5. Holly
Chapter 5
Holly
I watch Jack carefully check the windows, his posture rigid, every movement controlled as he scans the darkened yard for any sign of our pursuers. My heart pounds, each beat amplified by the silence that hangs heavily in the cabin. This is a nightmare, one I pray I can escape from. But no, this is real, every second of it. There’s no escape here.
Jack holds his gun with practiced ease, his right hand gripped tightly around the handle, his arm angled so the barrel points to the ceiling. Seeing him like this—a dark, silent figure ready to act at any moment—fills me with reassurance and a fear I don’t quite understand. The gun is a reminder that our lives hang by a thread. The tension in his muscles tells me he’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe. Right now, he’s both protector and warrior, and despite my uncertainty, that thought alone calms me.
The cabin is basic, but at least we’re warm and dry. Jack explained the inverter, which converts the DC power stored in the batteries he’s stashed here into AC power for most household appliances. A propane heater provides warmth without relying on electricity or giving away our location by lighting a fire. The tankless propane heater gives us water for washing and drinking, and the blackout curtains conceal any light from inside the cabin.
One thing is clear—Jack is a professional and has thought of everything. This isn’t some random hideout. Every detail screams preparation. It’s a sanctuary he must have set up long before we ever got here, a safe haven for situations like this.
He moves with quiet efficiency, double-checking every lock and securing every entry point. His focus is unnerving but reassuring, a reminder that he won’t let anything slip through the cracks.
When he finally steps away from the windows, he looks at me, his face shadowed but his eyes sharp. “I’m going to make us something to eat,” he says, his voice low and steady, though there’s a hint of exhaustion underlining it. He doesn’t wait for me to respond; he just turns toward the kitchen area.
I follow him, hugging the oversized flannel shirt he gave me closer to my body. It smells faintly of him—woodsy and clean. The shirt is enormous on me, reaching my knees, and I’ve rolled up the sleeves several times to keep them from dangling past my hands. But it’s warm and comforting.
Jack opens one of the cabinets and pulls out a few cans, setting them on the counter with a methodical precision. “Soup,” he says, holding up a can of chicken noodle as if it’s gourmet cuisine. “It’s not much, but it’ll do.”
I smile faintly. “Better than nothing.”
He arches a brow but doesn’t reply, already busying himself with the small propane stove he’s set up. His movements are sure and practiced as if he’s done this a hundred times. The faint hiss of the stove lighting up fills the cabin, a small reminder of the world outside these walls where danger still lurks.
While the soup heats, Jack opens another cabinet and grabs two energy bars, handing one to me without a word.
I unwrap it, my fingers trembling slightly as I hold the bar. Sweetness coats my tongue as I chew. It’s not exactly a holiday feast, but it’s sustenance, and right now, that’s enough. Jack tears into his bar with less ceremony, eating quickly as though it’s another task to check off his mental list.
The cabin is quiet except for the occasional pop of the propane stove and the sound of us chewing. Despite the silence, there’s a strange comfort in this moment. For a few minutes, it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist, like it’s just the two of us in this small, safe bubble.
When the soup is ready, Jack pours it into two mismatched mugs. He hands one to me, his fingers brushing mine briefly, sending a spark of warmth through me that has nothing to do with the heat of the mug.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “It’s hot.”
I take a cautious sip, the salty warmth of the soup spreading through me, chasing away the chill that had settled deep in my bones. Jack watches me for a moment before sitting across from me, cradling his mug between his hands.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in his hands. When he finally looks up, a flicker of something unspoken crosses his face. He takes a slow sip of his soup before answering, his voice calm but distant. “Yeah. I’ve done this before.”
I wait, the silence between us heavy with unasked questions. He doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate, but I can’t help myself. “I mean… this cabin, the planning, the way you know what to do. It’s as if you’ve been through something like this a hundred times.”
He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, though his eyes seem darker now. “Not exactly like this,” he says, his tone measured. “But close enough.”
I tilt my head, curiosity outweighing caution. “What did you do before my father hired you?”
Jack’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s more like he’s considering whether to answer. Finally, he exhales, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “I was a SEAL,” he says, the words heavy, as if they carry a weight he rarely shares.
I blink, surprised. I guessed he had some kind of military background from the way he moves, the sharpness in his gaze, and the quiet confidence surrounding him like a second skin. But hearing him confirm it sends a ripple of awe and unease through me. “A Navy SEAL?”
“Yeah.” He nods, swirling the soup in his mug absentmindedly. “Did that for a while. Learned how to survive in tough situations, how to keep people alive when everything’s falling apart.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, unable to hide my fascination. “Why did you leave?”
His jaw tightens, and I worry I’ve pushed too far. But then he shrugs, his gaze dropping to the mug in his hands. “Got tired of the grind. Of the things you have to do and the things you have to see. There’s only so much of that a person can take before it starts to wear on you.”
