Mountain Protector (Rugged Hearts Duet #2)

1. Ruby

Chapter One

RUBY

“Damn, that looks good,” Marcus says, examining the fresh ink on his forearm. He twists his wrist to catch the light, the black lines of the geometric mountain range standing out stark against his tanned skin.

“Let me see yours again,” he says to Lainey, who’s perched on the edge of the tattoo chair beside him. My best friend extends her arm, showing off the delicate constellation pattern I just finished on her inner wrist.

“I’m obsessed with it,” she says, her eyes bright with excitement. “The way you incorporated the Aquarius stars but made them look like they’re flowing with the water? It’s perfect.”

“It really is,” Marcus agrees, gently taking her wrist to examine my work. “The detail is incredible.”

“Ruby, you’ve outdone yourself,” Lainey says, beaming at me. “The linework is so clean. I couldn’t have asked for better.”

I feel my cheeks warm at their praise as I finish wiping down Marcus’s tattoo with antiseptic.

“Thanks, guys. I’m really happy with how they both turned out.”

“Worth every penny,” Marcus reaches for his wallet. “What do we owe you?”

I wave him off. “Friends and family discount. Just leave a good tip in the jar if you want.”

Lainey’s eyes widen. “Ruby, no. We’re paying full price. This is your livelihood.”

“It’s on the house,” I peel off my gloves. “Consider it an early wedding present.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Positive. Just promise to let me do your anniversary tattoos next year.”

Lainey laughs and hops off the chair. “Deal. But we’re leaving a massive tip anyway.”

I watch as they gather their things, Lainey tucking herself against Marcus’s side despite the fact that he towers over her petite frame.

It still catches me off guard sometimes, seeing them together. They’ve only been dating for a few months. But with the way they look at each other—like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this—it makes perfect sense why they’re already engaged.

The twenty-year age gap raised eyebrows around town, sure, but anyone who sees them together gets it immediately. And the fact that Lainey used to date Marcus’s son Axel years ago? Ancient history now, though it definitely complicated things when they first realized their feelings for each other.

I take a moment to breathe in the quiet of the shop. Fit Mountain Ink feels different when I’m the only one working here. Jess and Mike, the owners, trusted me to hold down the fort while they’re on a two-week anniversary trip to Hawaii. It’s a vote of confidence I don’t take lightly, especially since I’ve only been tattooing professionally for three years.

I glance over at Spike, my bearded dragon, lounging in his terrarium on the counter. I brought him in to keep me company during the slow periods.

“Just you and me now, buddy,” I tell him, tapping gently on the glass. He blinks lazily at me, unimpressed.

My phone rings, and I see my dad’s name flash across the screen. I consider letting it go to voicemail, but something tells me I should answer.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“Ruby.” His tone immediately sets me on edge. It’s his lawyer voice, not his dad voice. “Where are you right now?”

“At the shop. Why?”

There’s a pause, and I can practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s stressed.

“There’s been an incident. A prisoner escaped from Blackwater Prison last night.”

My stomach drops. “Who?”

“Vincent Holloway.”

The name hits me like a splash of cold water.

Vincent Holloway. The financial fraudster my dad helped put away five years ago. The man who stood in court and promised to make my dad pay for his testimony.

“How did that happen?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“Prison transfer. He had help on the outside. That’s not important right now. What matters is the threats he made against our family.”

“Dad, that was five years ago. He probably doesn’t even remember my name.”

“He had articles about you in his cell. Recent ones. The feature in Tattoo Weekly. He knows where your shop is.”

My stomach drops.

“I’ve already contacted Hunt Security,” he continues. “They’re sending a bodyguard to your apartment tomorrow morning.”

I sigh through my nose. “Dad, I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“This isn’t negotiable, Ruby. Holloway is dangerous. He lost everything because of my testimony. Men like that don’t forgive.”

“So I’m supposed to just let some stranger follow me around all day? Watch over my shoulder while I work? Sleep outside my bedroom door?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe, yes.”

I rub my forehead and feel a headache blooming. “How long?”

“Until they recapture him. The head of Hunt Security assured me they’re sending their best man. The company specializes in high-risk protective services.”

“Fine,” I concede, though every independent bone in my body protests. “But I’m not changing my schedule for this.”

“You will do whatever is necessary to stay safe,” my dad says firmly. “This isn’t one of your rebellions, Ruby. This is your life.”

The call ends with tense goodbyes and promises to check in later. I stare at my phone for a moment, trying to process this new reality.

A bodyguard. Someone watching my every move. The absolute nightmare for someone who fought so hard for freedom.

When I return to the front, Lainey and Marcus are waiting, their expressions telling me they overheard enough.

“Everything okay?” Lainey asks.

“Not really. Some guy my dad testified against broke out of prison. Apparently, he’s holding a grudge.”

Marcus straightens, instantly alert. “What are you going to do?”

“According to my dad, I’m getting a bodyguard tomorrow morning. Some security specialist who’s supposed to shadow me until they catch this guy.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Marcus says. “These situations can turn dangerous quickly.”

Of course, he’d say that. Marcus works in private security himself, though more in the corporate sector than personal protection.

“It’s smart to have backup,” Lainey adds softly. “Even if just for peace of mind.”

“My peace of mind would come from not having a stranger invading my space and tracking my every move,” I counter. “I haven’t lived by someone else’s rules since I left home at eighteen, and I’m not starting now.”

Lainey takes my hand. “This isn’t about rules, Ruby. It’s about safety. Let the professionals do their job.”

I know they’re right, logically. But logic has little to do with the suffocating feeling that comes with someone else making decisions about my life.

