Chapter 9
Voodoo leaned against the marble wall at the end of the corridor, arms crossed loosely, but every muscle in his body was on alert.
He’d seen the signs all evening, the tight smile, the glazed look in her eyes, the way her shoulders had risen an inch higher with every toast, every flashbulb, every unwanted touch from some dignitary looking to score a diplomatic headline. Savannah didn’t thrive in crowds. She endured them.
And tonight had asked too much.
So when she’d whispered that she’d needed the restroom, he hadn’t pressed. He’d just watched her go, every instinct in him trained to her rhythm. Her gait, her posture, and the unspoken tension that told him this wasn’t just about needing a bathroom.
It was about needing air.
For what felt like the hundredth time, he glanced at his watch.
He let two minutes pass. Then three.
Five.
Voodoo glanced down the hallway. Still no sign of her.
Worry began to take hold in the pit of his stomach.
He pushed off the wall and approached the door to the woman’s room quietly.
The hall dead-ended after the men’s room, which was just past the woman’s.
One way in. One way out. Given his focus, there was no chance that he would have failed to notice her slipping past unnoticed.
She was still inside, and his gut told him something was wrong.
He tapped his knuckles against the wood gently. “Savannah?” No answer. His frown deepened. “It’s me.”
He tried the handle. Locked. That was weird.
“Savi?” A little louder this time. “You okay?”
Still nothing.
A cold thread worked its way down his spine. He gripped the doorknob again, jiggled it harder. It didn’t just feel locked, it felt jammed. Mechanically wrong.
He didn’t hesitate. “Stand back from the door. I’m breaking it down.”
Voodoo stepped back, rolled his shoulders, and kicked the door square at the lock.
Crack. The frame split.
Another hard slam with his shoulder, and the door gave way in a groan of splinters.
What he saw twisted his gut.
The room was shrouded in darkness except for a pale spill of light from the hallway filtering through the broken doorway.
Savannah’s breath hitched in ragged gasps as she huddled in the corner.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably, her knuckles white as she pressed herself against the cold wall.
Terror was etched into every feature, but especially her wide, glassy eyes, unblinking and filled with stark fear.
Like she wasn’t even here. Like she was somewhere else entirely.
“Savi,” he said gently, his tone shifting immediately from soldier to soft. “It’s me. You’re okay now. It’s just me.”
Her head snapped up, and after a moment, recognition dawned in those stormy eyes just before she surged forward and collapsed against him.
He caught her without hesitation, arms wrapping around her small frame, tucking her against his chest as if he could shield her from every shadow in the world.
She was shaking.
No, not just shaking. She was crumbling in his arms.
“I couldn’t get out,” she gasped, her voice muffled against him. “The lights went out and . . . I thought . . . I thought . . .” Her breath hitched into a sob she tried to swallow.
His jaw tightened. He didn’t ask who or what she thought was happening. But he had his suspicions. He’d have to remember to ask Haley to dig deeper into what her life had been like with the Senator.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair. “You hear me, Savi? No one’s locking you in anywhere. Not ever again. You’re safe.”
She clutched him tighter.
Sawyer held her there, letting the silence wrap around them like a barrier against the reception’s false glitter and pressurized diplomacy.
It didn’t matter that he was wearing a tailored tux, or that she was in a designer gown meant for royalty.
Right now, she wasn’t a senator’s daughter.
She wasn’t a performer in a political spotlight.
She was just Savannah.
His Savi.
And whoever made her feel this helpless again . . . he would deal with that.
Later.
For now, he’d keep her close, his voice steady and low as he gently rocked her back and forth. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not this time.”
And he meant every word.
As he held her, he contacted their driver, instructing him to meet them at the secondary location he’d already scouted.
Then he gathered Savannah into his arms, her quiet breaths warm against his neck, and carried her out.
Grateful for the deserted employee corridors providing cover, he moved swiftly, the faint scent of cleaning supplies in the air, towards their waiting car.
The lateness of the hour provided him with an advantage, allowing him to carry Savannah through the hotel without anyone noticing. Sawyer slid the keycard into the door of her suite, Savannah still limp in his arms.
