, and I want to reach through the screen and snap Lucille’s neck.
“You broke the rules, Owen. You caught feelings. And now you’re going to learn what happens when you put pussy before protocol.”
“Touch her again and I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Come rescue her? How noble.” Lucille laughs, and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “But here’s the thing, darling. I know you. I know how you operate. I know you’ll come charging in like some kind of avenging angel.”
She leans closer to the camera, her face filling the screen.
“If I can’t have you, no one can.”