The Alpha Bodyguards Books #1-3

Chapter Twelve

C onsent .

What the fuck hadn’t she given consent to?

My jaw ticking, I watched her in the rearview mirror as I drove to Golden Beach.

Gripping my phone, her voice defeated, she spoke to her agent. “Yes. I’ll be at the interviews and the premiere.”

She listened while her lawyer said something.

“I know,” she enunciated. “I’ll handle it.” She paused. “I get it, Peter.” She hung up and held my phone out without looking at me. “Here.”

I took it. “What’s going on?”

She looked out the window. “Nothing.”

She was lying again. “What didn’t you consent to?”

“What do you care?”

I shouldn’t. But for some fucking reason, I did. Except before I could give her some bullshit answer, my cell rang. Glancing to see it was Luna, I bypassed the Bluetooth and answered. “What’s up?”

“I went through the footage from Club Frenzy. She was right. Payne put something in her drink.”

My knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “No question?”

“No,” Luna clipped. “The footage is grainy, but you can clearly see the fucking pendejo taking a shot glass of something from his security detail, turning to dose it, then handing the glass to MacKenzie. She tosses the shot back and the fucker pumps his fist. No question he did it. You get the tox screen done? ”

“Yeah.” Fucking Payne was mine. Next time I saw him, he was answering to me.

“She should get the results in a few hours. In the meantime, I’m sending the footage to her lawyer.”

“Copy me on that. I’ll give it to her.” She had a right to see that shit.

“Done. Anything else you need?”

“No. Almost to Golden Beach.”

“Good. Her lawyer said she needed to lie low for a bit, but let me know if you need backup for any engagements.”

“Copy that.” I hung up.

“What are you going to give to me?” she asked from the back seat, her arms crossed.

“What didn’t you consent to?” Besides the fucking shit Payne had dosed her with.

“Nice try.” She snorted. “You work for me, remember?”

“Careful,” I warned, unprofessional as fuck.

“Of what ?” Hollywood attitude seeped out of her. “Asking a question you actually have to answer?”

I didn’t say shit. I stopped at a light and glared right back at her in the rearview mirror.

“What are you going to do?” she taunted. “Quit?”

“Keep pushing, and you’ll find out,” I promised. I’d wipe that smug-as-fuck look off her face, and she wouldn’t like one damn second of it.

“Fine, don’t tell me about your cryptic conversation.” She turned toward the window.

My cell vibrated with an incoming text. Glancing at it, I saw Luna sent the video clip. I pulled it up and held the phone over my shoulder. “Watch this.”

“I don’t need to see my naked ass.” She pouted.

I took note of her defensive tone. “This you need to see.”

With a look of irritation, she snatched the phone. Ten seconds later she looked furious. Her fingers swiped across the screen a few times, and without a word, she handed the phone back .

I pulled up to the security gate at the development for Christensen’s house and entered the code. Following the GPS, I drove to his place and entered a second code for his gate. Scanning the grounds as I pulled around the driveway, I wasn’t impressed. Unless he had perimeter security, anyone could scale the six-foot wall surrounding the property, not to mention the place was completely accessible from the beach.

I threw the Escalade in park and cut the engine.

She reached for her door.

“Wait,” I commanded, before getting out of the SUV. Scanning the hedges, the grounds, the driveway we’d just come up, I didn’t leave shit to chance. Rich as hell gated communities weren’t immune to paparazzi or meddling neighbors.

Once I was satisfied no one was around, I opened her door.

Not making eye contact, she held her purse and slid out of the SUV.

I took her elbow and led her to the house, mentally reminding myself to find the fucking garage door opener so I didn’t have to park in the driveway. It wasn’t until I had us in the house, door locked, that she spoke.

“I sent the video to my cell.”

I tipped my chin, catching her drift. Taking her cell out of my pocket, I handed it over. “Stay. I’m grabbing your bags.”

She didn’t say shit as I went back out through the garage. Five minutes later, the SUV was in the garage, her bags were in a guest room, mine was in the master because it had a bigger bed, and she was standing in front of the fridge, door open.

She took one of those small-ass carrots and crunched half of it before closing the fridge. “I need my schedule.”

“Where is it?” I remembered what the nurse said about feeding her. Pushing her out of the way, I opened the fridge.

“I don’t know.” She leaned against the counter, watching me. “Your pretty boy bodyguard had it last.”

Fuck. I grabbed veggies and tofu and dumped them on the counter, then I pulled my phone out and fired off a text to Tyler. A few seconds later, he responded that he put her schedule in her purse. “Check your purse.” I took a pan out.

She went to the island separating the kitchen from the open plan living room and dug through her massive bag. Unearthing some paperwork, she stared at it a moment then pulled her phone out and sat at one of the stools to make a call. “Peter, it’s me. I need a favor….”

