Guarding What’s Mine (Men of Maddox Security #3)

Chapter 17

Boone

The night feels endless. It’s late, and both of us are exhausted, the weight of the day and everything that’s happened settling heavily over us. The silence in the cabin is thick, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire.

I hang up with Dean. And Aubree’s afraid. I hate this for her, but this place is no longer safe for us.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“We’re leaving,” I answer, though the word tastes bitter on my tongue. “I’m not comfortable staying here tonight.”

She starts to say something, but I shake my head. “Aubree, it’s not worth the risk. I’m not taking any chances.”

Her gaze flicks to the gun in my hand, and I see the flash of fear in her eyes. Not fear of me, but fear of the entire situation she’s been forced into. I can’t blame her. This is her life on the line, and I just about forgot that because I couldn’t keep my hands off her.

She swallows, then nods. “Okay. Let me just…” Her voice cracks, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “Let me pack what I need.”

“Do it fast,” I say, moving to the bedroom. I slide my gun back into the holster at my hip, snatch up my boots from near the door, and jam my feet into them without bothering with socks.

Aubree throws her duffel on the bed and hastily shoves in clothes, toiletries, and a few other personal items. My chest tightens at the sight—she’s barely holding it together, but she’s doing her best. As she zips the bag, her hands shake, and my instincts shout at me to reach out, to pull her into my arms and promise it’ll be okay.

But I don’t. I can’t. Not when I’ve just reminded myself how easily I can be distracted. Instead, I stand by the bedroom window, scanning the yard outside like a hawk. The pale moonlight shows the battered old pickup in the driveway and the faint silhouette of trees. Still, no movement.

Once she’s ready, we swap places. She stands at the window, on guard, while I gather my own minimal gear—clothes, my phone, a first-aid kit I keep for emergencies. In under two minutes, we’re both set. The tension is so thick, I feel like I could slice through it with a knife.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods. “As I’ll ever be.” Her voice trembles. She glances at me, and for a moment, I see the echo of what we were doing before the noise. There’s longing there, but also fear.

I push away the guilt. We don’t have time for that now. “Let’s go.”

We move through the cabin carefully, lights off, so as not to advertise our departure. I keep my gun in hand, unlocking the front door just long enough for us to slip out. The night air envelops us. The sound of crickets once again assaults my ears, a thousand insects singing in the darkness.

I gesture for Aubree to stay close behind me. She does, pressing near enough that I feel the warmth of her body. Each step we take crunches on the gravel, and I’m painfully aware of how loud we seem. But there’s no use tiptoeing; if someone’s out there, they already know we’re leaving.

We reach the truck—a black, older model Chevy, big tires and reinforced suspension. I pop the passenger door open. “Get in,” I whisper.

Her eyes dart around, scanning the yard before she climbs into the seat, clutching her duffel bag. I shut the door gently behind her, run around to the driver’s side, and haul myself in. As soon as I lock the doors, a rush of relief hits me. Not total relief, but enough to know we’re marginally safer inside than we were out in the open.

The engine growls to life, and the headlights slice through the darkness. For a few seconds, I aim them at the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of any intruder. Nothing. Still, I don’t doubt that someone could be hiding just out of view. Without hesitation, I slam the truck into gear and peel out of the driveway, gravel kicking up behind us.

Aubree rests her forehead against the window, gazing back at the cabin. “I was just starting to think I could sleep there,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. I catch a note of sadness in her voice, and it twists at my insides. This woman deserves peace, not constant fleeing from threats.

I roll my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension that’s built up. “We’ll find a hotel,” I say, my voice low. “It’s late, but we’ll find something soon enough. I won’t stop until we’re somewhere safe.”

She nods, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the dark outline of the cabin until it vanishes behind a bend in the road. “Safe,” she echoes. “Right.”

I grip the steering wheel tight, focusing on the road ahead. My headlights illuminate old country roads lined by trees. The nearest real town is a half-hour drive, at least. We have no guarantee we’ll find a vacancy, but I’m not taking any chances by staying in a remote spot tonight. Whoever’s threatening Aubree is bold enough to show up in the dead of night, at a cabin in the woods. They’re not messing around.

As we head away from the cabin, the highway stretches out like a long, empty corridor. There are few cars at this hour, just a passing eighteen-wheeler here, a silent sedan there. Aubree stays quiet, her breath hitching every so often, like she’s still too keyed up to relax. I flick a glance at her from time to time, and my chest tightens at how small she looks, curled against the door, her bag clutched in her lap.

We pass a closed gas station, neon sign off for the night. Up ahead, there’s a battered old motel, but it looks deserted and poorly lit. I slow down, eyeing it. Paint is peeling from the sign, the parking lot cracked and sparse. It might be our only choice.

I glance at Aubree. She meets my eyes, biting her lip. “I don’t like the look of that place,” she admits.

I give the motel another once-over. My instincts scream to keep going. It’s too isolated, no security cameras that I can see, only a flickering lamp in the office window. “Me neither.”

I press the gas, speeding past it. She exhales, relieved. I can almost feel her tension ebbing a fraction. “Thank you,” she whispers, turning back to stare at the road.

“I’ll keep driving until we find something better,” I promise.

It takes another twenty minutes of winding roads and the occasional streetlight before we see a bigger cluster of lights—signs for fast-food joints and a truck stop. The first chain hotel sign glows in the distance, a Motel 6. I flick on my turn signal and veer into the parking lot, which looks halfway decent and well-lit. That’s enough for me. I triple check to make sure we haven’t been followed.