I don’t miss the shadow that flickers across his face, the way his eyes darken as if he’s seeing something I can’t. Something he doesn’t want to share. “And then you started working for men like my father?” I ask carefully.
Jack’s mouth quirks into a humorless smirk. “Your father offered me a job when I needed one. It’s not exactly the life I planned, but it pays the bills.”
I study him, trying to reconcile the man sitting across from me with the image of a soldier, a protector who once fought for something greater than himself. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” I say softly. “You protect people.”
He meets my eyes then, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes,” he says simply. “But don’t romanticize it, Holly. The world I work in isn’t about saving people. It’s about survival.”
“Survival,” I echo, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “That’s all this is to you? Just survival?”
He sets his mug down, leaning forward until his gaze locks with mine. “When it comes to keeping you alive? Yeah, that’s all it is. Survival. Because if I don’t do my job, if I slip up even once, those men out there won’t hesitate. They’ll find you, and they’ll use you to hurt your father in the worst ways possible. I’m not going to let that happen.”
The intensity in his voice sends a shiver through me, but it’s not fear. It’s something else entirely—something raw and unyielding that settles deep in my chest. I swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Thank you, Jack. For everything.”
He leans back again, his expression softening just slightly. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
I sit back, taking another sip of soup, my mind spinning with everything he’s told me. Jack isn’t just a bodyguard. He’s a man shaped by a lifetime of battles, a man who knows what it takes to protect and survive.
I want to ask more—about the cabin, about him, about the life he’s lived that led him here—but the look in his eyes stops me. Instead, I focus on the soup, the warmth of the cabin, and the man sitting across from me—the man who’s already risked so much to keep me safe.
Jack finishes his soup and moves back to the window, making his checks. I’m pulled to him, moving up behind him without even thinking. My fingers graze his back, relishing the firm muscles beneath my hand. His whole body is a coil, ready to spring. And for the first time, I understand that those muscles aren’t simply for show—they’re the armor of a man who’s probably fought a hundred battles I’ll never know about. Jack might be a killer, the kind of man people whisper about, but tonight, he’s my protector. My bodyguard. And no matter how dangerous he might be, he’s my only source of safety.
“Is anybody out there?” I whisper.
He inclines his head slightly in my direction, his jaw tightening as he keeps his gaze fixed on the window. “No,” he replies in that low, gravelly voice. “I think we lost them…for now. But don’t get too comfortable, and don’t do anything that might give away where we are.”
I nod, a chill running down my spine. I move away and sit on the worn, beige wraparound sofa that takes up most of the living room, wrapping my arms around myself as I try to absorb everything that’s happened in the past few hours. It’s like a twisted dream. We’ve been chased, shot at, my family’s mansion went up in flames, and we fled in a frantic car chase that’s left us stranded in the middle of nowhere, walking through a freezing forest until we reached his cabin.
And let’s not forget that I kissed him. And he kissed me back. Proving that I’m not alone in this attraction, that there’s something between us.
I watch Jack as he paces the room, his steps measured but full of an underlying tension. He looks like a lion, trapped but always ready to strike, his movements filled with a barely restrained power. Every time he turns, my nerves jump. I can’t help but be drawn to him—the man who’s saved me over and over already, without hesitation, with a fierceness I can’t ignore.
I grew up around charmers—men who flash roguish smiles, dress in perfectly tailored suits, and wield smooth words like weapons. Jack is the opposite: his hair is short, his body is built like a fortress, and his wardrobe probably hasn’t seen so much as a glimmer of Gucci or Armani. He wears black pants and basic black shirts, the kind you find in department stores, not luxury boutiques.
He's a man who doesn’t care about appearances, doesn’t care about charm. But here I am, unable to pull my gaze from him, wondering why every fiber of my being wants nothing more than to strip away that cable-knit sweater he’s now wearing and let my hands roam over the muscles hiding beneath.
Is it the adrenaline? The fear coursing through me, heightening every emotion and every nerve ending? Or is it something deeper—a need to experience something real, something raw, in the midst of all this chaos? Maybe it’s the forbidden thrill that comes with proximity to danger or that I don’t want to die with regrets. No matter the reason, I can’t deny the desire simmering beneath my skin.
Jack’s pacing slows, his gaze focused, intent, as he surveys the room one last time. I can’t help but notice how the dim light accentuates the hard angles of his face and the tension that radiates from him. Something about him—something magnetic—pulls me in despite every voice in my head warning me to keep my distance.
“Do you have a blanket?” I ask Jack. The heater provides some warmth, but it’s not exactly toasty in here.
“Closet in the bedroom,” he says, tipping his head toward the small hallway.