“The security person will be at my apartment tomorrow morning,” I say, trying to sound more accepting than I feel. “I guess I’ll figure it out then.”

“Call us if you need anything,” Lainey says, squeezing my hand. “Even if it’s just to vent.”

Marcus nods. “And if you don’t like whoever they send, I can recommend some people.”

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.” I straighten my shoulders and force a smile. “It’s probably overkill anyway. Holloway is likely halfway to Mexico by now.”

But as they leave, their matching tattoos and matching smiles making them look like they belong in a perfect little bubble, I can’t shake the feeling that my carefully constructed independence is about to be tested in ways I never anticipated.

I turn to Spike, who blinks slowly from his perch.

“Looks like we’re getting a roommate,” I tell him. “Try not to bite this one.”

* * *

The insistent knocking pulls me from a dream I can’t quite remember. I groan, rolling over to squint at my phone. 7:13 AM.

Who the hell is at my door this early?

Then it hits me—the bodyguard. Dad’s security solution to the Holloway problem.

I drag myself out of bed, not bothering to change out of my thin tank top and tiny sleep shorts. If this security suit wants to drag me into my dad’s paranoia at the crack of dawn, he can deal with my morning appearance.

“Coming,” I call out. I stumble past the living room, nearly tripping over a stack of tattoo magazines I’ve been meaning to organize for months.

My apartment is what real estate agents would generously call “cozy.” What it lacks in space it makes up for in personality. Every inch of wall is covered with artwork—some mine, some from artists I admire. Colorful tapestries hang over the worn sofa I rescued from the curb three years ago. Mismatched furniture crowds the small living area, each piece telling its own story of flea markets and thrift shops.

My drafting table sits by the window, stacked with sketches for upcoming tattoo appointments. Colored pencils spill from their container, bright against the dark wood. It’s chaotic but it’s mine.

“Morning, Spike,” I mumble as I pass his terrarium. My bearded dragon looks at me with his usual judgment, his scaly head tilted as if asking why I’m awake at this ungodly hour.

“Don’t start,” I tell him. “This wasn’t my idea.”

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time.

“I said I’m coming!” I shout. I run a hand through my tangled hair.

It probably looks like a bird’s nest right now. Whatever. The security guy will just have to deal. I unlock the door and pull it open, ready to establish boundaries with Mr. Security.

Instead, the words die in my throat.

I’m expecting a slick guy in a suit with an earpiece—a corporate drone who thinks babysitting a tattoo artist is beneath him.

But the man filling my doorway is nothing like I expected.

He’s tall. Like really tall, with broad shoulders that stretch the limits of his dark gray Henley. No suit, no earpiece. Just worn jeans, sturdy boots, and the kind of build that comes from actual physical work, not just gym sessions.

His dark hair is shorter on the sides but longer on top, just messy enough to look like he ran his hand through it. A shadow of stubble covers his jaw, which could cut glass with its sharpness.

This guy isn’t a bodyguard. He’s a mountain wrapped in man form.

He leans one forearm against my doorframe, his gaze traveling down my body in a way that should feel invasive but somehow doesn’t. When his eyes return to mine, there’s something like approval there, quickly masked by professionalism.

“Um, hi?” I say nervously. “Can I help you?”

“Clay Dover, Hunt Security. Your father hired me.” His voice is deep, with a slight rasp that speaks of early mornings and late nights.

I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of how thin my tank top is and how his eyes noticed. “You’re early.”

“I’m on time. Seven AM, as arranged.”

“No one told me seven,” I argue, though it doesn’t really matter. I wouldn’t have gotten up early even if I’d known.

“Well, I’m here now.” His gaze moves past me, scanning what he can see of my apartment. “You going to invite me in?”

I don’t move. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart.” He says it casually, like he’s been calling me that for years. “But Holloway isn’t some drunk customer getting handsy at last call. He’s dangerous.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” I snap, ignoring the little flip my stomach does at the endearment. “And I’m well aware of who Vincent Holloway is.”

Clay steps closer, and I have to fight the urge to step back. Not because I’m intimidated, but because his presence is overwhelming in the confined space of my doorway.

“Here’s how this works,” he says, voice lower now. “I stay with you. Where you go, I go. I sleep on your couch, I escort you to your shop, I watch the doors while you work. I check every room before you enter. I verify every person who approaches you. I do this until Holloway is back behind bars.”

“That’s insane. I have clients, I have a private life?—“

“Which you won’t have at all if Holloway gets to you.” His gaze is unwavering. “This isn’t negotiable, Ruby.”

The sound of my name in his mouth does something to me. Which is ridiculous. I’ve known this man for all of two minutes.

“My apartment is tiny,” I argue. “There’s barely room for me and Spike, let alone some six-foot-plus bodyguard.”

One eyebrow raises slightly. “Spike?”

On cue, there’s a scratching from behind me.

I turn to see Spike has somehow escaped his terrarium and is making his way across the living room floor toward the door.

“My bearded dragon,” I explain. “He’s an escape artist.”

Clay’s mouth twitches. “Looks like security is already an issue here.”

“Very funny.” I bend down to scoop up Spike, who settles onto my palm with his usual imperial attitude. “This is Spike. Spike, meet the intruder.”

Clay reaches out a finger, letting Spike inspect it.

To my surprise, Spike doesn’t hiss or bite like he usually does with strangers. Instead, he bobs his head slightly, the closest thing to approval I’ve ever seen from him.

“Traitor,” I mutter to Spike.

Clay’s eyes meet mine again. “Are you going to let me in, or should we continue discussing your safety in a public hallway where anyone could be listening?”