The Bodyguard Situation (Billionaire Situation #4)

Chapter 1

1

brODY

T he room is dark, except for the flickering blue light from the television mounted above the fireplace. It casts eerie shadows across the walls of my penthouse, which feels emptier with each passing day. I sink deeper into the plush cushions of my couch, twisting off the cap of the beer I just grabbed from the fridge.

Today has been a complete mindfuck, hours wasted, staring at my laptop screen and chasing digital ghosts. My brain feels bruised from overthinking.

As the cold bottle meets my lips, a loud pounding shatters my solitude. It’s hard, aggressive, like someone is using their entire damn fist.

I glance toward the door and let out a long sigh, wondering if it will stop if I ignore it. I’m willing to try.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Only assholes knock like that, and unfortunately, I know more than my fair share. My mind ticks off possibilities. It could be my identical twin cousins, Easton and Weston Calloway—the biggest pains in my ass, who are also my employers. They’re like my brothers though, and I’ve risked my life for them on more than one occasion, but they’re not exactly who I want to see right now.

The condensation from my beer bottle drips onto my knuckles as I decide whoever it is can fuck straight off. My feet hit the coffee table as I crank up the TV’s volume and let the crisp, bitter liquid slide down my throat.

“Brody! I know you’re in there! I can hear The Golden Girls in the background!” Billie shouts from behind the door.

I roll my eyes.

Billie is my younger cousin by eight years, and she’s a constant but lovable thorn in my side. But there’s something in her voice that I can’t ignore. It’s a tightness, edged with panic, that makes me pause mid-sip.

She pounds again.

“Brody! Please! Damn it! It’s about Harper!” Her voice is more strained and urgent.

The mention of Harper’s name sends a jolt through my chest, slicing straight through my irritation. My heartbeat increases—a reaction that surprises even me. I lower my feet from the table and set my beer down against the wood with a clank.

Harper and Billie have been inseparable since childhood, co-founders of Bellamore—the billion-dollar fashion empire, born from their teenage sketches. If Billie is coming to me about Harper, it’s serious.

Dread twists in my gut as I cross the room and open the door.

Billie stands there with red-rimmed eyes and cheeks stained with tears. Beside her is her secret fiancé, Asher Banks. They haven’t exactly told everyone yet and are currently in the process of making the announcement to close friends and family.

Asher’s tense, and his jaw is locked tight. It’s a tell of his when he’s upset. Right now, his anger is simmering beneath a controlled surface. Asher’s presence is protective, and he shadows Billie closely. I know as long as he’s around, my cousin is safe. Asher won’t let anything happen to her. But it doesn’t stop the alarm bells from ringing loudly in my head.

“ Not the assholes I expected to see,” I say dryly, stepping aside to let them in. “What a fucking delight. Now, what’s going on?”

Billie brushes past me and immediately turns to face me. Her gaze locks on to mine, and it’s fierce but fragile. Something’s very wrong.

I soften my voice instinctively and push all jokes aside. “Tell me what happened.”

“We invited Harper and Micah to dinner at Asher’s,” Billie says, her voice trembling. “I went to grab a bottle of champagne, and Micah followed me into the kitchen and …”

Instantly, my muscles tense, and my fist tightens with anger because I know Micah is skeezy. The guy gives me the fucking creeps.

She draws in a deep, shaky breath, fighting to steady herself. Billie is resilient, a force of nature, a survivor. The ice queen doesn’t melt easily, but the fear shining in her crystal-blue eyes as she searches for her words makes my blood boil.

She isn’t easily shaken, which makes this situation worse.

“Take your time.” My jaw hardens. I don’t like seeing her like this.

“Brody,” she whispers, “Micah’s my stalker. He whispered in my ear in Asher’s kitchen. The same way he did the night of my twenty-first birthday. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice in my ear.” She physically shudders.