She hadn’t said much since they’d left the reception.
He’d kept her in his arms, settling her on his lap in the back seat as the driver had made his way through the late night traffic.
Savannah had leaned into him with that quiet stiffness that told him the panic hadn’t fully passed.
Her fingers had clutched his jacket as if afraid she might fall apart again if she let go.
He hadn’t pressed her. Not yet.
The suite’s lights came on with a soft glow as the door opened. He walked inside and shut the world out with a final click of the lock.
No press. No diplomats. No Senator. No questions.
Just them.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice small and frayed.
“No apology needed.” He moved them toward the couch. “You’re safe here.”
He set her down, and she sank onto the cushion without resistance, curling her legs underneath her like she was trying to make herself smaller.
Voodoo crouched in front of her, loosening his tie with one hand while reaching for a nearby water bottle with the other. Opening it, he passed it to her. “Drink this.”
She obeyed, but her hands still shook slightly as she held it.
“I know I’m supposed to be used to this now,” she said after a few sips, eyes cast down. “The crowds. The expectations. The politics dressed up as music. But tonight . . .” Her voice trembled. “Tonight broke something. I just wanted one moment of peace.”
“You don’t have to be used to it,” he said firmly. “That was never the deal. You were supposed to play beautiful music and maybe bring people together. Not be paraded like a show pony for world leaders to gawk at.”
Her eyes lifted, glassy and vulnerable. “And what happens when I can’t take it anymore?”
Voodoo sat beside her now, the cushion dipping slightly with his weight. “Then you don’t take it. You step back. You breathe. You lean on someone who’s not afraid to throw a punch or break down a door.”
The corner of her mouth twitched at that, but her gaze drifted.
“The lights going out like that . . . the door . . . it reminded me. He used to punish me for embarrassing him.” Voodoo didn’t need to ask who “he” was.
He knew she could only be talking about the Senator.
“He’d lock me in that closet and make the whole house go dark and quiet. Like I didn’t exist.”
Voodoo exhaled slowly, fury curling inside him like smoke. “He won’t touch you again. Ever.”
“He hasn’t in years. Not like that.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “But sometimes it’s worse. The performance of it all. Pretending I’m this grateful daughter, this brilliant, obedient prodigy who never flinches at the hand that shaped her.”
“You don’t owe him that performance,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You never did.”
She looked at him then. Really looked. Her eyes were raw, shining in the dim light, and he saw the question she didn’t say out loud.
Then who am I, without all that?
“The sun isn’t the only thing that shines bright,” he started.
With a sweep of his hand toward the window, he indicated the moon, a ghostly orb hanging in the vast, inky blackness of the night sky.
“See how brightly the moon is shining tonight? A bright beacon in the dark. Just as luminous as the sun, and it has to work even harder to make shine through all that darkness. Don’t underestimate yourself for anyone or anything.
Even if everyone loves the sun, my heart’s still with the moon. My Savi Moon.”
Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, made his heart clench in his chest. “Sawyer,” she whispered. “Is that really how you see me?”
The fact that she didn’t see her own worth the way he did made him burn with frustration. Instead of answering with words, Voodoo reached forward and gently took the bottle from her hand, setting it aside. Then he leaned in, resting his forehead to hers, his voice low and certain.
“You’re Savannah Gaines. The girl who cried when she found a baby bird with a broken wing and pleaded with my mother to take it to the vet. The girl who hated thunderstorms and loved Chopin. Who used to fall asleep in my treehouse because it was the only place she said felt like home.”
Her breath hitched again, but not from panic this time. “You remember all that?”
“I never forgot.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, silence stretching between them like a balm. After a while, she said, “It wasn’t the treehouse that felt like home. It was you.”
Those words hit him hard, right in his heart. The organ had felt alive in twenty years, and now it was starting back up. He just hoped when this was all over, it wouldn’t die again.
They grew silent once more, each needing the moment to decompress from the day. “Savi? Why didn’t you press the button on your clip?”
Her head snapped up and her hand rose to touch the clip tucked into her hair. “I honestly didn’t think about it. The panic . . .”
“I get it. If something like this ever happens again, I hope you can calm yourself to remember it’s there.”