I found a cutting board and started chopping carrots, broccoli and onions.

“I know, I saw, but this isn’t about that,” she said to her lawyer. “I need you to call Janette, get her on hourly, and tell her to cancel all my interviews except Miami Morning .”

I silently groaned. Miami Morning broadcasted to a live audience outside every morning it wasn’t fucking pouring rain. It was a shit venue to deal with.

“I know, I don’t care,” she continued. “There’s nothing in the contract about the interviews being mandatory, only the premiere, and I’ll be there.” Her voice turned hard. “But if that fucking asshole Colton is anywhere near me, I swear to God, Peter, I will make a scene. A big fucking scene . Tell Janette that. Have her relay the message. Colton doesn’t know who he messed with.”

Throwing the vegetables in the pan, I cursed.

Her head popped up and she looked at me. “What?” she challenged.

“Leave Payne to the lawyer.” And me.

She gave me the fucking smirk again. “You’re a publicist now? You know how to handle my career?” Her eyes narrowed. “No, Peter, I’m talking to Mr. Gunther,” she bit my last name out sarcastically. “He seems to think I asked for his advice. That, or he’s suddenly an expert on how to handle a Hollywood scandal.”

My nostrils flared. “Hang up.”

She glared at me. “I fucking get that, Peter. Just call Janette and tell her what I need. Take care of that and Jerry, and I’ll handle the rest.” She hung up and practically kicked the stool away as she got down. “I’m going for a run.” She took off toward the guest room .

Goddamn it.

I turned off the burner and went after her. Pushing the bedroom door open, I walked in like I owned the place. “You’re gonna eat, then we’ll discuss your exercise routine.” The last thing she needed right now on an almost empty stomach after giving blood was a fucking run.

“Screw you.” She tossed the banged-up suitcase on the bed and fumbled with the lock.

That’s when I saw it.

Shaking hands and quick breaths.

Attitude, language, hands, storming off—I put it all together in about half a second.

Stepping up behind her, I reached around her small-as-fuck body and grabbed her wrists. “Take a breath.”

She jerked like I’d burned her. “Let go!”

I crossed her arms against her chest and pulled her in tight. “Take a breath,” I repeated.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she screeched, struggling against me.

“My job.” Lowering my head to her ear, increasing my grip, ignoring the sweet scent of her, I dropped my voice. “You’re not the first person to have a panic attack.”

“I’m not panicking!” Her whole body shook. “I’m Dreena MacKenzie!”

I should’ve let her go, she was more goddamn trouble than she was worth, but I fucking didn’t. “Inhale to the count of three and hold it.”

“Or what ?” She kicked at my shin. “You’ll pull your gun on me too!”

I spun her around, gripped her hair and glared at her as I gave her a fucking dose of reality. “I’ve dealt with armed Marines who were having a panic attack with their goddamn finger on the trigger because they couldn’t reconcile the amount of death in front of them. You want to lose your shit over a phone call and a Hollywood reputation, be my guest. But don’t think for a single second you’re more special than all those men and women fighting for your freedom.”

She choked on a sob, and the fight in her body left. “I’m not panicking.”

“Yes you are.” I’d seen it too many times to count .

Her whole body trembling, she fought for a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” I tamped down my irritation. “Own your shit, and take a breath before you hyperventilate.”

Her chest rising and falling like she was sprinting, she tried to shake her head, but my grip was too tight. “I’m good, I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullshit, Audrina. Inhale to the count of three. One… two… three.”

She inhaled.

“Now hold it.” I counted backwards from five. “Exhale through your mouth.”

Her chest deflated as her hands landed on my forearms.

“Again,” I commanded, counting to three. “Hold it.” I counted down from five.

She listened to my instructions, and we repeated the process three more times before the shake in her limbs turned to a tremor and her breathing evened out somewhat.

After another round, she’d calmed down enough for me to lay it out. “You want to go for a jog, we’ll do it after you eat and after the sun’s down, but that isn’t gonna help you run away from shit.”

“I’m not running away.”

I stated the obvious. “You fired your agent and your publicist, and you have no backup.”

Her gaze fixed on her hands on my arms, and her fingers tightened. “That’s not running away. It’s calculated. And I have Peter.”

There was only one reason she’d fire her team but keep her lawyer. “You walking away from your career?” I told myself I didn’t give a shit what she did. I didn’t care what any woman did, let alone a client. I got paid either way. But the question was out of my mouth before I could filter it.

She didn’t answer.

Still gripping her hair, I tilted her head up. “Eyes on me, Audrina.”

Slow, distressed, her gaze traveled up my face, and if I didn’t know better I’d say she was giving me a performance.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I’m walking away.”