The memory from over a decade ago will be forever burned into my mind. I remember a young Billie Calloway, vulnerable and terrified, after an older man invaded her space, her safety. For years, Billie was tormented by an unknown predator who broke into her vacation homes several times and even went as far as to assault her in public. My little cousin is my honorary sister, and anyone who messes with her fucking messes with me.

Suddenly, Asher’s murderous expression makes sense. Micah Rhodes isn’t just dangerous. It’s clear that he’s a fucking psychopath.

“Harper isn’t safe with him,” Billie continues, her eyes pleading.

“Where are they now?” I demand, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Not sure. She left with him,” Billie struggles to say.

I see more than worry on her face. I see guilt—a guilt that she doesn’t deserve to carry. She’s already blaming herself for her best friend being with that fucking loser.

“I don’t know if anyone can get through to her other than you,” Asher says grimly. “Micah’s gotten into her head. She wasn’t herself tonight, almost like she was under his spell.”

“ Fuck ,” I whisper under my breath, recalling how Harper acted around Micah a few nights ago when I was following her. It wasn’t in a stalker sort of way, but more like I was watching out for her. Seeing her with another man is torture; to make it worse, I don’t trust him.

Watching them together made me physically fucking ill, but I noticed how her smile never fully reached her eyes. I also picked up on the subtle tension in her shoulders as she sat next to him. She laughed when she was supposed to, but I recognized the doubt in her gaze.

My instincts were right. They usually are.

“They’re engaged,” Billie blurts out, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s going to marry him.”

“ Engaged ?” I repeat, disbelief and anger squeezing around my heart. Maybe some jealousy too.

He has Harper. My Little Miss Disaster .

Adrenaline surges through me, and my fists clench tight until my nails dig into my palms. The realization of what this really means nearly knocks the damn breath out of me. Micah fucking Rhodes has fully manipulated Harper, and he’s the same predator who’s traumatized them both for over a decade.

“Do you still have that friendship app installed? The one you used to track each other when you went on dates?” My voice is dangerously calm despite the anger bubbling inside me.

Billie pulls out her phone, hope flashing across her face. “I forgot about that.”

Her fingers tremble as she opens the app. The small blue dot moves steadily northeast, away from New York City. I take the device, zooming out to figure out their route. They’re heading to Newport.

Before I return her phone, I text Harper from it.

Billie

YOU’RE IN DANGER! WAKE THE FUCK UP!

Billie shakes her head. “She doesn’t care, Brody. She didn’t listen when I begged her to stay. Harper always chooses me. Always. This time, she didn’t, and I’m really worried.”

I see the same fear in her eyes that I saw the night of her twenty-first birthday. I remember the threat he made—that he’d eventually take away everything she ever loved.

For Billie, that’s Harper.

She’s her ride or die.

Her best friend in the entire world.

Billie would sacrifice herself for Harper in a single heartbeat. I would too.

“Sick fuck,” I mutter.

Asher wraps a protective arm around Billie, holding her tight. He plants a comforting kiss in her hair. I feel a pang in my chest at the raw, pure connection between them. It stirs memories of Eden Banks—the woman I loved and lost—memories I’ve kept buried beneath layers of grief and guilt. Seeing the look on Billie’s face pulls at my own wounds. Eden’s death haunts me—a ghost that reminds me I wasn’t there for her.

No way will I allow Harper to suffer the same fate.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I text Weston.

Brody

I need a car now.

Weston

Hmm. Wonder what car that’d be …

Brody

STFU. Open the garage for me with your dumb-as-fuck thumb.

Weston

Someone is craaaaankyyyyyy.

Brody

Weston

I’ll send an SUV your way. Meet you in the lobby in 15.

“Where are you going?” Billie asks, anxiety filling her voice.

“Park Towers,” I reply, heading upstairs to pack.

I stuff weapons, clothes, and essentials into a couple of duffel bags, like I’m preparing to leave for war—because that’s exactly what this feels like.