Aubree shifts, sitting up straighter. Her eyelids droop, fatigue etched into her face, but she tries to stay alert. I park near the lobby entrance, leaving the truck running for a moment while I scan the area. No suspicious vehicles, no shady figures in the corners. Just a handful of cars belonging to tired travelers.

“Okay,” I murmur, shutting off the engine. “Looks good enough. You ready?”

Aubree nods, though she still looks a bit dazed. “As I’ll ever be.”

We step out, locking the doors behind us. The fluorescent glow of the parking lot lights stings my eyes. I keep my head on a swivel, my hand hovering near my holstered gun. Once we’re inside, I find the lobby empty except for a bored-looking clerk behind the desk.

After some polite conversation and an exchange of cash, I secure us a room on the second floor.

The clerk hands over a key card with a small yawn. “Elevator’s around the corner, have a nice night.”

“We’ll try,” I mutter under my breath. Aubree doesn’t say a word, just clutches her bag and waits.

In the elevator, she finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this. I know it’s your job, but—”

I hold up a hand. “Stop. You didn’t drag me anywhere. This is exactly what I signed up for when I joined Maddox Security—protecting people who need it.”

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but she nods. The elevator dings, and we find our room at the end of the hall. I insert the key card and push the door open, scanning the interior. It’s a standard hotel room, with only one bed. Not that it catches me by surprise, because after everything I’m sure Aubree will be asking to stay in my bed.

Where she belongs. It’s crazy how possessive I’ve become over her, and I’ve only known her for a few short days.

I check the closet, the bathroom, even glance under the beds. Old habits die hard. Then I lock the door behind us, flipping the deadbolt and setting the chain.

Aubree sets her bag down, looking exhausted but unable to relax. She hovers near the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around herself. “Boone…” she says softly. “What if—what if that person follows us here?”

I swallow hard, remembering the moment at the cabin, how close we came to crossing a line that could’ve jeopardized her safety. If I had been a second slower, if I’d been too distracted… “We’ll handle it,” I say firmly. “Nobody’s getting through me to you.”

The vow in my voice seems to calm her a bit. She nods, then sinks down on the mattress, her eyes heavy. She’s still wearing her hoodie and jeans, and I realize she’s too spent to change or even fuss about the bed. Carefully, I step forward, kneel down, and tug her shoes off. Her eyes flutter closed, and a moment later, she’s drifting in that space between awake and asleep.

I stand, moving to the other side of the bed. My heart thumps as I remember how her body felt beneath me, the softness of her lips, the taste of her breath. It’s crazy, wanting her in the middle of all this chaos. But I do. I want her fiercely, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long while.

Yet the memory of that quiet noise outside the cabin, the jolt of realizing we were vulnerable, keeps replaying in my mind. If someone had ambushed us while I was tangled up with her… the outcome could’ve been disastrous. I clench my fists, anger sparking at the unknown threat. My entire body coils with tension at the idea of failing her, letting her get hurt on my watch.

No. Her safety is my top priority, no matter how badly I crave the feel of her. If I can’t stay focused on that, I have no business calling myself a protector.

Drawing in a steadying breath, I turn off the overhead light, leaving only a small lamp on. The hotel room is cast in shadows, but it’s enough to see if something happens. I set my gun within arm’s reach on the nightstand. Tomorrow, I’ll call my contacts at Maddox Security, update them, see if we can get more intel on whoever’s tailing Aubree. Tonight, though, we’re just two exhausted souls in a cheap motel, hoping for a few hours of peace.

I glance over at Aubree again. She’s already asleep, her breathing slow and even. In slumber, the lines of worry smoothed from her face, she looks so vulnerable. A fresh bolt of protectiveness surges through me.

I check my phone—one message from Ranger asking for a status update, another from the Maddox office. I shoot back a quick text: “We’ve relocated to a safe location for the night. Will advise in the morning.” Then I silence my phone, because the last thing I need is a ringtone waking Aubree and sending her heart skittering all over again.

Finally, I ease back against the pillows on the bed. My body is wired, my mind spinning with scenarios: vantage points, escape routes, possible suspects. But the strongest thread weaving through it all is the memory of her trembling mouth beneath mine, the way she clung to me with such trust.

God fucking help me, I’m in trouble here—caught between my duty and a desire that could jeopardize everything. But there’s no turning back. If protecting Aubree means locking down every last one of my own urges, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Because the only thing worse than not having her… would be losing her altogether.

Outside, a car rumbles into the parking lot, headlights illuminating our curtains for a split second before fading away. I force my eyes to stay open a moment longer, scanning the corners of the room out of habit. Slowly, exhaustion seeps in. My muscles ache, my mind is heavy with worry.

Still, I remind myself I don’t get to truly rest. Not until we’re sure she’s out of harm’s way. Until I know for a fact that we’re no longer the hunted in this twisted game.

My gaze drifts to Aubree one last time. She’s quiet, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. It’s a small comfort in the midst of the storm. A silent vow echoes in my head—tomorrow, I’ll find answers. Tomorrow, I will track down whoever is behind this, and I will make them regret ever putting her life in danger.

And I’ll do it without letting my guard down again. Because the taste of almost losing control tonight is enough to remind me just how quickly everything could slip through my fingers. Her safety is paramount, and I will not fail her. Not now, not ever.

With that final thought circling in my mind, I keep one hand on my gun and let the lull of her quiet breathing pull me into a restless half-sleep, ready to snap awake at the slightest hint of danger.