I find the bedroom, its centerpiece a large king-sized bed draped in a thick, inviting duvet. My mind wanders, unbidden, to thoughts I probably shouldn’t entertain. What would it take to get Jack in that bed with me, wrapped in the warmth of that duvet, his body pressed against mine? The thought sends a rush of heat through me, clashing against the cold permeating the room.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I rummage through the closet until I find a soft, fluffy blanket tucked away on a high shelf. Hugging it close, I savor the small comfort as warmth seeps into my skin, a fragile barrier against the fear lingering in the back of my mind.
When I return to the living room, Jack is still pacing, his gaze distant as if he’s fighting some battle I can’t see. His expression is tight, and I realize he’s as affected by everything as I am. He may not show it, but he carries his own burdens, his own fears.
“Jack,” I call out softly, breaking the silence.
He turns to me, his gaze meeting mine with a weariness I didn’t notice before. His eyes, usually hard and guarded, hold a flicker of vulnerability. “Yeah?” he asks, exhaustion evident in his tone.
“I found the blanket,” I say, offering it to him. “You should sit down. Rest for a bit. You’ve been on edge for hours.”
He hesitates, glancing between me and the blanket as though debating whether to accept my gesture. “I think we both know how dangerous that would be.”
I tip my chin. “Why?”
“You know why, Holly,” he growls, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
He’s right. I do. But right now, I need his heat, the comfort of his warm body and his strength.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
His silver-gray gaze softens. “Would you believe me if I said I’m scared too?”
My eyes widen. “You? But this is your job. You’re so contained. So… in control. You always know what to do, what to say. I've never seen you hesitate.”
A shadow of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the thing about control, Holly— it’s a mask. And right now”—his gaze falls to my mouth again—“it’s slipping.”
The weight of his confession hangs heavy between us, and my heart aches at the vulnerability he’s allowing me to see.
“You don’t have to wear it around me,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Not here. Not now.”
The tension in his jaw relaxes, and he looks at me like I’m the only thing anchoring him in this chaotic storm.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp. “You don’t know what you’re inviting.”
“Maybe I do,” I counter, my fingers tightening around the blanket as I dare to meet his gaze. “And maybe I’m okay with it.”
Finally, with an abrupt nod, he relents, sinking onto the sofa. I join him, draping the blanket over us. The warmth is a welcome relief, a brief reprieve from the chill.
In the quiet that follows, I steal glances at him, studying the lines etched into his face, the faint shadows under his eyes. The weight of everything he carries is clear, and a surge of something unexpected envelops me—compassion. And admiration.
“What are you thinking about?” I murmur.
He stares off into the distance, his gaze lost in some unseen place. “Trying to figure a way out of this mess,” he says, his voice laced with fatigue.
The gravity of our situation settles over me. We’re trapped, hunted, with no clear path to safety. But here we are, side by side, finding solace in each other’s presence.
I lean closer, seeking comfort in his warmth, in the solid strength of his arm against mine. He tenses at first, but then he surprises me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer, a gesture of protection that stirs something deep within me.
“I’ve been thinking about this too,” he murmurs, gesturing between us. His gaze meets mine. Intense. Raw. “I shouldn’t … It’s against every rule, against everything your father stipulated. But damn it, Holly… I want you. I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you that day in the front hall. And when I saw you curled up in a chair in the chair in the library, you looked untouchable, out of reach, and I told myself that’s exactly where you had to stay. But no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t get you out of my head.”
His unexpected confession sends a shiver down my spine, and my pulse races as his words sink in. I search his face, finding no hesitation, only unfiltered desire and a vulnerability I never expected to see in him.
“I thought I imagined it,” I whisper. “That I was reading too much into the way you looked at me.”
“I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself,” he says, his jaw tightening as though fighting an internal war. “But now, with everything that’s happened today… Fuck”—he rakes a hand through his hair—“you’re all I see. All I think about. Keeping you safe is everything.”
His words linger between us, along with the reminder that our time might be short, that the men chasing us could close in at any moment. But his confession breaks something open inside me. The pull to him is as powerful as the fear that pulsed through my veins earlier.
My life has been upended. My father made Jack my bodyguard, and since then, we’ve been running, fighting, struggling to stay alive. And through it all, Jack has stayed by my side, never once faltering. Those lingering glances I once dismissed now come rushing back, filling me with a longing I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge.
For so long, I’ve tried to ignore him, tried to convince myself he’s just another of my father’s employees. But now, the barriers between us are as flimsy as wet paper.
I look into his eyes, acknowledging the weight of the moment, the culmination of everything that’s led us here. My heart pounds, each beat echoing in the silence. This may be our only chance, the one opportunity to seize what we both want without fear or hesitation.
Electricity fills the space between us, charged with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
He cups my cheek, his thumb pulling my bottom lip away from my teeth. “I can’t stay away anymore, Holly.”
“Then don’t.”
His breath hitches, his eyes searching mine one last time as if to ensure I mean it. Then he moves, closing the gap between us.
And as our lips meet, the world around us fades. All that remains is us.