Billie follows behind me with anxiety etched on her pretty face. “What if she won’t leave him?”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” I say as I take inventory of everything I’ve packed.

“She’s stubborn,” Billie reminds me.

“And? Harper will come with me, kicking and screaming if necessary,” I say matter-of-factly, glancing over my shoulder at her.

Billie cracks a smile, and it’s the first time I’ve seen that since she and Asher arrived tonight and messed up my The Golden Girls wind-down time.

“You know, I never understood why you never gave Harp a chance. You two could be gr?—”

“Stop,” I say, grabbing the duffels in each hand. “You know why.”

“You can’t let the guilt eat away at you. That’s not your fault,” she whispers.

“I could never give her what she deserves,” I mutter.

“What the fuck? Brody, are you kidding me right now?”

I ignore her and walk past her.

She grabs my arm and pulls me back to look at her.

“Enough,” I say, not wanting to have this discussion.

Billie lets me go, and I walk down the stairs to the first level with her trailing behind me. It’s like we’re kids again.

Asher watches me closely and sees I’m unnerved. I recently learned that he knew about me and his older sister’s secret relationship. Still not sure how. He said she told him, but I know that’s a lie. Eden never claimed me. I shake my head. We were just a fling.

“Okay, kids,” I say, holding the door open for them. “Let’s fucking go.”

“You can at least say please,” Billie tells me as we move into the elevator together. “You get the best education and formal training in the whole damn country, and you still have zero manners.”

I roll my eyes at her.

“Do you really need all that?” Asher questions skeptically as he sees the handles of the guns, along with some of my tactical gear.

“You must be new here.” My voice drips with irritation.

He falls silent, choosing not to challenge me further. Wise choice. I have as much patience as Easton right now, which is zero.

When we walk outside, I see the blacked-out SUV that Weston sent for me.

Billie hugs me tight, her arms trembling with emotion. “Please be safe,” she whispers. “Please save Harper.”

“I will,” I assure her before meeting Asher’s eyes firmly. “Take care of her.”

He nods.

He will. Asher already walked through the fire for Billie. Now that she’s with him, I breathe a little easier.

I climb into the back and close the door, sealing my fate.

Ten minutes later, I enter Park Towers—the high-rise building on Billionaires’ Row, where the top stories are nothing but penthouses. Weston meets me in the foyer, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and some flip-flops. My cousin and I are the same height, and people often confuse us for brothers. In a way, we are. Sometimes, when I look at him, I know my life could’ve been the same, but I chose a different route from them. My own path.

Weston senses trouble when he notices my duffel bags in my grasp.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks, running his fingers through his dark hair, keeping pace with me. His brows are furrowed, and his Calloway blues shine with concern.

“Micah is Billie’s stalker. He’s manipulated Harper and he took her,” I say bluntly.

Weston’s expression darkens instantly. “What do you need?”

“A getaway car that can get me to Newport fast,” I explain.

“And then what?” he asks as we step into the elevator and go to the ground floor, where he and Easton’s private parking garage is. They have handfuls of cars, trucks, and motorcycles stored below one of the most expensive high-rises in New York City.

“I’m taking her to the cabin. That’s where I’ll be. Tell no one,” I confirm.

Weston nods slowly, then tilts his head. “You haven’t been there in five years.”

“I know,” I reply, my heart aching when I think about Eden.

Weston knew about our relationship, but never told a soul.

“It’s the safest option. Off-grid. Secret. It’s a fortress on top of the mountain. Small-town life. Not many people talk. She’ll be safe there until I figure this out.”

“Stay in touch. Flip Easton off on the cameras for me,” Weston says, squeezing my shoulder firmly. “Return home whole.”

“I will.”

He pulls me into a brotherly hug, then lets me go. He presses his thumb against the door reader, and it snaps open for me.

“See you,” Weston says.

“See you.”

I walk into the garage and go directly to the vintage, blacked-out 1969 Dodge Charger. My hand slides over the freshly waxed paint, which gleams like a challenge. This car is coaxing me forward as adrenaline pumps through me. Without hesitation, I snatch the keys out of the case, feeling the cool metal against my palm, and climb inside.

I wave at the camera in the corner of the room, then shoot it a middle finger. “That one was from Weston.”

I open the door to the car, running my hand across the smooth leather of the dash, then sink back into the seat. I hold the cool steering wheel tight and feel rebellion buried deep in my grip. I push in the clutch, cranking the engine, and it roars to life. I let out a laugh because this car is pure fucking joy. The rumble vibrates through my bones, and a smirk touches my lips because it’s music to my damn ears as I buckle in.

Easton swooped in and bought this car minutes before me. And it’s pissed me the fuck off ever since. “Motherfucker. You should’ve been mine,” I whisper, revving the engine a few times to let her warm up.

Raw energy settles beneath my fingertips, and one thing Easton is right about when it comes to this car is, it’s a “fuck around and find out” kind of ride. It’s always called to me— steal me —like a whisper in the night. I guess the time has arrived.

I adjust the rearview mirror, glancing at my eyes, and see a flicker of something behind them. Something I don’t recognize. This moment is the chaos I’ve craved deep in my bones, the kind that wakes a sleeping dragon. I’ll have to give Harper a thank-you when I find her. Oh, and I will fucking find her because for the first time in a long damn time, I have a real purpose.

With a swift push of the clutch, I slide it into first gear, barely rolling through the concrete tunnel. At the end, the automatic garage door rises, and the street opens up. The tires scream as I peel out of the parking garage, hanging my hand out the window, throwing another middle finger. Now, that one was from me.

I leave rubber on the road and smoke in my wake. My only regret is not getting to see my dear cousin’s reaction when he watches the replay of that video. Because he will the moment he realizes his car is missing.

I steal a glance in the rearview mirror and scan for anyone following me. In the back seat are my two duffel bags. One’s crammed with clothes; the other is filled with weapons and ammo. I can never be too careful in this game.

This car’s a beast, ready for the hunt, ready for the fucking challenge, just like me. The engine echoes through streets, between the tall buildings.

As I speed away from the city, darkness blankets me, but my clarity has never been sharper.

Harper’s tangled herself in a dangerous web, but I’m determined—more than fucking ever—to free her, even if she hates me for it.

I can already picture her smile, that cocky little grin that says she knows more than I do.

But she doesn’t. Not this time. Not when it comes to Micah. Or what she desperately needs.

Right now, I’m searching for trouble, and it’s spelled H-A-R-P-E-R.

I can’t fail again—not after Eden, not after experiencing this haunting guilt that never goes away. If something happened to Harper and I didn’t try my damnedest to save her, I’d never forgive myself. With every mile, my determination grows stronger. My pulse beats to a rhythm of sheer protectiveness.

Harper Alexander may have run away with him, but I’ll find her.

I always do.

For his sake, she had better be safe and well taken care of or else.

* * *

“Where the fuck are you, Brody?” Easton’s voice roars through the phone as I answer, jolting me from a shallow sleep.

I squint against the harsh morning sun slicing through the motel’s musty cream curtains. When I glance at the bedside clock, the red numbers tell me it’s barely past seven. Easton’s anger is obvious, even hundreds of miles away.

“Your car is safe,” I respond calmly, despite the annoyance crackling through my cousin’s voice.

“If my car was safe, it would still fucking be in my goddamn garage,” he snaps, irritation lacing every word.

I smile, but I hold back my laughter.

“You could’ve taken anything else. Anything. But that one?—”

“Should’ve been mine to begin with,” I snap, sitting up on the edge of the bed, needing to wake up. I have a long day ahead of me, and I need to get my mind right.

“Please tell me you’re not still butthurt,” he says.

“Yes, I fucking am. And I will be for eternity.”

“I should report it as stolen. Teach you a fucking lesson.”

I know he’s grinning. Asshole.

“If something happens to your precious Charger”—I rub my temple—“I’ll replace it with two of my vehicles.”

Silence settles on the line between us, and I know he’s considering it.

Finally, he speaks, and when he does, his voice is calmer even if it still carries the impatient edge that he’s known for. “Which two?”

“Dealer’s choice. Have your pick,” I say, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

I imagine Easton mentally browsing through my collection, inevitably landing on my mint-condition ’67 Corvette and the ’69 Roadrunner. Both treasures, both worth the sacrifice to keep his peace and my sanity, both vehicles he wanted but I bought first. Things don’t make me happy. Money doesn’t make me happy. At this rate, I’m not sure anything could.

“Are motorcycles included?” He’s pushing his luck.

“Anything with wheels,” I say, picturing him already eyeing my ’51 Vincent Black Lightning. He knows my collection almost as well as I do because he wanted many of them. “And to sweeten the pot, I’ll even have them delivered from my warehouse straight to your garage.”

A reluctant sigh of agreement follows. “Fine. That’s a deal I’ll take any day of the week. But be careful. That car only chooses you when it’s time to fuck around and find out. Guess you’re about to have the ride of your fucking life.”

“Noted,” I reply dryly, already feeling the thrill of the hunt creeping back into my veins. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Brody,” he says abruptly, pulling me back. “Be careful. And if shit hits the fan, call me. I can send resources.”

“Will do, but it won’t be needed.” I disconnect before he can drag the conversation somewhere else.

I drop the phone onto the bedside table and move to my laptop to review the intel I managed to scrape together late last night after I arrived. Addresses, properties, holdings—all tied to Micah Rhodes or his shell corporations.

I stand and stretch, adrenaline pumping beneath my skin. My duffel bags sit ready, and clothes are stuffed alongside my gear. Being prepared is key, even if it looks more like a kidnapping than a rescue. This is a war against Micah Rhodes, and I’m determined to win. It’s personal. Very fucking personal. He’s a predator, and he will harm her. I can’t let that happen.

Harper’s in this town somewhere. I can feel her.

A single daisy sits in a vase by the window, and I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers. Thoughts of Eden drift in and out of my mind. Grief is now a permanent resident in my soul, intertwined with regret. She broke it off. Eden ended us, and afterward, I decided to hide from the world.

Had I been in the city the weekend she was killed, things could’ve turned out differently. Instead, I’d isolated myself in Tennessee—at one of the only places that’d ever felt like home to me. My cabin in Sugar Pine Springs was a place where I always went to escape from the world when it felt too fucking heavy. I went there to heal. Had I known we didn’t have more time, I’d have never left the city.

I imagine how different things would be now if I had met her for that drink and we had the conversation she wanted to have. Maybe we’d be together, married, with a family. Or maybe we wouldn’t. It’s the what-if that haunts me and the final message she left on my voicemail.

I wasn’t available though. I’d given up on her, on us, and the little time we had left slipped through my fingers. Now, she’s not here.

I can’t let anything happen to Harper.

Scanning through my notes again, I zero in on a particularly secluded estate one of his shell companies owns near the water—high walls, gated entrance, but also grand in nature. My gut instinct says it’s the type of place he’d take Harper to impress her.

I sling my bags over my shoulder, slipping on my baseball cap and dark sunglasses.

Easton’s Charger sits in the motel parking lot, sleek and defiant. I place my shit in the trunk and snap it closed.

As I settle behind the wheel, the engine roars to life, like a beast eager for battle. I rev it once, twice, then pull out onto the open road, leaving rubber on the pavement. The power beneath me is intoxicating.

“Ready or not,” I mutter, eyes narrowing as the highway and sunlight stretch endlessly before me, “here I fucking come, Harper.”